First, I enquired about his health; and without saying it was very good, he did not complain of its being bad.
I then began to lament his recluseness, which had something the appearance of a disordered fancy, and endeavoured to mingle a little sprightliness with my reprimand: but he replied in an affecting tone;
"I confess it is another error, which shall be repaired with the rest."
His looks more than his reply, disconcerted my cheerfulness; and I told him, he took up a little friendly reproach in too serious a manner.
We then began to chat on indifferent matters.
A little while after he told me, an affair, the greatest affair of his whole life, would, perhaps, soon call him back to Paris.
I was afraid to guess at it, my lovely dear; and lest this beginning should lead to a confidence I did not wish, asked him no questions, but only replied, a little dissipation might put him in better health; saying, at this time I would not press him, as loving my friends for their own sake.
At this so simple a speech, he squeezed my hands, and with a vehemence I can't express,
"Yes, my dear aunt," said he, "love a nephew who respects and cherishes you, and, as you say, love him for his own sake.
Do not be afflicted at his happiness, and do not disturb with any sorrow, the eternal tranquillity he soon hopes to enjoy.
Repeat once more, you love me, you forgive me; yes, you will forgive me; I know the goodness of your heart: but can I hope for the same indulgence from those I have so grievously offended?"
Then leaned down towards me, as I believe to conceal some marks of grief, which, however, the tone of his voice betrayed.
Inexpressibly affected, I rose suddenly; and he, no doubt, observed my affright, for instantly composing himself, he replied, "Your pardon, Madam, I perceive I am wandering in spite of me. I beg you will remember my profound respect, and forget my expressions. I shall not omit waiting on you before my departure to renew them." This last sentence seemed to imply a wish, I should terminate my visit; I accordingly retired. I am lost in reflection, as to his meaning.
What can this affair be, the greatest of his whole life?
On what account should he ask my pardon?
From whence could that involuntary melting proceed whilst he was speaking?
I have since put myself those questions a thousand times, without being able to solve them.
I can't even discover any thing relative to you; yet, as the eyes of love are more penetrating than those of friendship, I would not conceal any thing from you that passed between my nephew and me.
This is the fourth time I have sat down to write this long letter, which I should yet have made longer, but for the fatigue I undergo.
Adieu, my lovely dear!
Castle of ——, Oct. 25, 17—. _____
LETTER CXXIII.
FATHER ANSELMUS to the VISCOUNT DE VALMONT. _____
I received, Monsieur Viscount, the letter you did me the honour to write to me, and yesterday, as you requested, waited on the person mentioned.
I laid before her the motives and intentions that induced you to this measure.
Although very determined to pursue the prudent resolution she at first took, yet on the remonstrances I made, that by a refusal she might incur the danger of throwing an obstacle in the way of your conversion and in a manner oppose the designs of all-merciful Providence, she consented to receive your visit, on condition nevertheless, it shall be the last; and has desired me to inform you, she should be at home on Thursday next, the 28th.
If this day should not be convenient for you, please to inform her, and appoint some other; your letter will be received.
Give me leave to recommend to you, Sir, to avoid delays, unless for very cogent reasons, that you may as soon as possible give yourself up entirely to the laudable dispositions you express.
Remember, whoever is silent to the calls of divine grace, exposes himself to have it withdrawn; that if the divine bounty is infinite, the dispensation of it is regulated by justice; and the time may come, when the God of mercy may be changed to a God of vengeance.
If you continue to honour me with your confidence, be assured all my care shall be devoted to you the instant you require it.
Let my business be ever so great, the most important shall ever be to fulfil the duties of the holy ministry, to which I am particularly devoted; and the most valuable part of my life, that wherein I see my weak endeavours crowned with the benediction of the Most High.
We are weak sinners, and cannot do any thing of ourselves! but the God that now calls you is omnipotent; and we shall equally owe to his goodness; you the desire of being reunited to him, and I the means of conducting you.
It is with his divine assistance, I hope soon to convince you, that religion only can give even in this world that solid and durable happiness, which is vainly sought in the blindness of human passions.
I have the honour to be, with great respect, &c.
Paris, Oct. 25, 17—. _____
LETTER CXXIV.
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?