dated September, 1840, in his OEuvres posthumes:  “I have told you how about a year ago an absurd passion, totally useless and somewhat ridiculous, made me break with all my habits.  I forsook all my surroundings, my friends of both sexes, the current in which I was living, and one of the prettiest women in Paris.  I did not succeed in my foolish dream, you must understand; and now I find myself cured, it is true, but high and dry like a fish in a grain-field.”  This is probably the clue, and the foolish dream was for a woman to whom his brother refers as having repelled Alfred’s homage with harshness, and having called forth from him some short and extremely bitter verses beginning “Oui, femme,” and another called “Adieu!” in which there prevails a tone of quiet but deep feeling.  This is a sad story:  he apparently united the volatility and vagrancy of fancy, the inconstancy of light shallow natures, with the ardor and intensity of passion and the capacity for suffering which belong to strong and steadfast ones.  There was a childlike quality in his disposition, which showed itself in a sort of simplicity and spontaneousness in the midst of a corrupt existence, and still more in the uncontrollable, absorbing violence of his emotions:  they swept over him, momentarily devastating his present and blotting out the horizon, but unlike the tempests of childhood their ravages did not disappear when the clouds dispersed and the torrents subsided.  The life of debauchery which had preceded his journey to Italy was replaced, for some years, by a less excessive degree of dissipation, during which he lived with a fast set, who, however, were men of talent and accomplishments, the foremost among them being Prince Belgiojoso.  The influence of the two fortunate years, 1837-38, not only the happiest but the most fertile of his short career, seems to have weakened these associations and led him into calmer paths.  He had formed several friendships with women of a sort which both parties may regard with pride, in particular with the Princess Belgiojoso, one of the most striking and original figures of our monotonous time, and Madame Maxime Jaubert, a clever, attractive young woman with a delightful house, whom he called his Marraine because she had given him a nickname.  These women, and others—­but these two above the rest—­were sincerely and loyally attached to him with a disinterested regard which did not spare advice, nor even rebuke, or relax under his loss of health and brilliancy or neglect of their kindness, which nevertheless he felt and valued.  His purest source of pleasure was in the talent of others, which gave him a generous and sympathetic enjoyment.  The appearance of Pauline Garcia—­now Madame Viardot—­and Rachel, who came out almost simultaneously at the age of seventeen, added delight to the two happy years.  He has left notices of the first performances of these artistes, the former in opera, the latter on the stage (for he was musical himself and a connoisseur)