Love Letters Of Great Men Part 1

Fall asleep while listening to this romantic compilation of love letters written by men throughout history. This is Part 1 of 2. From King Henry VIII to Amadeus Mozart, relax and enjoy the beautiful words.

Please note: This track may include some explicit language.

Transcript

Good evening,

My name is Denise Boraztrepat and tonight I will be reading Love Letters of Great Men.

This is a compilation of love letters written through history.

But before we begin,

Make sure to find a comfortable position.

Let go of all the stress of the day.

Feel the warmth of the sheets caressing your skin.

And remember that you are safe.

Right now,

There is nowhere to go.

Nothing to do.

Nothing to worry about.

Everything you need is here.

Right now,

Bring your attention to your heart.

Take a deep breath.

Be grateful for this moment.

Relax.

And now,

Let's listen to these love letters.

Love letter number one by Pliny the Younger,

A.

D.

61 to A.

D.

112.

To Calpurnia,

His wife,

You will not believe what a longing for you possesses me.

The chief cause of this is my love.

And then we have not grown used to be apart.

So it comes to pass that I lie awake a great part of the night thinking of you.

And that by day,

When the hours return at which I was wont to visit you,

My feet take me,

As it is so truly said,

To your chamber.

But not finding you there,

I return,

Sick and sad at heart,

Like an excluded lover.

The only time that is free from these torments is when I am being worn out at the bar and in the suits of my friends.

Judge you what must be my life when I find my repose in toil,

My solace in wretchedness and anxiety.

Farewell.

Love letter number two by Henry VIII,

1491 to 1547.

To Anne Boleyn,

My mistress and my friend,

My heart and I surrender themselves into your hands,

And we supplicate to be commended to your good graces,

And that by absence your affections may not be diminished to us,

For that would be to augment our pain,

Which would be a great pity,

Since absence gives an oath,

And more than I ever thought could be felt.

This brings to my mind a fact in astronomy,

Which is,

That the further the poles are from the sun,

Notwithstanding,

The more scorching is the heat.

Thus is it with our love.

Absence has placed distance between us.

Nevertheless,

Fervor increases,

At least on my part.

I hope the same from you,

Assuring you that in my case the anguish of absence is so great that it would be intolerable were it not for the firm hope I have of your indissoluble affection towards me.

In order to remind you of it,

And because I cannot in person be in your presence,

I send you the thing which comes nearest that is possible,

That is to say,

My picture,

And the whole device,

Which you already know of,

Set in bracelets,

Wishing myself in their place when it pleases you.

This is from the hand of your servant and friend,

H.

R.

Love Letter No.

3 by William Congreve 1670-1729 To Mrs.

Arabella Hunt Dear Madam,

Not believe that I love you?

You cannot pretend to be so incredulous.

If you do not believe my tongue,

Consult my eyes,

Consult your own.

You will find by yours that they have charms,

By mine that I have a heart which feels them.

Recall to mind what happened last night.

That at least was a lover's kiss.

Its eagerness,

Its fierceness,

Its warmth expressed the God its parent.

But,

Oh,

Its sweetness and its melting softness expressed him more.

With trembling in my limbs and fevers in my soul,

I ravished it.

Convulsions,

Pantings,

Murmurings shewed the mighty disorder within me,

The mighty disorder increased by it.

For those dear lips shot through my heart enthrone my bleeding vitals,

Delicious poison and a voidless but yet a charming rune.

What can naught a day produce?

The night before I thought myself a happy man,

I thought myself a happy man,

In want of nothing,

And in fairest expectation of fortune,

Approved of by men of wit and applauded by others,

Pleased,

Nay charmed with my friends,

My then dearest friends,

Sensible of every delicate pleasure and in their turns possessing all.

But love,

Almighty love,

Seems in a moment to have removed me to a prodigious distance from every object but you alone.

In the midst of crowds I remain in solitude.

Nothing but you can lay hold of my mind,

And that can lay hold of nothing but you.

I appear transported to some foreign desert with you,

Oh,

That I were really thus transported,

Where,

Abundantly supplied with everything in thee,

I might live out an age of uninterrupted ecstasy.

