This letter was from Victor Hugo to his beloved, Adèle.

Each word was engraved by my hand.

This floor to ceiling picture was taken in the studio….in the process…

Dimensions: 9’ x 5’

Frame constructed from glass

Rectangular shaped mirror

Beveled edges: leaning & standing floor design

The letter:

January 1820

A few words from you, my beloved Adèle, have again changed the state of my mind. 

Yes, you can do anything with me, and tomorrow, I should be dead indeed if the gentle sound of your voice,

 the tender pressure of your adored lips, do not

 suffice to recall the life to my body. With what different feelings to yesterday’s 

I shall lay myself down tonight! Yesterday, Adèle, I no longer believed in your love; 

the hour of death would have been welcome to me.

And yet I still said to myself, 

‘if it be true that she does not love me, if nothing in me

 could deserve the blessing of her love, without which there is no longer any charm 

in life, is that a reason for dying? Do I exist for my own personal happiness? 

No; my whole existence is devoted to her, even in spite of her. 

And by what right should I have dared to aspire to her love? 

Am I, then, more than an angel or a deity? I love her, true, even I; 

I am ready to sacrifice everything gladly for her sake – everything, even the hope 

of being loved by her; 

there is no devotedness of which I am not capable for her, 

for one of her smiles, for one of her looks. But could I be otherwise? 

Is she not the sole aim of my life? That she may show indifference to me, even hate, 

will be my misfortune, that is all. What does it matter, so that it 

does not injure her happiness? 

Yes, if she cannot love me I ought to blame myself only. 

My duty is to keep close to her steps, to surround her existence with mine, 

to serve her as a barrier against all dangers, to offer her my head as

 a stepping-stone, to place myself unceasingly between her and all sorrows,

 without claiming any reward, without expecting any recompense.

 Only too happy if she deign sometimes to cast a pitying look upon her slave,

 and to remember him in the hour of danger!

 Alas! if she only allow me to give my life to anticipate her every desire, 

all her caprices; if she but permit me to kiss with respect her adored footprints;

 if she but consent to lean upon me at times amidst the difficulties of life:

 Then I shall have obtained the only happiness to which I have 

the presumption to aspire. 

Because I am ready to sacrifice all for her, does she owe me any gratitude?

 Is it her fault that I love her? 

Must she, on that account, believe herself constrained to love me? 

No! she may sport with my devotion, repay my services with hate, 

and repulse my idolatory with scorn, without my having for a moment 

the right to complain of that angel;

 nor ought I to cease for an instant to lavish upon her all that

 which she would disdain. And should every one of my days

 have been marked by some sacrifice for her, I should still, at the day of my death, 

have discharged nothing of the infinite debt that my existence owes to hers.

Such, my well-beloved Adèle, were the thoughts and resolutions 

of my mind at this time yesterday. Today they are still the same. 

Only there is mingled with them the certainty of happiness –

such great happiness that I cannot think of it without trembling,

 and scarcely dare to believe in it.

Then it is true that you love me, Adèle?

 Tell me, can I trust in this enchanting idea? 

Don’t you think that I shall end by becoming insane with joy if ever I can

 pass the whole of my life at your feet, sure of making you as happy as

 I shall be myself, sure of being adored by you as you are adored by me? 

Oh! your letter has restored peace to me,

 your words this evening have filled me with happiness.

 A thousand thanks, Adèle, my well-beloved angel. 

Would that I could prostrate myself before you as before a divinity. 

How happy you make me! Adieu, adieu, 

I shall pass a very happy night, dreaming of you.

Sleep well, and allow your husband to take the twelve kisses which you promised him, 

besides all those yet unpromised.

Victor Hugo