snow, hail, wind, and, in addition, an abominable cold in my head which
does not help to resign me to a day already filled with clouds. I love
you--do you know that? and I admire you for your beautiful soul. It is
splendid of you, my great Toto, to have raised your voice so powerfully
in defence of the poor, dead King.[66] You alone had the right, for you
only are above suspicion; you only are influential enough to compel the
impious, pitiless world to listen to your indulgent and religious voice.
If it were possible for me to love you more, I should do so for this;
but from the first day I saw you I have given my whole heart and
thoughts and soul unreservedly into your keeping.
How I love you, my adored Victor, how I love you! In that short and
much-misused word is contained all my soul, all the bloom of a devotion
that has opened out under the sun of your gaze. Good-bye, my own.
JULIETTE.
_Friday, 8.30 p.m., June 2nd, 1837._
MY LITTLE MAN,
You must make up your mind to take my love or leave it. Compare my life
with yours, and see whether I do not deserve that you should pity and
love me with all your might. I am all alone, I have neither family nor
fame, nor the thousand and one distractions that surround you. As I say,
I am alone, always alone; it even seems probable that I shall not see
you to-night, while you will be spending your evening in feasting,
talking, and visiting your uncle, whom may the devil fly away with.
Everybody can get you except me; the exception is flattering and well
chosen. I am so unhappy that I am going to bed and shall probably cry my
eyes out--I am more inclined for that than for laughing. If you succeed
in cheering me up to-night, I shall know you for a great man, and a
still greater sorcerer; but you will not attempt it. I may be as sad and
miserable as I like, and I am certain you will never interfere.
Good-night, Toto; I am going to bed. Good-night, be happy and gay and
content; your poor Juju will be unhappy enough for both. I love you,
Toto.
JULIETTE.
_Wednesday, 1.30 p.m., June 10th._
I love you before all things, and after all things. I love you, love
you, love you! I have just written to Mother Pierceau that I shall send
Suzanne to her to-morrow. I forgot to ask you exactly how much money you
brought me yesterday, and also for cash, for yesterday's expenses. I
will do so to-night. I try hard to keep my accounts accurately, yet I am
always in a muddle at the end of the month, and always either above or
below what I ought to have. I do my best, but nothing seems to bring my
sums out right.
I think there is going to be a big storm. The sky is lowering like
yesterday, and the weather still more oppressive. Try not to get wet,
and come and fetch your umbrella before it begins to pour.
What a delightful afternoon we spent yesterday! I wish we could have it
over again, even if we had to be soaked to the skin. I shall never
forget the Bassin du Titan.[67] The pretty turtledove that came to
slake its thirst in it seemed to recognise us, and wait for its drink,
until you scattered drops of poetry into the mossy, flowery grooves,
surrounding its edges.
Heavens! what precious pearls you squandered yesterday in that
magnificent garden, at the feet of those peerless goddesses, which seem
to come to life when your glance rests upon them--what flowers upon
those lawns, peopled with joyous children! How all those gods and
goddesses, heroes, kings, queens, women, nymphs, and children, must have
quarrelled over the treasure you lavished upon them! I was sorry to go
away. I should have liked to go back in the moonlight and gather up all
those jewels upon which you set so little store. Oh, I must return there
very soon, and we will at the same time revisit our Metz, where we have
enjoyed so much bliss. That journey will bring us happiness, and I long
to make it. I love you, my great Toto. Forgive this scribble; it looks
absurd now, and indeed it must needs be so, for I was inebriated with
love when I wrote it. My thoughts stagger and fall upon the paper,
because they have drunk too deeply of my soul, and know not where they
are.
JULIETTE.
_Thursday, 3.45 p.m., July 27th, 1837._
I must contribute my scribble in acknowledgment for the delightful lines
you have just written in my little book.[68] My voice will sound like
the cackle of a hen after the song of a nightingale; but that is the law
of nature, so I do not see why I should be silent, because I have heard
you. It was rash of you, my dear little man, to put down the date you
suppose was that of my birth; but, as I am too honest to contradict you,
I accept it and affirm that, since those days when you were a little boy
studying _Quintus Curtius_, you have developed, and far outstripped all
those you revered and admired when you were an urchin of seven--while I
have remained the poor, uncultured girl you know. It is pretty certain
that education could have added but little to my barren nature; the
weeds of the sea-shore do not gain much from cultivation. On that point,
thank Heaven, I have nothing to complain of. No one worried much about
me until you appeared upon the scene; but you came, my great and sublime
poet, and you did not disdain to cull the little scentless flower
prinking itself at your feet, to attract the sunshine of your glance. I
bless you for your goodness. I know that a father and mother look down
upon you from the realms above, and love you for the happiness you have
given to the poor little daughter they left solitary on earth. I weep as
I write, for it is the first time I have really looked into my innocent
past, and my loving heart. I bless you, my generous man, on earth, as
you will be blest in heaven. May all those dear to you participate in
this benediction, and in the joys and riches of this world and the next!
JULIETTE.
_Thursday, 9 a.m., September 21st, 1837._
GOOD MORNING, MY BELOVED.
The anniversary of our return to Paris has been sadder still than the
day itself, since you have not been with me at all, either last night
or this morning. I am upset in consequence. I have not yet taken off my
nightcap. I am cross. Shall you be at Auteuil all day? What a
disappointment for poor Juju, not to speak of Claire, who has to take
her chance of my temper when I am cross, and that idiot Madame Guérard,
who has put me to the expense of a stamp merely to say that she thinks
she is getting fat, and that she wishes you good morning. How thrilling!
I love you, dearest Toto; I love you too much, for I am miserable when
you are away. I wish I could care comfortably, like you, for instance,
who feel neither better nor worse, whether I am near or far. You are
always the same; love never makes you miss the point of a joke, or a
hearty laugh, nor fail to notice a grey cloud, the Great Bear, a frog, a
sunset, the earth, water, gale, or zephyr. You see everything, enjoy
everything, without a thought for poor old Juju, who is being bored to
desperation in her solitary corner. Which of us two is the best lover,
eh? Answer that it is I, Juju, and you will be speaking the truth. Yes,
I love you. Try not to stay away from me all day. Love me for being sad
in your absence.
JULIETTE.
_Saturday, 6.30 p.m., September 23rd, 1837._
You are making yourself more and more of a rarity, my beautiful star, so
that I become chilled, and gloomy as an antique, moss-grown statue,
abandoned in the wilds of some deserted garden. I am not angry with you,
but I do wish you were less busy and more lover-like. You have quickly
resumed your fine Paris appearance, my beloved little man, whilst I
still cling to my travelling disguise. You ought surely to have waited
for me to take the initiative, if only for the sake of manners. Whom are
you so anxious to please, my bright boy? Who is the favoured one you
aspire to put in my place? In any case, I warn you that I shall not be
sly like Granier,[69] but that I shall fall upon your respective
carcases with frank blows of a cudgel, mind that! Now you may go in
search of your charmer, if you are prepared to see your bones ground to
powder for my use.
If you come early this evening I shall be so happy, so cheery, so
content and good, that you will never wish to leave me again; but, if
you delay, I shall be exactly the reverse, and you will have to coax and
love me with all your might to comfort me.
You are letting your letter-box get over-full again. Toto, Toto, I shall
make a bonfire of its contents if you do not come quick and secure them.
Mind what you are about!
JULIETTE.
_Wednesday, 12.45 p.m., November 22nd, 1837._
I really believe you do it on purpose; but you may be certain that I
shall pay you back in the same kind: indifference for indifference;
_donnant donnant_ is my motto.
Now let us talk of other things. What do you think of the taking of
Constantine? I cannot believe the present Ministry will survive long as
at present constituted; Thiers and Barot may be called upon at any
moment to form a new cabinet. What is your opinion? The commercial
crisis is still making itself felt in the markets; oils of every
description have gone down; for instance, rape oil which was at 47 is
now only at 45. A recovery is looked for next year, but I have my doubts
about it, haven't you?[70]
* * * * *
Do you not agree with me that all this points to a revolution in the
near future, which will entail sinister results for Wailly's Government?
For my part, I view with consternation the removal of the Carlists from
St. Jean Pied de Port to Paimb[oe]uf, after a sojourn at St. Ménéhould.
I am already sick of the recital of the horrors which disturb the
digestion and the tranquillity of the citizens, of whom you are the
chief ornament. Pray accept the expression of my distinguished
consideration.
JULIETTE.
_December 5th, 5 p.m., 1837._
How kind you are, my Toto, to have come and relieved the suspense I was
in as to what had happened in Court.[71] Heavens, how well you spoke! I
was so moved and so convinced while I listened, that I forgot even to
admire you, yet I have never known you finer or more eloquent. Why must
the case be adjourned for a week? Is it to allow time for intrigues
against the incorruptible consciences of my lords the judges? I should
have given worlds for the verdict to have been delivered to-day; first
because it would relieve you of an anxiety as annoying as it is
fatiguing, secondly because I myself crave repose, and since this devil
of a lawsuit has come on the scene I cannot sleep at night, and lastly
because I shall then see you oftener, or at least so I hope.
While I was waiting for you just now I copied a few passages from the
letters of Mdlle. de Lespinasse about the C. D.[72] and the S.[73] of
her period. Her opinions then, fit our own times absolutely: the same
absurdities, the same platitudes, and the same petty triumphs! It would
be pitiable were it not so grotesque. Nothing seems to have altered in
the last sixty years; there are the identical _bourgeois_ in the
identical Rue Saint Denis, the same men and women of the world--nothing
is missing. They have not grown old, they are still in good health.
Stupidity and bad taste are the best agents for the maintenance of
society in all its pristine foolishness. Here am I drivelling on just as
if I knew what I was talking about. It would be a nice set-out if I
attempted to write! I might just as well present myself as a candidate
for the Senate. Please forgive me. Your lawsuit is the cause of my
chatter, but I will not transgress again. I love you far too much to go
out of my way to make a fool of myself.
JULIETTE.
RECEIPTS FOR THE MONTH OF DECEMBER 1837
Dec. Frs. Sous. Liards.
Cash in hand 4 0 3
1. Money earned by my Toto 51 4 0
4. Cash from my darling 5 10 0
6. Money earned by my dear one 44 0 0
9. Cash from my Toto's purse 10 0 0
12. " " " " " 5 0 0
13. " " " " " 7 0 0
14. Money earned by my darling 45 0 0
17. Cash from my adored one 10 2 0
18. " " " " " 4 2 0
19. Money earned by my beloved 60 0 0
22. Cash from my Toto 2 0 0
24. " " " " 10 0 0
26. " " " " 3 0 0
28. Money earned by my Toto 102 12 0
30. Money earned by my darling 100 9 0
_Plus_ the money for
the earring and ring 2 0 0
------------------
Total 466 19 3
EXPENDITURE FOR THE MONTH OF DECEMBER 1837
Frs. Sous. Liards.
Food and wine 99 2 3
Coal 1 1 0
Lighting 21 6 0
Household expenses and postage 16 0 0
Baths, illness 8 1 0-1/2
General expenditure 29 8 0
Incidental expenses and pocket-money 5 8 0-1/2
Dress 41 5 0
Incidental expenses and pocket-money 5 8 0-1/2
Dress 41 5 0
Washing 16 5 0
Debts and pawnbroker 151 6 0-1/2
Wages 20 13 0
To the Lanvins 4 2 0-1/2
-----------------------
Total 413 19 5
Cash in hand 53 0 0
- -----------------------
466 19 5[74]
To Toto: 9 luncheons.
Dinners to 10 persons.
In all, about 19.
_Sunday, 1.45 p.m., January 21st, 1838._
Good-morning, my dear one, good-morning, my big Toto. How did you manage
to fit into your bed? You must have curled yourself up into five or six
hundred curves. One grows at such a pace in the space of an evening like
last night[75] that you must have become gigantic by this morning,
though you were already greater than any one else in the world. I have
grown, too, for my love equals your beauty, equals the praises and
admiration lavished upon you; so, unless one is prepared to state,
against all logic, that the container is smaller than the contents, I
must have grown and even surpassed you--without vanity. Love exalts as
much as glory does, and I love you more than you are great. Yes my Toto,
yes my dear Victor, I dare affirm it because it is true. I love you more
than you are great.
