Vous me faite mourir can vous faite des complimens, parseque vous ne me reponde poin sur tous les poin des miennes je vous aÿ prié de ne poin écrire de tous, et à me fair solement savoir par Mlle. von dem Knesebeck l’etas de votre santé je le repaite éncor ici, et vous conjure de ne le poin faire si cela vous donne la moindre fatigue, jl soufit pourvos que vous me marques dos mos, affein que je voje saite devinne écriture la quelle aÿ capable a bannir tous les craintes que je me forme. La resolution que je dois prendre selong l’avis de tous mes amis, me mait à l’hasar, que can joray quité, je feraÿ resonner tous le monde, et postaistre me feraitong dire par un troisiemme, que lon souhaite, que je me retire, que deviendrage allors, crojé moy quil fos penser a toust avan que de prandre unne ferme resolution, la schose m’aÿ de tros grande consequence; Duc de Hanovre trouvera mille jans comme Königsmarck mais je me flate que Princesse héréditaire n’én trouveras jamais qui sois si fidelle, et que aime avec plus d’ardor que moÿ, L’exaÿ de ma passion vas à la follie, helas ma très schaire vous merites bien d’autres que Königsmarck, je souis tres persuadé que si lon vous devraÿ avoir donné un galang selong vos merite, je n’auraÿ pas eus le bonhor d’aistre vostre Esclave, mais si qu’elcun d’unné passion Extraordinaire d’une constanse sans Egalle auraÿ dus aistre vostre galang j lay juste que se soÿ mois, car je le desputeraÿs non pas oh Mortels, mais aux dieux maime, et je leur defie d’en faire un qui m’égalise; Que les sermans on daifaÿ cant on aÿ dans l’estas, aux vous aites, jamais je naÿs etté plus contemps de vous, jamais je vous aÿ plus crus, qu’a presang, vous m’aimeraÿ dong toujour jan pos aistre assuré, car vous me iuré que tan que je vous aimeraÿ, vous feraÿ demaime je vous aimeraÿ touste ma vie, et vous me jures la maime schose, que poje plus pretandre, tous mes vos sont éxhausé, je souis l’homme du monde le plus horos; gerisse vous, et je pos aistre aux comble de may joÿ, je souis poin contemps, que vous preferais á m’ecrire, plus qu’a prendre du repos, je vous conjure sonjes à prendre vostre repos, et pouis à vostre amang. Que je vos du mal à vostre coeur, de son mauvaÿ gous, vous quiter pour venir sché moÿ, jl ne connais pas la diferance, laisse cela aux mien, jl faux pas schanger en mal mes en bien. Vostre resit me fait tramblé, et je crains que la fievre laustre accidans ne vous abate tang que vous ne saurie vous remaitre si tos. je ne saÿ mon coeur me dis que vous aite hor de danje je naÿ plus tans d’inquiettude que j’aÿ eus du comensements, je pran cela pour un traÿ bon sienge, dumoin je m’én flatte et je souhaite ardaments que cela soit einsÿ, j’espaire que mes vos sont éxhausé, et qu’a lor qui laÿ vous vous portes mieux. La resolution que vous aves prisse, de prandre se que je vous avois laise aÿ grande, je vous avoue que si je l’avois seus auparavang, j’an auraÿ tramblé, mais comme toust aÿ bien allé, je souis enrepos, j lia que le schagrein, daitre caus que vous soufres bien plus et si vous vous trouvie astor plus mal je serais inconsolable. je souis obligé d’avouer que les marques de vostre tendraise surpasse à presan beaucoup les miennes rien nay si touschang, que se que vous m’écrives ... de devenir malade je ne trouveraÿ pas locasiong à vous faire voire combien de tendraisse j’aÿ pour vous. Atil possible que Duc de Hanovre soit assaÿ baite de vous avoir refuser la pose je feray plustos, mourir 20 feltmarescho que de refuser unne fois à Princesse héréditaire pareilje schose. Quois que Prince héréditaire ne revienne pas si tos et sur les ordres que lon avois devulgué con avois envojé, nous somme pourtang deja dans le mois de septembre et la campanjeay bintos finnis faite reflextion la desu adieux.
