_The Chevalier_ Danceny _to_ Cecilia Volanges.
Before I give way, Miss, whether shall I call it, to the pleasure or
necessity of writing to you, I begin by entreating you to hear me: I am
sensible I stand in need of your indulgence, in daring to declare my
sentiments for you; if they wanted only vindication, indulgence would
be useless. Yet, after all, what am I about to do, but exhibit your
own productions? I have nothing to say that my looks, my confusion, my
conduct, and even my silence, have not already told you! Why should
you be displeased with sentiments to which you have given birth?
Proceeding from you, they certainly should be offered you; if they are
as inflamed as my heart, they are as chaste as your own. Where is the
crime to have discovered how to set a proper value on your charms, your
bewitching qualifications, your enchanting graces, and that affecting
ingenuousness which so much enhances such valuable accomplishments? No;
undoubtedly there is not: but one may be unhappy, without being guilty,
which must be my fate, should you refuse to accept a homage, the first
my heart ever made. Were it not for you, I should still have been, if
not happy, yet undisturbed. I saw you, and tranquillity fled my soul,
and left my happiness uncertain!
And yet you seem to wonder at my grief, and demand the cause; I have
even sometimes thought it gave you uneasiness. Ah, speak but the word,
and my felicity will be complete! But before you pronounce it, remember
it may also overwhelm me in misery. Be the arbitress of my fate, you
can make me happy or miserable for ever; into what dearer hands can
I commit such a trust? I shall finish as I began, by imploring your
indulgence; I have entreated you to hear me; I shall farther presume to
beg an answer. If refused, I shall think you are offended; though my
heart is witness, my respect equals my love.
P. S. If you indulge me with an answer, you can convey it in the
same way through which manner you receive this: it is both safe and
commodious.
_Aug._ 18, 17—.