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diff --git a/old/69913-0.txt b/old/69913-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index f5eb7fb..0000000 --- a/old/69913-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,8024 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of Les liaisons dangereuses, volume 2 (of -2), by Choderlos de Laclos - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: Les liaisons dangereuses, volume 2 (of 2) - or, letters collected in a private society and published for the - instruction of others - -Author: Choderlos de Laclos - -Translator: Ernest Dowson - -Release Date: January 31, 2023 [eBook #69913] - -Language: English - -Produced by: Adam Buchbinder, Eleni Christofaki and the Online - Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LES LIAISONS DANGEREUSES, -VOLUME 2 (OF 2) *** - - - - - -Transcriber’s note - -Variable spelling and hyphenation have been retained. Minor punctuation -inconsistencies have been silently repaired. The list of plates appears -in the first volume. A list of the changes made can be found at the end -of the book. Formatting and special characters are indicated as follows: - -_italic_ - - - - -LES LIAISONS DANGEREUSES VOL. II - - - - -[Illustration: C. Monet del. Patas sculp.] - - - - -LES LIAISONS DANGEREUSES - -OR - -_LETTERS COLLECTED IN A PRIVATE SOCIETY AND PUBLISHED FOR THE -INSTRUCTION OF OTHERS_ - -BY CHODERLOS DE LACLOS - -TRANSLATED BY ERNEST DOWSON - -VOL. II - -LONDON PRIVATELY PRINTED 1898 - - - - -LIST OF PLATES - - -Vol. II. - - FRONTISPIECE to face the title - - “ARMED WITH MY DARK LANTERN.... I PAID MY FIRST - VISIT TO YOUR PUPIL” 313 - - “THE LOVELY FORM LEANED UPON MY ARM” 329 - - “YESTERDAY, HAVING FOUND YOUR PUPIL.... WRITING TO HIM” 401 - - “YOU SHALL LISTEN TO ME, IT IS MY WISH” 435 - - “I COMMAND YOU TO TREAT MONSIEUR WITH ALL CONSIDERATION” 543 - - “I FEEL THAT MY ILLS WILL SOON BE ENDED” 549 - - - - -CONTENTS OF VOLUME THE SECOND - - LETTER PAGE - - XCI. The Vicomte de Valmont to the Présidente de Tourvel 299 - - XCII. The Chevalier Danceny to the Vicomte de Valmont 302 - - XCIII. The Chevalier Danceny to Cécile Volanges 304 - - XCIV. Cécile Volanges to the Chevalier Danceny 306 - - XCV. Cécile Volanges to the Vicomte de Valmont 308 - - XCVI. The Vicomte de Valmont to the Marquise de Merteuil 310 - - XCVII. Cécile Volanges to Madame de Merteuil 317 - - XCVIII. Madame de Volanges to the Marquise de Merteuil 321 - - XCIX. The Vicomte de Valmont to the Marquise de Merteuil 325 - - C. The Vicomte de Valmont to the Marquise de Merteuil 333 - - CI. The Vicomte de Valmont to Azolan, his _chasseur_ 338 - - CII. The Présidente de Tourvel to Madame de Rosemonde 341 - - CIII. Madame de Rosemonde to the Présidente de Tourvel 345 - - CIV. The Marquise de Merteuil to Madame de Volanges 348 - - CV. The Marquise de Merteuil to Cécile Volanges 355 - - CVI. The Marquise de Merteuil to the Vicomte de Valmont 361 - - CVII. Azolan to the Vicomte de Valmont 366 - - CVIII. The Présidente de Tourvel to Madame de Rosemonde 371 - - CIX. Cécile Volanges to the Marquise de Merteuil 374 - - CX. The Vicomte de Valmont to the Marquise de Merteuil 377 - - CXI. The Comte de Gercourt to Madame de Volanges 383 - - CXII. Madame de Rosemonde to the Présidente de Tourvel 385 - - CXIII. The Marquise de Merteuil to the Vicomte de Valmont 387 - - CXIV. The Présidente de Tourvel to Madame de Rosemonde 395 - - CXV. The Vicomte de Valmont to the Marquise de Merteuil 397 - - CXVI. The Chevalier Danceny to Cécile Volanges 403 - - CXVII. Cécile Volanges to the Chevalier Danceny 406 - - CXVIII. The Chevalier Danceny to the Marquise de Merteuil 408 - - CXIX. Madame de Rosemonde to the Présidente de Tourvel 411 - - CXX. The Vicomte de Valmont to the Père Anselme 413 - - CXXI. The Marquise de Merteuil to the Chevalier Danceny 415 - - CXXII. Madame de Rosemonde to the Présidente de Tourvel 418 - - CXXIII. The Père Anselme to the Vicomte de Valmont 421 - - CXXIV. The Présidente de Tourvel to Madame de Rosemonde 423 - - CXXV. The Vicomte de Valmont to the Marquise de Merteuil 427 - - CXXVI. Madame de Rosemonde to the Présidente de Tourvel 439 - - CXXVII. The Marquise de Merteuil to the Vicomte de Valmont 442 - - CXXVIII. The Présidente de Tourvel to Madame de Rosemonde 445 - - CXXIX. The Vicomte de Valmont to the Marquise de Merteuil 447 - - CXXX. Madame de Rosemonde to the Présidente de Tourvel 450 - - CXXXI. The Marquise de Merteuil to the Vicomte de Valmont 453 - - CXXXII. The Présidente de Tourvel to Madame de Rosemonde 456 - - CXXXIII. The Vicomte de Valmont to the Marquise de Merteuil 458 - - CXXXIV. The Marquise de Merteuil to the Vicomte de Valmont 463 - - CXXXV. The Présidente de Tourvel to Madame de Rosemonde 467 - - CXXXVI. The Présidente de Tourvel to the Vicomte de Valmont 470 - - CXXXVII. The Vicomte de Valmont to the Présidente de Tourvel 472 - - CXXXVIII. The Vicomte de Valmont to the Marquise de Merteuil 476 - - CXXXIX. The Présidente de Tourvel to Madame de Rosemonde 479 - - CXL. The Vicomte de Valmont to the Marquise de Merteuil 481 - - CXLI. The Marquise de Merteuil to the Vicomte de Valmont 484 - - CXLII. The Vicomte de Valmont to the Marquise de Merteuil 488 - - CXLIII. The Présidente de Tourvel to Madame de Rosemonde 490 - - CXLIV. The Vicomte de Valmont to the Marquise de Merteuil 491 - - CXLV. The Marquise de Merteuil to the Vicomte de Valmont 495 - - CXLVI. The Marquise de Merteuil to the Chevalier Danceny 498 - - CXLVII. Madame de Volanges to Madame de Rosemonde 500 - - CXLVIII. The Chevalier Danceny to the Marquise de Merteuil 504 - - CXLIX. Madame de Volanges to Madame de Rosemonde 506 - - CL. The Chevalier Danceny to the Marquise de Merteuil 510 - - CLI. The Vicomte de Valmont to the Marquise de Merteuil 513 - - CLII. The Marquise de Merteuil to the Vicomte de Valmont 516 - - CLIII. The Vicomte de Valmont to the Marquise de Merteuil 520 - - CLIV. Madame de Volanges to Madame de Rosemonde 522 - - CLV. The Vicomte de Valmont to the Chevalier Danceny 524 - - CLVI. Cécile Volanges to the Chevalier Danceny 528 - - CLVII. The Chevalier Danceny to the Vicomte de Valmont 531 - - CLVIII. The Vicomte de Valmont to the Marquise de Merteuil 533 - - CLIX. The Marquise de Merteuil to the Vicomte de Valmont 535 - - CLX. Madame de Volanges to Madame de Rosemonde 536 - - CLXI. The Présidente de Tourvel to---- 538 - - CLXII. The Chevalier Danceny to the Vicomte de Valmont 541 - - CLXIII. M. Bertrand to Madame de Rosemonde 542 - - CLXIV. Madame de Rosemonde to M. Bertrand 545 - - CLXV. Madame de Volanges to Madame de Rosemonde 547 - - CLXVI. M. Bertrand to Madame de Rosemonde 551 - - CLXVII. Anonymous to M. le Chevalier Danceny 553 - - CLXVIII. Madame de Volanges to Madame de Rosemonde 555 - - CLXIX. The Chevalier Danceny to Madame de Rosemonde 559 - - CLXX. Madame de Volanges to Madame de Rosemonde 563 - - CLXXI. Madame de Rosemonde to the Chevalier Danceny 567 - - CLXXII. Madame de Rosemonde to Madame de Volanges 570 - - CLXXIII. Madame de Volanges to Madame de Rosemonde 572 - - CLXXIV. The Chevalier Danceny to Madame de Rosemonde 576 - - CLXXV. Madame de Volanges to Madame de Rosemonde 579 - - - - -LES LIAISONS DANGEREUSES - - - - -LETTER THE NINETY-FIRST - -THE VICOMTE DE VALMONT TO THE PRÉSIDENTE DE TOURVEL - - -IN consternation at your letter, Madame, I am still ignorant as to -how I can reply to it. Doubtless, if I needs must choose between your -unhappiness and my own, it is for me to sacrifice myself, and I do not -hesitate: but such important interests deserve, so it seems to me, -to be, before all, investigated and discussed, and how can that be -contrived, if we are to speak and see each other no more? - -What! whilst the sweetest of sentiments unite us, shall an empty fear -suffice to separate us, perhaps beyond return! In vain shall tender -friendship and ardent love reclaim their rights: their voice shall not -be heard: and why? What then is this pressing danger which besets you? -Ah, believe me, such fears so lightly conceived are already, it seems -to me, potent enough reasons for security. - -Permit me to tell you that I find here traces of the unfavourable -impressions that have been given you about me. One does not tremble -before the man one esteems; one does not, above all, drive away him -whom one has judged worthy of a certain friendship: it is the dangerous -man whom one dreads and shuns. - -Who, however, was ever more respectful and submissive than myself? -Already, you may observe, I am circumspect in my language; I no longer -permit myself those names so sweet, so dear to my heart, which it never -ceases to give you in secret. It is no longer the faithful and unhappy -lover, receiving the counsels and the consolations of a tender and -sensitive friend; it is the accused before his judge, the slave before -his master. Doubtless these new titles impose new duties; I pledge -myself to fulfil them all. Listen to me, and, if you condemn me, I obey -the verdict and I go. I promise more: do you prefer the tyranny which -judges without a hearing? Do you feel you possess the courage to be -unjust? Command, and I will still obey. - -But this judgment, or this command, let me hear it from your own lips. -And why, you will ask me in your turn. Ah, if you put this question, -how little you know of love and of my heart! Is it nothing then to see -you once again? Nay, when you shall have brought despair into my soul, -perhaps one consoling glance will prevent me from succumbing to it. -In short, if I must needs renounce the love, and the friendship, for -which alone I exist, at least you shall see your work, and your pity -will abide with me; even if I do not merit this slight favour, I am -prepared, methinks, to pay dearly for the hope of obtaining it. - -What! you are going to drive me from you! You consent, then, to our -becoming strangers to one another! What am I saying? You desire it; and -although you assure me that absence will not alter your sentiments, -you do but urge my departure, in order to work more easily at their -destruction. You speak already of replacing them by gratitude. Thus, -the sentiment which an unknown would obtain from you for the most -trivial service, or even your enemy for ceasing to injure you--this is -what you offer to me! And you wish my heart to be satisfied with this! -Interrogate your own; if your friends came one day to talk to you of -their gratitude, would you not say to them with indignation: Depart -from me, you are ingrates? - -I come to a stop, and beseech your indulgence. Pardon the expression -of a grief to which you have given birth; it will not detract from my -complete submission. But I conjure you, in my turn, in the name of -those sweet sentiments which you yourself invoke, do not refuse to hear -me; and in pity, at least, for the mortal distress in which you have -plunged me, do not defer the moment long. Adieu, Madame. - - At the Château de ..., 27th September, 17**. - - - - -LETTER THE NINETY-SECOND - -THE CHEVALIER DANCENY TO THE VICOMTE DE VALMONT - - -O MY friend! your letter has made my blood run cold for fright. -Cécile.... O God! is it possible? Cécile no longer loves me. Yes, I -see this direful truth, through the veil in which your friendship -covers it. You wished to prepare me for the receipt of this mortal -blow; I thank you for your pains; but can one impose on love? It -is ever in advance of all that interests it: it does not hear of -its fate, it divines it. I have no more doubt of mine: speak to me -without concealment, you may do so, and I beg this of you. Inform me -of everything; what gave rise to your suspicions, what has confirmed -them? The least details are precious. Endeavour above all to recall -her words. One word in place of another can change a whole sentence; -the same word often bears two meanings.... You may have been deceived: -alas, I seek to beguile myself still! What did she say to you? Does she -make me any reproach? At least, does she not defend herself for her -faults? I might have foreseen this change, from the difficulties which -she raises lately about everything. Love is not acquainted with so many -obstacles. - -What course ought I to adopt? What do you counsel me? If I attempted to -see her! Is that utterly impossible? Absence is so cruel, so dismal -... and she has rejected a means of seeing me! You do not tell me what -it was; if there was in truth too much danger, she knows well that I am -unwilling for her to run too much risk. But I also know your prudence; -so to my misfortune I cannot but believe in it! What am I to do now? -How write to her! If I let her see my suspicions, they will, perhaps, -grieve her; and, if they are unjust, could she pardon me for having -distressed her? To hide them from her is to deceive her, and I know not -how to dissimulate with her. - -Oh, if she could only know what I suffer, my pain would move her! I -know her sensibility; she has an excellent heart, and I have a thousand -proofs of her love. Too much timidity, some embarrassment: she is so -young! And her mother treats her with such severity! I will write to -her; I will restrain myself; I will only beg her to leave herself -entirely in your hands. Even if she should still refuse, she can at -least not take offence at my prayer; and perhaps she will consent. - -To you, my friend, to you I make a thousand excuses, both for her and -for myself. I assure you that she feels the value of your efforts, that -she is grateful for them. It is timidity, not distrust. Be indulgent; -it is the finest quality in friendship. Yours is very precious to me, -and I know not how to acknowledge all that you do for me. Adieu, I will -write at once. - -I feel all my fears return: who would have told me that it should ever -cost me an effort to write to her! Alas, only yesterday it was my -sweetest pleasure! Adieu, my friend, continue your cares for me, and -pity me mightily. - - Paris, 27th September, 17**. - - - - -LETTER THE NINETY-THIRD - -THE CHEVALIER DANCENY TO CÉCILE VOLANGES - -(Enclosed in the preceding) - - -I CANNOT conceal from you how grieved I have been to hear from Valmont -of the scant confidence you continue to place in him. You are not -ignorant that he is my friend, that he is the only person who can -bring us together once more: I had thought that these titles would be -sufficient with you; I see with pain that I have made a mistake. May I -hope that at least you will inform me of your motives? Will you again -find fresh difficulties which will prevent you? I cannot, however, -without your help, penetrate the mystery of this conduct. I dare not -suspect your love; doubtless you too would not venture to betray mine. -Ah! Cécile!... - -Is it true then that you have rejected a means of seeing me? A -_simple_, _convenient_ and _sure_ means?[1] And is it thus that you -love me? An absence so short has indeed changed your sentiments. But -why deceive me? Why tell me that you love me always, that you love me -more? Your Mamma, in destroying your love, has she also destroyed your -sincerity? If she has at least left you some pity, you will not learn -without sorrow the fearful tortures which you cause me. Ah! I should -suffer less were I to die. - -Tell me then, is your heart closed to me beyond recall? Have you -utterly forgotten me? Thanks to your refusals, I know not either when -you will hear my complaints, nor when you will reply to them. Valmont’s -friendship had assured our correspondence: but you, you have not wished -it; you found it irksome; you preferred it to be infrequent. No, I -shall believe no more in love, in good faith. Nay, whom can I believe, -if my Cécile has deceived me? - -Answer me then: is it true that you no longer love me? No, that is not -possible; you are under an illusion; you belie your heart. A passing -fear, a moment of discouragement, which love has soon caused to vanish: -is it not true, my Cécile? Ah, doubtless; and I was wrong to accuse -you. How happy I should be to be proved wrong! How I should love to -make you tender excuses, to repair this moment of injustice with an -eternity of love! - -Cécile, Cécile, have pity on me! Consent to see me, employ for that -every means! Look upon the effects of absence! Fears, suspicions, -perhaps even coldness! A single look, a single word, and we shall be -happy. But what! Can I still talk of happiness? Perhaps it is lost to -me, lost for ever. Tortured by fear, cruelly buffeted between unjust -suspicions and the most cruel truth, I cannot stay in any one thought; -I only maintain existence to love you and to suffer. Ah, Cécile, -you alone have the right to make it dear to me; and I expect, from -the first word that you will utter, the return of happiness or the -certainty of an eternal despair. - - Paris, 27th September, 17**. - - - - -LETTER THE NINETY-FOURTH - -CÉCILE VOLANGES TO THE CHEVALIER DANCENY - - -I CAN gather nothing from your letter, except the pain it causes me. -What has M. de Valmont written to you, then, and what can have led you -to believe that I no longer loved you? That would be, perhaps, far -happier for me, for I should certainly be less tormented; and it is -very hard, when I love you as I do, to find that you always believe -that I am wrong, and that, instead of consoling me, it is from you -always that I receive the hurts which give me most pain. You believe -I am deceiving you, and am telling you what is not the truth; it is a -pretty notion you have of me! But, if I were to be as deceitful as you -reproach me with being, what interest should I have? Assuredly, if I -loved you no longer, I should only have to say so, and everybody would -praise me; but unhappily it is stronger than I; and it must needs be -for some one who feels no obligation to me for it at all! - -What have I done, pray, to make you so vexed? I did not dare to take -a key, because I was afraid that Mamma would perceive it, and that -it would cause me more trouble, and you too on my account, and again -because it seems to me a bad action. But it was only M. de Valmont who -had spoken to me of it; I could not know whether you wished it or no, -since you knew nothing about it. Now I know that you desire it, do I -refuse to take this key? I will take it to-morrow; and then we shall -see what more you will have to say. - -It is very well for M. de Valmont to be your friend; I think I love you -at least as well as he can: and yet it is always he who is right, and I -am always wrong. I assure you I am very angry. That is quite the same -to you, because you know that I am quickly appeased: but, now that I -shall have the key, I shall be able to see you when I want to; and I -assure you that I shall not want to, when you act like this. I would -rather have the grief that comes from myself, than that it came from -you: you see what you are ready to cause. - -If you liked, how we would love each other! And, at least, we should -only know the troubles that are caused us by others! I assure you that, -if I were mistress, you would never have any complaint to make against -me: but if you do not believe me, we shall always be very unhappy, and -it will not be my fault. I hope we shall soon be able to meet, and that -then we shall have no further occasion to fret as at present. - -If I had been able to foresee this, I would have taken the key at once; -but, truly, I thought I was doing right. Do not be angry with me then, -I beg you. Do not be sad any more, and love me always as well as I love -you; then I shall be quite happy. Adieu, my dear love. - - At the Château de ..., 28th September, 17**. - - - - -LETTER THE NINETY-FIFTH - -CÉCILE VOLANGES TO THE VICOMTE DE VALMONT - - -I BEG you, Monsieur, to be so kind as to return me the key which you -gave me to put in the place of the other; since everybody wishes it, I -must needs consent also. - -I do not know why you wrote to M. Danceny that I no longer loved him: -I do not believe I have ever given you reason to think so; and it has -caused him a great deal of pain, and me too. I am quite aware that you -are his friend; but that is not a reason for vexing him, nor me either. -You would give me great pleasure by telling him to the contrary the -next time you write to him, and that you are sure of it; for it is in -you that he has the most confidence; and for me, when I have said a -thing, and am not believed, I do not know what to do. - -As for the key, you can be quite easy; I well remember all that you -recommended me in your letter. However, if you still have it, and -would like to give it me at the same time, I promise I will pay great -attention to it. If it could be to-morrow as we go to dinner, I would -give you the other key the day after to-morrow, at breakfast, and you -could give it back to me in the same manner as the first. I should be -very pleased if it does not take long, because there will be less time -for the danger of Mamma’s seeing it. - -Again, when once you have that key, you will be very kind to make -use of it to take my letters also; and, in that way, M. Danceny will -more often receive news of me. It is true that it will be much more -convenient than it is at present; but at first it frightened me too -much: I beg you to excuse me, and I hope you will none the less -continue to be as obliging as in the past. I shall always be very -grateful to you. - -I have the honour to be, Monsieur, your most humble and obedient -servant. - - At the Château de ..., 28th September, 17**. - - - - -LETTER THE NINETY-SIXTH - -THE VICOMTE DE VALMONT TO THE MARQUISE DE MERTEUIL - - -I WILL wager that since your adventure, you have been daily expecting -my compliments and praises; I doubt not even that you feel a trifle out -of humour at my long silence: but what do you expect? I have always -thought that, when one has naught but praise to give a woman, one may -be at one’s ease about her, and occupy one’s self with other matters. -However, I thank you on my own account and congratulate you on yours. I -am even ready to make you completely happy by admitting that this time -you have surpassed my expectation. After that, let us see if, on my -side, I have come up to yours, at least in part. - -It is not of Madame de Tourvel that I want to talk to you; her too -laggard progress, I know, displeases you. You only love accomplished -facts. Spun-out scenes weary you; for my part I had never tasted such -pleasure as I find in these feigned delays. Yes, I love to see, to -watch this prudent woman, engaged, without her perceiving it, on a -course which admits of no return, whose rapid and dangerous declivity -carries her on in spite of herself and forces her to follow me. Then, -terrified at the danger she runs, she would fain halt, but cannot -hold herself in. Her skill and caution can indeed shorten her steps; -yet they must inevitably succeed one another. Sometimes, not daring to -behold the danger, she shuts her eyes and, letting herself go, abandons -herself to my care. More often, a fresh alarm reanimates her efforts: -in her mortal terror she would attempt once more to turn back; she -wastes her strength in painfully overcoming a short distance; and soon -a magic power replaces her nearer to that danger which she had vainly -sought to fly. Then, having only me for guide and support, with no -more thought to reproach me for an inevitable fall, she implores me to -retard it. Fervent prayers, humble supplications, all that mortals in -their terror offer to the divinity--it is I who receive them from her; -and you would have me, deaf to her entreaties, and myself destroying -the cult which she pays me, employ, to precipitate her, the power which -she invokes for her support! Ah, leave me at least the time to observe -those touching combats between love and virtue. - -How then! Do you think that the same spectacle which makes you run -eagerly to the theatre, which you applaud there with fury, is less -engrossing in real life? Those sentiments of a pure and tender soul -which dreads the happiness which it desires, and never ceases to defend -itself even when it ceases to resist, you listen to with enthusiasm; -should they not be priceless to him who has called them forth? That, -however, is the delicious enjoyment which this heavenly woman offers me -daily; and you reproach me for relishing its sweetness! Ah, the time -will come only too soon when, degraded by her fall, she will be to me -no more than an ordinary woman. - -But, in talking of her to you, I forget that I did not want to talk -to you of her. I do not know what power constrains me, drags me back -to her ceaselessly, even when I outrage her. Away with her dangerous -idea; let me become myself again to treat a gayer subject. It concerns -your pupil, who is now become my own, and I hope that here you will -recognize me. - -Some days ago, being better treated by my gentle Puritan, and in -consequence less engrossed by her, I remarked that the little Volanges -was, in fact, extremely pretty, and, that if there was folly in being -in love with her, like Danceny, there was, perhaps, no less on my -part in not seeking from her a distraction rendered necessary by my -solitude. It seemed to me just, moreover, to repay myself for the -care I was giving her: I reminded myself as well that you had offered -her to me, before Danceny had any pretensions; and I considered -myself justified in claiming certain rights on a property which he -only possessed because I had refused and relinquished it. The little -person’s pretty face, her fresh mouth, her infantile air, her very -_gaucherie_, fortified these sage resolutions; I consequently resolved -on action, and my enterprise has been crowned by success. - -You must be already wondering by what means I have so soon supplanted -the favoured lover; what form of seduction befits such youth and such -inexperience. Spare yourself the trouble; I employed none at all. -Whereas you, wielding skilfully the weapons of your sex, triumph by -subtilty, I, rendering his imprescriptible rights to man, subjugated by -authority. Sure of my prey if I could get within reach of it, I only -required a ruse to approach her; and even that which I employed barely -merits the name. - -[Illustration: Mle Gerard del. Masquelier sculp.] - -I profited by the first letter which I received from Danceny for his -fair; and, after having let her know of it by the concerted signal, -instead of employing my skill to get it into her hands, I used it to -find a lack of means to do so: the impatience to which this gave rise I -feigned to share; and, after having caused the ill, I pointed out the -remedy. - -The young person occupies a chamber one door of which opens into the -corridor; but, naturally, the mother had taken away the key. It was -merely a question of obtaining possession of this. Nothing more easy of -execution; I only asked to have it at my disposal for two hours, and I -answered for the procural of one similar to it. Then, correspondence, -interviews, nocturnal _rendez-vous_--everything became easy and safe: -however, would you believe it? The timid child took alarm and refused. -Another man would have been in despair; for my part, I only saw there -the occasion for a more piquant pleasure. I wrote to Danceny to -complain of this refusal, and I did it so well that our blockhead had -no peace until he had obtained from his timorous mistress, and even -urged her, that she should grant my request and so surrender herself -utterly to my discretion. - -I was mighty pleased, I confess, at having thus changed the _rôles_, -and induced the young man to do for me what he calculated I should do -for him. This notion doubled, in my eyes, the value of the adventure: -thus, as soon as I had the precious key, I hastened to make use of it; -this was last night. - -After assuring myself that all was quiet in the _château_, armed with -my dark lantern, and in the costume, befitting the hour, which the -circumstance demanded, I paid my first visit to your pupil. I had -caused all preparations to be made (and that by herself) to permit of a -noiseless entrance. She was in her first sleep, the sleep of her age; -so that I reached her bedside before she had awakened. At first I was -tempted to go even further, and try to pass for a dream; but, fearing -the effects of surprise and the noise which it entails, I preferred to -awake the lovely sleeper with precautions, and did in fact succeed in -preventing the cry which I feared. - -After calming her first fears, as I had not come there for -conversation, I risked a few liberties. Doubtless she has not been -well taught at her convent to how many varied perils timid innocence -is exposed, and all that it has to guard if it would not be surprised; -for, devoting all her attention, all her strength, to defending herself -from a kiss, which was only a feigned attack, she left all the rest -without defence; who could fail to draw profit from it! I changed my -tactics accordingly, and promptly took the position. Here we both alike -had thought ourselves to be lost: the little girl, in a mighty scare, -tried to cry out in good earnest; luckily her voice was drowned by -tears. She had thrown herself upon the bell-rope; but my adroitness -restrained her arm in time. - -“What would you do,” I asked her then; “ruin yourself utterly? Let -anyone come: what does it matter to me? Whom will you persuade that I -am not here with your consent? Who else but you can have furnished me -with the means of entering? And this key, which I have obtained from -you, which I could only obtain from you--will you undertake to explain -its use?” - -This short harangue calmed neither her grief nor her anger; but it -brought about her submission. I know not if I had the accents of -eloquence; it is true, at any rate, that I had not its gestures. With -one hand employed in force, the other in love, what orator could -pretend to grace in such a situation? If you rightly imagine it, you -will admit that at least it was favourable to the attack: but, as for -me, I have no head at all; and, as you say, the most simple woman, a -school-girl, can lead me like a child. - -This one, whilst still in high dudgeon, felt that she must adopt some -course, and enter into a compromise. As prayers found me inexorable, -she had to resort to bargaining. You think I sold the important -post dearly: no, I promised everything for a kiss. It is true that, -the kiss once obtained, I did not keep my promise: but I had good -reasons. Had we agreed whether it was to be taken or given? By dint of -bargaining, we fell into an agreement over the second; and this one, -it was said, was to be received. Then, guiding her timid arms round my -body, and pressing her more amorously with one of mine, the soft kiss -was effectually received; nay excellently, nay perfectly received: -so much so, indeed, that love itself could have done no better. Such -good-faith deserved a reward; thus I at once granted her request. My -hand was withdrawn; but I know not by what chance I found myself in -its place. You will suppose me then mighty eager, energetic, will you -not? By no means. I have acquired a taste for delay, I have told you. -Once sure of arriving, why take the journey with such haste? Seriously, -I was mighty pleased to observe once more the power of opportunity, -and I found it here devoid of all extraneous aid. It had love to fight -against, however, and love sustained by modesty and shame, and above -all, fortified by the temper which I had excited, and which had much -effect. It was opportunity alone; but it was there, always offered, -always present, and love was absent. - -To verify my observations, I was cunning enough to employ no more -force than could be resisted. Only, if my charming enemy, abusing my -good-nature, seemed inclined to escape me, I constrained her by that -same fear whose happy effects I had just experienced. Well, well! -without any other further trouble, the languishing fair, forgetful of -her vows, began by yielding and ended by consenting: not that, after -this first moment, there was not a return of mingled reproaches and -tears; I am uncertain whether they were real or feigned: but, as ever -happens, they ceased as soon as I busied myself in giving cause for -them anew. Finally, from frailty to reproach, and reproach to frailty, -we separated, well satisfied with one another, and equally agreed on -the _rendez-vous_ to-night. - -I did not retire to my own room until the break of day, and I was -exhausted with fatigue and sleepiness: however, I sacrificed both to -my desire to be present at breakfast this morning; I have a passion -for watching faces on the day after. You can have no idea of this one. -There was an embarrassment in the attitude! a difficulty in the gait! -eyes always lowered, and so big, and so heavy! The face so round was -elongated! Nothing could have been more amusing. And, for the first -time, her mother, alarmed at this extreme alteration, displayed a most -tender interest in her! And the Présidente too, who was very busy about -her! Ah, those attentions of hers are only lent; a day will come when -she will need them herself, and that day is not far distant. Adieu, my -lovely friend. - - At the Château de ..., 1st October, 17**. - - - - -LETTER THE NINETY-SEVENTH - -CÉCILE VOLANGES TO MADAME DE MERTEUIL - - -OH, my God, Madame, I am in such distress! I am so unhappy! Who will -console me in my trouble? Who will advise me in the embarrassment in -which I am? That M. de Valmont ... and Danceny! No, the idea of Danceny -fills me with despair.... How can I tell you? How can I relate it? I -do not know what to do. However, my heart is full.... I must speak to -some one, and you are the only one whom I can, whom I dare confide in. -You have shown me so much kindness! But do not have any for me now, -I am not worthy of it: what shall I say? I do not wish it. Everybody -here has shown an interest in me to-day ... they have all increased my -grief. I felt so much that I did not deserve it! Oh, scold me on the -contrary; scold me well, for I am very guilty: but afterwards save me; -if you have not the goodness to advise me, I shall die of grief. - -Listen then ... my hand trembles, as you see, I can hardly write, I can -feel my face is all on fire.... Oh, it is indeed the blush of shame. Ah -well, I will endure it; it will be the first punishment for my fault. -Yes, I will tell you all. - -You must know then, that M. de Valmont, who has hitherto always handed -me M. Danceny’s letters, suddenly found it was too difficult; he -wanted to have a key to my chamber. I can truly assure you that I did -not want this: but he went so far as to write to Danceny, and Danceny -also wished it; and as for me, it gives me so much pain to refuse him -anything, especially since my absence, which makes him so unhappy, that -I ended by consenting. I never foresaw the misfortune which it would -lead to. - -Yesterday, M. de Valmont made use of this key to come into my room when -I was asleep; I was so little prepared for this, that he frightened me -very much when he awoke me: but as he spoke to me at once, I recognized -his voice, and did not cry out; and then the idea came to me at first -that he had come, perhaps, to bring me a letter from Danceny. It was -very far from that. A moment afterwards, he tried to embrace me; and -whilst I defended myself, as was natural, he contrived to do what I -would not have suffered for the whole world ... but he would have a -kiss first. It had to be done, for what was there to do? All the more, -as I had tried to call out; but, in addition to my not being able, he -was careful to tell me that, if anyone came, he would know how to put -all the blame on me; and, indeed, it was very easy, because of the key. -Then he still refused to retire. He wanted a second one; and this one, -I do not know how it was, but it quite confused me; and afterwards, -it was even worse than before. Oh! indeed this is dreadful. In short, -after ... you will surely excuse me from telling the rest: but I am as -unhappy as anyone can be. - -What I reproach myself with the most, and of which I must nevertheless -speak to you, is that I am afraid I did not resist as much as I might -have. I do not know how it happened. I certainly do not love M. de -Valmont, quite the contrary; and there were moments when it was just -as though I loved him.... You can imagine that did not prevent me -from always saying no to him: but I felt sure that I did not act as I -spoke, and that was in spite of myself; and then again, I was mightily -confused! If it is always as difficult as that to resist, one ought -to be well accustomed to it! It is true that M. de Valmont has a way -of saying things to which one does not know how to answer. At last, -would you believe it, when he went away, it was as though I was sorry; -and I was weak enough to consent to his returning this evening: that -distresses me more even than all the rest. - -Oh! in spite of it, I promise you truly that I will prevent him from -coming. He had hardly gone away, before I felt how very wrong I had -been in promising him. I wept too all the rest of the time. It is about -Danceny, especially, that I am so grieved! Every time I thought of him, -my tears flowed so fast that I was suffocated, and I did nothing but -think of him ... and now again, you see the result; here is my paper -all soaked. No, I shall never be consoled, were it only because of -him.... At last I was worn out, and yet I was not able to sleep one -minute. And this morning, on rising, when I looked at myself in the -mirror, I was frightened, so much had I changed. - -Mamma perceived it as soon as she saw me, and asked me what was the -matter. As for me, I started crying at once. I thought she was about -to scold me, and, perhaps, that would have hurt me less: but on the -contrary she spoke gently to me! Little did I deserve it. She told -me not to grieve like that! She did not know the cause of my grief. -I should make myself ill! There are moments when I should like to -be dead. I could not contain myself. I threw myself sobbing into her -arms, and said to her, “Oh, Mamma, your daughter is very miserable!” -Mamma could not keep herself from crying a little; and all this only -increased my grief. Luckily she did not ask me why I was so unhappy, -for I should not have known what to tell her. - -I implore you, Madame, write to me as soon as you can, and tell me what -I ought to do: for I have not the courage to think of anything, and I -can only grieve. Will you be so kind as to send your letter through M. -de Valmont; but, if you write to him at the same time, do not, I beg -you, tell him that I have said anything. - -I have the honour to be, Madame, always with great affection, your most -humble and obedient servant.... - -I dare not sign this letter. - - At the Château de ..., 1st October, 17**. - - - - -LETTER THE NINETY-EIGHTH - -MADAME DE VOLANGES TO THE MARQUISE DE MERTEUIL - - -IT is but a few days ago, my charming friend, that you were asking me -for consolation and advice: to-day, it is my turn; and I make you the -same request which you made to me. I am indeed in real distress, and I -fear that I have not taken the best means to remove the vexations from -which I suffer. - -It is my daughter who is the cause of my anxiety. Since my departure -I had seen she was always sad and melancholy; but I was prepared for -that, and had armed my heart with the severity I judged necessary. I -hoped that absence, distraction, would soon destroy a love which I -looked upon rather as a childish error than as a real passion. However, -far from having recovered since our sojourn here, I notice that the -child abandons herself more and more to a dangerous melancholy; and I -am actually afraid that her health is suffering. Particularly during -the last few days, it has visibly altered. Yesterday, above all, it -struck me, and everybody here was genuinely alarmed. - -What proves to me, besides, how keenly she is affected is that I see -her prepared to overcome the shyness she has always shown with me. -Yesterday morning, at the mere question I put to her, as to whether -she were ill, she threw herself into my arms, telling me that she was -very miserable; and she cried till she sobbed. I cannot describe to -you the pain it caused me; tears came to my eyes at once; and I had -only the time to turn away, to prevent her from seeing them. Luckily -I had sufficient prudence to put no questions to her, and she did not -dare to tell me any more; but it is none the less clear that it is this -unfortunate passion which is tormenting her. - -What course am I to take, however, if it lasts? Am I to be the cause -of my daughter’s unhappiness? Shall I blame her for the most precious -qualities of the soul, sensibility and constancy? Am I her mother only -for that? And if I should stifle that so natural sentiment, which -makes us desire the happiness of our children; if I should regard as -a weakness what I hold, on the contrary, to be the most sacred of all -duties; if I force her choice, shall I not have to answer for the -disastrous consequences which may ensue? What a use to make of maternal -authority, to give my daughter a choice between unhappiness and sin! - -My friend, I shall not imitate what I have so often blamed. Doubtless, -I have tried to make a choice for my daughter; I did, in that, but aid -her with my experience; it was not a right which I exercised, but a -duty which I fulfilled. I should betray one, on the contrary, were I to -dispose of her to the neglect of an inclination, the birth of which I -have not been able to prevent, and of which neither she nor I can judge -the duration or the extent. No, I will never endure that she should -marry one man that she may love another; and I would rather compromise -my authority than her virtue. - -I think, therefore, that I shall be taking the more prudent course in -retracting the promise I have given to M. de Gercourt. You have just -heard my reasons for this; it seems to me they ought to outweigh my -promises. I say more: in the state in which things are, to fulfil my -engagement would really be to violate it. For, after all, if I owe it -to my daughter not to betray her secret to M. de Gercourt, I owe it -to him at least not to abuse the ignorance in which I keep him, and -to do for him all that I believe he would do for himself, if he were -informed. Shall I, on the contrary, betray him ignobly, when he relies -on my faith, and, whilst he honours me by choosing me for his second -mother, deceive him in the choice he wishes to make of the mother of -his children? These reflexions, so true, and to me irrefutable, alarm -me more than I can say. - -With the misfortunes which they make me dread I compare my daughter -happy with the bridegroom her heart has chosen, knowing her duties only -from the sweetness which she finds in fulfilling them; my son-in-law -equally contented and congratulating himself each day upon his choice; -neither of them finding happiness save in the happiness of the other, -and in that of co-operating to augment my own. Ought the hope of so -sweet a future to be sacrificed to vain considerations? And what are -those which restrain me? Only interested views. Pray, what advantage -will my daughter gain from being born rich, if she is, none the less, -to be the slave of fortune? - -I agree that M. de Gercourt is a better match, perhaps, than I ought to -hope for my daughter; I confess, indeed, that I was extremely flattered -at the choice he made of her. But, after all, Danceny is of as good a -family as his; he yields no whit to him in personal qualities; he has -over M. de Gercourt the advantage of loving and of being beloved: in -truth, he is not rich; but has not my daughter enough for two? Ah, why -ravish from her the sweet satisfaction of enriching him whom she loves! - -Those marriages which one calculates instead of assorting, which one -calls marriages of convenience, and which are in fact convenient in all -save taste and character--are they not the most fertile source of those -scandalous outbreaks which become every day more frequent? I prefer to -delay; at least I shall have time to study my daughter, whom I do not -know. I have, indeed, the courage to cause her a passing sorrow, if she -is to gain, thereby, a more substantial happiness: but I have not the -heart to risk abandoning her to eternal despair. - -Those, my dear friend, are the ideas which torment me, and as to which -I ask your advice. These serious topics contrast mightily with your -amiable gaiety, and seem hardly fitting to your youth: but your reason -has so far outgrown that! Your friendship, moreover, will assist your -prudence; and I have no fear that either will refuse the maternal -solicitude which invokes them. - -Adieu, my charming friend; never doubt the sincerity of my sentiments. - - At the Château de ..., 2nd October, 17**. - - - - -LETTER THE NINETY-NINTH - -THE VICOMTE DE VALMONT TO THE MARQUISE DE MERTEUIL - - -A FEW more small incidents, my lovely friend; but scenes merely, no -more actions. Arm yourself, therefore, with patience, assume a stock of -it even: for while my Présidente advances so imperceptibly, your pupil -retreats, which is worse still! Well, well! I have wit enough to amuse -myself with these vexations. Truly, I am acclimatizing myself mighty -well to my sojourn here; and I may say that I have not experienced a -single moment of _ennui_ in my old aunt’s dreary _château_. In fact, do -I not find here enjoyment, privation, uncertainty, and hope? What more -has one upon a greater stage? Spectators? Ah, let me be, they will not -be lacking! If they do not see me at work, I will show them my labour -accomplished; they will only have to admire and applaud. Yes, they will -applaud; for at last I can predict with certainty the moment of my -austere Puritan’s fall. I assisted this evening at the death struggle -of virtue. Sweet frailty will now rule in its stead. I fix the time at -a date no later than our next interview: but already I hear you crying -out against vain-glory. To announce one’s victory, to boast in advance! -Prithee, calm yourself! To prove my modesty, I will begin with the -story of my defeat. - -In very truth, your pupil is a most ridiculous little person! She is, -indeed, a child, whom one should treat as such, and whom one would -favour by doing no more than putting her under penance! Would you -believe that, after what passed between us, the day before yesterday, -after the amicable manner in which we separated yesterday morning, -when I sought to return in the evening, as she had agreed, I found her -door bolted on the inside? What say you to that? Such childishness one -sometimes meets with on the eve: but on the morrow! Is it not amusing? - -I did not, however, laugh at it at first; I had never felt so strongly -the imperiousness of my character. Assuredly, I was going to this -_rendez-vous_ without pleasure, and solely out of politeness. My -own bed, of which I had great need, seemed to me, for the moment, -preferable to anyone else’s, and I had dragged myself from it with -regret. No sooner, however, had I met with an obstacle than I burned -to overcome it; I was humiliated, above all, that a child should have -tricked me. I withdrew, then, in considerable ill-humour; and, with the -intention of concerning myself no further with this silly child and her -affairs, I had written her a note, on the spur of the moment, which I -intended to give her to-day, and in which I accounted her at her just -value. But night brings counsel, as they say; methought this morning -that, having no choice of distractions here, I had better keep this -one: I suppressed, therefore, the severe letter. Since reflecting upon -it, I wonder that I can ever have entertained the idea of concluding -an adventure before holding in my hands the wherewithal to ruin the -heroine. Observe, however, whither a first impulse impels us! Happy, -my fair friend, is he who has trained himself, as you have, never to -give way to one! In fine, I have postponed my vengeance; I have made -this sacrifice to your intentions towards Gercourt. - -Now that I am no longer angry, I see your pupil’s conduct only in a -ridiculous light. In fact, I should be glad to know what she hopes to -gain thereby! As for myself, I am at a loss: if it be only to defend -herself, you must admit that she is somewhat late in starting. Some -day she will have to tell me herself the key to this enigma. I have -a great desire to know it. It may be, perhaps, only that she found -herself fatigued? Frankly, that might well be possible: for, without -a doubt, she is still ignorant that the darts of love, like the lance -of Achilles, bear their own remedy for the ills they cause. But nay, -by the little wry face she pulled all day, I would wager that there -enters into it ... repentance ... there ... something ... like virtue -... Virtue! It becomes her indeed to show it! Ah, let her leave it -to the woman veritably born to it, to the only one who knows how to -embellish it, who could make it lovable!... Pardon, my fair friend: but -it is this very evening that there occurred between Madame de Tourvel -and myself the scene of which I am about to send you an account, and I -still feel some emotion at it. I have need to do myself violence, in -order to distract me from the impression which it made upon me; ’tis -even to aid me in this that I have sat down to write to you. Something -must be pardoned to this first moment. - -It is some days, already, since we are agreed, Madame de Tourvel and -I, upon our sentiments; we only dispute about words. It was always, -in truth, her _friendship_ which responded to my _love_; but this -conventional language did not change things in substance; and, had we -remained thus, I should have gone, perhaps, less quickly, but not less -surely. Already even there was no more question of driving me away, as -she had wished at first; and as for the interviews which we have daily, -if I devote my cares to offering her the occasions, she devotes hers to -seizing them. - -As it is ordinarily when walking that our little _rendez-vous_ occur, -the shocking weather, which set in to-day, left me no hope; I was even -really vexed by it; I did not foresee how much I was to gain from this -_contretemps_. - -Being unable to go out, they started play after rising from table; as -I play little, and am no longer indispensable, I chose this time to -go to my own room, with no other intention than to wait there until -the game was likely to be over. I was on my way to rejoin the company, -when I met the charming woman; she was about to enter her apartment, -and, whether from imprudence or weakness, she said to me in her gentle -voice, “Where are you going? There is nobody in the _salon_.” I needed -no more, as you may believe, to try and enter her room; I met with -less resistance than I expected. It is true that I had taken the -precaution to commence the conversation at the door, and to commence it -indifferently; but hardly were we settled, than I brought back the real -subject, and spoke of _my love for my friend_. Her first reply, though -simple, seemed to me sufficiently expressive: “Oh, I pray you,” said -she, “do not let us speak of that here;” and she trembled. Poor woman! -She sees she is lost. - -[Illustration: Mle Gerard del. Baquoy sculp.] - -However, she was wrong to be afraid. For some time past, assured of -success some day or other, and seeing that she was spending so -much strength in useless struggles, I had resolved to husband my own, -and to wait, without further effort, until she should surrender from -lassitude. You are quite aware that here I require a complete triumph, -and that I wish to owe nothing to opportunity. It was, indeed, owing to -this preconceived plan, and in order to be pressing without engaging -myself too far, that I came back to this word love, so obstinately -declined: sure that my ardour was sufficiently believed in, I tried a -tone more tender. Her refusal no longer put me out, it pained me: did -not my sensitive friend owe me some consolation? - -As she consoled me, withal, one hand lingered in my own, the lovely -form leaned upon my arm, and we were drawn extremely near. You have -surely remarked, in such a situation, how, in proportion to the -weakening of the defence, entreaties and refusals pass at closer -quarters; how the head is averted and the gaze cast down; whilst -remarks, always uttered in a weak voice, become rare and intermittent. -These precious symptoms announce, in no equivocal manner, the soul’s -consent: but it has rarely yet extended to the senses; I even hold that -it is always dangerous to attempt just then any too marked assault; -because, this state of self-abandonment being never without a very -sweet pleasure, one knows not how to dispel it, without giving rise to -a humour which is invariably in the favour of the defence. - -But, in the present case, prudence was all the more necessary to me -in that I had, above all, to dread the alarm which this forgetfulness -of herself could not fail to induce in my gentle dreamer. Thus, this -avowal which I demanded, I did not even require that it should be -pronounced; a glance would suffice; only one glance, and I was happy. - -My lovely friend, her fine eyes were, in fact, raised to mine; her -celestial mouth even uttered, “Well yes, I ...” But on a sudden her -gaze was withdrawn, her voice failed, and this adorable woman fell -into my arms. Hardly had I had time to receive her, when, extricating -herself with convulsive force, her eyes wild, her hands raised to -Heaven ... “God ... O my God, save me!” she cried; and at once, swifter -than lightning, she was on her knees, ten paces from me. I could hear -her ready to suffocate. I advanced to her assistance; but, seizing one -of my hands, which she bedewed with tears, sometimes even embracing my -knees: “Yes, it shall be you,” she said, “it shall be you who will save -me! You do not wish my death, leave me; save me; leave me; in the name -of God, leave me!” And these inconsequent utterances barely escaped -through her redoubled sobs. Meanwhile, she held me with a strength -which did not permit me to withdraw: then, collecting my own, I raised -her in my arms. At the same instant, her tears ceased; she said no -more: all her limbs stiffened, and violent convulsions succeeded to -this storm. - -I was, I confess, deeply moved, and I believe I should have consented -to her request, had not circumstances compelled me to do so. The fact -remains that, after rendering her some assistance, I left her as she -prayed me, and I congratulate myself on this. I have already almost -received the reward. - -I expected that, as on the day of my first declaration, she would not -appear that evening. But, towards eight o’clock, she came down to the -_salon_, and only informed the company that she had been greatly -indisposed. Her face was dejected, her voice feeble, her attitude -constrained; but her gaze was soft, and was often fixed upon me. Her -refusal to play having even compelled me to take her place, she took up -hers at my side. During supper, she remained alone in the _salon_ when -we returned; methought I saw that she had wept: to make certain, I told -her that I feared she still felt the effects of her indisposition, to -which she answered me obligingly, “The complaint does not go as quickly -as it comes!” Finally, when we retired, I gave her my hand; and, at the -door of her apartment, she pressed mine with vigour. ’Tis true, this -movement seemed to me to have something involuntary; but so much the -better; it is a proof the more of my empire. - -I would wager that at present she is enchanted to have reached this -stage; the cost is paid; there is nothing left but to enjoy. Perhaps, -whilst I am writing to you, she is already occupied with this soft -thought! And even if she is employed, on the contrary, on a fresh -project of defence, do we not know well what becomes of all such -plans? I ask you then, can it go further than our next interview? I -quite expect, by the way, that there will be some ceremony about the -surrender; very good! But, once the first step taken, do these austere -prudes ever know where to stop? Their love is a veritable explosion; -resistance lends it greater force. My shy Puritan would run after me, -if I ceased to run after her. - -In short, my lovely friend, I shall on an early day be with you, to -claim fulfilment of your word. You have not forgotten, doubtless, what -you promised me after success: that infidelity to your Chevalier? Are -you ready? For myself, I desire it as much as if we had never known -each other. For the rest, to know you is perhaps a reason for desiring -it more: - - “_Je suis juste, et ne suis point galant._”[2] - -Moreover it shall be the first infidelity I will make to my serious -conquest, and I promise you to profit by the first pretext to be -absent for four-and-twenty hours from her. It shall be her punishment -for keeping me so long away from you. Do you know that this adventure -has occupied me for more than two months? Yes, two months and three -days; ’tis true that I include to-morrow, since it will not be truly -consummated till then. That reminds me that Madame de B*** held out -for three whole months. I am most pleased to see that frank coquetry -possesses more power of resistance than austere virtue. - -Adieu, my lovely friend; I must leave you, for it is mighty late. This -letter has led me on further than I had intended; but, as I am sending -to Paris to-morrow, I was fain to profit by it to let you participate -one day sooner in the joy of your friend. - - At the Château de ..., 2nd October, 17**, in the evening. - - - - -LETTER THE HUNDREDTH - -THE VICOMTE DE VALMONT TO THE MARQUISE DE MERTEUIL - - -MY friend, I am tricked, betrayed, lost, I am in despair; Madame de -Tourvel has gone. She has gone, and I did not know it! And I was not -there to oppose departure, to reproach her with her unworthy treachery! -Ah, do not think I would have let her leave; she would have stayed; -yes, she would have stayed, if I had had to employ violence! But think! -in credulous security, I slept tranquilly; I slept, and the thunderbolt -has fallen upon me. No, I do not understand this departure at all; I -must abandon all hope of understanding women. - -When I recall the events of yesterday! What do I say? Even of yesterday -night! That glance so sweet, that voice so tender, and that pressure of -the hand! And all the time, she was planning flight from me! O women, -women! After this, complain that you are deceived! Yes, any perfidy -that one employs is a theft from your store. - -What pleasure I shall take in avenging myself! I shall find her again, -this perfidious woman; I shall resume my empire over her. If love -sufficed to procure me the means of that, what will it not do when -assisted by vengeance? I shall see her again at my knees, trembling and -bathed in tears; and I--I shall be pitiless. - -What does she at present? What does she think? Perhaps she applauds -herself for having deceived me; and, faithful to the tastes of her sex, -this pleasure seems to her the sweetest. What the so greatly vaunted -virtue could not obtain the spirit of ruse has brought about without an -effort. Madman that I was, I dreaded her virtue; it was her ill-faith -that I had to fear. - -And to be obliged to swallow my resentment! To dare show no more than a -gentle sorrow, when I have a heart full of rage! To see myself reduced -once more to be suppliant to a rebellious woman who has escaped from -my sway! Ought I to be humiliated to such a degree? And by whom? By a -timid woman, who was never practised in fight. What does it serve me to -have established myself in her heart, to have scorched her with all the -fires of love, to have carried the trouble of her senses to the verge -of delirium, if, calm in her retreat, she can to-day plume herself more -on her escape than I upon my victories? And should I suffer it? My -friend, you do not believe it; you have no such humiliating idea of me! - -But what fatality attaches me to this woman? Are there not a hundred -others who desire my attentions? Will they not be eager to respond -to them? Even if none were worth this one, does not the attraction -of variety, the charm of fresh conquests, the pride of numbers offer -pleasure sweet enough? Why run after that which eludes us, and neglect -what is in our path? Ah, why?... I know not, but I feel it extremely. - -There is no happiness or peace for me, save in the possession of this -woman whom I hate and love with equal fury. I will only support my -lot from the moment when I shall dispose of hers. Then, tranquil and -satisfied, I shall see her in her turn given over to the storms which -I experience at this moment; I will excite a thousand others more! Hope -and fear, security and distrust, all the ills devised by hate, all the -good that love affords, I want them to fill her heart, to succeed one -another at my will. That time shall come.... But how many labours yet! -How near I was yesterday! And how far away I see myself to-day! How to -approach her again? I dare not take any measure; I feel that, before I -adopt any course, I need greater calmness, and my blood leaps within my -veins. - -What enhances my torment is the calm with which everyone here -replies to my questions upon this event, upon its cause, and all the -extraordinary features it presents.... No one knows anything, no one -cares to know anything: they would hardly have spoken of it, had I -allowed them to speak of anything else. Madame de Rosemonde, to whom -I hastened this morning when I learned the news, answered me, with -the indifference of her age, that it was the natural result of the -indisposition which seized Madame de Tourvel yesterday; that she had -been afraid of an illness, and had preferred to be at home: she thinks -it quite simple; she would have done the same, she told me: as if there -could be anything in common between the two! Between her, who has only -death before her, and the other, who is the charm and torment of my -life! - -Madame de Volanges, whom I at first suspected of being an accomplice, -seems only to be affected in that she was not consulted as to the step. -I am delighted, I confess, that she has not had the pleasure of harming -me. That proves again that she is not in this woman’s confidence to -the extent I feared: that is always one enemy the less. How pleased -she would be with herself, if she knew that it was I who was the cause -of the flight! How swollen with pride, if it had been through her -counsels! How her importance would have been enhanced! Great God, how -I hate her! Oh, I will renew with her daughter, I will mould her to -my fantasy: I think, therefore, I shall remain here for some time; at -least, the little reflexion I have been able to make leads me to this -course. - -Do you not think, in fact, that, after so marked a step, my ingrate -must dread my presence? If then the idea has come to her that I might -follow her, she will not fail to close her door to me; and I wish as -little to accustom her to that means as to endure the humiliation. I -prefer, on the contrary, to announce to her that I shall remain here; I -will even make entreaties for her return; and when she is persuaded of -my absence, I will appear at her house: we shall see how she supports -the interview. But I must postpone it, in order to enhance the effect, -and I know not yet if I have the patience; twenty times to-day I have -opened my mouth to call for my horses. However, I will command myself; -I promise to await your reply here; I only beg you, my lovely friend, -not to keep me waiting for it. - -The thing which would thwart me the most would be not to know what is -passing; but my _chasseur_, who is in Paris, has certain rights of -access to the waiting-maid; he will be able to serve me. I am sending -him instructions and money. I beg you to find it good that I join both -to this letter, and also to be at the pains to send them to him by one -of your people, with orders to place them in his own hands. I take this -precaution because the rascal is in the habit of failing to receive -the letters I write to him, when they command him some task which irks -him. And for the moment he does not seem to me so enamoured of his -conquest as I could wish him to be. - -Adieu, my lovely friend; if any happy idea comes to you, any means of -accelerating my progress, inform me of it. I have, more than once, had -experience of how useful your friendship can be to me; I experience it -even at this moment: for I feel calmer since I have written to you; -at least I am speaking to some one who understands me, and not to the -automata with whom I vegetate since this morning. In truth, the further -I go the more am I tempted to believe that you and I are the only -people in the world who are of any consequence. - - At the Château de ..., 3rd October, 17**. - - - - -LETTER THE HUNDRED AND FIRST - -THE VICOMTE DE VALMONT TO AZOLAN, HIS _CHASSEUR_ - -(Enclosed in the preceding) - - -YOU must be addle-pated, indeed, to start hence this morning without -knowing that Madame de Tourvel was leaving also; or, if you knew, not -to come and warn me. Of what use is it, pray, that you should spend my -money in getting drunk with the valets; that you should pass the time -which you ought to employ in my service in making yourself agreeable -to the maids, if I am no better informed of what is passing? This, -however, is what comes of your negligence! But I warn you, if a single -instance occurs in this matter, it is the last you shall commit in my -service. - -I require you to keep me informed of all that happens with Madame de -Tourvel: of her health; if she sleeps; if she is dull or gay; if she -often goes abroad, and whom she frequents; if she receives company, and -of whom it consists; how she passes her time; if she shows ill-humour -with her women, particularly with the one she brought here with -her; what she does when she is alone; if, when she reads, she reads -uninterruptedly, or often puts her reading aside to dream; and alike, -when she is writing. Remember also to become the friend of him who -carries her letters to the post. Offer often to do this commission for -him in his stead; and if he accepts, only dispatch those which seem -to you indifferent, and send me the others, above all those, if you -come across any, addressed to Madame de Volanges. Make arrangements to -be, for some time longer, the happy lover of your Julie. If she has -another, as you believed, make her consent to a participation, and do -not plume yourself on any ridiculous delicacy; you will be in the same -case with many others who are worth more than you. If, however, your -substitute should become too importunate; should you perceive, for -instance, that he occupied Julie too much during the day, and that she -was less often with her mistress, get rid of him by some means, or seek -a quarrel with him: have no fear of the results, I will support you. -Above all, do not quit that house. It is by assiduity that one sees -all, and sees clear. - -If chance even should cause one of the men to be dismissed, present -yourself to seek his place, as being no longer attached to me. Say in -that case that you left me to seek a quieter and more regular house. -Endeavour, in short, to get yourself accepted. I shall none the less -keep you in my service during this time: it will be as it was with the -Duchesse de ***; and in the end Madame de Tourvel will recompense you -as well. - -If you had skill and zeal enough, these instructions ought to suffice; -but to make up for both, I send you money. The enclosed note authorizes -you, as you will see, to receive twenty-five louis from my man of -business; for I have no doubt that you are without a sou. You will -employ what is necessary of this sum to induce Julie to establish a -correspondence with me. The rest will serve to make the household -drink. Have a care that this takes place as often as possible in -the lodge of the porter of the house, so that he may be glad to see -you come. But do not forget that it is your services, and not your -pleasures, that I wish to pay for. - -Accustom Julie to observe and report everything, even what might appear -to her trivial. It were better that she should write ten useless -sentences than that she should omit one which was of interest; and -often what appears indifferent is not so. As it is necessary that I -should be informed at once, if anything were to happen which should -seem to you to deserve attention, immediately on receipt of this letter -you will send Philippe on the message-horse to establish himself -at...;[3] he will remain there until further orders; it will make a -relay in case of need. For the current correspondence, the post will -suffice. - -Be careful not to lose this letter. Read it over every day, to assure -yourself that you have forgotten nothing, as well as to make sure that -you still have it. In short, do all that needs to be done, when one is -honoured with my confidence. You know that, if I am satisfied with you, -you will be so with me. - - At the Château de ..., 3rd October, 17**. - - - - -LETTER THE HUNDRED AND SECOND - -THE PRÉSIDENTE DE TOURVEL TO MADAME DE ROSEMONDE - - -YOU will be greatly astonished, Madame, to learn that I am leaving -you so precipitately. This proceeding will appear to you very -extraordinary: but your surprise will be redoubled, when you learn my -reasons for it! Perhaps, you will find that, in confiding them to you, -I do not sufficiently respect the tranquillity necessary to your age; -that I even infringe the sentiments of veneration which are your due by -so many titles? Ah! Madame, forgive me: but my heart is oppressed; it -feels a need to pour out its griefs upon the bosom of a friend who is -as kind as she is prudent: whom else, save you, could it choose? Look -upon me as your child. Show me the kindness of a mother; I implore it. -Perhaps my sentiments toward yourself give me some right to expect it. - -Where has the time gone when, absorbed entirely in those laudable -sentiments, I was ignorant of those which, afflicting my soul with the -mortal sorrow I feel, deprive me of the strength to combat them at the -same time that they impose upon me the duty? Ah, this fatal visit has -been my ruin!... What shall I say to you, in fine? I love, yes, I love -to distraction. Alas! that word which I write for the first time, that -word so often entreated without being ever obtained, I would pay with -my life the sweet privilege of letting him who has inspired it hear -it but a single time; and yet I must unceasingly withhold it. He will -continue to doubt my feelings towards him; he will think he has cause -to complain of them. I am indeed unhappy! Why is it not as easy for him -to read in my heart as to reign there? Yes, I should suffer less, if he -knew all that I suffer; but you yourself, to whom I say it, will still -have but a feeble idea of it. - -In a few moments, I am about to fly from him and cause him grief. -Whilst he will still believe he is near me, I shall already be far -away; at the hour when I was accustomed to see him daily, I shall be -where he has never been, where I must not permit him to come. Already, -all my preparations are complete, all is there beneath my eyes; I can -let them rest on nothing which does not speak of this cruel separation. -Everything is ready except myself...! - -And the more my heart resists, the more does it prove to me the -necessity of submission to it. Doubtless, I shall submit to it; it is -better to die than to lead a life of guilt. I feel it already, I know -it but too well; I have only saved my prudence, my virtue is gone. Must -I confess it to you. What yet remains to me I owe to his generosity. -Intoxicated with the pleasure of seeing him, of hearing him; with the -sweetness of feeling him near me; with the still greater happiness -of being able to make his own, I was powerless and without strength; -hardly enough was left me to struggle: I had no longer enough to -resist. Well! he saw my trouble and had pity on me. Could I do aught -else than cherish him? I owe him far more than life. - -Ah, if, by remaining near him, I had but to tremble for that, do not -suppose I had ever consented to go away! What is life to me without -him? Should I not be too happy to lose it? Condemned to be the cause -of his eternal misery and my own; to dare neither to pity myself nor -console him; to defend myself daily against him, and against myself; to -devote my cares to causing him pain, when I would consecrate them all -to his happiness; to live thus, is it not to die a thousand times? Yet -that is what my fate must be. I will endure it, however; I will have -the courage. O you, whom I chose for my mother, receive this vow. - -Receive also that which I make, to hide from you none of my actions: -receive it, I beseech you; I beg it of you as a succour of which I -have need: thus, pledged to tell you all, I shall acquire the habit of -believing myself always in your presence. Your virtue shall replace my -own. Never, doubtless, shall I consent to come before you with a blush; -and, restrained by this powerful check, whilst I shall cherish in you -the indulgent friend, the confidant of my weakness, I shall also honour -in you the guardian angel who will save me from shame. - -Shame enough must I feel, in having to make you this request. Fatal -effect of presumptuous confidence! Why did I not dread sooner this -inclination which I felt springing up? Why did I flatter myself that I -could master it or overcome it at my will? Insensate! How little I knew -what love was! Ah, if I had fought against it with more care, perhaps -it would have acquired less dominion; perhaps then this separation -would not have been necessary; or, even if I had submitted to that -sorrowful step, I need not have broken off entirely a relation which -it would have been sufficient to render less frequent! But to lose all -at one stroke, and for ever! O my friend!... But what is this? Even -in writing to you, shall I be led away to vent criminal wishes? Ah! -away, away! and at least let these involuntary errors be expiated by my -sacrifices. - -Adieu, my venerable friend; love me as your daughter, adopt me for -such; and be sure that, in spite of my weakness, I would rather die -than render myself unworthy of your choice. - - At the Château de ..., 3rd October, 17**, - at one o’clock in the morning. - - - - -LETTER THE HUNDRED AND THIRD - -MADAME DE ROSEMONDE TO THE PRÉSIDENTE DE TOURVEL - - -I WAS more grieved at your departure, my fairest dear, than surprised -at its cause; a long experience and the interest which you inspire in -me had sufficed to enlighten me as to the state of your heart; and, -if all must be told, there was nothing, or almost nothing, that your -letter taught me. If it had been my only source of information, I -should be still in ignorance of whom it was you loved; for, in speaking -to me of _him_ all the time, you did not even once write his name. -I had no need of that; I am well aware who it is. But I remark it, -because I remind myself that that is ever the style of love. I see that -it is still the same as in past times. - -I had hardly expected ever to be in the case to hark back to memories -so far removed from me, and so alien to my age. Since yesterday, -nevertheless, I have truly been much occupied with them, through the -desire which I felt to find in them something which might be useful to -you. But what can I do, except admire and pity you? I praise the wise -course you have taken: but it alarms me, because I conclude from it -that you judged it necessary; and, when one has gone so far, it is very -difficult to remain always at a distance from him to whom our heart is -incessantly attracting us. However, do not lose courage. Nothing should -be impossible to your noble soul; and, even if you should some day have -the misfortune to succumb (which God forbid!), believe me, my fairest -dear, reserve for yourself at least the consolation of having struggled -with all your power. And then, what human prudence cannot effect, -divine grace will, if it be so pleased. Perhaps you are on the eve of -its succour; and your virtue, proved by these grievous struggles, will -issue from them purer and more lustrous. Hope that you may receive -to-morrow the strength which you lack to-day. Do not count upon this in -order to repose upon it, but to encourage you to use all your own. - -Whilst leaving to Providence the care of succouring you in a danger -against which I can do nothing, I reserve to myself that of sustaining -and consoling you, as far as within me lies. I shall not assuage your -pains, but I will share them. It is by virtue of this that I will -gladly receive your confidences. I feel that your heart must have need -of unburdening itself. I open mine to you; age has not yet so chilled -it that it is insensible to friendship. You will always find it ready -to receive you. It will be a poor solace to your sorrow; but at least -you will not weep alone: and when this unhappy love, obtaining too much -power over you, compels you to speak of it, it is better that it should -be with me than with _him_. Here am I talking like you; and I think -that, between us, we shall succeed in avoiding his name: for the rest, -we understand one another. - -I know not whether I am doing right in telling you that he seemed -keenly grieved at your departure; it would be wiser, perhaps, not to -speak of it: but I have no love for the prudence which grieves its -friends. Yet I am forced to speak about it at no greater length. My -weak sight and tremulous hands do not admit of long letters, when I -have to write them myself. - -Adieu then, my fairest dear; adieu, my amiable child: yes, I gladly -adopt you for my daughter, and you have, indeed, all that is needed to -make the pride and pleasure of a mother. - - At the Château de ..., 3rd October, 17**. - - - - -LETTER THE HUNDRED AND FOURTH - -THE MARQUISE DE MERTEUIL TO MADAME DE VOLANGES - - -IN truth, my good and dear friend, I could hardly refrain from a -movement of pride when I read your letter. What! you honour me with -your entire confidence! You even deign to ask for my advice! Ah, I am -happy indeed, if I deserve this favourable opinion on your part: if I -do not owe it only to the prepossession of friendship. For the rest, -whatever the motive may be, it is none the less precious to my heart; -and to have obtained it is only one reason the more in my eyes why -I should labour harder to deserve it. I am going then (but without -pretending to give you a counsel) to tell you freely my fashion of -thinking. I distrust myself, because it is different from yours: but -when I have exposed my reasons to you, you will judge them; and if you -condemn them, I subscribe to your judgment in advance. I shall at least -show thus much wisdom, that I do not think myself wiser than you. - -If, however, and in this single instance, my opinion should seem -preferable, you must seek for the cause of this in the illusions of -maternal love. Since this sentiment is a laudable one, it needs must -have a place in you. Indeed, how very recognizable it is in the course -which you are tempted to take! It is thus that, if it sometimes -happens to you to make a mistake, it never arises except through a -choice of virtues. - -Prudence, it seems to me, is the quality to be preferred, when one is -disposing of another’s fate; and, above all, where it is a question of -fixing it by an indissoluble and sacred bond, such as that of marriage. -’Tis then that a mother, equally wise and tender, ought, as you say so -well, _to aid her daughter with her experience_. Now, I ask you, what -is she to do in order to succeed in this, if it be not to distinguish -for her between what is pleasant and what is suitable? - -Would it not, then, be to degrade the maternal authority, would it -not be to annul it, if you were to subordinate it to a frivolous -inclination, the illusory power of which is only felt by those who -dread it, and disappears as soon as it is despised? For myself, I -confess, I have never believed in these irresistible and engrossing -passions, through which, it seems, we are agreed to pay general -excuses for our disorders. I cannot conceive how a fancy which is born -in a moment, and in a moment dies, can have more strength than the -unalterable principles of honour, modesty and virtue; and I can no more -understand why a woman who is false to them can be held justified by -her pretended passion, than a thief would be by his passion for money, -or an assassin by that for revenge. - -Ah, who is there that can say that she has never had to struggle? But -I have ever sought to persuade myself that, in order to resist, it -sufficed to have the will; and thus far, at least, my experience has -confirmed my opinion. What would virtue be without the duties which -it imposes? Its worship lies in our sacrifices, its recompense in our -hearts. These truths cannot be denied except by those who have an -interest in disregarding them, and who, already depraved, hope to have -a moment’s illusion by endeavouring to justify their bad conduct by bad -reasons. But could one fear it from a shy and simple child; a child -whom you have borne, and whose pure and modest education can but have -fortified her happy nature? Yet it is to this fear, which I venture -to call humiliating to your daughter, that you are ready to sacrifice -the advantageous marriage which your prudence had contrived for her! -I like Danceny greatly; and for a long time past, as you know, I have -seen little of M. de Gercourt: but my friendship with the one and my -indifference towards the other do not prevent me from feeling the -enormous difference which exists between the two matches. - -Their birth is equal, I admit; but one is without fortune, whilst -that of the other is so great that, even without birth, it would have -sufficed to obtain him everything. I quite agree that money does -not make happiness, but it must be admitted, also, that it greatly -facilitates it. Mademoiselle de Volanges is rich enough for two, as -you say: however, an income of sixty thousand livres, which she will -enjoy, is not over much when one bears the name of Danceny; when -one must furnish and maintain a house which corresponds with it. We -no longer live in the days of Madame de Sévigné. Luxury swallows up -everything; we blame it, but we needs must imitate it, and in the end -the superfluous stints us of the necessary. - -As to the personal qualities which you count for much, and with good -reason, M. de Gercourt is, assuredly, irreproachable on that score; -and, as for him, his proof is over. I like to think, and, in fact, I -do think, that Danceny is no whit his inferior: but are we as sure of -that? It is true that thus far he has seemed exempt from the faults of -his age, and that, in spite of the tone of the day, he shows a taste -for good company which makes one augur favourably for him: but who -knows whether this apparent virtue be not due to the mediocrity of his -fortune? Putting aside the fear of being a cheat or a drunkard, one -needs money to be a gambler or a libertine, and one may yet love the -faults the excesses of which one dreads. In short, he would not be the -first in a thousand to frequent good company solely because he lacked -the means of doing otherwise. - -I do not say (God forbid!) that I believe all this of him; but it would -be always a risk to run; and what reproaches would you not have to -make yourself, if the event were not happy! How would you answer your -daughter, if she were to say to you, “Mother, I was young and without -experience; I was seduced even by an error pardonable at my age: but -Heaven, which had foreseen my weakness, had granted me a wise mother, -to remedy it and protect me from it. Why, then, forgetful of your -prudence, did you consent to my unhappiness? Was it for me to choose -a husband, when I knew nothing of the marriage-state? If I had wished -to do so, was it not your duty to oppose me? But I never had this mad -desire. Determined to obey you, I awaited your choice with respectful -resignation; I never failed in the submission which I owed to you, and -yet I bear to-day the penalty which is only the rebellious children’s -due. Ah! your weakness has been my ruin!...” - -Perhaps, her respect would stifle these complaints: but maternal love -would divine them; and the tears of your daughter, though hidden, -would none the less drip upon your heart. Where then will you look for -consolation? Will it be to that mad love against which you should have -armed her, and by which, on the contrary, you would have yourself to be -seduced? - -I know not, my dear friend, whether I have too strong a prejudice -against this passion: but I deem it redoubtable even in marriage. It is -not that I disapprove of the growth of a soft and virtuous sentiment to -embellish the marriage bond, and to sweeten, in some sort, the duties -which it imposes: but it is not to that passion, that it belongs to -form it; it is not for the illusion of a moment to settle the choice of -our life. In fact, in order to choose, one must compare; and how can -that be done, when one is occupied by a single object, when even that -object one cannot know, plunged as one is in intoxication and blindness? - -I have, as you may well believe, come across many women afflicted with -this dangerous ill; of some of them I have received the confidences. To -hear them, there is not one of them whose lover is not a perfect being: -but these chimerical perfections exist only in their imaginations. -Their feverish heads dream only of virtues and accomplishments; they -adorn with them, at their pleasure, the object whom they prefer: it -is the drapery of a god, often worn by an abject model; but whatever -it may be, hardly have they clothed it than, the dupes of their own -handiwork, they prostrate themselves to adore it. - -Either your daughter does not love Danceny, or else she is under this -same illusion; if their love is reciprocal, it is common to both. -Thus your reason for uniting them for ever resolves itself into the -certainty that they do not, and cannot, know each other. But, you will -ask, do M. de Gercourt and my daughter know each other any better? No, -doubtless; but at least they are simply ignorant, they are under no -delusion. What happens in such a case between two married persons whom -I assume to be virtuous? Each of them studies the other, looks face -to face at the other, seeks and soon discovers what tastes and wishes -he must give up for the common tranquillity. These slight sacrifices -are not irksome, because they are reciprocal, and have been foreseen: -soon they give birth to mutual kindness; and habit, which fortifies all -inclinations which it does not destroy, brings about, little by little, -that sweet friendship, that tender confidence, which, joined to esteem, -form, so it seems to me, the true and solid happiness of marriage. - -The illusions of love may be sweeter; but who does not know that they -are less durable? And what dangers are not brought about by the moment -which destroys them? It is then that the least faults appear shocking -and unendurable, by the contrast which they form with the idea of -perfection which had seduced us. Each one of the couple believes, -however, that only the other has changed, and that he has always the -same value as that which, in a mistaken moment, had been attributed to -him. The charm which he no longer experiences he is astonished at no -longer producing; he is humiliated at this: wounded vanity embitters -the mind, augments injuries, causes ill-humour, begets hate; and -frivolous pleasures are paid for finally by long misery. - -Such, my dear friend, is my manner of thinking upon the subject which -occupies us; I do not defend it, I simply expound it; ’tis for you -to decide. But if you persist in your opinion, I beg you to make me -acquainted with the reasons which have outweighed my own: I shall be -glad indeed to gather light from you, and, above all, to be reassured -as to the fate of your amiable child, whose happiness I ardently -desire, both through my friendship for her and through that which -unites me to you for life. - - Paris, 4th October, 17**. - - - - -LETTER THE HUNDRED AND FIFTH - -THE MARQUISE DE MERTEUIL TO CÉCILE VOLANGES - - -WELL, well, little one! So here you are quite vexed, quite ashamed. -And that M. de Valmont is a wicked man, is he not? How now! He dares -to treat you as the woman he would love the best! He teaches you what -you are dying with desire to know! In truth, these proceedings are -unpardonable. And you, on your side, you wished to keep your virtue for -your lover (who does not abuse it): you cherish only the pains of love -and not its pleasures! Nothing could be better, and you will figure -marvellous well in a romance. Passion, misfortune, above all, virtue: -what a heap of fine things! In the midst of this brilliant pageant, one -feels _ennui_ sometimes, it is true, but one pays it back. - -See the poor child, then, how much she is to be pitied! Her eyes looked -worn, the day after? What will you say, pray, when it is your lover’s -that look thus? Nay, my sweet angel, you will not always have them so; -all men are not Valmonts. And then, not to dare to raise those eyes! -Oh, in truth, you were right there; everybody would have read in them -your adventure. Believe me, however, if it were so, our women and even -our damsels would have a far more modest gaze. - -In spite of the praise I am forced to give you, as you see, I must, -however, admit that you failed in your _chef-d’œuvre_; which was to -have told everything to your Mamma. You had started so well! You had, -already, thrown yourself into her arms, you sobbed, she also wept: -what a pathetic scene! And what a pity not to have completed it! Your -tender mother, quite ravished with delight, and to assist your virtue, -would have shut you up in a convent for the rest of your life; and -there you could have loved Danceny as much as you wished, without -rivals and without sin: you could have broken your heart at your ease; -and Valmont, assuredly, would not have come to trouble your grief with -vexatious pleasures. - -Seriously, at past fifteen can one be so utterly a child as you are? -You are right, indeed, to say that you do not deserve my kindness. Yet -I would be your friend: you have need of one, perhaps, with the mother -you possess and the husband whom she would give you! But if you do -not form yourself more, what would you have one do with you? What can -one hope for, when that which generally excites intelligence in girls -seems, on the contrary, to deprive you of it? - -If you could bring yourself to reason for a moment, you would soon find -that you ought to congratulate yourself, instead of complaining. But -you are shamefaced, and that disturbs you! Well, calm yourself; the -shame caused by love is like its pain; it is only experienced once. -Indeed one can feign it afterwards, but one no longer feels it. The -pleasure, however, remains, and that is surely something. I think even -that I gathered the fact, from your little chattering letter, that you -were inclined to count it for much. Come now, a little honesty. That -trouble which prevented you _from acting as you spoke_, which made you -find it _so difficult to resist_, which made you feel _as though you -were sorry_ when Valmont went away, was it really shame which caused -it, or was it pleasure? and _his way of saying things to which one does -not know how to answer_, may that not have arisen from his _way of -acting_? Ah, little girl, you are fibbing, and you are fibbing to your -friend. That is not right. But let us leave that. - -What would be a pleasure to anybody, and could be nothing else, becomes -in your position a veritable happiness. In fact, placed as you are -between a mother whose love is necessary to you, and a lover by whom -you desire to be loved always, do you not see that the only means of -obtaining these opposite ends is to occupy yourself with a third party? -Distracted by this new adventure, whilst, in your Mamma’s eyes, you -will have the air of sacrificing to your submission an inclination -which displeases her, in the eyes of your lover you will acquire the -honour of a fine defence. Whilst assuring him incessantly of your love, -you will not grant him the last proofs of it. Such refusals, so little -painful to you in the case in which you will be, he will not fail to -attribute to your virtue; he will complain of them, perhaps, but he -will love you more for them; and to obtain the double merit of having -sacrificed love in the eyes of one, of resisting it in those of the -other, will cost you nothing more than to taste its pleasures. Oh, how -many women have lost their reputation which they would have carefully -preserved, had they been able to retain it by similar means! - -Does not the course which I propose to you seem to you the most -reasonable, as it is the most pleasant? Do you know what you have -gained from that which you have adopted? Only that your Mamma has -attributed your increased melancholy to an increase of love, that -she is incensed at it, and that, to punish you, she only waits for -additional proof. She has just written to me; she will make every -attempt to extract the admission from you. She will go so far, she -told me, as to propose Danceny to you, as a husband, and that, in -order to induce you to speak. And if, letting yourself be beguiled by -this deceitful tenderness, you answered as your heart bade you, soon, -confined for a long time, perhaps for ever, you would weep for your -blind credulity at your leisure. - -This ruse which she wishes to employ against you you must combat -with another. Begin then, by seeming less melancholy, to lead her to -believe that you think less of Danceny. She will allow herself to -be the more easily persuaded in that this is the ordinary effect of -absence; and she will be the better disposed to you for it, since she -will find in it an opportunity for applauding her own prudence which -suggested this means to her. But if, some doubt still remaining, she -were, nevertheless, to persist in proving you, and were to speak to -you of marriage, fall back, as a well-bred daughter, upon perfect -submission. As a matter of fact, what do you risk? As far as husbands -are concerned, one is worth no more than another; and the most -uncompromising is always less troublesome than a mother. - -Once more satisfied with you, your mother will at last marry you; -and then, less hampered in your movements, you will be able, at your -choice, to quit Valmont and take Danceny, or even to keep them both. -For, mark this, your Danceny is charming; but he is one of those men -whom one has when one wills and as long as one wills: one can be at -one’s ease, then, with him. It is not the same with Valmont: it is -difficult to keep him, and dangerous to leave him. One must employ with -him much tact, or, if one has not that, much docility. On the other -hand, if you could succeed in attaching him to you as a friend, what -a piece of fortune that would be! He would set you, at once, in the -first rank of our women of fashion. It is in this way that one acquires -consideration in the world, and not by dint of tears and blushes, as -when your nuns made you take your dinner on your knees. - -If you are wise then, you will endeavour to be reconciled with Valmont, -who must be mighty wroth with you; and, as one should know how to -repair one’s follies, do not fear to make a few advances to him; -besides, you will soon learn that, if men make us the first ones, we -are almost always obliged to make the second. You have a pretext for -them: for you must not keep this letter; and I require you to hand it -to Valmont as soon as you have read it. Do not forget, however, to seal -it beforehand. First, in order to secure for yourself the merit of the -step you are taking with regard to him, and to prevent your having the -air of being advised to it; and, secondly, because there is no one in -the world, save yourself, of whom I am sufficiently the friend to speak -to as I do to you. - -Adieu, sweet angel; follow my advice, and you shall tell me if you feel -the better for it. - -P.S. By the way, I was forgetting ... one word more. Look to it that -you cultivate your style more. You write always like a child. I quite -see whence it arises; it is because you say all that you think, and no -whit of what you do not think. That may pass between you and me, who -have nothing to hide from one another: but with everybody! With your -lover above all! You would always have the air of a little fool. You -must remember that, when you write to anyone, it is for him and not for -yourself: you must, therefore, think less of telling him what you think -than what will give him most pleasure. - -Adieu, sweetheart: I kiss you instead of scolding you, in the hope that -you will become more