How did you spend the night, adored one? I hope you did not work, tired
out as you were, and in that horrible little icehouse. I cannot think
of that room without shivering from head to foot. I shall be very glad
when I hear that it is closed and warmed. Unfortunately that does not
promise to be soon, and meanwhile you suffer and freeze, and I torment
myself about you.
I adore you, my beloved Toto. I would die for you if you would promise
always to think lovingly of me; even without that condition I adore you,
my Victor.
JULIETTE.
_Sunday, 5.45 p.m., January 21st, 1838._
Must it always be my lot to wait, dearly beloved? I thought I had given
proofs sufficient of courage and resignation all this time, to have
earned my reward now. Of course I know you must have had the whole of
Paris in your house to-day, but if you cared for me as I do for you, you
would leave all Paris, and the world itself, for me. What good is the
back door, if not to enable you to evade importunate people, and fly to
the poor love who awaits you with so much longing and affection? Why
carry _four keys_ in your pocket, like the gaoler in a comic opera, if
you do not make use of them on the proper occasion? I am very sad, my
Toto. I do not think you care for me any more. You are as splendidly
kind and generous as ever, but you are no longer the ardent lover of old
days. It is quite true although you will not admit it out of compassion
for me. I am very unhappy. Some day I shall do something desperate to
rid you of me, for I cannot bear to realise the coldness of your heart,
and at the same time to accept your generous self-sacrifice.
You know I have always told you that I will accept nothing from you if
you do not love me! I love you so much that if I could inspire you with
my feelings, there would be nothing left for me to desire in this world.
JULIETTE.
_Monday, Noon, February 12th, 1838._
Good-morning, my dear little man. How are you this morning? I am very
well, but I should be still better if I had seen you and breakfasted
with you.... I am arranging to go to _Hernani_ to-night. I hope there
will be no hitch, and that the promise of the bills will at last be
fulfilled. I am longing for the moment. It is such ages since I have
seen my _Hernani_, and it is such a beautiful creation! I wish it were
already night, and I were in my little box, with dear little Toto
sitting at the back, where I might reward him with eyes and lips for
every beautiful line. You are not jealous? Yes, I want you to be
jealous! I want you to be jealous, even of yourself, or else I shall not
believe that you love me.
Good-morning, Toto. All this nonsense simply means that I dote on you
and think you beautiful and great and adorable. You did not come last
night--probably because there was to be a rehearsal this morning. Try
and behave properly at it, for I have Argus eyes and shall come down
upon you myself, like a thunderbolt, in the midst of your antics.
Meanwhile, take care of yourself; do not get cold feet or a headache
like mine; it would be a great nuisance.
Dear soul, if you had the least regard for your health, you would have
your flannel underclothing made at once. I assure you you would find it
very comfortable. I am sorry now that I let you take the stuff away, for
if I had it still, I should force you to do all this. It is not that I
want to worry you, my adored one, for I know how many other important
things you have to think of, but this is one of the most pressing; that
is why I should like it done. I love you, my Toto, with all my strength,
and more yet. I press my lips in spirit upon your eyes and hair.
JULIETTE.
_Wednesday, 12.15 p.m., March 7th, 1838._
Good-morning, my dear little beloved. How are your eyes, my Toto? It
torments me to know that you are suffering so much, for however brave
and uncomplaining you may be, I can see quite well that you are in pain.
If you knew how I love you, my dear one, you would understand my trouble
and grief when you suffer. I suppose you are going to the rehearsal this
morning. I wish the first performance[76] was to be this evening, for I
am trembling already. Generally, I only begin to shiver on the day
itself, but this time my terrors have set in twenty-four hours in
advance. I hope my fears will have been vain, like so often before, and
that your beautiful poetry will prove all-conquering as ever. To-morrow
my soul will animate the spectators. I shall inspire enthusiasm in the
discriminating, and strangle, by sheer force of love, the hatred and
envy of the scum who would dare criticise your magnificent _Marion_, for
whom I have so special a partiality.
[Illustration: AUTOGRAPH AND DRAWING BY JULIETTE DROUET.]
I express myself awkwardly, but I feel all this acutely.
JULIETTE.
_Wednesday, 7.30 p.m., March 7th, 1838._
MY DARLING,
I see you very seldom, but it is not your fault, I know. I look
constantly into my heart, whence you are never absent, and there I see
you growing daily nobler, greater, and dearer. So to-morrow is _the
great day_! Ardently as I have desired its advent, I now dread it more
than I can say. However, up till now I have always been very frightened,
and nothing has happened, so I hope it may be the same this time.
Besides, how could the disapproval of a few miserable wretches and
idiots affect the magnificent verses of _Marion_? It will only prompt
the sincere and intelligent portion of the audience to do you instant
and brilliant justice. I am no longer afraid. I am as brave and strong
as love itself. Put me where you like--I do not care--all places are
equally good to applaud from, just as all moments are suitable for
adoring you. Good-bye, my love.
JULIETTE.
_Thursday, 12.45 p.m., March 8th, 1838._
Good-morning, blessed one. I am quite upset. If your success to-night is
in proportion to my fright, you will have the most magnificent triumph
of your life. I hardly know what I am doing; I am shaking like a leaf, I
cannot grasp my pen. I must try to pull myself together for this
evening. It is absurd of me to be such a little craven; besides, what
harm can a _cabal_ do you? None! It can only enhance your greatness, if
such a thing be possible; so, I am ashamed of my cowardice. I am
horribly stupid to dread a thing which certainly will not happen, and if
it did, would not injure you. Now that is enough! I will not fear again,
and I will admire and applaud my _Marion_ in the very face of the cabal.
I will give them a hot time to-night! Bravo! bravo!! bravo!!! I feel as
if I were there already, and the happiest of women.
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._
Good-morning, my soul, my joy, my life. How are your adored eyes, my
Toto? I cannot refrain from asking, because it interests me to hear,
more than anything in the world. I am always thinking about them. I long
for the 15th of this month, for then I shall have the right to insist
upon your resting, and I shall certainly exercise it. My dear love, what
joy it will be for me to feel your dear head leaning against mine, to
kiss your beautiful eyes, and to make certain that you do not work. The
weather is lovely this morning. It carries my thoughts back to our dear
little annual trip, when we were so happy and so cosy together. We are
not to have that felicity this year, and really I do not know how I
shall endure it when the time comes at which we used to start. It will
be very hard and difficult, and I doubt whether my courage and reason
will suffice to enable me to bear the greatest sacrifice I have ever
made in my life. My dear one, it will be sad indeed; I wonder whether I
shall be equal to it.
I love you, adore you, admire you, and again I love and adore you.
JULIETTE.
_Tuesday, 7.45 p.m., April 10th, 1838._
My love, I am writing to you with joy and worship in my heart. You were
so kind and tender and fascinating to me to-day that I seemed to feel
again the savour and rapture of the days of old. My Toto, my adored
one, fancy if your love were to flower again like some brilliant,
sweet-scented spring blossom! With what ecstasy and reverence I would
preserve it fresh and rosy in my breast. Poor beloved, your work has
done to our idyll what the winter does to the trees and flowers--the sap
has retired deep into the bottom of your heart, and often I have feared
it was quite dead; but now I see it was not: it was only lulled to sleep
and I shall possess my Toto once more, beautiful, blooming, and perfumed
as in those glorious days of our first love.
I who am not a sensitive plant of the sun like you, have yet come better
through the trial, and if I bear no blossom, I have at least the
advantage of preserving my leaves ever green and alive; that is to say,
I have never ceased to love and adore you. Indeed that is true, my own,
I love you as much as the first day.
JULIETTE.
_Sunday, 11 a.m., April 22nd, 1838._
You see, darling, by the dimensions of my paper, that I am preparing to
go and applaud my _Marion_ this evening. I will not reproach you for not
having come this morning. In fact, in future I shall not allude to it
again, for nothing is more unsuitable or ridiculous than the
solicitations of a woman who vainly appeals for the favours of her
lover. Therefore, beloved, as I am to live with you as a sister with a
brother, you will approve of my refraining from reminding you in any way
of the time when we were husband and wife.
It is still very cold, my maid says; although the sun is shining in at
my windows, it has left its warmth in the sky. It resembles the fine
phrases of a suitor who no longer loves; his words may be the same, his
expressions as tender, his language as impassioned, but love is lacking
and those words which scintillate as the sun upon my windows, fail to
warm the heart of the poor woman who had dreamt of love eternal.
You will probably see Granier this morning.[77] I hope so, so that you
may not be worried any more about that business. I also hope Jourdain
will come to-morrow about the chimney. It is unbearable that one should
have to wait upon the whim of a workman for a job which might be
finished in a few minutes, and that would please you so much. I have
read with pleasure the verses that came to you in the newspaper from
Guadaloupe; they show that you are admired over there as much as here,
and that you have fewer enemies abroad than at the Académie Française. I
am furious with that little imp called Thiers, who although he is not a
quarter of a man as far as size goes, yet permits himself to cherish the
rancour of a giant. Miserable little wretch! If only I were not a woman,
I might castigate you as you deserve!
And you, my Toto, so great and so wonderful, I adore you!
JULIETTE.
_Thursday, 10.15 a.m., August 2nd, 1838._
Good-morning, my little beloved. Do you still need a secretary? I am
quite ready. Come; it is so delightful to dip my pen into your glorious
poetry, and watch the shining and coruscating of those precious gems
which take the shape of your thoughts. Dédé could not be more delighted
and dazzled than I am, if she were given the diamonds and jewels of the
crown of England to play with for an hour. Oh, if I could only have
spent the night with my Cæsar and his noble companions, I would have
followed him without fatigue wherever he wanted to go, even as far
as.... But you would not allow it, you jealous boy; you feared
comparison, and you were perfectly right, for I like well-dressed men.
Good-morning, my Toto. My left eye is very bad; it is swollen and
painful. If this continues I shall no longer be in the position of
regretting that I cannot lend you my eyes in exchange for your own. I
love you, I adore you. Do not be too long before coming to me.
I am longing for you with all my might.
JULIETTE.
_Wednesday, 9.45 p.m., August 15th, 1838._
My dear little man, I love you. You are the treasure of my heart. I wish
we were already in our carriage galloping, galloping far, and farther
still, so that it might take us ever so long to get back.
Since you have hinted at the possibility of my playing in your beautiful
piece,[78] I am like a somnambulist who has been made to drink too much
champagne. I see everything magnified: I see glory, happiness, love,
adoration, in gigantic and impossible dimensions--impossible, because I
feel you can never love me as I love you, and that my talent, however
considerable, can never reach to the level of your sublime poetry. I do
not say this from modesty, but because I do not think there exists in
this world man or woman capable of interpreting the parts as you
conceived them in your master mind.
I love you, my Toto, I adore you, my little man, you are my sun and my
life, my love and my soul.
All that, and more.
JULIETTE.
_Monday, 8 p.m., September._
Are you proposing to cut out all the dandies and bloods of the capital?
My congratulations to you. I was only waiting for some such sign to give
myself up to an orgy of wild and eccentric toilette. Heaven only knows
the extravagances I mean to commit in the way of shoes, silk stockings,
gowns, hats, light gloves, and bows for my hair! You will, I suppose,
retaliate with an assortment of skin-tight trousers, strings of orders,
and more or less absurd hair arrangements. Delightful indeed! There only
remains for one of us to live at the Barrière de l'Étoile and the other
at the Barrière du Trône, to dazzle the dwellers of the town and
suburbs, as well as strangers from abroad. Capital!!!
My sore throat has come on again and you are not here to cure it. If you
think this pleasant you are quite wrong, and if I followed my own bent I
should deprive you of your functions as doctor-in-chief of the great
Juju. I am determined to forgive you only if you come to supper with me
presently. Seriously, I cannot understand why you keep away, seeing
that your Play is in rehearsal, that this is our holiday time, and that
I adore you. I am almost tempted to be a little jealous, only
unfortunately, when I mean to be only slightly jealous, I become very
seriously so; therefore I try as much as possible to spare myself that
discomfort. You would be sweet and kind, my Toto, if you would come and
eat my frugal dinner with me to-night and ... I am going to concentrate
my thoughts upon you, so as to magnetise you and bring you back in the
shortest possible time to your faithful old Juju who loves and adores
you. My first proceeding is to kiss your eyes, your mouth, and your dear
little feet.
