Love letters of famous people. Consider examples of love letters

On Valentine's Day, we invite you to read the letters of famous people to your loved ones. Over time, these letters became public knowledge, and we can find out not only how specific people wrote about love, confessed their feelings, but also how people of those times expressed their feelings in general, with what words, phrases ...

Today, in the era of the Internet and mobile communications, the epistolary genre is dying out, but suddenly today you will have a desire to write at least a note (on paper!), A short message to someone you care about. You may be surprised at what you are capable of. In the meantime, you can learn this from famous people.

Denis Diderot - Sophie Volan

I cannot leave without saying a few words to you. So, my darling, you expect a lot of good things from me. Your happiness, even your life depends, as you say, on my love for you!

Fear nothing, my dear Sophie; my love will last forever, you will live and be happy. I have never done anything wrong and I am not going to tread on this road. I am all yours - you are everything to me. We will support each other in all the troubles that fate can send us. You will ease my suffering; I will help you with yours. I can always see you the way you were lately! As for me, you must admit that I have remained the same as you saw me on the first day of our acquaintance.

This is not only my merit, but for the sake of justice, I must tell you about it. Every day I feel more alive. I am sure of loyalty to you and appreciate your virtues more and more every day. I am confident in your constancy and appreciate it. No one's passion had a greater basis than mine.

Dear Sophie, You are very beautiful, aren't you? Watch yourself - see how it suits you to be in love; and know that I love you very much. This is a constant expression of my feelings.

Good night, my dear Sophie. I am as happy as a man can be who knows he is loved by the fairest of women.

Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart - Constanze

Dear little wife, I have a few assignments for you. I beg you:
1) do not fall into melancholy,
2) take care of your health and beware of spring winds,
3) do not go for a walk alone - or even better, do not go for a walk at all,
4) be completely sure of my love. I write all the letters to you with your portrait in front of me.
6) and in the end I ask you to write me more detailed letters. I really want to know if brother-in-law Hofer came to visit us the day after I left? Does he come often, as he promised me? Do the Langes come in sometimes? How is the work on the portrait going? How do you live? All this, of course, is of great interest to me.
5) I beg you to behave in such a way that neither your nor my good name will suffer, also watch your appearance. Do not be angry with me for such a request. You should love me even more because I care about our honor with you.

V.A. Mozart

Victor Hugo - Adele Fouche

A few words from you, my beloved Adele, changed my mood again. Yes, you can do whatever you want with me. And tomorrow I will certainly die if the magical sound of your voice and the gentle touch of your adored lips do not breathe life into me. With what conflicting feelings I went to bed! Yesterday, Adele, I lost faith in your love and called for the hour of death.

I said to myself: “If it is true that she does not love me, if nothing in me could earn the blessing of her love, without which my life would lose its attractiveness, is this not a reason to die? Should I live only for my personal happiness? Not; my whole existence is devoted to her alone, even against her wishes. And by what right did I dare to covet her love? Am I an angel or a deity? I love her, it's true. I am ready to gladly sacrifice to her whatever she desires - everything, even the hope of being loved by her. There is no greater devotion in the world than mine in relation to her, to her smile, to her one look.

But can I be different? Isn't she the purpose of my whole life? If she shows indifference to me, even hatred, it will be my misfortune, the end. But won't that hurt her happiness? Yes, if she is unable to love me, I have only myself to blame. My duty is to follow on her heels, to be near her, to serve as a barrier to all dangers, to serve as a saving bridge, to stand tirelessly between her and all sorrows, demanding no reward, expecting no gratitude.

Only she will give infinite happiness if she sometimes deigns to throw a pitying glance at her slave and remember him in a moment of danger! Like this! If she would only let me devote my life to anticipating her every desire, fulfilling her every whim. If she would only permit me to respectfully kiss her delightful footprints; if she even agrees to rely on me in difficult moments of life. Then I will have the only happiness I long for.

But if I am ready to sacrifice everything for her, should she be grateful to me? Is it her fault that I love her? Should she feel like she's obligated to love me? Not! She may laugh at my devotion, accept my services with hatred, repulse my worship with contempt, without for a moment having the right to complain of this angel; there will be no moral right to suspend my generosity towards her, a generosity that she neglects. Every day of mine must be marked by the sacrifice made to her, and even on the day of my death, my unrequited debt to her will not disappear.

These are the thoughts, my beloved Adele, that visited me last night. Only now they are mixed with the hope of happiness - such a great happiness that I cannot think of it without trembling.

Is it true that you love me, Adele? Tell me and I will believe in this amazing idea. You don't think I'll go mad with joy throwing my life at your feet, sure that I'll make you as happy as I am happy, knowing that you'll admire me just as I admire you. ? O! Your letter restored peace in my soul, your words spoken this evening filled me with happiness. A thousand thanks, Adele, my beloved angel. If I could prostrate before you as before a deity! What happiness you have brought me! Adieu, adieu, I'll spend a delightful night dreaming of you.

Sleep well, let your husband take the twelve kisses you promised him, in addition to those not yet promised.

Beethoven to his Beloved

Even in bed my thoughts fly to you, my immortal love! I am seized by either joy or sadness in anticipation of what fate has in store for us. I can either live with you or not live at all. Yes, I have decided to wander away from you until I am able to fly and throw myself into your arms, feel you completely mine and enjoy this bliss. That is how it should be. You will agree to this, because you do not doubt my loyalty to you; never another will take my heart, never, never. Oh, God, why part with what you love so much!

The life I now lead in V. is hard. Your love makes me the happiest and unhappiest person at the same time. At my age, a certain monotony, stability of life is already required, but are they possible with our relations? My angel, now I just found out that the mail leaves every day, I must finish so that you receive the letter as soon as possible. Be calm; be calm, love me always.
What a longing to see you! You are my Life - my Everything - goodbye. Love me as before - never doubt the fidelity of your beloved
BUT.
Forever yours
Forever mine
Forever we are ours.

Jack London - Anna Stransky

Dear Anna:
I said that all people can be divided into types? If I did, let me clarify - not all of them. You're slipping away, I can't attribute you to any species, I can't figure you out. I can boast that out of 10 people, I can predict the behavior of nine. Judging by words and actions, I can guess the heart rate of nine out of ten people. But the tenth is a mystery to me, I am in despair because it is higher than me. You are the tenth.

Has it ever happened that two silent souls, so dissimilar, so suited each other? Of course, we often feel the same way, but even when we feel something differently, we still understand each other, even though we do not have a common language. We don't need words spoken aloud. We are too incomprehensible and mysterious for this. The Lord must be laughing, seeing our silent action.

The only glimmer of common sense in all of this is that we both have a frenzied temperament big enough to understand. True, we often understand each other, but with elusive glimpses, vague sensations, as if ghosts, while we doubt, haunt us with their perception of the truth. And yet I dare not believe that you are the tenth person whose behavior I cannot predict.

Am I hard to understand now? I don't know, maybe it is. I can't find a common language.

Huge temperament - that's what allows us to be together. For a second, eternity itself flared up in our hearts and we were drawn to each other, despite the fact that we are so different.

Do I smile when you get excited? That smile that can be forgiven - no, it's an envious smile. For 25 years I lived in a depressed state.

I have learned not to admire. This is a lesson that cannot be forgotten. I'm starting to forget, but that's not enough. At best, I hope that before I die, I will forget everything, or almost everything. I can already rejoice, I am learning this little by little, I rejoice in the little things, but I cannot rejoice at what is in me, my innermost thoughts, I cannot, I cannot. Am I unclear? Do you hear my voice? I'm afraid not. There are many hypocritical posers in the world. I am the most successful

Napoleon Bonaparte - Josephine

There wasn't a day that I didn't love you; there was no night that I did not squeeze you in my arms. I do not drink even a cup of tea, so as not to curse my pride and ambition, which force me to stay away from you, my soul. In the midst of my service, whether at the head of an army or checking camps, I feel that my heart is occupied only by my beloved Josephine. It deprives me of reason, fills my thoughts.

If I move away from you at the speed of the Rhone, it only means that I may soon see you. If I get up in the middle of the night to go to work, it's because this way I can bring the moment of returning to you closer, my love. In your letter dated 23 and 26 Vantoza, you address me as "You." "You" ? Ah, damn! How could you write such a thing? How cold it is!

…Josephine! Josephine! Do you remember what I told you once: nature has rewarded me with a strong, unshakable soul. And she fashioned you from lace and air. Have you stopped loving me? Forgive me, love of my life, my soul is torn.

My heart, which belongs to you, is full of fear and longing...
It hurts me that you don't call me by my first name. I'll be waiting for you to write it.
Goodbye! Oh, if you stopped loving me, then you never loved me! And I will be sorry!

Napoleon Bonaparte – Josephine in Milan

I don't love you anymore... On the contrary, I hate you. You are a vile, stupid, ridiculous woman. You don't write to me at all, you don't love your husband. You know how much joy your letters bring to him, and you cannot even write six quick lines.

But what do you do all day long, ma'am? What urgent matters take up your time, prevent you from writing to your very good lover?

What prevents your tender and devoted love, which you promised him? Who is this new seducer, new lover, who claims all your time, preventing you from taking care of your spouse? Josephine, beware: one fine night I will break down your doors and stand before you.

In fact, my dear friend, I am worried that I do not receive news from you, write me quickly four pages, and only about those pleasant things that will fill my heart with joy and tenderness.

I hope to wrap you in my arms soon and cover you with a million kisses, burning like the rays of the sun at the equator.
Bonaparte

Mark Twain - Livy

Livy, dear, today we climbed up and down steep hills with a joyful whoop for six hours in a row, in dirty and wet shoes, in a rain that did not stop for a minute. All the way I was alert and fresh as a lark, and arrived at the place without the slightest feeling of fatigue. We washed, emptied our boots, ate, undressed, and went to bed for two and a half hours while our clothes and equipment dried and our boots were cleaned. Then we put on more warm clothes and went to the table.

I have made some nice English friends and will see them tomorrow in Zermatt.
Gathered a small bouquet of flowers, but they wilted. I sent you a full box of flowers last night from Luckerbad.

I have just sent a telegram for you to telegraph the family news to me in Rifel tomorrow. I hope you are doing well and having as much fun as we do. I love you, my heart, you and children. Give my love to Clara Spaulding and also to the kids.

Wagner - Mathilde Wesendonck

Is my sweet muse still far away? Silently I waited for her visit; I didn't want to bother her with requests. Muse, like love, makes happy freely. Woe to the fool, woe to the poor of love, if he wants to take by force what is not given to him voluntarily. They cannot be forced. Is not it? Is not it? How could love be a muse if it allowed itself to be forced?

Is my sweet muse still far away from me?

Charles Darwin – Emma Wedgwood

I can't tell you how much I enjoyed visiting the Maers. I was looking forward to a future serene life: I really hope that you can be as happy as I am. But when I think about it, it scares me that you're not used to this lifestyle. This morning I was thinking about how it happened that happiness, and silence, and solitude, have such a beneficial effect on me, a sociable and purely rational person. The explanation, I suppose, is simple enough, I mention it because it will give you hope that in time I will become less uncouth and rude.