reasonable. - - Paris, 4th October, 17**. - - - - -LETTER THE HUNDRED AND SIXTH - -THE MARQUISE DE MERTEUIL TO THE VICOMTE DE VALMONT - - -AMAZING, Vicomte, and this time I love you furiously! For the rest, -after the first of your two letters, I could expect the second: thus it -did not astonish me; and whilst, proud already of your success to come, -you were soliciting its reward, and asking me if I were ready, I saw -clearly that I had no such need for haste. Yes, upon my honour; reading -the beautiful account of that tender scene, which had _moved you so -deeply_, observing your restraint, worthy of the fairest days of our -chivalry, I said to myself a score of times: The affair has failed! - -But that is because it could not befall otherwise. What do you expect -a poor woman to do who surrenders, and is not taken? My faith, in such -a case one must at least save one’s honour; and that is what your -Présidente does. I know well that, for myself, who can perceive that -the step she has taken is really not without some effect, I propose -to make use of it myself on the first rather serious occasion which -presents itself: but I promise you that, if he for whom I go to that -trouble profits no better than you from it, he may assuredly renounce -me for ever. - -Here you are then, reduced, brought to impotence! And that between two -women, one of whom had already crossed the Rubicon, and the other was -asking nothing better than to do so. Well, well, you will think that -I am boasting, and say that it is easy to prophesy after the event; -but I can swear to you that I expected as much. It is because you have -not really the genius of your estate; you know nothing except what you -have learned, and you invent nothing. Thus, as soon as circumstances -no longer lend themselves to your accustomed formulas, and you -are compelled to leave the beaten road, you pull up short like a -school-boy. In short, a piece of childishness on the one side, a return -of prudery on the other, are enough to disconcert you, because you do -not meet with them every day; and you know not how either to prevent -or remedy them. Ah, Vicomte, Vicomte, you teach me not to judge men by -their successes; and soon we shall have to say of you: On such and such -a day, he was brave! And when you have committed follies after follies, -you come running to me! It seems that I have nothing else to do but to -repair them. It is true, that there would be work enough there. - -Whatever may be the state of these two adventures, one was undertaken -against my will, and I will not meddle in it; for the other, as you -have brought some complaisance for me to bear upon it, I make it my -business. The letter which I enclose, which you will read first and -then give to the little Volanges, is more than sufficient to bring her -back to you: but, I beg you, give some attention to this child, and let -us make her, in concert, the despair of her mother and of Gercourt. -You need not fear to increase the doses. I see clearly that the little -person will not take alarm; and, our views upon her once fulfilled, she -may become what she will. - -I am entirely without interest on her account. I had had some desire -to make of her, at least, a subaltern in intrigue, and to take her to -play _understudies_ to me: but I see that she has not the stuff in her; -she has a foolish ingenuousness, which has not even yielded to the -specific you have employed, though it be one which rarely fails; and it -is, according to me, the most dangerous disease a woman can have. It -denotes, above all, a weakness of character almost always incurable, -and opposed to everything; in such wise that, whilst we busied -ourselves in forming this little girl for intrigue, we should have -made nothing of her but a facile woman. Now I know nothing so insipid -as that idiotic facility, which surrenders without knowing how or why, -solely because it is attacked and knows not how to resist. This kind of -woman is absolutely nothing than a pleasure machine. - -You will tell me that this is all there is to do, and that it is enough -for our plans. Well and good! But do not let us forget that, with that -kind of machine, everybody soon attains to a knowledge of the springs -and motors; in order therefore to employ this one without danger, one -must hasten, stop at the right moment and break it afterwards. In -truth, there will be no lack of means to disembarrass ourselves of it, -and Gercourt, at any rate, will shut it up securely, when it is our -pleasure. Indeed, when he can no longer doubt of his dishonour, when it -is quite public and notorious, what will it matter to us if he avenges, -provided that he do not console, himself? What I say of the husband, -you doubtless think of the mother; thus the affair is settled. - -The course I deem the better, and upon which I have decided, has -induced me to conduct the little person somewhat rapidly, as you will -see by my letter; it also renders it most important that nothing should -be left in her hands which might compromise us, and I beg you to pay -attention to this. This precaution once taken, I charge myself with the -moral teaching; the rest concerns you. If, however, we see in the issue -that ingenuousness is cured, we have always time to change our project. -We should, in any case, have had, one day or other, to occupy ourselves -with what we are about to do: in no case will our pains be wasted. - -Do you know that mine risked being so, and that the Gercourt’s star -came near to carrying the day over my prudence? Did not Madame de -Volanges show a moment of maternal weakness? Did she not want to marry -her daughter to Danceny? It was that which was presaged by that more -tender interest which you remarked “_the day after_.” It is you again -who would have been the cause of this noble masterpiece! Luckily, the -tender mother wrote to me, and I hope that my reply will disillusion -her. I talk so much virtue in it, and above all I flatter her so, that -she is bound to think I am right. - -I am sorry that I have not found time to make a copy of my letter, to -edify you with the austerity of my morals. You would see how I despise -women who are so depraved as to take a lover! ’Tis so convenient to be -a rigorist in conversation! It does no hurt, except to others, and in -no way impedes ourselves.... And then, I am quite aware that the good -lady had her little peccadillos like any other in her young days, and -I was not sorry to humiliate her, at least before her conscience; it -consoled me a little for the praises I gave her against my own. It was -similarly that, in the same letter, the idea of harming Gercourt gave -me the courage to speak well of him. - -Adieu, Vicomte; I thoroughly approve the course you adopt in remaining -some time where you are. I have no means of spurring on your progress: -but I invite you to distract yourself with our common pupil. As for -myself, in spite of your obliging summons, you see well that you have -still to wait, and you will doubtless admit that it is not my fault. - - Paris, 3rd October, 17**. - - - - -LETTER THE HUNDRED AND SEVENTH - -AZOLAN TO THE VICOMTE DE VALMONT - - -MONSIEUR, - -Conformably to your orders, I went, immediately on the receipt of your -letter, to M. Bertrand, who gave me the twenty-five louis, as you had -ordered him. I asked him for two more for Philippe, whom I had told -to set off immediately, as Monsieur had commanded me, and who had no -money; but your man of business would not do so, saying that he had -no order from you for that. I was obliged therefore to give him these -myself, and Monsieur will hold me acquitted of them, if it be his good -pleasure. - -Philippe set off yesterday evening. I strongly impressed upon him not -to leave the inn, so that we might be certain of finding him if we had -need of him. - -I went immediately afterwards to Madame la Présidente’s to see -Mademoiselle Julie; but she was gone out, and I could only speak with -La Fleur, from whom I could learn nothing, as, since his arrival, he -has only been to the house at meal-times. It is the second lackey who -does all the service, and Monsieur knows that I was not acquainted with -him. But I began to-day. - -I returned this morning to Mademoiselle Julie, and she seemed delighted -to see me. I questioned her upon the cause of her mistress’s return; -but she told me that she knew naught of it; and I believe she told -the truth. I reproached her with having failed to inform me of her -departure, and she assured me that she had not known it till the night -before, when putting Madame to bed; so that she spent all the night in -packing, and the poor wench had not two hours’ sleep. She did not leave -her mistress’s chamber that night until past one, and left her just as -she was sitting down to write. - -In the morning, Madame de Tourvel, before leaving, handed a letter to -the porter of the _château_. Mademoiselle Julie does not know for whom: -she says that it was, perhaps, for Monsieur; but Monsieur does not -speak of it. - -During the whole journey, Madame had a great hood over her face; by -reason of this one could not see her: but Mademoiselle Julie feels -assured that she often wept. She did not speak one word, and she would -not halt at...,[4] as she had done on her coming, which was none too -pleasing to Mademoiselle Julie, who had not breakfasted. But, as I said -to her, the masters are the masters. - -On arriving, Madame went to bed: but she only remained there two hours. -On rising, she summoned her Swiss, and gave him orders to admit nobody. -She made no toilette at all. She sat down to table for dinner, but only -took a little soup, and went away at once. Her coffee was brought to -her room, and Mademoiselle Julie entered at the same time. She found -her mistress arranging papers in her writing-desk, and she saw that -they were letters. I would wager that they were those from Monsieur; -and of the three which came to her in the afternoon, there was one -which she had still before her all the evening. I am quite certain that -it is also one from Monsieur. But why then did she leave like this? -That is what astounds me. For that matter, Monsieur is sure to know, -and it is no business of mine. - -Madame la Présidente went in the afternoon to the library, and took -thence two books which she carried to her _boudoir_: but Mademoiselle -Julie is certain that she did not read a quarter of hour in them during -the whole day, and that she does nothing but read this letter and -dream, with her head resting on her hand. As I thought that Monsieur -would be pleased to know what these books are, and as Mademoiselle -Julie could not say, I obtained admission to the library under the -pretence of wishing to see it. There are only two books missing: one -is the second volume of the _Pensées chrétiennes_, and the other, the -first of a book entitled _Clarissa_. I write the name as it is written: -Monsieur will, perhaps, know what it is. - -Yesterday evening, Madame did not sup; she only took some tea. - -She rang at an early hour this morning; asked at once for her horses, -and went, before nine o’clock, to the Bernardines, where she heard -mass. She wished to confess; but her confessor was away, and he will -not return for a week or ten days. I thought it well to inform Monsieur -of this. - -She returned immediately, breakfasted, and then began to write, and -she remained thus for nearly an hour. I soon found occasion to do what -Monsieur desired the most; for it was I who carried the letters to the -post. There was none for Madame de Volanges: but I send one to Monsieur -which was for M. le Président: it seemed to me that this should be the -most interesting. There was one also for Madame de Rosemonde; but I -imagined that Monsieur could always see that when he wished, and I let -it go. For the rest, Monsieur is sure to know everything, since Madame -la Présidente has written to him also. I shall in the future obtain -all those which Monsieur desires; for it is Mademoiselle Julie, almost -every day, who gives them to the servants, and she has assured me that, -out of friendship for me, and for Monsieur too, she will gladly do what -I want. - -She did not even want the money which I offered her: but I feel sure -that Monsieur would like to make her some little present; and if this -is his wish, and he is willing to charge me with it, I shall easily -find out what will give her pleasure. - -I hope that Monsieur will not think that I have shown any negligence -in his service, and I have set my heart on justifying myself against -the reproaches he makes me. If I did not know of Madame la Présidente’s -departure, it was, on the contrary, my zeal in Monsieur’s service which -was the cause, since it was that which made me start at three o’clock -in the morning; which was the reason that I did not see Mademoiselle -Julie the night before, as usual, having gone to Tournebride to sleep, -so that I might not have to arouse the _château_. - -As for the reproach Monsieur makes me of being often without money; -first, it is because I like to keep myself decent, as Monsieur may see; -and then one must maintain the honour of the coat one wears: I know, -indeed, that I ought, perhaps, to save a little for the future; but I -trust entirely to the generosity of Monsieur, who is so good a master. - -As for entering the service of Madame de Tourvel whilst remaining in -that of Monsieur, I beg that Monsieur will not require this of me. It -was very different with Madame la Duchesse; but certainly I would not -wear a livery, and a livery of the robe no less, after having had the -honour of being Monsieur’s _chasseur_. In every other way, Monsieur may -dispose of him who has the honour to remain, with as much affection as -respect, his most humble servitor. - - ROUX AZOLAN, _chasseur_. - - Paris, 5th October, 17**, at eleven o’clock at night. - - - - -LETTER THE HUNDRED AND EIGHTH - -THE PRÉSIDENTE DE TOURVEL TO MADAME DE ROSEMONDE - - -O MY indulgent mother, how many thanks I have to render you, and what -need I had of your letter! I have read it again and again; I cannot put -it away from me. I owe to it the few less painful moments I have spent -since my departure. How good you are! Prudence and virtue know then how -to compassionate weakness! You take pity on my ills! Ah, if you knew -them! ... they are terrible. I thought I had experienced the pains of -love; but the inexpressible torment, that which one must have felt to -have any idea of it, is to be separated from the object of one’s love, -to be separated for ever!... Yes, the pain which crushes me to-day will -return to-morrow, the day after, all my life! My God, how young I am -still, and how long a time I have to suffer! - -To be one’s self the architect of one’s own misery; to tear out one’s -heart with one’s own hands; and, whilst suffering these insupportable -sorrows, to feel at each instant that one can make them cease with a -word, and that this word is a crime! Ah, my friend!... - -When I adopted this painful course, and separated myself from him, -I hoped that absence would augment my courage and my strength: how -greatly I was deceived! It seems, on the contrary, as though it had -completed the work of destruction. I had more to struggle against, -’tis true: but, even while resisting, all was not privation; at least -I sometimes saw him; often even, without daring to direct my eyes -towards him, I felt his own were fixed on me. Yes, my friend, I felt -them; it seemed as though they warmed my soul; and without passing -through my eyes, they none the less arrived at my heart. Now, in my -grievous solitude, isolated from all that is dear to me, closeted with -my misfortune, every moment of my sorrowful existence is marked by my -tears, and nothing sweetens its bitterness; no consolation is mingled -with my sacrifices; and those I have thus far made have only served to -render more dolorous those which are left to make. - -Yesterday again, I had a lively feeling of this. Amongst the letters -they brought me, there was one from him; they were still two paces off -from me when I recognized it amongst the rest. I rose involuntarily, -I trembled, I could hardly hide my emotion; and this state was not -altogether unpleasant. A moment later, finding myself alone, this -deceitful sweetness soon vanished, and left me but one sacrifice the -more to make. Could I actually open this letter, which, however, I -burned to read? In the fatality which pursues me, the consolations -which seem to present themselves do nothing, on the contrary, but -impose fresh privations; and those become crueller still from the -thought that M. de Valmont shares them. - -There it is at last, that name which so constantly fills my mind, and -which it costs me so much to write; the sort of reproach you make me -really alarmed me. I beg you to believe that a false shame has not -altered my confidence in you; and why should I fear to name him? Ah, I -blush for my sentiments, but not for the object which causes them! Who -other than he is worthy to inspire them? However, I know not why, this -name does not come naturally to my pen; and, even this time, I had need -of reflexion to write it. I return to him. - -You tell me that he seemed to you _keenly grieved at my departure_. -What, then, did he do? What did he say? Did he speak of returning to -Paris? I beg you to dissuade him as much as you can. If he has judged -me aright, he cannot bear me any ill-will for this step: but he must -feel also that it is a course from which there is no return. One of -my greatest torments is not to know what he thinks. I have still his -letter there ... but you are surely of my opinion that I ought not to -open it. - -It is only through you, my indulgent friend, that I can feel myself -not entirely separated from him. I would not abuse your kindness; I -understand, perfectly, that your letters cannot be long ones: but you -will not deny your child two words; one to sustain her courage, and the -other to console her. Adieu, my venerable friend. - - Paris, 5th October, 17**. - - - - -LETTER THE HUNDRED AND NINTH - -CÉCILE VOLANGES TO THE MARQUISE DE MERTEUIL - - -IT is only to-day, Madame, that I have given M. de Valmont the letter -which you have done me the honour to write me. I kept it for four days, -in spite of the alarm which I often felt lest it should be found; but I -concealed it very carefully; and, when my grief once more seized me, I -shut myself up to reperuse it. - -I quite see that what I believed to be so great a misfortune is hardly -one at all; and I must confess that there is certainly pleasure in -it: so much so that I hardly grieve about it any more. It is only the -thought of Danceny which still sometimes torments me. But there are -already moments when I do not think of him at all! Moreover it is true -that M. de Valmont is mighty amiable! - -I was reconciled with him two days ago: it was very easy for me; for I -had but said two words to him, when he told me that, if I had anything -to say to him, he would come to my chamber in the evening, and I only -had to answer that I was very willing. And then, as soon as he had -come there, he seemed no more vexed than if I had never done anything -to him. He did not scold me till afterwards, and then very gently; and -it was in a manner ... just like you; which proved to me that he also -had much friendship for me. I should not know how to tell you all the -odd things he related to me, and which I never should have believed, -particularly about Mamma. You would give me much pleasure by telling -me if it is all true. What is very sure is that I could not restrain -my laughter; so that once I burst out laughing, which gave us a mighty -fright: for Mamma might have heard; and if she had come to see, what -would have become of me? I am sure she would have sent me to the -convent that very moment. - -As we must be prudent, and as M. de Valmont has told me himself that -he would not risk compromising me for anything in the world, we have -agreed that henceforward he should only come to open the door, and that -we should go to his room. In that, there is nothing to fear; I have -already been there, yesterday, and even now, while I write to you, I am -again expecting him to come. Now, Madame, I hope you will not scold me -any more. - -There is one thing, however, which has greatly surprised me in your -letter; it is what you tell me against the time when I am married, -with regard to Danceny and M. de Valmont. I fancy that one day, at the -Opera, you told me, on the contrary, that, once married, I could only -love my husband, and that I should even have to forget Danceny: for -that matter, I may have misunderstood you, and I would far rather have -it different, as now I shall not be so much afraid of the time for my -marriage. I even desire it, since I shall have more liberty; and I hope -then that I shall be able to arrange in such a fashion that I need only -think of Danceny. I feel sure that I shall never be really happy except -with him: for the idea of him always torments me now, and I have no -happiness except when I succeed in not thinking of him, which is very -difficult; and, as soon as I think of him, I at once become sad again. - -What consoles me a little is that you assure me Danceny will love me -the more for this: but are you quite certain?... Oh, yes, you would not -deceive me! It is amusing, however, that it is Danceny I love, and that -M. de Valmont.... But, as you say, perhaps it is fortunate! Well, we -shall see. - -I understood none too well what you said about my fashion of writing. -It seems to me that Danceny finds my letters good as they are. I quite -feel, however, that I ought to tell him nothing of what passes with M. -de Valmont: thus you have no reason to be afraid. - -Mamma has not yet spoken to me of my marriage: but let her do so; when -she speaks to me of it, since it is to entrap me, I promise you I shall -know how to lie. - -Adieu, my dear, kind friend; I thank you mightily, and I promise you I -will never forget all your kindnesses to me. I must finish now; it is -near one o’clock; so M. de Valmont cannot be long now. - - At the Château de ..., 10th October, 17**. - - - - -LETTER THE HUNDRED AND TENTH - -THE VICOMTE DE VALMONT TO THE MARQUISE DE MERTEUIL - - -“_Powers of Heaven! I had a soul for sorrow, grant me one now for -felicity._”[5] It is the tender Saint-Preux, I think, who thus -expresses himself. Better balanced than he, I possess these two -existences at once. Yes, my friend, I am at the same time most happy -and most miserable; and since you have my entire confidence, I owe you -the double relation of my pleasures and my pains. - -Know then that my ungrateful Puritan treats me ever with the same -rigour. I am at the fourth letter which has been returned. Perhaps I am -wrong to call it the fourth; for, having excellently well divined, on -the return of the first, that it would be followed by many others, and -being unwilling thus to waste my time, I adopted the course of turning -my complaints into commonplaces, and putting no date: and, since the -second post, it is always the same letter which comes and goes; I -merely change the envelope. If my fair one ends as ordinarily end the -fair, and softens, if only from lassitude, she will keep the missive -at last; and it will be time enough then to pick up the threads. You -see that, with this new manner of correspondence, I cannot be perfectly -well informed. - -I have discovered, however, that the fickle creature has changed her -confidant: at least, I have made sure that, since her departure from -the _château_, no letter has come for Madame de Volanges, whilst there -have been two for the old Rosemonde; and, as the latter says nothing -to us of them, as she no longer opens her mouth on the subject of -_her dearest fair_, of whom previously she never ceased to speak, I -concluded that it was she who had her confidence. I presume that, on -one side, the need of speaking of me and, on the other, a little shame -at returning with Madame de Volanges to the subject of a sentiment so -long disavowed have caused this great revolution. I fear that I have -lost by the change: for, the older women grow, the more crabbed and -severe do they become. The first would have told her far more ill of -me: but the latter will say more of love; and the sensitive prude has -far more fear of the sentiment than of the person. - -The only means of getting at the facts, is, as you see, to intercept -the clandestine correspondence. I have already sent the order to my -_chasseur_; and I am daily awaiting its execution. So far, I can do -nothing except at random: thus, for the last week, I run my mind -in vain over all recognized means, all those in the novels and in -my private recollections; I can find none which befits either the -circumstances of the adventure or the character of the heroine. The -difficulty would not be to present myself before her, even in the -night, nor again to induce her slumber, and make of her a new Clarissa: -but, after more than two months of care and trouble, to have recourse -to means which are foreign to me! To follow slavishly in the tracks -of others, and triumph without glory!... No, she shall not have _the -pleasures of vice and the honours of virtue_.[6] ’Tis not enough for -me to possess her, I wish her to give herself. Now, for that, I need -not only to penetrate to her presence, but to reach her by her own -consent; to find her alone and with the intention of listening to me; -above all, to close her eyes as to the danger; for if she sees it, she -will know how to surmount it or to die. But the more clearly I see what -I need to do, the more difficult do I find its execution; and though -it should induce you to laugh at me once more, I will confess that -my embarrassment is enhanced in proportion to the extent to which it -occupies me. - -My brain would reel, I think, were it not for the lucky distraction -which our common pupil affords me; I owe it to her that I have still -something else to do than compose elegies. Would you believe that this -little girl had taken such fright that three whole days passed before -your letter produced its effect? ’Tis thus that one false idea can -spoil the most fortunate nature! In short, it was not until Saturday -that she came and hovered round me, and stammered out a few words, and -those pronounced in so low a voice, so stifled with shame, that it was -impossible to hear them. But the blush which accompanied them made me -guess their sense. Thus far, I had retained my pride: but, subdued by -so pleasant a repentance, I consented to promise a visit to the fair -penitent that same evening; and this grace on my part was received with -all the gratitude that so great a condescension demanded. - -As I never lose sight either of your projects or my own, I resolved -to profit by this occasion to gain a just estimate of the child’s -value, and also to accelerate her education. But to pursue this work -with greater freedom, I found it necessary to change the place of our -_rendez-vous_; for a simple closet, which separates your pupil’s room -from that of her mother, could not inspire sufficient security to allow -her to reveal herself at her ease. I promised myself then _innocently_ -to make some noise, which would cause her enough alarm to induce her, -for the future, to seek a safer asylum; this trouble she spared me -again. - -The little person loves laughter; and to promote her gaiety, I -bethought myself, during our _entr’actes_, to relate to her all the -scandalous anecdotes which occurred to my mind; and, so as to render -them more piquant and better to fix her attention, I attributed -them all to her mother, whom I was thus pleased to bedaub with vice -and ridicule. It was not without motive that I made this choice; it -encouraged my timid school-girl better than anything else, and I -inspired her, at the same time, with the most profound contempt for -her mother. I have long remarked that, if it be not always necessary -to employ this means to seduce a young girl, it is indispensable, and -often even the most efficacious, when one wishes to deprave her; for -she who does not respect her mother will not respect herself: a moral -truth which I hold to be so useful that I have been glad indeed to have -furnished an example in support of the precept. - -Meanwhile, your pupil, who had no thought of morals, was stifling her -laughter every moment; finally, she had almost thought to have burst -out with it. I had no difficulty in persuading her that she had made _a -terrible noise_. I feigned a huge fright, which she easily shared. That -she might the better remember it, I did not give way to the pleasure -of a reappearance, and left her alone, three hours earlier than was -customary; we agreed, therefore, on separating, that, from the morrow, -it was in my room that we should meet. - -I have already twice received her there; and in this short period the -scholar has become almost as learned as the master. Yes, in truth, I -have taught her everything, even to complaisances! I have only made an -exception of precautions. - -Occupied thus all night, I gain thereby in that I sleep a great portion -of the day; and as the actual society of the _château_ has nothing to -attract me, I hardly appear in the _salon_ for an hour during the day. -To-day, I even adopted the course of eating in my room, and I do not -intend to leave it again, except for short walks. These eccentricities -pass on the ground of my health. I have declared that I am _worn out -with vapours_; I have also announced a little fever. It cost me no more -than to speak in a slow and faint voice. As for the alteration in my -face, trust your pupil for that. “_Love will provide._”[7] - -I employ my leisure in meditating means of recovering over my ingrate -the advantages I have lost; and also in composing a sort of catechism -of debauch for the use of my scholar. I amuse myself by mentioning -nothing except by its technical name; and I laugh in advance at the -interesting conversation which this ought to furnish between Gercourt -and herself on the first night of their marriage. Nothing could be more -amusing than the ingenuity with which she makes use already of the -little she knows of this tongue! She has no conception that one can -speak differently. This child is really seductive! The contrast of -naive candour with the language of effrontery does not fail to have an -effect; and, I know not why, but it is only _bizarre_ things which give -me any longer pleasure. - -Perhaps, I am abandoning myself overmuch to this, since I am -compromising by it both my time and my health: but I hope that my -feigned malady, besides that it will save me from the _ennui_ of the -drawing-room, will, perhaps, be of some use to me with the rigid -Puritan, whose ferocious virtue is none the less allied with soft -sensibility. I doubt not but that she is already informed of this -mighty event, and I have a great desire to know what she thinks of it; -all the more so in that I will wager she does not fail to attribute -the honour of it to herself. I shall regulate the state of my health -according to the impression which it makes upon her. - -Here you are, my fair friend, as fully acquainted with my affairs as I -am myself. I hope to have, shortly, more interesting news to tell you; -and I beg you to believe that, in the pleasure which I promise myself, -I count for much the reward which I expect from you. - - At the Château de ..., 11th October, 17**. - - - - -LETTER THE HUNDRED AND ELEVENTH - -THE COMTE DE GERCOURT TO MADAME DE VOLANGES - - -ALL seems to be quiet in this country, Madame; and we expect, from day -to day, the permission to return to France. I hope you will not doubt -that I have always the same eagerness to betake myself thither, and to -tie there the knots which are to unite me to you and to Mademoiselle de -Volanges. Meanwhile, M. le Duc de ***, my cousin, to whom, as you know, -I am under so many obligations, has just informed me of his recall from -Naples. He tells me that he intends to pass through Rome, and to see, -on his road, that part of Italy with which he is not yet acquainted. -He begs me to accompany him on this journey, which will take about six -weeks or two months. I do not hide from you that it would be agreeable -to me to profit by this opportunity; feeling sure that, once married, -I shall with difficulty find the time for other absences than those -which my service demands. Perhaps, also, it would be more proper, to -wait till winter for the wedding, since it will not be till then that -all my kinsmen will be assembled in Paris; and notably M. le Marquis -de ***, to whom I owe my hope of belonging to you. In spite of these -considerations, my plans in this respect will be entirely subordinate -to your own; and if you should have the slightest preference for your -first arrangements, I am ready to abandon mine. I beg you only to let -me know, as early as possible, your intentions on this subject. I will -await your reply here, and it alone shall regulate my action. - -I am with respect, Madame, and with all the sentiments that befit a -son, your most humble, etc. - - The Comte DE GERCOURT. - - Bastia, 10th October, 17**. - - - - -LETTER THE HUNDRED AND TWELFTH - -MADAME DE ROSEMONDE TO THE PRÉSIDENTE DE TOURVEL - -(Dictated) - - -I HAVE only this instant received, my dearest fair, your letter of the -11th,[8] and the gentle reproaches which it contains. Confess that -you were quite disposed to make one more; and that, if you had not -recollected that you were _my daughter_, you would have really scolded -me. Yet you would have been very unjust! It was the desire and hope I -had of being able to reply to you myself which made me postpone this -from day to day; and you see that, even to-day, I am obliged to borrow -the hand of my maid. My wretched rheumatism has come back again; it -has taken up its abode this time in the right arm, and I am absolutely -crippled. That is what it is, young and fresh as you are, to have so -old a friend! One suffers for those incongruities. - -As soon as my pains give me a little respite, I promise to have a long -talk with you. In the meantime, I merely tell you that I have received -your two letters; that they would have redoubled, had that been -possible, my tender friendship for you; and that I shall never cease to -take a very lively interest in all that concerns you. - -My nephew too is somewhat indisposed, but in no danger, nor is there -need for the least anxiety; it is a slight indisposition which, as it -appears to me, affects his humour more than his health. We see hardly -anything of him now. - -His retreat and your departure do not add to the gaiety of our little -circle. The little Volanges, especially, misses you furiously, and -yawns consumedly all day long. Since the last few days, in particular, -she has done us the honour of falling into a profound sleep every -afternoon. - -Adieu, my dearest fair; I am always your very good friend, your mamma, -your sister even, did my great age permit that title. In short, I am -attached to you by all the most affectionate sentiments. - - _Signed_: ADELAIDE, for Madame DE ROSEMONDE. - - At the Château de ..., 14th October, 17**. - - - - -LETTER THE HUNDRED AND THIRTEENTH - -THE MARQUISE DE MERTEUIL TO THE VICOMTE DE VALMONT - - -I THINK I ought to warn you, Vicomte, that they are beginning to busy -themselves with you in Paris; your absence is remarked there, and they -are already divining the cause. I was yesterday at a very numerous -supper; it was said positively that you were retained in the country -by an unhappy and romantic love: joy was immediately depicted on the -faces of all those envious of your success, and of all the women whom -you have neglected. If you are advised by me, you will not let these -dangerous rumours acquire credit, but will come at once to destroy them -by your presence. - -Remember that, if you once allow the idea that you are irresistible to -be lost, you will soon find that it will, as a matter of fact, become -easier to resist you; that your rivals, too, will lose their respect -for you, and dare to combat you: for which of them does not believe -himself stronger than virtue? Reflect above all that, in the multitude -of women whom you have advertised, all those whom you have not had -will endeavour to undeceive the public, whilst the others will exert -themselves to hoodwink it. In short, you must expect to be appreciated, -perhaps, as much below your value, as you have been, hitherto, beyond -it. - -Come back, then, Vicomte, and do not sacrifice your reputation to a -puerile caprice. You have done all we wished with the little Volanges; -and as for your Présidente, it is not, apparently, by remaining ten -leagues away from her, that you will get over your fantasy. Do you -think she will come to fetch you? Perhaps she has already ceased to -dream of you, or is only so far occupied with you as to congratulate -herself on having humiliated you. At any rate, here you will be able to -find some opportunity of a brilliant reappearance: and you have need of -one; and even if you insist on your ridiculous adventure, I do not see -how your return can hurt it ... on the contrary. - -In effect, if your Présidente _adores you_, as you have so often -told me and said so little to prove, her sole consolation, her sole -pleasure now, must be to talk of you, and to know what you are doing, -what you are saying, what you are thinking, even the slightest detail -which concerns you. These trifles increase in value according to the -extent of the privations one endures. They are the crumbs that fall -from the rich man’s table: he disdains them; but the poor man collects -them greedily. Now the poor Présidente gathers up all these crumbs at -present; and the more she has, the less will be her haste to abandon -herself to her appetite for the rest. - -Moreover, since you know her confidant, you cannot doubt but that -each of her letters contains at least one little sermon, and all that -she thinks befitting “_to corroborate her prudence and fortify her -virtue_.”[9] Why, then, leave to the one resources to defend herself, -to the other the means of injuring you? - -It is not that I am at all of your opinion as to the loss you believe -you have sustained by the change of confidant. In the first place, -Madame de Volanges hates you, and hatred is always clearer-sighted and -more ingenious than friendship. All the virtue of your old aunt will -not persuade her to speak ill of her dear nephew, for virtue also has -its weaknesses. Next, your fears depend upon a consideration which is -absolutely false. - -It is not true that _the older women grow, the more crabbed and severe -they become_. It is betwixt the ages of forty and fifty that their -despair at the sight of their fading faces, their rage at feeling -obliged to abandon their pretensions and the pleasures to which they -still cling, render almost all women scolds and shrews. They need -this long interval to make the great sacrifice in its entirety; but, -as soon as it is consummated, all distribute themselves into two -classes. The most numerous, that of the women who have had nothing -in their favour save their faces and youth, falls into an imbecile -apathy, and only issues from this for the sake of play or of a few -practices of devotion; this kind is always tiresome, often fond of -scolding, sometimes a little mischievous, but rarely malicious. One -cannot tell, either, whether these women are, or are not, severe: -without ideas, without an existence, they repeat indifferently, and -without understanding, all that they hear said, and in themselves -remain absolutely null. The other class, far rarer, but really -precious, is that of the women who, having possessed character, and -not having neglected to cultivate their reason, know how to create an -existence for themselves when that of nature fails them, and adopt the -plan of transferring to their minds the adornments which they had -before employed for their faces. These last have, as a rule, a very -sound judgment and an intelligence at once solid, gay, and gracious. -They replace seductive charms by ingratiating kindness, and even by -sprightliness, the charm of which increases in proportion to their age: -it is thus that they succeed, after a fashion, in attracting youth by -making themselves loved by it. But then, far from being, as you say, -_crabbed and severe_, the habit of indulgence, their long reflexions -upon human frailty, and, above all, the memories of their youth, -through which alone they have a hold on life, would rather place them, -perhaps too much, on the side of complaisance. - -What I may say to you, finally, is that, having always sought out old -women, the utility of whose support I recognized at an early age, I -have encountered several amongst them to whom I was led as much by -inclination as interest. I stop there: for nowadays, when you take fire -so quickly and so morally, I should be afraid lest you fell suddenly in -love with your aged aunt, and buried yourself with her in the tomb in -which you have already lived so long. I resume then. - -In spite of the state of enchantment in which you seem to be with your -little school-girl, I cannot believe that she counts at all in your -projects. You found her to your hand, you took her: well and good! But -it cannot be that your fancy enters into it. To tell the truth, it is -not even a complete pleasure: you possess absolutely nothing beyond -her person! I do not speak of her heart, in which I do not doubt you -take not the slightest interest; but you do not even fill her head. I -know not whether you have perceived it, but, for myself, I have the -proof of it in the last letter she sent me;[10] I send it you, that -you may judge of it. Observe that when she speaks of you, it is always -as _M. de Valmont_; that all her ideas, even those which you give rise -to, always end in Danceny; and she does not call him Monsieur, it is -plain _Danceny_ always. Thereby, she singles him out from all the rest; -and, even whilst abandoning herself to you, she is familiar only with -him. If such a conquest seems to you _seductive_, if the pleasures she -gives _attach you_, you are assuredly modest and not hard to please! -That you should retain her, I consent to that; it even forms part of my -projects. But it seems to me that it is not worth putting yourself to -a quarter of an hour’s inconvenience; also, that you had best acquire -some dominion over her, and not allow her, for instance, to approach -Danceny until after you have made her forget him a little more. - -Before I cease to occupy myself with you, and come to myself, I wish to -tell you again that this means of sickness, which you announce it is -your resolve to employ, is well known and mighty stale. Truly, Vicomte, -you have no invention! I myself repeat myself sometimes, as you are -about to see; but I try to save myself by the details and, above all, I -am justified by success. I am going to try another still, and run after -a new adventure. I admit that it will not have the merit of difficulty; -but at least it will be a distraction, and I am perishing with _ennui_. - -I know not why, but, since the adventure of Prévan, Belleroche has -become insupportable. He has redoubled his attention, his tenderness, -his _veneration_ to such a degree that I can no longer submit to it. -His anger seemed to me, at the outset, amusing; it was very necessary, -however, to calm it, for to let him go on would have been to compromise -myself; and there was no means of making him listen to reason. I -adopted the course then of showing him more love, in order to make -an end of it more easily: but he has taken this seriously, and ever -since surfeits me with his eternal delight. I notice, especially, the -insulting trust which he shews in me, and the security with which he -considers me as his for ever. I am really humiliated by it. He must -rate me lightly indeed, if he believes he has worth enough to make me -constant! Did he not tell me recently that I could never have loved -anyone but himself? Oh, for the moment I had need of all my prudence -not to undeceive him on the spot, by telling him how matters stood. -A merry gentleman, forsooth, to think he has exclusive rights! I -admit that he is well made and of a fair enough countenance; but, all -considered, he is, in fact, but a journeyman love-maker. In short, the -moment has come when we must separate. - -I have been attempting this for the last fortnight, and have employed, -in turn, coldness, caprice, ill-humour, and quarrels; but the tenacious -personage is not made thus to lose his hold: a more violent method -must be adopted therefore; consequently, I am taking him to my -country-place. We leave the day after to-morrow. With us there will -only be a few uninterested persons, by no means clear-sighted, and we -shall have almost as much liberty as if we were there alone. There -I will surfeit him with love and caresses to such a degree, we will -live there so entirely for one another, that I wager he will be more -desirous than I am myself for the end of this expedition, which he -considers so great a piece of good fortune; and, if he does not return -more weary of me than I am of him, tell me that I know no more than -you, and I will admit it. - -My pretext for this sort of retreat is that I wish to busy myself -exclusively with my great law-suit, which, in fact, will be at last -decided at the commencement of the winter. I am very glad of it; for -it is really disagreeable to have one’s whole fortune hanging thus in -the air. ’Tis not that I am at all anxious as to the result; in the -first place, I am in the right, all my lawyers assure me so; and, even -if I were not, I should be maladroit indeed if I knew not how to gain -a suit where my only adversaries are minors, still of immature years, -and their aged guardian! As nothing, however, should be neglected in a -matter of so great importance, I shall have two advocates on my side. -Does not this expedition seem to you gay? However, if it serves me to -win my suit and rid myself of Belleroche, I shall not think the time -wasted. - -Now, Vicomte, divine his successor: I give you a hundred guesses. But -what is the use? Do I not know that you never guess anything? Well -then, it is Danceny! You are astonished, are you not? For after all I -am not yet reduced to the education of children! But this one deserves -to form an exception; he has but the graces of youth, and not its -frivolity. His great reserve in society is well calculated to remove -all suspicion, and one finds him only the more amiable, when he lets -himself go in a _tête-à-tête_. Not that I have yet had one with him on -my own account, I am still no more than his confidant; but beneath this -veil of friendship, I believe I discern a very lively taste for me, -and I feel that I am conceiving a great one for him. It were a mighty -pity that so much wit and delicacy should be debased and wasted upon -that little fool of a Volanges! I hope he is deceived in believing that -he loves her: she so little deserves it! ’Tis not that I am jealous -of her; it is because it would be a crime, and I would save Danceny. -I beg you then, Vicomte, to take precautions that he may not approach -_his Cécile_ (as he still has the bad habit of calling her). A first -fancy has always more sway than one thinks; and I should feel sure of -nothing, were he to see her again at present, especially during my -absence. On my return, I charge myself with everything, and answer for -the result. - -I thought seriously of taking the young man with me: but, as usual, -I have made a sacrifice to my prudence; moreover I should have been -afraid lest he discovered anything between Belleroche and myself, and -I should be in despair if he were to have the least idea of what was -passing. I would at least offer myself to his imagination as pure and -spotless, such indeed as one should be, to be really worthy of him. - - Paris, 15th October, 17**. - - - - -LETTER THE HUNDRED AND FOURTEENTH - -THE PRÉSIDENTE DE TOURVEL TO MADAME DE ROSEMONDE - - -MY dear friend, I yield to the impulse of my grave anxiety; and without -knowing whether you will be able to reply to me, I cannot refrain from -questioning you. The condition of M. de Valmont, which you tell me is -_not dangerous_, does not leave me as much confidence as you appear to -have. It not rarely happens that melancholy and disgust with the