And God bless you, my dear love,
notwithstanding your shabby apologies for notes. Well, well, you are amused—e basta
cosi—only, when you are at leisure, write me a dear,
good letter, to make amends for your last week’s slender diet. Your views of life are so different from mine, that at
first they gave me great pain and uneasiness; use, however, reconciles to many
things and I have already lost the uneasiness; perhaps
the pain will soon follow, at least I feel a
satisfaction in submitting my will to your’s, which already diminishes
it. Nonobstant, I wish you were more
independent in your pleasures, and did not receive
the bright lights in your picture of life so much by
reflection from the world. For myself, I am not without a large
portion of personal vanity, and am as pleased with incense, when offered, as
others, but it is not a want of habit with me; and, on the whole, I had rather be loved than admired, and, I fear
also, rather than esteemed. This, you will say, is
weakness, “le bonheur n’est pour (moi) ni sur la même route, ni de la même espèce,
que celui des autres hommes; ils ne cherchent que la
puissance et les regards
d’autrui; il ne (me) faut que la tendresse et la paix, ne suis je pas un vrai
St. Preux?” and so much the worse for me,
if I am; a slight touch of ambition would pepper life;
and truly, at little more
| BETWEEN CUP AND LIP. | 489 |
