L E T T E R S

142Letter Nr. 36.Paris, March 8, 1830My dearest Michael!By the head of Confucius, is it proper for you to forget me in this way?How many months have passed without my reading even a word from you. Inour correspondence, I have written the last two letters. The first favor you willhave to do me is to pay for this third letter. As I love God, I will not pay thepostage on it. In fact, words would not suffice to express my anger at yourexceeding coldness. But, could I be angry with you? Could I wonder whetheryour laziness stems from a change of feeling towards me? No! I cannot acceptsuch a horrible thought.We are all made of the same clay, belonging to the same mean group,and the nature of that primal matter from which we were created breaksthrough to show a variety of weaknesses and vices. If you retain in your heartany true friendship for me, it is possible that, entangled in the chaos of humanrelationships and vexations, burdened by their weight, you could not find theproper time or get yourself into the proper mood to write a few verses to afriend who loves you always, even when he is far away. Therefore, I do notfeel even the slightest trace of bitterness for you. But, mend your ways: emergefrom that chaos and from under that weight. Can you not address a few wordsto me, frankly, and in a manner befitting your position? Have I so soon lostyour confidence completely - for reasons unknown to me? Write to me. Let meknow quickly about your health and situation. Write to tell me that you arealive and our relationship has not changed - that you are the same person youalways were, throughout our long companionship.Dear Michael! It seems to me that between ourselves we should notbeat around the bush, or stand on ceremony. Therefore, without beating aroundthe bush, and without any ceremony, I will get to the stupid matter to which