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It is all to blame for the five years of my journey (and, of course, the last two years), which, one might say, became the beginning of my real life. Despite the active lifestyle that I led there - admiring unprecedented animals, traveling through wild deserts or impenetrable forests, walking around the deck of the old Beagle at night - only what was happening in my head gave me real pleasure. Forgive my selfishness, I am talking about this in the hope that you will ennoble me, teach me to find happiness not only in building theories and comprehending facts in silence and loneliness.

My dearest Emma, ​​I fervently pray that you will never regret anything, and I will add something else - you will receive on Tuesday: my dear future wife, God bless you ...

The Lyells came in after church today; Lyell is so busy with geology that he needs to unload; as a guest of honor, I dine with them on Tuesday. Today I was a little ashamed of myself, we talked for about half an hour and all about geology, and poor Mrs Lyell sat next to me like a monument to patience. I should probably practice with the female sex, though I haven't noticed Lyell showing any remorse. I hope in time to strengthen my conscience: few husbands seem to find this difficult.

After returning, I looked into our living room several times, which you will readily believe. I suppose my taste in color choice has already been spoiled, since I claim that the room looks less ugly. I had so much fun being in the house that I must have become like an overgrown child addicted to a new toy. But still I am not quite a child, because I long for a wife and a friend.

John Keats - Fanny Brown

My dear girl!

Nothing in the world could give me more pleasure than your letter, except perhaps yourself. I am almost tired of being amazed that my senses blissfully obey the will of that being who is now so far away from me.

Without even thinking about you, I feel your presence, and a wave of tenderness covers me. All my thoughts, all my joyless days and sleepless nights have not cured me of my love for Beauty. On the contrary, this love has become so strong that I am in despair because you are not around, and I am forced to overcome in dull patience an existence that cannot be called Life. Never before have I known that there is such love as you have given me. I didn't believe in her; I was afraid to burn in its flame. But if you love me, the fire of love will not be able to scorch us - it will be no more than we, sprinkled with the dew of Pleasure, can bear.

You mention "terrible people" and ask if they will prevent us from seeing each other again. My love, understand only one thing: you fill my heart so much that I am ready to turn into a Mentor, as soon as I notice the danger that threatens you. In your eyes I want to see only joy, on your lips - only love, in your walk - only happiness.

I would like to see only pleasure in your eyes. Let our love be a source of pleasure, and not a shelter from grief and worries. But if the worst happens, I can hardly remain a philosopher and follow my own prescriptions; if my hardness hurts you, I can't! Why should I not talk about your Beauty, without which I could never love you? Only Beauty is capable of awakening such love as my love for you - I cannot imagine otherwise. There may be another love for which, without a hint of mockery, I am ready to have the deepest respect and admiration for it. But it is deprived of that strength, that flowering, that perfection and charm with which my heart is filled. So let me talk about your Beauty, even if it is dangerous for myself: what if you are cruel enough to test her Power over others?

You write that you are afraid - if I think that you do not love me; these words of yours instill in me a painful desire to be near you. Here I diligently indulge in my favorite pastime - I do not miss a day without stretching a piece of white verse longer or stringing a couple of other rhymes.

I must confess (since I've mentioned it) that I love you even more because I know that you loved me exactly as I am, and for no other reason. I have met women who would be happy to be engaged to Sonnet or to marry Roman. I saw your Comet; well, if it served as a good omen for poor Rais: because of his illness, sharing company with him is not very fun, especially since he is trying to overcome and hide his illness from me, releasing dubious puns.

I kissed your letter up and down in the hope that you, putting your lips to it, left the taste of honey on the lines. What did you see in your dream? Tell me your dream and I will give you an interpretation.

Always yours, my love! John Keats

Alfred de Musset - George Sand

My dear Georges, I need to tell you something stupid and funny. I'm writing you foolishly, I don't know why, instead of telling you all this after returning from a walk. In the evening, I will fall into despair because of this. You will laugh in my face, consider me a phrase-monger. You will show me the door and start thinking that I am lying.

I'm in love with you. I fell in love with you from the first day I was with you. I thought that I would recover from this very simply, seeing you as a friend. There are many traits in your character that can heal me; I tried my best to convince myself of this. But the minutes that I spend with you cost me too much. It's better to say it - I will suffer less if you show me the door now. Tonight, when I ... [Georges Sand, editing Musset's letters before publication, crossed out two words and cut out the next line with scissors] I decided to tell you that I was in the country. But I do not want to make riddles, or create the appearance of an unreasonable quarrel. Now, Georges, you, as usual, will say: “Another annoying admirer!” If I am not quite the first person you meet, then tell me how you would say it to me yesterday in a conversation about someone else - what should I do.

But I beg you - if you are going to tell me that you doubt the truth of what I am writing to you, then it is better not to answer at all. I know what you think of me; saying this, I do not hope for anything. I can only lose a friend and the only pleasant hours that I spent during the last month. But I know that you are kind, that you loved, and I entrust myself to you, not as a beloved, but as a sincere and faithful comrade.

Georges, I am acting like a madman, depriving myself of the pleasure of seeing you during the short time that remains for you to spend in Paris before leaving for Italy. There we could spend delightful nights if I had more determination. But the truth is that I suffer and I lack resolve.
Alfred de Musset

Henry VIII - Anne Boleyn

My beloved and my friend, my heart and I place ourselves in your hands, in a humble prayer for your good disposition and that your affection for us would not decrease while we are not around. For there will be no greater misfortune for me than to aggravate your sorrow. Separation brings enough sadness, more than I ever imagined. This fact reminds me of astronomy: the farther the poles are from the sun, the more unbearable the heat. The same with our love, for your absence has separated us, but love retains its ardor - at least on my part. Hopefully yours too.

I assure you that in my case, the longing for separation is so great that it would be unbearable if I were not firmly convinced of the strength of your feelings for me. Seeing no possibility of being close to you, I am sending you a little thing that is closest to me, that is, a bracelet with my portrait, with the device that you already know about. How I would like to be in his place, to see you and how you will rejoice in him. Written by the hand of your faithful servant and friend,
G.R.

Gustave Flaubert - Louise Colet

(Croisset, Saturday, one in the morning)

You speak very tender words to me, dear Muse. Eh bien, get such tender words in return that you cannot even imagine. Your love saturates me like a warm rain, I feel washed by it to the very depths of my heart.

Is there anything in you that does not deserve my love - body, mind, tenderness? You are open in soul and strong in mind, there is very little poetic in you, but you are a real poet. Everything about you is lovely, you look like your chest, just as snow-white and soft. None of the women I knew before can compare to you.

It is unlikely that those whom I desired are equal to you. Sometimes I try to imagine your face in old age, and it seems to me that even then I will love you, maybe even more.

Johann Christoph Friedrich von Schiller - Charlotte von Lengefeld

Is it true, dear Lotta? Can I hope that Caroline read in your soul and conveyed to me from the depths of your heart what I did not dare to admit to myself? Oh, how heavy this secret seemed to me, which I had to keep all the time, from the moment we met you.

Often, when we were still living together, I gathered all my courage and came to you, intending to open up, but courage constantly left me. I saw selfishness in this striving of mine; I was afraid that I cared only about my happiness, and this thought terrified me. If I could not be to you what you were to me, then my suffering would upset you. With my confession, I would destroy the wonderful harmony of our friendship, I would lose what I had - your pure, sisterly disposition.

And yet there were moments when my hope revived, when the happiness that we could give each other seemed to me infinitely higher than absolutely all reasoning, when I even considered it noble to sacrifice everything else to him. You might be happy without me, but you would never be unhappy because of me. I vividly felt this in myself - and on this then I built my hopes.

You could give yourself to another, but no one could love you more pure and tender than me. For no one else Our happiness could not be more sacred than it has always been and always will be for me. All my existence, everything that lives in me, everything dearest in me, I dedicate to you. And if I strive to ennoble myself, it is only in order to become more worthy of you, to make you happier. The nobility of the soul contributes to the beautiful and indissoluble bonds of friendship and love. Our friendship and love will be indissoluble and eternal, like the feelings on which we built them.

Forget everything that could hamper your heart, let only your feelings speak. Confirm what Caroline let me hope for. Say that you want to be mine and that my happiness is not a sacrifice for you. Oh, convince me of this with one single word. Our hearts have been close to each other for a long time. Let that only alien thing that has hitherto stood between us fall away, and let nothing hinder the free communion of our souls.

Goodbye, dear Lotta. I long for the right moment to describe to you all the feelings of my heart; they made me happy and unhappy again for so long. And now this desire alone dwells in my soul.

…Do not hesitate to permanently ease my anxiety. I give into your hands all the happiness of my life ... Goodbye, dear!

Lord Byron to Lady Caroline Lam

My dear Carolina, if the tears that you saw and which, I know, I should not have shed, were it not for the excitement that overwhelmed me at the moment of parting with you - the excitement that you should have felt during recent events; if all this had not started before your departure; if all that I have said and done, and yet am ready to say and do, has not sufficiently proved what my feelings are and always will be towards you, my love, then I have no other evidence for you.

God knows, never before this moment did I think that you, my love, my dear friend, could be so violent. I can't express everything, now is not the time for words. But I will feel a sense of pride and take sad pleasure in the suffering that you have experienced. And because you don't know me at all.

I'm ready to leave, but with a heavy heart. After all, my appearance this evening will put an end to any ridiculous story that the events of this day could give rise to. Do you now think that I am cold, ruthless and self-willed? Will others think so? And your mother? The Mother to whom we must sacrifice much more, much more than she will ever know or imagine.

"I promise not to love you"? Ah, Carolina, those promises are in the past! But I will explain all the confessions in due course and never cease to feel all that you have already witnessed; even more than that - what my heart knows and, perhaps, yours. May God forgive, protect and bless you forever. most devoted to you
Byron

P.S. This is what your mockery has led to, my dear Caroline. Is there anything in heaven or on earth that could make me as happy as you once made me? And now no less than then, but more than now.

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God knows, I wish you happiness. Even if I leave you or you, out of a sense of duty towards your husband and mother, leave me, you will understand that I am telling the truth when I promise and swear that no person, no occupation will take the place in my heart that belongs and will be belong to you forever, until my death. You know, I would gladly give up everything here or even in the afterlife for you, so can my motives be misunderstood?

I don't care who knows about it and how it can be used - it's for you, only for you. I was yours and now I am yours, completely and completely, to obey, honor, love you and fly with you, when, where and how you please.

Honore de Balzac - Countess Evelina Hanska

How I wish I could spend the day at your feet; laying her head on your knees, dreaming about the beautiful, sharing her thoughts with you in bliss and rapture, and sometimes not speaking at all, but pressing the edge of your dress to your lips! ..

Oh my love, Eve, the joy of my days, my light in the night, my hope, admiration, my beloved, precious, when will I see you? Or is it an illusion? Did I see you? Oh Gods! How I love your accent, barely perceptible, your kind lips, so sensual - let me tell you this, my angel of love.

