He acquainted us that Mr. de Valmont, having found at the village of ----, an unhappy family whose effects were on the point of being sold for payment of taxes, not only discharged the debt for the poor people, but even gave them a pretty considerable sum besides.
My servant was witness to this virtuous act; and informs me that the country people, in conversation, told him, that a servant, whom they described, and who mine believes to belong to Mr. de Valmont, had been yesterday at the village to make inquiry after objects of charity.
This was not a transitory fit of compassion; it must have proceeded from determined benevolence, the noblest virtue of the noblest minds; but be it chance or design, you must allow, it is a worthy and laudable act; the bare recital of it melted me to tears!
I will add also still farther, to do him justice, that when I mentioned this transaction, of which he had not given the least hint, he begin by denying it to be founded; and even when he acquiesced, seemed to lay so little stress on it, that his modesty redoubled its merit.
Now tell me, most venerable friend, if M. de Valmont is an irretrievable debauchee?
If he is so, and behaves thus, where are we to look for men of principle?
Is it possible that the wicked should participate with the good the extatic pleasures of benevolence?
Would the Almighty permit that a virtuous poor family should receive aid from the hand of an abandoned wretch, and return thanks for it to his Divine Providence?
And is it possible to imagine the Creator would think himself honoured in hearing pure hearts pouring blessings on a reprobate?
No; I am rather inclined to think that errors, although they may have been of some duration, are not eternal; and I cannot bring myself to think, that the man who acts well, is an enemy to virtue.
Mr. de Valmont is only, perhaps, another example of the dangerous effects of connections.
I embrace this idea, and it gratifies me.
If, on the one hand, it clears up his character in your mind, it will, on the other, enhance the value of the tender friendship that unites me to you for life.
I am, &c.
P. S.
Madame de Rosemonde and I are just going to see the poor honest family, and add our assistance to Mr. de Valmont's.
We take him with us, and shall give those good people the pleasure of again seeing their benefactor; which, I fancy, is all he has left us to do.
Aug. 20, 17—. _____
LETTER XXIII.
The VISCOUNT DE VALMONT to the MARCHIONESS DE MERTEUIL. _____
I broke off at our return to the castle.
Now to my narrative: I had scarce time to dress and return to the saloon, where my charmer was making tapestry, whilst the curate read the gazette to my old aunt.
I placed myself near the frame.
Softer looks than usual, almost bordering on fondness, soon informed me the spy had made a report of his business; and, in fact, the lovely woman could no longer keep the secret; being under no apprehension of interrupting the good pastor, whose utterance was perfectly in the pulpit style.
I have also some news to tell, said she, and immediately related my adventure with an exactitude that did honour to her historian's accuracy.
You may guess how my modesty displayed itself; but who can stop a woman's tongue, who unconsciously praises the man she loves?
I determined to let her go on.
One would have imagined she was preaching the panegyric of some saint, whilst I, not without a degree of hope, attentively observed every circumstance that bore an appearance propitious to love: her animated look, free action, and above all, the tone of her voice, which, by a sensible alteration, betrayed the emotion of her soul.
She had scarcely finished, when Madame de Rosemonde said,
"Come, my dear nephew, let me embrace you."
I soon concluded the lovely panegyrist could not offer an objection to my saluting her in turn.
She attempted to fly; but I soon seized her in my arms; and far from being able to resist, she had scarce power to support herself.
The more I contemplate this woman, the more amiable she is.
She hastened back to her frame, with every appearance of resuming her work, but in such confusion, that her hand shook, and at length obliged her to throw it aside.
After dinner, the ladies would visit the objects of my unaffected charity; I accompanied them; but I shall spare you the unentertaining narrative of this second scene of gratitude.
My anxious heart, panting with the delightful remembrance of what had passed, made me hasten our return to the Castle.
On the road, my lovely Presidente, more pensive than usual, spoke not a word; and I, entirely absorbed in the means of employing the events of the day to advantage, was also silent.
Madame de Rosemonde alone spoke, and could receive but few and short answers.
We must have tired her out, which was my design, and it succeeded to my wish.
When we alighted she retired to her apartment, and left my fair one and me tete-a-tete in a saloon, poorly lighted: gentle darkness, thou encourager of timid love!
I had not much trouble to direct our conversation to my object.
The fervour of my lovely preacher was more useful than my own skill.
"When the heart is so inclined to good," said she, glancing a most enchanting look, "how is it possible it should at the same time be prone to vice?"
"I don't deserve," replied I, "either this praise or censure; and I can't conceive how, with so much good sense as you possess, you have not yet discovered my character.
Were my candour even to hurt me in your opinion, you are still too deserving to with-hold my confidence from you.
You'll find all my errors proceed from an unfortunate easiness of disposition.
Surrounded by profligates, I contracted their vices; I have, perhaps, even had a vanity in excelling them.
Here too the sport of example, impelled by the model of your virtues, and without hope of ever attaining them, I have however endeavoured to follow you: and, perhaps, the act you value so highly to-day would lose its merit, if you knew the motive!" (You see, my charming friend, how nearly I approached to the truth.) "It is not to me those unfortunate people are obliged, for the relief they have experienced.
Where you imagined you saw a laudable act, I only sought the means to please.
I was only, if I must so say, the feeble agent of the divinity I adore!" (Here she would have interrupted me, but I did not give her time.) "Even at this instant," added I, "it is weakness alone extracts this secret from me.