"First hour after midnight
September 2, 1879

That much I have admired your poem - So delicate... How can I possibly find words to tell you how much I have admired it? I think that even you must love it secretly in the bottom of your heart. You might worship your work as deeply as you do regarding that being you deify in it. There is such a superior, pure and profound feeling expressed! Nevertheless, all these are meant for a being whom - unfortunately or maybe fortunately - I simply could never measure up to or be compared to (Elisabeth). Eminescu, this poem is obviously thickened with feelings and only poor me is the one vanished from your heart. By any chance, was it something else but your heart that I used to love so much, much more than I have ever shown it? Your stanzas hurt me, as they acknowledge that a Souvereinement Superieure being has banished me out of your soul, where I might have reached with no right or previous announcement. While writing to you, I am shedding tears for grief. This state is so new and unknown to me. This pain is maybe even bitterer as it overcomes me when I already am in a rather sorrowful mood. Do not believe I am angry with you. On the contrary: the reason why I go on describing my inner frame of mind to you is that I want you to know the real cause of my eternal submission, the cause of a painful renunciation. It is not meant to force a delicate position upon you, not to make you deny your individuality even for a moment in front of me. It is also meant for you to offer me aprés tant d'amour une parfaite et sincere amitiéas a relief. Do you really think that I have not had any sort of premonition concerning all these? Well, this is the truth! I feel miserable for being endowed with a sixth sense. I am able to foresee how many things fate is preparing for me. What else could I say to you? After all I have already lost, I have come to be afraid even not to lose that bit of a mind still left to me. Eminescu, do not consider these as upbraiding. How could one upbraid a feeling heart? Moreover, I beg you: out of that by-gone love, do not try to make a matter of conscience, do not turn it into a case which your heart and soul are loudly yelling that it is already lost.

Your friend

(Translated by Junona Tutunea)

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