se tienne à 8 heure du soir aupres la porte de la grande salle, aux la Pr: à cutume de jouer, jla poura recevoir la en toute sureté, puisque personne j passe, Demain éstang le Dimange.
j lÿ sera à leur sudite ne doute pas de sa fidellite. Adieux inconparable Deesse je vous donne le bonsoir, et souhaite que vous sonjé autang à moy comme je fais à vous, appres avoir relus éncor une fois votre lettre, je m’endormiray, avec l’esperane de songer d’autre schose que de vous. je vous émbrasse un Million de fois, et suis votre tres-obeissant ser.
What sufferings one has to bear when it is necessary to separate from you! All the torments in the world cannot cause such suffering! But I recover from my trouble, since you are of opinion that I ought not to have any feeling of jealousy. I must avow to you that it is difficult to feel none when one is far away from the object one adores. But, my angel, you have made me so many promises of behaving well that I place confidence in you; and I can assure you that at the present moment I am free from jealousy, but not without feeling troubled; and your departure troubles me more than ever. I cannot understand what is to become of me in the end; I well know that I cannot always be in sight of you, and yet I feel [only] too much that I cannot separate from you. See in what condition your beautiful eyes have put me. I send you a copy of the letter of which I spoke to you, word for word like the original; and I ask your pardon for the scrawling hand of which I have made use; I had it copied by my page, who does not know what he writes.
M. Gor brought me a complimentary message from the Duchess of Eisenach;[197] she sent word to me that, though I had avoided speaking to her, she would show that she takes more thought of me than I take of her. I will swear to you that not only did this compliment give me no pleasure, but, on the contrary, it vexes me that she ordered it to be delivered to me. I have not left my room all to-day, and I think that I shall do the same thing to-morrow. Let me know, by way of consolation, how you are faring and when you will return. I shall die with vexation and trouble if I do not see you soon. Good-bye, my beloved heart; think of your faithful lover, and do not forget him [?] among all this crowd of people. Once more, adieu!
My pain in the chest continues, but I have had no fever....
Yes, Madam, I will suffer for your sake, as you command me to do so; but when shall I be fortunate enough to find myself at the point to which I aspire—I mean in your arms? But when shall I have this satisfaction? I lose all hope, for in the way in which things go on, I cannot flatter myself that it will come about. My mind gives way over it all, and, if I write to you without rime or reason, do not find fault with me on that account—it is [because of] the despair to which I find myself reduced. If you disbelieve me, I beg you to look at these [gray] hairs which I had pulled out of my head this morning: I cannot declare to you that they turned last night; but I can swear to you that a week ago I had none. Believe me that my despair is great, and that my trouble is extreme. I stay on for the love of you; I risk honour, reputation, and ambition; for, since I do not join in the campaign, what will they say of me; and why do I risk this, without seeing you after all? I have reached this extremity that I must either conquer [?] or die. Use therefore your force [influence] with the Gro[ndeur]; it is he who alone can save us, and I call this to conquer. I absolutely must have your commands as to what I am to do. To stay on in this way at Han[over] is out of the question; for after three weeks you will go [away] with the Gron[deur]. What shall I then do in a place from which you are absent? I beg you to reflect on that, and after that give your commands; I am ready to show you by my obedience that my love does not listen to reason. You see to what state you have reduced me, for I sacrifice to you my ambition, which is the single thing that up to this time I had preserved. See to what length my passion goes; judge in what state I find myself; do not ruin me utterly—be more ambitious than I am, and encourage a lover who no longer has any [ambition]! You would pity me if you quite understood the troubles that oppress me. I see clearly that it is your trouble which is killing me; for although we actually are together we never have anything but trouble; and this is an ill beyond cure. The only consolation is to play [cards] with you; but the pleasure of looking at you is never allowed me; for at one time the Schwartz gesicht [black face], at another the Innocent One, at another some one else among the maids [of honour], comes to watch us. All this is enough to make me die of it. Console me, I entreat you, or I shall despair; and my despair may drive me to seek remedies unworthy of a man of honour. You wait for me, certainly; but, Madam, when one is in the Labyrinth as I am, honour and trust come to an end. It is well to come to a close, or I shall be still more enraged.
