PARIS, March 22, 1835.
You can have no idea how many distracting apparitions are about me, how much trouble, sickness of mind, struggle for life, love, hatred and all roaring in my ears. Whatever you may hear of me in Germany is only a faint echo of the sword-blows here. Please write to me much and often: and later when things are quieter, I promise that I will return like for like. How would it be if you were to write me every six weeks and very long letters about political and literary events in North Germany, which I could translate into French and publish in a series in the Revue des deux mondes — I have often thought of you and I have always reckoned you one of the very few people to whom my work and writing has always been clear, and who know and understand the ultimate idea of everything that I do.