_The_ Presidente de Tourvel _to_ Madame de Rosemonde.
How I reproach myself, my dear friend, for having wrote too soon, and
said too much of my transitory troubles! I am the cause you at present
are afflicted; the chagrin I have given you still continues, and I am
happy; yes, every thing is forgot, and I forgive; or rather all is
cleared up. Calm and delight succeed this state of grief and anguish;
how shall I express the ecstasy of my heart! Valmont is innocent: with
so much love there can be no guilt—those heavy offensive crimes with
which I loaded him so bitterly, he did not deserve; and although I was
right in one single point, yet I was to make reparation for my unjust
suspicions.
I will not relate minutely the circumstances of facts or reasonings in
his justification—Perhaps even the mind would but badly appreciate
them—it is the heart only can feel them. However, were you even to
suspect me of weakness, I would call on your judgment in support of my
own; you say among men infidelity is not inconstancy.
Not but I am sensible, this opinion, which custom authorises, hurts
delicacy: but why should mine complain, when Valmont’s suffers more?
This same injury which I forget, I do not think he forgives himself;
and yet he has immensely repaired this trivial error, by the excess of
his love, and my happiness!
My felicity is greater, or I know the value of it better, since my
dread of losing him; I can aver to you, if I had strength sufficient
to undergo again such cruel chagrins as I have just experienced, I
should not think I had purchased my increase of happiness at too high a
rate. Oh, my dear mother! scold your unthinking daughter for afflicting
you by her precipitation; scold her for having rashly judged him she
should ever adore; and knowing her imprudence, see her happy: augment
her bliss by partaking it.
_Paris, Nov._ 15, 17—.