The Hereditary Princess is very impatient to know whether Königsmarck has arrived safely. Many things have happened which the Hereditary Princess has written on a quite clean half-sheet. I cannot console myself for having lost Königsmarck so soon; this makes his absence a thousand times harder to bear. I am worn out to the point of being unable to keep up any longer. The excess of enjoyment and the sorrow at seeing no more what I love reduce me to this condition. How hard it is to take oneself away from you! You are the most amiable of men. The more one sees you the more charm one finds in you. How happy I am to be loved by you, and how well I know all my happiness! All my bliss depends on the continuance of this tender affection. If I am deprived of it, I no longer wish to live. You take the place of everything else for me, and I care nothing for the whole of the world besides. I wish that you may be as pleased with me as I am with you. You have enchanted me, and I feel fonder of you than ever. Be you the same, and nothing will be wanting to my happiness. I need not tell you that all the actions of my life shall declare my attachment to you; for you must be convinced of this, and time will show you that I do not wish to live except for you. The Hereditary Princess leaves to-morrow.
I have instructed 220 to send me your letter by [way of] Nienb[urg].
The Hereditary Princess arrived yesterday evening. She is pleased with the Duchess of Celle. I have no doubt but that she will do everything that one wishes. The Duke of Celle is far more difficult [to manage]. I have as yet heard nothing of you, which makes me very sad. I flatter myself, however, that nothing has happened, inasmuch as I have heard nothing. The Duke of Hanover goes on Monday to Hanover. This resolution was taken yesterday; if I had known it sooner, I should not have started, and I might have been able to see you for some days more. I am convinced that he waited on purpose, and this truly vexes me; for I hate worse than death whatever seeks to separate me from you. It is a great unhappiness to have to pass one’s life as I now pass mine. I cannot, however, see the end of my woes. Yesterday I had a thousand thoughts in the chaise which drove me into despair. I could not think of waiting a whole month before seeing you without mortal grief; all the measures which I must take ... me. I cannot do without you; I do not care to see anybody in the world except you; yet I do not see you; and at every moment I have to be deprived of [the sight of you]. I can no longer exist in this constraint, it drives me to despair; my passion increases day by day; I do not know what you have done to me, but you bewitched me the last time that I saw you, and I have never loved you with so much ardour as I do. It is certain that you will [completely] turn my head. Yesterday I wrote a song, and this makes it clear to me that love works miracles. I cannot keep myself from telling you my song; it goes to the air ‘Dans mon malheur’:
It is my heart and nothing else that speaks; I hope that I shall go further, and as time goes on I shall be able to prove it to you. The Duke of Celle [or the Hereditary Prince][199] goes on Tuesday to Celle; for this reason do not write to me any more lest I be not there [?]. The Duchess of Celle has promised 2000 dollars if the Hereditary Prince does not return; this redoubles my friendship. The Hereditary Princess spoke yesterday at Luisburg[200] to 110; he sought for an opportunity for it. It was to exhort him not to give any chance to his enemies, and above all to be on his guard against Countess Platen. The Hereditary Princess begged him particularly to let her know about anything which concerned her. He promised her to do so. I am not aware whether all this does not concern Königsmarck. I cannot speak to you except about the grief which it is to me to be so far away from you. Do not console yourself for my absence, I entreat you, and have no enjoyment when I am not with you. Great God, what a charm and what a delight to be always with you; the more one sees you, the more one finds you superior to all men in the world. I occupy my whole time with the charming remembrance of the last time when I saw you; it will never quit my memory. Ah, my dear child, how tenderly you are loved, and how insupportable it is to me not to see you! I am about to go to bed; I hope that my dreams will figure you to me as charming as you are. If I did not think I should see you while asleep, I should not care to sleep at all; for as soon as I am awake you take up all my thoughts, and there is nothing that is pleasant to me in my life but the time which I pass in thinking of you. Good-night, most amiable of men; you are adored by me, and so you will be all my life. Good-bye, once more—why am I not in your arms?—I shall die of this!