world -are the symptoms and precursors of some grave illness; the sufferings -of the body, like those of the mind, make us desirous of solitude; and -often we reproach with ill-humour him who should merely be pitied for -his pain. - -It seems to me that he ought at least to consult someone. How is it -that you, who are ill yourself, have not a doctor by your side? My own, -whom I have seen this morning, and whom, I do not conceal from you, I -have indirectly consulted, is of opinion that, in persons naturally -active, this sort of sudden apathy should never be neglected; and, as -he said besides, sicknesses that are not taken in time no longer yield -to treatment. Why let one who is so dear to you incur this risk? - -What enhances my anxiety is that I have received no news of him for -four days. My God! Are you not deceiving me as to his condition? Why -should he have suddenly ceased to write? If it were only the effect -of my obstinacy in returning his letters to him, I think he would -have adopted this course sooner. In short, although I do not believe -in presentiments, I have been, for some days past, in a state of -gloom which alarms me. Ah, perhaps I am on the eve of the greatest of -misfortunes! - -You would not believe, and I am ashamed to tell you, how pained I -am not to receive those same letters which, however, I should still -refuse to read. I was at least sure that he was thinking of me, and I -saw something which came from him! I did not open those letters, but I -wept when I looked at them: my tears were sweeter and more easy, and -they alone partially dissipated the customary depression in which I -live since my return. I conjure you, my indulgent friend, write to me -yourself as soon as you are able, and, in the meanwhile, have your news -and his sent to me daily. - -I perceive that I have hardly said a word as to yourself, but you know -my sentiments, my unlimited attachment, my tender gratitude for your -sensitive friendship; you will pardon my trouble, my mortal sufferings, -the terrible torture of having to dread calamities of which I am, -perhaps, the cause. Great Heaven! this agonizing idea pursues me and -rends my heart: this misfortune was lacking me, and I feel that I was -born to experience all. - -Adieu, my dear friend: love me, pity me. Shall I have a letter from you -to-day? - - Paris, 16th October, 17**. - - - - -LETTER THE HUNDRED AND FIFTEENTH - -THE VICOMTE DE VALMONT TO THE MARQUISE DE MERTEUIL - - -IT is an incredible thing, my lovely friend, how easily, when two -people are separated, they cease to understand one another. As long as -I was near you, we had never but one same feeling, one like fashion of -seeing things; and, because for nearly three months I have ceased to -see you, we are no longer of the same opinion upon anything. Which of -us two is wrong? You would certainly not hesitate about your reply: but -I, wiser or more polite, do not decide. I am only going to answer your -letter, and continue to expound my conduct. - -To begin with, I thank you for the notice you give me of the rumours -which are current about me; but I am not yet uneasy: I believe I am -certain to have something soon wherewith to make them cease. Reassure -yourself; I shall reappear in the world only more celebrated than ever, -and always more worthy of you. - -I hope that even the adventure of the little Volanges will be counted -for something to me, although you appear to make so little of it: as -though it were nothing to carry off, in one evening, a young girl from -her cherished lover; to make use of her afterwards as much as one -wishes, and absolutely as one’s own property, without any further -pother; to obtain from her favours which one does not even dare demand -from all the wenches whose trade it is; and this without in the least -distracting her from her tender love; without rendering her inconstant -or even unfaithful: for, as you say, I do not even fill her head! So -that, when my fantasy has passed, I shall restore her to the arms of -her lover, so to speak, without her having perceived anything. Pray, -is this a very ordinary achievement? And then, believe me, once issued -from my hands, the principles which I am imparting to her will not fail -to develop; and I predict that the shy scholar will soon soar upon a -flight fitting to do honour to her master. - -If, nevertheless, you prefer the heroic manner, I will shew you the -Présidente, that exemplary model of all the virtues! respected even by -our veriest libertines! of such a virtue that one had given up even the -thought of attacking her! I will show her, I say, forgetting her duties -and her virtue, sacrificing her reputation and two years of prudence, -to run after the happiness of pleasing me, to intoxicate herself with -that of loving me, finding herself sufficiently compensated for such -sacrifices by a word, a glance, things which she will not even always -obtain. I will do more, I will leave her; and either I do not know this -woman, or she will not give me a successor. She will resist her need -of consolation, the habit of pleasure, even the desire of vengeance. -In short, she will have existed only for me; and, be her career short -or long, I alone shall have opened and shut the barrier. Once having -attained this triumph, I will say to my rivals: Behold my handiwork, -and seek throughout the century for a second example! - -You will ask me, whence comes to-day this excessive assurance? It is -because for the last week I have been in my fair one’s confidence; she -does not tell me her secrets, but I surprise them. Two letters from her -to Madame de Rosemonde have sufficiently instructed me, and I shall -only read the others out of curiosity. I require absolutely nothing -else to ensure success than to approach her, and I have found the -means. I shall instantly employ them. - -You are curious, I believe?... But no, to punish you for not believing -in my inventions, you shall not know them. Once for all, if you had -your deserts, I should withdraw my confidence from you, at least in -this adventure; indeed, were it not for the sweet price you have set -on my success, I should speak of it no further to you. You see that -I am vexed. However, in the hope that you will correct yourself, I -am willing to stop with this slight punishment; and, once more grown -indulgent, will forget my rash projects for a moment, to discuss your -own with you. - -There you are then, in the country, which is as tedious as sentiment -and as sad as constancy! And that poor Belleroche! You are not -contented with making him drink the waters of oblivion, you must also -put him to the torture! How does he like it? Does he bear up well -beneath the nausea of love? I would give much to see him become only -the more enamoured; I am curious to see what more efficacious remedy -you would succeed in finding. I pity you, truly, that you have been -compelled to have recourse to that. Once only in my life have I made -love from calculation. I had certainly an excellent reason, since it -was to the Comtesse de ***; and twenty times I was tempted to say, -whilst in her arms, “Madame, I renounce the place I am soliciting; -permit me to retire from that which I occupy.” Wherefore, of all the -women I have had, she is the only one of whom it gives me real pleasure -to speak ill. - -As for your own motive, I find it, to tell the truth, of a rare -absurdity; and you were right in believing I should never guess the -successor. What! It is for Danceny you are taking all this trouble! -Oh, my dear friend, leave him to adore _his virtuous Cécile_, and do -not compromise yourself at these childish games. Leave boys to form -themselves in their _nurses’_ hands, or to play with school-girls _at -little innocent games_. How can you burden yourself with a novice, who -will know neither how to take you nor how to leave you, and with whom -all will have to be done by you! I tell you, seriously, I disapprove of -this choice; and however secret it may remain, it will humiliate you at -least in my eyes and in your own conscience. - -You have taken, you say, a great fancy to him: nay, nay, you surely -make a mistake; and I even believe I have found the source of your -error. This fine disgust with Belleroche came to you at a time of -famine; and, as Paris offered you no choice, your ideas, which are -always too volatile, turned towards the first object they encountered. -But reflect: on your return you will be able to choose between a -thousand; and if, in fine, you dread the inaction in which you risk -falling if you delay, I offer myself to you to amuse your leisure. - -By the time of your arrival, my great affairs will be terminated in -some fashion or other; and assuredly neither the little Volanges nor -the Présidente herself will occupy me so much then as to prevent me -from being with you as much as you desire. Perhaps, even, between now -and then, I shall have already restored the little girl into the -hands of her discreet lover. Without admitting, whatever you may say, -that it is not a pleasure which _attaches_, as it is my intention that -she should retain all her life a superior notion of me to that of all -other men, I have adopted a tone with her, which I could not keep up -long without injuring my health; and, from henceforth, I am only drawn -to her by the care which one owes to family affairs.... - -[Illustration: Mle. Gérard del. Pauquet sculp.] - -You do not understand me?... The fact is that I am awaiting a second -period to confirm my hope, and to assure me that I have thoroughly -succeeded in my projects. Yes, my lovely friend, I have already a first -promise that the husband of my pupil will not run the risk of dying -without posterity; and that the head of the house of Gercourt will -be in future only a cadet of that of Valmont. But let me finish, at -my fantasy, this adventure which I only undertook at your entreaty. -Remember that, if you render Danceny inconstant, you destroy all the -raciness of the story. Consider, finally, that offering, as I do, to -serve you, I have, it seems to me, some right to be preferred. - -I count so much on this, that I am not afraid to cross your views, by -endeavouring myself to augment the discreet lover’s tender passion for -the first and worthy object of his choice. Yesterday, having found your -pupil employed in writing to him, after I had first disturbed her at -this sweet occupation for the sake of another, sweeter still, I asked -to see her letter; and as I found it cold and constrained, I made -her feel that it was not thus that she should console her lover, and -persuaded her to write another at my dictation; in which, imitating, -as well as I could, her little prattle, I tried to foster the young -man’s love by a more certain hope. The little person was quite -enchanted, she said, to find herself expressing herself so well; and, -for the future, I am to be charged with the correspondence. What have -I not done for this Danceny? I shall have been at once his friend, his -confidant, his rival and his mistress! Again, at this moment, I am -rendering him the service of saving him from your dangerous chains. -Yes, dangerous without a doubt: for to possess you and lose you is to -buy a moment of happiness with an eternity of regret. Adieu, my lovely -friend; have the courage to dispatch Belleroche as soon as you can. -Leave Danceny alone, and prepare yourself to receive once more, and to -renew to me, the delicious pleasures of our first _liaison_. - -P.S. I congratulate you upon the approaching decision of the great -law-suit. I shall be delighted if this happy event occurs during my -reign. - - At the Château de ..., 19th October, 17**. - - - - -LETTER THE HUNDRED AND SIXTEENTH - -THE CHEVALIER DANCENY TO CÉCILE VOLANGES - - -MADAME DE MERTEUIL left this morning for the country; thus, my charming -Cécile, I am now deprived of the sole pleasure which remained to me -during your absence, that of talking of you to your friend and mine. -For some time past, she has allowed me to give her that title; and -I have profited by it with all the more eagerness because it seemed -to bring me nearer to you. Lord! how amiable this woman is! And with -what a flattering charm she knows how to endow friendship! It seems as -though that sweet sentiment is embellished and fortified in her by all -that she denies to love. If you knew how she loves you, how it pleases -her to hear me speak of you!... ’Tis that, no doubt, which draws me so -much towards her. What happiness it were, to be able to live entirely -for you both, to pass uninterruptedly from the delights of love to -the sweets of friendship, to consecrate all my existence to it, to be -in some measure the point of union of your mutual attachment, and to -feel always that, in occupying myself with the happiness of the one, -I was working equally for that of the other. Love, love dearly, my -charming friend, this adorable woman. Give greater value still to the -attachment I have for her by participating in it. Since I have tasted -the charm of friendship, I am desirous that you should experience it -in your turn. From pleasures which I do not share with you I seem only -to obtain a half enjoyment. Yes, my Cécile, I would fain surround your -heart with all the softest sentiments, so that its every vibration -might give you a sensation of happiness; and I should still feel that I -could never repay you more than a part of the felicity which I should -derive from you. - -Why must it be that these charming projects are only a chimera of -my imagination, and that reality offers me, on the contrary, only -indefinite and dolorous privations? The hope which you had held out to -me of seeing you in the country I see well that I must renounce. I have -no other consolation than that of persuading myself that you do really -find it impossible. And you refrain from telling me this, from grieving -over it with me! Twice already have my complaints on this subject been -left without a reply. Ah! Cécile, Cécile, I do believe that you love me -with all the faculties of your soul; but your soul is not ardent like -my own. Why does it not lie with me to overthrow the obstacles? Why -is it not my interests that have to be considered instead of yours? I -should know how to prove to you that nothing is impossible to love. - -You tell me nothing, either, of the duration of this cruel absence: -here, at least, I should perhaps see you. Your charming eyes would -reanimate my drooping soul; their touching expression would reassure -my heart, which has sometimes need of it. Forgive me, my Cécile; this -fear is not a suspicion. I believe in your love, in your constancy. Ah, -I should be too unhappy, if I were to doubt it. But so many obstacles! -And always renewed! I am sad, my friend, very sad. It seems as though -the departure of Madame de Merteuil had renewed in me the sentiment of -all my woes. - -Adieu, my Cécile; adieu, my beloved. Remember that your lover is -grieving, and that you alone can restore him to happiness. - - Paris, 17th October, 17**. - - - - -LETTER THE HUNDRED AND SEVENTEENTH - -CÉCILE VOLANGES TO THE CHEVALIER DANCENY - -(Dictated by Valmont) - - -Do you think then, my dear friend, that I had any need of scolding -to make me sad, when I know that you grieve? And do you doubt that I -suffer as much as you, at all your sorrows? I even share those which I -cause you knowingly; and I have one more than you when I see that you -do not do me justice. Oh! that is not right! Indeed, I see what vexes -you; it is that, the last two times you asked to come here, I did not -answer you: but was the answer such an easy one to give? Do you suppose -I do not know that what you want is very wicked? And yet, if I have -already so much difficulty in refusing you at a distance, pray, what -would it be if you were here? And then, because I had wished to console -you for a moment, I should be sorry all my life. - -See, I have nothing to conceal from you; here are my reasons, judge for -yourself. I should, perhaps, have done what you wish, had it not been -for what I have told you, the news that this M. de Gercourt, who is -the cause of all my grief, will not arrive yet awhile; and as Mamma, -for some time past, has shown me much more kindness; as I, on my side, -caress her as much as I can, who knows what I may not be able to -obtain from her? And if we could be happy without my having anything to -reproach myself with, would not that be much better? If I am to believe -what I have been often told, men no longer love their wives so much, -if they have loved them overmuch before they were wives. That fear -restrains me even more than the rest. My friend, are you not sure of my -heart, and will there not be always time? - -Listen; I promise you that, though I cannot avoid the misfortune of -marrying M. de Gercourt, whom I hate so much already before I know him, -nothing shall any longer prevent me from being yours as much as I am -able, and even before everything. As I do not care to be loved except -by you, and you must see quite well that, if I do wrong, it is not my -fault, the rest will be just the same to me; provided that you promise -to love me always as much as you do now. But until then, my friend, let -me continue as I am; and ask me no more for a thing which I have good -reasons for declining to do, and which it yet vexes me to refuse you. - -I should be very glad, too, if M. de Valmont were not so urgent for -you; it only serves to make me grieve still more. Oh, you have a very -good friend in him, I assure you! He does everything that you would do -yourself. But adieu, my dear love; it was very late when I began to -write to you, and I have spent part of the night over it. I am going to -bed now, and to make up for the lost time. I embrace you, but do not -scold me any more. - - At the Château de ..., 18th October, 17**. - - - - -LETTER THE HUNDRED AND EIGHTEENTH - -THE CHEVALIER DANCENY TO THE MARQUISE DE MERTEUIL - - -IF I am to believe my almanack, my adorable friend, it is but two days -that you have been absent; but, if I am to believe my heart, it is two -centuries. Now, I have it from yourself, it is always one’s heart that -one should believe; it is therefore quite time then that you should -return, and all your affairs must be more than finished. How can you -expect me to be interested in your law-suit, when, be it lost or won, -I must equally pay the costs by the tedium of your absence? Oh, how -querulous I feel! And how sad it is to have so fair a subject for -ill-humour, but no right to show it! - -Is it not, however, a real infidelity, a black betrayal, to leave your -friend far away from you, after having accustomed him to be unable to -dispense with your presence? In vain will you consult your advocates, -they will find you no justification for this ill-behaviour; and then -those gentry do but talk of reasons, and reasons are not sufficient -answer to sentiments. - -For myself, you have told me so often that it was reason which sent -you on this journey, that I have entirely done with it. I will no -longer listen to it, not even when it tells me to forget you. That -is, however, a most reasonable reason: in fact, it would not be so -difficult as you suppose. It would be sufficient merely to lose the -habit of always thinking of you; and nothing here, I assure you, would -recall you to me. - -Our loveliest women, those who are said to be the most amiable, are yet -so far below you that they could but give a very feeble idea of you. -I think even that, with practised eyes, the more one thought at first -they resembled you, the more difference one would remark afterwards: in -vain their efforts, in vain their display of all they know, they always -fail in being you; and therein, positively, lies the charm. Unhappily, -when the days are so long, and one is unoccupied, one dreams, one -builds castles in the air, one creates one’s chimera; little by -little the imagination is exalted; one would fain beautify one’s -work, one gathers together all that may please, finally one arrives -at perfection; and, as soon as one is there, the portrait recalls the -model; and one is astonished to find that one has but dreamed of you. - -At this very moment, I am again the dupe of an almost similar error. -You will believe, perhaps, that it was in order to occupy myself with -you that I started to write to you? Not at all: it was to distract -myself from you. I had a hundred things to say of which you were not -the object, things which, as you know, interest me very keenly; and it -is from these, nevertheless, that I have been distracted. And since -when, pray, does the charm of friendship divert us from that of love? -Ah, if I were to look closely into the matter, perhaps I should have -a slight reproach to make myself! But hush! Let us forget this little -error, for fear of reverting to it, and let my friend herself ignore -it. - -Why, then, are you not here to reply to me, to lead me back if I go -astray, to talk to me of my Cécile, to enhance, if that be possible, -the happiness I derive from her love by the sweet thought that, in -loving her, I love your friend? Yes, I confess it, the love which she -inspires in me has become even more precious since you have been kind -enough to receive my confidence. I love so much to open my heart to -you, to pour my sentiments unreservedly into yours! It seems to me that -I cherish them the more, when you deign to receive them; and again I -look at you and say to myself: It is in her that all my happiness is -bound up. - -I have nothing new to tell you with regard to my situation. The last -letter I received from _her_ increases and assures my hope, but delays -it still. However, her motives are so tender and so pure that I can -neither blame her for them nor complain. Perhaps you do not understand -too well what I am telling you; but why are you not here? Although one -may say all to one’s friend, one dare not write it. The secrets of -love, especially, are so delicate that one may not let them go thus -upon their _parole_. If one allows them out sometimes, one must none -the less never let them out of sight; one must, as it were, see them -reach their new refuge. Ah, come back then, my adorable friend; you -see how very necessary is your return. Forget, in short, the _thousand -reasons_ which detain you where you are, or teach me to live where you -are not. - -I have the honour to be, etc. - - Paris, 19th October, 17**. - - - - -LETTER THE HUNDRED AND NINETEENTH - -MADAME DE ROSEMONDE TO THE PRÉSIDENTE DE TOURVEL - - -ALTHOUGH I am still suffering greatly, my dearest fair, I am -endeavouring to write to you myself, in order to be able to speak to -you of what interests you. My nephew still keeps up his misanthropy. He -sends every day most regularly to ask after my health; but he has not -come once to enquire for himself, although I have begged him to do so. -Thus I see no more of him than if he were in Paris. I met him to-day, -however, in a place where I little expected him. It was in my chapel, -whither I had gone for the first time since my painful indisposition. -I learned to-day that for the last four days he has gone regularly to -hear mass. God grant that this last! - -When I entered, he came up to me, and congratulated me most -affectionately on the improved state of my health. As mass was -beginning, I cut short the conversation, which I expected to resume -afterwards; but he had disappeared before I could rejoin him. I will -not hide from you that I found him somewhat changed. But, my dearest -fair, do not make me repent of my confidence in your reason, by a too -lively anxiety; and, above all, rest assured that I would rather choose -to pain than deceive you. - -If my nephew continues to keep aloof from me, I will adopt the course, -as soon as I am better, of visiting him in his chamber; and I will -try to penetrate the cause of this singular mania, which, I can well -believe, has something to do with you. I will write and tell you -anything I may find out. Now I take leave of you, as I can no more move -my fingers: besides, if Adelaide knew that I had written, she would -scold me all the evening. Adieu, my dearest fair. - - At the Château de ..., 20th October, 17**. - - - - -LETTER THE HUNDRED AND TWENTIETH - -THE VICOMTE DE VALMONT TO THE PÈRE ANSELME - -(a Bernardine of the monastery of the Rue Saint-Honoré) - - -I HAVE not the honour of being known to you, Monsieur: but I know of -the entire confidence which Madame la Présidente de Tourvel reposes -in you, and I know, moreover, how much this confidence is deserved. I -believe, then, that I may address myself to you without indiscretion, -in order to obtain a very essential service, truly worthy of your holy -office, and one in which the interests of Madame de Tourvel and myself -are one. - -I have in my hands important papers which concern her, which cannot -be entrusted to anybody, and which I would not, and must not, give -up except into her hands. I have no means of informing her of this, -because reasons which, perhaps, you will have heard from her, but which -I do not consider myself authorized to state, have led her to take the -course of refusing all correspondence with me: a course that, to-day, -I confess willingly, I cannot blame, since she could not foresee -events which I myself was very far from expecting, and which were -only rendered possible by that superhuman force which we are forced -to recognize. I beg you, therefore, Monsieur, to be so good as to -inform her of my new resolutions, and to ask her to grant me a private -interview, in which I can, at least in part, repair my errors and, as a -last sacrifice, destroy in her presence the sole existing traces of an -error or fault which has rendered me guilty in her eyes. - -It will not be until after this preliminary expiation that I shall dare -to lay at your feet the humiliating confession of my long disorders, -and to entreat your mediation for an even more important and, -unhappily, more difficult reconciliation. May I hope, Monsieur, that -you will not refuse me this precious and necessary aid, and that you -will deign to sustain my weakness and guide my feet into the new way -which I desire most ardently to follow, but which, I blush to confess, -I do not yet know? - -I await your reply with the impatience of the repentance which desires -to make reparation, and I beg you to believe me, with equal gratitude -and veneration, - -Your most humble, etc. - -P.S. I authorize you, Monsieur, should you deem it proper, to -communicate this letter in its entirety to Madame de Tourvel, whom I -shall make it my duty to respect all my life long, and in whom I shall -never cease to honour one whom Heaven has used to bring back my soul to -virtue, by the touching spectacle of her own. - - At the Château de ..., 22nd October, 17**. - - - - -LETTER THE HUNDRED AND TWENTY-FIRST - -THE MARQUISE DE MERTEUIL TO THE CHEVALIER DANCENY - - -I HAVE received your letter, my too youthful friend; but, before I -thank you, I must scold you, and I warn you that, if you do not correct -yourself, you shall have no more answers from me. Quit then, if you -will believe me, that tone of flattery, which is no more than jargon, -when it is not the expression of love. Pray, is that the language of -friendship? No, my friend, every sentiment has its befitting speech, -and to make use of any other is to disguise the thought which one -expresses. I am well aware that our frivolous women understand nothing -that is said to them, if it be not translated, in some way, into this -customary jargon; but I confess that I thought I deserved that you -should distinguish between them and me. I am truly grieved, and perhaps -more than I ought to be, that you have judged me so ill. - -You will only find then in my letter the qualities which yours lacks: -frankness and simplicity. I will certainly tell you, for instance, that -it would give me great pleasure to see you, and that I am vexed to have -only tiresome people round me instead of people who please me; but this -very phrase you translate thus: _Teach me to live where you are not_; -so that, I suppose, when you are with your mistress, you will not be -able to live unless I make a third. The pity of it! And these women -_who always fail in being me_: perhaps you find that your Cécile also -fails in that! That, however, is the result of a language which, owing -to the abuse made of it nowadays, is even lower than the jargon of -compliments, and has become no more than a mere formula, in which one -no more believes than in a most humble servant. - -My friend, when you write to me, let it be to tell me your fashion of -thinking and feeling, and not to send me phrases which I can find, -without your aid, more or less well turned in any novel of the day. I -hope you will not be angry at what I am telling you, even if you should -detect a little ill-humour; for I do not deny I feel some: but, to -avoid even the shadow of the fault for which I reproach you, I will not -tell you that this ill-humour is, perhaps, somewhat augmented by the -distance at which I am from you. It seems to me that, all considered, -you are worth more than a law-suit and two advocates, perhaps, even -more than the _attentive_ Belleroche. - -You see that, instead of despairing at my absence, you ought to -congratulate yourself upon it, for I have never paid you so pretty a -compliment. I believe your example is catching, and I, too, am inclined -to flatter you: but nay, I prefer to keep to my frankness; it is that -alone, then, which assures you of my tender friendship, and of the -interest which it inspires in me. It is very sweet to have a young -friend whose heart is occupied elsewhere. That is not the system of all -women, but it is mine. It seems to me that one abandons one’s self with -more pleasure to a sentiment from which one can have nothing to fear: -thus I have passed with you, early enough, perhaps, into the rôle of -confidant. But you choose your mistresses so young that you have made -me perceive for the first time that I begin to grow old! You have acted -well in preparing for yourself a long career of constancy, and I wish -with all my heart that it may be reciprocated. - -You are right in yielding to the _pure and tender motives_ which, -according to what you tell me, _delay your happiness_. A long defence -is the only merit left to those who do not resist always; and what I -should find unpardonable in any other than a child like the little -Volanges would be the lack of knowledge how to escape a danger of which -she has been amply forewarned by the confession she has made of her -love. You men have no idea of what virtue is, nor of what it costs -to sacrifice it! But, however incapable a woman may be of reasoning, -she ought to know that, independently of the sin which she commits, a -frailty is the greatest of misfortunes to her; and I cannot conceive -how anyone can ever let herself be caught, if she has time for a -moment’s reflexion on the subject. - -Do not proceed to dispute this idea, for it is this which principally -attaches me to you. You will save me from the perils of love; and, -although I have known well enough hitherto to defend myself without -your aid, I consent to be grateful to you for it, and I shall love you -for it the more and better. - -Upon this, my dear Chevalier, I pray God to have you in His good and -holy keeping. - - At the Château de ..., 22nd October, 17**. - - - - -LETTER THE HUNDRED AND TWENTY-SECOND - -MADAME DE ROSEMONDE TO THE PRÉSIDENTE DE TOURVEL - - -I HAD hoped, my amiable daughter, to be able at last to calm your -anxieties; and I see with grief, on the contrary, that I must still -augment them. Be calm, however; my nephew is not in danger: I cannot -even say that he is really ill. But something extraordinary is -assuredly passing within him. I understand naught of it; but I left -his room with a sentiment of sadness, perhaps even of alarm, which I -reproach myself for causing you to share, although I cannot refrain -from discussing it with you. This is the narrative of what passed: you -may rest assured that it is a faithful one; for, if I were to live -another eighty years, I should never forget the impression which this -sad scene made upon me. - -I visited my nephew this morning; I found him writing, surrounded by -sundry heaps of papers which seemed to be the object of his labours. He -was so busied that I was already in the middle of his chamber before he -turned his head to discover who had entered. As soon as he recognized -me, I noticed clearly that, on rising, he made an effort to compose his -features, and it was this fact, perhaps, which further attracted my -attention. In truth, he had made no toilette and wore no powder; but -I found him pale and wan, and, above all, of a changed expression. His -glance, which we have known so gay and keen, was sad and downcast; in -short, between ourselves, I should not have cared for you to see him -thus; for he had a very pathetic air, and most fitting, I dare believe, -to inspire that tender pity which is one of the most dangerous snares -of love. - -Although impressed by what I had noticed, I none the less commenced -the conversation as though I had perceived nothing. I spoke to him -first of his health; and, though he did not tell me that it was good, -he nevertheless did not say that it was bad. Thereupon, I complained -of his retirement, which had almost the air of a mania, and I tried to -infuse a little gaiety into my mild reproof; but he only answered, in -heartfelt accents, “It is one wrong the more, I confess; but it shall -be retrieved with the rest.” His expression, even more than his words, -somewhat disturbed my playfulness, and I hastened to tell him that he -attached too much importance to a mere friendly reproach. - -We then commenced to talk quietly. He told me soon afterwards that -perhaps an affair, _the most important affair of his life_, would -shortly recall him to Paris: but as I was afraid of guessing it, -my dearest fair, and feared lest this prologue should lead up to a -confidence which I did not desire, I put no question to him, and -contented myself with replying that a little more dissipation would -benefit his health. I added that, this once, I would not press him -to remain, as I loved my friends for themselves; at this simple -expression, he grasped my hands, and, speaking with a vehemence which -I cannot describe to you: “Yes, aunt,” he said me, “love, love well a -nephew who respects and cherishes you; and, as you say, love him for -himself. Do not grieve about his happiness, and do not trouble, with -any regret, the eternal peace which he hopes soon to enjoy. Repeat to -me that you love me, that you forgive me. Yes, you will forgive me, I -know your goodness; but how can I hope for the same indulgence from -those whom I have so greatly offended?” He then stooped over me to -conceal, as I think, the signs of grief which, in spite of himself, the -sound of his voice betrayed to me. - -Moved more than I can say, I rose precipitately; and doubtless he -noticed my alarm, for, at once growing more composed: “Pardon me,” he -resumed, “pardon me, Madame; I feel that I am wandering, in spite of my -will. I beg you to forget my remarks, and only to remember my profound -veneration. I shall not fail,” he added, “to come and renew my respects -to you before my departure.” It seemed to me that this last sentence -suggested that I should bring my visit to a conclusion, and I went away. - -But the more I reflect upon it, the less can I guess what he wished to -say. What is this affair, _the most important of his life_? On what -ground does he ask my forgiveness? Whence that involuntary emotion when -he spoke to me? I have already asked myself these questions a thousand -times without being able to reply to them. I do not even see anything -therein which relates to you: however, as the eyes of love are more -clear-sighted than those of friendship, I was unwilling to leave you in -ignorance of anything that passed between my nephew and myself. - -I have made four attempts to finish this long letter, which would be -longer still, were it not for the fatigue I feel. Adieu, my dearest -fair. - - At the Château de ..., 25th October, 17**. - - - - -LETTER THE HUNDRED AND TWENTY-THIRD - -THE PÈRE ANSELME TO THE VICOMTE DE VALMONT - - -I HAVE had the honour of receiving your letter, M. le Vicomte; and -yesterday I betook myself, in accordance with your wishes, to the -person in question. I explained to her the object and the motives of -the visit you had asked me to pay her. Determined as she was upon the -prudent course which she had adopted at first, upon my pointing out -to her that by a refusal she, perhaps, incurred a risk of putting an -obstacle in the way of your happy return, and also of opposing, in some -manner, the merciful decrees of Providence, she consented to receive -your visit, always on condition that it shall be the last, and has -charged me to tell you that she will be at home on Thursday next, the -28th. If this day should not be convenient to you, will you be so good -as to inform her, and appoint another. Your letter will be received. - -Meanwhile, M. le Vicomte, permit me to invite you not to delay, without -grave reasons, in order that you may be able to abandon yourself the -sooner and more entirely to the laudable dispositions which you display -to me. Remember that he who hesitates to improve the moment of grace -runs the risk of its being withdrawn from him; that, if the mercy -of God is infinite, yet the use of it is regulated by justice; and -that a moment may come when the God of mercy shall turn into a God of -vengeance. - -If you continue to honour me with your confidence, I beg you to believe -that all my attention shall be yours, as soon as you desire it: -however greatly I may be busied, my most important business will ever -be to fulfil the duties of my sacred office, to which I am peculiarly -devoted, and the finest moment of my life will be that in which, by the -blessing of the Almighty, I shall see my efforts prosper. Weak sinners -that we are, we can do nothing by ourselves! But the God who recalls -you can do all; and we shall owe alike to His bounty--you, the constant -desire to be reconciled to Him, and I the means of being your guide. It -is by His aid that I hope soon to convince you that Holy Religion alone -can give, even in this world, that solid and durable happiness which in -the blindness of human passions we seek in vain. - -I have the honour to be, with respectful consideration, etc. - - Paris, 25th October, 17**. - - - - -LETTER THE HUNDRED AND TWENTY-FOURTH - -THE PRÉSIDENTE DE TOURVEL TO MADAME DE ROSEMONDE - - -IN the midst of the astonishment, in which the news I received -yesterday has thrown me, Madame, I cannot forget the satisfaction which -it must cause you, and I hasten to acquaint you with it. M. de Valmont -is occupied neither with me nor with his love; he only would retrieve -by a more edifying life the faults, or rather the errors, of his -youth. I have been informed of this great event by the Père Anselme, -to whom he applied for future direction, and also in order to contrive -an interview with me, the principal object of which I judge to be the -return of my letters, which he had hitherto retained, in spite of the -request I had made him to the contrary. - -Doubtless, I cannot but applaud this happy termination, and felicitate -myself, if, as he states, I am in any way responsible for it. But why -needed it that I should be the instrument, and why should it have cost -me my life’s repose? Could not M. de Valmont’s happiness have been -secured by any other means than my misery? Oh, my indulgent friend, -forgive me this complaint! I know that it is not mine to question the -decrees of God; but whilst I pray to Him ceaselessly, and always in -vain, for strength to conquer my unhappy love, He lavishes it on one -who has not prayed for it, and leaves me without succour, utterly -abandoned to my weakness. - -But let me stifle this guilty plaint. Do I not know that the prodigal -son on his return obtained more favour from his father than the son who -had never been absent? What account have we to ask from Him who owes -us nothing. And even were it possible that we had any rights before -Him, what had been my own? Could I boast of a virtue that already I do -but owe to Valmont? He has saved me, and how should I dare complain -if I suffer for his sake! No, my sufferings will be dear to me, if -his happiness is the price. Doubtless, it was needful for him to -return to the common Father. The God who made him must have cherished -His handiwork. He did not create this charming being only to be a -reprobate. ’Tis for me to pay the penalty of my audacious imprudence; -ought I not to have felt that, since it was forbidden me to love him, I -ought never to have allowed myself to see him? - -’Tis my fault or my misfortune that I held out too long against this -truth. You are my witness, my dear and venerable friend, that I -submitted to this sacrifice as soon as I recognized its necessity: but -it just failed in being complete, in that M. de Valmont did not share -it. Shall I confess to you that it is this idea which, at present, -torments me most? Insufferable pride, which sweetens the ills we bear -by the thought of those we inflict! Ah, I will conquer this rebellious -heart, I will accustom myself to humiliations! - -It is above all to obtain this result that I have at last consented to -receive, on Thursday next, the painful visit of M. de Valmont. Then -I shall hear him tell me himself that I am nothing to him; that the -weak and fugitive impression I had made upon him is entirely effaced! -I shall see his gaze directed towards me without emotion, whilst the -fear of betraying my own will make me lower my eyes. Those same letters -which he refused so long to my repeated requests I shall receive from -his indifference; he will give them up to me as useless things, which -have no further interest for him; and my trembling hands, receiving -this deposit of shame, will feel that it is given to them by a hand -which is firm and tranquil! And then I shall see him depart from me ... -depart for ever; and my eyes, which will follow him, will not see his -own look back to me! - -And I have been reserved for so much humiliation! Ah, let me, at least, -make use of it by allowing it to impregnate me with the sentiment of -my weakness.... Yes, these letters, which he no longer cares to keep, -I will religiously preserve. I will impose on myself the shame of -reading them daily until the last traces of them are effaced by my -tears; and his own I will burn as infected by the dangerous poison -which has corrupted my soul. Oh, what is this love then, if it makes us -regret even the risks to which it has exposed us; if one can be afraid -of feeling it still, even when one no longer inspires it? Let us shun -this dire passion, which leaves no choice betwixt misery or shame, nay, -often unites them both: let prudence at least replace virtue. - -How far away is Thursday still! Why can I not this instant consummate -the grievous sacrifice, and forget at once its object and its cause! -This visit troubles me; I repent of my promise of it. Alas! What need -has he to see me again? What are we to one another now? If he has -offended me, I forgive him. I congratulate him even on his wish to -repair his faults; I praise him for it. I will do more, I will imitate -him; and I, who have been beguiled by like errors, shall be brought -back by his example. But, since his intention is to flee from me, why -does he begin by seeking me out? What is most urgent for either of us, -is it not that each should forget the other? Doubtless that is so; and -that, henceforth, shall be my sole care. - -If you will permit me, my amiable friend, I will come to you in order -to occupy myself with this arduous task. If I have need of succour, -perhaps even of consolation, I will not receive it from any other than -you. You alone know how to understand me and to speak to my heart. Your -precious friendship shall fill my whole existence. Nothing shall seem -too difficult for me to second the care that you must take of yourself. -I shall owe you my tranquillity, my happiness, my virtue, and the fruit -of your kindness to me will be that, at last, I shall become worthy of -it. - -I have written very wildly, I think, in this letter; I gather so, -at least, from the trouble which has unceasingly harassed me whilst -writing. If any sentiments occur in it at which I ought to blush, cover -them with the indulgence of your friendship; I rely upon it entirely. -It is not from you that I would hide any of the movements of my heart. - -Adieu, my venerable friend. I hope, in a few days, to announce the day -of my arrival. - - Paris, 25th October, 17**. - - - - -LETTER THE HUNDRED AND TWENTY-FIFTH - -THE VICOMTE DE VALMONT TO THE MARQUISE DE MERTEUIL - - -BEHOLD her vanquished then, this proud woman who dared to think she -could resist me! Yes, my friend, she is mine, mine entirely; since -yesterday there is nothing left for her to grant me. - -I am still too full of my happiness to be able to appreciate it: but -I am amazed at the unknown charm I have experienced. Can it be true, -then, that virtue enhances the value of a woman even at the very -moment of her fall? Nay, let us relegate this puerile notion with -other old wives’ tales. Does one not almost always encounter a more -or less well-feigned resistance at a first triumph? And have I found -elsewhere the charm of which I speak? Yet it is not that of love; -for, after all, if I have sometimes had, with some astounding woman, -moments of weakness which resembled that pusillanimous passion, I -have always known how to overcome them and return to my principles. -Even if the scene of yesterday had carried me, as I believe it did, -somewhat further than I counted on; even if, for a moment, I shared the -trouble and intoxication which I caused, that passing illusion would be -dissipated by now: and nevertheless the same charm subsists. I should -even find, I confess, a sweet enough pleasure in abandoning myself to -it, if it did not cause me some anxiety. Shall I be dominated at my -age, like a school-boy, by an unknown and involuntary sentiment? Nay: I -must before all combat it and understand it. - -Perhaps, as far as that goes, I have already caught a glimpse of the -cause! I am pleased with this idea, at any rate, and I would fain have -it true. - -In the crowd of women with whom I have hitherto played the part and -performed the functions of lover, I had never yet met one who had not -at least as much desire to give herself as I had to persuade her to it; -I was even in the habit of calling those women prudes who did no more -than meet me half-way, in contrast to so many others whose provocative -defence did but imperfectly conceal the first advances they had made. - -Here, on the contrary, I met with a preconceived unfavourable -prejudice, which was subsequently strengthened by the advice and -stories of a spiteful but clear-sighted woman; a natural and extreme -timidity, fortified by an enlightened modesty; an attachment to virtue -directed by religion, with already two years of victory to its account; -finally, a vigorous course of conduct inspired by these different -motives, which all had for their aim escape from my pursuit. - -It is not then, as in my other adventures, a mere capitulation, more -or less advantageous, whereof it is easier to take advantage than to -be proud; it is a complete victory, purchased at the cost of a hard -campaign, and determined by cunning manœuvres. ’Tis not surprising, -then, that this success, due to myself alone, should seem all the -more precious to me; and the excess of pleasure which I experienced -when I triumphed, and which I feel still, is no more than the sweet -impression of the sentiment of glory. I cherish this point of view, -which saves me from the humiliation of thinking that I can be in any -manner dependent upon the slave whom I have subjected; that I do not -possess in myself alone the plenitude of my happiness; and that the -power of giving me the whole energy of pleasure should be reserved to -such or such a woman, excluding all the others. - -These deliberate reflexions shall regulate my conduct on this important -occasion; and you may rest assured that I will not let myself be -enchained to such a degree that I cannot always play with these new -bonds and break them at my