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!
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Footnote 204:
This letter is dated ‘the 23rd,’ but August 3rd, O.S., was the date of
the battle of Steenkirk, on the eve of which this letter seems to have
been written. I have adopted a very ingenious conjecture, which I can
hardly describe as warranted by the transcript, but which may
nevertheless be correct.
Footnote 205:
See the Princess’s letter of July 13th _ap._ Wilkins, pp. 193-6.
Footnote 206:
A small town between Brussels and Enghien. Compare Wilkins, pp. 208
sqq.
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