I work day and night to come and stay with you for two weeks in December. On the way, I will see the Jura mountains covered with snow, and I will think about the snowy whiteness of the shoulders of my beloved. Oh! Inhaling the fragrance of hair, holding your hand, squeezing you in my arms - that's where I draw inspiration from! My friends are amazed at the invincibility of my willpower. Oh! They do not know my beloved, the one whose pure image cancels out all the chagrin of their bile attacks. One kiss, my angel, one slow kiss, and good night!

Francois Voltaire to Olympia Dunoyer

It seems to me, dear young lady, that you love me, so be ready in these circumstances to use all the power of your mind. As soon as I returned to the hotel yesterday, M. Lefebvre told me that I must leave today, and I could only put it off until tomorrow; however, he forbade me to go anywhere before departure; he is afraid that madam your mother will not inflict an insult on me, which may resonate with him and the king; he didn't even give me anything to object to; I must certainly leave without seeing you. You can imagine my despair. It might have cost me my life if I did not hope to be of service to you by depriving you of your precious company. The desire to see you in Paris will console me during my journey. I will no longer persuade you to leave your mother and see your father, from whose arms you were pulled out to make you unhappy here.

I will spend the whole day at home. Send me three letters: one for your father, another for your uncle, and a third for your sister; this is absolutely necessary, I will deliver them at the agreed place, especially the letter to your sister. Let the shoemaker bring these letters to me: promise him a reward; let him come with a block in his hands, as if to correct my shoes. Attach to these letters a note for me, so that when I leave, this will at least serve as a consolation, but, most importantly, in the name of the love that I have for you, my dear, send me your portrait; make every effort to get it from your mother; he will feel much better in my hands than in hers, for he already reigns in my heart.

The servant I send to you is unconditionally devoted to me; if you want to give him to your mother as a snuff-maker, he is a Norman and will play his part very well: he will give you all my letters, which I will send to his address, and you can forward yours also through him; you can also entrust him with your portrait.

I am writing to you at night, not yet knowing how I will leave; I only know that I must leave: I will do my best to see you tomorrow before I leave Holland. But since I cannot promise this for sure, I tell you, my soul, forgive my last, and, telling you this, I swear by all the tenderness that you deserve.

Yes, my dear Pimpetochka, I will always love you; even the most windy lovers say so, but their love is not based, like mine, on complete respect; I bow to your virtue as much as to your appearance, and I only pray to heaven that I may be able to borrow your noble feelings from you. My tenderness allows me to count on yours; I flatter myself that I will awaken in you the desire to see Paris; I am going to this beautiful city to beg for your return; I will write to you with each mail through Lefebvre, to whom you will give something for each letter in order to induce him to do his job properly.

Farewell once again, my dear mistress; remember at least occasionally about your unfortunate lover, but remember not for the sake of being sad; take care of your health if you want to save mine; above all, be very secretive; burn this letter of mine and all subsequent ones; better you be less merciful to me, but take more care of yourself; let us console ourselves with the hope of a speedy rendezvous, and let us love each other all our lives. Perhaps I myself will come for you; then I will consider myself the happiest of men; as long as you come, I will be quite satisfied. I want only your happiness, and I would gladly buy it at the price of mine. I will consider myself greatly rewarded if I know that I have contributed to your return to well-being.
Farewell, my dear soul! I hug you a thousand times.

A few days later. (1713)

I am being held captive on behalf of the king; I can be deprived of life, but not love for you. Yes, my dear beloved, I will see you tonight, even though I have to lay my head on the chopping block. For God's sake, do not speak to me in such gloomy terms as you write. Live but be secretive; beware of madam your mother, as your worst enemy; what am I saying? Beware of everyone in the world and trust no one. Be ready for the time when the moon appears; I will leave the hotel incognito, take a carriage and we will rush faster than the wind to Sh .; I'll grab ink and paper; we will write our letters; but if you love me, console yourself, call on all your virtue and all your mind to help ... Be ready from four o'clock; I'll be waiting for you near your street. Farewell, there is nothing that I would not endure for you. You deserve so much more. Farewell, my dear soul.

Catherine the Great to Prince Grigory Potemkin

November 15, 1789

My dear friend, Prince Grigory Alexandrovich. It’s not for nothing that I love you and favored you, you completely justify my choice and my opinion of you; you are by no means a braggart, and fulfilled all the assumptions, and taught the Caesars to defeat the Turks; God helps and blesses you, cover you with glory, I send you the laurel crown that you deserve (but it is not ready yet); now, my friend, I beg you, do not be arrogant, do not become proud, but show the light the greatness of your soul, which is just as unhaughty in happiness as it does not lose heart in failure. Il n'y a pas de douceur mon ami que je ne voudrais vous dire: Vous etes charmant d'avoir pris Benders sans qu'il en aye coute un seul homme.

Your diligence and labor would have multiplied gratitude in me, if it were not already such that it can no longer be increased. I ask God to strengthen your strength; I was very worried about your illness, however, having no letters from you for more than two weeks, I thought that I was messing around with Bender, or started peace negotiations. Now I see that my guess was not without foundation. I will wait impatiently for Popov's arrival; be sure that I will do everything possible for your entrusted army of the generals, evenly for the army: their labors and zeal deserve it. As soon as I receive the promised note on the Caesar's awards, I will also tell you my opinion.

I am curious to see the letters of the ruler of Volos and the former captain-pasha about the truce and your answers; everything already has the smell of the world, and thus is not repugnant. The plan for Poland, as soon as I receive it, I will consider it and will not leave you to give a decisive answer as soon as possible. In Finland, it is extremely necessary to change the boss, you can’t rely on the current one in anything; I myself was forced to send salt from here to Neishlot, for people without salt are in the fortress; I ordered the meat to be given to people, and he delivered the meat to Vyborg, where the meat rotted without use; will not decide on anything; in a word, he is incapable of leadership, and under him the generals play pranks and intrigue, but do not do things when it is proper; From this you can judge how much change needs to be made there. I bestowed a young man sent from you to the colonel and to the adjutant wing for the good news. L'enfant* trouve que vous avez plus d'esprit et que vous etes plus amusant et plus aimable, que tous ceux qui vous entourent; mais sur cegi gardez nous le secret car il ignore que je sais cela; for your very affectionate reception they are extremely grateful; their brother Dimitri marries Vyazemsky's third daughter.

Alexander Griboyedov - Nina Chavchavadze

Darling. Tomorrow we leave for Teiran, which is four days away from here. Yesterday I wrote to you with one of our subjects, but then I calculated that he would not reach you before twelve days, also to M-me Macdonald, you will receive my envelopes together. My priceless friend, I feel sorry for you, I feel sad without you as much as possible. Now I truly feel what it means to love. Before, I parted with many, to whom I was also firmly attached, but a day, two, a week, and longing disappeared, now the farther from you, the worse. Let's endure a few more, my Angel, and let's pray to God that after that we will never be separated again.

The prisoners here drove me crazy. Some do not give out, others do not want to return. For them, I lived here for nothing, and absolutely for nothing.

Our house is magnificent, and cold, there are no fireplaces, and from our barbecues everyone's heads are dry.

Yesterday I was treated by the local Vizier, Mirza Nebi, to take him married the daughter of the local Shahzada, and the wedding feast lasts fourteen days, in a huge courtyard there are several rooms in which refreshments, delicacy, dinner, the whole courtyard is covered with a vast linen canopy, in the form of a tent, and richly lit, in the middle of the Theater, various performances, like those that you and I saw in Tabriz, there were up to five hundred guests around, the young man himself appeared to me in rich decoration.

However, darling, our wedding was more fun, although you are not Shakhzadin's daughter, and I am a humble person. Do you remember, my invaluable friend, how I wooed you, without intermediaries, there was no third. Remember how I kissed you for the first time, soon and sincerely we got together, and forever. Do you remember the first evening, how your mother and grandmother and Praskovya Nikolaevna were sitting on the porch, and you and I in the depths of the window, how I pressed you, and you, my dear, blushed, I taught you how to kiss harder and harder. And then I returned from the camp, fell ill, and you visited me. Dushka!..

When I turn to you! You know how scared I am for you, it always seems to me that the same thing will happen to you again, as it did two weeks before my departure. Only hopes that Derejana, she sleeps lightly at night, and will not leave you. Kiss her, my dear, and tell Philip and Zacharias that I thank them according to your letter. If you are satisfied with them, then I will be able to make them satisfied.

Just now I looked around the local city, rich mosques, a bazaar, a caravanserai, but everything is in ruins, like the local State in general. Next year, probably, we will pass these places together, and then everything will seem to me in the best possible way.

Farewell, Ninochka, my little angel. Now it’s 9 pm, you’re probably going to bed, and I’m already on my fifth night, like insomnia at all. The doctor speaks from coffee. But I think for a completely different reason. The yard in which the wedding is celebrated is not far from my bedroom, they sing, make noise, and not only am I not disgusted, but even by the way, at least I don’t feel completely alone. Farewell, my priceless friend once again, bow to Agalobek, Montis and others. I kiss you on the lips, on the chest, arms, legs and all of you from head to toe.

Sad all your A. Gr.
Tomorrow is Christmas, I congratulate you, my dear, darling. It’s my fault (my own fault too) that you spend this big holiday so boringly, in Tiflis you would have fun. Farewell, my all bow to you.

Love letters from Alexander Pushkin to Natalia Goncharova, an unknown lady and Anna Kern

Moscow, in March 1830 (Chernovoe, in French.)

Today is the anniversary of the day I first saw you; this day... in my life...
The more I think, the more I become convinced that my existence cannot be separated from yours: I was created to love you and follow you; all my other cares are one delusion and madness. Far from you, I am relentlessly haunted by regrets about the happiness that I did not have time to enjoy. Sooner or later, however, I will have to drop everything and fall at your feet. The thought of the day when I will be able to have a piece of land in ... only smiles at me and enlivens me in the midst of heavy anguish. There I can wander around your house, meet you, follow you ...

Moscow, end of August.

I'm going to Nizhny, without confidence in my fate. If your mother decides to call off our wedding, and you agree to obey her, I will subscribe to any motives that she pleases to give me, even if they are so thorough as the scene she made me yesterday and insults, with which she pleased to shower me. Maybe she's right and I was wrong thinking for one minute that I was made for happiness. In any case, you are completely free; as for me, I give you my word of honor to belong only to you, or never to marry.

Mozart, Napoleon, Jack London ... How they loved their women: sometimes they behaved stupidly and recklessly, they were jealous and angry, but how they loved! We have started the program. And we decided to set our members up for work with the help of love letters from great people from the past. We share this inspiration with you. SMS are resting 😉

Dear little wife, I have a few assignments for you. I beg you:

1. do not fall into melancholy,
2. take care of your health and beware of spring winds,
3. don't go for a walk alone - or even better, don't go for a walk at all,
4. be completely sure of my love. I write all the letters to you with your portrait in front of me.

6. And in the end, I ask you to write me more detailed letters. I really want to know if brother-in-law Hofer came to visit us the day after I left? Does he come often, as he promised me? Do the Langes come in sometimes? How is the work on the portrait going? How do you live? All this, of course, is of great interest to me.

5. I beg you to behave in such a way that neither your nor my good name will suffer, also watch how it looks from the outside. Do not be angry with me for such a request. You should love me even more because I care about our honor with you.