will. But I am talking to you already of my -rupture, while you do not yet know the means by which I have acquired -my rights: read then, and learn to what virtue is exposed when it seeks -to succour folly. I studied so attentively my conversation and the -replies I obtained that I hope to be able to repeat them to you with a -precision that will delight you. - -You will see from the copies of the two letters enclosed[11] what -mediator I chose to reconcile me with my fair, and what zeal the holy -personage employed to reunite us. One thing more I must tell you, which -I learned from a letter intercepted in the usual way: the fear and the -petty humiliation of being quitted had somewhat disturbed the austere -Puritan’s prudence, and had filled her head with sentiments which were -none the less interesting because they were not common-sense. It was -after these preliminaries, necessary for you to know, that yesterday, -Thursday the twenty-eighth, the day settled and appointed by the -ingrate, I presented myself before her in the quality of a timid and -repentant slave, to leave her crowned with victory. - -It was six o’clock in the evening when I came to the fair recluse; for -since her return her door has been shut to everyone. She attempted to -rise when I was announced; but her trembling knees did not allow her to -remain in this position: she immediately resumed her seat. She showed -signs of impatience, because the servant who had introduced me had some -task to perform in the apartment. We filled up the interval with the -customary compliments. But, in order to waste no time, when moments -were so precious, I carefully examined the locality; and at once my -eye fixed upon the scene of my victory. I could have wished for one -more suitable, although there was an ottoman in that very room. But I -noticed that, facing it, was a portrait of the husband; and I confess -that, with such a singular woman, I was afraid lest one haphazard -glance in that direction should destroy the result of all my labours. -At last, we were left alone and I broached the question. - -After having explained, in a few words, that the Père Anselme must have -informed her of the motives of my visit, I complained of the severe -treatment I had been subject to, and dwelt particularly on the _scorn_ -which had been displayed me. She defended herself, as I expected; and, -as you would expect yourself, I founded my proofs on the distrust and -fear which I had inspired, on the scandalous flight which had ensued, -her refusal to answer my letters, even to receive them, etc., etc. As -she was commencing a justification which would have been very easy, I -felt bound to interrupt her; and, to obtain pardon for this brusque -proceeding, I covered it at once with a flattery. “If so many charms,” -I went on, “have made so profound an impression on my heart, the effect -of so many virtues has been no less upon my soul. Led away, no doubt, -by my desire to approach them, I dared to deem myself worthy. I do not -reproach you for having judged otherwise; but I am punished for my -mistake.” As she maintained an embarrassed silence, I continued: - -“It was my wish, Madame, either to justify myself in your eyes, or to -obtain from you pardon for the wrongs you suppose me to have committed; -so that I can at least end, with a certain tranquillity, days to which -I attach no more value since you have refused to embellish them.” - -Here, however, she endeavoured to reply: - -“My duty did not permit me....” And the difficulty of completing the -lie, which duty required, did not permit her to finish her phrase. I -resumed, therefore, in a more tender tone: “Is it true that it is from -me you have fled?” “My departure was necessary.” “And that you drive -me away from you?” “It must be so.” “And for ever?” “I must.” I have -no need to tell you that, during this short dialogue, the voice of the -gentle prude was oppressed, and that her eyes were not raised to mine. - -I judged it my duty to give this languid scene a touch of animation; -thus, rising with an air of vexation: “Your firmness,” I then said, -“restores to me all my own. Well, yes, Madame, we shall be separated -even more than you think. And you may congratulate yourself at your -leisure over the success of your handiwork.” Somewhat surprised at -this tone of reproach, she sought to reply: “The resolution you have -taken....” said she. “It is but the result of my despair,” I resumed -with passion. “You wished me to be unhappy; I will prove that you -have succeeded even beyond your hopes.” “I desire your happiness,” -she answered. And the sound of her voice began to announce a strong -emotion. Casting myself, therefore, on my knees before her, and in that -dramatic tone which you know is mine: “Ah, cruel one!” I cried. “Can -any happiness exist for me in which you have no share? Where can I find -it away from you? Ah, never, never!” I confess that, in abandoning -myself to this extent, I had counted much on the support of tears; -but, either from ill-disposition, or perhaps owing to the constant and -painful attention I was giving to everything, it was impossible for me -to weep. - -Luckily I remembered that, in order to subjugate a woman, all means -are equally good, and that it would be sufficient to astound her -by some great change of manner in order to produce an impression -at once favourable and profound. Thus, for the sensibility which -proved lacking, I substituted terror; and for that, merely changing -the inflexion of my voice, and keeping in the same posture, “Yes,” -I continued, “I make this vow at your feet, to possess you or die.” -As I uttered these last words, our eyes met. I know not what the -timid creature saw, or thought she saw, in mine; but she rose with a -terrified air, and escaped from the arm with which I had encircled -her. It is true, I did nothing to retain her: for I had often remarked -that scenes of despair rendered in too lively a key became ridiculous, -if they were unduly prolonged, or left one only such really tragic -resources as I was very far from wishing to take. However, whilst she -withdrew from me, I added in a low and ominous whisper, but loud enough -for her to hear me: “Well then, death!” - -I then rose; and, after a moment’s silence, cast upon her, as if at -random, wild glances, which were none the less clear-sighted and -observant for their distracted air. Her ill-assured attitude, her -heavy breathing, the contraction of all her muscles, the half-raised -position of her trembling arms, all gave sufficient proof to me that -the effect was such as I had wished to produce: but, since, in love, -nothing ever finishes except at close quarters, and we were still at -some distance from one another, it became necessary before all things -to draw together. It was in order to succeed in this, that I passed, as -soon as possible, to an appearance of tranquillity, capable of calming -the effects of so violent a condition, without weakening its impression. - -This was my transition: “I am very miserable! It was my wish to live -for your happiness, and I have troubled it. I devote myself for -your peace, and I trouble it too....” Then, with a composed, but -constrained, air: “Forgive me, Madame; little accustomed as I am to -the storms of passion, I know ill how to repress its movements. If I -was wrong to abandon myself to them, at least remember ’tis for the -last time. Ah, be calm, be calm, I conjure you!” And, during this long -speech, I insensibly drew nearer. “If you would have me be calm,” -replied the frightened fair, “pray be more tranquil yourself.” “Ah, -well! yes, I promise you,” said I. I added, in a fainter voice, “If -the effort be great, at least it is not for long. But,” I continued, -with a distraught air, “I came, did I not, to return you your letters? -For mercy’s sake, deign to take them back. This sorrowful sacrifice -remains for me to perform; leave me naught which may tend to diminish -my courage.” And, drawing the precious collection from my pocket: -“Behold,” said I, “the deceitful receptacle of your assurances of -friendship! It bound me to life: take it back from me. Give me thus, -yourself, the signal which must separate me from you for ever....” - -Here, my timorous mistress gave way entirely to her tender concern: -“But, M. de Valmont, what is the matter with you, and what is it you -would say? Is not the step which you took yesterday a voluntary one? -Is it not the fruit of your own reflexions? And are they not the -same which led you yourself to approve the inevitable course which -duty has made me adopt?” “Well, then,” I answered, “that course is -responsible for my own.” “And what is that?” “The only one which, while -it separates me from you, can put an end to my pain.” “But answer me, -what is it?” Here I clasped her in my arms, nor did she defend herself -in any way; and, judging from this forgetfulness of the proprieties how -strong and potent was her emotion: “Adorable creature,” said I, risking -a little enthusiasm, “you have no conception of the love which you -inspire in me; you will never know to what an extent you were adored, -and how much dearer this sentiment was to me than existence! May all -your days be calm and fortunate; may they be adorned with all the -happiness which you have ravished from me! Reward this sincere prayer -by a regret, a tear at least; believe that the last sacrifice which I -shall make will not be the most grievous to my heart. Farewell!” - -Whilst I spoke thus, I felt her heart throbbing violently; I observed -the changed expression of her face; I saw, above all, that her tears -were choking her and yet were few and painful in their flow. It was -not till then that I resolved to feign departure; when, retaining -me forcibly: “Nay, listen to me,” she said quickly. “Leave me,” I -answered. “You _shall_ listen to me; it is my wish.” “I must flee from -you, I must!” “No,” she cried.... - -[Illustration: Mlle Gerard del. Bertaux et Dupréel sculp.] - -At this last word she flung herself, or rather fell swooning into my -arms. As I was still doubtful of so fortunate a success, I feigned the -utmost alarm; but, alarmed as I was, I led her, or carried her, to -the spot I had originally fixed upon as the field of my triumph; and -in truth she did not return to herself until she was submissive and -already abandoned to her happy conqueror. - -Thus far, my lovely friend, you will find, I believe, a purity of -method which will give you pleasure, and you will see that I departed -in nothing from the true principles of that war which, as we have often -remarked, so strongly resembles the real war. Judge me then as though -I had been Frederic or Turenne. I was forced to combat an enemy who -would do nothing but temporize; by scientific manœuvres I obtained the -choice of positions and of the field; I was able to inspire the enemy -with confidence, in order the more easily to catch up with him in his -retreat; I was able to add terror to this feeling before the fight -was engaged; I left nothing to chance, except in my consideration of -a great advantage in case of success, and the certainty of resources -in case of defeat; in short, I did not engage until I had an assured -retreat, by which I could cover and preserve all that I had previously -conquered. That is, I believe, all that one can do: but I am afraid, -at present, lest, like Hannibal, I may be enervated by the delights of -Capua. Now for what has passed since. - -I fully expected that such a great event would not be accomplished -without the customary tears and despair; and, if I noticed at first -somewhat more confusion and a sort of shrinking, I attributed both to -the character of the prude: thus, without concerning myself with these -slight differences, which I thought purely local, I simply followed -the highroad of consolation, thoroughly persuaded that, as happens -ordinarily, sensations would assist sentiment, and that a single action -would do more than any speech, which last, however, I did not neglect. -But I met with a really alarming resistance, less indeed from its -excessive character than from the form under which it was displayed. - -Imagine a woman seated, of an immovable rigour, and an unchanging face; -having the air neither of thinking, hearing nor understanding; whose -fixed eyes give issue to a continuous stream of tears, which fall, -however, without an effort. Such was Madame de Tourvel, whilst I was -speaking; but, if I tried to recall her attention to me by a caress, -by even the most innocent gesture, this apparent apathy was at once -succeeded by terror, gasping for breath, convulsions, sobs and, at -intervals, cries, but with not an articulate word. - -These cries were resumed several times, and always more loudly; the -last even was so violent that I was entirely discouraged by it, and -feared for a moment that I had won a useless victory. I fell back upon -the customary commonplaces; and, amongst their number, found this one: -“And you are in despair because you have made my happiness?” At this -word, the adorable woman turned towards me; and her face, although -still rather wild, had, nevertheless, resumed already its celestial -expression. “Your happiness!” she said. You can guess my answer. “You -are happy then?” I redoubled my protestations. “And happy through me!” -I joined praises and tender speeches. Whilst I was speaking, all her -limbs grew supple; she sank down languorously, leaning back in her -armchair; and yielding to me a hand which I had ventured to take: “I -feel,” said she, “that that idea consoles and relieves me.” - -You may judge that, thus shown the way, I no longer left it; it was -really the right and, perhaps, the only one. So that, when I would fain -attempt a second success, I met, at first, with a certain resistance, -and what had passed before rendered me circumspect: but, having -summoned this same idea of my happiness to my aid, I soon perceived -its favourable effects: “You are right;” the tender creature said to -me, “I can no longer support my existence, except in so far as it may -serve to render you happy. I devote myself entirely to that: from this -moment, I give myself to you, and you shall meet, on my side, neither -with refusals nor regrets.” It was with this candour, naive or sublime, -that she abandoned to me her person and her charms, and enhanced my -happiness by participating in it. The intoxication was reciprocal and -complete; and for the first time mine survived the pleasure. I only -left her arms to fall at her knees and swear an eternal love to her; -and, to tell the whole truth, I believed what I said. And, even after -we had separated, the idea of her never left me, and I was obliged to -make an effort in order to distract myself. - -Ah, why are you not here at least to counterbalance the charm of the -action by that of the reward? But I shall lose nothing by waiting, is -not that so? And I hope I may consider as settled the happy arrangement -which I proposed to you in my last letter. You see that I fulfil my -word, and that, as I promised you, my affairs will be sufficiently -advanced to enable me to give you a portion of my time. Hasten then to -dismiss your heavy Belleroche, and leave the mawkish Danceny where he -is, to occupy yourself only with me. But what are you doing so long in -the country, that you do not even answer me? Do you know that I should -like to scold you? But happiness tends to indulgence. And then I do not -forget that, in entering once more the ranks of your adorers, I submit -anew to your little fantasies. Remember, however, that the new lover -will lose no whit of the former rights of a friend. - -Adieu, as of old.... Yes, _adieu my angel! I send thee all the kisses -of love._ - -P.S. Do you know that Prévan, after his month of prison, has been -obliged to leave his regiment? It is the news of all Paris to-day. -Truly, he is cruelly punished for a sin which he did not commit, and -your success is complete! - - Paris, 29th October, 17**. - - - - -LETTER THE HUNDRED AND TWENTY-SIXTH - -MADAME DE ROSEMONDE TO THE PRÉSIDENTE DE TOURVEL - - -I SHOULD have replied to you before, my amiable child, if the fatigue -consequent on my last letter had not brought back my pains, which -have once more deprived me during these last days of the use of my -arm. I was most anxious to thank you for the good news which you have -given me of my nephew, and I was no less eager to offer you my sincere -congratulations on your own count. One is forced to recognize in this -a real effect of Providence, which, by touching the heart of one, has -also saved the other. Yes, my dearest fair, God, who only wished to try -you, has succoured you at a moment when your strength was exhausted; -and, in spite of your little murmur, you owe Him, methinks, your -thanksgiving. It is not that I do not feel that it would have been -more agreeable to you, if this resolution had come to you first, and -that Valmont’s had been only the consequence of it; it seems even, -humanly speaking, that the rights of our sex would have been better -preserved, and we would not lose any of them! But what are these -slight considerations in view of the important objects which have been -obtained? Does a man who has been saved from shipwreck complain that he -has not had a choice of means? - -You will soon find, my dear daughter, that the sorrow which you dread -will alleviate itself; and, even if it were to subsist for ever and in -its entirety, you would none the less feel that it was still easier -to endure than remorse for crime and contempt of yourself. It would -have been useless for me to speak to you earlier with this apparent -severity: love is an involuntary sentiment which prudence can avoid, -but which it could not vanquish, and which, once born, dies only by its -fine death, or from the absolute lack of hope. It is this last case, -in which you are, which gives me the courage and the right to tell you -frankly my opinion. It is cruel to alarm one hopelessly sick, who is no -longer susceptible to aught save consolations and palliation; but it is -right to enlighten a convalescent as to the dangers he has incurred, in -order to inspire him with that prudence of which he has need, and with -submission to counsels which may still be necessary to him. - -Since you choose me for your physician, it is as such that I speak -to you, and that I tell you that the little indisposition which you -experience at present, and which perhaps demands some remedies, is -nothing in comparison with the alarming malady from which your recovery -is assured. Next, as your friend, as the friend of a reasonable and -virtuous woman, I will permit myself to add that this passion, which -has subjugated you, already so unfortunate in itself, became even more -so through its object. If I am to believe what is told me, my nephew, -whom I confess I love, perhaps to weakness, and who, indeed, unites -many laudable qualities to many attractions, is not without danger -for women; there are women whom he has wronged, and he sets almost an -equal price upon their seduction and their ruin. Indeed, I believe -that you may have converted him. Never was there a person more worthy -to do this: but so many others have flattered themselves with the same -thought, and their hopes have been deceived, that I love better far to -think you should not be reduced to this resource. - -Consider now, my dearest fair, that instead of the many risks you would -have had to run, you will have, besides the repose of your conscience -and your own peace of mind, the satisfaction of having been the -principal cause of Valmont’s happy reformation. For myself, I do not -doubt but that this is, in large part, the result of your courageous -resistance, and that a moment of weakness on your part might have left -my nephew, perhaps, in eternal error. I love to think so, and desire to -see you think the same; you will find in that your first consolations, -and I, fresh reasons for loving you more. - -I expect you here within a few days, my amiable daughter, as you have -announced. Come and recover calm and happiness in the same spot where -you had lost it; come, above all, to rejoice with your fond mother that -you have so happily kept the word you gave her, to do nothing unworthy -of her or of yourself! - - At the Château de ..., 30th October, 17**. - - - - -LETTER THE HUNDRED AND TWENTY-SEVENTH - -THE MARQUISE DE MERTEUIL TO THE VICOMTE DE VALMONT - - -IF I have not replied to your letter of the 19th, Vicomte, it is not -that I have not had the time; it is quite simply that it put me in a -bad humour, and that I found it lacking in common-sense. I thought, -therefore, that I could not do better than leave it in oblivion: but, -since you come back to it, since you appear to cling to the ideas it -contains, and take my silence for consent, I must tell you plainly what -I think. - -I may sometimes have had the pretension to replace in my single person -a whole seraglio; but it has never suited me to make a part of one. -I thought you knew this. Now, at least, when you can no longer be -ignorant of it, you will easily imagine how absurd your proposal must -have appeared to me. I indeed! I am to sacrifice a fancy, and a fresh -fancy moreover, in order to occupy myself with you! And to occupy -myself in what way? By awaiting my turn, like a submissive slave, for -the sublime favours of _Your Highness_! When, forsooth, you want a -moment’s distraction from _that unknown charm_ which _the adorable_, -_the celestial_ Madame de Tourvel has alone made you experience, or -when you are afraid of compromising, in the eyes of _the seductive -Cécile_, the superior idea which it is your good pleasure that she -should preserve of you: then, condescending even to myself, you -will come in search of pleasures, less keen in truth, but without -consequence; and your precious bounties, although somewhat rare, will, -nevertheless, suffice for my happiness! - -You, certainly, are rich in your good opinion of yourself: but, -apparently, I am not equally so in modesty; for however I may look at -myself, I cannot find myself reduced to such a point. Perhaps this is a -fault of mine; but I warn you I have many others also. - -I have, in especial, that of believing that the _school-boy_, _the -mawkish_ Danceny, who is solely occupied with me, and sacrifices to -me, without making a merit of it, a first passion, even before it has -been satisfied, who, in a word, loves me as one loves at his age, may -work more effectively than you, for all his twenty years, to secure my -happiness and my pleasure. I will even permit myself to add that, if it -were my whim to give him an assistant, it would not be you, at any rate -not at this moment. - -And for what reasons, do you ask me? But, to begin with, there might -very well be none: for the caprice which might make me prefer you -could equally cause your exclusion. However, I am quite willing, out -of politeness, to give you the reason of my opinion. It seems to me -that you would have too many sacrifices to make me; and I, instead of -being grateful for them, as you would not fail to expect, should be -capable of believing that you were still my debtor! You quite see that, -far as we are from each other in our fashion of thinking, we cannot -come together again in any manner: and I am afraid that it might need -time, a long time, before I should change my sentiments. When I am -converted, I promise I will inform you. Until then, believe me, make -other arrangements, and keep your kisses; you have so many better -occasions to dispose of them!... - -_Adieu, as of old_, say you? But of old, it seems to me, you took a -little more account of me; you had not relegated me entirely to minor -parts; and, above all, you were quite willing to wait until I had said -yes, before making sure of my consent. Be satisfied then, if instead of -bidding you also adieu as of old, I bid you adieu as at present. - -Your servant, M. le Vicomte. - - At the Château de ..., 31st October, 17**. - - - - -LETTER THE HUNDRED AND TWENTY-EIGHTH - -THE PRÉSIDENTE DE TOURVEL TO MADAME DE ROSEMONDE - - -I ONLY received yesterday, Madame, your tardy reply. It would have -killed me on the instant, if my existence had still been in my own -hands; but another is its possessor, and that other is M. de Valmont. -You see that I hide nothing from you. If you must consider me no longer -worthy of your friendship, I fear even less to lose it than to retain -it by guile. All that I can tell you is that, placed by M. de Valmont -between his death or his happiness, I resolved in favour of the latter. -I neither vaunt myself on this, nor accuse myself; I simply state the -fact. - -You will easily understand, after this, what impression your letter -must have made upon me, with the severe truths which it contains. Do -not believe, however, that it was able to give birth to a regret in me, -nor that it can ever cause me to change in sentiment or in conduct. It -is not that I do not have cruel moments: but when I fear that I can no -longer endure my torments, I say to myself: Valmont is happy; and all -vanishes before this idea, or rather it converts all into pleasures. - -It is to your nephew then that I have devoted myself; it is for him -that I have ruined myself. He has become the one centre of my thoughts, -my sentiments, my actions. As long as my life is necessary to his -happiness, it will be precious to me, and I shall deem it fortunate. -If some day he thinks differently ... he shall hear from me neither -complaint nor reproach. I have already dared to cast my eyes upon that -fatal moment; and I have resolved on my course. - -You see, now, how little I need be affected by the fear you seem to -have, lest one day M. de Valmont should ruin me: for, ere he can wish -for that, he will have ceased to love me; and what will then be vain -reproaches to me which I shall not hear? He alone shall be my judge. -As I shall have lived but for him, it will be in him that my memory -shall repose; and if he is forced to admit that I loved him, I shall be -sufficiently justified. - -You have now read, Madame, in my heart. I preferred the misfortune of -losing your esteem by my frankness to that of rendering myself unworthy -of it by the degradation of a lie. I thought I owed this complete -confidence to the kindness you have shewn me. To add one word more -would be to lead you to suspect that I have the vanity to count upon it -still, when, on the contrary, I do myself justice in ceasing to pretend -to it. - -I am with respect, Madame, your most humble and obedient servant. - - Paris, 1st November, 17**. - - - - -LETTER THE HUNDRED AND TWENTY-NINTH - -THE VICOMTE DE VALMONT TO THE MARQUISE DE MERTEUIL - - -TELL me then, my lovely friend, whence comes the tone of bitterness -and banter which prevails in your last letter? Pray, what crime have -I committed, apparently without suspecting it, which put you in such -ill-humour? You reproach me with having the air of counting on your -consent before I had obtained it: but I believed that what might seem -presumption in the case of everybody could never be taken, between you -and me, for ought save confidence: and since when has that sentiment -done detriment to friendship or to love? In uniting hope to desire, -I did but yield to the natural impulse which makes us ever place the -happiness we seek as near to us as possible; and you took for the -effect of pride what was no more than the result of my eagerness. I -know mighty well that custom has introduced in such a case a respectful -doubt: but you also know that it is but a form, a mere protocol; -and I was authorized, it seems to me, to believe that these minute -precautions were no longer necessary between us. - -Methinks, even, that this free and frank method, when it is founded on -an old _liaison_, is far preferable to the insipid flattery which so -often takes the relish out of love. Perhaps, moreover, the value which -I find in this manner does but come from that which I attach to the -happiness which it recalls to me: but, for that very cause, it would be -more painful still for me to see you judge of it otherwise. - -That, however, is the only error which I am conscious of; for I do not -imagine that you could have thought seriously that there existed any -woman in the world whom I could prefer to you, and, even less, that I -could appreciate you so ill as you feign to believe. You have looked -at yourself, you tell me, in this connection, and you have not found -yourself reduced to such a point. I well believe it, and it proves -that you have a faithful mirror. But could you not have drawn the -conclusion, with more ease and justice, that I was very certain not to -have judged you so? - -I seek in vain for a cause for this strange idea. It seems, however, -that it is due, more or less, to the praises I have permitted myself -to make of other women. At least I infer it, from your affectation of -picking out the epithets _adorable_, _celestial_, _seductive_, which I -made use of in speaking to you of Madame de Tourvel or of the little -Volanges. But are you not aware that these words, more often used by -chance than from reflexion, are less expressive of the account one -takes of the person than of the situation in which one finds one’s self -at the time of speaking? And if, at the very moment when I was keenly -affected either by one or the other, I was none the less desirous of -you; if I showed you a marked preference over both of them; since, in -short, I could not renew our former _liaison_, except to the prejudice -of the two others, I do not find in that so great a matter for reproach. - -It will be no more difficult for me to justify myself as to _the -unknown charm_ with which you seem to be also somewhat shocked: for, -to begin with, it does not result that it is stronger from the fact -that it is unknown. Ah, who could give it the palm over the delicious -pleasures which you alone know how to render always fresh, as they are -always keen? I did but wish to tell you, therefore, that it was of -a kind which I had not experienced before, but I did not pretend to -assign a class to it; and I added what I repeat to-day, that, whatever -it may be, I shall know how to combat and to conquer it. I shall bring -even more zeal to this, if I can see in this trivial task a homage to -be offered to you. - -As for the little Cécile, I think it hardly necessary to speak of her -to you. You have not forgotten that it was at your request that I -charged myself with the child, and I only await your permission to be -rid of her. I may have remarked upon her ingenuousness and freshness; -I may even, for a moment, have thought her _seductive_, because, in a -more or less degree, one always take pleasure in one’s own handiwork; -but, assuredly, she is not in any way of sufficient consequence to fix -one’s attention upon her. - -And now, my lovely friend, I appeal to your justice, to your first -kindness for me, to the long and perfect friendship, the entire -confidence which has since welded the bonds between us: have I deserved -the severe tone which you adopt with me? But how easy it will be for -you to compensate me for it when you like! Say but one word, and you -will see whether all the charms and all the seductions will detain me -here, not for a day, but for a minute. I will fly to your feet and into -your arms, and I will prove to you a thousand times, and in a thousand -manners, that you are, that you will ever be the true sovereign of my -heart. - -Adieu, my lovely friend; I await your reply with much eagerness. - - Paris, 3rd November, 17**. - - - - -LETTER THE HUNDRED AND THIRTIETH - -MADAME DE ROSEMONDE TO THE PRÉSIDENTE DE TOURVEL - - -AND why, my dearest fair, would you cease to be my child? Why do you -seem to announce to me that all correspondence will cease between -us? Is it to punish me for not having guessed what was against all -probability; or do you suspect me of having guided you wilfully? Nay, I -know your heart too well to believe that it can think thus of mine. The -pain, therefore, which your letter caused me is far less relative to me -than to yourself! - -O my youthful friend! I tell it you with sorrow: you are far too worthy -of being loved that ever love should make you happy. Ah! what woman -who was truly delicate and sensitive has not found misfortune in this -very sentiment which promised her so much felicity! Do men know how to -appreciate the woman they possess? - -’Tis not that many are not honourable in their actions, and constant -in their affections: but, even amongst these, how few know how to put -themselves in unison with our hearts! Do not suppose, my dear child, -that their love is like our own. Indeed, they experience the same -intoxication, often even they bring more ardour to it; but they do not -know that anxious eagerness, that delicate solicitude, which causes -in us those tender and constant cares of which the beloved object is -ever the single aim. The man’s pleasure lies in the happiness which -he feels, the woman’s in that which she bestows. This difference, -so essential and so little noticed, has, however, a very sensible -influence on the sum of their respective conduct. The pleasure of the -one is ever to gratify his desires; that of the other is, especially, -to arouse them. To please, with him, is but a means to success; -whereas, with her, it is success itself. And coquetry, with which women -are so often reproached, is nothing else than the abuse of this manner -of feeling, and by that very fact proves its reality. In short, that -exclusive taste, which particularly characterizes love, is in the man -naught but a preference, serving at the most to enhance a pleasure -which, perhaps, another object would diminish, but would not destroy; -whilst in women it is a profound sentiment, which not only destroys -every extraneous desire, but which, stronger than nature, and removed -from its dominion, allows them to experience only repugnance and -disgust at the very point where pleasure seems to be born. - -And do not deem that more or less numerous exceptions, which one might -quote, can successfully contradict these general truths. They are -guaranteed by the public voice, which has distinguished infidelity -from inconstancy for men alone; a distinction by which they prevail -when they should be humiliated, and which, for our sex, has never been -adopted save by those depraved women who are its shame, and to whom all -means seem good which they hope can save them from the painful feeling -of their baseness. - -I had thought, my dearest fair, that it might be of use to you to -have these reflexions to oppose to the chimerical ideas of perfect -happiness with which love never fails to abuse our imagination: the -lying spirit, to which one still clings even when forced to abandon it, -and the loss of which irritates and multiplies the sorrows, already -too real, that are inseparable from a lively passion! This task of -alleviating your pains, or of diminishing their number, is the only one -I would fulfil at this moment. In disorders without remedy it is to the -regimen alone that advice can be applied. The only thing I ask of you -is to remember that to pity a sick person is not to blame him. Who are -we, pray, that any of us should blame another? Let us leave the right -to judge to Him alone who reads in our hearts, and I even dare believe -that, in His paternal sight, a host of virtues may redeem a single -weakness. - -But I conjure you, my dear friend, guard yourself above all from those -violent resolutions which are less a proof of strength than of entire -discouragement: do not forget that, in rendering another possessor -of your existence, to employ your own expression, it is not in your -power to deprive your friends of the part of it which they previously -possessed and will never cease to reclaim. - -Adieu, my dear daughter; think sometimes of your affectionate mother, -and believe that you will ever be, and above all else, the object of -her dearest thoughts. - - At the Château de ..., 4th November, 17**. - - - - -LETTER THE HUNDRED AND THIRTY-FIRST - -THE MARQUISE DE MERTEUIL TO THE VICOMTE DE VALMONT - - -’TIS well done, Vicomte, and I am better pleased with you this time -than the last; but now, let us talk in all friendship, and I hope to -convince you that, for you as for myself, the arrangement which you -appear to desire would be a veritable piece of madness. - -Have you not yet remarked that pleasure, which is, in effect, the sole -motive of the union of the two sexes, does not, nevertheless, suffice -to form a _liaison_ between them; and that, if it is preceded by the -desire which attracts, it is no less followed by the disgust which -repels? ’Tis a law of nature which love alone can change; and love: -does one have it when one wills? Yet one needs it ever; and it would -be really too embarrassing, if one had not discovered that it happily -suffices if it exists only on one side. The difficulty has thus been -rendered less by one half, even without much being lost thereby; in -fact, the one derives pleasure from the happiness of loving, the other -from that of pleasing, which is a little less keen indeed, but to which -is added the pleasure of deceiving; that sets up an equilibrium, and -everything is arranged. - -But tell me, Vicomte, which of us two will undertake to deceive the -other? You know the story of the two sharpers, who recognized each -other while playing: “We shall make nothing,” said they, “let us divide -the cost of the cards;” and they gave up the game. We had best follow, -believe me, their prudent example, and not lose time together which we -can so well employ elsewhere. - -To prove to you that in this I am influenced as much by your interests -as my own, and that I am acting neither from ill-humour nor caprice, I -do not refuse you the price agreed upon between us: I feel perfectly -that each of us will suffice to the other for one night; and I do not -even doubt but that we should know too well how to adorn it, not to -see it end with regret. But do not let us forget that this regret is -necessary to happiness; and, however sweet be our illusion, let us not -believe that it can be lasting. - -You see that I am meeting you in my turn, and even before you have yet -set yourself right with me: for, after all, I was to have the first -letter of the celestial prude; however, whether because you still cling -to it, or because you have forgotten the conditions of a bargain which -interests you, perhaps, less than you would fain have me believe, -I have received nothing, absolutely nothing. Yet, unless I make a -mistake, the tender Puritan must write frequently; else what would -she do when she is alone? Surely she has not wit enough to distract -herself? I could have, then, did I wish, some slight reproaches to make -you; but I pass them over in silence, in consideration of a little -temper that I showed, perhaps, in my last letter. - -Now, Vicomte, it only remains for me to make one request of you, and -this is again as much for your sake as my own; it is to postpone a -moment which I desire, perhaps, as much as you, but the date of which -must, I think, be deferred until my return to town. On the one hand, -we should not find the necessary freedom here; and, on the other, I -should incur some risk: for it needs but a little jealousy to attach -this tedious Belleroche more closely than ever to my side, although he -now only holds by a thread. He is already driven to exert himself in -order to love me; to such a degree at present that I put as much malice -as prudence into the caresses which I lavish on him. But at the same -time you can see that this would not be a sacrifice to make to you! A -reciprocal infidelity will render the charm far more potent. - -Do you know I regret sometimes that we are reduced to these resources! -In the days when we loved--for I believe it was love--I was happy; and -you, Vicomte!... But why be longer concerned with a happiness which -cannot return? Nay, say what you will, such a return is impossible. -First, I should require sacrifices which, assuredly, you could not or -would not make, and which, like enough, I do not deserve; and then, how -is it possible to fix you? Oh, no, no. I will not even occupy myself -with the idea; and, in spite of the pleasure which I derive at the -present moment from writing to you, I far prefer to leave you abruptly. - -Adieu, Vicomte. - - At the Château de ..., 6th November, 17**. - - - - -LETTER THE HUNDRED AND THIRTY-SECOND - -THE PRÉSIDENTE DE TOURVEL TO MADAME DE ROSEMONDE - - -DEEPLY touched, Madame, with your kindness to me, I would abandon -myself entirely to it, were I not prevented in some sort from accepting -it by the fear of profaning it. Why must it be that, while I see it to -be so precious, I feel at the same time that I am no longer worthy of -it! Ah! I will at least venture to express to you my gratitude; I will -admire above all that indulgent virtue which only knows our frailties -to compassionate them, and whose potent charm preserves so soft and -strong an empire over hearts, even by the side of the charm of love. - -But can I still deserve a friendship which no longer suffices for -my happiness? I say the same of your counsels: I feel their worth, -but I cannot follow them. And how should I not believe in a perfect -happiness, when I experience it at this moment? Yes, if men are such -as you say, we ought to shun them; but then Valmont is so far from -resembling them! If, like them, he has that violence of passion which -you call ardour, how far it is surpassed by his delicacy. O my friend! -You talk of sharing my troubles; take a part, then, in my happiness; I -owe it to love, and how greatly does the object enhance its value. You -love your nephew, you say, perhaps, foolishly. Ah, if you did but know -him as I do! I love him with idolatry, and, even so, far less than he -deserves. He may, doubtless, have been led astray by certain errors; he -admits it himself; but who ever knew true love as he does? What more -can I say to you? He feels it as he inspires it. - -You will think that this is _one of those chimerical ideas with which -love never fails to abuse our imagination_: but, in that case, why -should he have become more tender, more ardent, when he has nothing -further to obtain? I will confess, before, I found in him an air of -reflexion, of reserve, which rarely abandoned him, and which often -reminded me, in spite of myself, of the cruel and false impressions -which had been given me of him. But, since he has been able to abandon -himself without constraint to the movements of his heart, he seems to -guess all the desires of mine. Who knows if we were not born for each -other! If this happiness was not reserved for me, of being necessary -to his! Ah, if it is an illusion, let me die, then, before it comes to -an end. But no; I am fain to live to cherish, to adore him. Why should -he cease to love me? What other woman could he render happier than me? -And I feel, from my own experience, that the happiness one arouses -is the strongest tie, the only one which really attaches. Yes, it is -this delicious sentiment which ennobles love, which purifies it in -some sort, and makes it worthy of a tender and generous soul, such as -Valmont’s. - -Adieu, my dear, my venerable, my indulgent friend. It is in vain that I -would write to you at greater length: here is the hour at which he has -promised to come. Forgive me! But you wish me happiness, and, at this -moment, it is so great that I can scarcely support it. - - Paris, 7th November, 17**. - - - - -LETTER THE HUNDRED AND THIRTY-THIRD - -THE VICOMTE DE VALMONT TO THE MARQUISE DE MERTEUIL - - -WHAT, then, my lovely friend, are those sacrifices which you deem I -would not make for you, the reward of which, however, would be to -please you? Let me only know them, and if I hesitate to offer them -to you, I permit you to refuse the homage. Pray, what opinion have -you conceived of me of late, if even in your indulgence you doubt -my sentiments or my energy? Sacrifices which I would not or could -not make! You think, then, that I am in love and subjugated? And you -suspect me of having attached to the person the price which I set upon -success? Ah, thank Heaven, I am not yet reduced to that, and I offer -to prove it to you. Yes, I will prove it to you, even if it should be -at Madame de Tourvel’s expense. After that, assuredly, you can have no -further doubt. - -I have been able, without compromising myself, to devote some time to -a woman who has, at least, the merit of being of a sort that is rarely -met with. Perhaps, moreover, the dead season at which this adventure -befell, caused me to abandon myself more to it; and, even now, when the -great current has scarcely begun to flow, it is not surprising that -it should almost entirely occupy me. But remember, please, that it is -scarce eight days since I culled the fruits of three months’ labour. I -have often dallied longer with what was of much less value and had not -cost me so much!... And never did you draw a conclusion from it to my -prejudice. - -Besides, would you like to know the true cause of the zeal I am -bringing to bear upon it? I will tell you. This woman is naturally -timid; at first she doubted incessantly of her happiness, and this -doubt sufficed to trouble it: so much so that I am only just beginning -to see the extent of my power in this direction. Yet it was a thing I -was curious to know; and the occasion is not so readily offered as you -may think. - -To begin with, for many women pleasure is always pleasure, and never -aught else; and in the sight of these, whatever the title with which -they adorn us, we are never more than factors, mere commissioners, -whose activity is all our merit, and amongst whom he who does the most -is always he who does best. - -In another class, perhaps nowadays the most numerous, the celebrity of -the lover, the pleasure of having carried him off from a rival, the -fear of being robbed of him in turn, absorb the women almost entirely: -we count, indeed, more or less, for something in the kind of enjoyment -they obtain; but it depends more on the circumstances than on the -person: it comes to them through us and not from us. - -I needed, then, for the purposes of my observation, to find a delicate -and sensitive woman, who made love her sole affair, and who in love -itself saw only her lover; whose emotions, far from following the -common road, ever started from the heart to reach the senses; whom I -have seen, for instance (and I do not speak of the first day), rise -from the moment of enjoyment in despair, and a moment later recover -pleasure in a word which was responsive to her soul. Last, she must -unite to all this that natural candour, grown insurmountable by force -of habit, which would not permit her to dissimulate the least sentiment -of her heart. Now you will admit, such women are rare; and I dare -believe that, failing this one, I should never, perhaps, have met -another. It should not be surprising therefore, that she should hold -me longer than another; and if the trouble that I take with her makes -her happy, perfectly happy, why should I refuse it, especially as it -pleases me instead of being disagreeable to me? But, because the mind -is engaged, does it follow that the heart is caught? Certainly not. Nor -will the value which I admit I set upon this adventure prevent me from -embarking on others, or even from sacrificing it to some more agreeable -one. - -I am free to such an extent that I have not even neglected the little -Volanges, whom, nevertheless, I hold so cheap. Her mother brings her -back to town in three days; and yesterday I assured my communications; -a little money to the porter, a few compliments to his wife, did the -business. Can you conceive that Danceny never thought of this simple -method? And then they tell us that love creates ingenuity! On the -contrary, it stupefies those whom it enslaves. Shall not I, then, know -how to defend myself from it? Ah, you may be easy. Already, in a few -days, I am about to weaken the impression, too lively perhaps, which I -have experienced, by dividing it; and, if a simple division will not -do, I will multiply them. - -I shall be none the less ready to restore the little school-girl to -her discreet lover as soon as you think proper. It seems to me that -you have no longer any motive for preventing it; and I consent to do -poor Danceny this signal service. ’Tis in truth, the least I can do in -return for those he has done me. He is, at present, in the greatest -anxiety to discover whether he will be received at Madame de Volanges’; -I calm him, to the utmost of my power, by assuring him that I will -contrive his happiness on an early occasion; and, in the meantime, I -continue to charge myself with the correspondence which he means to -resume on the arrival of _his Cécile_. I have already six letters from -him, and I shall, certainly, have one or two more before the happy day. -The lad must have mighty little to do! - -But let us leave this childish couple and return to ourselves, so that -I may occupy myself exclusively with the sweet hope your letter gave -me. Yes, without a doubt you will hold me, and I would not pardon -you for doubting it. Pray, have I ever ceased to be constant to you? -Our bonds have been relaxed, but never broken; our pretended rupture -was only an error of our imagination. Our sentiments, our interests -remained none the less united. Like the traveller who returns in -disillusion, I will confess that I deserted happiness to run after -hope; and will say with d’Harcourt: - - “The more strange lands I saw, I loved my country more.”