PARIS, Monday, May 6, 1680.
You observe with great humor, that, if the human heart is left to
itself, it will always find something to comfort itself with, and
that its disposition is to be happy. I hope mine will have the same
disposition as others, and that time and the air will abate the
uneasiness I at present endure. I think you borrowed from me what you
say about the passion of separating ourselves from each other; it might
be supposed that we thought ourselves too near neighbors, and that
after mature deliberation it had been resolved on both sides to make a
voluntary removal of three hundred leagues further asunder. You see I
in a manner copy your own letter; the reason is, that you have given
so agreeable a turn to my idea, that I take pleasure in repeating it.
I hope at last, the sea will set bounds to our passion, and that after
having retired, each to a certain distance, we shall return back, and
advance toward each other as fast as we have receded. It is certain
that for two persons who seek each other’s company, and delight in
being together, we have had the most singular destiny. Whoever were
to seek to destroy my faith in Providence, would deprive me of my
only comfort; and if I thought it was in our own power to settle or
unsettle, to do or undo, to will one thing or another, I should never
have a moment’s peace. The Creator of the universe must be with me the
director of every event that happens; and when I look to him as the
cause, I blame no one, and submit with humility, though not without
inexpressible grief of heart; at the same time I put my trust in Him,
that He will again bring us together as he has done before.