violence of the soul is moderated ; I can speak to you, I can
moan, but yesterday I had no power of expression. I could
not have told you that I fear for the life of him I love ; I
could have died sooner than pronounce those words that
froze my heart.
You have loved; conceive, therefore, what such terrors are. Until Wednesday next I am left in an uncertainty that horrifies me, but commands me, nevertheless, to live. Yes, it is not possible to die so long as we are loved — but it is dreadful to live. Death is the most urgent need of my soul, yet I feel myself manacled to life. Pity me ; forgive me for abusing the kindness you have shown me. Is it in you or in me that I find the confidence that draws me on ? They say that you cannot have found the King of Prussia in Berlin. Have you gone to Stettin to join him ? he was to be there till the 20th. I am so anxious ; it seems to me we could have had news of you from Berlin. How wrong of you if you have shown the slightest negligence. You know well that you gave me your word of honour that some one should write to me if you were ill. But do not make use of that pretext which may content ordinary friendship which does not wish to he made uneasy ; that would be detest- able ; I do not wish to be spared ; I wish to suffer through my friends, for my friends ; and I treasure a thousand times more the troubles that come to me through them than all the happiness on earth that is not derived from them. Good-bye; the opium is still in my head; it affects my sight ; perhaps it makes me more stupid than usual — what matter if it does ? it is not my mind, only my sorrows that interest you.
Monday evening, June 21, 1773.
I wrote to you yesterday, and I write to you again tonight. If I waited three days, that is, till Wednesday, per-
