Sometimes even in her presence
extravagancies escaped me, which only the most violent passions seemed
capable of inspiring; in a word, there was but one essential
difference to distinguish me from an absolute lover, and that
particular renders my situation almost inconceivable.
I had returned from Italy, not absolutely as I went there, but as no
one of my age, perhaps, ever did before, being equally unacquainted
with women. My ardent constitution had found resources in those
means by which youth of my disposition sometimes preserve their purity
at the expense of health, vigor, and frequently of life itself. My
local situation should likewise be considered- living with a pretty
woman, cherishing her image in the bottom of my heart, seeing her
during the whole day, at night surrounded with objects that recalled
her incessantly to my remembrance, and sleeping in the bed where I
knew she had slept. What a situation! Who can read this without
supposing me on the brink of the grave? But quite the contrary; that
which might have ruined me, acted as a preservative, at least for a
time. Intoxicated with the charm of living with her, with the ardent
desire of passing my life there, absent or present I saw in her a
tender mother, an amiable sister, a respected friend, but nothing
more; meantime, her image filled my heart, and left room for no
other object. The extreme tenderness with which she inspired me
excluded every other woman from my consideration, and preserved me
from the whole sex: in a word, I was virtuous, because I loved her.
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