V.A. Mozart

I don't love you anymore... On the contrary, I hate you. You are a vile, stupid, ridiculous woman. You don't write to me at all, you don't love your husband. You know how much joy your letters bring to him, and you cannot even write six quick lines.

But what do you do all day long, ma'am? What urgent matters take up your time, prevent you from writing to your very good lover?

What prevents your tender and devoted love, which you promised him? Who is this new seducer, new lover, who claims all your time, preventing you from taking care of your spouse? Josephine, beware: one fine night I will break down your doors and stand before you.

In fact, my dear friend, I am worried that I do not receive news from you, write me quickly four pages, and only about those pleasant things that will fill my heart with joy and tenderness.

I hope to wrap you in my arms soon and cover you with a million kisses, burning like the rays of the sun at the equator.

Bonaparte

I sincerely ask you, madam, a thousand times forgiveness for these stupid anonymous verses that smack of childishness, but what can I do? I am also selfish like children and sick people. When I suffer, I think of the people I love. I almost always think about you in verse, and when the verses are ready, I cannot overcome the desire to show them to the one who inspired them to me. And at the same time, I hide myself, like a man madly afraid of the funny - isn't there some kind of funny element in love? - especially for those whom she did not touch.

But I swear to you that I explain myself for the last time; and if my fiery sympathy for you lasts as long as it lasted before I said one word to you, we will live with you to old age.

No matter how absurd all this may seem to you, imagine that there is a heart at which you could not laugh without cruelty, and in which your image is imprinted forever.

Une fois, une seule, aimable et bonne femme
A mon bras votre bras poli.

I just received your letter. It calmed me, now I know how you and the children are doing. It was as if I saw my dear family in front of me and heard you all talking to me together ...

Last night I had a dream that I was in Newton, in a room with you and a few other people. And you decided that the moment had come to announce that you were no longer my wife and that you wanted to marry another man. You broke the news with such absolute calmness and composure - addressing not only me, but the whole company - that it paralyzed all my thoughts and feelings. I didn't know what to say at all.

Then a woman told those present that in this state of affairs, that is, with your refusal to be my wife, I automatically become her husband. Turning to me, she very coldly asked which of us would announce my mother's wedding! How we divided the children, I do not know. I only know that my heart suddenly seemed to break loose, I began to scream, protest and threw a tantrum, in the midst of which I woke up. However, the feeling of unspoken resentment and gross insult hovered over me for a long time, and even now has not disappeared. You shouldn't be so careless when you come into my dreams.

Oh, Phoebe [goddess of the moon], I want you very much. You are the only person in the world that I need. Other people are more or less bearable. But I probably always endured loneliness much more easily than someone else's company, until I met you. Now I am me only when you are with me. You are the most beloved woman. How could you scare me in my sleep like that?

Your husband

Dear Anna: Did I say that all people can be divided into types? If I did, let me clarify - not all of them. You're slipping away, I can't attribute you to any species, I can't figure you out. I can boast that out of 10 people, I can predict the behavior of nine. Judging by words and actions, I can guess the heart rate of nine out of ten people. But the tenth is a mystery to me, I am in despair because it is higher than me. You are the tenth.

Has it ever happened that two silent souls, so dissimilar, so suited each other? Of course, we often feel the same way, but even when we feel something differently, we still understand each other, even though we do not have a common language. We don't need words spoken aloud. We are too incomprehensible and mysterious for this. The Lord must be laughing, seeing our silent action.

The only glimmer of common sense in all of this is that we both have a frenzied temperament big enough to understand. True, we often understand each other, but with elusive glimpses, vague sensations, as if ghosts, while we doubt, haunt us with their perception of the truth. And yet I dare not believe that you are the tenth person whose behavior I cannot predict.

Even in bed my thoughts fly to you, my immortal love! I am seized by either joy or sadness in anticipation of what fate has in store for us. I can either live with you or not live at all. Yes, I have decided to wander away from you until I am able to fly and throw myself into your arms, feel you completely mine and enjoy this bliss. That is how it should be. You will agree to this, because you do not doubt my loyalty to you; never another will take my heart, never, never. Oh, God, why part with what you love so much!

The life I now lead in V. is hard. Your love makes me the happiest and unhappiest person at the same time. At my age, a certain monotony, stability of life is already required, but are they possible with our relations? My angel, now I just found out that the mail leaves every day, I must finish so that you receive the letter as soon as possible. Be calm; be calm, love me always.

What a longing to see you! You are my Life - my Everything - goodbye. Love me as before - never doubt the fidelity of your beloved

BUT.
Forever yours
Forever mine
Forever we are ours.

Sofya Andreevna, it's becoming unbearable for me. For three weeks I say every day: today I will say everything, and I leave with the same longing, repentance, fear and happiness in my soul. And every night, as now, I go over the past, I suffer and say: why did I not say, and how, and what would I say. I take this letter with me to give it to you, if again I can’t, or if I don’t have the courage to tell you everything. Your family's false view of me is, I think, that I am in love with your sister Liza. It's not fair.

Your story stuck in my head because, after reading it, I became convinced that I, Dublitsky, should not dream of happiness, that your excellent poetic demands of love ... that I do not envy and will not envy the one you are love. It seemed to me that I could rejoice in you as in children.

In Ivitsy I wrote: "Your presence reminds me too vividly of my old age, and it is you." But then, and now, I lied to myself. Even then I could have cut everything off and gone back to my monastery of solitary labor and passion for work. Now I can do nothing, but I feel that I have made a mess in your family; that a simple, dear relationship with you, as with a friend, an honest person, is lost. And I can't hoot and I don't dare to stay. You are an honest man, hand on heart, slowly, for God's sake slowly, tell me what to do? What you laugh at, you work for. I would have died of laughter if a month ago I had been told that it was possible to suffer, as I am suffering, and I am happily suffering this time.

Tell me, as an honest man, do you want to be my wife? Only if with all your heart, you can boldly say: yes, otherwise you’d better say: no, if there is a shadow of self-doubt in you. For God's sake, ask yourself well. It will be terrible for me to hear: no, but I foresee it and find the strength in myself to bear it. But if I never be loved by my husband the way I love, it will be terrible!

Livy dear,

six years have passed since I achieved my first success in life and conquered you, and thirty years since Providence made the necessary preparations for this happy day by sending you into this world. Every day that we have lived together gives me confidence that we will never part with each other, that we will not regret for a second that we have connected our lives.

Every year I love you, my baby, more and more. Today you are dearer to me than on your last birthday, a year ago you were dearer than two years ago - I have no doubt that this wonderful movement will continue to the very end.

Let's look ahead - to future anniversaries, to the coming old age and gray hair - without fear and discouragement. Trusting each other and firmly knowing that the love that each of us carries in our hearts is enough to fill all the years allotted to us with happiness.

So, with great love for you and the children, I welcome this day, which gives you the grace of a respectable lady and the dignity of three decades!

Always yours
S.L.K.

You only want a few words from me. What will they be? When the heart is full, it can overflow, but the real fullness will remain inside ... No words can tell ... how dear you are to me - dear to my soul and heart. I look back and in every moment, in every phrase you said and every gesture, in every letter, in your silence I see your perfection.

I don't want to change my words or appearance. My hope and goal is to keep our love, not to betray it. I rely on God, who gave it to me and, undoubtedly, will help to save it. That's enough, my dear Ba! You gave me the highest, most complete proof of love that only one person can give to another. I am grateful - and proud that you are the reward of my life.

Dear Fanny,

Are you sometimes afraid that I don't love you as much as you want? Dear girl, I loved you forever and unconditionally. The more I get to know you, the more I love you. All my actions - even my jealousy - are manifestations of Love; in its fiery flame I can die for you.

I brought you much suffering. But it's all about Love! What can I do? You are always new. Your last kisses were the sweetest, your last smile the brightest; the last gestures are the most graceful.

When you passed my window last night, I was overwhelmed with such admiration, as if I saw you for the first time. You complained to me once that I love only your Beauty. Do I have nothing more to love in you, but only this? Do I not see a heart endowed with wings that took away my freedom? No worries could divert your thoughts from me for a moment.

Perhaps this is deplorable, not joyful, but that's not what I'm talking about. Even if you did not love me, I could not overcome my total devotion to you: how much deeper must my feeling for you be if I know that I am loved by you. My Mind is disturbed and disturbed, besides it is found in a too small body.

I have never felt that my Mind took complete and complete pleasure from anything - from no person but you. When you are in the room, my thoughts do not scatter, all my feelings are concentrated. The anxiety about our Love that I caught in your last note is an endless pleasure for me. However, you must no longer suffer from such suspicions; I believe you unconditionally, and you have no reason to be offended by me. Brown has gone, but Mrs. Wiley is here; when she leaves, I will be especially vigilant for you. Bow to your mother. Your loving J. Keats.

My dear Josephine,

I'm afraid you got wet last night, because as soon as the door of my house closed behind you, it began to rain. I take this opportunity to return your hat and express the hope that everything is all right with you this morning and you have not caught a cold.

I tried talking to your Hat. Asked her how many tender glances below her brim she had seen; how many tender words she heard next to her; how many times it was thrown into the air in moments of delight and triumph. And did she happen (and if it happened, when) to tremble from the feelings that overwhelmed her mistress. But she proved she could keep secrets and didn't answer any of my questions. All I could do was try to surprise her by saying different names one after the other. For a long time she remained imperturbable, but suddenly, hearing one name, she definitely shuddered and her ribbons fluttered!

I wished her all the best. I hope that she never covers her aching head, and the eyes that she protects from the sun's rays will never know tears, but only joy and love.

Dear Josephine, Best regards,
Yours Daniel Webster

My dear Emma,

all your letters, letters dear to me, are so entertaining and reveal your essence so fully that, after reading them, I experience either the greatest pleasure or the greatest pain. It's another best thing about being with you.

I only wish, my dearest Emma, ​​that you always believe that Nelson is yours; Nelson's alpha and omega is Emma. I can't change - my affection and love for you lies beyond this world! Nothing can break it, only you. But I don't allow myself to think about it for a moment.

I feel that you are a true friend of my soul and dearer to me than life itself; I'm the same for you. Nobody can compare with you.

I'm glad you made such a pleasant trip to Norfolk. I hope one day to catch you there and bind you with bonds of law, stronger than the bonds of love and affection that bind us now ...

I cannot leave without saying a few words to you. So, my darling, you expect a lot of good things from me. Your happiness, even your life depends, as you say, on my love for you!

Fear nothing, my dear Sophie; my love will last forever, you will live and be happy. I have never done anything wrong and I am not going to tread on this road. I am all yours - you are everything to me. We will support each other in all the troubles that fate can send us. You will ease my suffering; I will help you with yours. I can always see you the way you were lately! As for me, you must admit that I have remained the same as you saw me on the first day of our acquaintance.

This is not only my merit, but for the sake of justice, I must tell you about it. Every day I feel more alive. I am sure of loyalty to you and appreciate your virtues more and more every day. I am confident in your constancy and appreciate it. No one's passion had a greater basis than mine. Dear Sophie, You are very beautiful, aren't you? Watch yourself - see how it suits you to be in love; and know that I love you very much. This is a constant expression of my feelings.