On Wednesday the Hereditary Princess appeared at table and spoke to 110, then to the Field-Ma[rshal].[201] She arrived late. Prince Max received her and shook hands with her; she said very little to him. The Duke of Celle came into the room; Prince Max did not come in at all; the Duchess of Celle had gone to bring her in, and came back late for she did not find the Hereditary Princess. Supper was afterwards served. The Hereditary Princess, the Duchess of Celle, and the Duke of Celle, were together, quite by themselves. The Duchess of Celle took the Hereditary Princess to her rooms, and nobody entered them.
The 3rd
23rd[202] [1692?]
My Mistresses are supposed to have prevented me from thinking of you? God, is it possible that you should believe this; and, even had I not written to you about everything (though this is letter No. 4) you ought never to have harboured such a thought. Is it possible that you should believe that I love anyone but yourself? No, I protest to you that after you I shall never love again. It will not be very difficult to keep my promise, for after one has adored you is it possible to think any other woman pretty? You wrong yourself by believing such a thing; and how could you draw a comparison between yourself and the others; and is it possible that after having loved a Goddess, one could bestow a look upon Mortals? No, in truth, I have too good taste for that, and I am not one of those people who wish to make themselves common. I adore you, charming brunette, and I shall die with this feeling. If you do not forget me, I swear to you that I shall love you all my life. I expect no more letters from you, because I intend to be soon in your company, and my sole occupation will then be to prove to you, that I love you to distraction, and that nothing is so dear to me as your person. Adieu!
I am very well pleased that you are for once satisfied with me; but it seems to me that this does not delight you, for you are always supplying me with matter for reproaching you; and thus you deprive me of the joy of being satisfied with you. You complain that your love interferes with your rest; I am willing to believe it, but this love does not touch your heart so deeply that you would cut off the slightest pleasures for its sake.sake. No, no; it is for me to complain: my passion not only troubles me, but brings me to despair. Oh, God! how I [hate] the places where I know the amusements are going on; I should much like to see you at the Gate of Brussels[203] or of Ghent[?] without appearing there myself; rather than do this you would abandon me and ten other galans. You find your conduct correct; so do I; but I should be beyond despair if mine were not still more so. I am very well pleased that you have not fallen ill; it would have left me inconsolable. Although I am not satisfied with you, you were satisfied with my letter; this fills me with joy; you find there the unfeigned sentiments of my heart; I thank you very humbly that you promise me not to give your portrait to the person we know of. Why do you flatter me so much in your letters, when you think so little of keeping your promises to me? You assure me that nothing will be difficult for you, and that you will do everything to please me; this is very well said, but very ill kept. Alas! you say to me, let us trust that time will be able to make us happy; but know that time will make me the most unhappy of mankind. I have not the audacity to say to you what I already know; but, my dear, I believe that they will force me to leave you. I cannot finish this letter, what with trouble, sorrow, and anger. Adieu; do not, at all events, hate me; for, I swear by my God, I do not deserve it in [any] way on earth.