JULIETTE.
_Tuesday, 12 noon, October 30th, 1838._
My beloved little man, you are so good and sweet when you see me that it
is a pity you should see me so seldom, and that you should forget me as
soon as your back is turned. To punish you, I am not going to write you
two letters to-day; partly in consideration for your dear little eyes,
and partly because it would be unfair to reward indifference and
coldness in the same degree as affection and assiduity. Pray do not take
the above expression, "dear little eyes," in an ironical sense--I mean
it on the contrary as an endearing diminutive; your "dear little eyes"
signify to me my adored, beautiful eyes, the mirrors of my soul, the
stars of my heaven, everything that is most beautiful and fascinating,
gentlest, noblest, and highest.
I love you, my Toto. I kiss your ripe red lips, your dazzling teeth,
your little hands, and your twinkling feet. I am writing only your
little daily bulletin, because your eyes are bad, and you have no time
to waste; neither do I wish to tire or bore you, but only to make you
love me a little bit.
JULIETTE.
_Thursday, 8.30 p.m., November 22nd, 1838._
My little treasure of a man, you were sweet to select my hovel for a
resting-place from which to write your laudatory remarks upon Mlle.
Atala Beauchêne,[79] commonly called Beaudouin. It gave me a chance to
admire your charming profile and kiss your beautiful shining locks. I
thank you for that happiness, and I consent to your inditing daily
effusions concerning that lady, if only you do so in my room and under
my eyes.
As you promised to come back presently, the chances are that you will
not return. I have half a mind to undress, light my fire, and set to
work to bruise poppy-heads; for my provision is almost at an end, and
later on I may be busy at the theatre, if Joly[80] persists in his crazy
idea of giving us a whole week's rehearsals of a piece which is only to
be played four months hence. It is an inducement to use the time at my
disposal now, to prepare your little daily remedy.
I love you, Victor, I love you, my darling Toto.
JULIETTE.
_Monday, 6 p.m., April 15th, 1839._
Why is it, my little beloved, that you always seem so jealous? You take
the bloom off all those scraps of happiness your dear presence would
otherwise give me, for nothing chills one's embraces so much as the
vexed, uneasy mien you usually wear. It would not even be so bad if you
did not accuse _me_ of that same constrained, annoyed look; but the more
suspicious you are, the more you think it is I who am cross, although
this is simply the effect of the glasses through which your jealousy
views me. Never mind, I love you and forgive you, and if only you will
come and take me out a little this evening and show me part of _Lucrèce_
I shall be happy and content. What a beautiful day! I would have given
days and even months for the chance of strolling by your side wherever
your rêverie led you. Alas, it is I who am sad, and with excellent
reason! As for you, you old lunatic, what have you to complain of? You
are adored, and you are free to accept and make use of that sentiment as
much and as often as you desire; perhaps that is why you desire it so
seldom.... But let us talk of other things. Please love me a little,
while I give you my whole soul.
JULIETTE.
_Sunday, 6.30 p.m., October 27th, 1839._
Here I am at my scribbling again, my Toto. It is a sad pleasure, if any,
after the two months of love and intimacy which have just elapsed. Here
I sit again with my ink and paper, my faults of spelling, my stupidity
and my love. When we were travelling I did not need all this
paraphernalia to be happy. It was enough for me to worship you, and God
knows whether I did that! Here I do not love you less--on the
contrary--but I live far from you, I long for you, I worry about you, I
am unhappy--that is all. Still, I am not ungrateful or forgetful; I
fully appreciate that you have just given me nearly two months of bliss.
I still feel upon my lips the touch of your kisses, and upon my hand the
pressure of yours. But the felicity I have experienced only throws into
greater relief the void your absence leaves in my life. When you are no
longer by my side, I cease to exist, to think, to hope. I desire you and
I suffer. Therefore I dread as much as death itself the return to that
hideous Paris, where there is naught for lovers who love as we
love--neither sunshine, nor that confidence which is the sunshine of
love--nothing but rain, suspicion, jealousy, the three blackest,
saddest, iciest of the scourges which can afflict body and heart. Oh, I
am wretched, my Toto, in proportion to my love; it is true, my adored
one, and it will ever be thus, when you are not with me.
JULIETTE.
_Friday, 10 a.m., November 1st, 1839._
Good-morning, my dear little beloved, my darling little man. You told me
so definitely yesterday that my handwriting was hideous, and my scrawl
nothing but a horrible maze in which you lose both patience and love,
that I hardly dare write to you to-day, and it would take very little to
make me cease our correspondence altogether. We must have an explanation
on this subject, for it is cruel of you to force me to make myself
ridiculous night and morning, simply because I love you and am the
saddest and loneliest of women. If my love must be drowned in my
ignorance and stupidity, at least do not force me to make the plunge
myself. There was a time when you would not have noticed the ugliness of
my writing; you would only have read my meaning and been happy and
grateful. Now you laugh, which is shabby and wicked of you. This seems
to be the fate of all the Quasimodo of this world, moral and physical;
they are jeered at: form is everything, spirit nothing. Even if I could
constrain my crabbed scrawl to say, "My soul is beautiful," you would
not be any the less amused. Therefore, my dear little man, pending the
moment when I can join in the laugh against myself, I think it would be
as well to suspend these daily lucubrations. Besides, the moment has
come when I must turn all my time and energies towards making my
position secure. Nothing in this world can turn me from my purpose, for
it is to me a question of life and death, and Heaven knows that in all
these seven years I have never failed to tell you so whenever there has
been an opportunity. I count upon you to help me, my beloved. I am
asking you for more than life--for the moral consummation of our
marriage of love. Let me go with you wherever my happiness is
threatened, let me be the wife of your mind and heart, if I cannot be
yours in law. If I express myself badly, do not scoff, but understand
that I have a right to put into words what you yourself have felt, and
that I insist upon defending my own against all those women who get at
you under pretext of serving you. I will have my turn, for I love you
and am jealous.
J.
_Friday, 6.30 p.m., November 1st, 1839._
You are good, my adored one, and I am a wretch; but I love you while you
only permit yourself to be loved; that is what makes you so tranquil and
me so bitter. My heart is weighed down by jealousy this evening and
nothing less than your adored presence will suffice to calm me, for I
carry hell and all the furies within my soul. I wish I could be sewn to
the lining of your coat to-night, for I feel I am about to encounter
some great danger that I can only defeat by not leaving your side. If my
fears are well-grounded, I shall probably fail in averting the doom that
threatens me, for you will not be able to stay with me all the evening.
The compliments and flattery you will receive will take you from me. I
cannot deny that I am unhappy and jealous, and would much rather be with
you at Fontainebleau, at the Hôtel de France, than in Box C. of the
Théâtre Français, even when _Marion de Lorme_ is being played. Kiss me,
my little man; you are very sweet in your new greatcoat, but you had not
told me you had been to your tailor. I shall keep up with you by sending
for my dressmaker. I do not mean to surrender to you the palm for
smartness and dandyism. Ha! who is caught? Toto! Toto!
Résilieux is beaming, Claire is happy, Suzanne is an idiot; such is the
condition of the household. I am all three at the same time, plus the
adoration I profess energetically for your imperial and sacred person.
Kiss me and be careful of yourself this evening.
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.
I suffer, I despair at heart, but I love you so far, and I hope for both
our sakes that I always shall. I cling to my love even more than to your
esteem, for the latter is a poor blind thing that cannot distinguish
night from day, candle-light from sunshine, or an honest woman from a
harlot.
[Illustration: THE BRIDGE OF MARNE.
Drawing by Victor Hugo (Victor Hugo Museum).]
My love is more clear-sighted. It was attracted at once by your physical
and spiritual perfection, and has never confused you with any other of
the human species. I love you, Toto. Torment me, drive me to desperation
if you will, but you shall never succeed in diminishing my affection. My
head aches, little man, and the thoughts that fill it at this moment are
not calculated to cure its pain. I press my hand upon my brow to crush
thought, and I open my heart to all that is good and tender in my love
for you. Good-bye, Toto. I adore you. Good-bye. We were very happy this
morning; let us try to be so again very soon.
In the meantime I adore you.
JULIETTE.
_Wednesday, 8.45, November 20th, 1839._
I am in despair. I wish I were dead and everything at an end! The more
precautions I take, the more I purge my life, the less happiness I
achieve. It is as if I were accursed, and I often feel a wild desire to
behave as if I were, and crush my love underfoot. I am so unhappy that I
lose all courage and hope for the future. You were very good to me when
you were going away, but that does not prove that when you come back
presently you may not be the most offensive and unjust of men. I
sacrifice to you one by one all my actions, even the most insignificant;
I am careful inwardly and outwardly to cause you no sort of offence, and
yet I am unsuccessful! My struggles only fatigue and dishearten me. On
the eve of taking the great step which would bind us to each other even
closer than we already are, would it not be better for us to break off
our relations, and put a stop to the whole thing instead? I can
understand now the generosity of Didier, who elects to die upon the
scaffold forgiving Marion with his last breath, rather than live
persecuting and torturing her with the recollection of her past, and
with suspicions a thousand times more painful than death and oblivion.
Ah, yes, I can understand a Didier like that.... I suffer! Ah, God,
people who do not love are very fortunate! I love you, and I know that
failing some violent remedy I shall continue to suffer and care for you.
I admit that all these things I write are absurd, and that it would be
wiser to throw this letter into the fire, and keep to myself the
thousand and one follies inspired by my despair.
JULIETTE.
_Monday, 5.30 p.m., December 16th, 1839._
You did well, my adored one, to come back after the painful incident we
had just gone through. If you had not, I should have been wretched all
the evening. Thank you, my beloved Toto, thank you, my love. You looked
very preoccupied, my treasure, when you came up the first time. I
gathered that Guirault's letter had something to do with this, and that
you were meditating your answer. Beyond that, I did not take much
notice, for I was too furious with you to be able to think of anything.
If you knew how much I love you, and how faithful I am to you, my adored
one, you would be less suspicious. Suspicion is an insult that makes me
frantic, because, it proves to me that you do not believe in either my
honesty or my love. Jealousy is another thing: one can be jealous of a
face or of a person, because however sure one may be of one's own
superiority, one may still fear that some beast or monster may be
preferred to oneself; but jealousy, I repeat, is different from
everlasting suspicion of one's actions and even of one's negative
conduct and inaction. Finally, I differentiate between jealousy and
suspicion; I feel there is a great gulf between my jealousy and yours,
and yet I love you more than you love me--you cannot gainsay that--if
you admit it, I will pardon all your misdeeds and adore you and kiss
your dear little feet. _Hurrah! I am to have my wardrobe! Hurrah!_
You will not be an Academician, but you will always be my dear little
lover.
JULIETTE.
_Thursday, 5 p.m., January 16th, 1840._
I love you, my Toto, and am sad at seeing you so seldom. But I know how
much you have to do, my little man, so am not angry with you--still that
does not prevent me from being horribly sad.
Money melts in my pocket. I was reading yesterday a description of
Monsieur de Sévigné, the son, which applies wonderfully to me. "He had
no hobbies, did not entertain, gave no presents, wore plain attire,
gambled not at all, had only one servant and not a single horse on which
to ride out with the King or the Dauphin; yet his hand was like a
crucible wherein gold is melted." I am rather like that. I do not give
many presents, I wear the same dress for a year at a time, I only do
expensive cooking when you are coming to dine with me, I have only one
servant, and yet money disappears in my establishment like snow under
the rays of the sun. With me, it is not my hand that is the crucible,
but my past life, which is like an abyss that all the money in the world
would find it difficult to fill. That is why I am sad. Love me, my Toto,
and above all do not kill yourself with working for everybody as you do
without respite. I can sell something I do not want, whereas your health
and repose are indispensable to my welfare and tranquillity. Remember
that, my dear one, and do not be over scrupulous at the expense of the
real consideration which makes my happiness. When shall I see you again,
treasure?
