You had no need of it ; you knew well that you could not
return it. Have you played with my despair ? Either fill
my soul, or torture it no longer ; act so that I may love you
always, or that I may never love you ; in short, do the im-
possible, — calm me, or I die.
At this moment what are you doing ? You are bringing trouble into a soul that time was calming ; you abandon me to my sorrow. Ah ! if you had feeling, you would be to be pitied, mon ami, you would know remorse. But at least, if your heart cannot fix itself, devote yourself to your talent, occupy yourself, work to some purpose ; for if you continue this desultory, restless life, I fear you will some day be re- duced to say, —
" The desire for fame has worn out my soul."
Saturday, in the evening.
It was not until this morning that I received news of you, and I do not know whence or how it came ; certainly not by the post. Believe me crazy if you choose, think me unjust, in short, what you please ; but it will not prevent me from telling you that I think I never in my life received so sharp, so blasting an impression as that your letter made upon me. I felt crushed by having ever given to any one the right to say to me what I was reading ; and to say it with such ease and so naturally that I must conclude the writer was simply pouring out his soul in speaking to me, without one thought that he insulted me. Oh ! how well you have avenged M. de Mora ! How cruelly you punish me for the delirium, the distraction that dragged me towards you ! How I detest them!
I will enter into no details ; you have neither enough kindness nor enough feeling to allow my soul to lower itself to complaint ; my heart, my self-love, all that inspires me,