Although I had resolved to write to you to-morrow and to reply at length to the letters of the 13th[205], 14th and 15th, which I received from you at the same time, I find myself deprived of this pleasure by the resolution which the King has taken to attack to-morrow the French army, which is two hours distance from us; the place is called Enghien. At any other time this news would have delighted me; but I confess to you at the present moment it troubles me. I am loved by you, the only object that I have found worth loving. I have not deceived myself in my belief that you possess all the fine qualities to be found in the world; but, my dear, I must risk my life, and perhaps never see you again. Hardly was I made aware that you were innocent, and that I falsely suspected you, when I am perhaps never to see you again. I have risked my life a hundred times, by way of folly or high spirits, and I knew myself sufficiently to be sure that death never terrified me. But, my divinity, that which makes me a coward is the fear of not seeing you again. Adieu then, amiable Doro, adieu; how much I am to be pitied—and yet I am fortunate, but I cannot take advantage of my good fortune. Do not, however, think that you have a coward admirer; no, my dear, since to battle I must go, I will behave there as is right, and, if I can, I hope to distinguish myself. But, my heart, permit me to make a request to you, namely, that, if my fate is so unkind to me as to leave me crippled by the loss of an arm, or a leg, do not forget me, and have a little pity for a poor fellow who has let it be his only pleasure to love you; no, my dear, do not forget him: he is a man who has been really and truly attached to you, and will remain so for the remainder of his life, although a cripple; my eyes which have been charmed by yours, will perhaps never see them any more. I cannot think of that, without shedding tears. Ah, how little advantage I have from being loved by you, and of how many torments you are the cause to me! It is striking twelve from the Hall[206] clock tower; they are bringing in cannon-balls, powder, and matches; it is the prelude to the scene which we have to play to-morrow; I must betake myself to my duty; adieu, beloved child! Ah, how I am to be pitied!
I take so much pleasure in conversing with you that, so soon as I have a moment of liberty, I employ it to assure you of my affection. I wrote to you yesterday, but it seems to me that I did not sufficiently insist to you on the disquiet in which I am about what you tell me. It prevented me from sleeping all the night. I reviewed all my actions, and, the more I examine myself, the less I can guess what you can have against me. It is certain that you ought to be content with my conduct; it is ruled by my affection, and this is sufficient. I entreat you once more to let me know as soon as you are able what it can be. It will be very easy for me to justify myself, since I have never thought of anything but pleasing you, and I will with pleasure take all the most horrid oaths to you as to my innocence; but I urgently ask of you to inform me who are they that tell you such calumnies. No doubt they have their reasons for making a quarrel between us, and according to all appearances they will not stop there. Be persuaded, I entreat you, that I am incapable of doing anything that could displease you. My behaviour has shown you this up to the present time, and I will do even more in the same way in the future. I am in despair not to be able to make you perceive as much as I should like to do my affection for you. The opportunities are wanting to me, but not the will; and I shall not be happy until I have made the whole earth see that for me you take the place of the grandeurs and pleasures of the world and of all its charms. The only one which I desire is that of possessing your heart; I demand no other, and this one happiness will always make me indifferent to all others. I am convinced that if I were at Han[over], I should be told plenty of stories against you; but I trust you too much to listen easily to what I might be told. Do you act in the same way, and believe firmly that nothing is capable of making me change! I am in mortal trouble. They say that an engagement was fought a short time since, and I do not yet know the rights of it. I tremble lest you should expose yourself without need, and that some accident should have befallen you. Take care of yourself, I entreat you, if there remains in you any affection [for] me. What would become of me if I were to learn that you were wounded? I think I should die of it.