Good night, my dear Sophie. I am as happy as a man can be who knows he is loved by the fairest of women.

Happy Birthday, Princess!

We grow old and get used to each other. We think alike. We read each other's minds. We know what the other wants without asking. Sometimes we irritate each other a little - and maybe sometimes we take each other for granted.

But sometimes, like today, I think about it and realize how lucky I am to share my life with the greatest woman I have ever met. You still amaze and inspire me.

You change me for the better. You are my desire, the main reason for my existence. I love you so much.

Happy Birthday, Princess.

We have selected for you the most passionate letters ever created by world-famous couples in love.

Alexander II - Ekaterina Dolgorukova

LOVE STORY

At the time of writing these letters, Emperor Alexander II has been married to Maria Alexandrovna for 27 years, but, of course, he could not get a divorce. The connection with Ekaterina Dolgorukova lasted from 1866, and after the death of the Empress in 1880, Alexander II immediately entered into a Marganist marriage with his beloved. However, their happiness did not last long: a year later, the emperor died from a bomb thrown by Ignaty Grinevitsky, a Narodnaya Volya member.

"We will again be in each other's arms with the same happiness as before..."

“After returning from a morning walk in the park, I, overwhelmed with happiness, took up my favorite pastime - reading your letter. It was the day of my return, but I didn't
in a hurry. My thoughts were full, as usual, of my sweet little devil, who would forgive me and promise even greater pleasure than on our first meeting.
And, my Angel, I promise you that we will again be in each other's arms with the same happiness as before, but remaining prudent because of your m.d.f., whom you love very much. But it was still sweet for us to find ourselves together after all that we endured after Paris. But nothing compares to the joy of what we do. We are two thirsty ones who cannot wait to be united with each other, and we are inseparable forever, feeling the happiness of being husband and wife before God.
<…>
O! Thank you, thank you, dear Angel, for all these tender memories that brought me so much pleasure, like everything that my sweet little wife brings me, who is the center of my life. And I am happy and proud to be her husband before God. It is not our fault that we missed our happiness. Nothing can interfere with our happiness. I love the happy memories you bring to me so much. I can't find anything like that in my life with Maria, although I may have forgotten about them in our nest.<…>I embrace you, my soul Katya, and I am happy that I am yours forever.

Nicholas II - Alexandra Feodorovna

LOVE STORY

The love of the royal couple flashed at first sight, when Princess Alice of Hesse-Darmstadt came to Russia for the second time. The parents of the Tsarevich and grandmother Alix opposed this marriage, but Nicholas II persisted, and they had to agree. The couple carried love through their whole lives and did not flinch in the face of death, being under the guns of the Bolsheviks along with their children and servants.

“Although we are apart, our souls and thoughts are one,
is not it..."

“Darling, don’t think me stupid, but I can’t start a single letter without repeating what I constantly feel and think about: I love you, I love you. Oh honey, what is this power that has made me your prisoner forever? I can’t think of anything but you, my dear, and I give my life into your hands, I can’t give more. Over my love, every drop of it, you have complete power! Although we are apart, our souls and thoughts are one, isn't it, dear? Oh, my Aliki, if you only knew how much happiness you gave me, you would be glad and nothing would disturb the peace of your heart. How I would like to be close to you, to whisper gentle words of love and comfort in your ear...
And, honey, please always text me if you need to know anything. Speak directly and frankly. Never be afraid to tell me whatever you want. We should know everything about each other and always help each other, right, dear?
... With the warmest love and tenderest kisses, I remain your devoted and deeply loving, Nicky.
God bless you".

September 19, 1914
(the first letter of Alexandra Feodorovna after the start of the war)

“From an egoistic point of view, I suffer terribly from this separation. We are not used to her and I love my precious sweet boy so endlessly. It's almost twenty years now that I belong to you, and what a blessing it was for your little wife!
<…>
My fervent prayers follow you day and night. May the Lord keep you, may he protect, guide and guide you, and bring you home healthy and strong.
I bless and love you, as rarely anyone has ever been loved, and kiss every dear place, and press you tenderly to my heart.
Forever your own old wife."

Vladimir Mayakovsky - Lile Brik

LOVE STORY

Perhaps the most mysterious and dramatic love triangle: Vladimir Mayakovsky - Lilya Brik - Osip Brik. The three of them lived in the same apartment, the poet regularly provided money to the spouses and devoted almost all the poems to his "Lilik". Despite the numerous other connections of all the participants in this strange union, Mayakovsky always loved only the main Muse, he suffered terribly and was so tightly attached to her that he could only break the bonds that had entangled him with a shot in the heart.

“Before, driven by you, I believed in a meeting. Now I feel that I have been completely torn away from life, that nothing more will ever happen.
There is no life without you ... "

"Lilek.
I see you've made up your mind. I know that my pestering you is a pain for you. But, Lilik, what happened to me today is too terrible for me not to grasp at the last straw, at the letter.
It was never so hard for me - I must have really grown too much. Previously, chased by you, I believed in a meeting. Now I feel that I have been completely torn away from life, that nothing more will ever happen. There is no life without you. I've always said it, I've always known it. Now I feel it, I feel it with my whole being. Everything, everything that I thought about with pleasure, now has no value - disgusting.
<…>
And yet I am unable not to write, not to ask you to forgive me for everything. If you made a decision with difficulty, with a struggle, if you want to try the latter, you will forgive, you will answer.
But even if you don't answer, you are my only thought. As I loved you seven years ago, I love you this very second, no matter what you want, no matter what you order, I will do it right now, I will do it with delight. How terrible it is to part, if you know that you love and you yourself are to blame for the parting.
I sit in a cafe and cry. Saleswomen laugh at me. It is terrible to think that my whole life will continue to be like this.
I write only about myself, not about you, I'm scared to think that you are calm and that with every second you are further and further away from me and a few more of them and I am completely forgotten.
If you feel anything but pain and disgust from this letter, answer for Christ's sake, answer now, I'm running home, I'll be waiting. If not, terrible, terrible grief.
Kiss. Your whole.
I".

Napoleon I Bonaparte - Josephine Beauharnais

LOVE STORY

They got married when Napoleon was still a general. The age difference of six years did not interfere with the lovers, and while in the army, he was terribly jealous and sent hot letters, begging Josephine to join him. The windy beauty did not get bored in the company of numerous lovers, and Napoleon several times tried to part with her, but the influence of Josephine turned out to be stronger. And yet they divorced when it became clear that she could not give the emperor an heir.

“It hurts me that you don’t call me by my first name. I'll be waiting for you to write it"

1796

“There was not a day that I did not love you; there was no night that I did not squeeze you in my arms. I do not drink even a cup of tea, so as not to curse my pride and ambition, which force me to stay away from you, my soul. In the midst of my service, whether at the head of an army or checking camps, I feel that my heart is occupied only by my beloved Josephine. It deprives me of reason, fills my thoughts.
If I move away from you at the speed of the Rhone, it only means that I may soon see you. If I get up in the middle of the night to go to work, it's because this way I can bring the moment of returning to you closer, my love. In your letter, you address me as "you". "You"? Ah, damn! How could you write such a thing? How cold it is!
Josephine! Josephine! Do you remember what I told you once: nature has rewarded me with a strong, unshakable soul. And she fashioned you from lace and air. Have you stopped loving me? Forgive me, love of my life, my soul is torn.
My heart, which belongs to you, is full of fear and longing ... It hurts me that you do not call me by name. I'll be waiting for you to write it. Goodbye! Oh, if you stopped loving me, then you never loved me! And I will have something to regret!”

“I arrived in Milan, I rushed to your apartment, I dropped everything to see you, to squeeze you in my arms ... but you were not there. You travel around the cities where the holidays are held, you leave me when I arrive, you no longer think about your dear Napoleon. Your love for him was only a caprice; inconstancy makes you indifferent. Accustomed to danger, I know the cure for life's hardships and illnesses. The misfortune that befalls me is unbearable; I was entitled to sympathy. I'll be here until the evening of the ninth. Do not worry; come back after entertainment; you are made for happiness. The whole world is happy with what can give you pleasure, and only your husband is very, very unhappy.

Friedrich Schiller - Charlotte Lengefeld

LOVE STORY

Friedrich met Charlotte (and her sister Caroline) in 1785, but the wedding took place a few years later, since the poet did not have a permanent salary and the girl's mother opposed the marriage. They had four children, and life was almost cloudless. Happy days were overshadowed by the frequent illnesses of Friedrich Schiller, and he died at the age of 45. Charlotte survived her husband by 15 years.

“Forget everything that could hamper your heart, let only your feelings speak”

(seven months before marriage)

“Is it true, dear Lotta? Can I hope that Caroline read in your soul and conveyed to me from the depths of your heart what I did not dare to admit to myself? Oh, how heavy this secret seemed to me, which I had to keep all the time, from the moment we met you.
<…>
You could give yourself to another, but no one could love you more pure and tender than me. For no one else Our happiness could not be more sacred than it has always been and always will be for me. All my existence, everything that lives in me, everything dearest in me, I dedicate to you. And if I strive to ennoble myself, it is only in order to become more worthy of you, to make you happier. The nobility of the soul contributes to the beautiful and indissoluble bonds of friendship and love. Our friendship and love will be indissoluble and eternal, like the feelings on which we built them.
Forget everything that could hamper your heart, let only your feelings speak. Confirm what Caroline let me hope for. Say that you want to be mine and that my happiness is not a sacrifice for you. Oh, convince me of this with one single word. Our hearts have been close to each other for a long time. Let that only alien thing that has hitherto stood between us fall away, and let nothing hinder the free communion of our souls.
Goodbye, dear Lotta. I long for the right moment to describe to you all the feelings of my heart; they made me happy and unhappy again for so long. And now this desire alone dwells in my soul.
…Do not hesitate to permanently ease my anxiety. I give into your hands all the happiness of my life ... Goodbye, dear!

Henry VIII - Anne Boleyn

LOVE STORY

To win the love of the seductive Anna, who did not want to act as a favorite, Henry VIII broke off relations with the Pope, who refused to annul the marriage of the king with Catherine of Aragon, and declared himself the head of the new, Anglican church. However, having married his beloved, Henry VIII became disillusioned with the demanding and wayward Boleyn. Carried away by the maid of honor, the king accused Anna of state and adultery, including with her brother. Boleyn was beheaded.

“Not seeing the possibility of being near you, I am sending you a little thing that is closest to me ...”

16th century

“My beloved and my friend, my heart and I place ourselves in your hands, in humble prayer for your good disposition and that your affection for us would not decrease while we are not around. For there will be no greater misfortune for me than to aggravate your sorrow. Separation brings enough sadness, more than I ever imagined. This fact reminds me of astronomy: the farther the poles are from the sun, the more unbearable the heat. The same with our love, for your absence has separated us, but love retains its ardor - at least on my part. Hopefully yours too.
I assure you that in my case, the longing for separation is so great that it would be unbearable if I were not firmly convinced of the strength of your feelings for me. Seeing no possibility of being close to you, I am sending you a little thing that is closest to me, that is, a bracelet with my portrait, with the device that you already know about. How I would like to be in his place, to see you and how you will rejoice in him. Written by the hand of your faithful servant and friend,
G.R.”

