PARIS, _December 13, 1843_.
We left each other in anger; but to-night, when I reflect upon it
calmly, I regret nothing that I said, unless it be a few hasty words,
for which I ask your pardon. Yes, we are great fools. We should have
realised it sooner. We should have seen how contrary were our sentiments
and our feelings about everything. The concessions we have made to each
other have had no other result than to make us more unhappy. More
far-seeing than you, I blame myself bitterly for this mistake. To
prolong an illusion of which I should never have dreamed, I have caused
you the keenest anguish.
Forgive me, I pray you, for I, too, have suffered. I would I could leave
with you more joyous memories of me. I hope you will attribute to
circumstances the vexation I may have caused you. Never in your presence
have I appeared as I wished to be, or rather as I had intended to appear
in your eyes. I had too much self-confidence. My heart has sought to
struggle against that which my better judgment has demonstrated.
Everything considered, perhaps you will come to see in our folly only
its lovely side, to remember none but the moments of happiness which we
have spent together. I do not upbraid you in any way. You have tried to
reconcile two incompatible beings, and you have not succeeded. Should I
not be grateful to you for having tried to accomplish for me the
impossible?