On the twelfth I did what I do on all other days: that is to say,
drink, eat, and go the rounds; the same on the thirteenth. The
Duke of Celle came to call on us. You see that I can keep my
diaries without difficulty; I do not think they will annoy you at
all, for nothing could be more innocent, and those from Hanover
will be of the same sort, at least if my going to sup with ladies
does not displease you. But I promise to leave this alone also,
assuring you that it is the very slightest proof I can offer you,
inasmuch as I shall be pleased to do without it, even if you send
no orders to stop it. Would to God I could show you by my conduct,
that all my thoughts, all my acts are only done for you; but,
alas! you are so unjust that you refuse to perceive this. I hate
my bad fortune, and it is this which one day will ruin me with
you. I have received the letter No. 3 dated the 5th, within eight
days after that marked 4; I cannot understand whence arises this
delay; but I well know that it is dangerous that the letter should
be so long on its way. I am not satisfied with you, and the unkind
opinion you have of me as if I neglected you hurts me very much; I
think only of you night and day; no other thought enters my mind;
and yet, I am [supposed to] forget you, to neglect you. I am
inconstant—do I really deserve these designations; be you the
judge yourself! Can you accuse me of no longer loving you? Is it
possible that it is Leonisse who believes this and reproaches me
with it! Great God! how full of injustice you are, and how great a
wrong you do me! I love you to madness; I adore you beyond
compare; my love surpasses all others—and yet you have doubts of
all this; your heart does not speak in my favour. I have reason
for complaining of it—that barbarous heart, which ought to plead
for me, instead of being my accuser. I have known it kind to me;
but little by little all that affection has vanished. Will not
your heart recover itself? reproach it on my part; my heart
promises an eternal attachment, it swears constancy to you, and,
provided that you deign to think of it once in every twenty-four
hours, it is content. Does it deserve to be remembered by you? I
think it does, but it is for you to judge the case. If I am ever
unfortunate enough to love you no longer (which is an
impossibility), your wish will be no punishment to me [??], for I
swear to you that I shall never seek any other faithful
attachment, and, though the present one is dearer to me than my
life, I should never wish for another. Remember what a certain
Spaniard said: ‘I do not wish to make myself common’—I call it to
make myself common if I were to quit the most perfect object of
the universe for some other, who could never compare herself as to
....
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Footnote 236:
The familiar second person singular is employed in this and the
next two lines.
Footnote 237:
Atlenburg (mis-spelt ‘Altenburg’ _ap._ Wilkins, p. 314) must be
Artlenburg, in the part of the duchy of Saxe-Lauenburg on the left
bank of the Elbe.
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