Alfred de Musset - George Sand

LOVE STORY

The famous playwright, who knew the sweet taste of fame even before the age of 20, became interested in the famous writer after reading her second novel, and completely lost his head in a personal meeting. They became lovers, often fooled around and came up with different fun, and all of France discussed their crazy relationship. However, the time spent together in Italy became a nightmare for them, and the relationship between George Sand and Alfred de Musset, which lasted only two years, came to naught.

"I will suffer less if you show me the door now"

“My dear Georges, I need to tell you something stupid and funny. I'm writing you foolishly, I don't know why, instead of telling you all this after returning from a walk. In the evening, I will fall into despair because of this. You will laugh in my face, consider me a phrase-monger. You will show me the door and start thinking that I am lying.
I'm in love with you. I fell in love with you from the first day I was with you. I thought that I would recover from this very simply, seeing you as a friend. There are many traits in your character that can heal me; I tried my best to convince myself of this. But the minutes that I spend with you cost me too much. It's better to say it - I will suffer less if you show me the door now. Tonight, when I ... [Georges Sand, editing Musset's letters before publication, crossed out two words and cut out the next line with scissors] I decided to tell you that I was in the country. But I do not want to make riddles, or create the appearance of an unreasonable quarrel. Now, Georges, you will, as usual, say: "Another annoying admirer!" If I am not quite the first person you meet, then tell me how you would say it to me yesterday in a conversation about someone else - what should I do. But I beg you - if you are going to tell me that you doubt the truth of what I am writing to you, then it is better not to answer at all. I know what you think of me; saying this, I do not hope for anything. I can only lose a friend and the only pleasant hours that I spent during the last month. But I know that you are kind, that you loved, and I entrust myself to you not as a beloved, but as a sincere and faithful comrade.
Georges, I am acting like a madman, depriving myself of the pleasure of seeing you during the short time that remains for you to spend in Paris before leaving for Italy. We could have had delightful nights there if I had had more determination. But the truth is that I am suffering and I lack resolve.”

Ludwig van Beethoven -

"Immortal Beloved"

LOVE STORY

Being a complex and irritable person, besides aggravated by a terrible illness - progressive deafness, which almost drove the great composer to suicide, Beethoven never married, but he fell seriously in love more than once, usually with his unattainable students. Three passionate unsent letters were found among his papers, all addressed to the "Immortal Beloved". It is assumed that Antonia Brentano, a Venetian, the wife of a Frankfurt merchant, was hiding behind this sweet “name”.

“I decided to wander away from you until I am able to fly and throw myself into your arms, feel you completely mine and enjoy this bliss”

“Even in bed my thoughts fly to you, my Immortal Love! I am seized by either joy or sadness in anticipation of what fate has in store for us. I can either live with you or not live at all. Yes, I have decided to wander away from you until I am able to fly and throw myself into your arms, feel you completely mine and enjoy this bliss. That is how it should be. You will agree to this, because you do not doubt my loyalty to you; never another will take my heart, never, never. Oh, God, why part with what you love so much!
The life I now lead in V. is hard. Your love makes me the happiest and unhappiest person at the same time. At my age, a certain monotony, stability of life is already required, but are they possible with our relations? My angel, now I just found out that the mail leaves every day, I must finish so that you receive the letter as soon as possible. Be calm; be calm, love me always.
What a longing to see you! You are my Life - my Everything - goodbye. Love me as before - never doubt the fidelity of your beloved.
L.
Forever yours
Forever mine
Forever we are ours."

Vissarion Belinsky - Maria Orlova

LOVE STORY

The outstanding critic and publicist, despite the wide circle of acquaintances, felt terribly lonely and often did not even want to go home so as not to be alone with his heavy thoughts. Having fallen in love with Maria Orlova and proposing to her, Belinsky again felt happiness and a surge of strength. However, family life did not bring him the desired satisfaction: the couple often quarreled. They lived only four years, when Belinsky died of consumption at the age of 36.

“In dreams I speak to you better than in writing, just as I used to speak to you better in absentia than on dates”

“The thought of you makes me happy, and I am unhappy with my happiness, for I can only think of you. The most luxurious dream is worth less than the most impoverished materiality; and a rich essentiality awaits me: what and why do I have all my dreams, and can they give me happiness? No, as long as you are not with me, I am not myself, I cannot do anything, think anything. After that, it is very natural that all my thoughts, desires, aspirations focused on one thought, on one question: when will it be? And while I still don't know exactly when, but something inside me tells me that soon. Oh, if it could be next month!
<…>
Tell me: will I get a letter from you soon? I am waiting - and I do not believe that I will wait, I am sure that I will receive it soon - and I am afraid to even hope. Oh, do not torment me, but you have already sent your letter, and I will receive it today, tomorrow! - is not it?
Farewell. God bless you! May good spirits surround you during the day, whisper words of love and happiness to you, and send you good dreams at night. And I - I would like now to see you at least for a minute, to look into your eyes for a long, long time, to hug your knees and kiss the edge of your dress. But no, it is better not to see each other for as long as possible, than to see each other for only one minute and part again, as we have already parted once. Forgive me for this chatter; my chest is on fire; a tear wells up in his eyes: in such a stupid state, one usually wants to say a lot and nothing is said, or it is said very stupidly.
Strange affair! In dreams I speak to you better than in writing, just as I used to speak to you better in absentia than when I met. Something now Sokolniki? What is the cherished path, the green bench, the magnificent alley? How sad to remember all this and how much joy and happiness in the sadness of this memory!

Leo Tolstoy - Sophia Bers

LOVE STORY

They have known each other since childhood and have maintained love and respect for each other all their lives. When they got married, Lev Nikolaevich was 34 years old, and his young wife was only 18. Sofya Andreevna was the great writer not only the wife and mother of his 13 children (five died in childhood), but also a faithful friend and assistant in all matters - a copyist of manuscripts, translator, secretary, publisher of his works. It was she who ran the household and also wrote novels and short stories, memoirs.

"Your presence reminds me too vividly of my old age, and it is you"

“Sofya Andreevna, it’s becoming unbearable for me. For three weeks I say every day: today I will say everything, and I leave with the same longing, repentance, fear and happiness in my soul. And every night, as now, I go over the past, I suffer and say: why did I not say, and how, and what would I say. I take this letter with me to give it to you, if again I cannot, or lack the courage to tell you everything. Your family's false view of me is, it seems to me, that I am in love with your sister Liza. It's not fair. Your story stuck in my head because, after reading it, I became convinced that I, Dublitsky, should not dream of happiness, that your excellent poetic demands for love ... that I do not envy and will not envy the one you love . It seemed to me that I could rejoice in you as in children.
In Ivitsy I wrote: "Your presence reminds me too vividly of my old age, and it is you." But then, and now, I lied to myself. Even then I could have cut everything off and gone back to my monastery of solitary labor and passion for work. Now I can do nothing, but I feel that I have made a mess in your family; that a simple, dear relationship with you, as with a friend, an honest person, is lost. And I can't leave and I don't dare to stay. You are an honest man, hand on heart, slowly, for God's sake slowly, tell me what to do? What you laugh at, you work for. I would have died laughing if I had been told a month ago that it was possible to suffer, as I am suffering, and I am happily suffering this time.
Tell me, as an honest man, do you want to be my wife? Only if with all your heart, you can boldly say: yes, otherwise you’d better say: no, if there is a shadow of self-doubt in you. For God's sake, ask yourself well. It will be terrible for me to hear: no, but I foresee it and find the strength in myself to bear it. But if I will never be loved as a husband as I love, it will be terrible!”

Project prepared
Ksenia Menshchikova

magazine ENTRER №3(autumn 2014)

