close all my
sufferings. I have not a soul to whom I can fully unbosom
myself, and yet I must meet everyone like a friend. There
are, indeed, people here who seem to love me, take my
portrait, seek my society; but they do not make up for the
want of you [his friends and relations]. I lack inward peace,
I am at rest only when I read your [his friends' and
relations'] letters, and picture to myself the statue of King
Sigismund, or gaze at the ring [Constantia's], that dear
jewel. Forgive me, dear Johnnie, for complaining so much to
you; but my heart grows lighter when I speak to you thus. To
you I have indeed always told all that affected me. Did you
receive my little note the day before yesterday? Perhaps you
don't care much for my scribbling, for you are at home; but I
read and read your letters again and again.

Dr. Freyer has called on me several times; he had learned
from Schuch that I was in Vienna. He told me a great deal of
interesting news, and enjoyed your letter, which I read to
him up to a certain passage. This passage has made me very
sad. Is she really so much changed in appearance? Perhaps she
was ill? One could easily fancy her being so, as she has a
very sensitive disposition. Perhaps she only appeared so to
you, or was she afraid of anything? God forbid that she
should suffer in any way on my account. Set her mind at rest,
and tell her that as long as my heart beats I shall not cease
to adore her. Tell her that even after my death my ashes
shall be strewn under her feet. Still, all this is yet too
little, and you might tell her a great deal more.

I shall write to her myself; indeed, I would have done so
long ago to free myself from my torments; but if my letter
should fall into strange hands, might this not hurt her
reputation? Therefore, dear friend, be you the interpreter
of my feelings; speak for me, "et j'en conviendrai." These
French words of yours flashed through me like lightning. A
Viennese gentleman who walked beside me in the street when I
was reading your letter, seized me by the arm, and was hardly
able to hold me. He did not know what had happened to me. I
should have liked to embrace and kiss all the passers-by, and
I felt happier than I had done for a long time, for I had
received the first letter from you. Perhaps I weary you,
Johnnie, with my passionateness; but i