[12] - -Please, then, oppose no longer the idea, or rather the sentiment, which -restores you to me; and, after having tasted all the pleasures, in our -different courses, let us enjoy the happiness of feeling that none of -them is comparable with that which we had of old, and which we shall -find more delicious still. - -Adieu, my charming friend. I consent to await your return; but hasten -it, I pray you, and do not forget how greatly I desire it. - - Paris, 8th November, 17**. - - - - -LETTER THE HUNDRED AND THIRTY-FOURTH - -THE MARQUISE DE MERTEUIL TO THE VICOMTE DE VALMONT - - -TRULY, Vicomte, you are like the children, before whom one cannot say -a word, and to whom one can show nothing because they would at once -lay hold of it! A bare idea which comes to me, upon which I warned -you even that I was not settled--because I speak of it to you, you -take advantage of it to recall my attention to it when I am seeking -to forget it, and to make me, in a measure, participate, in spite of -myself, in your headstrong desires! Is it generous, pray, to leave me -to support the whole burden of prudence alone? I tell you again, and -repeat it more often to myself, the arrangement which you suggest is -really impossible. Even if you were to include all the generosity you -display at this moment, do you suppose that I have not my delicacy -also, or that I should be ready to accept sacrifices which would be -harmful to your happiness? - -Now is it not true, Vicomte, that you are under an illusion as to the -sentiment which attaches you to Madame de Tourvel? It is love, or love -has never existed: you deny it in a hundred fashions, but you prove -it in a thousand. What, for instance, of that subterfuge you employ -towards yourself (for I believe you to be sincere with me), which makes -you ascribe to curiosity the desire which you can neither conceal nor -overcome of retaining this woman? Would not one say that you had never -made any other woman happy, perfectly happy? Ah, if you doubt that, you -have but a poor memory! Nay, it is not that. Quite simply, your heart -imposes on your intelligence, and is rewarded with bad arguments: but -I, who have great interest in not being deceived by them, am not so -easily satisfied. - -Thus, while remarking your politeness, which has made you rigorously -suppress all the words which you imagined had displeased me, I saw, -nevertheless, that, perhaps without taking notice of it, you none the -less retained the same ideas. ’Tis true, it is no longer the adorable, -the celestial Madame de Tourvel; but it is _an astounding woman_, _a -delicate and sensitive woman_, even to the exclusion of all others; in -short _a rare woman_ and such that _you would never have met another_. -It is the same with that unknown charm, which is not _the strongest_. -Well, so be it: but, since you had never found it before, it is easy -to believe that you would be no more likely to find it in the future, -and the loss you would incur would be none the less irreparable. Either -these are certain symptoms of love, Vicomte, or we must renounce all -hope of ever finding any. - -Rest assured that this time I am speaking to you without temper. I have -promised I will no more indulge in it; I recognized too clearly that -it might become a dangerous snare. Believe me, let us be no more than -friends, and let us be content with that. Only do justice to my courage -in defending myself: yes, my courage; for one has sometimes need of it, -if it be only to refrain from taking a course which one feels to be a -bad one. - -It is only, then, in order to bring you to my opinion by persuasion -that I am going to answer the question you put as to the sacrifices -which I should exact, and which you could not make. I employ the word -_exact_ expressly, for I am very sure that, in a moment, you will, -indeed, find me over exacting: so much the better! Far from being -annoyed at your refusal, I shall thank you for it. Come, it is not with -you that I care to dissimulate, although, perhaps, I had need do so. - -I would exact then--observe my cruelty!--that this rare, this -astounding Madame de Tourvel should become no more to you than an -ordinary woman, merely a woman such as she is: for you must not deceive -yourself; the charm which you think to find in others exists in us, -and it is love alone which so embellishes the beloved object. What I -now require, impossible as it may be, you would, perhaps, make a grand -effort to promise me, to swear it even; but I confess, I should put no -faith in empty words. I could only be convinced by the whole tenor of -your conduct. - -Nor is that even all: I should be capricious. The sacrifice of the -little Cécile, which you offer me with so good a grace, I should not -care about at all. I should ask you, on the contrary, to continue this -troublesome service until fresh orders on my part, whether because I -should like thus to abuse my empire, or that, more indulgent or more -just, it would suffice me to dispose of your feelings, without wishing -to thwart your pleasures. Be that as it may, I would fain be obeyed; -and my orders would be very rigorous! - -’Tis true that then I should think myself obliged to thank you; and who -knows? Perhaps even to reward you. For instance, I should assuredly -shorten an absence which would become insupportable to me. In short, I -should see you again, Vicomte, and I should see you ... how?... But you -must remember this is no more than a conversation, a plain narrative of -an impossible project, and I would not be the only one to forget it.... - -Do you know that my law-suit makes me a little uneasy? I wanted, at -last, to know exactly what my prospects were; my advocates, indeed, -quote me sundry laws, and above all many _authorities_, as they call -them: but I cannot see so much reason and justice in them. I am almost -inclined to regret that I declined the compromise. However, I am -reassured when I reflect that the attorney is skilful, the advocate -eloquent, and the plaintiff pretty. If these three arguments were to -be of no more worth, it would be necessary to change the whole course -of affairs; and what, then, would become of the respect for ancient -customs? - -This law-suit is now the only thing which retains me here. That of -Belleroche is finished: non-suited, costs divided. He is regretting -this evening’s ball; it is indeed the regret of the unemployed! I will -restore him his complete liberty on my return to town. I make this -grievous sacrifice for him, but am consoled by the generosity he finds -in it. - -Adieu, Vicomte; write to me often. The particulars of your pleasures -will recompense me, at least in part, for the tedium I undergo. - - At the Château de ..., 11th November, 17**. - - - - -LETTER THE HUNDRED AND THIRTY-FIFTH - -THE PRÉSIDENTE DE TOURVEL TO MADAME DE ROSEMONDE - - -I AM endeavouring to write to you, without yet knowing if I shall -be able. Ah God! When I think of my last letter, which my excessive -happiness prevented me from continuing! It is the thought of my despair -which overwhelms me now, which leaves me only strength enough to feel -my sorrows, and deprives me of the power of expressing them. - -Valmont--Valmont no longer loves me, he has never loved me. Love -does not vanish thus. He deceives me, betrays me, outrages me. All -misfortunes and humiliations that can be heaped together I experience, -and it is from him that they come! - -Do not suppose that this is a mere suspicion: I was so far from having -any! I have not even the consolation of a doubt: what could he say to -justify himself?... But what matters it to him! He will not even make -the attempt.... Unhappy wretch! What will thy reproaches and tears -avail with him? He is far from thinking of thee! - -’Tis true, then, that he has sacrificed me, exposed me even ... and to -whom?... A low creature.... But what am I saying? Ah, I have even lost -the right to despise her! She has been false to fewer duties, she is -not so guilty as I. Oh, how bitter is the sorrow which is founded upon -remorse! I feel my torments redouble. - -Adieu, my dear friend; however unworthy I may have made myself of your -pity, you will still feel it for me, if you can form any idea of what I -suffer. - -I have just read over my letter, and I perceive it can tell you -nothing; I will try, then, to master up courage to relate the cruel -incident. It was yesterday; for the first time since my return I was -going to sup abroad. Valmont came to see me at five o’clock; never had -he seemed so fond. He gave me to understand that my project of going -out vexed him, and you may judge that I soon formed that of remaining -with him. However, two hours and a half later, and suddenly, his air -and tone underwent a sensible change. I know not whether I had let fall -something which may have displeased him; be that as it may, shortly -afterwards he pretended to recollect some business which compelled -him to leave me, and went away: not without displaying a very lively -regret, which seemed affectionate, and which I then believed to be -sincere. - -Being left alone, I judged it more proper not to excuse myself from -my first engagement since I was at liberty to fulfil it. I completed -my toilette and entered my carriage. Unfortunately, my coachman took -me by way of the Opera, and I was involved in the crowd of people -leaving; four yards in front of me, and in the rank next to my own, I -perceived Valmont’s carriage. My heart instantly palpitated, but it -was not from fear; and my only idea was the desire that my carriage -should go forward. Instead of that, it was his own which was forced to -retreat, and came alongside of mine. I instantly advanced; what was my -astonishment to find a courtesan at his side, one well known as such! I -withdrew, as you may well believe, and I had already seen quite enough -to wound my heart; but you would hardly believe that this same woman, -apparently informed by an odious confidence, never quitted the window -of the carriage, nor ceased to stare at me, with peals of scandalous -laughter. - -In the condition of prostration to which I was reduced, I let myself, -nevertheless, be driven to the house where I was to sup; but it was -impossible for me to remain; I felt each instant on the point of -swooning away, and, above all, I could not restrain my tears. - -On my return, I wrote to M. de Valmont, and sent him my letter -immediately; he was not at home. Wishing, at any price, to issue from -this state of death, or to confirm it for ever, I sent again with -orders to wait for him; but before midnight my servant returned, -telling me that the coachman, who was back, had told him that his -master would not be home that night. I thought this morning that I had -nothing else to do than ask him for the return of my letters, and beg -him to visit me no more. I have, indeed, given orders to this effect, -but doubtless they were superfluous. It is nearly noon; he has not yet -presented himself, and I have not received a word from him. - -Now, my dear friend, I have nothing further to add: you are informed of -everything, and you know my heart. My sole hope is that I may not long -afflict your tender friendship. - - Paris, 15th November, 17**. - - - - -LETTER THE HUNDRED AND THIRTY-SIXTH - -THE PRÉSIDENTE DE TOURVEL TO THE VICOMTE DE VALMONT - - -DOUBTLESS, Monsieur, after what passed yesterday, you will not expect -me to receive you again; nor, doubtless, are you at all desirous that -I should! This note, therefore, is written less with the intention of -begging you to come no more, than to request you to return the letters, -which should never have existed, and which, if they may have interested -you for a moment, as proofs of the infatuation you had occasioned, can -only be indifferent to you now that this is dissipated, and that they -only express a sentiment which you have destroyed. - -I admit and confess that I am to blame for having shewn in you a -confidence of which so many before me have been victims; in that I -accuse myself alone: but I believed, at least, that I had not deserved -to be handed over by you to insult and contempt. I believed that, in -sacrificing all for you, and losing for you alone my rights to my -own and others’ esteem, I could, nevertheless, expect to be judged -by you not more severely than by the public, whose opinion still -discriminates, by an immense interval, between the frail woman and the -woman who is depraved. - -These wrongs, which would be wrongs in the case of anybody, are the -only ones I shall mention. I shall be silent on those of love; your -heart would not understand mine. Adieu, Monsieur. - - Paris, 15th November, 17**. - - - - -LETTER THE HUNDRED AND THIRTY-SEVENTH - -THE VICOMTE DE VALMONT TO THE PRÉSIDENTE DE TOURVEL - - -THIS instant only, Madame, has your letter been handed to me; I -shuddered as I read it, and it has left me with barely the strength -to reply to it. What terrible idea, then, do you form of me? Ah, -doubtless, I have my faults, and such faults as I shall never forgive -myself, all my life, even were you to cover them with your indulgence. -But how far from my soul have those ever been with which you reproach -me! What, I! Humiliate you! Degrade you! When I respect you as much as -I cherish you; when I have never felt a moment of pride save when you -judged me worthy of you! You are deceived by appearances, and I admit -they may have seemed against me: but did not your heart contain the -wherewithal to contend against them, and did it not rebel at the mere -thought that it could have a cause of complaint against mine? However, -you believed it. So you not only judged me capable of this atrocious -madness, but you even feared you had exposed yourself to it through -your bounty to me. Ah, if you consider yourself to such a degree -degraded by your love, I am myself, then, all that is vile in your eyes! - -Oppressed by the painful emotion which this idea causes me, I am -losing, in repelling it, the time I should employ in destroying it. I -will confess all: I am restrained also by quite another consideration. -Must I retrace facts which I would fain obliterate, and fix your -attention and my own upon a moment of error which I would fain redeem -with the rest of my life, the cause of which I cannot even now -conceive, and the memory of which must for ever be my humiliation and -my despair? Ah, if my self-accusation is to excite your anger, you -will not, at any rate, have to seek far for your revenge; it will be -sufficient to hand me over to my remorse. - -However, who would believe it? The first cause of this incident is the -supreme charm which I experience when I am by you. It was this which -caused me too long to forget important business which could not be -postponed. I left you too late, and did not find the person of whom I -was in search. I hoped to meet him at the Opera, and my visit there was -equally unsuccessful. Émilie, whom I met there, whom I had known in -days when I was far from knowing you or love; Émilie was without her -carriage, and begged me to set her down at her house, not a dozen yards -away, and to this I consented. But it was just then that I met you, and -I felt immediately that you would be driven to hold me guilty. - -The fear of displeasing or of grieving you is so potent with me that it -was bound to be, and indeed was, speedily noticed. I admit even that -it induced me to try and persuade the girl not to show herself; this -precaution of delicacy was fatal to love. Accustomed, like all those of -her condition, never to be certain of an empire, ever usurped, save by -means of the abuse which they allow themselves to make of it, Émilie -was by no means willing to allow so splendid an occasion to slip. The -more she saw my embarrassment increase, the more she affected to shew -herself; and her mad merriment--and I blush to think that you could for -a moment have thought yourself its object--was only caused by the cruel -pain I experienced, which itself was but due to my respect and love. - -So far, doubtless, I am more unfortunate than guilty, and those wrongs, -_which would be wrongs in the case of anybody, and the only ones you -mention_; those wrongs, being wiped away, cannot be a cause of reproach -to me. But ’tis in vain you pass over in silence those of love: I -shall not maintain a like silence concerning them; I have too great an -interest in breaking it. - -In the confusion in which I am thrown by this unaccountable deviation, -it is not without extreme sorrow that I can bring myself to recall the -memory of it. Penetrated with a sense of my failings, I would consent -to pay the penalty for them, or I would wait for time, my eternal -tenderness, and repentance to bring my pardon. But how can I be silent, -when what is left for me to say concerns your delicacy? - -Do not think I seek a pretence to excuse or palliate my fault: I -confess my guilt. But I do not confess, I will never admit, that this -humiliating error can be looked upon as a fault in love. Nay, what -can there be in common between a surprise of the senses, a moment’s -self-oblivion, soon followed by shame and regret, and a pure sentiment -which can only be born in a delicate soul and sustained by esteem, and -of which, finally, happiness is the fruit? Ah, do not profane love -thus! Above all, fear to profane yourself by uniting in the same point -of view things which can never be confounded. Leave vile and degraded -women to dread a rivalry which they feel may be established in their -own despite, and to know the pangs of a jealousy as humiliating as it -is cruel: but do you turn away your eyes from objects which might sully -their glance; and, pure as the Divinity, punish the offence without -feeling it. - -But what penalty will you impose on me that is more grievous than -that which I undergo? What can be compared to the regret at having -displeased you, the despair at having grieved you, the overwhelming -idea of having rendered myself less worthy of you? You are absorbed in -punishing me, and I ask you for consolations: not that I deserve them, -but because they are necessary to me, and they can only come to me from -you! - -If, on a sudden, forgetful of our love, and setting no further price -on my happiness, you wish, on the contrary, to hand me over to eternal -sorrow, you have the right; strike: but if, more indulgent or more -sensitive, you remind yourself once more of those tender sentiments -which united our hearts; of that voluptuousness of the soul, always -being born again and always felt more keenly; of those sweet and -fortunate days which each of us owed to the other; all those benefits -of love which love alone procures; perhaps you will prefer the power of -renewing to that of destroying them. What can I say more? I have lost -all, and lost it by my fault; but I can retrieve all by your bounty. It -is for you to decide now. I will add but one word. Only yesterday you -swore to me that my happiness was quite secure so long as it depended -on you! Ah, Madame, will you abandon me to-day to an eternal despair? - - Paris, 15th November, 17**. - - - - -LETTER THE HUNDRED AND THIRTY-EIGHTH - -THE VICOMTE DE VALMONT TO THE MARQUISE DE MERTEUIL - - -I INSIST, my charming friend: no, I am not in love, and it is not my -fault if circumstances force me to play the part. Only consent, and -return; you shall soon see for yourself how sincere I am. I made proof -of it yesterday, and it cannot be destroyed by what occurs to-day. - -Know then I was with the tender prude, and was quite without any other -business: for the little Volanges, in spite of her condition, was -to pass the whole night at Madame V***’s infants’ ball. My lack of -employment had, at first, inclined me to prolong the evening, and I -had even demanded a slight sacrifice with this view; but hardly was it -granted, when the pleasure I had promised myself was disturbed by the -idea of this love which you persist in ascribing to me, or at least, -in reproaching me with; so much so that I felt no other desire except -that of being able to assure myself, and convince you, that it was pure -calumny on your part. - -I made a violent resolve therefore; and, under some trivial pretext, -left my fair much surprised and, doubtless, even more grieved. For -myself, I went tranquilly to meet Émilie at the Opera; and she could -testify to you, that, until this morning, when we separated, no regret -came to trouble our pleasures. - -I had, however, fine cause enough for uneasiness, had not my utter -indifference saved me from it; for you must know that I was hardly four -doors away from the Opera, with Émilie in my carriage, when that of the -austere Puritan drew up exactly beside mine, and a block which occurred -left us for nearly half a quarter of an hour side by side. We could see -each other as clearly as at noon, and there was no means of escape. - -Nor is this all; I took it into my head to confide to Émilie that it -was the woman of the letter. (You will remember, perhaps, that piece -of folly, and that Émilie was the desk).[13] She had not forgotten it, -and, as she is a laughter-loving creature, she could not be at peace -until she had examined, at her ease, _this piece of virtue_, as she -said, and this with peals of such scandalous laughter as would have -angered anyone. - -Still this is not all; the jealous woman sent to my house the very same -night! I was not there; but, in her obstinacy, she sent a second time, -with orders to wait for me. As soon as I had made up my mind to sleep -with Émilie, I had sent back my carriage, with no other order to the -coachman but to return and fetch me this morning; and as, on reaching -home, he found the messenger of love, he told him very simply that I -should not be back that night. You can well imagine the effect of this -news, and that on my return I found my dismissal announced with all the -dignity proper to the occasion. - -Thus this adventure, which in your view was never to be determined, -could have been finished, as you see, this morning; if it is not -finished, that is not, as you will believe, because I set any price on -its continuation: it is, first, because I did not think it decent that -I should let myself be quitted; and again, because I wished to reserve -for you the honour of the sacrifice. - -I answered this severe note, therefore, in a long letter full of -sentiment; I gave lengthy reasons and relied on love to make them -acceptable. I have already succeeded. I have just received a second -note, still very rigorous and confirming the eternal rupture, as it -ought to be; the tone of it, however, is not the same. Above all, I -am not be seen again: this resolution is announced four times in the -most irrevocable fashion. I concluded thereby, that I was not to lose -a moment before I presented myself. I have already sent my _chasseur_ -to win over the porter; and, in an instant, I shall go myself, to have -my pardon sealed: for in sins of this nature, there is only one formula -which carries a general absolution; and that can only be performed at -an audience. - -Adieu, my charming friend; I fly to make trial of this great event. - - Paris, 15th November, 17**. - - - - -LETTER THE HUNDRED AND THIRTY-NINTH - -THE PRÉSIDENTE DE TOURVEL TO MADAME DE ROSEMONDE - - -HOW I reproach myself, my tender friend, for having spoken to you -too much and too soon of my passing sorrows! I am the cause if you -are grieved at present; those sorrows which you derive from me still -endure; and I--I am happy. Yes, all is forgotten, pardoned; rather -let me say, all is redeemed. Peace and delight have succeeded to this -state of sorrow and anguish. O joy of my heart, how can I express you! -Valmont is innocent; no one is guilty who loves so well. Those serious, -offensive wrongs for which I reproached him with so much bitterness -he had not committed; and if on a certain point, my indulgence was -necessary, had I not also my injustice to repair? - -I will not enter into the details of the facts or reasons which justify -him; perhaps, even, the mind would but ill appreciate them: it is the -heart alone which is capable of feeling them. If, however, you were to -suspect me of weakness, I would summon your judgment to the aid of my -own. With men, you have said yourself, infidelity is not inconstancy. - -’Tis not that I do not feel that this distinction, which opinion -justifies in vain, none the less wounds our delicacy; but of what -should mine complain, when that of Valmont suffers even more? For the -very wrong which I forget do not believe that he forgives himself, or -is consoled. And yet how greatly has he retrieved this trivial error by -the excess of his love and my happiness! - -Either my felicity is greater, or I know the value of it better, since -I have been afraid that I had lost it: but what I may tell you is that, -if I felt I had sufficient strength to support again sorrows as cruel -as those I have just undergone, I should not deem I paid too high a -price for the excess of happiness I have tasted since. O my tender -mother, scold your inconsiderate daughter for having grieved you by too -much hastiness; scold her for having judged rashly and calumniated him -whom she should ever adore: but, whilst recognizing her imprudence, see -her happy, and enhance her joy by sharing it. - - Paris, 15th November, 17**. - - - - -LETTER THE HUNDRED AND FORTIETH - -THE VICOMTE DE VALMONT TO THE MARQUISE DE MERTEUIL - - -How comes it, my lovely friend, that I receive no reply from you? Yet -my last letter seemed to me to deserve one; these three days I could -have received it, and I am awaiting it still! Indeed, I am vexed; I -shall not speak to you at all, therefore, of my grand affairs. - -That the reconciliation had its full effect; that, instead of -reproaches and distrust, it but called forth fresh proofs of fondness; -that it is I, at present, who receive the excuses and reparation due -to my suspected candour, I shall tell you no word of this: and but for -the unexpected occurrence of last night, I should not write to you at -all. But, as that concerns your pupil, who probably will not be in a -condition to tell you of it herself, at any rate for some time to come, -I have charged myself with the task. - -For reasons which you may or may not guess, Madame de Tourvel has not -engaged my attention for some days past; and as these reasons could -not exist in the case of the little Volanges, I became more attentive -to her. Thanks to the obliging porter, I had no obstacles to overcome, -and we led, your pupil and I, a comfortable and regular life. But -habit leads to negligence: during the first days, we could never take -precautions enough for our safety; we trembled even behind the bolts. -Yesterday, an incredible piece of forgetfulness caused the accident -of which I have to inform you; and if, for my part, I escaped with a -fright, it has cost the little girl considerably more. - -We were not asleep, but were in that state of repose and abandonment -which succeeds to pleasure, when we heard, on a sudden, the door of the -room open. I at once seized my sword, as much for my own defence as -for that of our common pupil; I advanced, and saw no one: but, indeed, -the door was open. As we had a light, I made a search, but found no -living soul. I remembered, then, that we had forgotten our ordinary -precautions, and no doubt the door, which had been only pushed to or -badly shut, had opened of itself. - -On rejoining my timid companion, with a view to calming her, I no -longer found her in the bed; she had fallen, or hidden herself, betwixt -the bed and wall: she was stretched there without consciousness, -with no other movements than violent convulsions. You may imagine my -embarrassment! I succeeded, however, in putting her back in the bed, -and even in bringing her to, but she had hurt herself in her fall, and -it was not long before she felt the effects. - -Pains in the loins, violent colic pains, symptoms even less ambiguous, -had soon enlightened me as to her condition: but, to acquaint her with -it, I had first to tell her of that in which she was before; for she -had no suspicion of it. Never perhaps, before her, did anyone preserve -so much innocence, after doing so well all that is necessary to get rid -of it! Oh, this one loses no time in reflection! - -But she lost a great deal in bewailing herself, and I felt it was -time to come to a resolution. I agreed with her, then, that I would -go at once to the physician and to the surgeon of the family, and, -informing them they would be sent for, would confide the whole truth to -them, under a promise of secrecy; that she, on her side, should ring -for her waiting-maid; that she should, or should not, take her into -her confidence, as she liked, but that she should send her to seek -assistance, and forbid her, above all, to awake Madame de Volanges; a -natural and delicate attention on the part of a daughter who fears to -cause her mother anxiety. - -I made my two visits and my two confessions with what speed I could, -and thence returned home, nor have I gone abroad since; but the -surgeon, whom I knew before, came at noon to give me an account of -his patient’s condition. I was not mistaken; but he hopes that, if no -accident occurs, nothing will be noticed in the house. The maid is in -the secret; the physician has given the complaint a name; and this -business will be settled like a thousand others, unless it be useful -for us to speak of it hereafter. - -But have we still any interests in common, you and I? Your silence -would lead me to doubt it; I should not even believe it at all, did not -my desire lead me to seek every means of preserving the hope of it. - -Adieu, my lovely friend; I embrace you, though I bear you a grudge. - - Paris, 21st November, 17**. - - - - -LETTER THE HUNDRED AND FORTY-FIRST - -THE MARQUISE DE MERTEUIL TO THE VICOMTE DE VALMONT - - -GOOD God, Vicomte, how you trouble me with your obstinacy! What does my -silence matter to you? Do you suppose, if I maintain it, that it is for -lack of reasons to justify it? Ah, would to God it were! But no; it is -only that it is painful for me to tell you them. - -Tell me truly: are you under an illusion yourself, or are you trying to -deceive me? The disparity between what you say and what you do leaves -me no choice between these two sentiments: which is the true one? Pray, -what would you have me say to you, when I myself do not know what to -think? - -You appear to make a great merit of your last scene with the -Présidente; but, pray, what does it prove for your system, or against -mine? I certainly never said that you loved this woman well enough not -to deceive her, or not to seize every occasion which might seem to you -easy or agreeable: I never even doubted but that it would be very much -the same to you to satisfy with another, with the first comer, the same -desires which she alone could have raised; and I am not surprised that, -in the licentiousness of mind which one would be wrong to deny you, you -have done once from deliberation what you have done a thousand times -from opportunity. Who does not know that this is the simple way of the -world, and the custom of you all, whoever you are, to whatever class -you belong, from the rascal to the _espèces_? Whoever abstains from it, -nowadays, passes for a romantic; and that is not, I think, the fault -with which I reproach you. - -But what I have said, what I have thought, and what I still think, is -that you are none the less in love with your Présidente. Truly not with -a love that is very pure or very tender, but with that of which you are -capable; that kind, for instance, which enables you to find in a woman -attractions or qualities which she does not possess; which places her -in a class apart, and puts all other women in the second rank; which -keeps you attached to her even when you outrage her; such, in short, -as I conceive a sultan may feel for a favourite sultana, which does -not prevent him from preferring to her often a simple odalisque. My -comparison seems to me all the more just because, like him, you are -never either the lover or friend of a woman, but always her tyrant -or her slave. Thus, I am quite sure you humbled and abased yourself -mightily, to regain this lovely creature’s good graces! And only too -happy at having succeeded, as soon as you think the moment has arrived -to obtain your pardon, you leave me _for this grand event_. - -In your last letter, again, if you do not speak exclusively of this -woman, it is because you will not tell me anything _of your grand -affairs_; they seem to you so important that the silence which you -maintain on this subject seems to you sufficient punishment for me. -And it is after these thousand proofs of your decided preference for -another that you ask me calmly whether we still have _any interests -in common_! Take care, Vicomte! If I once answer you, my answer will -be irrevocable: and to be afraid to give it at this moment is perhaps -already to have said too much. I am resolved, therefore, to speak no -more of it. - -All that I can do is to tell you a story. May be you will not have time -to read it, or to give so much attention to it as to understand it -right? That is your affair. At worst it will only be a story wasted. - -A man of my acquaintance was entangled, like you, with a woman who -did him little honour. He had indeed, at intervals, the wit to feel -that, sooner or later, this adventure would do him harm: but although -he blushed for it, he had not the courage to break it off. His -embarrassment was all the greater in that he had boasted to his friends -that he was entirely free; and that he was well aware that, when one -meets with ridicule, it is always increased by self-defence. He passed -his life thus, never ceasing to commit follies, never ceasing to say -afterwards: _It is not my fault_. This man had a friend, and she was -tempted at one moment to give him up to the public in this state of -frenzy, and thus render his ridicule indelible: however, being more -generous than malicious, or, perhaps, for some other motive, she wished -to make one last attempt, so that, whatever happened, she might be in a -position to say, like her friend: _It is not my fault_. She sent him, -therefore, without any other explanation, the following letter, as a -remedy whose application might be useful to his disease: - - -“One tires of everything, my angel: it is a law of nature; it is not my -fault. - -If, then, I am tired to-day of an adventure which has occupied me -exclusively for four mortal months, it is not my fault. - -If, for instance, I had just as much love as you had virtue, and that -is saying much, it is not surprising that one should finish at the same -time as the other. It is not my fault. - -Hence it follows that for some time past I have deceived you: but then -your pitiless fondness in some measure forced me to it! It is not my -fault. - -To-day, a woman whom I love to distraction demands that I sacrifice -you. It is not my fault. - -I am very sensible that here is a fine opportunity for calling me -perjured: but, if nature has only gifted men with constancy, whilst it -has given women obstinacy, it is not my fault. - -Believe me, take another lover, as I have taken another mistress. This -advice is good, very good; if you think it bad, it is not my fault. - -Adieu, my angel; I took you with pleasure, I leave you without regret: -perhaps I shall return. This is the way of the world. It is not my -fault.” - - -It is not the moment, Vicomte, to tell you the effect of this last -attempt, and what resulted from it: but I promise to let you know in my -next letter. You will find there also my _ultimatum_ as to the renewal -of the treaty you propose. Until then, quite simply, adieu.... - -By the way, I thank you for your details as to the little Volanges; -it is an article that will keep for the gazette of scandal on the day -after her marriage. In the meantime I send you my condolences on the -loss of your progeny. Good-night, Vicomte. - - At the Château de ..., 24th November, 17**. - - - - -LETTER THE HUNDRED AND FORTY-SECOND - -THE VICOMTE DE VALMONT TO THE MARQUISE DE MERTEUIL - - -UPON my word, my lovely friend, I know not whether I have misread or -misunderstood your letter, and the story you told me, and the model -little epistle which it contained. All I can tell you is that this last -seemed to me original and calculated to produce an effect: so that I -simply copied it, and, quite simply again, sent it to the celestial -Présidente. I did not lose a moment, for the tender missive was -dispatched yesterday evening. I preferred it thus, because, first, I -had promised to write to her yesterday; and again, because I thought a -whole night would not be too long for her to reflect and meditate _upon -this grand event_, even though you should reproach me a second time -with the expression. - -I hoped to be able to send you my beloved’s reply this morning; but -it is nearly noon, and I have as yet received nothing. I shall wait -until five o’clock; and, if then I have no news of her, I shall go and -enquire myself; for in matters of form, above all, ’tis only the first -step that is difficult. - -At present, as you may well believe, I am most anxious to hear the end -of the story of this man of your acquaintance, so vehemently suspected -of not knowing at need how to sacrifice a woman. Did he not amend? And -did not his generous friend give him her pardon? - -I am no less anxious to receive your _ultimatum_, as you so politically -say! I am curious, above all, to know if you will find love again in -this last proceeding. Ah, no doubt, there is, and much of it! But for -whom? Still, I make no pretensions, and I expect everything from your -charity. - -Adieu, my charming friend; I shall not seal this letter until two -o’clock, in the hope of being able to enclose the expected reply. - - _At two o’clock in the afternoon._ - -Still nothing; I am in a mighty hurry; I have not time to add a word: -but this time, will you still refuse the tenderest kisses of love? - - Paris, 25th November, 17**. - - - - -LETTER THE HUNDRED AND FORTY-THIRD - -THE PRÉSIDENTE DE TOURVEL TO MADAME DE ROSEMONDE - - -THE veil is rent, Madame, upon which was painted the illusion of my -happiness. Grim truth enlightens me, and shews me naught but a sure and -speedy death, the road to which is traced between shame and remorse. -I will follow it..., I will cherish my torments, if they cut short my -existence. I send you the letter which I received yesterday; I will -add no reflexions on it, it contains them all. The time has passed for -complaint; nothing is left but to suffer. It is not pity I need, but -strength. - -Receive, Madame, the one farewell that I shall utter, and grant my -last prayer; it is to leave me to my fate, to forget me utterly, to -consider me no longer upon the earth. There is a stage of misery in -which even friendship augments our sufferings and cannot heal them. -When wounds are mortal, all succour becomes inhuman. All emotion is -foreign to me save that of despair. Nothing can befit me now save the -profound darkness in which I will bury my shame. There I will weep over -my faults, if I can still weep; for since yesterday I have not shed a -tear! My withered heart no longer furnishes any. - -Adieu, Madame. Do not answer me. I have made a vow upon that cruel -letter never to receive another. - - Paris, 27th November, 17**. - - - - -LETTER THE HUNDRED AND FORTY-FOURTH - -THE VICOMTE DE VALMONT TO THE MARQUISE DE MERTEUIL - - -YESTERDAY, at three o’clock in the evening, my lovely friend, being out -of patience at having received no news, I presented myself at the house -of the deserted fair; I was told that she was out. I saw nothing more -in this phrase than a refusal to receive me, at which I was neither -vexed nor surprised; and I retired, in the hope that this step would -induce so polite a woman to honour me with at least a word of reply. -The desire I had to receive it brought me home on purpose about nine -o’clock, but I found nothing there. Astonished at this silence, for -which I was not prepared, I sent my _chasseur_ for information, and to -discover if the sensitive person was dying or dead. At last, when I had -returned, he informed me that Madame de Tourvel had, indeed, gone out -at eleven in the forenoon with her waiting-maid; that she was driven to -the Convent of ...; and that, at seven o’clock in the evening, she sent -back her carriage and servants, saying that they were not to expect her -home. This is certainly acting according to rule. The convent is the -widow’s right asylum; and, if she persists in so laudable a resolution, -I shall add to all the other obligations which I owe her that of the -celebrity which this adventure will assume. - -I told you some time ago that, in spite of your uneasiness, I should -only reappear upon the stage of the world brilliant with new _éclat_. -Let them shew themselves, then, these severe critics, who accused me of -a romantic and unhappy passion; let them make quicker or more brilliant -ruptures: nay, let them do better, let them present themselves as -consolers, the way is clear for them. Well, let them only dare to -attempt the course which I have run from end to end; and, if one of -them obtains the least success, I yield him the place of honour. But -they will all discover that, when I am at any pains, the impression I -leave is ineffaceable. This one I am sure will be so; and I should look -upon all my other triumphs as nothing, if in this case I was ever to -have a favoured rival. - -The course she has taken flatters my self-love, I admit; but I am -annoyed that she should have found sufficient strength to separate -herself so much from me. There will be no obstacles between us, then, -save those of my own formation! What! If I wished to renew with her, -she might be unwilling? What am I saying? She would not desire it, -deem it no more her supreme happiness? Is it thus that one loves? And -do you think, my lovely friend, that I ought to suffer it? Could I -not, for instance, and would it not be better, endeavour to bring this -woman to the point of seeing the possibility of a reconciliation, which -one always desires, as long as one has hope? I could try this course -without attaching any importance to it, and consequently without your -taking umbrage. On the contrary, it would be a simple experiment which -we would perform in concert; and, even if I should succeed, it would -but be one means the more of repeating, when you wished it, a sacrifice -which seems to have been agreeable to you. Now, my fair one, I am -waiting to receive the reward, and all my prayers are for your return. -Come quickly then to recover your lover, your pleasures, your friends -and the current of adventure. - -That of the little Volanges has turned out amazing well. Yesterday, my -uneasiness not allowing me to remain in one place, I called, amongst -my various excursions, upon Madame de Volanges. I found your pupil -already in the _salon_, still in the costume of an invalid, but in full -convalescence, looking only fresher and more interesting. You women, in -a like situation, would have lain a month on your long-chair: my faith, -long live our _demoiselles_! This one, in truth, gave me a desire to -see if the recovery was a complete one! - -I have still to tell you that the little girl’s accident had like to -have turned your _sentimental_ Danceny’s head. At first it was grief; -to-day it is joy. _His Cécile_ was ill! You can imagine how the brain -reels at such a calamity. Three times a day he sent to enquire after -her, and on no occasion omitted to present himself; finally, in a noble -epistle, he asked mamma’s permission to go and congratulate her on the -convalescence of so dear an object, and Madame de Volanges consented: -so much so that I found the young man established as in the old days, -save for a certain familiarity which as yet he dares not permit himself. - -It is from himself that I have learned these details, for I left at the -same time with him, and made him chatter. You can have no notion of the -effect this visit has had on him. Joy, desires, transports impossible -to describe. I, with my fondness for grand emotions, completed the -work of turning his head, by assuring him that, in a very few days, I -would put him in the way of seeing his fair one at closer quarters. - -Indeed, I am determined to hand her over to him as soon as I have made -my experiment. I wish to consecrate myself to you wholly; and then, -would it be worth while that your pupil should also be my scholar, -if she were to deceive nobody but her husband? The masterpiece is to -deceive her lover, and above all her first lover! As for myself, I have -not to reproach myself with having uttered the word love. - -Adieu, my lovely friend; return soon, then, to enjoy your empire over -me, to receive its homage, and to pay me its reward. - - Paris, 28th November, 17**. - - - - -LETTER THE HUNDRED AND FORTY-FIFTH - -THE MARQUISE DE MERTEUIL TO THE VICOMTE DE VALMONT - - -SERIOUSLY, Vicomte, have you left the Présidente? Have you sent her -the letter which I wrote you for her? Really, you are charming; and -you have surpassed my expectations! In all good faith, I confess that -this triumph gratifies me more than all those I have hitherto obtained. -You will think, perhaps, that I set a very high value on this woman, -whom recently I so disparaged; not at all: but it is not over her that -I have gained the advantage; it is over you: that is the amusing and -really delicious part of it. - -Yes, Vicomte, you loved Madame de Tourvel much, and you love her -still; you are madly in love with her: but, because I amused myself by -making you ashamed of it, you bravely sacrificed her. You would have -sacrificed a thousand of her, rather than submit to raillery. To what -lengths will not vanity carry us! The wise man was right, indeed, when -he said that it was the enemy of happiness. - -Where would you be now, if I had only wished to play you a trick? But I -am incapable of deceit, as you well know; and, should you even reduce -me in my turn to the convent and despair, I will run the risk, and -surrender to my victor. - -If I capitulate, however, it is really mere frailty: for, if I liked, -what quibbles I might set up! And perhaps you would deserve them! I -admire, for instance, the skill, or the awkwardness, with which you -sweetly propose to me that you should be allowed to renew with the -Présidente. It would suit you mightily, would it not? To take all -the merit of this rupture, without losing thereby the pleasures of -enjoyment? And then, as this apparent sacrifice would be no longer one -for you, you offer to repeat it when I wish it! By this arrangement, -the celestial prude would always believe herself to be the single -choice of your heart, whilst I should plume myself on being the -preferred rival; we should both of us be deceived, but you would be -happy; and what does the rest matter? - -’Tis a pity that, with such a genius for conceiving projects, you -should have so little for their execution; and that, by a single -ill-considered step, you should have yourself put an invincible -obstacle to what you most desire. - -What! You had an idea of renewing, and you could write my letter! You -must have thought me clumsy indeed! Ah, believe me, Vicomte, when one -woman strikes at another’s heart, she rarely fails to find the vital -spot, and the wound is incurable. When I was striking this one, or -rather guiding your blows, I had not forgotten that the woman was -my rival, that you had, for one moment, preferred her to me, and, -in short, that you had rated me below her. If my vengeance has been -deceived, I consent to bear the blame. Thus I am satisfied that you -should try every means: I even invite you to do so, and promise you not -to be vexed at your success, if you should attain it. I am so easy on -the subject that I will trouble no further about it. Let us speak of -something else. - -For instance, of the health of the little Volanges. You will give me -definite news of it on my return, will you not? I shall be very glad -to have some. After that, it will be for you to judge whether it will -suit you best to restore her to her lover or to endeavour to become -once more the founder of a new branch of the Valmonts, under the name -of Gercourt. This idea strikes me as rather diverting; and, in leaving -you your choice, I ask you not to take any definite step until we have -talked of it together. This does not delay you very long, for I shall -be in Paris immediately. I cannot tell you the precise day; but you may -be sure that you will be the first informed of my arrival. - -Adieu, Vicomte; in spite of my peevishness, my malice, and my -reproaches, I have still much love for you, and I am preparing to prove -it to you. _Au revoir_, my friend. - - At the Château de ..., 29th November, 17**. - - - - -LETTER THE HUNDRED AND FORTY-SIXTH - -THE MARQUISE DE MERTEUIL TO THE CHEVALIER DANCENY - - -AT last I am leaving, my young friend; and to-morrow evening I shall be -back again in Paris. In the midst of all the confusion which a change -of residence involves, I shall receive no one. However, if you have -some very pressing confidence to make me, I am quite willing to except -you from the general rule: I beg you, therefore, to keep the secret of -my arrival. Valmont even will not be informed of it. - -Had anyone told me, a short time ago, that soon you would have my -exclusive confidence, I should not have believed it. But yours has -attracted mine. I am tempted to believe that you have brought some -skill to this end, perhaps even some seduction. That would be very -wrong, to say the least! For the rest, it would not be dangerous now; -you have really other and better occupations! When the heroine is on -the scene, there is little notice taken of the confidant. - -Indeed, you have not even found time to acquaint me of your new -successes. When your Cécile was absent, the days were not long enough -to hear your tender complaints. You would have made them to the echoes, -if I had not been there to hear them. Since then, when she was ill, -you honoured me again with the recital of your anxieties; you wanted -someone to whom to tell them. But now that she whom you love is in -Paris, that she is recovered, and, above all, that you sometimes see -her, she is all-sufficing, and your friends see no more of you. - -I do not blame you; it is the fault of your twenty years. From -Alcibiades down to yourself, do we not know that young people are -unacquainted with friendship, save in their sorrows? Happiness -sometimes makes them indiscreet, but never confiding. I am ready to -say with Socrates: _I love my friends to come to me when they are -unhappy_.