I wanted to please you with an interesting selection for the holiday. But I found so many letters that I decided to divide them into two parts. Read and enjoy)) Love letter to Denis Diderot - Sophie Volan I cannot leave without saying a few words to you. So, my darling, you expect a lot of good things from me. Your happiness, even your life depends, as you say, on my love for you! Fear nothing, my dear Sophie; my love will last forever, you will live and be happy. I have never done anything wrong and I am not going to tread on this road. I am all yours - you are everything to me. We will support each other in all the troubles that fate can send us. You will ease my suffering; I will help you with yours. I can always see you the way you were lately! As for me, you must admit that I have remained the same as you saw me on the first day of our acquaintance. This is not only my merit, but for the sake of justice, I must tell you about it. Every day I feel more alive. I am sure of loyalty to you and appreciate your virtues more and more every day. I am confident in your constancy and appreciate it. No one's passion had a greater basis than mine. Dear Sophie, You are very beautiful, aren't you? Watch yourself - see how it suits you to be in love; and know that I love you very much. This is a constant expression of my feelings. Good night, my dear Sophie. I am as happy as a man can be who knows he is loved by the fairest of women. Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart - Constanze Dear little wife, I have a few assignments for you. I beg you: 1) do not fall into melancholy, 2) take care of your health and beware of spring winds, 3) do not go for a walk alone - or better yet, do not go for a walk at all, 4) be completely sure of my love. I write all the letters to you with your portrait in front of me. 6) and in the end I ask you to write me more detailed letters. I really want to know if brother-in-law Hofer came to visit us the day after I left? Does he come often, as he promised me? Do the Langes come in sometimes? How is the work on the portrait going? How do you live? All this, of course, is of great interest to me. 5) I beg you to behave in such a way that neither your nor my good name is damaged, also watch your appearance. Do not be angry with me for such a request. You should love me even more because I care about our honor with you. V.A. Mozart A love letter from Victor Hugo to his beloved Adele Fouche A few words from you, my beloved Adele, changed my mood again. Yes, you can do whatever you want with me. And tomorrow I will certainly die if the magical sound of your voice and the gentle touch of your adored lips do not breathe life into me. With what conflicting feelings I went to bed! Yesterday, Adele, I lost faith in your love and called for the hour of death. I said to myself: “If it is true that she does not love me, if nothing in me could earn the blessing of her love, without which my life would lose its attractiveness, is this not a reason to die? Should I live only for my personal happiness? Not; my whole existence is dedicated to her alone, even against her will. And by what right did I dare to covet her love? Am I an angel or a deity? I love her, it's true. I am ready to gladly sacrifice to her whatever she desires - everything, even the hope of being loved by her. There is no greater devotion in the world than mine in relation to her, to her smile, to her one look. But can I be different? Isn't she the purpose of my whole life? If she shows indifference to me, even hatred, it will be my misfortune, the end. But won't that hurt her happiness? Yes, if she is unable to love me, I have only myself to blame. My duty is to follow on her heels, to be near her, to serve as a barrier to all dangers, to serve as a saving bridge, to stand tirelessly between her and all sorrows, demanding no reward, expecting no gratitude. Only she will give infinite happiness if she sometimes deigns to throw a pitying glance at her slave and remember him in a moment of danger! Like this! If she would only let me devote my life to anticipating her every desire, fulfilling her every whim. If she would only permit me to respectfully kiss her delightful footprints; if she even agrees to rely on me in difficult moments of life. Then I will have the only happiness I long for. But if I am ready to sacrifice everything for her, should she be grateful to me? Is it her fault that I love her? Should she feel like she's obligated to love me? Not! She may laugh at my devotion, accept my services with hatred, repulse my worship with contempt, without for a moment having the right to complain of this angel; there will be no moral right to suspend my generosity towards her, a generosity that she neglects. Every day of mine must be marked by the sacrifice made to her, and even on the day of my death, my unrequited debt to her will not disappear. These are the thoughts, my beloved Adele, that visited me last night. Only now they are mixed with the hope of happiness - such a great happiness that I cannot think of it without trembling. Is it true that you love me, Adele? Tell me and I will believe in this amazing idea. You don't think I'll go mad with joy throwing my life at your feet, sure that I'll make you as happy as I am happy, knowing that you'll admire me just as I admire you. ? O! Your letter has restored peace in my soul, your words spoken this evening have filled me with happiness. A thousand thanks, Adele, my beloved angel. If I could prostrate before you as before a deity! What happiness you have brought me! Adieu, adieu, I'll spend a delightful night dreaming of you. Sleep well, let your husband take the twelve kisses you promised him, in addition to those not yet promised. Beethoven's letter to his beloved Even in bed my thoughts fly to you, my immortal love! I am seized by either joy or sadness in anticipation of what fate has in store for us. I can either live with you or not live at all. Yes, I have decided to wander away from you until I am able to fly and throw myself into your arms, feel you completely mine and enjoy this bliss. That is how it should be. You will agree to this, because you do not doubt my loyalty to you; never another will take my heart, never, never. Oh, God, why part with what you love so much! The life I now lead in V. is hard. Your love makes me the happiest and unhappiest person at the same time. At my age, a certain monotony, stability of life is already required, but are they possible with our relations? My angel, now I just found out that the mail leaves every day, I must finish so that you receive the letter as soon as possible. Be calm; be calm, love me always. What a longing to see you! You are my Life - my Everything - goodbye. Love me as before - never doubt the loyalty of your beloved A. Forever yours, Forever mine, Forever we are ours. Jack London to Anna Stransky Dear Anna: Did I say that all people can be divided into types? If I did, let me clarify - not all of them. You're slipping away, I can't attribute you to any species, I can't figure you out. I can boast that out of 10 people, I can predict the behavior of nine. Judging by words and actions, I can guess the heart rate of nine out of ten people. But the tenth is a mystery to me, I am in despair because it is higher than me. You are the tenth. Has it ever happened that two silent souls, so dissimilar, so suited each other? Of course, we often feel the same way, but even when we feel something differently, we still understand each other, even though we do not have a common language. We don't need words spoken aloud. We are too incomprehensible and mysterious for this. The Lord must be laughing, seeing our silent action. The only glimmer of common sense in all of this is that we both have a frenzied temperament big enough to understand. True, we often understand each other, but with elusive glimpses, vague sensations, as if ghosts, while we doubt, haunt us with their perception of the truth. And yet I dare not believe that you are the tenth person whose behavior I cannot predict. Am I hard to understand now? I don't know, maybe it is. I can't find a common language. Huge temperament - that's what allows us to be together. For a second, eternity itself flared up in our hearts and we were drawn to each other, despite the fact that we are so different. Do I smile when you get excited? That smile that can be forgiven - no, it's an envious smile. For 25 years I lived in a depressed state. I have learned not to admire. This is a lesson that cannot be forgotten. I'm starting to forget, but that's not enough. At best, I hope that before I die, I will forget everything, or almost everything. I can already rejoice, I am learning this little by little, I rejoice in the little things, but I cannot rejoice at what is in me, my innermost thoughts, I cannot, I cannot. Am I unclear? Do you hear my voice? I'm afraid not. There are many hypocrites in the world. I am the most successful Napoleon Bonaparte - Josephine There wasn't a day that I didn't love you; there was no night that I did not squeeze you in my arms. I do not drink even a cup of tea, so as not to curse my pride and ambition, which force me to stay away from you, my soul. In the midst of my service, whether at the head of an army or checking camps, I feel that my heart is occupied only by my beloved Josephine. It deprives me of reason, fills my thoughts. If I move away from you at the speed of the Rhone, it only means that I may soon see you. If I get up in the middle of the night to go to work, it's because this way I can bring the moment of returning to you closer, my love. In your letter dated 23 and 26 Vantoza, you address me as "You." "You" ? Ah, damn! How could you write such a thing? How cold it is!... ...Josephine! Josephine! Do you remember what I told you once: nature has rewarded me with a strong, unshakable soul. And she fashioned you from lace and air. Have you stopped loving me? Forgive me, love of my life, my soul is torn. My heart, which belongs to you, is full of fear and longing ... It hurts me that you do not call me by name. I'll be waiting for you to write it. Goodbye! Oh, if you stopped loving me, then you never loved me! And I will be sorry! Napoleon Bonaparte - Josephine in Milan(November 13, 1796, sent from Verona) I don't love you anymore... On the contrary, I hate you. You are a vile, stupid, ridiculous woman. You don't write to me at all, you don't love your husband. You know how much joy your letters bring to him, and you cannot even write six quick lines. But what do you do all day long, ma'am? What urgent matters take up your time, prevent you from writing to your very good lover? What prevents your tender and devoted love, which you promised him? Who is this new seducer, new lover, who claims all your time, preventing you from taking care of your spouse? Josephine, beware: one fine night I will break down your doors and stand before you. In fact, my dear friend, I am worried that I do not receive news from you, write me quickly four pages, and only about those pleasant things that will fill my heart with joy and tenderness. I hope to wrap you in my arms soon and cover you with a million kisses, burning like the rays of the sun at the equator. Bonaparte Mark Twain - Livy
Livy, dear, today we climbed up and down steep hills, with dirty and wet shoes, in a rain that did not stop for a minute, with joyful whooping for six hours straight. All the way I was alert and fresh as a lark, and arrived at the place without the slightest feeling of fatigue. We washed, emptied our boots, ate, undressed, and went to bed for two and a half hours while our clothes and equipment dried and our boots were cleaned. Then we put on still warm clothes and went to the table. I have made some nice English friends and will see them tomorrow in Zermatt. Gathered a small bouquet of flowers, but they wilted. I sent you a full box of flowers last night from Luckerbad. I have just sent a telegram for you to telegraph the family news to me in Rifel tomorrow. I hope you are doing well and having as much fun as we do. I love you, my heart, you and children. Give my love to Clara Spaulding and also to the kids. Wagner - Mathilde Wesendonck Is my sweet muse still far away? Silently I waited for her visit; I didn't want to bother her with requests. Muse, like love, makes happy freely. Woe to the fool, woe to the poor of love, if he wants to take by force what is not given to him voluntarily. They cannot be forced. Is not it? Is not it? How could love be a muse if it allowed itself to be forced? Is my sweet muse still far away from me? Charles Darwin - Emma Wedgwood I can't tell you how much I enjoyed visiting the Maers. I was looking forward to a future serene life: I really hope that you can be as happy as I am. But when I think about it, it scares me that you're not used to this lifestyle. This morning I was thinking about how it happened that happiness, and silence, and solitude, have such a beneficial effect on me, a sociable and purely rational person. The explanation, I suppose, is quite simple, I mention it because it will give you hope that in time I will become less uncouth and rude. It is all to blame for the five years of my journey (and, of course, the last two years), which, one might say, became the beginning of my real life. Despite the active lifestyle that I led there - admiring unprecedented animals, traveling through wild deserts or impenetrable forests, walking around the deck of the old Beagle at night - only what was happening in my head gave me real pleasure. Forgive my selfishness, I am talking about this in the hope that you will ennoble me, teach me to find happiness not only in building theories and comprehending facts in silence and loneliness. My dearest Emma, ​​I fervently pray that you will never regret anything, and I will add something else - you will receive on Tuesday: my dear future wife, God bless you ... The Lyells came in after church today; Lyell is so busy with geology that he needs to unload; as a guest of honor, I dine with them on Tuesday. Today I was a little ashamed of myself, we talked for about half an hour and all about geology, and poor Mrs Lyell sat next to me like a monument to patience. I should probably practice with the female sex, though I haven't noticed Lyell showing any remorse. I hope in time to strengthen my conscience: few husbands seem to find this difficult. After returning, I looked into our living room several times, which you will readily believe. I suppose my taste in color choice has already been spoiled, since I claim that the room looks less ugly. I had so much fun being in the house that I must have looked like an overgrown child addicted to a new toy. But still I am not quite a child, because I long for a wife and a friend. John Keats - Fanny Brown My dear girl! Nothing in the world could give me more pleasure than your letter, except you yourself. I am almost tired of being amazed that my senses blissfully obey the will of that being who is now so far away from me. Without even thinking about you, I feel your presence, and a wave of tenderness covers me. All my thoughts, all my joyless days and sleepless nights have not cured me of my love for Beauty. On the contrary, this love has become so strong that I am in despair because you are not around, and I am forced to overcome in dull patience an existence that cannot be called Life. Never before have I known that there is such love as you have given me. I didn't believe in her; I was afraid to burn in its flame. But if you love me, the fire of love will not be able to scorch us - it will be no more than we, sprinkled with the dew of Pleasure, can bear. You mention "terrible people" and ask if they will prevent us from seeing each other again. My love, understand only one thing: you fill my heart so much that I am ready to turn into a Mentor, as soon as I notice the danger that threatens you. In your eyes I want to see only joy, on your lips - only love, in your walk - only happiness. I would like to see only pleasure in your eyes. Let our