You make me [wish to] die when you pay me compliments. Since you do not reply to me on all the points of my letters, I have begged you not to write at all, and simply to let me know through Fräulein von dem Knesebeck the state of your health. I repeat it again here, and entreat you not to do it if it causes you the slightest fatigue. It is sufficient that you should write me two words, so that I may see that divine handwriting which is able to banish all the fears that I imagine to myself. The resolution which I must take, according to the opinion of all my friends, exposes me to the risk that, when I shall have taken my leave, I shall set all the world arguing about it; and perhaps I might be told through a third party that it is desired that I should retire. What will then become of me? Believe me that it is necessary to think of everything before taking a fixed resolution. The matter is of too great importance to me. The Duke of Hanover will find a thousand people like Königsmarck, but I trust that the Hereditary Princess will never find anyone who is so faithful and who loves her with more ardour than myself. My passion is so beyond bounds as to rise to madness. Alas! my dearest, you deserve [lovers] far better than Königsmarck. I am quite convinced that if they had given you an admirer according to your deserts, I should not have had the honour of being your Slave; but if some one with an extraordinary affection and an unequalled constancy was to have been your admirer, it is right and just that this should be myself; for I would dispute the place not with Mortals, but with the Gods themselves, and I defy them to create anyone to equal me. What an effect vows have when one is in the condition in which you are; never have I been more satisfied with you, never did I believe you more implicitly, than at present. You will, then, always love me, I may rest assured of it, for you swear to me that, so long as I shall love you, you will do the same. I shall love you all my life, and you vow the same thing to me; what more can I desire?—all my wishes are fulfilled, I am the happiest man in the world; recover your health, and I can be at the height of my bliss. I am not pleased to find that you prefer writing to me to taking your rest; I entreat you, think first of taking your rest, and then of your lover. How angry I am with your heart for its bad taste, to leave you in order to come to me; it does not know the difference; leave that to mine, one ought not to change for the worse, but for the better. Your account makes me tremble, and I fear lest the fever [and] the other accident tire you out so much that you will not be able to recover as quickly [as you ought]. I do not know, my heart tells me you are out of danger; I am no longer so much disquieted as I was at the beginning. I take that for a very good sign; at least I hope it is, and I ardently wish that it may be so; I hope that my prayers are granted, and that at the present moment you are better. The resolution that you have taken, to take what I had left you, is great; I avow to you that, if I had known it beforehand, it would have made me tremble; but, since everything has gone off well, I am at rest; and there is only the trouble of being the cause of so much more suffering on your part, and, if you found yourself still worse, I should be inconsolable. I am obliged to confess that the marks of your affection greatly surpass mine at present; nothing could be so touching as what you write to me ... of falling ill. I shall not find an opportunity of enabling you to see how great an affection I have for you. Is it possible that the Duke of Hanover is stupid enough to have refused you the appointment? I would rather put twenty field-marshals to death than once refuse such a favour to the Hereditary Princess. Although the Hereditary Prince does not return so soon and in response to the orders which it was made known had been sent, we are in any case already in the month of September, and the campaign will soon be at an end. Reflect on that! Adieu!
It was so late when I wrote to you that I could not reply to all that you told me. I reread your letter several times; it is a mixture of love and raillery which I find very pleasing; and it seems to me, whatever countenance you may assume, that my journey does not find favour with you. Yet you are altogether as wrong as possible; for, according to all appearances, I shall go away again from this place without having seen any reasonable person, and I desire it with all my heart. I do not think of going to Frankfort fair, and I shall not say a word to help to bring this about. It seems to me that this ought to convince you that I am not in quest of society, and that I am incapable of thinking of pleasures when I do not see you. I hope to leave this place in a fortnight. The Peda[gogue] has to-day taken this resolution. I return with her to join the Grondeur; and I shall proceed to Han[over] a little before the return of the Reformer. I cannot yet tell you anything positive about what concerns the Göhrde;[208] I do not, however, think that I shall go there, for the season is too advanced for the Reformer to be able to be there, and I hope that, provided that nothing keeps you where you are,[209] I shall soon be able to see you. I shall judge of your affection by your eagerness, but I entreat you to take your measures so well that I may see you in private on the first occasion. It would be impossible for me to bear seeing you in public, and my transport [of delight] would betray me. They say that the French could easily carry us off. This makes me wish very much to get away, for I should not at all like to be taken prisoner, and I wish to keep your conquest safe for you. I am delighted with your [present?],[210] and I offer you all the thanks for it which you deserve. It took me by surprise and I did not expect it at all, which makes the thing all the more obliging. There is no sentinel in the world that you ought to fear, and the prisoner may reckon on the prison which will always be open to him and closed to all the rest of the world. As to this you may depend on me, and as to a love which will serve as a model; I wish to convince you of it, although you have some of it, and that I find no happiness or satisfaction except in loving you and in being loved. You seem to me so little certain of this truth that I am sensibly affected by it. Tell me what should be done so that you should be unable to doubt it any more; there is nothing that I would not joyfully do in order to make you see that for me you take the place of everything else, and that all my desires and my ambition are confined to pleasing you. If nothing but this is needed to render you happy, you are more so than any person in the world, for I do not desire to live but for you alone, and I renounce with pleasure the whole world, in order never to belong to anyone but yourself.
