“I heard yesterday of the death of La Court’s[121] brother. It was a shock, for I thought of you. Like you, he was young, he was well, yet now he is dead. You cannot imagine my sad reflections: I fear for you more than ever. If you truly love me, be careful of yourself for my sake; for if anything happened to you, what would become of me? I would not stay a moment in this world; life would be impossible. As it is, since you went away, I lead only a lingering life; but I look forward to seeing you again, and that hope brings consolation. What would be left if I lost it? But I will not fret myself with these sad thoughts; all my prayers and desires are for your safety. Day and night, night and day, the good God is troubled with the prayers I offer Him for you. If you but knew how intense is my love you would pity me; it increases every moment, absence does not lessen it. Without change or swerving I love you, and everything that touches you, so tenderly, so perfectly, so _delicately_, that imagination fails to tell. “I take a positive delight in avoiding persons. My parents and Bernstorff are pleased. They think I shun every one because I wish to be with them; they little know it is because of you—that I may show you my devotion and my love. They talk of going to Wiesbaden. My mother wishes it, as her health is very indifferent, and my father thinks of going too, and they want me to go with them. Let me know if you approve. If you do not, they will find it difficult to make me go; but as long as I please you the rest counts for nothing.” ----- Footnote 121: Probably some court lady at Hanover. ----- _Königsmarck to the Princess._ “BORGUEM _on the_ 16_th_ [_June_]. “My courier has brought me a packet of letters without any from you; it is incredible. The post goes by again to-morrow, and if I get none it will nearly kill me. I hope my correspondent has sent them to Antwerp. I have written to the Widow Goodsblut; but if it turn out that she has none either I shall die of grief. Have you forgotten the man who worships you in the space of a fortnight? I shall wait eight days, and then, if I hear nothing, I shall know you love me no longer, and I will hasten to the grand army (as soon as I know from Antwerp) and seek a glorious death. Then you can boast that your unfaithfulness has killed me. But first tell the world the promises you vowed to me, and let that theatre judge if I were wrong in seeking death. Can it be that God has made such a charming woman with so little fidelity? I am like a man on whom sentence of death has been passed and who is waiting for the hour of his execution. I hardly feel as if I were alive. My mind is so troubled that I can scarcely finish this page. Farewell, perhaps for ever!