Wednesday, September 9, 2009

Letter from George Sand to Alfred de Mussett

Venice, May 12th, 1834

No, my cherished child
Those three letters are not
The last promise from the hand of the lover that leaves you
It's the embrasement of the brother that remains you
This feeling is too beautiful, too pure and too soft
For me to ever feel the need to finish with it

That my memory not poison any of your life pleasures
But don't let those pleasures destroy or despise my memory
Be happy, be loved, how could you not be?
But keep me in a small corner of your heart
And go down there in your days of sorrow
To find some sympathy and encouragement

Love as much as we maltreat
Love everything for good
Love a woman, young and pretty
And who has never loved
Menage her, and don't make her suffer
A woman's heart is such a delicate thing
When it's not a ice cube or a stone
I believe there is no middle
And it doesn't have any either
In your way to love

Your soul is made to love intensely
Or to dry out totally
You said it a hundred times
And although you tried to remove your words
Nothing, nothing has erased that sentence
In all the world there is only love
That is something

Maybe have you loved me with hate
To love another one with surrender
Maybe the one who will be coming
Will love you more than I
And maybe will she be happier
And more loved
Maybe your last love
Will be your most romantic and the youngest

But your heart, your good heart, don't kill it I beg you
That it puts itself totally in all the loves of your life
So that one day you can look back and say as I do:
"I have suffered often, I was wrong sometimes...but I have loved"

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