Instead of the extreme pleasure which all your letters afford to me, that which I received this evening has pierced my heart. One could not think of anything that could hurt one more than what you write to me. I shall not repeat it; I believe that you will remember it still very well, and I would give everything in the world to be able to forget it. By what passage of my life can I have deserved the opinion which you show you have of me? If I thought to have given cause for it, I should wish to be dead; but, the more I examine myself, the more I find myself far removed from such sentiments, and, thanks be to God, I feel my heart as noble as it ought to be. I wish to say nothing further to you on this subject; I might lose my temper, and I very much hate harshness. But, to reply to the four points on which you continue to harp. I am very much deceived if I did not tell you that Sparr has been at L.,[211] and, if I did not do so, it was certainly because I forgot to do so and because I did not think that he was worth the trouble of my remembering him. I can swear to you all the oaths you please that there is no reason besides this; moreover, I did not say two words to him [about] the joy which you reproach me for having felt at finding Guldenleu[212] here. I shall not reply to you on the subject, for it is a ridiculous notion, and nothing in the world could be so ill-imagined with regard to the Fair. I assure you that I did not say a word in order to go there; but as I am quite sincere I am prepared to confess to you that I was not vexed about it; and, as to my new lover, you are mad to disquiet yourself about him; for he is far away from here, and according to all appearances I shall not see him; and [neither] his sisters nor anybody in the world will ever make me take any step against the affection which so fills my heart. I have already told you that I am convinced that he is not coming to Han[over]; but, if this should happen, provided that I am better pleased with you than I am this evening, I shall treat [him] with absolute rudeness rather than allow his visits. I am very foolish to give a reasonable explanation in reply to all your fancies—[to] you who are so far from reasonable as to anything that concerns me, and who have driven me to despair by your fine letter. It is true that you mean afterwards to repair your fault; but this is not sufficient, and I am not well pleased, for I desire your esteem, and you do not show that you have any for me. The Confidante yesterday received [a letter] from the beloved Ketler,[213] who writes to her by order of the Landgrave[214] to offer his compliments to Leonisse, since you wish to call her by that name, and to assure her that he will do what is in his power to see her here or at the Fair. I do not, however, think that this is possible, because we take our departure to-morrow, and one will only be there for a single day. I shall not write to you till I shall have arrived, and I shall give you a sincere and faithful account of all. I shall say nothing affectionate to you this evening, for you do not deserve it; I am afraid that I shall not have the same strength of mind to-morrow, and that I shall have forgotten my anger, for I am furiously fond of you, and, although I do not tell you about it, I nevertheless feel that I love you with a passion of which there never was the like.
I have been here during the last two hours. The Peda[gogue] alighted at the house of the P[rincess] of Tarente,[215] where I saw nothing but silly faces. From there we went to the Fair, where I saw nobody of quality. The Marionette is here, and her sister-in-law. I shall not see them till to-morrow, with which I am well pleased, for I shall be able to take a rest, of which I have great need, not having closed an eye all the night. I spent half of it in writing to you, and the other in worrying myself about the fine passage in your letter. I beg you very particularly not to give me any further such subjects of annoyance, for I am very touchy on the subject in question. Except that wicked passage which I cannot forget and which spoils all, your letter is charming, and nothing is more delightful than all that you say to me. Put this matter to rights, if you wish to be on good terms with me, for it goes very near to my heart. Mine is so full of you that, although I have reason to complain of you, I cannot bring myself not to mention to you that yesterday evening I had to make a terribly violent effort in order to keep silence to you about my affection. Never did one feel so much of it, and never did one less deserve reproaches than in my case. You are the most unjust of mankind to have the slightest mistrust as to what concerns me. I am too veritably yours that you should have anything to fear. All my actions should convince you of it, for it is certain that my passion for you exceeds all bounds. I entreat you to be fully convinced of this truth, and that there is nothing in the world which I would not do to make you see that I am more yours than my own. I hope that I shall not see either the Land[grave] or anybody, and I wish it with my whole heart. If you find anything which does not please you in what I wrote to you yesterday, lay all the blame on the vexation which you caused to me. It was enough to make me cry, and all the charms of your letter could not induce me to forgive the offending passage. Rest tranquil as to my behaviour. It shall be divine, I promise you for myself and for the Rival.
