I am ignorant what became of the victim of my calumny, but there is little probability of her having been able to place herself agreeably after this, as she labored under an imputation cruel to her character in every respect.The theft was a trifle, yet it was a theft, and, what was worse, employed to seduce a boy; while the lie and obstinacy left nothing to hope from a person in whom so many vices were united.I do not even look on the misery and disgrace in which I plunged her as the greatest evil: who knows, at her age, whither contempt and disregarded innocence might have led her?- Alas! if remorse for having made her unhappy is insupportable, what must I have suffered at the thought of rendering her even worse than myself.The cruel remembrance of this transaction, sometimes so troubles and disorders me, that, in my disturbed slumbers, I imagine I see this poor girl enter and reproach me with my crime, as though I had committed it but yesterday.While in easy tranquil circumstances, Iwas less miserable on this account, but, during a troubled agitated life, it has robbed me of the sweet consolation of persecuted innocence, and made me woefully experience, what, I think, I have remarked in some of my works, that remorse sleeps in the calm sunshine of prosperity, but wakes amid the storms of adversity.I could never take on me to discharge my heart of this weight in the bosom of a friend; nor could the closest intimacy ever encourage me to it, even with Madam de Warrens; all I could do, was to own I had to accuse myself of an atrocious crime, but never said in what it consisted.The weight, therefore, has remained heavy on my conscience to this day;and I can truly own the desire of relieving myself, in some measure, from it, contributed greatly to the resolution of writing my Confessions.
I have proceeded truly in that I have just made, and it will certainly be thought I have not sought to palliate the turpitude of my offense; but I should not fulfill the purpose of this undertaking, did I not, at the same time, divulge my interior disposition, and excuse myself as far as is conformable with truth.
Never was wickedness further from my thoughts, than in that cruel moment; and when I accused the unhappy girl, it is strange, but strictly true, that my friendship for her was the immediate cause of it.She was present to my thoughts; I formed my excuse from the first object that presented itself; I accused her with doing what Imeant to have done, and as I designed to have given her the ribbon, asserted she had given it to me.When she appeared, my heart was agonized, but the presence of so many people was more powerful than my compunction.I did not fear punishment, but I dreaded shame: I dreaded it more than death, more than the crime, more than all the world.Iwould have hid myself in the center of the earth: invincible shame bore down every other sentiment; shame alone caused all my impudence, and in proportion as I became criminal, the fear of discovery rendered me intrepid.I felt no dread but that of being detected, of being publicly, and to my face, declared a thief, liar, and calumniator; an unconquerable fear of this overcame every other sensation.Had I been left to myself, I should infallibly have declared the truth.Or if M.de la Roque had taken me aside, and said-"Do not injure this poor girl; if you are guilty own it,"- I am convinced I should instantly have thrown myself at his feet; but they intimidated, instead of encouraging me.I was hardly out of my childhood, or rather, was yet in it.It is also just to make some allowance for my age.In youth, dark, premeditated villany is more criminal.than in a riper age, but weaknesses are much less so; my fault was truly nothing more; and I am less afflicted at the deed itself than for its consequences.It had one good effect, however, in preserving me through the rest of my life from any criminal action, from the terrible impression that has remained from the only one Iever committed; and I think my aversion for lying proceeds in a great measure from regret at having been guilty of so black a one.
If it is a crime that can be expiated, as I dare believe, forty years of uprightness and honor on various difficult occasions, with the many misfortunes that have overwhelmed my latter years, may have completed it.Poor Marion has found so many avengers in this world, that however great my offense towards her, I do not fear to bear the guilt with me.Thus have I disclosed what I had to say on this painful subject; may I be permitted never to mention it again.
End of Book II
