you; perhaps already on the vessel which is to take me to India,

where I am going to repair my shattered fortune.
I have not found courage to tell you of my departure. I have

deceived you; but it was best to do so. You would only have been
uselessly distressed; you would have wished to sacrifice your

fortune, and that I could not have suffered. Dear Natalie, feel no
remorse; I have no regrets. When I return with millions I shall

imitate your father and lay them at your feet, as he laid his at
the feet of your mother, saying to you: "All I have is yours."

I love you madly, Natalie; I say this without fear that the
avowal will lead you to strain a power which none but weak men

fear; yours has been boundless from the day I knew you first. My
love is the only accomplice in my disaster. I have felt, as my

ruin progressed, the delirious joys of a gambler; as the money
diminished, so my enjoyment grew. Each fragment of my fortune

turned into some little pleasure for you gave me untold happiness.
I could have wished that you had more caprices that I might

gratify them all. I knew I was marching to a precipice, but I went
on crowned with joys of which a common heart knows nothing. I have

acted like those lovers who take refuge in a cottage on the shores
of some lake for a year or two, resolved to kill themselves at

last; dying thus in all the glory of their illusions and their
love. I have always thought such persons infinitely sensible.

You have known nothing of my pleasures or my sacrifices. The
greatest joy of all was to hide from the one beloved the cost of

her desires. I can reveal these secrets to you now, for when you
hold this paper, heavy with love, I shall be far away. Though I

lose the treasures of your gratitude, I do not suffer that
contraction of the heart which would disable me if I spoke to you

of these matters. Besides, my own beloved, is there not a tender
calculation in thus revealing to you the history of the past? Does

it not extend our love into the future?--But we need no such
supports! We love each other with a love to which proof is

needless,--a love which takes no note of time or distance, but
lives of itself alone.

Ah! Natalie, I have just looked at you asleep, trustful, restful
as a little child, your hand stretched toward me. I left a tear

upon the pillow which has known our precious joys. I leave you
without fear, on the faith of that attitude; I go to win the

future of our love by bringing home to you a fortune large enough
to gratify your every taste, and let no shadow of anxiety disturb

our joys. Neither you nor I can do without enjoyments in the life
we live. To me belongs the task of providing the necessary

fortune. I am a man; and I have courage.
Perhaps you might seek to follow me. For that reason I conceal

from you the name of the vessel, the port from which I sail, and
the day of sailing. After I am gone, when too late to follow me, a

friend will tell you all.
Natalie! my affection" target="_blank" title="n.友爱；慈爱">affection is boundless. I love you as a mother loves

her child, as a lover loves his mistress, with absolute
unselfishness. To me the toil, to you the pleasures; to me all

sufferings, to you all happiness. Amuse yourself; continue your
habits of luxury; go to theatres and operas, enjoy society and

balls; I leave you free for all things. Dear angel, when you
return to this nest where for five years we have tasted the fruits

which love has ripened think of your friend; think for a moment of
me, and rest upon my heart.

That is all I ask of you. For myself, dear eternal thought of
mine! whether under burning skies, toiling for both of us, I face

obstacles to vanquish, or whether, weary with the struggle, I rest
my mind on hopes of a return, I shall think of you alone; of you

who are my life,--my blessed life! Yes, I shall live in you. I
shall tell myself daily that you have no troubles, no cares; that

you are happy. As in our natural lives of day and night, of
sleeping and waking, I shall have sunny days in Paris, and nights

of toil in India,--a painful dream, a joyfulreality; and I shall
live so utterly in that reality that my actual life will pass as a

dream. I shall have memories! I shall recall, line by line,
strophe by strophe, our glorious five years' poem. I shall

remember the days of your pleasure in some new dress or some
adornment which made you to my eyes a fresh delight. Yes, dear

angel, I go like a man vowed to some great emprize, the guerdon of
which, if success attend him, is the recovery of his beautiful

mistress. Oh! my precious love, my Natalie, keep me as a religion
in your heart. Be the child that I have just seen asleep! If you

betray my confidence, my blind confidence, you need not fear my
anger--be sure of that; I should die silently. But a wife does not

deceive the man who leaves her free--for woman is never base. She
tricks a tyrant; but an easy treachery, which would kill its

victim, she will not commit--No, no! I will not think of it.
Forgive this cry, this single cry, so natural to the heart of man!

Dear love, you will see de Marsay; he is now the lessee of our
house, and he will leave you in possession of it. This nominal

lease was necessary to avoid a useless loss. Our creditors,
ignorant that their payment is a question of time only, would

otherwise have seized the furniture and the temporary possession
of the house. Be kind to de Marsay; I have the most entire

confidence in his capacity and his loyalty. Take him as your
defender and adviser, make him your slave. However occupied, he

will always find time to be devoted to you. I have placed the
liquidation of my affairs and the payment of the debts in his

hands. If he should advance some sum of which he should later feel
in need I rely on you to pay it back. Remember, however, that I do

not leave you to de Marsay, but TO YOURSELF; I do not seek to
impose him upon you.

Alas! I have but an hour more to stay beside you; I cannot spend
that hour in writing business--I count your breaths; I try to

guess your thoughts in the slight motions of your sleep. I would I
could infuse my blood into your veins that you might be a part of

me, my thought your thought, and your heart mine--A murmur has
just escaped your lips as though it were a soft reply. Be calm and

beautiful forever as you are now! Ah! would that I possessed that
fabulous fairy power which, with a wand, could make you sleep

while I am absent, until, returning, I should wake you with a
kiss.

How much I must love you, how much energy of soul I must possess,
to leave you as I see you now! Adieu, my cherished one. Your poor

Pink of Fashion is blown away by stormy winds, but--the wings of
his good luck shall waft him back to you. No, my Ninie, I am not

bidding you farewell, for I shall never leave you. Are you not the
soul of my actions? Is not the hope of returning with happiness

indestructible for YOU the end and aim of my endeavor? Does it not
lead my every step? You will be with me everywhere. Ah! it will

not be the sun of India, but the fire of your eyes that lights my
way. Therefore be happy--as happy as a woman can be without her

lover. I would the last kiss that I take from those dear lips were
not a passive one; but, my Ninie, my adored one, I will not wake

you. When you wake, you will find a tear upon your forehead--make
it a talisman! Think, think of him who may, perhaps, die for you,

far from you; think less of the husband than of the lover who
confides you to God.

From the Comtesse de Manerville to her husband:
Dear, beloved one,--Your letter has plunged me into affliction.

Had you the right to take this course, which must affect us
equally, without consulting me? Are you free? Do you not belong to

me? If you must go, why should I not follow you? You show me,
Paul, that I am not indispensable to you. What have I done, to be

deprived of my rights? Surely I count for something in this ruin.
My luxuries have weighed somewhat in the scale. You make me curse