In the name of God, take care of yourself! My life is united to yours. A thousand desperate thoughts come into my mind, and I am crushed with grief; I should find it difficult to speak to you of anything else. I have plenty of leisure for nursing my trouble, and it is with a real joy that I find myself in this solitude. I forgot yesterday to return you my thanks for what you tell me about la Boule. Nothing could be so polite; I consent, on this condition, that she becomes my rival, for I confess to you that I love a triumph, and that it is very much to my taste. Adieu, nothing is capable of making me change. I was born for loving you; you are my sole passion; I never had one before I knew you, and I shall die loving you more than anyone has ever loved.
I ought to give you an account of my doings of yesterday. I was alone all day. Then arrived some one sent from the master of this place to pay his respects to the Peda[gogue]. He got into such difficulties in his speech that I could scarcely stop myself from laughing at it. He also made a speech to the Cœur Gauche, and then took his departure. Then there was a promenade on foot, and on our return there was supper, and I had a conversation with the Confidante. This is the only pleasure I have, for we always talk about you.
Although I wrote to you yesterday evening, I cannot stop myself from telling you that I have spent the worst night in the world; I dreamt of you, but I beheld you faithless to me. I dreamt as follows: It seemed to me that I had requested you not to see a certain great man, and that, notwithstanding your promise, you had appointed him to pay you a visit so as to say good-bye to him. I was informed of it, and, not being able to endure this faithlessness, I pretended to have a letter from Madame your mother to hand to you. I entered your room abruptly, and saw the most horrible sight in the world: that great gentleman held you in his arms, and, what is worse, you were alone in your room. You pretended a little to be annoyed with your Adonis, telling him that he was impertinent. In my turn, I wished to withdraw, but you called out to me. I was delighted with this, because it gave me a chance of whispering into your ear that you were the most ungrateful of all ladies, and that this would be the last time that I should speak to you. In fact, I went to find out M. de Pude [Podewils] in order to beg him to send me to Hungary,[218] which he did. I beg your pardon for this criminal dream; but I should think myself very much more criminal if I did not let you know of it. Do not think that I am inventing; no, by my God, it is a true tale. For the love of all that is dearest to you, take care to restore my peace of mind, and free me from my fear. I am afraid that this dream may be some melancholy presage, and something that bodes no good. It would be unjust that a tender affection should be requited by infidelities; I hope it may not be so; for why should you wish to desert a heart that adores you, and that swears to be faithful to you? If such vows can attach you solely to me, I protest to you before God, that never will I be unfaithful to you, and that I will love you all my life with the same passion that I do [at present]. When I shall have the honour of amusing you with an account of yesterday’s debauch, you will laugh a good deal. The Baroness[219] [sic] distinguished herself on the occasion, and the big Swedish beard[s] made the best effect in the world; she was so much ... that her natural colour began to appear beneath, which produced the most diverting spectacle in the world. She asked me why I did not amuse myself; I answered that I had come to pay my court to M. [Bielke][220] and not to amuse myself. In leaving me she called me a traitor; whereupon I replied that I was not one yet, but might very possibly become one. M. le Duc played at ombre yesterday evening with her. That is the very Devil! I will conclude by asking you to prepare yourself to rescue me from the disquietude in which I am, and to believe me inviolably attached to you and to all those who have a regard for you. I embrace you from my very heart, and I kiss your portrait a million times. Farewell!