We are only rich when our wealth is buried so deep that all the world
might trample it under foot, unknowing. If you were handsome, I don't
suppose I should have looked at you twice, or discovered one of the
thousand reasons out of which my love sprang. True, we know no more of
these reasons than we know why it is the sun makes the flowers to
bloom, and ripens the fruit. Yet I could tell you of one reason very
dear to me.
The character, expression, and individuality that ennoble your face
are a sealed book to all but me. Mine is the power which transforms
you into the most lovable of men, and that is why I would keep your
mental gifts also for myself. To others they should be as meaningless
as your eyes, the charm of your mouth and features. Let it be mine
alone to kindle the beacon of your intelligence, as I bring the
lovelight into your eyes. I would have you the Spanish grandee of old
days, cold, ungracious, haughty, a monument to be gazed at from afar,
like the ruins of some barbaric power, which no one ventures to
explore. Now, you have nothing better to do than to open up pleasant
promenades for the public, and show yourself of a Parisian affability!
Is my ideal portrait, then, forgotten? Your excessive cheerfulness was
redolent of your love. Had it not been for a restraining glance from
me, you would have proclaimed to the most sharp-sighted, keen-witted,
and unsparing of Paris salons, that your inspiration was drawn from
Armande-Louise-Marie de Chaulieu.
I believe in your greatness too much to think for a moment that your
love is ruled by policy; but if you did not show a childlike
simplicity when with me, I could only pity you. Spite of this first
fault, you are still deeply admired by
LOUISE DE CHAULIEU.