times poured comfort into the souls of the sorrowful." Yes,
I owe to you that which makes the charm and the sweetness
of friendship ; I feel that the tie is already too strong, that it
takes too great an ascendancy over my soul ; when my soul
suffers it is tempted to turn to you for consolation ; if it
were calm and unoccupied it might be drawn to you by an
impulse more active, by a desire for pleasure, even.
Am I so much to you ? Am I not better fitted to love and regret you ? At best, my sentiments can only be agree- able to you ; but to me, before I examined your character, you were already necessary to me. But what think you of a soul that gives itself before knowing whether it will be accepted, before being able to judge whether it will be re- ceived with pleasure or with gratitude only ? Ah ! mon Dieu ! if you were not gifted with feeling, what grief you would cause me ! For it does not suffice me that you are honourable : I have virtuous friends, I have letter still ; and yet I care only for what you are to me — but truly, sincerely, is there no madness, perhaps even absurdity, in believing you my friend ? Answer me ; not coldly, but with truth.
Though your soul is agitated, it is not ill like mine, which passes ceaselessly from convulsion to depression. I can judge of nothing ; I mislead myself continually, I take poison to calm me. You see I cannot guide myself; enlighten me, strengthen me. I will believe you ; you shall be my support ; you shall succour me like reflection itself, which is no longer at my service. I know not how to foresee. I can distinguish nothing. Conceive my trouble. I can rest only on the idea of death ; there are days when death is my only hope ; but also I have other instincts, and very contrary ones ; sometimes I feel myself manacled to life ; the thought of grieving him I love takes from me all desire to be comforted, if it be at the cost of his peace of mind.
