occupied. I predict this of you, and I am glad of it:
you will never experience those sorrows which convulse
the soul; you are young enough to still receive a few
slight shocks, but, I answer for it; you will soon recover
yoiu- balance ; ah, yes ! I answer for it, and you will make
a great career and have a great celebrity — I shall horrify
you, I shall show you a very paltry and common soul, but I
cannot bear that idea. Every time that I think of you in the
future I have an icy feeling ; it is not because what is great
attracts admiration and crushes me, but because that which
is great so rarely deserves to be loved.
Admit that I am almost as silly as I am wild ; I am much worse than either. I have that particular style which Vol- taire (I venture to name him) says is the only bad style ; I fathom you so well that I know I need not tell you it is the wearying style. The difference in our affections is this : you are at the other end of the world, you are calm enough to enjoy everything ; while I am in Paris, I suffer, and I enjoy nothing ; " that is all," as Marivaux says.
I have received many details regarding him. I see there is nothing now to fear from this last hemorrhage ; but ask yourself if it is possible to have a moment's peace while trembling for the life of one to whom one would sacrifice one's own life at every instant. Ah ! if you did but know how lov- able he is, how worthy of being loved ! His soul is gentle, tender, strong ; I am certain he is the man in all the world who would please and suit you most. . . .
It is you who give me faults; you have that exclusive privilege. I am with all my other friends the best and easiest of beings; they always favour me, they forestall me in every way; I spend my life in thanking them and praising them, and I complain of you — but only to you.