[14] But, in his quality of a philosopher, he could dispense -with them when they did not come. In that I shew less wisdom than he, -and I felt your silence with all a woman’s weakness. - -Do not, however, think me exacting: I am far from being that! The -same sentiment which makes me notice these privations enables me to -support them with courage, when they are the proof, or the cause, of -my friends’ happiness. I do not count on you, therefore, for to-morrow -evening, save in so far as love may leave you free and disengaged, and -I forbid you to make the least sacrifice for me. - -Adieu, Chevalier; it will be a real festival to see you again: will you -come? - - At the Château de ..., 29th November, 17**. - - - - -LETTER THE HUNDRED AND FORTY-SEVENTH - -MADAME DE VOLANGES TO MADAME DE ROSEMONDE - - -I AM sure you will be as grieved as I am, my worthy friend, to learn of -the condition in which Madame de Tourvel lies; she has been ill since -yesterday: her disorder appeared so suddenly, and exhibits such grave -symptoms, that I am really alarmed. - -A burning fever, a violent and almost constant delirium, an -unquenchable thirst: that is all that can be remarked. The doctors say -they can make no diagnosis as yet; and the treatment will be all the -more difficult, because the patient refuses every kind of remedy with -such obstinacy that it was necessary to hold her down by force to bleed -her; and the same course had to be followed on two other occasions to -tie up her bandage, which in her delirium she persists in tearing off. - -You, who have seen her, as I have, so fragile, timid and quiet, cannot -conceive that four persons are barely enough to hold her; and at the -slightest expostulation she flies into indescribable fury! For my part, -I am afraid it is something worse than delirium, and that she is really -gone out of her mind. - -What increases my fear on this subject is a thing which occurred the -day before yesterday. Upon that day, she arrived about eleven o’clock -in the forenoon, with her waiting-maid, at the Convent of.... As she -was educated in that house, and had continued the habit of sometimes -visiting it, she was received as usual, and seemed to everyone calm and -in good health. About two hours later, she enquired if the room she had -occupied as a school-girl was vacant, and, on being answered in the -affirmative, she asked to go and see it: the Prioress accompanied her -with some other nuns. It was then that she declared that she had come -back to take her abode in that room, which, said she, she ought never -to have left, and which, she added, she would never leave _until her -death_: those were her words. - -At first they knew not what to say: but when their first astonishment -was over, it was represented to her that her position as a married -woman prevented them from receiving her without a special permission. -Neither this, nor a thousand other reasons, made any impression; -and from that moment she obstinately refused, not only to leave the -convent, but even her room. At last, weary of the discussion, they -consented, at seven o’clock in the evening, that she should pass the -night there. Her carriage and servants were dismissed; and they awaited -the next day to come to some decision. - -I am assured that, all through the evening, her air and bearing, far -from being wild, were composed and deliberate; only that she fell four -or five times into a reverie so deep that they could not rouse her -from it by speaking to her; and, that, each time before she issued -from it, she carried her two hands to her brow, which she seemed to -clasp vigorously: upon which, one of the nuns who were with her having -asked her if her head pained her, she gazed at her a long time before -replying, and said at last, “The hurt is not there!” A moment later, -she asked to be left alone, and begged that no further question should -be put to her. - -Everyone retired except her waiting-maid: who was fortunately obliged -to sleep in the same chamber, for lack of other room. According to this -girl’s account, her mistress was pretty quiet until eleven o’clock. -She then expressed a wish to go to bed: but, before she was quite -undressed, she began to walk up and down her chamber, with much action -and frequent gestures. Julie, who had been a witness of what had passed -during the day, dared say naught to her, and waited in silence for -nearly an hour. At length, Madame de Tourvel called to her twice in -quick succession; she had but the time to run up, when her mistress -fell into her arms, saying, “I am exhausted.” She let herself be led to -bed, and would not take anything, nor allow any help to be sent for. -She merely had some water placed near her and ordered Julie to lie down. - -The girl declares that she remained awake until two in the morning, and -that, during that time, she heard neither a movement nor a complaint. -But she says that she was awakened at five o’clock by the talk of -her mistress, who was speaking in a loud and high voice; and that, -having enquired if she needed anything, and obtaining no reply, she -took the light and went to the bed of Madame de Tourvel, who did not -recognize her, but suddenly interrupting her incoherent remarks, cried -out excitedly, “Leave me alone, leave me in the darkness; it is the -darkness that becomes me.” I remarked yesterday myself that she often -repeats this phrase. - -At length, Julie profited by this kind of order to go out and seek -other assistance: but Madame de Tourvel refused it, with the fury and -delirium which she has displayed so often since. - -The confusion into which this threw the whole convent induced the -Prioress to send for me at seven o’clock yesterday morning.... It was -not yet daylight. I hastened there at once. When my name was announced -to Madame de Tourvel, she appeared to recover her consciousness, and -replied, “Ah, yes, let her come in.” But, when I reached her bed, she -looked fixedly at me, took my hand excitedly, gripped it, and said in -a loud but gloomy voice, “I am dying because I did not believe you.” -Immediately afterwards, hiding her eyes, she returned to her most -frequent remark: “Leave me alone,” etc., and lost all consciousness. - -This phrase and some others which fell from her in her delirium make -me fear lest this cruel affliction may have a cause which is crueller -still. But let us respect the secrets of our friend, and be content to -pity her misfortune. - -The whole of yesterday was equally tempestuous, and was divided -between fits of alarming delirium and moments of lethargic depression, -the only ones when she takes or gives any rest. I did not leave her -bedside until nine o’clock in the evening, and I shall return to it -this morning to pass the day there. I will certainly not abandon my -unfortunate friend: but the heart-rending part of it is her obstinacy -in refusing all attention and succour. - -I send you the bulletin of last night, which I have just received, and -which, as you will see, is anything but consoling. I will be careful to -forward them all to you punctually. - -Adieu, my respected friend, I am going back to the patient. My -daughter, who is fortunately almost recovered, sends you her respects. - - Paris, 29th November, 17**. - - - - -LETTER THE HUNDRED AND FORTY-EIGHTH - -THE CHEVALIER DANCENY TO THE MARQUISE DE MERTEUIL - - -O YOU whom I love! O thou whom I adore! O you who have commenced my -happiness! O thou who hast crowned it! Compassionate friend, tender -mistress, why must the recollection of thy sorrow come to trouble the -charm which I undergo? Ah, Madame, be calm, ’tis friendship which -implores you. O my friend, be happy, ’tis the prayer of love. - -Nay, what reproaches have you to make to yourself? Believe me, you are -misled by your delicacy. The regrets it causes you, the injuries of -which it accuses me, are equally imaginary; and my heart feels that -between us two there has been no other seducer but love. Dread no -longer, then, to yield to the sentiments you inspire, to let yourself -be penetrated by all the fires you yourself have kindled. What! would -our hearts be less pure, if they had been later illuminated? Doubtless, -no. ’Tis seduction, on the contrary, which, acting never except by -plan, can regulate its progress and its methods, and, from a distance, -foresee events. But true love does not thus permit itself to meditate -and reflect: it distracts us from our thoughts by our sentiments; its -sway is never stronger than when it is unknown; and it is in shadow -and silence that it entangles us in bonds which it is alike impossible -to notice or to break. - -Thus, as late as yesterday, in spite of the lively emotion which the -idea of your return caused me, in spite of the extreme pleasure I felt -at seeing you, I nevertheless thought myself to be called and guided -still by calm friendship only: or rather, abandoned wholly to the soft -sentiments of my heart, I was very little concerned to unravel their -origin or their cause. Like myself, my tender friend, you experienced, -unconsciously, that imperious charm which handed over our souls to the -sweet impressions of affection; and neither of us recognized Love, -until we had issued from the intoxication in which the god had plunged -us. - -But that very fact justifies instead of condemning us. No, you have not -been false to friendship, and I have not abused your confidence. ’Tis -true, we were both ignorant of our feelings; but we only underwent this -illusion, we did not seek to give birth to it. Ah, far from complaining -of it, let us only think of the happiness it has procured us; and, -without troubling it with unjust reproaches, let us only be concerned -to enhance it by the charm of constancy and security! O my friend, how -my heart dotes on this hope! Yes, freed, henceforward, from every fear, -and given over wholly to love, you will participate in my desires, my -transports, the delirium of my senses, the intoxication of my soul; and -every moment of our fortunate days shall be marked by a new enjoyment. - -Adieu, thou whom I adore! I shall see thee, this evening, but shall I -find thee alone? I dare not hope it. Nay! you do not desire it as much -I do! - - Paris, 1st December, 17**. - - - - -LETTER THE HUNDRED AND FORTY-NINTH - -MADAME DE VOLANGES TO MADAME DE ROSEMONDE - - -I HAD hoped yesterday, almost all day, my revered friend, to be able -to give you more favourable news this morning as to the health of our -dear invalid: but this hope has been destroyed since last evening, and -I am only left with the regret that I have lost it. An event, seemingly -of scant importance, but cruel in the results it caused, has rendered -the condition of our invalid at least as grievous as it was before, if, -indeed, it has not made it worse. - -I should have understood no whit of this sudden change, had I not -received yesterday the complete confidence of our unhappy friend. As -she did not conceal from me that you were also acquainted with all her -misfortunes, I can speak to you, without reserve, of her sad situation. - -Yesterday morning, when I reached the convent, I was informed that the -invalid had been asleep for the last three hours; and her slumber was -so calm and deep that I was afraid for a moment that it was lethargic. -Shortly afterwards, she awoke, and herself drew back the curtains of -her bed. She gazed at us all with an air of surprise; and when I rose -to go to her, she recognized me, spoke my name, and begged me to draw -near. She left me no time to question her, but asked me where she was, -what we were doing there, if she was sick, and why she was not at -home. I thought, at first, that it was a new delirium, only of a more -tranquil kind than the last; but I perceived that she fully understood -my answers. In fact, she had recovered her reason, but not her memory. - -She questioned me very minutely as to all that had happened to her -since she had been at the convent, whither she did not remember coming. -I answered her correctly, only suppressing what might have given her -too much alarm; and when I asked her, in my turn, how she felt, she -replied that she was not in pain at that moment, but that she had -suffered greatly in her sleep and felt tired. I persuaded her to be -quiet and to talk little; after which, I partly closed her curtains, -leaving them half open, and sat down by her bed. At the same time some -broth was suggested, which she took and found good. - -She remained thus for about half an hour, during which time her only -words were to thank me for the attention I had given her; and she -brought to these thanks that grace and charm which you know. She then -maintained for some time an absolute silence, which she only broke to -say, “Ah yes, I remember coming here.” And a moment later, she cried -pitifully, “My friend, my friend, pity me; my miseries are all coming -back to me.” Then as I advanced towards her, she seized my hand, and -resting her head upon it: “Dear God!” she went on, “can I not die -then?” Her expression, more than these words even, moved me to tears; -she perceived them in my voice, and said to me, “You pity me! Ah, -did you but know....” and then, interrupting herself: “Arrange that -we can be left alone, and I will tell you all.” As I believe I have -informed you, I had my suspicions already as to what was to be the -subject of this confidence; and, fearing that the conversation, which -I foresaw would be long and sorrowful, might, perhaps, be harmful to -the condition of our unhappy friend, I refused at first, under the -pretext that she required rest; but she insisted, and I yielded to her -instances. We were no sooner alone than she told me all that you have -already heard from her, which, for that reason, I will not repeat to -you. Finally, while speaking of the cruel fashion in which she had been -sacrificed, she added, “I felt very certain it would be my death, and I -had the courage for it; but what is impossible to me is to survive my -misfortune and my shame.” - -I tried to vanquish this discouragement, or rather this despair, -with the arms of religion, which, hitherto, had such power over her; -but I soon perceived that I had not strength enough for these august -functions, and I confined myself to a proposal to call in the Père -Anselme, whom I know to be entirely in her confidence. She agreed to -this, and even seemed to desire it greatly. He was sent for and came at -once. He stayed for a long time with the patient, and said, on leaving, -that, if the physicians judged as he did, he thought the ceremony of -the sacraments might be deferred; that he would return on the following -day. - -It was about three o’clock in the afternoon, and until five our -friend was fairly quiet; so much so that we had all regained hope. -Unfortunately, a letter was brought up to her. When they would have -given it her, she answered first that she would not receive any, and -no one pressed it. But from that moment she shewed greater agitation. -Shortly afterwards, she asked whence this letter came. It had no -post-mark: who had brought it? No one knew. From whom had it been sent? -The portress had not been told. She then kept silence for some time, -after which she began to speak; but her wandering talk only told us -that she was again delirious. - -However, there was another quiet interval, until at last she requested -that the letter which had been brought should be given her. As soon as -she had cast her eyes on it, she cried, “From him! Good God!” and then -in a strong but oppressed voice, “Take it back, take it back.” She had -her bed-curtains shut immediately, and forbade anybody to come near -her; but we were almost immediately compelled to return to her side. -The frenzy had returned more violent than ever, and really terrible -convulsions were joined to it. These attacks had not ceased by the -evening, and this morning’s bulletin informs me that the night has not -been less stormy. In short, her state is such that I am astonished she -has not already succumbed, and I will not hide from you that I have -very little hope left. - -I suppose this unfortunate letter was from M. de Valmont: but what can -he still dare write to her? Forgive me, my dear friend; I refrain from -all reflexion: but it is cruel, indeed, to see a woman make so wretched -an end, who was hitherto so deservedly happy. - - Paris, 2nd December, 17**. - - - - -LETTER THE HUNDRED AND FIFTIETH - -THE CHEVALIER DANCENY TO THE MARQUISE DE MERTEUIL - - -WHILE I wait for the happiness of seeing you, I abandon myself, -my tender friend, to the pleasure of writing to you, and it is by -occupying myself with you that I dispel my regret for your absence. To -retrace my sentiments for you, to recall your own, is a real delight to -my heart; and it is thus that even a time of privation offers me still -a thousand benefits precious to my love. However, if I am to believe -you, I shall obtain no reply from you: this very letter is to be the -last, and we must refrain from a correspondence which, according to -you, is dangerous, _and of which we have no need_. Assuredly, I will -believe you, if you insist: for what can you wish that does not become -my own wish, for that very reason? But, before being wholly resolved, -will you not permit me to discuss the matter with you? - -Of the question of danger, you must be the sole judge: I can calculate -nothing, and I confine myself to begging you to watch over your safety; -for I can have no peace while you are uneasy. For this purpose, it is -not we two who are but one, but you who are both of us. - -It is not the same with _our wants_: here we can have but one thought; -and if our opinion differs, it is, perhaps, only for lack of -explanation or from misunderstanding. This, then, methinks, is what I -feel. - -No doubt a letter seems by no means indispensable, when one can see -each other freely. What could it say that a word, a glance, or even -silence would not say a hundred times better still? This seems to me so -true that, at the moment when you spoke of our ceasing to correspond, -the idea easily crept into my soul; it troubled it perhaps, but did not -wound it. It is even, as it were, when, wishing to press a kiss upon -your bosom, I meet with a riband or a veil; I do but thrust it aside, -and have no feeling of an obstacle. - -But, since then, we are separated; and, now that you are no longer -here, this thought of our correspondence has come back to torture me. -Why, say I to myself, this privation the more? Nay, is it a reason, -because one is far away, that one should have no more to say? I will -assume that, favoured by circumstance, we pass a whole day together; -must we waste the time in talking which is meant for pleasure? Yes, -for pleasure, my tender friend; for, by your side, even the moments of -repose are full of a delicious enjoyment. But at last, however long the -time may be, one ends by separation; and then one is all alone! ’Tis -then that a letter is precious! If one reads it not, at least one gazes -at it.... Ah! do not doubt, one may look at a letter without reading -it, as, methinks, I should still find some pleasure in touching your -portrait in the night.... - -Your portrait, do I say? But a letter is the portrait of the soul. It -has not, like a cold resemblance, that stagnation which is so remote -from love; it lends itself to our every movement: by turns it is -animated, feels enjoyment, is in repose.... All your sentiments are so -precious to me! Will you rob me of a means of cherishing them? - -Are you sure, pray, that the need to write to me will never torment -you? In solitude, if your heart expands or is depressed, if a movement -of joy thrills through your soul, if an involuntary sadness, for a -moment, troubles it: where will you depose your gladness or your -sorrow, except upon the bosom of your friend? Will you, then, have a -sentiment which he does not share? Will you allow yourself to be lost -in solitary dreams apart? My love ... my tender love! But it is your -privilege to pronounce sentence. I did but wish to discuss, and not to -beguile you; I do but give you reasons, I dare believe that my prayers -had been of more avail. If you persist, therefore, I will endeavour not -to grieve; I will make an effort to tell myself what you would have -written to me: but, ah, you would say it better than I; and, above all, -I should have more pleasure in hearing it. - -Adieu, my charming friend; the hour is drawing nigh when I shall be -able to see you: I take leave of you in all haste, that I may come and -find you the sooner. - - Paris, 3rd December, 17**. - - - - -LETTER THE HUNDRED AND FIFTY-FIRST - -THE VICOMTE DE VALMONT TO THE MARQUISE DE MERTEUIL - - -I DO not suppose, Marquise, that you deem me so inexperienced as to -have failed to set its due value upon the _tête-à-tête_ in which I -found you this evening, nor upon the _remarkable chance_ which brought -Danceny to your house! It is not that your practised countenance did -not know marvellously well how to assume an expression of calm and -serenity, nor that you betrayed yourself by any of those phrases which -the lips of confusion or repentance sometimes let fall. I admit, also, -that your docile gaze served you to perfection; and, if it had but -known how to make itself believed as well as understood, far from -feeling or retaining the least suspicion, I should not have suspected -for a moment the extreme vexation caused you by that _importunate third -party_. But, if you would not lavish such great talents in vain, if you -would obtain the success you promised yourself, and produce, in short, -the illusion you sought, you must begin by forming your novice of a -lover with greater care. - -Since you are beginning to undertake educations, teach your pupils not -to blush and be put out of countenance at the slightest pleasantry; -not to deny so earnestly, in the case of one woman only, the things -against which they defend themselves so feebly in the case of all -the others. Teach them, again, how to listen to the praises of their -mistress, without deeming themselves bound to do the honours for her; -and, if you permit them to gaze at you in company, let them, at least, -know beforehand how to disguise that look of possession, so easy to -recognize, which they confound so clumsily with that of love. You will -then be able to exhibit them in your public appearances, without their -conduct putting their sage instructress to the blush; and I myself, -only too happy to have a hand in your celebrity, promise to compose and -publish the programmes of this new college. - -But, until then, I am, I confess, astonished that it should be I whom -you have chosen to treat like a school-boy. Oh, on any other woman how -speedily I would be avenged! What a pleasure I should make of it! And -how far it would surpass that of which she believed she had robbed me! -Yes, it is, indeed, in your case alone that I can prefer reparation to -revenge; and do not think that I am held back by the least doubt, the -least uncertainty; I know all. - -You have been in Paris for the last four days; and every day you have -seen Danceny, and you have seen him only. Even to-day, your door was -still closed; and your porter only failed to prevent my reaching you, -for want of an assurance equal to your own. None the less, I was not to -doubt, you wrote to me, that I should be the first to be informed of -your arrival; of that arrival of which you could not yet tell me the -date, although you wrote to me on the eve of your departure. Will you -deny these facts, or will you attempt to excuse them? Either course is -alike impossible; and yet I still contain myself! There you behold the -force of your dominion: but believe me, rest satisfied with having -tried it, abuse it no more. We both know one another, Marquise: that -word ought to suffice. - -To-morrow, you told me, you will be out all day? Well and good, if -you are really going out; and you may imagine that I shall know. But -at any rate you will return in the evening; and, for our difficult -reconciliation, the time betwixt then and the next morning will not -be too long. Let me know then, if it is to be at your house, or in -_the other place_, that our numerous and reciprocal expiations are to -be made. Above all, no more of Danceny. Your naughty head was full of -his idea, and I cannot be jealous of that frenzy of your imagination: -but reflect that, from this moment, what was but a fantasy would -become a marked preference. I do not think that I was made for such -humiliations, and I do not expect to receive them from you. - -I even hope that this sacrifice will not seem one to you. But, even if -it should cost you anything, it seems to me that I have set you a fine -enough example, and that a woman of sensibility and beauty, who lived -for me alone, who, perhaps, at this very moment, is dying of love and -regret, is worth at least as much as a young school-boy, who lacks, if -you will, neither good-looks nor intelligence, but who, as yet, has -neither constancy nor knowledge of the world! - -Adieu, Marquise; I say nothing of my sentiments towards you. All that -I can do, at this moment, is not to search my heart. I wait for your -reply. Reflect, when you make it, reflect carefully that the easier it -is for you to make me forget the offence you have given me, the more -indelibly would a refusal on your part, a simple postponement even, -engrave it upon my heart. - - Paris, 3rd December, 17**. - - - - -LETTER THE HUNDRED AND FIFTY-SECOND - -THE MARQUISE DE MERTEUIL TO THE VICOMTE DE VALMONT - - -PRAY, have a care, Vicomte, and shew more respect to my extreme -timidity! How do you suppose that I can endure the overwhelming thought -of incurring your wrath, and, above all, how can I fail to succumb to -the fear of your vengeance? The more so in that, as you know, if you -were to blacken me, it would be impossible for me to retaliate. I might -speak, indeed, but your existence would be none the less brilliant and -calm. In fact, what would you have to fear? To be sure, you would be -obliged to leave, if the time were left you for it. But can one not -live abroad as well as here? And all considered, provided that the -Court of France left you in peace at whatever one you had chosen for -your abode, it would merely be a case of shifting the scene of your -triumphs. Having attempted to restore your coolness by these moral -considerations, let us return to business. - -Do you know, Vicomte, why I have never married again? It is not, -assuredly, for lack of advantageous offers; it is solely in order that -nobody should have the right to dictate my actions. It is not even -that I was afraid of no longer being able to carry out my wishes, for -I should always have ended by doing that; but that it would have -been a burden to me, that anyone should have had the right merely to -complain of them; it is, in short, because I wished only to deceive for -my pleasure, and not from necessity. And here you are, writing me the -most marital letter that it is possible to receive! You speak to me of -nothing but the injuries on my side, the favours on yours! But how, -pray, can one be lacking to one to whom one owes no whit? I am unable -to conceive it. - -Let us consider: what is all this ado about? You found Danceny with -me, and it displeased you? Well and good: but what conclusion can you -have drawn from it? Either it was the result of chance, as I told you, -or of my will, as I did not tell you. In the first case, your letter -is unjust; in the second, it is ridiculous: it was indeed worth the -trouble of writing! But you are jealous, and jealousy does not reason. -Very well, let me reason for you. - -Either you have a rival or you have not. If you have one, you must -please, in order to be preferred to him; if you have not, you must -still please, in order to avoid having one. In both cases the same -conduct is to be observed: why, therefore, torment yourself? Above -all, why torment me? Do you no longer know how to be the most amiable? -And are you no longer sure of your successes? Come now, Vicomte, you -do yourself an injustice. But it is not that; it is that, in your -eyes, I am not worth your putting yourself to so much trouble. You -are less desirous of my favours than you are of abusing your empire. -There, you are an ingrate. That is enough sentiment, methinks, and if I -were to continue a very little longer, this letter might well turn to -tenderness: but that you do not deserve! - -You deserve just as little that I should justify myself. To punish you -for your suspicions, you shall retain them: of the time of my return, -therefore, just as of the visits of Danceny, I shall tell you nothing. -You have taken mighty pains to inform yourself, have you not? Very -well! Are you any more advanced? I hope it has given you a great deal -of pleasure; I can tell you, it has not interfered with mine. - -All I can say, then, in reply to your threatening letter, is that it -has had neither the fortune to please me, nor the power to intimidate -me; and that, for the moment, I could not be less disposed than I am to -grant your request. - -In truth, to accept you such as you shew yourself to-day would be to -commit a real infidelity to you. It would not be a renewal with my old -lover; it would be to take a fresh one, and one by no means worth the -old. I have not so far forgotten the first that I should so deceive -myself. The Valmont whom I loved was charming. I will even admit that I -have never encountered a man more amiable. Ah, let me beg you, Vicomte, -if you find him again, to bring him to see me; he will be always well -received! - -Warn him, however, that in no case will it be for to-day or to-morrow. -His Menæchmus has somewhat injured him; and, if I were in too much -haste, I should be afraid of making a mistake; or, perhaps, if you -like, I have pledged my word to Danceny for those two days! And your -letter has taught me that it is no joking matter with you, when one -breaks one’s word. You see, then, that you must wait. - -But what does it matter to you? You can always avenge yourself on your -rival. He will do no worse to your mistress than you will do to his; -and, after all, is not one woman as good as another? She even who -should be _tender and sensitive, who should live for you alone, who, -in short, should die from love and regret_, would be, none the less, -sacrificed to the first fantasy, to the dread of a moment’s ridicule; -and you would have one put one’s self about? Ah, that is not fair! - -Adieu, Vicomte; pray, become amiable once more. You see, I ask nothing -better than to find you charming; and as soon as I am sure of it, I -undertake to give you the proof. Truly, I am too kind. - - Paris, 4th December, 17**. - - - - -LETTER THE HUNDRED AND FIFTY-THIRD - -THE VICOMTE DE VALMONT TO THE MARQUISE DE MERTEUIL - - -I ANSWER your letter at once, and I will try to be clear; a thing which -is not easy with you, when once you have made up your mind not to -understand. - -Long phrases were not required to establish the fact that, when each of -us possesses all that is necessary to ruin the other, we have a like -interest in mutual consideration: there is no question, therefore, of -that. But, between the violent course of destroying one another, and -that, doubtless the better, of remaining united as we have been, of -becoming even more so by resuming our old _liaison_; between these -two courses, I say, there are a thousand others to adopt. It was not -ridiculous, therefore, to tell you, nor is it to repeat, that from this -day forward I will be either your lover or your enemy. - -I am admirably conscious that this choice will embarrass you; that it -would suit you better to beat about the bush; and I am quite aware -that you have never loved to be placed thus betwixt a plain yes or no: -but you must also feel that I cannot let you out of this narrow circle -without running the risk of being tricked; and you may have foreseen -that I would not endure that. It is for you now to decide: I am able to -leave you the choice, but not to remain in uncertainty. - -I warn you only that you will not impose on me by your arguments, be -they good or bad; that neither will you seduce me by any more of those -cajoleries with which you seek to adorn your refusals; and that, at -last, the time for frankness has arrived. I ask nothing better than to -be able to set you the example; and I declare to you with pleasure, -that I prefer peace and union: but, if both are to be broken, I believe -the right and the means are mine. - -I will add, then, that the least obstacle presented by you will be -taken by me as a veritable declaration of war: you will see that the -answer I exact from you requires neither long nor fine phrases. Two -words will suffice. - - Paris, 4th December, 17**. - - -REPLY OF THE MARQUISE DE MERTEUIL - -(Written at the foot of the above letter) - -Very well! War! - - - - -LETTER THE HUNDRED AND FIFTY-FOURTH - -MADAME DE VOLANGES TO MADAME DE ROSEMONDE - - -THE bulletins will inform you better than I can do, my dear friend, -of the grievous state of our patient. Utterly absorbed, as I am, in -my care of her, I only snatch from it the time to write to you, when -there are any incidents to relate, other than those of the malady. Here -is one, for which I was certainly unprepared. It is a letter which I -have received from M. de Valmont, who has been pleased to choose me as -his confidant, or rather as his mediator with Madame de Tourvel, for -whom he has also enclosed a letter in mine. I have sent back the one, -and replied to the other. The latter I forward to you, and I think -you will judge, like myself, that I could not and ought not to have -complied with his request. Even had I been willing, our unfortunate -friend would not have been in a condition to understand me. Her -delirium is continuous. But what do you think of this despair of M. de -Valmont? First, is one to believe in it, or does he but wish to deceive -everybody, to the very end?[15] If, for once, he is sincere, he may -well say that he has been himself the cause of his own misfortune. I -expect he will be hardly pleased with my answer; but I confess that all -I see of this unhappy adventure excites me more and more against its -author. - -Adieu, my dear friend; I am going to resume my sad task, which becomes -even more so from the scant hope I feel of seeing it succeed. You know -my sentiments towards you. - - Paris, 5th December, 17**. - - - - -LETTER THE HUNDRED AND FIFTY-FIFTH - -THE VICOMTE DE VALMONT TO THE CHEVALIER DANCENY - - -I HAVE called upon you twice, my dear Chevalier: but, since you -have abandoned the _rôle_ of lover to take up that of the man -of gallant conquests, you have naturally become invisible. Your -_valet-de-chambre_, however, assured me that you would return this -evening; that he had orders to await you: but I, who am acquainted -with your plans, understood quite well that you would only enter for a -moment, to put on the suitable costume, and would promptly recommence -your victorious progress. ’Tis very well, and I cannot but applaud you -for it; but, perhaps, for this evening, you will be tempted to change -your direction. As yet you do but know one half of your occupations; -I must make you acquainted with the other, and then you shall decide. -Take the time, then, to read my letter. It will not tend to distract -you from your pleasures, since, on the contrary, it has no other object -than to offer you a choice of them. - -If I had possessed your whole confidence, if I had heard from -yourself that part of your secrets which you have left me to divine, -I should have been informed in time, and my zeal would have been -less inopportune and would not impede your movements to-day. But let -us start from where we are. Whatever course you were to take, your -rejected would always make another happy. - -You have a _rendez-vous_ to-night, have you not? With a charming woman, -whom you adore? For, at your age, who is the woman one does not adore, -at least for the first week! The setting of the scene must enhance -your pleasures. A delicious _petite-maison, which has been taken only -for you_, is to adorn voluptuousness with the charms of liberty and -of mystery. All is arranged; you are expected, and you burn to betake -yourself there! We both know that, although you have said no word of it -to me. Now, here is what you do not know, and what I have to tell you. - -Since my return to Paris, I have been busy over the means of bringing -you and Mademoiselle de Volanges together; I promised you this; and -on the very last occasion when I spoke of it to you, I had reason to -judge from your replies, I might say from your transports, that in this -I was promoting your happiness. I could not succeed in this difficult -enterprise by myself alone: but, after preparing the means, I left -the rest to the zeal of your young mistress. Her love has discovered -resources which my experience lacked: in short, it is your misfortune -that she has succeeded. Two days since, as she told me this evening, -every obstacle was surmounted, and your happiness only depends on -yourself. - -For two days, also, she flattered herself that she would be able to -give you this news herself, and, in spite of her Mamma’s absence, you -would have been received: but you have not even presented yourself! -And, to tell you the truth, whether it be reason or caprice, the little -person seemed to me somewhat vexed at this lack of eagerness on your -part. At last, she found a means of summoning me to her, and made me -promise to forward the enclosed letter to you as soon as possible. -From the emphasis she laid upon it, I would wager it is a question of -a _rendez-vous_ for to-night. Be that as it may, I promised upon my -honour and my friendship that you should have the tender missive in the -course of to-day, and I cannot and will not break my word. - -Now, young man, what is your conduct to be? Placed between coquetry and -love, between pleasure and happiness, which will be your choice? If I -were speaking to the Danceny of three months ago, nay, even of a week -ago, I should be as certain of his behaviour as I was of his heart: but -the Danceny of to-day, led away by the women, running after adventures, -and grown, as the usage is, somewhat of a rake, will he prefer a very -shy young girl, who only offers him her beauty, her innocence and her -love, to the attractions of a woman who is certainly very _well-worn_? - -For my part, my dear friend, it seems to me that, even with your new -principles, which, I quite admit, are shared also in some degree by -myself, I should decide, under the circumstances, for the younger -flame. To begin with, it is one the more, and then the novelty, and -again the fear of losing the fruit of your labour by neglecting to cull -it; for, on that side, in short, it would be really an opportunity -missed, and it does not always return, especially in the case of a -first frailty: when such are in question, often it needs but one -moment of ill-humour, one jealous suspicion, less even, to prevent the -most handsome triumph. Drowning virtue sometimes clings to a straw; -and, once escaped, it keeps upon its guard and is no longer easily -surprised. - -On the other side, on the contrary, what do you risk? Not even a -rupture; a quarrel at the most, whereby you purchase, at the cost -of a few attentions, the pleasure of a reconciliation. What other -course remains for a woman who has already given herself, save that of -indulgence? What would she gain by severity? The loss of her pleasures, -with no profit to her glory. - -If, as I assume, you choose the path of love, which seems to me also -that of reason, I should consider it prudent to send no excuses to -the _rendez-vous_; let yourself be expected quite simply: if you risk -giving a reason, there will perhaps be a temptation to verify it. Women -are curious and obstinate; all might be discovered; as you know, I am -myself just now an example of this. But, if you leave a hope, as it -will be sustained by vanity, it will not be lost until long after the -proper hour for seeking information: then, to-morrow, you will be able -to select the insurmountable obstacle which will have detained you; you -will have been ill, dead if necessary, or anything else which will have -caused you equal despair; and all will be right again. - -For the rest, whichever course you adopt, I only ask you to inform me -of it; and, as I have no interest in the matter, I shall in any case -think that you have done well. Adieu, my dear friend. - -I add one thing more, that I regret Madame de Tourvel; that I am in -despair at being separated from her; that I would pay with half my life -for the privilege of consecrating the other half to her. Ah, believe -me, love is one’s only happiness! - - Paris, 5th December, 17**. - - - - -LETTER THE HUNDRED AND FIFTY-SIXTH - -CÉCILE VOLANGES TO THE CHEVALIER DANCENY - -(Enclosed in the preceding) - - -HOW is it, my dear friend, that I see you no longer, when I never cease -to desire it? Do you no longer care so much about it as I do? Ah, -nowadays I am very sad indeed! Sadder even than when we were entirely -separated. The pain I once had through others comes now from you, and -that hurts far more. - -You know quite well that it is some days since Mamma has been away from -home, and I hoped you would try and profit by this time of freedom: but -you do not even think of me; I am very unhappy! You told me so often -that my love was less than yours! I knew the contrary, and here is the -proof. If you had come to see me, you would have seen me indeed: for I -am not like you; I only think of what will reunite us. If you had your -deserts, I would not say anything of all I have done for that, and of -the trouble it has given me: but I love you too well, and I wish so -much to see you that I cannot refrain from telling you. And then, I -shall soon see afterwards if you really love me! - -I have managed so well, that the porter is in our interests, and has -promised me that, whenever you came, he would let you in, as though he -did not see you; and we can depend upon him, for he is a very obliging -man. It is only a question, then, of keeping out of sight in the house; -and that is very easy, if you come at night, when there is nothing at -all to fear. For instance, since Mamma has been going out every day, -she goes to bed every night at eleven o’clock; so that we should have -plenty of time. - -The porter told me that, if you should come like that, instead of -knocking on the gate, you would only have to knock at his window, and -he would open at once to you; and then, you will easily find the back -staircase; and, as you will not be able to have a light, I will leave -the door of my room ajar, which will always give you a little light. -You must take great care not to make any noise, especially in passing -Mamma’s back door. As for my maid’s, that is no matter, as she has -promised me not to awake; she is a very good girl, too! And to leave, -it will be just the same. Now we shall see if you will come. - -Ah God, why does my heart beat so fast while I write to you? Is some -misfortune going to come to me, or is it the hope of seeing you which -troubles me like this? What I feel most is that I have never loved you -so much, and have never longed so much to tell you so. Come then, my -friend, my dear friend, that I may be able to repeat to you a hundred -times that I love you, that I adore you, that I shall never love anyone -but you. - -I have found the means of informing M. de Valmont that I had something -to say to him; and, as he is a very good friend, he is sure to come -to-morrow, and I will beg him to give you this letter immediately. So -that I shall expect you to-morrow night, and you will come without -fail, if you would not make your Cécile very unhappy. - -Adieu, my dear friend; I embrace you with all my heart. - - Paris, 4th December, 17**, in the evening. - - - - -LETTER THE HUNDRED FIFTY-SEVENTH - -THE CHEVALIER DANCENY TO THE VICOMTE DE VALMONT - - -Do not doubt, my dear Vicomte, either of my heart or of my proceedings! -How could I resist a desire of my dear Cécile’s? Ah, it is indeed she, -she alone whom I love, whom I shall always love! Her ingenuousness, her -tenderness have a charm for me from which I may have been weak enough -to allow myself to be distracted, but which nothing will ever efface. -Embarked upon another adventure without, so to speak, having perceived -it, often has the memory of Cécile come to trouble me, in the midst of -my sweetest pleasures; and, perhaps, my heart has never rendered her -truer homage than at the very moment I was unfaithful to her. However, -my friend, let us spare her delicacy and hide my wrong-doings from her; -not to surprise her, but so as not to give her pain. Cécile’s happiness -is the most ardent vow that I frame; I would never forgive myself a -fault which had cost her a tear. - -I feel I have deserved your jesting remarks upon what you call my -new principles: but