the end that I
should aspire to the one and condemn the other, knowingly and with
discreet ardor. I rejoice that I am no longer in a state of mere
innocence, and that I shall go forward in the progress toward virtue,
and, in so far as is permitted to humanity, toward perfection, with a
knowledge of all the tribulations, all the asperities that there are in
the pilgrimage we are called upon to make through this valley of tears;
as I am not ignorant, on the other hand, of how smooth, how easy, how
pleasant, how flowery, the road is, in appearance, that leads to
perdition and eternal death.

Another thing for which I feel bound to be grateful to you is the
indulgence, the toleration, not condescending nor lax, but, on the
contrary, grave and severe, with which you have been able to inspire me
for the errors and the sins of my fellow-men.

I say all this to you because I wish to speak to you on a subject of so
delicate a nature that I hardly find words in which to express myself
concerning it. In short, I often ask myself whether the resolution I
have adopted had not its origin, in part at least, in the character of
my relations with my father. In the bottom of my heart have I been able
to pardon him his conduct toward my poor mother, the victim of his
errors?

I consider this matter carefully, and I can not find an atom of hatred
in my breast. On the contrary, gratitude fills it entirely. My father
has brought me up affectionately. He has tried to honor in me the memory
of my mother, and one would have said that in my bringing up, in the
care he took of me, in the indulgence with which he treated me, in his
devotion to me as a child, he sought to appease her angry shade--if the
shade, if the spirit of her who was on earth an angel of goodness and
gentleness, could be capable of anger. I repeat, then, that I am full of
gratitude toward my father; he has acknowledged me, and, besides, he
sent me at the age of ten years to you, to whom I owe all that I am.

If there is in my heart any germ of virtue, if there is in my mind any
element of knowledge, if there is in my will any honorable and good
purpose, to you it is I owe it.

My father's affection for me is extraordinary; the estimation in which
he holds me is far superior to my merits. Perhaps, vanity may have
something to do with this. In paternal love there is something selfish;
it is, as it were, a prolongation of selfishness. If I were possessed of
any merit, my f