love be a source of pleasure, and not a shelter from grief and worries. But if the worst happens, I can hardly remain a philosopher and follow my own prescriptions; if my hardness hurts you, I can't! Why should I not talk about your Beauty, without which I could never love you? Only Beauty is capable of awakening such love as my love for you - I cannot imagine otherwise. There may be another love for which, without a hint of mockery, I am ready to have the deepest respect and admiration for it. But it is deprived of that strength, that flowering, that perfection and charm with which my heart is filled. So let me talk about your Beauty, even if it is dangerous for myself: what if you are cruel enough to test her Power over others? You write that you are afraid - if I think that you do not love me; these words of yours instill in me a painful desire to be near you. Here I diligently indulge in my favorite pastime - I do not miss a day without stretching a piece of white verse longer or stringing a couple of other rhymes. I must confess (since I've mentioned it) that I love you even more because I know that you loved me exactly as I am, and for no other reason. I have met women who would be happy to be engaged to Sonnet or to marry Roman. I saw your Comet; well, if it served as a good omen for poor Rais: because of his illness, sharing company with him is not very fun, especially since he is trying to overcome and hide his illness from me, releasing dubious puns. I kissed your letter up and down in the hope that you, putting your lips to it, left the taste of honey on the lines. What did you see in your dream? Tell me your dream and I will give you an interpretation. Always yours, my love! John Keats Alfred de Musset - George Sand (1833) My dear Georges, I need to tell you something stupid and funny. I'm writing you foolishly, I don't know why, instead of telling you all this after returning from a walk. In the evening, I will fall into despair because of this. You will laugh in my face, consider me a phrase-monger. You will show me the door and start thinking that I am lying. I'm in love with you. I fell in love with you from the first day I was with you. I thought that I would recover from this very simply, seeing you as a friend. There are many traits in your character that can heal me; I tried my best to convince myself of this. But the minutes that I spend with you cost me too much. It's better to say it - I will suffer less if you show me the door now. Tonight, when I... [Georges Sand, editing Musset's letters before publication, crossed out two words and cut out the next line with scissors] I decided to tell you that I was in the country. But I do not want to make riddles, or create the appearance of an unreasonable quarrel. Now, Georges, you will, as usual, say: "Another annoying admirer!" If I am not quite the first person you meet, then tell me how you would say it to me yesterday in a conversation about someone else - what should I do. But I beg you - if you are going to tell me that you doubt the truth of what I am writing to you, then it is better not to answer at all. I know what you think of me; saying this, I do not hope for anything. I can only lose a friend and the only pleasant hours that I spent during the last month. But I know that you are kind, that you loved, and I entrust myself to you, not as a beloved, but as a sincere and faithful comrade. Georges, I am acting like a madman, depriving myself of the pleasure of seeing you during the short time that remains for you to spend in Paris before leaving for Italy. There we could spend delightful nights if I had more determination. But the truth is that I suffer and I lack resolve. Alfred de Musset Henry VIII - Anne Boleyn My beloved and my friend, my heart and I place ourselves in your hands, in humble prayer for your good disposition and that your affection for us would not decrease while we are not around. For there will be no greater misfortune for me than to aggravate your sorrow. Separation brings enough sadness, more than I ever imagined. This fact reminds me of astronomy: the farther the poles are from the sun, the more unbearable the heat. The same with our love, for your absence has separated us, but love retains its ardor - at least on my part. Hopefully yours too. I assure you that in my case, the longing for separation is so great that it would be unbearable if I were not firmly convinced of the strength of your feelings for me. Seeing no possibility of being close to you, I am sending you a little thing that is closest to me, that is, a bracelet with my portrait, with the device that you already know about. How I would like to be in his place, to see you and how you will rejoice in him. Written by the hand of your faithful servant and friend, G.R. Gustave Flaubert - Louise Colet (Croisset, Saturday, one in the morning) You speak very tender words to me, dear Muse. Eh bien, get such tender words in return that you cannot even imagine. Your love saturates me like a warm rain, I feel washed by it to the very depths of my heart. Is there anything in you that does not deserve my love - body, mind, tenderness? You are open in soul and strong in mind, there is very little poetic in you, but you are a real poet. Everything about you is lovely, you look like your chest, just as snow-white and soft. None of the women I knew before can compare to you. It is unlikely that those whom I desired are equal to you. Sometimes I try to imagine your face in old age, and it seems to me that even then I will love you, maybe even more. Johann Christoph Friedrich von Schiller - Charlotte von Lengefeld (August 3, 1789) Is it true, dear Lotta? Can I hope that Caroline read in your soul and conveyed to me from the depths of your heart what I did not dare to admit to myself? Oh, how heavy this secret seemed to me, which I had to keep all the time, from the moment we met you. Often, when we were still living together, I gathered all my courage and came to you, intending to open up, but courage constantly left me. I saw selfishness in this striving of mine; I was afraid that I cared only about my happiness, and this thought terrified me. If I could not be to you what you were to me, then my suffering would upset you. With my confession, I would destroy the wonderful harmony of our friendship, I would lose what I had - your pure, sisterly disposition. And yet there were moments when my hope revived, when the happiness that we could give each other seemed to me infinitely higher than all reasoning, when I even considered it noble to sacrifice everything else to him. You might be happy without me, but you would never be unhappy because of me. I vividly felt this in myself - and on this then I built my hopes. You could give yourself to another, but no one could love you more pure and tender than me. For no one else Our happiness could not be more sacred than it has always been and always will be for me. All my existence, everything that lives in me, everything dearest in me, I dedicate to you. And if I strive to ennoble myself, it is only in order to become more worthy of you, to make you happier. The nobility of the soul contributes to the beautiful and indissoluble bonds of friendship and love. Our friendship and love will be indissoluble and eternal, like the feelings on which we built them. Forget everything that could hamper your heart, let only your feelings speak. Confirm what Caroline let me hope for. Say that you want to be mine and that my happiness is not a sacrifice for you. Oh, convince me of this with one single word. Our hearts have been close to each other for a long time. Let that only alien thing that has hitherto stood between us fall away, and let nothing hinder the free communion of our souls. Goodbye, dear Lotta. I long for the right moment to describe to you all the feelings of my heart; they made me happy and unhappy again for so long. And now this desire alone dwells in my soul. ...Do not hesitate to permanently ease my anxiety. I give into your hands all the happiness of my life. .. Goodbye, dear! Lord Byron - Lady Caroline Lamb My dear Carolina, if the tears that you saw and which, I know, I should not have shed, were it not for the excitement that overwhelmed me at the moment of parting with you - the excitement that you should have felt during recent events; if all this had not started before your departure; if all that I have said and done, and yet am ready to say and do, has not sufficiently proved what my feelings are and always will be towards you, my love, then I have no other evidence for you. God knows, never before this moment did I think that you, my love, my dear friend, could be so violent. I can't express everything, now is not the time for words. But I will feel a sense of pride and take sad pleasure in the suffering that you have experienced. And because you don't know me at all. I'm ready to leave, but with a heavy heart. For my appearance this evening will put an end to any ridiculous story that the events of this day could give rise to. Do you now think that I am cold, ruthless and self-willed? Will others think so? And your mother? The Mother to whom we must sacrifice much more, much more than she will ever know or imagine. "I promise not to love you"? Ah, Carolina, those promises are in the past! But I will explain all the confessions in due course and never cease to feel all that you have already witnessed; even more than that - what my heart knows and, perhaps, yours. May God forgive, protect and bless you forever. Your most devoted Byron R.S. This is what your mockery has led to, my dear Caroline. Is there anything in heaven or on earth that could make me as happy as you once made me? And now no less than then, but more than now. God knows, I wish you happiness. Even if I leave you or you, out of a sense of duty towards your husband and mother, leave me, you will understand that I am telling the truth when I promise and swear that no person, no occupation will take the place in my heart that belongs and will be belong to you forever, until my death. You know, I would gladly give up everything here or even in the afterlife for you, so can my motives be misunderstood? I don't care who knows about it and how it can be used - it's for you, only for you. I was yours and now I am yours, completely and completely, to obey, honor, love you and fly with you, when, where and how you please. Honore de Balzac - Countess Evelina Hanska How I wish I could spend the day at your feet; laying her head on your knees, dreaming about the beautiful, sharing her thoughts with you in bliss and rapture, and sometimes not talking at all, but pressing the edge of your dress to your lips! .. Oh, my love, Eve, the joy of my days, my light in the night, my hope, admiration, my beloved, precious, when will I see you? Or is it an illusion? Did I see you? Oh Gods! How I love your accent, barely perceptible, your kind lips, so sensual - let me tell you this, my angel of love. I work day and night to come and stay with you for two weeks in December. On the way, I will see the Jura mountains covered with snow, and I will think about the snowy whiteness of the shoulders of my beloved. Oh! Inhaling the fragrance of hair, holding your hand, squeezing you in my arms - that's where I draw inspiration from! My friends are amazed at the invincibility of my willpower. Oh! They do not know my beloved, the one whose pure image cancels out all the chagrin of their bile attacks. One kiss, my angel, one slow kiss, and good night! Francois Voltaire to Olympia Dunoyer It seems to me, dear young lady, that you love me, so be ready in these circumstances to use all the power of your mind. As soon as I returned to the hotel yesterday, M. Lefebvre told me that I must leave today, and I could only put it off until tomorrow; however, he forbade me to go anywhere before departure; he fears that madam your mother will not offend me, which may resonate with him and the king; he didn't even give me anything to object to; I must certainly leave without seeing you. You can imagine my despair. It might have cost me my life if I did not hope to be of service to you by depriving you of your precious company. The desire to see you in Paris will console me during my journey. I will no longer persuade you to leave your mother and see your father, from whose arms you were pulled out to make you unhappy here. * I will spend the whole day at home. Send me three letters: one for your father, another for your uncle, and a third for your sister; this is absolutely necessary, I will deliver them at the agreed place, especially the letter to your sister. Let the shoemaker bring these letters to me: promise him a reward; let him come with a block in his hands, as if to correct my shoes. Attach to these letters a note for me, so that when I leave, this will at least serve as a consolation, but, most importantly, in the name of the love that I have for you, my dear, send me your portrait; make every effort to get it from your mother; he will feel much better in my hands than in hers, for he already reigns in my heart. The servant I send to you is unconditionally devoted to me; if you want to give him to your mother as a snuff-maker, he is a Norman and will play his part very well: he will give you all my letters, which I will send to his address, and you can forward yours also through him; you can also entrust him with your portrait. I am writing to you at night, not yet knowing how I will leave; I only know that I must leave: I will do my best to see you tomorrow before I leave Holland. But since I cannot promise this for sure, I tell you, my soul, forgive my last, and, telling you this, I swear with all the tenderness that you deserve. Yes, my dear Pimpetochka, I will always love you; even the most frivolous lovers say so, but their love is not based, like mine, on complete respect; I bow to your virtue as much as to your appearance, and I only pray to heaven that I may be able to borrow your noble feelings from you. My tenderness allows me to count on yours; I flatter myself that I will awaken in you the desire to see Paris; I am going to this beautiful city to beg for your return; I will write to you with every mail through Lefebvre, to whom you will give something for each letter in order to induce him to do his job properly. Farewell once again, my dear mistress; remember at least occasionally about your unfortunate lover, but remember not for the sake of being sad; take care of your health if you want to save mine; above all, be very secretive; burn this letter of mine and all subsequent ones; better you be less merciful to me, but take more care of yourself; let us console ourselves with the hope of a speedy rendezvous, and let us love each other all our lives. Perhaps I myself will come for you; then I will consider myself the happiest of men; as long as you come, I'll be quite satisfied. I want only your happiness, and I would gladly buy it at the price of mine. I will consider myself highly rewarded if I know that I have contributed to your return to well-being. Farewell, my dear soul! I hug you a thousand times. A few days later. (1713) I am held captive in the name of the king; I can be deprived of life, but not love for you. Yes, my dear beloved, I will see you tonight, even though I have to lay my head on the chopping block. For God's sake, do not speak to me in such gloomy terms as you write. Live but be secretive; beware of madam your mother, as your worst enemy; what am I saying? Beware of everyone in the world and trust no one. Be ready for the time when the moon appears; I will leave the hotel incognito, take a carriage and we will rush faster than the wind to Sh .; I'll grab ink and paper; we will write our letters; but if you love me, console yourself, call on all your virtue and all your mind to help ... Be ready from four o'clock; I'll be waiting for you near your street. Farewell, there is nothing that I would not endure for you. You deserve so much more. Farewell, my dear soul. To be continued!

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