“I stayed you know where longer than I should have done, if it had not
been to get from him something that the bearer of these presents will
tell you it was a good opportunity for covering up our designs: I have
promised him to bring the person you know to-morrow. Look after the
rest, if you think fit. Alas! I have failed in our agreement, for you
have forbidden me to write to you, or to despatch a messenger to you.
However, I do not intend to offend you: if you knew with what fears I am
agitated, you would not have yourself so many doubts and suspicions. But
I take them in good part, persuaded as I am that they have no other
cause than love—love that I esteem more than anything on earth.
“My feelings and my favours are to me sure warrants for that love, and
answer to me for your heart; my trust is entire on this head: but
explain yourself, I entreat you, and open your soul to me; otherwise, I
shall fear lest, by the fatality of my star, and by the too fortunate
influence of the stars on women less tender and less faithful than I, I
may be supplanted in your heart as Medea was in Jason’s; not that I wish
to compare you to a lover as unfortunate as Jason, and to parallel
myself with a monster like Medea, although you have enough influence
over me to force me to resemble her each time our love exacts it, and
that it concerns me to keep your heart, which belongs to me, and which
belongs to me only. For I name as belonging to me what I have purchased
with the tender and constant love with which I have burned for you, a
love more alive to-day than ever, and which will end only with my life;
a love, in short, which makes me despise both the dangers and the
remorse which will be perhaps its sad sequel. As the price of this
sacrifice, I ask you but one favour, it is to remember a spot not far
from here: I do not exact that you should keep your promise to-morrow;
but I want to see you to disperse your suspicions. I ask of God only one
thing: it is that He should make you read my heart, which is less mine
than yours, and that He should guard you from every ill, at least during
my life: this life is dear to me only in so far as it pleases you, and
as I please you myself. I am going to bed: adieu; give me your news
to-morrow morning; for I shall be uneasy till I have it. Like a bird
escaped from its cage, or the turtle-dove which has lost her mate, I
shall be alone, weeping your absence, short as it may be. This letter,
happier than I, will go this evening where I cannot go, provided that
the messenger does not find you asleep, as I fear. I have not dared to
write it in the presence of Joseph, of Sebastian, and of Joachim, who
had only just left me when I began it.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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