JULIETTE.
_Sunday, 1.15 p.m., March 22nd, 1840._
Good-morning, my beloved Toto. I read the manuscript of "Didine" over
again last night, and I shed all the tears I had restrained in your
presence. I am more convinced than ever that you committed an act of
unfaithfulness against our love when you composed those lines. I do not
see how you can hope to persuade me to the contrary, or wonder that I am
wounded to the quick by such a mental and spiritual lapse. Jealousy is
not excited only by infidelities of the senses, but primarily by such an
infidelity as that which you have committed in writing these verses and
concentrating your gaze and your thoughts upon that young girl, while my
whole heart and soul were raised in prayer for you in that church at
Strasbourg. I will never go back there, either to the church or to the
town. There is an end of that. Would to God we had never gone there at
all! I should have preserved one illusion more, and suffered one sorrow
less. Well, well, it is not your fault. You wished to carry away the
memory of that woman, as you could not possess her person, and you have
written some very beautiful lines which prove, in the same degree as my
pain, what a profound and striking impression she produced upon you. I
hope you may never experience a jealousy so well-justified as mine about
any woman you may love in the future; for myself I desire a speedy
recovery from the most miserable infatuation in all this world.
JULIETTE.
_Monday, 6.45 p.m., June 1st, 1840._
I am writing to you in the company of Résilieux, my love, but that does
not restore to me the gaiety I have lost since this morning. That woman
and her persistence annoy me more than I can say. When I think of the
close confinement in which I live and realise the depth and devotion of
the love I bear you, I am indignant to the bottom of my heart that a
wretched woman of the street should dare to cast the eye of envy upon a
passion which constitutes the religion and adoration of my whole life.
If I listened to my own inclination, I should make a terrible example of
the hussy and her low caprice, and no other would venture an attempt to
capture your affections for many a long day. I am wretched since this
morning. I think myself plain, old, stupid, badly dressed--and all
because I tremble for the safety of my love, because I am afraid for my
poor little slice of happiness. Alas! alas! my Toto, I care too much
for you; it is crazy of me. I did so hope that when your family was
settled in the country, you would sometimes come and take me out with
you--but, on the contrary, in a whole month I have only been out once
with you; for I do not count those two evenings at the theatre, when I
drove there and back in a carriage. It would be a cruel jest if you
considered those as going out with you. I am not well. I have rushes of
blood to the head and heart, but you do not care. I shall not do my
monthly accounts to-night; my head aches too badly. Perhaps I may try
to-morrow. The laundress has been here and I have paid her; I shall
probably get the grocer's bill to-morrow, but I shall certainly not pay
it unless you have plundered some passer-by to-night. Meanwhile, I love
you, my Toto. Dinner has just been announced; I shall not be as happy as
yesterday, for you are not dining with me; but perhaps as I am alone I
shall be able to ruminate over my good fortune, for I was hardly able to
realise it at all yesterday with all those females about.
JULIETTE.
_January 7th, 9.30 a.m., 1841._
Good-morning, my darling Toto, to whom I dare not yet give his
prospective title, for I am very doubtful of the integrity of old
Dupaty. I hope you will not keep me waiting too long for the result of
the rabid voting of the opposing parties.[81] The contest becomes more
and more curious and interesting. I wish it were already four o'clock.
The weather is not very propitious for that moribund scoundrel. It would
be difficult to let him down through the window, and still more so to
transport him to the place where we do not wish him to be. If the
computation is correct, the mortal illness of the old wretch should give
you the place by a majority of one vote at the first scrutiny; but what
about a black-ball? Perhaps this time it will come from the ignoble
creature who walks under the filthy, greasy, hideous hat of that beast
Dupaty. I wish we were already at this afternoon, that I might know what
the foul old man has dared to do. Until then I shall look at my clock
many and many a time. Try, my love, to come at once and tell me the
result whatever it may be. I shall at least have the pleasure of seeing
you, which will add to the joy of your nomination or console you for
your defeat.
By the way, you were so shabby last night that one might suppose you
were preparing to contest the palm of bad dressing with that old
pickpocket Dupaty. I shall forgive you your untidiness if you are
successful. I love you.
JULIETTE.
_Thursday, 6 p.m., January 7th, 1841._
I am enchanted for everybody's sake, my dear Academician, that at last
you are elected. There you are at last, thanks to the seventeen votes of
your friends, and in spite of your fifteen adversaries. You are an
Academician. Hurrah!
I wish I could have witnessed with my own eyes the grimaces of all
those contemptible old things, and heard the profession of faith of that
horrible Dupaty; you ought to indemnify me by showing me your own
beautiful countenance for a little more than a paltry five minutes as
you did just now. I love you, Toto, as much as the first day and more
than ever. But, alas, I dare not believe the same of you, for I do not
see much proof of it, as my maid would say. The fact is that whether as
an Academician, or a candidate, or nothing at all, I hardly see you more
than an hour a day. This is neither novel nor consoling; it becomes more
and more sad and painful. Think of that, my love, and come very soon
after you have read my letter.
I love you.
JULIETTE.
_Sunday, 10.45 a.m., April 11th, 1841._
Good morning, my beloved Toto, my adored little man. How are you, my
darling? I am afraid you may have tired yourself last night reading your
splendid speech to me. Poor beloved, it would be a calamity that my
pleasure should cost you so dear; it would be unjust and cruel. I hope
it is not so, my adored one, and that you have not been punished for
your kindness.
What a magnificent address! and how stupid it is of me only to
appreciate it inwardly, and to be incapable of expressing my feelings
better than by inarticulate grunts. It is not my fault, yet since I have
learned to love you I have not been able to resign myself to my
limitations. Every time the opportunity presents itself to admire you I
am furious with myself and should like to slap and kick myself--though
my poor body would have no time to recover between the assaults, for
every single thing you say and do is as admirable and striking as your
written works. So I should be kept busy. Fortunately you do not object
to my want of intellect; you realise the quality and proportions of my
love. All my intelligence and being have turned to spirit, to idolise
you. I may be only a goose outwardly, but inwardly I am sublime with
devotion. Which is best? I cannot tell, it is for you to decide.
Meanwhile I am the most fortunate of women to have heard the beginning
of your beautiful speech, and I love you with all my strength.
JULIETTE.
_Thursday, 4.30 a.m., June 3rd, 1841._
Good morning, my adored little man, my beloved _Monsieur l'Académicien_!
How are you, my Toto? I am very much afraid you will be horribly tired
before this afternoon, poor treasure![82] I think you should have had
the speech printed a day earlier, and have kept this night free for
resting.
I really do not know how you will manage to deliver your address after
these several days of grinding fatigue, and a night spent in correcting
the proofs at the printing-works. Nobody but you can accomplish these
feats of endurance. Still, my beloved, it is time you changed a mode of
living which must kill you in the long run. I hope you are going to
spend the remaining few hours in your bed.
I already feel as agitated as if I were going to make the speech myself.
I shall be in a desperate state of mind until you have finished and
Salvandy begins to speak. I shall have this fearful lump on my chest
until then.
Whatever happens I adore you.
JULIETTE.
_June 3rd, 5.30 p.m., 1841._
Where shall I begin, my love? At your divine feet or your celestial
brow? What shall I express first? My admiration? Or the adoration that
overflows my heart like your sublime genius surpasses the mediocre
creatures who listened to you without understanding, and gazed at you
without falling upon their knees! Ah, let me mingle those two sentiments
that dazzle my brain and burn up my heart. I love you! I admire you! I
adore you! You are truly splendid, noble, and sublime, my poet, my
beloved, light of my eyes, flame of my heart, life of my life! Poor
adored beloved; when I saw you enter, so pale and shaken, I felt myself
swooning, and but for the support of Madame Démousseaux and Madame
Pierceau, I should have fallen to the floor. Happily nobody noticed my
emotion, and when I came to myself and saw your sweet smile answering
mine and encouraging me, I felt as if I were awaking from a long,
painful dream, though only a second of time had elapsed.
Thank you, my adored one, for sparing a thought to the poor woman who
loves you, at that solemn moment--I should have said, that supreme
moment, if the assemblage had not consisted for the greater part of
tiresome blockheads and vile scoundrels.
Thank you, my good angel, my sublime Victor, my illustrious _child_. I
saw all your dear little family;[83] lovely Didine, charming Charlot,
and dear little Toto who looked pale and delicate. I kissed them all in
spirit as I did their divine father.
I love you.
JULIETTE.
_Thursday, 2.30 p.m., July 8th, 1841._
While you are lording it at the Académie[84] I am weeping and suffering
at home. You might have spared me this pain by inviting me to attend the
sitting, or else staying away yourself. I must warn you, my Toto, that
this sort of sacrifice and torment is unendurable, and if it happens
again I do not know what I may do rather than resign myself to it.
We are not living in the East, and you have not _bought_ me, thank
Heaven! I am free to cast off the yoke of proceedings which are neither
just, nor kind, nor affectionate. I swear by all I hold most sacred in
this world, namely my love, that I will not submit a third time to be
thus flouted. If you knew how furious and miserable I am feeling at this
moment of writing, you would not venture to inflict a third trial of the
kind upon me. In any case pray keep my letter as a _definite
announcement_ of what I am capable of doing if you are so cruel as to
persist in your present line of conduct. Meanwhile I am doing my best to
avoid taking any definitely fatal step, but I warn you that I cannot
much longer remain mistress of myself.
JULIETTE.
_1 a.m._
Hell in my heart at noon, Paradise at midnight, my Toto. I love you and
have full confidence in you.
_Friday, 7.45 p.m., November 19th, 1841._
I HAVE IT! HURRAH!! Fancy, it has been here all the morning, yet nothing
warned me! My heart did not beat faster than usual, the earth did not
tremble, the skies did not fall, in fact everything remained in its
humdrum, normal condition, as if nothing unusual had happened--and it
was here all the time! I possessed it in my room, under my eyes! Verily
it can hardly be credited, and if anybody but myself said so I should
not believe it. But what you must believe, my love, for indeed it is
true, is that I love you and that you are the kindest, most charming,
best, handsomest, most generous, most noble, and most adored of men.
That is what you have got to believe, because it is God's own truth. The
cabinet is fascinating, but what is still nicer is the way you gave it
to me. "The manner of the gift is better than the gift itself," was once
said by some one whose name I have forgotten. When you are the donor,
the proverb is still more applicable. If you had all the treasures of
the universe to bestow, you would do it with a grace that would enhance
the value of the gift a thousandfold. As for me I am mad with delight,
for I believe you love me. I may tell you now that last night I cried
helplessly at the thought of how much younger and handsomer you are than
I. I anticipated the moment when you will no longer be able to love me,
and my heart contracted so that I should have suffocated without the
relief of tears. I feel I shall certainly die the day you cease to care
for me, and I know that no other woman can ever worship you as I do. But
I trust that day will never dawn, will it, my angel? There are no
wrinkles in the heart, and you will see my face only in the reflection
of your attachment, eh, Victor, my beloved? The while I wept and
mourned, you were thinking of me, my poor sweet, and bringing me the
cabinet. We were both performing an act of love, mine gloomy, yours,
charming and considerate like everything you do. I hope your present
will bring us both happiness, and that you will adore me as long as I
shall admire my dear little cabinet--that is, for ever.
I HAVE IT! WHAT HAPPINESS! I should like to put it in the middle of the
room on a golden table, or in my bed, or carry it in my arms, on my
heart, anywhere in fact where it could be seen and touched. Meanwhile I
will give it a good cleaning to-morrow. It is rather too late to-night.
I must do some copying, and dine, and send you back the scribble you
entrusted to me yesterday, so I will put off till to-morrow--principally
because I shall have a better light then. I will clean it in bed, drawer
by drawer. It will be a delightful occupation.
I love you, I love you, Toto, I kiss you and adore you, Toto.
JULIETTE.
