Your artless compliment upon the New Year, went home. It quite moved me. I am very glad to see that my tastes quite agree with your own. That makes me believe I am reasonable. I have no ambition, and if I had, I should be incapable of satisfying it. I am very little encumbered with money and in no condition to amass much, however that may be necessary to the regard of the world. When I dwell on all that, I sometimes fancy it would be as well for me to leave this world quickly, as to linger on in an everlasting circle of toilsome vain occupations, but coming soon after to think that I have a few good friends in this world, I say to myself, that it is worth while living to enjoy so sweet a pleasure.—Coste.
VI
TO MADEMOISELLE SUSON BRUN
Mademoiselle,—For your intention of writing to me, I owe you at least one letter. See how much obliged I should be to you if you deigned to carry out your intention. I do not care to reproach a friend. But I congratulate myself in mildly rebuking you, if I thereby oblige you to write. Lay your hand on your conscience. Have I not a right to complain a little? I have been writing for over a year and you have not once thought of answering me. I know that friendship does not stand upon ceremony, but can it put up with such carelessness? No, Mademoiselle. You know too well the delicacy of that charming passion, which is the keenest pleasure of high-born souls, not to agree with me....—Coste.
VII
[Two significant letters follow, one of which is the young girl's answer.]
Mademoiselle,—Having opened a few days ago one of the finest books written in this age, I read these charming words: "To be with those we love is enough. To dream, talk, keep silence, think of them, think of more indifferent things, but to be near them, is all one."
I could not see those words, Mademoiselle, without thinking of you, and I could not help adding: "What a torment it is to be far from her whom one loves." After thinking of that, I could not help writing.
I do not know whether you will take this for sterling truth; I mean to say, whether you will believe what I say. I am persuaded that you will not be in the least tempted to doubt my sincerity; but I do not know whether you will make much account of it. Here you are accused, you Dutch people, of loving only bills of exchange. As for me, I know a man who would value more highly than gold, however bright it may be, a compliment from you that would be as sincere as the one I have just paid you. I am, etc.—Coste.
Oates, 6th February 1699, O.S.