The scene of the world's greatest stage seems suddenly and sadly changed,

And lovely objects are all around me,

Excepting thee.

The charms of all the world appear to be translated to thee.

Thus,

In this sad but oh-too-pleasing state,

My soul can fix upon nothing but thee.

Thee it contemplates,

Admires,

Adores,

Nay depends on,

Trust on you alone,

If you,

And hope forsake it,

Despair and endless misery attend it.

LOVE LETTER No.

4 by Richard Steele.

1672-1729 To Mary Scurlock.

Madam,

With what language shall I address my lovely fair to acquaint her with the sentiments of a heart she delights to torture?

I have not a minute's quiet out of your sight,

And when I am with you,

You use me with so much distance that I am still in a state of absence,

Heightened with the view of the charms which I am denied to approach.

In a word,

You must give me either a fan,

A mask,

Or a glove you have worn,

Or I cannot live.

Otherwise,

You must expect that I'll kiss your hand,

Or,

When I sit by you,

Steal your handkerchief.

You yourself are too great a bounty to be secured at once.

Therefore,

I must be prepared by degrees,

Lest the mighty gift distract me with joy.

Dear Miss Scurlock,

I am tired with calling you by that name.

Therefore,

Say the day in which you will take that off.

Madam,

Your mind is in love.

Madam,

Your most obedient,

Most devoted,

Humble servant,

Rich steel.

August 1707.

Two weeks before their wedding.

Madam,

It is the hardest thing in the world to be in love and yet attend to business.

As for me,

All who speak to me find me out,

And I must lock myself up or other people will do it for me.

A gentleman asked me this morning,

What news from Lisbon?

And I answered,

She is exquisitely handsome.

Another desired to know when I had last been at Hampton Court,

And I replied,

It will be on Tuesday.

Allow me to at least to kiss your hand before that day,

That my mind may be in some composure.

Oh,

Love!

A thousand torments dwell about me,

Yet who would live to live without thee?

Methinks I could write a volume to you,

But all the language on earth would fail in saying how much and with what disinterested passion I am ever yours.

Rich Steel.

October 1707.

My loved creature,

I write this only to bid you good night and assure you of my diligence in the matter I told you of.

You may assure yourself I value you according to your merit,

Which is saying that you have my heart by all the ties of beauty,

Virtue,

Good nature,

And friendship.

I find by the progress I have made tonight that I shall do my business effectually in two days' time.

Write me word you are in good humor,

Which will be the highest pleasure to your wisht husband.

Rich Steel.

I shall want some linen from your house tomorrow.

Love Letter No.

5 by George Farquhar.

1676-1707.

To Anne Oldfield.

I came,

I saw,

And was conquered.

Never had men more to say,

Yet can I say nothing?

Where others go to save their souls,

There have I lost mine.

But I hope that divinity,

Which has the justice title to its service,

Has received it.

But I will endeavor to suspend these raptures for a moment,

And talk calmly.

Nothing on earth,

Madam,

Can charm beyond your wit but your beauty.

After this,

Not to love you would proclaim me a fool,

And to say I did when I thought otherwise would pronounce me a knave.

If anybody called me either,

I should resent it.

And if you but thank me either,

I shall break my heart.

You have already,

Madam,

Seen enough of me to create a liking or an aversion.

Your sense is above your sex.

Then let your proceeding be so likewise,

And tell me plainly what I have to hope for.

Were I to consult my merits,

My humility would chide any shadow of hope.

But after a sight of such a face,

Whose whole composition is a smile of good nature,

Why should I be so unjust as to suspect you of cruelty?

Let me either live in London and be happy,

Or retire again to my desert to check my vanity that drew me thence.

But let me beg you to receive my sentence from your own mouth,

That I may hear you speak and see you look at the same time.

Then let me be unfortunate if I can.

If you are not the lady in mourning that sat upon my right hand at church,

You may go to the devil,

For I am sure you're a witch.

Love Letter No.

6.

Alexander Pope.

1688-1744.

To Martha Blunt.

Most divine,

It is some proof of my sincerity towards you that I write when I am prepared by drinking to speak truth.

And sure,

A letter after twelve a night must abound with a noble ingredient.

That heart must have abundance of flames,

Which is at once warmed by wine and you.