_Wednesday evening, 6.30, February 9th, 1842._
Do you really want me to write Toto, even when my heart is breaking, and
my soul brimful of discouragement? I obey, but if you would only listen
to me, you would allow me to discontinue these daily scrawls, which have
never served any purpose but that of betraying the measure of my
stupidity and making you tire of a love become absurd by dint of
reiteration. I feel you only insist out of kindness, but it seems futile
to continue this childish babble, which deceives neither you nor me, and
gives me no indication of what is passing in your mind. It would be
better, my beloved, to inure me gradually to a catastrophe which may be
nearer than I guess, than to make efforts to leave me an illusion which
neither of us really shares nowadays. A sad ending to all our past
happiness! God grant it may not be altogether buried. This does not
prevent me from doing you full justice, my friend. You are kind with a
kindness full of pity and divine indulgence, but you no longer cherish
for me the love of a man for a woman. Do not pretend otherwise, for you
cannot delude me. I bear you no grudge my Victor, neither should you
bear me any, for it is no more your fault than mine, that you do not
love me while I still love you--not our fault, but God's, Who
distributes unequally the amount of love we may each expend during our
lives. Happy he or she to whom the smaller sum is apportioned--so much
the worse for him or her whose heart is inexhaustible. Now, my beloved
Toto, I will torment you no longer. I will even try to make myself
agreeable, though, alas, what woman can be agreeable when she is no
longer loved! But I shall do my best, and that, coupled with your
natural generosity, may still retard for a few days the greatest
misfortune of my life. Fear nothing from me, my Victor. You have to-day
received the last expression of my choler. One may strike, and even
kill, while one feels oneself beloved, but one must spare the man who no
longer cherishes one.
You see, my Victor, that you have nothing to be afraid of, but I beseech
you to let me off these daily scribbles about things that have neither
point nor reason.
I demand this of your goodness.
JULIETTE.
_Thursday, 2.30 p.m., February 10th, 1842._
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.
[Illustration: A DEDICATION BY VICTOR HUGO TO JULIETTE DROUET.
The original belongs to M. Louis Barthou.]
_Saturday, 6.30 p.m., August 20th, 1842._
I am a strange creature--at least you think so, do you not, beloved? But
what you take for eccentricity, caprice, bad-temper, is really love, but
an unhappy love, mistrustful and anxious. Everything is to me a subject
of dread almost amounting to despair. Thus this visit to the Duchesse
d'Orléans, whither I quite admit you were kind enough to take me, was
simply a torment on account of the hour and the circumstances: I, badly
dressed, barely clean, and that woman under the prestige of a great
sorrow[86] which, next to physical beauty, is the surest way to your
heart. I frankly confess that however gallant my love may be, and
whatever reliance I may place upon your loyalty, I am not easy when I
have to fight and struggle without weapons. This result of a _surprise_
and a hurried rush through Paris in a cab may seem excessive to you, and
verging on hysteria; but the fact is, my adored one, that my love, so
long repressed, is verily degenerating into a disease, almost into
frenzy. Everything hurts me. I am afraid of everything. I am a poor
thing needing much compassion for loving you so. If these incoherent
expressions do not force upon you the realisation of the depth of my
devotion, it must be that you no longer care for me, or indeed have
never done so; but if on the contrary you do understand, you will pity
and pardon me, and love me all the better, and I am the happiest of
women.
JULIETTE.
_February 14th, 11.15 a.m., 1843._
Good morning beloved Toto, good morning adored one. I love you. When I
heard you describing last night the impression produced upon you by the
rehearsal of _Lucrèce_ and more especially by the singing of the guests,
I seemed to feel it all myself. The fact that my love has not grown a
day older, that my admiration is still on the increase, that I think you
as handsome and as young as ever, makes it easier for me to go back to
the feelings of those days. Looking into my heart, I seem to feel that
all this adulation and joy and feast of glory and love began yesterday.
Alas, those ten years have left traces only upon my poor countenance,
and have been as harsh to it as they have been indulgent to your
charming features.
I express this somewhat crudely, as I always manage to do, but it is not
my fault, my love, nor any one else's. I love you. Therein consist my
intelligence, my wit, my superiority; beyond that I am as stupid as any
other animal.
You must be very busy to-day with the two rehearsals,[87] and the
Maxime[88] worry which falls upon your devoted head, not to speak of the
_great business_! I dare not expect you to-night till very late. Well,
my dearly beloved, I know you do not belong to me, so I will resign
myself as cheerfully as may be, and put a good face upon your absence.
Try to think of me, my dear little man; that is all I venture to ask at
this moment. As for me, there is no more merit in thinking of you and
loving you than in breathing.
I love you, Toto, as much as life.
JULIETTE.
_Wednesday, 4.30 p.m., September 13th, 1843._
Where are you? What are you about, my adored one?[89] In what condition
is your family? What state are you in yourself? what will happen to us
all in our despair, if God be not merciful to us! Since you left me I
can think only of your arrival at home. I imagine the scene: the
despairing sobs of your children, the expression of your own frightful
grief, so long and sternly repressed. All those tears and sufferings
fall back upon my heart and rend it. I cannot bear more. My poor head is
on fire and my hands burn like live coals. I want to pray and cannot;
all my faculties, all my being, turn to you. I would give my life to
spare you a single pang. I would have sacrificed myself in this world,
and the next to save your adored child. My God, what will become of me
if you stay away much longer, when I have refrained with such difficulty
from sending to get news of you? I have begged Madame Lanvin to come to
me this afternoon and bring her husband, so that if, as I fear, I have
not seen you before then, he can go and ask for news of you under the
name of Monsieur St. Hilaire. My heart aches, my poor treasure, when I
think of all you are enduring. I feel I cannot much longer bear not
seeing you. I shall commit some act of folly if you do not come to my
assistance. I exhausted my strength and courage on that awful journey,
and during last night and to-day. I have none left now to endure your
absence. I picture to myself your wife ill, and you also; in fact, I am
like a mad thing in the extremity of my anxiety and grief. I am trying
to occupy myself mechanically, in order to bring nearer the moment when
I shall see you, but my efforts only make every minute of waiting seem
like a century, and all the fears my heart anticipates, become frightful
realities against which I cannot struggle. My adored Victor, whatever be
your despair, mine is greater still; for I feel it through my love,
which makes it a hundred times worse and multiplies it beyond all human
calculation. Never has man been so idolised by woman as you are by me,
and the poor angel we mourn knows it and sees it now, as God knows and
sees it, and she will forgive, as He does, I am certain. I think of her,
poor beloved, as an angel of heaven. To her I shall direct my prayers,
that she may give you the strength and courage you need. To her also I
shall address myself in the hour of death, that the good God may take me
with all of you into His Paradise.
My adored Victor, it is more than five o'clock, and you have not yet
come. What shall I do! What can I think, or rather what am I to fear? We
are in a terrible cycle of misfortune, and God only knows when it will
end. My Victor, before giving way to despair, think of mine, remember
that I love you more than life.
JULIETTE.
_Sunday, 5.45 p.m., October 8th, 1843._
I have been working all the morning my beloved, or rather scribbling on
paper--only to please you, for I doubt whether my labour will be of any
use to you; still, I am trying hard, and if I cannot do _better_, I am
doing _my_ best. I cannot do more. I am trying more especially to forget
no detail, which makes me occasionally note down trivialities, little
futile, insignificant things. My search among our memories is like the
botanising of a child who is as apt to collect couch grass as the more
useful and rarer plants. However, I am doing my best, and better still,
I am obeying you. Would you believe that, although I have been writing
the whole day, I have not yet reached _Auch_.[90] My mind and pen rather
resemble the fantastic equipage we drove thither, but there is less risk
in the present venture. The worst that can happen is that we should
tumble promiscuously into a muck heap of absurdities and nonsense which
leave no bruises, whereas we risked our necks several times in the
course of the thirty-three miles between Tarbes and Auch.
I should love to see you, my Toto. The day, though filled with joyous
recollections of our journey, has seemed long and sad to me. Nothing can
take the place of one of your embraces. The remembrance of the greatest
happiness cannot weigh against one glance from you. I realise it more
to-day than ever before; therefore, do try and come, my beloved Toto. It
will give me courage and patience to get through the evening. I love you
too much, you see, but I cannot help it; it is no fault of mine.
JULIETTE.
_Sunday, 7.15 p.m., November, 1843._
I think of you my beloved, I desire you, I love you. Ah yes, I love you
my adored Toto, you may be sure of it, for it is God's truth. My little
Claire and I talk of you and nothing but you. We love you and bless you.
The poor little child will not be with me much longer, and I can already
see her poor little face wrinkling up with sorrow; but I try to be
cheerful and to remind her of the fortnight's holiday which will soon
come. We love the pictures of your dear little Toto, and his pretty
home. We gaze at them with eagerness and affection, we are all eyes and
heart. At this moment Claire is reading Ulric's poems,[91] while I am
writing to my beloved Toto with a heart full of gratitude and devotion.
May the happiness you bestow upon me, be yours also, my love! May a just
pride sustain you, for you have saved two souls, the mother's and the
daughter's! I feel ineffable things I dare not express, for fear of
vulgarising them by the mere fact of putting them into words. Do not
delay long ere you come, my darling Toto. If you knew the joy and
radiance you diffuse in this house, you would indeed hasten your steps.
Alas, I am foolish, for have you not children of your own whom you must
also make glad! I am envious of them, but not cruel enough to deprive
them of their bliss--only I beg of them to hurry with their enjoyment,
so that my turn may come.
Did you give Dédé the sachet? Did Toto take back his quince jelly?
Meanwhile, I am giving Suzanne a whole evening to herself, and making my
little rogue read _Le Musée des Familles_. I should love to give you a
good kiss, but I know you will not come for it. You have not the sense
to do so.
JULIETTE.
_Monday, 11.15 a.m., July 22nd, 1844._
Good morning my beloved, my sweet, my darling little Toto. How are you?
Are you less sad and painfully pre-occupied than yesterday, my adored
one? Alas, it is unlikely ... your grief and sorrow are not of those
that time can soften. You have the painful faculty of feeling things far
more acutely than do other men. Genius does not only pertain to the
brain, it belongs above all to the heart. My poor dear one, I love you;
I suffer when you suffer; be merciful to us both, I implore you.
My little Claire went away this morning. She was more resigned than
usual, for she has a holiday of three days in prospect, beginning next
Saturday. The poor little thing is very devoted to us; her sole
happiness is to be with us. She complains of not seeing you often
enough, and I back her up in that. You must try to give us at least one
evening out of the three she will spend at home. Verily I am not very
cheerful company for the poor child when I am alone with her. I am so
absorbed in my love that sometimes I do not speak to her twice in the
day, however much I try to bring myself to do so.
I have copied Méry's verses, because I do not wish to deprive
Mademoiselle Dédé of his autograph. I can understand her setting store
by it, poor darling, so I shall make a point of returning it to her.
Only (and it is you I am addressing now) you must give me just as many
as you give her. You must not lose your good habits, my darling, for I
am sure it would bring us bad luck. Therefore you must bring me all your
letters as you used to do. I promise to divide them conscientiously with
dear little Dédé, and you know quite well that I am a woman of my word.
I adore you.
JULIETTE.
_Thursday, 4.45 p.m., October 20th, 1844._
I have sent to Barbedienne, my adored one, but Suzanne has not yet
returned. I am writing to you meanwhile to make the time hang less
heavy. I hope to goodness I may be able to procure that lovely
medal![92] Since I have glimpsed the chance of possessing it, I feel my
disappointment would be greater than I could bear, if I failed to get
it. Good God, how slowly that girl walks! Fancy having to trust to legs
like those on such an occasion! I could have gone there and back ten
times, since she went. May the devil fly away with her, or rather,
precipitate her right into the middle of my room with his cloven foot,
providing only that she brings the longed-for medal!
[Illustration: JULIETTE DROUET IN 1846.
Bust by Victor Vilain (Victor Hugo Museum).]
Here she is! Ah! Victor, do not be angry! Victor, I am at your
feet--Victor, I will be reasonable for the whole of the rest of my life
if only you will let me add 15 fr. to the sum you promised me. Oh,
Victor, I have not time to wait for your answer and yet I fear to annoy
you. Ah, no, you are too kind to be angry with your poor Juju who loves
you with such absolute admiring, devoted love! You will look at her with
your gentle, ineffable smile, and say I was right--surely, yes, you
will. Three cheers for Toto! Juju is a clever woman ... at heart. Yes,
it is quite true and I am the happiest of women.
