“Since you have asked me to explain all I have against you I will make a clean breast of it;[165] four things, of which the last is the worst. The first is that you did not mention that you saw Spar at Celle. The second, it gave you great pleasure to meet Guldenlon at Wiesbaden. The third, although you assured me you did not care about going to the fair, you seize any pretext for going. You pretend it is because your mother wishes it! The fourth is the new rival [the Prince of Hesse]. He is near you, in his own country. His sister (La Marionette) pleads for him. You are going to the fair, and he will be there with his _maquerelle_; and if he goes to Hanover, his old sister, who is the most cunning of women and well versed in intrigue, will be there too, on the pretext of a visit, to take him to your chamber, even though you were abed. I will not suffer such things; I would rather go to the Indies. It would not be pleasant for me to find a lover in your chamber, while I, who worship you, must not enter. But I forget, he is a prince, and for that reason privileged by his rank. All the same, I yield him nothing.... I fear this letter would be offensive if I believed all I wrote; but no, dear angel, I know your virtue and your constancy, and so I warn you to be careful. Two women are with you, one of whom has already done her best to make you hate me—your mother. My dear Léonnisse (I give you that name, for it is that of an incomparable woman, if you are anxious to know whom, read the Duc de Bourbon’s romance, _Prince de Tarente_), what should I do without you? I have met with a lot of bad luck in life, but at least I have had the joy of worshipping you, and from the first day I saw you my heart was touched, though I was only a boy and unable to declare my passion.[166] But even then I loved you, and I love you now. As my love for you was born with me, so to speak, so it will also die with me. Oh, Léonnisse! if you only knew how I worship you, you would freely excuse all the follies passion makes me commit and all the suspicions that take shape in my brain. The Elector [of Bavaria] swears at me about my gloomy temper, which he says I brought from Hanover. That is true; but I am the only one who knows the cause of my complaint, and the remedy. I am in a most piteous state night and day. I open my eyes only to weep, and my mouth opens only to sigh. You ask me to tell you the vow that I have taken. It is to love you as long as a drop of blood remains in my veins, and though you may change to me, I shall never change to you.