Wine awakens and expresses the lurking passions of the mind,

As varnish does to colors that are sunk in a picture,

And brings them out in all their natural glowing.

My good qualities have been so frozen and locked up in a dull constitution at all my former sober hours,

That it is very astonishing to me,

Now that I am drunk,

To find so much virtue in me.

In these overflowings of my heart,

I pay you my thanks for these two obliging letters you favored me with of the 18th and 24th instant.

That which begins with,

My charming Mr.

Pope,

Was a delight to me beyond all expression.

You have at last entirely gained to conquest over your fair sister.

It is true you are not handsome,

For you are a woman,

And think you are not,

But this good humor and tenderness for me has a charm that cannot be resisted.

That face must needs be irresistible,

Which was adorned with smiles,

Even when it could not see the coronation of George I in September 1714.

I do suppose you will not show this epistle of vanity,

As I doubt not your sister does all I write to her.

Letter to Teresa Blunt.

Sister,

Madam,

I have so much esteem for you,

And so much of the other thing that,

Were I a handsome fellow,

I should do you a vast deal of good,

But as it is,

All I am good for is to write a civil letter,

Or to make a fine speech.

The truth is that,

Considering how often and how openly I have declared love to you,

I am astonished,

And a little affronted,

That you have not forbid my correspondence,

And directly said,

See my face no more.

It is not enough,

Madam,

For your reputation,

That you have your hands pure from the stain of such ink as might be shed to gratify a male correspondent.

Alas!

While your heart consents to encourage him in this lewd liberty of writing,

You are not,

What you would so vain have me think of you,

A prude.

I am vain enough to conclude that a fine lady's silence is consent,

And so I write on.

But,

In order to be as innocent as possible,

I will tell you news.

You have asked me news a thousand times,

At the first word you spoke to me,

Which some would interpret as if you expected nothing from my lips,

And truly it is not a sign two lovers are together,

When they can be so impertinent as to inquire what the world does.

All I mean by this is that either you or I cannot be in love with the other.

I leave you to guess which of the two is that stupid and insensible creature,

So blind to the other's excellence and charms.

Another letter to Lady Mary Wortley Montague.

Madam,

If to live in the memory of others have anything desirable in it,

Tis what you possess with regard to me in the highest sense of words.

There is not a day there is not a day in which your fear does not appear before me.

Your conversations return to my thoughts,

And every scene,

Place,

Or occasion where I have enjoyed them,

Are as lively painted as an imagination equally warm and tender can be capable to represent them.

You tell me.

The pleasure of being nearer the sun has a great effect upon your health and spirits.

You have turned my affection so far eastward that I could almost be one of his worshippers,

For I think the sun has more reason to be proud of raising your spirits than of raising all the plants and ripening all the minerals in the earth.

It is my opinion.

A reasonable man might gladly travel three or four thousand leagues to see your nature and your wit in their full perfection.

What may not we expect from a creature that went over the most perfect of this part of the world and is every day improving by the sun in the other?

If you do not write and speak the finest things imaginable,

You must be content to be involved in the same imputation with the rest of the East,

And be concluded to have abandoned yourself to extreme effeminacy,

Laziness,

And lewdness of life.

For God's sake,

Madam,

Send to me as often as you can,

In the dependence that there is no man breathing more constantly or more anxiously mindful of you.

Tell me that you are well.

Tell me that your little son is well.

Tell me that your very dog,

If you have one,

Is well.

Defraud me of no one thing that pleases you,

For whatever that is,

It will please me better than anything else can do.

I am always yours.

Love Letter No.

7 by David Hume 1711-1776 To Madame de Bouffler.

It is impossible for me,

Dear madam,

To express the difficulty which I have to bear your absence,

And the continual want I feel for your society.

I had accostumed myself of a long time to think of you as a friend,

From whom I was never to be separated during any considerable time,

And I had flattered myself that we were fitted to pass our lives in intimacy and cordiality with each other.

Age and a natural equality of temper were in danger of reducing my heart to too great indifference about everything.

It was enlivened by the charms of your conversations and the vivacity of your character.

Your mind,

More agitated both by unhappy circumstances in your situation and by your natural disposition,

Could repose itself in the more calm sympathy which you found with me.

