The Cross of Berny | Page 5

the lover the more artful the man.
The more one loves, the more one lies.
The reason of all this is very simple.
The first symptom of a profound passion is an all-absorbing
self-abnegation. The fondest dream of a heart really touched, is to make
for the loved one the most extraordinary and difficult sacrifice.

How hard it is to subdue the temper, or to change one's nature! yet from
the moment a man loves he is metamorphosed. If a miser, to please he
will become a spendthrift, and he who feared a shadow, learns to
despise death. The corrupt Don Juan emulates the virtuous Grandison,
and, earnest in his efforts, he believes himself to be really reformed,
converted, purified regenerated.
This happy transformation will last through the hopeful period. But as
soon as the remodelled pretender shall have a presentiment that his
metamorphosis is unprofitable; as soon as the implacable voice of
discouragement shall have pronounced those two magic words, by
which flights are stayed, thoughts paralyzed, and hopeful hearts
deadened, "Never! Impossible!" the probation is over and the candidate
returns to the old idols of graceless, dissolute nature.
The miser is shocked as he reckons the glittering gold he has wasted.
The quondam hero thinks with alarm of his borrowed valor, and turns
pale at the sight of his scars.
The roué, to conceal the chagrin of discomfiture, laughs at the promises
of a virtuous love, calls himself a gay deceiver, great monster, and is
once more self-complacent.
Freed from restraint, their ruling passions rush to the surface, as when
the floodgates are opened the fierce torrent sweeps over the field.
These hypocrites will feel for their beloved vices, lost and found again,
the thirst, the yearning we feel for happiness long denied us. And they
will return to their old habit, with a voracious eagerness, as the
convalescent turns to food, the traveller to the spring, the exile to his
native land, the prisoner to freedom.
Then will reckless despair develop their genuine natures; then, and then
only, can you judge them.
Ah! I breathe freely now that I have explained my feelings What do
you think of my views on this profound subject--discouragement in
love?

I am confident that this test must sometimes meet with the most
favorable results. I believe, for example, that with Roger it will be
eminently successful, for his own character is a thousand times more
attractive than the one he has assumed to attract me. He would please
me better if he were less fascinating--his only fault, if it be a fault, is
his lack of seriousness.
He has travelled too much, and studied different manners and subjects
too closely, to have that power of judging character, that stock of ideas
and principles without which we cannot make for ourselves what is
called a philosophy, that is, a truth of our own.
In the savage and civilized lands he traversed, he saw religions so
ridiculous, morals so wanton, points of honor so ludicrous, that he
returned home with an indifference, a carelessness about everything,
which adds brilliancy to his wit, but lessens the dignity of his love.
Roger attaches importance to nothing--a bitter sorrow must teach him
the seriousness of life, that everything must not be treated jestingly.
Grief and trouble are needed to restore his faith.
I hope he will be very unhappy when he hears of my inexplicable flight,
and I intend returning for the express purpose of watching his grief;
nothing is easier than to pass several days in Paris incog.
My beloved garret remains unrented, and I will there take sly pleasure
in seeing for myself how much respect is paid to my memory--I very
much enjoy the novel idea of assisting at my own absence.
But I perceive that my letter is unpardonably long; also that in
confiding my troubles to you, I have almost forgotten them; and here I
recognise your noble influence, my dear Valentine; the thought of you
consoles and encourages me. Write soon, and your advice will not be
thrown away. I confess to being foolish, but am sincerely desirous of
being cured of my folly. My philosophy does not prevent my being
open to conviction, and willing to sacrifice my logic to those I love.
Kiss my godchild for me, and give her the pretty embroidered dress I

send with this. I have trimmed it with Valenciennes to my heart's
content. Oh! my friend, how overjoyed I am to once more indulge in
these treasured laces, the only real charm of grandeur, the only
unalloyed gift of fortune. Fine country seats are a bore, diamonds a
weight and a care, fast horses a danger; but lace! without whose
adornment no woman is properly dressed--every other privation is
supportable; but what is life without lace?