_The_ Presidente de Tourvel _to_ Madame de Rosemonde.
The astonishment in which I am thrown, Madam, at the news I received
yesterday, will not, however, make me forget the satisfaction it ought
to give you, therefore I am in haste to impart it. M. de Valmont’s
thoughts are no longer taken up with me or his love; he wishes nothing
more ardently, than to repair, by a more edifying life, the faults, or
rather the errors of his youth. This great event was announced to me
by Father Anselmus, whom he addressed to be his director in future,
and to treat with me of an interview, the principal design of which
is, I imagine, to return my letters, which he has kept hitherto,
notwithstanding my requisitions.
I cannot undoubtedly but applaud this happy change, and congratulate
myself, if, as he says, I have any way contributed to it. But why
should I have been the instrument, and that at the expence of my repose
for life? Could not M. de Valmont’s happiness be completed but by my
misfortune? Oh! forgive me this complaint, my most indulgent friend!
I know it does not belong to mortals to fathom the decrees of heaven.
Whilst I am incessantly and vainly imploring strength to overcome my
unfortunate passion, it is prodigal of its favour to him who does not
sue for it, and leaves me helpless a prey to my weakness.
Let me stifle those guilty murmurs. Did not the prodigal son at his
return, find more grace with his father, than the one who never had
been absent? What account can we demand of him who owes us nothing?
And were it possible we could have any pretensions in the sight of God,
what could mine be? Should I boast of a modesty, for which I am only
indebted to Valmont? It was he saved me; and shall I dare complain
of suffering for him? No, my sufferings shall be dear to me, if his
happiness is purchased at their expence. Doubtless, in his turn he
should come back to our common father. The almighty hand that formed
him should cherish its own work. He did not create that charming
being to be reprobated. It is me should bear the pain of my daring
imprudence. Should I not have reflected, since I was forbid loving him,
I should not indulge myself in gazing on him.
My fault or misfortune is to have rejected this truth too long. You,
my dear and worthy friend, will be my witness, I submitted to this
sacrifice as soon as I discovered the necessity of it: but to render it
complete, there wanted the circumstance of M. de Valmont not taking any
share in it. Shall I confess to you, this is the idea that at present
torments me most? Intolerable pride! which alleviates the evils we
endure, by a consciousness of those woes we cause to others! But I will
conquer this rebellious heart. I will accustom it to humiliation.
This, motive exclusive of all other considerations, made me at last
consent to receive next Thursday, M. de Valmont’s painful visit;—he
will then tell me he no longer knows me; that the feeble, transitory
impression I had made on him exists, no longer! He will look upon me
without any emotion, whilst the dread of revealing mine will cast my
eyes down. Even those very letters which he so long refused to my
repeated solicitations, I shall receive from his indifference; he will
return them as useless trifles he no longer cares for; and my trembling
hand will receive this shameful trust from a tranquil steady one; last
he will depart!—Depart for ever!—My eyes which will follow him, will
not see his return to me.
Am I then reserved for all this humiliation? Let me at least make it
useful by being penetrated with a sense of my weakness.—Those letters
he will no longer keep, I will lay up with care:—I will impose on
myself the shame of daily reading them until my tears have defaced the
last letter—and his, I will destroy, as infected with the dangerous
poison which has tainted my soul.—What then is love, which makes us
regret even the danger it exposes us to, and dread feeling it, even
when we can no longer inspire it? Let me fly this destructive passion,
which leaves no choice between shame and misery, and often reunites
them:—let prudence then replace virtue.
How distant is this Thursday still! Why can’t I instantly consummate
this sorrowful sacrifice, and forget at once the cause and the object?
This visit importunes me; I repent having promised it—what occasion to
see me again—what are we now to each other? If he has offended me, I
forgive him—I even congratulate him on his reformation; I praise him
for it; I do more, I will follow his example; and, seduced by the same
errors, his example shall reform me. But why, when his resolution is to
fly me, why begin by seeking me? The one that is in most danger, ought
they not to forget the other? Doubtless they ought; and that shall
hereafter be my sole care.
With your permission, my amiable friend, it shall be with you I will
undertake this difficult task; if I should want assistance, or perhaps
consolation, I will not receive it from any other—you alone understand
and can speak to my heart:—Your endearing friendship will fill up my
existence;—nothing will be difficult to second your cares:—I shall be
indebted to you for my tranquillity, my happiness, my virtue; and the
fruits of your goodness will be to have at length made me deserving of
it.
I believe I have gone very much astray in this letter, at least I think
so, from the perturbed state I have been in during the whole time:—If
there is a sentiment which ought to make me blush, cover it with your
indulgent friendship; I submit entirely to it; I have not a wish to
hide from you any emotion of my heart.
Adieu, my most respectable friend! I hope to be able in a few days to
announce that of my arrival.
_Paris, Oct._ 25, 17—.