“Do not be vexed at my silence. I not only have a great deal to do, but I work twenty-one hours and a half daily. A letter is not only a loss of money, but an hour’s sleep and a drop of blood.” To Madame Hanska he wrote,— “That you may know the extent of my courage, I must tell you that the ‘Secret des Ruggieri’ was written in one night, ‘La Vieille Fille’ in three, and ‘La Perle Brisée,’ which terminates ‘L’Enfant Maudit,’ was composed in a few hours of mental and physical agony. It is my Brienne, my Champaubert, my Montmirail. It is my campaign in France.” And to Madame Carraud,— “I sleep but five hours, and work eighteen. I shall purchase the Grenadière,[21] and pay my debts. I need at least a year to be completely free from debt, but the happiness of owing nothing, which I thought impossible, is no longer a chimera.” In October, 1836, he wrote to Madame Hanska,— “You do not know the depths of my grief, nor the sombre courage which accompanies the second great defeat which I have experienced.[22] The first occurred when I was barely twenty-nine; and then I had an angel at my side.[23] To-day I am too old to inspire a sentiment of inoffensive protection.... I am overcome, but not conquered. My courage yet remains.... During the past month, I have worked from midnight until six in the evening; and while I have observed the strictest diet, that my brain might not be troubled by the fatigue of digestion, nevertheless, I not only suffer from indescribable weaknesses, but I also experience nervous attacks of the most singular character. I sometimes lose the sense of verticality, and even in bed it seems as though my head fell to the right or to the left; and when I attempt to get up I am as though weighed down by an enormous burden, which seems to be in my brain. I understand now how Pascal’s absolute continence and excessive brain work caused him continually to see an abyss about him, and obliged him to sit between two chairs.... But if I do not succumb in the mean time, two years of work will suffice for the payment of everything.” To the same lady, two years later, he wrote,— “I am thirty-nine years old, and I owe two hundred thousand francs. Belgium has stolen a million from me.”[24] In 1838 he wrote to Madame Carraud,— “I have greater faith than ever in my work. I have been offered twenty thousand francs for a play. Hereafter, I shall devote my time to the theatre; books no longer pay.... You have no idea how happy I shall be in a few years. My gains will be enormous.” A few months later he wrote,— “My debts and money troubles are the same as ever, but my courage has redoubled with the decrease of my desires.... I hope to remain here[25] for three or four months, and then, if my plays succeed, it may be that over and above my debts I shall have gained sufficient capital to supply my daily bread, my flowers, and my fruits. The rest, perhaps, will come with time.”