JULIETTE.
_Tuesday, 9.30 a.m., September, 1845._
I have just been gardening, beloved. I am soaked with dew and all muddy,
but I have spent three hours thinking of you without any bitterness. My
eyes were as moist as my flowers, but I was not weeping. While I busied
myself with the garden, I reviewed in thought the lovely flowers of my
past happiness. I saw them again fresh and blooming as the first day,
and I felt close to you, separated only by a breath. As long as the
illusion lasted I was almost happy. I should have liked to pluck my soul
and send it to you as a nosegay. Perhaps what I am saying is silly, yet
it is the sort of nonsense that can only issue direct from the
tenderest, most passionate heart that ever lived. For nearly thirteen
years past, I have never once written to you without feeling my hand
tremble and my eyes fill. When I speak of you, no matter to whom, my
heart swells as if it would burst through my lips. When I am dead, I am
certain that the imprint of my love will be found on my heart. It is
impossible to worship as I do without leaving some visible trace behind
when life is over.
My beloved Victor, let your thoughts dwell with me, so that my days may
seem shorter and less dreary; and do try to surprise me by coming
to-night. Oh, how happy I shall be if you do that!
Meanwhile, I love you more than I can say.
JULIETTE.
_Saturday, 8 a.m., September 27th, 1845._
Good morning my beloved, my soul, my life, my adored Victor. How are
you? I hope yesterday did not tire you too much. I forgot until you
reminded me that you have been forbidden to walk much, but I do trust it
did you no harm; did it, Victor darling? As for me I felt no fatigue, I
seemed to have wings. I should have liked to place my feet on all the
paths we traversed together eleven years ago, to kiss the very stones of
the roads and the leaves on the trees, and to pick all the flowers in
the woods, so keenly did I fancy they were the very same that watched us
pass together all those years ago. I gazed at you my adored Victor, and
in my eyes you were as young and handsome, nay handsomer even, than
eleven years ago. I looked into my heart and found it full of the same
ecstasy and adoration that animated it the first day I loved you.
Nothing was changed in us or about us. The same ardent, devoted, sad and
sweet affection in our hearts, the same autumn sun and sky above our
heads, the same picture in the same frame; nothing had changed in eleven
years. I would have given a decade of my life to stand alone for ten
minutes in that house that has sheltered our memories for so long. I
should like to have carried away ashes from the fireplace, dust from
the floors. I should have liked to pray and weep, where once I prayed
and wept, to have died of love on the spot where once I accepted your
soul in a kiss. I had to exercise superhuman self-control not to
perpetrate some act of folly in the presence of that girl who showed us
so indifferently over a house I could have purchased at the price of
half the rest of my life. Fortunately, thanks to her profound ignorance
of our identity, she noticed nothing, and we were each able to bring
away a tiny relic of our former happiness. Mine must be buried with me
when I die.
Beloved, did you work late last night? It was very imprudent of you if
you did, after the fatigue you underwent during the day. To-day, you
must be very careful and not walk much. I shall be extremely stern with
you. My antiquarian propensities shall not make me forget, like
yesterday, that you are still convalescent and must hardly walk at all.
And you will obey me, because little Totos must always obey little
Jujus, as you know.
Kiss me, my adored Victor, and may God bless you for all the happiness
you give me.
JULIETTE.
_Saturday, 9 p.m., May 2nd, 1846._
I cannot nerve myself to the realisation that I shall not see you this
evening my sweet adored beloved; yet it is all too true. This is the
first time in fourteen years that I have not slept in a room belonging
to you.[93] Consequently I am feeling quite forlorn. Everything
conspires to harrow me. Just now when I left you I longed for death, and
the tears I drove from my eyes trickled inwardly to my sad heart. If
this anxiety about my child, and the separation from you, are to last
long, I do not think I shall have strength to endure them. I am vexed
and disgusted at the tone of those about me. I am ashamed and indignant
at my inability to remove myself from it, however I may try; then when I
remember you, so generous, so loyal, so noble, so kind and indulgent, my
bitterness evaporates and nothing remains in my heart but admiration,
gratitude, and love for your divine and fascinating self.
* * * * *
When I got back, I found my child in a raging fever. I gave her fresh
compresses, and now she is sleeping. God grant she may do so all night,
and that the change of ideas and surroundings and air may have a good
effect upon her health. I shall in that case have less cause to grudge
the sacrifices I am voluntarily making to that end. Meanwhile, I am a
prey to fearful anxiety, and am suffering the uttermost from the absence
of what I love best in this world, above life, above duty, above
everything. Good-night, beloved. Think of me. Sleep well, and love me.
JULIETTE.
_Tuesday, 3.45 p.m., 1846._
I love you, my Victor. Between every letter of those five sweet words
there lurk depths of maternal anguish and sorrow. Gloomy reflections
mingle with my tenderest thoughts. My life at this moment is divided
between my poor little daughter whom I already mourn in anticipation,
(for I feel that these few days of illness are but snatched from
Eternity), and my adoration for you, from which no preoccupation, even
of the most terrible and sinister character, can long distract me. On
the contrary, my love is all the greater for the trials and sufferings
God sends me. I love you selflessly, as if I myself were already over
the border. My heart is racked, yet I adore you.
Claire's condition is the same as yesterday; only the weakness, which,
but for the doctor's plain warning I might have attributed to the heat,
has increased. The night was not very bad; the poor little thing suffers
hardly at all. She seems to have no firmer hold on life than life has
upon her. Apathy and profound indifference characterise her illness.
Only her father has the power to rouse her for the few moments he is
with her. He came this morning and happened to meet the doctor,[94] who,
it appears, is not quite so despondent as Monsieur Triger;[95] but what
does that prove?
I have not been able to get her up at all to-day. She lay in bed in a
state of profuse and constant perspiration. The various tonics she takes
fail to produce any effect whatever. The exhaustion increases hour by
hour, which means that death is coming nearer. I pray, but I obtain
neither solace nor confidence. The good God disdains my prayers and
rejects them, I know--yet I love and admire Him in His beneficent,
lofty, noble, generous and beautiful works.
I love Him as His saints and angels in Heaven love Him. What more can I
do to find favour in His eyes? He deprived me of my mother at my birth;
now He is about to snatch my child from me. Is that His justice? I do
not want to blaspheme, but I am very miserable, and if I do not see you,
if you cannot come to-day, I do not know what will become of me. Despair
fills my soul, but I love you. God may crush my heart if He so wills,
but the last breath from it shall be a cry of love for you, my sublime
beloved.
JULIETTE.
_April 29th, 9 a.m., 1847._
Good morning, my adored Victor. My thoughts and soul and heart go out to
you in this greeting. I hope I shall see you before you go to the
rehearsal, for if I do not, I shall have to wait till this evening,
which would increase my depression. From now until the anniversary of
the terrible day on which I lost my poor child, every hour and minute is
punctuated by the recollection of the sufferings of that poor little
thing, and of the anguish I went through. They are painful memories,
impossible to exclude from my thoughts. Last night while I lay sleepless
I seemed to hear her, and in my dreams I saw her again as she looked at
the close of her illness. I am worn out this morning. All the pangs and
fatigues of the last moments of her life weigh down my heart and limbs.
It may be that I shall find comfort in prayer, and I shall pray better
by her side, buoyed up by the hope that she will hear me and obtain for
me resignation enough to bear her absence without murmur or bitterness.
It was you who gave me the courage to live. All that a heart can gain
from consolation, I found in your love; but there is a grief surpassing
all others and beyond human aid, for which only God can provide, and to
Him I must address myself to-day.
JULIETTE.
_Thursday, 8 a.m., May 6th, 1847._
Good morning, my all, my greatly loved Toto. How are you this morning?
Did you gather in a good harvest of glances, smiles and flattery
yesterday from the women you met? Were you the cause of many incipient
passions, or were you yourself ensnared by those females, like any
beardless student or bald-headed peer of the realm? Tell me, how are you
after your evening at Court? For my part, I have a very sore throat and
am feeling fearfully cross. I have a longing to scratch which I should
love to vent upon the face of some woman or even upon yours--or better
still, upon both. I am sick of playing the gentle, sheep-like woman. I
intend to become as fierce as a hyena, and to make your life and
everything depending upon it a burthen to you. I mean to make a terrible
example of you, so that people shall say as you pass by, that it is a
woman who has been outraged, but a Juju who has avenged herself!
Meanwhile, to begin with, I am going to wrest from you somehow, two silk
dresses, a lovely hat, two pairs of smart shoes; and if you do not
confess your crime, I will punish you to the tune of torrents of
tea-gowns, pocket-handkerchiefs, and silk stockings. I am capable of
anything if you drive me too far.
JULIETTE.
_Tuesday, 12.45 p.m., June 6th, 1848._
The more I think of all that is going on in Paris at this moment, my
beloved, the less do I desire the success of your election.[96] We must
let this frenzy of the populace which knows not what it wants and is in
no condition to distinguish the true from the false, or evil from good,
exhaust itself first. When it is worn out with turning in its own
vicious circle of disorder, violence, and misery, it will come to heel
and humbly crave the assistance of incorruptible, strong, sane
politicians, among whom you are the most incorruptible, the strongest,
and the sanest. I say this in the simplicity of my heart, without any
pretension to be other than a mere woman who loves you above all things,
and trembles lest you should enter upon some undertaking that might
jeopardise your life without saving your country. Therefore I pray that
this candidature, to which you have been driven in self-sacrifice and
generosity, may not succeed. If I am unpatriotic, I accept the blame,
but I do think that in this instance my feeling is in accord with the
best interests of France. It would not be the first time that the heart
has proved cleverer than the brain. It has happened too often in my case
for me to marvel. Pending our next meeting, I kiss you from my soul, I
adore you with all my strength.
JULIETTE.
[Illustration: VICTOR HUGO, RÉPUBLICAIN.
Political caricature, 1848.]
_Monday, 9 a.m., July 9th, 1849._
I am hurrying, my love, for I wish to be at the door of the Assemblée at
noon precisely, in order to secure a good place.[97] I wish the great
moment had arrived, for I am already feeling stage-fright, and it will
go on increasing until I see you descend from the tribune. I thought
this morning that I could not experience any other sensation than
happiness at seeing you, but now I begin to understand what fear is. Yet
when I say fear, I am hardly correct; for I mean something more
indefinite, which is rather the suspense before a great joy, than the
stupid emotion of cowardice or funk. In any case, I am very agitated; I
wander aimlessly about the house, and feel as if the longed-for moment
would never arrive. My blessed love, my great Victor, my sublime
beloved, I kiss in spirit your noble forehead with its generous
thoughts, your beautiful eyes so gentle and powerful, your fascinating
mouth, which has the happiness of speaking all your divine thoughts. I
prostrate myself before the most beautiful and most sublime thing in the
whole world, namely, your dear little person and your profound genius.
I do not ask you to think of me before your speech, adored one, but
afterwards I entreat you to spare me one glance to complete my
happiness.
JULIETTE.
_Wednesday, 12.30, February 6th, 1850._
Think of me, my adored one, and do not permit yourself to be ensnared by
the mercenary blandishments of that woman.[98] I am in the throes of a
jealousy so terrible, that the hardest heart would be moved to pity,
and the most intrepid would fear me; for I am suffering, and I am
capable of anything to avenge a despicable treachery. Alas, my poor
adored one, this is not what I should like to say, or what I ought to
say. I realise that threats are powerless to hold you. I believe if the
statistics of infidelity could be drawn up like those of crime, it would
be shown that the severe penalties of the code of love are more apt to
drive lovers into breaches of its laws than to bind them together. I am
sure of it, and I wish I could convert my natural ferocity into bland
indifference, in order to remove from you the stimulant of a forbidden
Rachel; but it is no good--I shall never manage it. Therefore, I implore
you for the sake of your personal safety and mine, to be honourable and
prudent in your dramatic relations with that dangerous and perfidious
Jewess. Try not to prolong your literary and theatrical consultation
beyond the strictly necessary limits, and to come and fetch me before
three o'clock.
