sleep since we parted, and since the threads of your world were cut off from the threads of mine, is that I cannot surround you with my care, watch over you, and ward off from you the ravages of illness. That is my one wish — why does God deny me this happiness? And why did all the medicines I gave you turn to deadly poison? How have I — I who watched over you the long nights, who did not begrudge you my blood to secure you a calm, sweet sleep — become hateful to you, a burden and a shadow upon you? These distressing memories come over me and I am like a madwoman; I weep hot tears and sob until my pillow is soaked with streaming tears. And I hear your voice calling me in the stillness of the night. But now, who calls me? And who, I wonder, has need of my care? Alas, my little one! How much I need you, and your tenderness, and your forgiveness!

Do not ask my forgiveness, for you have done nothing to wrong me... All there is to it is that we were unhappy in our life, and so we parted. But I feel that we shall love one

another all our lives...

The fault was not ours: we obeyed the call of our destiny, and our two natures, which differ from the nature of all other people, refused us the life that ordinary lovers live. But be sure that we were created to know one another, and to love one another! Had it not been for your tender youth, and the weakness that would overcome me when I saw your tears wetting your cheeks, we should have remained brother and sister — I your sister and you my brother...

You reproached me one day, when the fever and delirium pressed hard upon you, with never having made you feel the pleasures of love. I was grieved by those words then, and wept bitterly. But now I am content that those pleasures were not laid bare — or at least that they were more shrunken than the other pleasures you can find elsewhere. In any case, you will not remember me while you are in the arms of other women. But when you find yourself alone, and feel the need of prayer and of shedding tears, you will remember — there is no escaping it —

your friend George: that faithful friend who tended you in sickness, and took you by the hand in weakness... nay, who was more to you than that. For the noble feeling that unites us is composed of many elements; it would be hard for anyone to find its like, and the world will be unable to understand it. And that is fortunate — and what does it matter to us, so long as we love one another?

Farewell, my dear little one, farewell. I have one request to make of you: that you write to me often... I beg you to send me twelve gloves, six yellow and six colored; and send me, above all, your collection of poems, for I have not a single poem of it.