But behold,

Three months are elapsed since I left you,

And it is impossible for me to assign a time when I can hope to join you.

I still return to my wish that I had never left Paris,

And that I had kept out of reach of all other duties,

Except that which was so sweet and agreeable to fulfill,

The cultivating of your friendship and enjoying your society.

Your obliging expressions revive this regret in the strongest degree,

Especially where you mention the wounds which,

Though skinned over,

Still fester at the bottom.

Oh,

My dear friend,

How I dread that I may still belong until you reach the state of tranquility,

In a distress which so little admits of any remedy,

And which the natural elevation of your character,

Instead of putting you above it,

Makes you feel with greater sensibility.

I could only wish to administer the temporary consolation which the presence of a friend never fails to afford.

I kiss your hands with all the devotion possible.

Love Letter No.

8 by Lawrence Stern,

1713-1768 To Catherine Formentelle My dear Kitty,

I have arrived here safe and sound,

Except for the hole in my heart,

Which you have made like a dear,

Enchanting slut as you are.

And now,

My dear,

Dear girl,

Let me assure you of the truest friendship for you that ever men bore towards a woman.

Wherever I am,

My heart is warm towards you,

And ever shall be,

Till it is cold forever.

I thank you for the kind proof you gave me of your love and of your desire to make my heart easy,

In ordering yourself to be denied to you-know-who,

Whilst I,

So miserable to be separated from my dear,

Dear Kitty,

It would have stabbed my soul to have thought such a fellow could have the liberty of coming near you.

I therefore take this proof of your love and good principles most kindly,

And have as much faith and dependence upon you as if I were at your elbow.

Would to God I was at it this moment,

But I am sitting solitary and alone in my bed-chamber.

Ten o'clock at night after the play,

And would give a guinea for a squeeze of your hand.

I send my soul perpetually out to see what you are doing,

Wish I could send my body with it.

Adieu,

Dear and kind girl,

And believe me ever your friend and most affectionate admirer.

Adieu,

Adieu.

Love Letter No.

9 by Denis de Giroux,

1713-1784 To Sophie Volant,

I cannot leave this place without saying a few more words to you.

So,

My pet,

You expect a good deal from me.

Your happiness,

Your life,

Even the pet's,

You say,

Upon my ever-loving you.

Never fear,

My dear Sophie,

That will endure,

And you shall live and be happy.

I have never committed a crime yet,

And I'm not going to begin now.

I am wholly yours,

You are everything to me.

We will sustain each other in all the ills of life it may please fate to inflict upon us.

You will soothe my troubles,

I will comfort you in yours.

Would that I could always see you as you have been lately.

As for myself,

You must confess that I am just as I was on the first day you saw me.

This is not merit of my own,

But I owe it injustice to myself to tell you so.

It is one effect of good qualities to be felt more vividly from day to day.

Be assured of my constancy to yours,

And of my appreciation of them.

Never was a passion more justified by reason than mine.

Is it not true,

My dear Sophie,

That you are very amiable?

Examine yourself.

See how worthy you are of being loved,

And know that I love you very much.

That is the unvarying standard of my feelings.

Good night,

My dear Sophie.

I am as happy as men can be in knowing that I am loved by the best of women.

Another letter to Sophie Voland.

You are well.

You think of me.

You love me.

You will always love me,

I believe you.

Now I am happy.

I live again.

I can talk,

Work,

Play,

Walk,

Do anything you wish.

I must have made myself very disagreeable the last two or three days.

No,

My love,

Your very presence would not have delighted me more than your first letter.

How impatiently I waited for it.

I am sure my hands trembled when opening it.

My countenance changed,

My voice altered,

And unless he were a fool,

He who handed it to me would have said,

That man receives news from his father or mother or someone else he loves.

I was just at that moment about to send you a letter expressing my great uneasiness.

While you are amusing yourself,

You forget how much my heart suffers.

Adieu,

My dearest love.

My affection for you is ardent and sincere.

I would love you even more than I do,

If I knew how.

I would love you even more than I do,

If I knew how.

Love Letter Number 10 by Henry Frederick,

Duke of Cumberland.

