I swear to you,Felipe,if you love me,as I believe you do and if Ihave reason to suspect the least falling off in the fear,obedience,and respect which you have hitherto professed,if the pure flame of passion which first kindled the fire of my heart should seem to me any day to burn less vividly,you need fear no reproaches.I would not weary you with letters bearing any trace of weakness,pride,or anger,nor even with one of warning like this.But if I spoke no words,Felipe,my face would tell you that death was near.And yet I should not die till I had branded you with infamy,and sown eternal sorrow in your heart;you would see the girl you loved dishonored and lost in this world,and know her doomed to everlasting suffering in the next.
Do not therefore,I implore you,give me cause to envy the old,happy Louise,the object of your pure worship,whose heart expanded in the sunshine of happiness,since,in the words of Dante,she possessed,Senza brama,sicura ricchezza!
I have searched the /Inferno/through to find the most terrible punishment,some torture of the mind to which I might link the vengeance of God.
Yesterday,as I watched you,doubt went through me like a sharp,cold dagger's point.Do you know what that means?I mistrusted you,and the pang was so terrible,I could not endure it longer.If my service be too hard,leave it,I would not keep you.Do I need any proof of your cleverness?Keep for me the flowers of your wit.Show to others no fine surface to call forth flattery,compliments,or praise.Come to me,laden with hatred or scorn,the butt of calumny,come to me with the news that women flout you and ignore you,and not one loves you;then,ah!then you will know the treasures of Louise's heart and love.
We are only rich when our wealth is buried so deep that all the world might trample it under foot,unknowing.If you were handsome,I don't suppose I should have looked at you twice,or discovered one of the thousand reasons out of which my love sprang.True,we know no more of these reasons than we know why it is the sun makes the flowers to bloom,and ripens the fruit.Yet I could tell you of one reason very dear to me.
The character,expression,and individuality that ennoble your face are a sealed book to all but me.Mine is the power which transforms you into the most lovable of men,and that is why I would keep your mental gifts also for myself.To others they should be as meaningless as your eyes,the charm of your mouth and features.Let it be mine alone to kindle the beacon of your intelligence,as I bring the lovelight into your eyes.I would have you the Spanish grandee of old days,cold,ungracious,haughty,a monument to be gazed at from afar,like the ruins of some barbaric power,which no one ventures to explore.Now,you have nothing better to do than to open up pleasant promenades for the public,and show yourself of a Parisian affability!
Is my ideal portrait,then,forgotten?Your excessive cheerfulness was redolent of your love.Had it not been for a restraining glance from me,you would have proclaimed to the most sharp-sighted,keen-witted,and unsparing of Paris salons,that your inspiration was drawn from Armande-Louise-Marie de Chaulieu.
I believe in your greatness too much to think for a moment that your love is ruled by policy;but if you did not show a childlike simplicity when with me,I could only pity you.Spite of this first fault,you are still deeply admired by LOUISE DE CHAULIEU.
