I say all this, because I own to you, that, notwithstanding
everything, I considered our reunion as not impossible for more than
a year after the separation;--but then I gave up the hope entirely and
for ever. But this very impossibility of reunion seems to me at least
a reason why, on all the few points of discussion which can arise
between us, we should preserve the courtesies of life, and as much of
its kindness as people who are never to meet may preserve perhaps more
easily than nearer connexions. For my own part, I am violent, but not
malignant; for only fresh provocations can awaken my resentments. To
you, who are colder and more concentrated, I would just hint, that
you may sometimes mistake the depth of a cold anger for dignity, and a
worse feeling for duty. I assure you that I bear you _now_ (whatever
I may have done) no resentment whatever. Remember, that _if you have
injured me_ in aught, this forgiveness is something; and that, if I
have _injured you_, it is something more still, if it be true, as the
moralists say, that the most offending are the least forgiving.
Whether the offence has been solely on my side, or reciprocal, or on
yours chiefly, I have ceased to reflect upon any but two things,--viz.
that you are the mother of my child, and that we shall never meet
again. I think if you also consider the two corresponding points with
reference to myself, it will be better for all three.
To MR. BARFF
_Sympathy with the Greeks_
10 _March_, 1824.
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