1745-1790 To Lady Grosvenor My dear little angel,

I wrote my last letter to you yesterday at 11 o'clock.

Just when we sailed,

I dined at 2 o'clock,

And as for the afternoon,

I had some music.

I have my own servant aboard that plays.

And so I got to bed about 10.

I then prayed for you,

My dearest love kissed your dearest little hair,

And lay down and dreamt of you,

Had you on the dear little couch,

10,

000 times in my arms,

Kissing you and telling you how much I loved and adored you.

And you seemed pleased,

But alas,

When I woke up,

I found it an illusion.

Nobody by me,

But myself at sea.

I am sure the account of this day's duty can be no pleasure to you,

My love.

Yet it is exactly what I have done,

And as I promised you always to let you know my most emotions and thoughts,

I have now performed my promise this day to you,

And always will until the very last letter you shall have from me.

When I shall return to you,

That instant,

Oh,

My love,

Mad and happy beyond myself to tell you how I love you and have thought of you ever since I have been separated from you.

I hope you are well.

I am sure I need not tell you.

I have had nothing in my thoughts but your dearest self,

And long for the time to come back again to you.

I will all the while take care of myself because you desire my dear little friend.

Does the angel of my heart pray to you take care of your dearest for the sake of your faithful servant who lives but to love you,

To adore you,

And to bless the moment that has made you generous enough to own it to him?

I hope,

My dear,

I will never dare to say you never will have reason to repent it.

Indeed,

My dear angel,

I need not tell you.

I need not tell you,

I know you read the reason too well that made me do so.

It was to write to you,

For God knows I wrote to no one else but the king.

God bless you,

Most amiable and dearest little creature living.

God bless you,

Till I shall again have an opportunity of sending to you.

I shall write to you a letter a day,

As many days as you miss hearing of me.

When I do,

They shall all come Friday 16th.

God bless,

I shan't forget you.

God knows you have told me so before.

I have your heart,

And it lies warm at my breast.

I hope mine feels as easy to you.

Adieu.

Adieu.

Love Letter Number 11 by Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart.

1756-1791 To Constance,

Dearest little wife,

I have a number of requests to make.

I beg you,

Number one,

Not to be melancholy.

Number two,

To take care of your health and to beware of the spring breezes.

Number three,

Not to go out walking alone,

And preferably not to go out walking at all.

Number four,

To feel absolutely assured of my love.

Up to the present,

I have not written a single letter to you without placing your dear portrait before me.

And lastly,

I beg you to send me more details in your letters.

I should very much like to know whether our brother-in-law,

Huffer,

Came to see us the day after my departure.

Whether he comes very often,

As he promised me he would.

Whether the lunch comes sometimes.

Whether progress is being made with the portrait,

What sort of life you are leading.

All these things are naturally of great importance to me.

All these things are naturally of great interest to me.

I beg in your conduct not only to be careful of your honour and mine,

But also to consider appearances.

Do not be angry with me for asking this.

You ought to love me even more for thus valuing our honour.

W.

A.

Mozart Another letter from Mozart to Constance,

His wife.

I have this moment received your dear letter,

And am delighted to hear that you are well and in good spirits.

Madame Ludwig has laundered my neck cap and necktie,

But I should like you to see them.

Good God,

I kept on telling her to let me show how she,

My wife,

Does them,

But it was no use.

I am delighted that you have a good appetite,

But whoever gorges a lot must also shit a lot.

No,

Walk a lot,

I mean.

But I should not like you to take long walks without me.

I entreat you to follow my advice exactly,

For it comes from my heart.

Adieu,

My love,

My only one.

Do catch them in the air,

Those two thousand nine hundred ninety-nine and a half little kisses from me,

Which are flying about,

Waiting for someone to snap them.

Listen,

I want to whisper something in your ear,

And you in mine,

And now we open and close our mouths,

Again and again.

At last we say,

It is all about Plumpy Strumpy.

Well,

You can think what you like,

That is just why it's so convenient.

Adieu,

A thousand tender kisses.

Ever your Mozart.

Reviews

These love letters & your telling of them was so delicious. How romantic & beautiful if indeed these women were so very highly esteemed .💓☺🐱😺🐨🌹💘