VIVIEN Renée (Pauline Tarn, known as) [London, 1877 - Paris, 1909], English woman of letters of French expression. Collection of 11 letters from Renée Vivien addressed to Kérimé. Before the letters (bound), there is an old photograph of her seated, holding lilies in her hands: July 11, 1905; 4 pages in-8°. "My dearest beloved, your silence frightens me and freezes me. What are you doing? What are you thinking? Do you not love me anymore? And I, who only live trembling, I, whose every hour is nothing but a waiting and an anxiety! Such a vain waiting, such a useless anxiety, since no letter from you has come! Are you still waiting for me there? Think that in two weeks, I will go to join you! I live only by this thought that has become indifferent to you! What things would you like me to bring you back from Paris and London? (You can write to me freely at 23 Avenue du Bois. Eva does not live in the same apartment...) On the 15th, I will leave Paris and be at the Cecil London Hotel, but, as Eva will be with me, write to me at this address []. Please do not write to me at the Hotel Cecil. [I am so afraid, so afraid, to learn that you do not want me or that you cannot receive me! My whole life is hanging on your distant lips." [September 1905]; 4 pages in-8°. "My sweet, my beloved, how sorry I am to know that you are ill because of me! I am sorry, desperate, feverishly worried. Please give me some news soon, reassure me a little... Why fear me, why doubt me, when I come to you in all simplicity and love? Your every wish is an order... I wrote the letter you asked me for. I am at your knees, order, and, in everything, I will obey you joyfully. My sweet princess of the East, my mysterious rose, you have not yet given me the address of those good people with whom I must stay. In the meantime, I will go to the Péra Palace, you will write to me to tell me where and when I should meet you. [And at the thought of seeing you at last, I feel luminous vertigo. Something sings and sobs madly in me of desire and fear. Who knows towards which radiant sufferings I am going so blindly... You alone in the universe, here is where I am. You alone...". Pera-Palace and Summer-Palace, Constantinople; 4 pages in-8°. "I have ten minutes left before departure, my infinitely sweet Mistress: I take advantage of it to scribble you these few tender lines, that Henri will bring you tomorrow, when I will be so far, so far from you! And what sadness when I evoke the charming house where I loved you, where I met you for the first time. My so beautiful, my so tender friend, how many memories already between us! From so far away, my desire will seek you, you will feel around you the feverish ardor of its breath. And you will know that, by the thought, I possess you again. Far from you, I am only a miserable exile. Ah the sweet warmth of your arms around my neck, and the panting breath of your lips. How dull the days will seem to me, my lover, after all the poetry with which you have intoxicated me! How can I ever recover from this trouble, from this exquisite languor of memory? Never you were more beautiful nor more adorable than during these last so perfectly beautiful days. Never have I desired you with so much madness, possessed you with so much voluptuousness. You belong to me, don't forget it for a single moment because, by ardor, fever and madness I made you mine. You must not forget me, because I will never forget. The charming destiny wanted this love. She led me towards you, one day that she was good. She wanted the spell to do its work. I am grateful to life for having granted me such a beautiful happiness. Pera-Palace and Summer-Palace, Constantinople; 4 pages in-8°. "In the station. Dimitri has just brought me your lovely letter, my perfect, my too exquisite, my divine... And I am overwhelmed with feverish gratitude. Your charming thought is a joy to me in the midst of so much sadness because I am sorry, sorry to the core, to lose you for a while. Hotel des Trois Rois in Basel; 3 pages in-8°. "My distant rose, I think of you with such passionate tenderness! It seems to me that centuries and centuries have passed since our farewell. I can't wait to receive a word from you. In two days I'll be in Florence and I'll finally know what you're doing, what you're thinking, what happened to you, happy or unhappy. I love you so much. Since I left you, I live obsessed with your magic and sovereign image. Ah your nostalgic eyes of captive princess your mysterious night hair and your lips of temptress herself tempted. Your memory sings in me, radiates in me, embalms in the bottom of my being. You are my perfume, you are the incessant amorous music which rises in my solitude. In two days,