I should be so grateful to you, my adored little man, for you would thus
abridge the moments of my torment. Meanwhile I am very unhappy and
anxious and worried. I try to hearten myself up by remembering the last
promises you made me. When do you intend to keep them, I wonder? God
knows!
JULIETTE.
_Saturday, 8 a.m., April 6th, 1850._
Good morning, my adored one, my sublime beloved. How are you? Did you
have a better night, or did fatigue and excitement prevent you from
sleeping? When I think of the admirable speech, so religious in
character, so noble, self-abnegating, and conciliating, that you
delivered yesterday[99] at the risk of your health, and then reflect
upon the senseless uproar, and idiotic and violent interruptions it
provoked, I feel only hatred, contempt, and disgust, for political life.
It is revolting that a man like you should be the butt of the
irresponsibility of all the parties. It is hateful, abominable,
infamous, that scoundrels without talent, wit, or feeling should dare
argue with you and should be accorded an attentive hearing where you
only meet with insults. Really, my treasure, the more I see of political
life, the more I regret the time when you were simply the _poet_ Victor
Hugo, my sublime love, my radiant lover. I revere your courage and
devotion, but I am hurt in my tenderest feelings when I see you
delivered over to the beasts of an arena a thousand times less
discriminating than that of ancient Rome. Therefore, my beloved Victor,
I have conceived a loathing, not only for your antagonists, but also for
the form of government which imposes this Sisyphus life upon you. If I
had the power to change it, I can assure you I should not hesitate, even
if I had to deprive you for ever of your rights of citizenship.
Unfortunately, I can do nothing beyond cordially detesting those who
obstruct your work. I pity you, bless you, admire you, and love you with
all my soul.
JULIETTE.
_Saturday, 3 p.m., June 29th, 1850._
I have just watched you go with inexpressible sadness, my sweet and
beautiful beloved. With you have departed the sunshine, the flowers,
the pleasant thoughts, the hopes that link past happiness with future
bliss. Nought remains to me but my love, a poor hermit whose regrets
have been her sole bedfellows this long time. When you turned the corner
of the street, something luminous, soft, and sweet, seemed to die within
me. From that moment I have been as depressed and desolate as if a great
misfortune had befallen me. Alas, it is in fact the misfortune that
weighs down my whole life, namely, your absence. Since politics have
monopolised your time, happiness has eluded my grasp. Will it ever
return? I doubt it, hence my despair. I am greatly to be commiserated,
my beloved, in that I have constituted your eyes my illumination, your
smile my joy, your words my bliss, your love my life--so that when you
are away, all these are simultaneously snatched from me. I am not
certain of seeing you to-night, still less to-morrow. What is to become
of me? What am I to do with this poor body bereft of its soul when you
are not by? Tell me if you can. Explain if you dare. Meanwhile, I adore
you.
JULIETTE.
_Monday, 10 p.m., July 7th, 1851._
What I had foreseen has happened, my beloved, even sooner and more
painfully than I had feared. Does this fresh crisis foreshadow my speedy
recovery? I dare not hope it, for I feel that my disease is incurable. I
tell you so in the frankness of my despair. I neither can nor will
deceive you, beloved, and my anxiety, far from diminishing, augments
with every minute. I am suffering the torment of the most humiliating
and poignant jealousy. I know that for seven years you have _adored_ a
woman you think beautiful, witty and accomplished.[100] I know that but
for her sudden treachery,[101] she would still be your preferred
mistress. I know that you introduced her into your family-circle, that
she is of your world, that you can meet her at any moment, that you
promised her you would continue your intimacy with her, at all events
outwardly. All this I know--yet you expect me to feel my own position
secure! Surely I should need to be idiotic or insane to do that. Alas, I
happen to be instead a very clear-sighted, miserable woman.
_Midnight._
Beloved, thanks to you and thanks to your tender perseverance and
inexhaustible kindness, I am once more, and this time for ever I hope,
the sensible, sanguine, happy Juju of the good old days. But if I am to
be quite as I was then, you must suffer no longer, my little man--you
must be as strong as three Turks, and love me as much as a hundred
Swiss-guards. On those conditions I shall be happy! happy!! happy!!!,
but pending that great day, try to sleep soundly to-night, not to be
unwell to-morrow, and to forgive me for loving you too much.
JULIETTE.
_Saturday, 8 p.m., July 26th, 1851._
I trust you, my beloved, and believe everything you say. I yield my soul
to the hopes of happiness you have held out to me. My heart is full of
love and security. I love you, I am happy, I am at peace, I forget all I
have suffered. I remember only the tender, loyal, encouraging words you
uttered just now. Felicity has succeeded despair--I quit hell and enter
Paradise. I love you and you love me, nothing can be sad any more. You
will see how I shall resume my interest in life, how I shall smile, how
happy I shall be, and what confidence I shall have in you. I do not know
whether we shall be able to carry out all the adorable plans you
sketched just now, but I experienced great happiness in anticipation
while I watched you making them, and knew myself so closely associated
with them. I felt as if all my past sorrows were transfigured into
happiness to come. I listened, and my heart was filled with joy. Thank
you, my Victor, thank you, my beloved. Do not be anxious about me any
more; now that you love me I shall get well. I shall be happy again, you
will see. I am beginning already, so as to lose no time in rewarding you
for your goodness and gentleness and patience. I am awaiting you with my
sweetest smiles, my tenderest caresses.
JULIETTE.
_Monday, 12.45 p.m., July 28th, 1851._
This is the hour I begin to expect you, my Victor; each second that lags
past with the slowness of eternity crushes my hopes as quickly as I
conceive them. What is to become of me all this wretched day if I may
not see you? Oh, I thought myself stronger, braver, more resigned; but
now I see I have used up all my strength in the horrible struggle I
have been going through this last month. What will happen to me, shut up
here, all alone with that terrible anniversary, the 28th June, 1851? How
can I evade its ghastly grip, how keep myself from suicide, from the
desperate hankering after death? Oh, God, how I suffer! I implore you,
do not leave me alone here to-d....[102]
_Midnight._
This letter, which was begun in delirium and mad jealousy has ended,
thanks to you my ineffable beloved, in the happy calm of confidence and
the sacred joy of love shared. May you be blest, my Victor, as much as
you are respected, venerated, adored, and admired by me--then you will
have nothing further to desire in this world or the next.
JULIETTE.
_Saturday, 8 a.m., August 2nd, 1851._
Good morning, man that I love; good morning, with all my joy and smiles
and soul and happiness and love, if you had a good night and are well. I
felt sure your dear Charles' depression could not stand against an hour
of your gentle and persuasive philosophy. You have the marvellous art of
extracting good from evil, and consolation from despair, and there is
irresistible magic in your eyes and smile; your every word is full of
seduction. I, who only linger in this life in the hope of seeing you
every day, should know something of that. What the joys of eternity in
Paradise may be I cannot tell, but I would sacrifice them all for one
minute of your true love. My Victor, my Victor, I love you. You will see
how sensible I am going to be, and how I shall give way to all the
exigencies of your work, and the consideration required by your position
as a political personage. I am ready, my Victor; dispose of me how you
will; whether happy or unhappy, I shall bless you. I trust the bad
atmosphere you were compelled to breathe for several hours yesterday did
not injure your throat. I am eagerly awaiting this afternoon to learn
this, and to see you. Until then, I love you, I love you, I love you.
JULIETTE.
_Friday morning, September 12th, 1851._
Good morning, and forgive me my poor sweet beloved, for nothing was
further from my thoughts than to torment you as I involuntarily did
yesterday. My foolishness does not include malice, and I respect you
even in my most violent bouts of despair. Besides, you had just been
telling me something that ought to increase my clinging to life, namely,
my responsibility for your tranquillity, your fortune, your genius and
existence. Without accepting in its entirety this exaggerated view of my
own importance in the grave situation you find yourself in, my
persecuted love, I have grasped that I should be unworthy of the
position, were I to allow my troubles to weigh in the balance, against
your safety. Therefore, my Victor, you have nothing to fear from me, so
long as my poor brain retains a glimmer of reason, and my wretched heart
a scrap of confidence in your loyalty.
I spent part of the night reading over your old letters, especially
those of _May 1844_,[103] and I shed more tears over your desecrated
tenderness and sullied affection, than you can have squandered kisses
upon that woman, during the seven years of your treachery to me. If life
could escape through the eyes, my sufferings would long ere this be
terminated; but like sorrow, the soul is not so quickly exhausted,
though God only knows where it finds sustenance. As for me, my adored
one, I love you without being able either to live or to be healed. I am
ashamed of my incurability, and I gratefully compassionate the
superhuman efforts you make to restore me to courage.
JULIETTE.
_Thursday, 10.45 p.m., October 23rd, 1851._
You know my dear little man, that I need no encouragement to give way to
epistolary intemperance. When time permits, I am always ready to fling
myself unrestrainedly into a sea of lucubrations without sense or end.
But this time I have more than a mere pretext for giving rein to my
harmless mania; I have two days full of the most radiant joy and
happiness that could befall a woman who lives only by and for her love.
Whole volumes would not suffice to enumerate and describe them, and even
your sublime genius would not be too great to express the splendid
poetry of them. I felt as if a little winged soul sprang from each one
of our embraces and flew heavenward with cries of jubilation and joy.
Your love penetrated my soul and warmed it, as the rays of the sun
pierce through the fogs and melancholy of autumn, and reach the earth
to console it and lay the blessed seed of hope within her womb. I
rejoiced in the bliss, watered by tears, that precedes and follows love
and sunshine, in that season of life and nature. Though my heart is
bestrewn with the dead leaves of past illusions, I feel new sap rising
within it, which awaits only your vivifying breath to bring forth the
flowers and fruits of love.
My adored Victor, my soul overflows with the accumulated joys of those
two days of life by your side under the eye of God. I relieve myself as
best I can by pouring out the surplus of my enchantment upon this paper.
Sleep well, my adored one, I love you and bless you.
JULIETTE.
_Thursday, 8 a.m., November 6th, 1851._
Good morning, my sweetheart, my adored one. I wish my kisses had wings,
that you might find them on your pillow at your awakening. If you only
knew how much I love you, you would understand that for me there is
life, heart, and soul, only in you, by you, and for you. Yesterday when
I passed your old house in the Place Royale, all the memories of our
love and happiness awoke again within me. I stood awhile before it,
caressing its threshold with my eyes, fingering the knocker, pushing the
door ajar to peer in, as I should look at the inside of a reliquary, or
touch some sacred object. Then I went into the garden to gaze up at the
windows whence you sometimes looked down upon me. I wandered all about
the district in the same sweet, sad tremor I experience when I read over
your old love-letters. I traced our past happiness upon every stone of
the pavement, at every street-corner, on the shop-signs--everywhere I
found memories of our kisses among those surroundings where I enjoyed
happiness for so long, where you loved me and I adored you--where, eight
years ago, I would gladly have lain me down to die if God had left me
the choice.
JULIETTE.
BRUSSELS,
_Wednesday, 1 p.m., December 17th, 1851_.
Beloved one, I wish the first sheet of paper I use, the first word I
write, in this hospitable country, to be a message of love from me to
you. It is surely the least I can do, since my every thought, my life
and heart and soul, pass through you before reaching the common objects
of this world and returning to me. Is it indeed possible that you are
safe, my poor treasure, and that I have nothing further to fear for your
life or liberty? Is it true that you love me, and that you deign to rely
upon me in the difficult passages of life? Is it conceivable that I am
henceforth happy and blest among women, and that I have the right to
raise my head and bask openly in the sunlight of love and
self-sacrifice! Ah, God, I thank Thee for all the gifts and joys and
blessings Thou dost bestow upon me to-day, in the revered and adored
person of my sublime beloved! All my efforts shall be directed towards
deserving them more and more. All my gratitude is for Thee, my God!
JULIETTE.
BRUSSELS,
_Wednesday, 3.30 p.m., December 17th, 1851_.
Do not worry about me, my beloved, for I never love you better or more
tranquilly than when I know you are attending to your family duties and
busying yourself with securing the peace and comfort of your wife and
children. Pray devote yourself entirely to the service of your noble
wife for the time of her sojourn here. Do not deny her any of the little
pleasures that may divert her mind from the heavy trials she has just
undergone. Let my resignation and courage, my consideration and
devotion, help to smooth the rough places of life for her as long as she
remains with you. Give her all the consolation and joy in your power.
Lavish upon her the respect and affection she deserves, and do not fear
ever to wear out my patience and trust in you.
I see you coming my adored one. Bless you.
JULIETTE.
BRUSSELS,
_Monday, 3.30 p.m., January 19th, 1852._
I had set myself a task, beloved, before writing to you, in order to
earn that sweet reward. I have just completed it, and without further
delay I proceed with my insignificant vapourings, in the intervals of
copying two most interesting stories. I am not writing for your benefit,
but for the pleasure it gives me to babble a few tender words to you in
default of the kisses and caresses I cannot give you at this distance.
My Victor, as you do not wish me to be sad, and hate to feel that I am
unhappy, and dread the sight of my pain, you must adopt the habit of
telling me everything frankly and under all circumstances. Your
deceptions, however trivial and kindly meant, hurt me far more than the
harshest of truths (if you were capable of harshness towards any
creature). I declare this without bitterness and in the form of an
appeal, my beloved. Do not hide anything from me. Try to manage that
your answers to the admiring letters certain women address to you,
should be written at my house rather than elsewhere. Do not delay
telling me things until I have guessed them for myself, or circumstances
have betrayed them. No hints can be unimportant where jealousy is
concerned, and there is no happiness without complete confidence.
Therefore, my beloved, I implore you with all the urgency my soul is
capable of, to tell me everything--even the ownership of those _opera
glasses_, and about the _Hügelmann_ notes, of which I have several here,
forwarded from Belle-Île, and certain names and addresses; and about
those actresses you protect with so much solicitude, and the
machinations of the bluestockings who apply to you for mysterious
nocturnal interviews, under pretext of enlisting your pity or your
literary sympathy--about Mdlle. Constance, too, in spite of her
significant name and reassuring age. I want to know everything--I must
know everything, if you are really concerned for my peace of mind, and
health, and happiness. Then I shall become calm, patient, happy; my
pulse will beat evenly, I shall grow fat and smiling. Does not all that
make it worth while for you to be frank, loyal, and ever faithful
towards me?
JULIETTE.
BRUSSELS,
_Monday, 1 p.m., March 22nd, 1852_.
You may give me something to copy for you now if you like. I have nearly
finished that foolish scrawl, so if you want to utilise my time, you can
send me anything you like. I am quite at your disposal. Meanwhile, I am
mending your underlinen and my own, and watching the clouds sail above
my narrow horizon. I envy them without having the courage to follow
their example and allow myself to be driven by chance winds or caprice.
I am too lazy, bodily and mentally, to move. I recline in my chimney
corner, cosily humped up, and my soul lies torpid within me. I am not
exactly unhappy, neither am I sad in the true meaning of the word--but I
am uneasy and depressed. I feel a threatening influence in the
atmosphere about me. What it is, I cannot precisely say, but I am under
some evil thrall. I am sure there is a mystery between us that you are
trying to conceal, and that fate will force me to discover sooner or
later. Perhaps it would be safer not to try to hide things from me--it
would certainly be more loyal and generous; but as neither prayers nor
tears can induce you to give me your full confidence, I will await my
fate with resignation. After all, as long as you arrange your life to
suit your own feelings and tastes, I have no right to complain. I have
never meant to force myself upon you in any case; therefore, my Victor,
whatever happens, you may be sure I shall place no obstacle in the way
of your happiness and glory. I love you with all the pride of my
inferiority.
JULIETTE.
BRUSSELS,
_Sunday morning, July 18th, 1852_.
Good-morning, my Victor. I will do exactly as you like. So long as my
love is not called into question, what does it matter how, and when, my
body changes its _habitat_ and moves from Brussels to Jersey? Therefore,
my Victor, I make no objection to starting at the same time as you.
Between the pain of a twenty-four hours' separation, and the
mortification of travelling with you as a total stranger, my poor heart
would find it hard to choose. It is quite natural that I should
sacrifice myself to appearances, and respect the presence of your sons
by this painful incognito, but it seems cruelly unjust and ironical that
it should be required of my devotion and fidelity and love, when it was
never thought of in the case of that other woman, whose sole virtue
consisted in possessing none. For her, the family doors were always
open, the deference and courteous protection of your sons exacted; your
wife extended to her the cloak of her consideration, and accepted her as
a friend, a sister, and more. For her, indulgence, sympathy,
affection--for me, the rigorous application of all the penalties
contained in the code of prejudice, hypocrisy, and immorality. Honours
for the shameless vices of the society lady--only indignities for the
poor creature who sins through honest devotion and love. It is quite
simple. Society must be considered. I will leave for Jersey when and how
you will.
I am quite ready to copy for Charles. I fear he may find my bad writing
more tiresome than useful, but I shall do my best, and I will get some
better pens. He had better send me the manuscript as soon as possible.
From now till then I am, my Victor, at your absolute disposal.
JULIETTE.
JERSEY,
_Thursday, 9 a.m., December 2nd, 1852_.
Good morning, my divine, adored love. When one considers what the
infamous trap laid for you on December 2nd has inspired you to write,
one is tempted to give thanks to Providence. It almost seems as if that
dastardly crime had been committed for the aggrandisement of your
renown, and the better instruction of the nations. I do not think any
scoundrel will ever be found bold enough to repeat the offence, after
reading your fulminating poems. Just a year ago, on this day and at this
hour, I learnt the news of the _Coup d'état_ through poor Dillon.
Knowing how closely it concerned me, the worthy creature rushed to my
house from the Faubourg St. Germain to warn me, and place her services
at my disposal, which meant at yours, for she is a brave, noble woman.
From that moment until the day I received your dear letter from Brussels
announcing your safety, I lived in a state of nightmare. I only woke
again to life and happiness when I found myself in your arms on the
morning of December 14th in the Customs shed at Brussels. Since then, my
beloved Victor, my sublime Victor, I have never let a day pass without
thanking God for rescuing you so miraculously, nor have I ceased for one
minute to admire and adore you.
JULIETTE.
[Illustration: DRAWING BY VICTOR HUGO, SIGNED "TOTO."
Unpublished, belonging to the Author.]
[Illustration: THE FLOWER AND THE BUTTERFLY.
Drawing by Victor Hugo for Juliette (Victor Hugo Museum).]
JERSEY,
_Friday, 9 a.m., December 3rd, 1852_.
Good morning, my life, my soul, my joy, my happiness.
Dear adored one, from yesterday until the 14th of this month, there is
not a moment that does not recall to me the dangers you were exposed to
a year ago,[104] and the terrors and inexpressible anguish I endured all
through those awful ten days. A year ago, at this very hour of the
morning, you stood in the Faubourg St. Antoine, alone, holding and
challenging a frantic mob lost to all sense of reason and restraint. I
can see you now, my poor beloved, calling upon the soldiers to remember
their duty and their honour, threatening the generals, withering them
with your contempt. You were terrible and sublime. You might have been
the Genius of France witnessing in an agony of bitter despair, the
accomplishment of the most cowardly and despicable of crimes. It is an
absolute miracle that you escaped alive from that spot which echoed with
the solitary force of your heroic fury. When I think of it I still feel
terrified and dazzled.
JULIETTE.
JERSEY,
_Saturday, 8 a.m., November 27th, 1852_.
Good morning, my poor flayed, mutilated darling. How I pitied you
yesterday during the long-drawn-out massacre of your masterpiece,[105]
which however, like an Immortal, emerged from the ordeal finer and in
better fettle than ever. As for me, my treasure, I could only admire and
envy your heroic impassivity in the face of that frightful profanation.
I could hardly sit still, so vexed and irritated did I feel at the
audacity of those wretched strolling mountebanks. Yet Heaven knows how
hard they must have worked to be even as ridiculous as they were. One
cannot be really angry with them, but it is impossible to recall them
individually without laughing till the tears run down one's cheeks. That
is what I have been doing ever since I came out of that horrible little
theatre, for I did not sleep very much. My thoughts were busy with you,
my adored one; I was seeing you again in imagination, handsome, young,
triumphant, as you were at the original performance of your _Angélo_. I
felt all the tenderness and adoration of those old days surging up again
in my heart.
JULIETTE.
JERSEY,
_Monday, 8 a.m., December 29th, 1852_.
Good morning, my too-dearly loved little man. I am cleverer than you,
for I do not need lenses, paper, chemicals, and sunshine, to reproduce
you in every form within my heart. Love is a splendid stereoscope; it
throws all the photographs and daguerreotypes in the world, into the
shade. It can even, if the need exist, convert black jealousy into white
confidence, and force into relief the smallest modicum of happiness,
the slightest mark of love. That being so, I hardly know why I desire so
ardently to multiply your dear little pictures around me, unless it is
that I wish to compare them with those of my inner shrine. Whatever be
the reason, I do implore you, my dear little man, to give me one as soon
as possible; it will be such a pleasure to me. Meanwhile my poor
persecuted hero, I cannot tell what trials the future may have in store
for you, but as long as a breath of life remains within me, I mean to
expend it in defending, guarding, and serving you. My faith in the power
of my love amounts to superstition; I feel that so long as I care for
you, nothing irretrievably bad can happen to you. This is neither pride
nor fatuousness on my part; it is a sort of intuition that comes to me,
I think, from Heaven above.
JULIETTE.
JERSEY,
_9 p.m., Thursday, January 6th, 1853_.
If the soul could take visible shape, you would perceive mine at this
moment, my sweet adored one, bending over you and smiling. If kisses had
wings, you would feel them swooping about your dear little person in
clouds, like joyous birds upon a beautiful flowering bush.
Unfortunately, my soul and kisses have to pass and repass before you
invisible, and perhaps even unsuspected by you. But that does not deter
me, and I am drawn irresistibly to you by the need of living in your
atmosphere. My thoughts sit boldly at your side wherever you are.
However my chastened personality may bend under the contempt and
disdain of the world, my love rears itself proudly in the consciousness
of its superiority. While you leave my body standing outside, it enters
hardily with you and leaves you not. This may not be very tactful of me,
but it is the mark of an ardent and loyal heart. And after all we are
living "on an Island." I can see you, making eyes at your neighbour on
the left, and signalling to the one opposite. I want you to be mine
absolutely, body and soul, and I do not mean to share one little bit of
you with anybody. You must make up your mind to that, and content
yourself with enjoying the cosmopolitan cookery of that Hungarian
Lucullus.[106] I will allow you to gorge like four Englishmen and drink
like one Pole, but I shall not take my eyes off you and shall watch your
every movement. I think you laugh a great deal for a grave man with a
handsome mouth, and your hands are enough to bring a blush of envy to
the paws of all those exiled females! They suffer by comparison--so much
the better! Hold your tongue, drink, turn your head my way at once, and
keep it there.
JULIETTE.
JERSEY,
_Tuesday, 12.30 p.m., February 1st, 1853_.
I really mean what I said just now, my dear little boy. Instead of
posing interminably in front of the daguerreotype,[107] you could quite
well have taken me for a walk if you had wanted to. Anyhow, pretexts for
keeping away from me will never fail you, and the fine weather will now
add many to those already on your list. Therefore I ask you in all good
faith, what use am I to you in this island, apart from my functions of
copyist? I do not wish to reopen this eternal discussion in which you
never tell me the truth, yet I shall never cease to protest against a
state of things so foreign to true love, and so little conducive to my
happiness. And now, my dear little man, you may amuse yourself, and make
daguerreotypes, and enjoy the glorious sunshine in your own way. I, for
my part, shall make use of solitude, desertion, and shadow, to bring to
a head an attack of depression which will easily develop into a great
big sorrow. I shall study how to make the most of it. Meanwhile I smile
prettily at you, after the fashion of a stage dancer executing the final
pirouette which has exhausted her strength and left her breathless.
Brrrr.... Long live Toto! Long live worries and all their kith and kin!
Long live love!
JULIETTE.
JERSEY,
_Thursday, 9 p.m., April 28th, 1853_.