you can believe me when I say that it is not by -them I am guided at this moment; and from to-morrow I am determined -to prove it. I will go and accuse myself to the very woman who has -been the cause of my error, who has participated in it; I will say -to her, “Read my heart; it has the most tender friendship for you; -friendship united to desire so greatly resembles love!... Both of us -have been deceived; but, though susceptible to error, I am not capable -of a breach of faith.” I know my friend; she is as noble as she is -indulgent; she will do more than pardon me, she will approve. She -herself often reproached herself with betraying friendship; often her -delicacy took alarm at her love. Wiser than I, she will strengthen in -my soul those useful fears which I rashly sought to stifle in hers. I -shall owe it to her that I am better, as to you that I am happier. O my -friends, divide my gratitude. The idea that I owe my happiness to you -enhances its value. - -Adieu, my dear Vicomte. The excess of my joy does not prevent me from -thinking of your sorrows, and from sharing them. Why can I not be of -use to you! Does Madame de Tourvel remain inexorable then? I am told -also that she is very ill. God, how I pity you! May she regain at -the same time her health and her indulgence, and for ever make your -happiness! These are the prayers of friendship; I dare hope that they -will be heard by Love. - -I should like to talk longer with you; but the hour approaches, and -perhaps Cécile already awaits me. - - Paris, 5th December, 17**. - - - - -LETTER THE HUNDRED AND FIFTY-EIGHTH - -THE VICOMTE DE VALMONT TO THE MARQUISE DE MERTEUIL - -(Upon awaking) - - -WELL, well, Marquise, how are you after the pleasures of last night? -Are you not somewhat fatigued by them? Admit now, that Danceny is -charming! He performs prodigies, this youth! You did not expect it -of him, am I not right? Indeed, I will do myself justice; I richly -deserved to be sacrificed to such a rival. Seriously, he is full -of good qualities! But, above all, what love, what constancy, what -delicacy! Ah, if you were ever to be loved by him as his Cécile is, -you would have no rivals to fear: he proved that to you last night. -Perhaps, by dint of coquetry, another woman may rob you of him for a -moment; a young man can hardly refuse enticing provocations: but a -single word from the beloved object suffices, as you see, to dispel -this illusion; thus you have only to be that object in order to become -perfectly happy. - -You will surely make no mistake there; you have too sure a tact that -you need ever fear that. However, the friendship which unites us, -as sincere on my part as it is recognized on yours, made me desire -for you the experience of last night. It is the work of my zeal; it -has succeeded: but I pray you, no thanks; it is not worth the pains: -nothing could have been easier. - -In fact, what did it cost me? A slight sacrifice, and a little skill. I -consented to share the favours of his mistress with the young man: but, -after all, he has as much right to them as I; and I took such scant -account of them! The letter which the young person wrote to him was, of -course, dictated by me; but it was only to gain time, because we had a -better use for it. The one I added to it, oh, that was nothing, next -to nothing; a few friendly reflexions to guide the new lover’s choice: -but, upon my honour, they were not required; the truth must be told, he -did not hesitate for an instant. - -Moreover, in his candour, he is to go to you to-day, to tell you -everything; and assuredly the story will please you mightily! He will -say to you: “_Read my heart_;” this he has told me: and you quite see -that that repairs everything. I hope that, while reading what he would -have, you will also perhaps read that such young lovers have their -dangers; and again, that it is better to have me for a friend than an -enemy. - -Adieu, Marquise; until the next occasion. - - Paris, 6th December, 17**. - - - - -LETTER THE HUNDRED AND FIFTY-NINTH - -THE MARQUISE DE MERTEUIL TO THE VICOMTE DE VALMONT - - -I DO not like people to follow up sorry conduct with sorry jests; it is -neither in my manner nor to my taste. When I have ground of complaint -against people, I do not quiz them; I do better, I avenge myself. -However satisfied with yourself you may be at the present moment, do -not forget that it would not be the first time if you were to find that -you were premature, and quite alone, in applauding yourself in the hope -of a triumph which had escaped you at the very moment when you were -congratulating yourself upon it. Adieu. - - Paris, 6th December, 17**. - - - - -LETTER THE HUNDRED AND SIXTIETH - -MADAME DE VOLANGES TO MADAME DE ROSEMONDE - - -I WRITE to you from the chamber of your unhappy friend, whose state has -remained almost always the same. There is to be a consultation of four -physicians this afternoon. That is, unhappily, as you know, more often -a proof of danger than a means of relief. - -It seems, however, that her mind was somewhat restored last night. The -waiting-maid informed me this morning that just before midnight her -mistress called her; that she wished to be alone with her; and that -she dictated to her a fairly long letter. Julie added that, whilst she -was busy in making the envelope for it, Madame de Tourvel’s delirium -returned: so that the girl did not know to whom she was to address -it. I was astonished, at first, that the letter itself had not been -sufficient to inform her; upon which she answered me that she feared to -make a mistake; that her mistress, however, had greatly charged her to -have it dispatched immediately. I took upon myself to open the packet. - -I found there the communication which I send you, which, in fact, is -addressed to everybody and to nobody. I think, however, that it was to -M. de Valmont that our unhappy friend meant at first to write; but that -she gave way, without perceiving it, to the disorder of her ideas. -Be that as it may, I judged that the letter should not be given to -anybody. I send it you, because you will learn from it, better than you -can from me, what are the thoughts which fill our patient’s head. As -long as she remains so keenly affected, I shall have no hope. The body -recovers with difficulty, when the mind is so ill at ease. - -Adieu, my dear and revered friend. I congratulate you upon being at a -distance from the sad spectacle which is continually before my eyes. - - Paris, 6th December, 17**. - - - - -LETTER THE HUNDRED AND SIXTY-FIRST - -THE PRÉSIDENTE DE TOURVEL TO---- - -(Dictated by her and written by her waiting-maid) - - -CRUEL and wicked being, will you never cease to persecute me? Does it -not suffice you to have tortured, degraded, vilified me? Would you -ravish from me even the peace of the grave? What! In this abode of -shadow, where ignominy has forced me to bury myself, are my sorrows -to be without cessation, is hope to be unknown? I do not implore for -mercy, which I do not deserve: to suffer without complaining, I shall -be content if my sufferings do not exceed my strength. But do not -render my torments unbearable. In leaving me my sorrow, take away from -me the cruel memory of the good I have lost. When you have ravished -it from me, trace no more before my eyes its desolating image. I -was innocent and at peace: because I saw you, I lost my repose; by -listening to you I became criminal. Author of my faults, what right -have you to punish them? - -Where are the friends who cherished me, where are they? My misfortune -has terrified them. None dares come near me. I am borne down, and they -leave me without succour! I am dying, and no one weeps over me. All -consolation is refused me. Pity stops short on the brink of the abyss -into which the guilty one has plunged. She is torn by remorse and her -cries are not heeded! - -And you, whom I have outraged; you, whose esteem adds to my punishment; -you, who alone would have the right to avenge yourself on me, what are -you doing far away from me? Come and punish an unfaithful wife. Let me -suffer, at last, the torments I have deserved. I should have already -submitted to your vengeance: but the courage failed me to tell you of -your shame. It was not dissimulation, it was respect. Let this letter, -at least, tell you of my repentance. Heaven has taken your part; it -avenges you for a wrong you do not know. ’Tis Heaven which has tied my -tongue and retained my words; it feared lest you should remit a fault -which it wished to punish. It has withdrawn me from your indulgence, -which would have infringed its justice. - -Pitiless in its vengeance, it has abandoned me to the very one who -ruined me. It is at once for him and through him that I suffer. I -seek to flee him in vain; he follows me; he is there; he assails me -unceasingly. But how different he is from himself! His eyes express -naught but hatred and contempt. His lips proffer only insults and -reproach. His arms are only thrown round me to destroy me. Who will -save me from his barbarous fury? - -But what! It is he.... I am not mistaken; it is he whom I see once -more. O my beloved, take me in your arms; hide me in your bosom: yes, -it is you, it is indeed you! What dread illusion made me misunderstand -you? How I have suffered in your absence! Let us part no more, let us -never part again. Let me breathe. Feel my heart, how it throbs! Ah, it -is with fear no longer, it is the soft emotion of love! Why do you -turn away from my tender caresses? Cast your sweet glance upon me! What -are those bonds you are trying to break? Why are you getting ready -those preparations for death? What can change your features thus? What -are you doing? Leave me: I shudder! God! It is that monster again! My -friends, do not desert me. You, who urged me to fly from him, help me -to struggle against him; and you, more indulgent, who promised me a -diminution of my pains, come to my side. Where have you both gone? If I -am not allowed to see you again, at least, answer this letter: let me -know that you still love me. - -Leave me then, cruel one! What fresh fury seizes you? Do you fear -lest any gentle sentiment should penetrate my soul? You redouble -my torments; you force me to hate you. Oh, what a grievous thing -is hatred! How it corrodes the heart which distils it! Why do you -persecute me? What more can you have to say to me? Have you not made it -as impossible for me to listen to you as to answer you? Expect nothing -more of me. Monsieur, farewell. - - Paris, 5th December, 17**. - - - - -LETTER THE HUNDRED AND SIXTY-SECOND - -THE CHEVALIER DANCENY TO THE VICOMTE DE VALMONT - - -I AM acquainted, Monsieur, with your behaviour to me. I know also that, -not content with having unworthily tricked me, you have not feared -to vaunt and applaud yourself for it. I have seen the proof of your -treachery written in your own hand. I confess that my heart was sick, -and that I felt a certain shame at having assisted somewhat myself -at the odious abuse you have made of my blind confidence: I do not, -however, envy you this shameful advantage; I am only curious to learn -whether you will preserve them all alike over me. I shall know this if, -as I hope, you will be ready to meet me to-morrow, between eight and -nine o’clock in the morning, at the entrance to the Bois de Vincennes -by the village of Saint-Mandé. I will be careful to have there all that -is necessary for the explanations which I still have to obtain from you. - - The Chevalier DANCENY. - - Paris, 6th December, 17**, in the evening. - - - - -LETTER THE HUNDRED AND SIXTY-THIRD - -M. BERTRAND TO MADAME DE ROSEMONDE - - -MADAME, - -It is with great regret that I undertake the sad task of announcing -to you news which will cause you such cruel sorrow. Allow me, first, -to recommend to you that pious resignation which we have all so much -admired in you, and which alone enables us to support the ills with -which our wretched life is strewn. - -Your nephew.... Gracious Heaven! Must I afflict so greatly so venerable -a lady! Your nephew has had the misfortune to fall in a remarkable duel -which he had this morning with M. le Chevalier Danceny. I am entirely -ignorant of the motive of this quarrel; but it appears, from the -missive which I found still in the pocket of M. le Vicomte, and which I -have the honour to forward you; it appears, I say, that he was not the -aggressor. Yet it needs must be he whom Heaven allowed to fall! - -I had been to wait upon M. le Vicomte, precisely at the hour when he -was brought back to the _hôtel_. Imagine my terror, when I saw your -nephew carried by two of his servants, and bathed in his blood. He -had two sword-thrusts through his body, and was already very weak. M. -Danceny was there also, and he even wept. Ah, certainly, he has -reason to weep: but it is a fine time to shed tears, when one has -caused an irreparable misfortune! - -[Illustration: Mlle Gerard del. Simonet sculpᵗ.] - -As for me, I could not contain myself; and, in spite of my humble -condition, I none the less told him my fashion of thinking. But it was -then that M. le Vicomte showed himself truly great. He ordered me to be -silent; and, taking the hand of the very man who was his murderer, he -called him his friend, embraced him before us all and said to us, “I -command you to treat Monsieur with all the consideration that is due -to a brave and gallant man.” He further caused him to be presented, in -my presence, with a voluminous mass of papers, the contents of which I -am not acquainted with, but to which I am well aware he attached vast -importance. He then desired that we should leave them alone together -for a moment. Meanwhile, I had sent in search of every kind of succour, -both spiritual and temporal: but, alas, the ill was incurable! Less -than half-an-hour later, M. le Vicomte lost consciousness. He was only -able to receive extreme unction; and the ceremony was hardly over, when -he rendered his last breath. - -Great God! When I received in my arms, at his birth, this precious prop -of so illustrious a house, how little did I foresee that it was to be -in my arms that he would expire, and that I should have to weep for -his death! A death so premature and so unfortunate! My tears flow in -spite of myself. I ask your pardon, Madame, for thus daring to mingle -my grief with your own: but, in every condition, we have hearts and -sensibility; and I should be ungrateful, indeed, if I did not weep all -my life for a lord who shewed me so much kindness, and honoured me with -so great confidence. - -To-morrow, after the removal of the body, I will have the seals placed -on everything, and you can depend entirely on my care. You will be -aware, Madame, that this unhappy event cuts off the entail, and leaves -the disposition of your property entirely free. If I can be of any use -to you, I beg you to be good enough to convey to me your orders: I will -employ all my zeal in their punctual fulfilment. - -I remain, with the most profound respect, Madame, your most humble, etc. - - BERTRAND. - - Paris, 7th December, 17**. - - - - -LETTER THE HUNDRED AND SIXTY-FOURTH - -MADAME DE ROSEMONDE TO M. BERTRAND - - -I HAVE this moment received your letter, my dear Bertrand, and learn -from it the fearful event of which my nephew has been the unhappy -victim. Yes, I shall doubtless have orders to give you, and it is only -on account of them that I can occupy myself with anything else than my -mortal affliction. - -The letter of M. Danceny, which you have sent me, is a very convincing -proof that it was he who provoked the duel, and it is my intention that -you should immediately lodge a complaint, and in my name. My nephew -may have satisfied his natural generosity in pardoning his enemy and -murderer; but it is my duty to avenge, at the same time, his death, -humanity and religion. One cannot be too eager to invoke the severity -of the law against this remnant of barbarism, and I do not believe that -this is a case in which we are required to pardon injuries. I expect -you, then, to pursue this matter with all the zeal and activity of -which I know you to be capable, and which you owe to my nephew’s memory. - -You will be sure, before all, to see M. le Président de *** on my -behalf, and confer with him on the subject. I have not written to him, -eager as I am to be left quite alone with my sorrow. You will convey -him my excuses, and communicate this letter to him. - -Adieu, my dear Bertrand; I praise and thank you for your kind -sentiments, and am, for life, entirely yours. - - At the Château de ..., 8th December, 17**. - - - - -LETTER THE HUNDRED AND SIXTY-FIFTH - -MADAME DE VOLANGES TO MADAME DE ROSEMONDE - - -I KNOW you are already acquainted, my dear and revered friend, with the -loss you have just sustained; I knew your affection for M. de Valmont, -and I participate most sincerely in the affliction which you must feel. -I am truly grieved to have to add a fresh regret to those which are -trying you already: but, alas! you have only your tears now to bestow -upon our unhappy friend. We lost her yesterday, at eleven o’clock -at night. By a fatality which attended her lot, and which seemed to -make a mock of all human prudence, the short interval by which she -survived M. de Valmont sufficed to inform her of his death; and, as she -herself said, to enable her not to succumb beneath the weight of her -misfortunes until the measure of them was full. - -You are aware, of course, that for more than two days she was -absolutely without consciousness; and even yesterday morning, when -her physician arrived, and we approached her bedside, she recognized -neither of us, and we could not extract the least word or sign from -her. Well, hardly had we returned to the chimney, and the physician -was relating to me the sad episode of M. de Valmont’s death, when the -unfortunate woman recovered her reason, whether that nature alone had -produced this revolution, or that it was caused by the repetition of -the words, _M. de Valmont_ and _death_, which may have brought back to -the patient the only ideas which have occupied her for a long time. - -However that may be, she hurriedly threw back the curtains of her bed, -crying out, “What? What are you saying? M. de Valmont is dead!” I hoped -to make her believe that she was mistaken, and at first assured her -that she had heard wrong: but far from letting herself be persuaded, -she required the physician to repeat the cruel story, and, upon my -endeavouring again to dissuade her, she called me and whispered, “Why -wish to deceive me? Was he not already dead to me?” It was necessary, -therefore, to yield. - -Our unhappy friend listened, at first, with a fairly tranquil air: but -soon afterwards, she interrupted the story, saying, “Enough, I know -enough.” She asked at once for her curtains to be closed; and, when -the physician subsequently tried to busy himself with the care of her -condition, she never would have him near her. - -As soon as he had left, she similarly dismissed her nurse and -waiting-maid; and when we were left alone, she begged me to help her to -kneel down upon her bed, and support her so. There she stayed for some -time in silence, and with no other expression than that which was given -by her tears, which flowed copiously. At last, clasping her hands, and -raising them to Heaven: “Almighty God,” said she, in a weak but fervent -voice, “I submit myself to Thy justice; but forgive Valmont. Let not -my misfortunes, which I admit are deserved, be a cause of reproach to -him, and I will bless Thy mercy!” I have permitted myself, my dear and -respected friend, to enter into these details on a subject which I -am well aware must renew and aggravate your grief, because I have no -doubt that that prayer of Madame de Tourvel’s will, nevertheless, be -a great consolation to your soul. After our friend had uttered these -brief words, she fell back in my arms; and she was hardly replaced in -her bed, when she was overcome by weakness, which lasted long, but -which gave way to the ordinary remedies. As soon as she had regained -consciousness, she asked me to send for the Père Anselme, and added, -“He is now the only physician whom I need; I feel that my ills will -soon be ended.” She complained much of oppression, and spoke with -difficulty. - -[Illustration: Mlle Gerard del. Triere sculp.] - -A short time afterwards, she handed me, through her waiting-maid, a -casket which I am sending to you, which she tells me contains papers of -hers, and which she charged me to convey to you immediately after her -death.[16] She next spoke to me of you, and of your friendship for her, -so far as her situation permitted, and with much emotion. - -The Père Anselme arrived about four o’clock, and remained alone with -her for nearly an hour. When we returned, the face of the sick woman -was calm and serene; but it was easy to see that the Père Anselme -had shed many tears. He remained to assist at the last ceremonies of -the Church. This spectacle, always so imposing and so sorrowful, was -rendered even more so by the contrast which the tranquil resignation of -the sufferer formed with the profound grief of her venerable confessor, -who burst into tears at her side. The emotion became general; and she, -for whom everybody wept, was the only one not to weep. - -The remainder of the day was spent in the customary prayers, which were -only interrupted by the sufferer’s frequent fits of weakness. At last, -at about eleven o’clock at night, she appeared to be more oppressed -and to suffer more. I put out my hand to seek her arm; she had still -strength enough to take it, and she placed it upon her heart. I could -no longer discern any movement; and, indeed, at that very moment, our -unfortunate friend expired. - -You will remember, my dear friend, that, on your last visit here, not -a year ago, when we talked together of certain persons whose happiness -seemed to us more or less assured, we dwelt complacently upon the lot -of this very woman, whose misfortunes and whose death we lament to-day. -So many virtues, laudable qualities and attractions; a character so -sweet and easy; a husband whom she loved, and by whom she was adored; -a society which pleased her, and of which she was the delight; a face, -youth, fortune; so many combined advantages lost through a single -imprudence! O Providence, doubtless we must worship Thy decrees; but -how incomprehensible they are! I stop myself; I fear to add to your -sorrow by indulging my own. - -I leave you, to return to my daughter, who is a little indisposed. When -she heard from me this morning of so sudden a death of two persons of -her acquaintance, she was taken ill, and I had her sent to bed. I hope, -however, that this slight indisposition will have no ill results. At -her age, one is not yet habituated to sorrow, and its impression is -keener and more potent. Such sensibility is, doubtless, a praiseworthy -quality; but how greatly does all that we daily see teach us to dread -it! - -Adieu, my dear and venerable friend. - - Paris, 9th December, 17**. - - - - -LETTER THE HUNDRED AND SIXTY-SIXTH - -M. BERTRAND TO MADAME DE ROSEMONDE - - -MADAME, - -In consequence of the orders which you have done me the honour of -sending me, I have had that of seeing M. le Président de ***, and have -communicated your letter to him, informing him that, in pursuance of -your wishes, I should do nothing without his advice. The honourable -magistrate desires me to point out to you that the complaint which you -intend to lodge against M. le Chevalier Danceny would be compromising -to the memory of your nephew, and that his honour would also inevitably -be tarnished by the decree of the court, which would, of course, be a -great misfortune. His opinion, therefore, is that you should carefully -abstain from taking any proceedings; and that what you had better do, -on the contrary, would be to endeavour to prevent the Government from -taking cognizance of this unfortunate adventure, which has already made -too much noise. - -These observations seemed to me full of wisdom, and I resolved to -wait for further orders from you. Allow me to beg you, Madame, to be -so good, when you dispatch them, as to add a word as to the state of -your health, the sad effect upon which of so many troubles I greatly -dread. I hope that you will pardon this liberty in consideration of my -attachment and my zeal. - -I am, with respect, Madame, your, etc. - - Paris, 10th December, 17**. - - - - -LETTER THE HUNDRED AND SIXTY-SEVENTH - -ANONYMOUS TO M. LE CHEVALIER DANCENY - - -MONSIEUR, - -I HAVE the honour to inform you that this morning, in the corridors of -the Court, there was talk amongst the King’s officers of the affair -which you had a few days ago with M. le Vicomte de Valmont, and that it -is to be feared that the Government will take proceedings against you. -I thought that this warning might be of use to you, either to enable -you to seek out what protection you have, to ward off these vexatious -results; or, in the event of your being unable to succeed in this, to -put you in a position to take measures for your personal safety. - -If you will even permit me to give you a piece of advice, I think you -would do well to show yourself less often than you have done during the -last few days. Although, ordinarily, affairs of this sort are treated -with indulgence, this respect nevertheless continues due to the law. - -This precaution becomes all the more necessary in that it has come to -my ears that a certain Madame de Rosemonde, who, I am told, is an aunt -of M. de Valmont, wished to lodge a complaint against you, in which -event the public officers could not refuse her requisition. It would -not be amiss, perhaps, if you were able to communicate with this lady. - -Private reasons prevent me from signing this letter. But I am acting -on the consideration that you will not render less justice to the -sentiment which has dictated it, because you know not from whom it -comes. - -I have the honour to be, etc. - - Paris, 10th December, 17**. - - - - -LETTER THE HUNDRED AND SIXTY-EIGHTH - -MADAME DE VOLANGES TO MADAME DE ROSEMONDE - - -MOST surprising and distressing rumours, my dear and revered friend, -are being disseminated here in relation to Madame de Merteuil. I am, -assuredly, very far from believing them, and I would wager well that it -is nothing but a hideous calumny: but I am too well aware of the ease -with which even the most improbable slanders acquire credit, and of the -difficulty with which the impression they leave is effaced, not to be -greatly alarmed at these, easy as I believe it to be to refute them. I -should wish, above all, that they could be stopped in good time, before -they have spread further. But I only knew yesterday, at a late hour, -of these horrors which they were fast beginning to retail; and when -I sent this morning to Madame de Merteuil, she had just left for the -country, where she was to spend two days. They were not able to tell me -to whom she had gone. Her second woman, whom I sent for to speak with -me, told me that her mistress had left no orders save that she was to -be expected on Thursday next; and none of the servants whom she has -left here know any more. For myself, I have no notion where she may be; -I cannot recollect any person of her acquaintance who stays so late in -the country. - -However that may be, you will be able, I hope, between now and her -return, to furnish me with information which will be of use to her: for -these odious stories are based on the circumstances of M. de Valmont’s -death; you are likely to have been informed of them, if they are true; -or, at any rate, it will be easy for you to obtain information, which I -beg you to do. This is what is being published, or rather, whispered, -at present; but it will certainly not be long before it spreads further: - -It is said that the quarrel between M. de Valmont and the Chevalier -Danceny was the work of Madame de Merteuil, who deceived them both -alike; that, as happens almost always, the two rivals began by fighting -and only arrived at explanations afterwards; that these explanations -brought about a sincere reconciliation; and that, in order to expose -Madame de Merteuil to the Chevalier Danceny, and also to justify -himself entirely, M. de Valmont supported his revelations by a heap -of letters, forming a regular correspondence which he had maintained -with her, and in which she relates the most scandalous anecdotes about -herself, and in the freest of styles. - -People further say that Danceny, in the first heat of his indignation, -shewed these letters to all who wished to see them, and that they -are now making the round of Paris. Two of them, in particular, are -quoted:[17] one in which she relates the whole history of her life -and principles, and which is said to attain the height of horror; the -other which entirely justifies M. de Prévan, whose story you will -remember, by the proof it contains that all he did was to yield to the -most marked advances on the part of Madame de Merteuil, and that the -_rendez-vous_ was arranged with her. - -I have, happily, the strongest reasons to believe that these -imputations are as false as they are odious. First, we are both aware -that M. de Valmont was assuredly not occupied with Madame de Merteuil, -and I have every cause to believe that Danceny was equally without -interest in her: thus it seems to me clearly proved that she can have -been neither the motive nor the author of the quarrel. I equally fail -to understand what interest Madame de Merteuil can have had, assuming -her to have been in concert with M. de Prévan, in making a scene which -could only be disagreeable by its publicity, and which might become -most dangerous to her, since she made, thereby, an irreconcilable enemy -of a man who was master in part of her secret, and who, at that time, -had numerous partisans. However, it is remarkable that since that -adventure not a single voice has been raised in Prévan’s favour, and -that even from his own side there has been no protest made. - -These reflections would lead me to suspect the author of the rumours -which are abroad to-day, and to look upon these slanders as the work of -the hatred and vengeance of a man who, knowing himself to be ruined, -hopes, by such a means, at least to establish a doubt, and perhaps -cause a useful diversion. But, from whatever source these malicious -reports arise, the most urgent thing is to destroy them. They would -cease of themselves, if it were to be shewn, as is probable, that MM. -de Valmont and Danceny had no communication after their unfortunate -affair, and that no papers passed between them. - -In my impatience to verify these facts, I sent this morning -to M. Danceny; he is not in Paris either. His people told my -_valet-de-chambre_ that he had left in the night, owing to a warning he -had received yesterday, and that the place of his sojourn was a secret. -Apparently he is afraid of the results of his duel. ’Tis through you -alone, then, my dear and revered friend, that I can be informed of the -details which interest me, and which may become so necessary to Madame -de Merteuil. I renew my prayer to you to acquaint me with them as soon -as possible. - -P.S. My daughter’s indisposition has had no consequences; she presents -her respects to you. - - Paris, 11th December, 17**. - - - - -LETTER THE HUNDRED AND SIXTY-NINTH - -THE CHEVALIER DANCENY TO MADAME DE ROSEMONDE - - -MADAME, - -PERHAPS you will think the step I am taking to-day very unusual: but I -entreat you to hear before you judge me, and to see neither boldness -nor temerity, where only respect and confidence is meant. I do not deny -the injury I have done you; and I should not pardon myself for it, -all my life, if I could think for a moment that it had been possible -for me to avoid it. Be even persuaded, Madame, that, if I am exempt -from reproach, I am not equally so from regrets; and I may add, with -equal sincerity, that those which I have caused you count for much in -those which I feel. In order to believe in these sentiments of which -I venture to assure you, it will suffice for you to render justice to -yourself, and to reflect that, without having the honour of being known -to you, I have, however, that of knowing you. - -Meanwhile, whilst I groan over the fatality which has been the cause at -once of your grief and my misfortunes, I have been led to fear that, -absorbed in your vengeance, you would seek out means of gratifying it, -even through the severity of the laws. Allow me, first, to point out -to you, on this subject, that here you are led astray by your sorrow, -since my interest in this matter is essentially at one with that of M. -de Valmont, and that he would himself be involved in the condemnation -which you would have provoked against me. I believe then, Madame, that -I can count on assistance, rather than on obstacles, on your part, in -any efforts I may be obliged to make, so that this unhappy event may -remain buried in silence. - -But this resource of complicity, which befits the innocent and the -guilty alike, is not sufficient for my delicacy: while desiring to -remove you as a party to the suit, I demand you as my judge. The esteem -of persons whom we respect is too precious that I should let yours be -taken from me without defending it, and I believe I possess the means. - -In fact, if you will admit that vengeance is allowed, or say rather, -that it is one’s bounden duty, when one has been betrayed in one’s -love, in one’s friendship, and, above all, in one’s confidence; if -you admit this, my wrongs against you will vanish from your eyes. -Do not take my word for this; but read, if you have the courage, -the correspondence which I place in your hands.[18] The quantity of -original letters which it contains seems to lend authenticity to those -of which only copies exist. For the rest, I received these letters, -just as I have the honour to forward them to you, from M. de Valmont -himself. I have added nothing to them, and I have only extracted two -letters which I have permitted myself to publish. - -One of these was necessary to the common vengeance of M. de Valmont -and of myself; to this we had both a right, and I had been expressly -charged with it by him. I thought, moreover, that I was rendering a -service to society, in unmasking a woman so really dangerous as is -Madame de Merteuil, who, as you will see, was the sole and veritable -cause of all that passed between M. de Valmont and myself. - -A feeling of justice also induced me to publish the second, for the -justification of M. de Prévan, whom I hardly know, but who had in no -way merited the rigorous treatment which he has experienced, nor the -still more redoubtable judgment of the public, beneath which he has -been groaning, ever since, without any means of defence. - -You will only find copies, then, of these two letters, the originals -of which I owe it to myself to keep. For all the rest, I do not -believe I can remit in surer hands a deposit the destruction of which -is not, perhaps, to my interest, but which I should blush to abuse. -I believe, Madame, that, in confiding these papers to you, I am -serving the persons interested in them, as well as if I remitted them -to themselves; and I spare them the embarrassment of receiving them -from me, and of knowing me to be informed of adventures of which they -doubtless desire all the world to remain ignorant. - -I think I ought to warn you, on this subject, that the adjoined -correspondence only forms part of a far more voluminous collection, -from which M. de Valmont extracted it in my presence, and which you -will find, on the removal of the seals, under the title, which I saw, -of “_Account opened between the Marquise de Merteuil and the Vicomte -de Valmont_.” You will adopt, in this matter, whatever course your -prudence may suggest. - -I am with respect, Madame, etc. - -P.S. Certain information which I have received, and the advice of my -friends, have decided my absence from Paris for some time: but the -place of my retreat, which is kept a secret for everybody, will not be -one for you. If you honour me with a reply, I beg you to address it to -the Commanderie de .... by P..., under cover to M. le Commandeur de -***. It is from his house that I have the honour to write to you. - - Paris, 12th December, 17**. - - - - -LETTER THE HUNDRED AND SEVENTIETH - -MADAME DE VOLANGES TO MADAME DE ROSEMONDE - - -I MOVE, my dear friend, from surprise to surprise and from sorrow -to sorrow. One must be a mother to form an idea of what I suffered -yesterday all the morning: and, if my most cruel anxiety has been -calmed since, there still remains to me a keen affliction, the end of -which I cannot foresee. - -Yesterday, about ten o’clock in the morning, astonished that I had not -yet seen my daughter, I sent my waiting-maid to know what could have -occasioned her delay. She returned a moment later, highly alarmed, -and alarmed me even more by informing me that my daughter was not in -her apartment, and that, since the morning, her maid had not seen her -there. Judge of my situation! I summoned all my people, and the porter -in especial: all swore to me they knew nothing, and could give me no -information upon this event. I went at once to my daughter’s room. The -disorder which obtained there assured me that she had apparently only -gone that morning: but I found no further clue. I searched her presses, -her writing-desk; I found everything in its place and all her wardrobe, -with the exception of the dress in which she had left. She had not even -taken the small stock of money which she possessed. - -As she had only heard yesterday of all that is said of Madame de -Merteuil; as she is greatly attached to her, to such a degree, indeed, -that she did naught but weep all the evening; as I remembered also, -that she did not know Madame de Merteuil was in the country, my first -idea was that she had wished to see her friend, and had been so -imprudent as to go alone. But the time which elapsed before her return -brought back all my uneasiness. Each moment augmented my trouble, and, -burning as I was for information, I dared take no steps to obtain it, -for fear of giving publicity to a proceeding which, afterwards, I might -wish, perhaps, to be able to hide from everybody. Never in my life have -I so suffered. - -Finally, it was not until past two o’clock, I received at the same time -a letter from my daughter and one from the Superior of the Convent -of.... My daughter’s letter only said that she had feared lest I should -oppose the vocation, which she felt, to become a nun, and that she had -not dared speak to me of it: the rest only consisted of excuses for the -course she had adopted without my permission, which I would assuredly -not disapprove of, she added, if I knew her motives, into which she -begged me, however, not to enquire. - -The Superior wrote to me that, seeing a young person arrive alone, she -had at first refused to receive her; but that, having questioned her -and learned who she was, she had thought to do me a service by giving -my daughter shelter, in order not to expose her to further journeys, -upon which she seemed resolved. The Superior, while offering, as a -matter of course, to restore my daughter to me, if I were to demand -her, urges me, obeying her condition, not to oppose a vocation which -she declares to be firm; she told me also that she could not inform -me earlier of this event, owing to the difficulty she had in making my -daughter write to me, as her plan was to leave everyone in ignorance of -the place of her retreat. It is a cruel thing when our children argue -so ill! - -I went immediately to the convent; and, after seeing the Superior, -asked to see my daughter; she only came reluctantly, and in a very -tremulous state. I spoke to her before the nuns, and I spoke to her -alone: all that I could extract from her, amid many tears, was that -she could only be happy in the convent; I decided to let her remain -there, but without entering the rank of postulants, as she desired. I -fear that the deaths of Madame de Tourvel and M. de Valmont have unduly -affected her young head. Whatever my respect for a religious vocation, -I could not see my daughter embrace that career without sorrow, and -even without alarm. Methinks we have already duties enough to perform, -without creating fresh ones; and, again, it is hardly at her age that -we best know what befits us. - -What enhances my embarrassment is the nearness of M. de Gercourt’s -return; must this most advantageous marriage be broken off? How, then, -are we to make our children’s happiness, if it is not sufficient to -desire it and devote all our cares to it? You will greatly oblige me by -telling me what you would do in my place; I cannot fix upon any course: -I find nothing more terrible than to have to decide another’s lot, and -I am equally afraid of bringing to this occasion the severity of a -judge or the weakness of a mother. - -I reproach myself unceasingly for augmenting your sorrows by speaking -to you of my own; but I know your heart: the consolation which you -could give to others would become to you the greatest you could -yourself receive. - -Adieu, my dear and revered friend; I await your two replies with much -impatience. - - Paris, 13th December, 17**. - - - - -LETTER THE HUNDRED AND SEVENTY-FIRST - -MADAME DE ROSEMONDE TO THE CHEVALIER DANCENY - - -AFTER what you have brought to my knowledge, Monsieur, nothing is left -for me but to be silent and to weep. One regrets that one still lives, -after learning such horrors; one blushes to be a woman, when one finds -one capable of such excesses. - -I will willingly concur with you, Monsieur, so far as I am concerned, -in leaving in silence and oblivion all that may have brought about -these sad events. I even hope that they may never cause you any other -grief than that inseparable from the unhappy advantage which you -obtained over my nephew. In spite of his errors, I feel that I shall -never console myself for his loss: but my eternal affliction will be -the sole vengeance I shall permit myself to obtain from you; I leave it -to your heart to appreciate its extent. - -If you will permit to my age a reflexion which is rarely made at yours, -it is that, were one enlightened as to one’s true happiness, one would -never seek it outside the bounds prescribed by religion and the laws. - -You may rest assured that I will keep faithfully and willingly the -deposit you have confided to me, but I ask you to authorize me to give -it up to no one, not even to you, Monsieur, unless it should become -necessary for your justification. I venture to believe that you will -not refuse me this request, and that you have already realized how -often one laments for having indulged in even the most just revenge. - -I do not pause here in my requests: convinced as I am of your -generosity and delicacy, it would be very worthy of both of these if -you were also to place in my hands the letters of Mademoiselle de -Volanges, which, apparently, you have retained, and which, doubtless, -are of no further interest to you. I know that that young person has -wronged you greatly; but I do not think that you have thought of -punishing her; and, were it only out of respect for yourself, you will -not degrade the object you have so greatly loved. I have no need to -add, then, that the consideration which the daughter does not deserve -is due at any rate to the mother, to that meritorious woman, in regard -to whom you are not without having much to repair: for, after all, -whatever illusion one may seek to impose on one’s self by a pretended -delicacy of sentiment, he who first attempts to seduce a heart still -virtuous and simple makes himself, from that fact alone, the first -abettor of its corruption, and must be, for ever, responsible for the -excesses and errors which ensue. - -Do not be surprised, Monsieur, at so much severity on my part: it -is the greatest proof I can give you of my complete esteem. You -will acquire fresh rights to it still, by lending yourself, as I -desire, to the security of a secret the publication of which would do -yourself a wrong and deal death to a mother’s heart which you have -already wounded. In a word, Monsieur, I desire to do this service to -my friend; and, if I could be afraid that you would refuse me this -consolation, I would ask you to reflect beforehand that it is the only -one you have left me. - -I have the honour to be, etc. - - At the Château de ..., 15th December, 17**. - - - - -LETTER THE HUNDRED AND SEVENTY-SECOND - -MADAME DE ROSEMONDE TO MADAME DE VOLANGES - - -HAD I been obliged, my dear friend, to await and receive from Paris the -enlightenment which you ask me for concerning Madame de Merteuil, it -would have been impossible for me to give it you as yet; and doubtless -that which I received would have been vague and uncertain: but there -has reached me information which I neither expected nor had reason to -expect; and this is only too certain. O my friend, how that woman has -deceived you! - -I shrink from entering into any details of this mass of horrors; but, -whatever may be reported, rest assured that it still falls short of the -truth. I hope, my dear friend, that you know me well enough to believe -my word for it, and that you will require no proofs from me. Let the -knowledge suffice you that there exists a mass of them, and that, at -this very moment, they are in my hands. - -It is not without extreme pain that I beseech you also not to compel me -to give a reason for the advice you ask of me, respecting Mademoiselle -de Volanges. I recommend you not to oppose the vocation she displays. -Assuredly, no reason can justify one in forcing such a condition of -life upon one who is not called to it: but sometimes it is a great -happiness that it should be so; and you see that your daughter tells -you herself that you would not disapprove, if you knew her motives. He -who inspires our sentiments knows better than our vain wisdom what is -right for each one of us, and, often, what seems an act of His severity -is, on the contrary, one of His clemency. - -In short, my advice, which I am quite sensible will afflict you, and -which, from that fact alone, you must believe I would not give you -unless I had greatly reflected upon it, is that you should leave -Mademoiselle de Volanges at the convent, since this step is of her own -choice; that you should encourage, instead of thwarting the project she -seems to have formed; and that, in awaiting its execution, you should -not hesitate to break off the marriage you had arranged. - -After fulfilling these painful duties of friendship, and in the -impotence in which I am to add any consolation, the one favour it -remains for me to beg of you, my dear friend, is to ask me no further -questions bearing in any way upon these sad events: let us leave them -in the oblivion which befits them; and, without seeking to throw -useless and painful lights upon them, submit ourselves to the decrees -of Providence, and believe in the wisdom of its views, even where we -are not permitted to understand them. Adieu, my dear friend. - - At the Château de ..., 15th December, 17**. - - - - -LETTER THE HUNDRED AND SEVENTY-THIRD - -MADAME DE VOLANGES TO MADAME DE ROSEMONDE - - -O MY friend, in what a fearful veil do you envelop my daughter’s lot! -And you seemed to dread lest I seek to raise it! What, pray, can it -conceal which can affect a mother’s heart more than the dire suspicions -to which you abandon me? The more I think of your friendship, of your -indulgence, the more are my torments redoubled: twenty times, since -yesterday, have I tried to escape from this cruel uncertainty, and to -beg you to let me know all, without considering my feelings and without -reserve; and each time I shuddered with dread, when I remembered the -prayer you made me not to question you. Finally, I decide upon a course -which still leaves me some hope; and I depend upon your friendship -not to refuse me what I ask: it is to answer me whether I have, to a -certain extent, understood what you might have to tell me; not to be -afraid to let me know all that maternal indulgence can forgive, and -which it may not be impossible to repair. If my misfortunes exceed -this measure, then, indeed, I consent to leave you to explain yourself -by silence alone; here then is what I know already, and the point to -which my fears extend. My daughter has shewn that she had a certain -inclination for the Chevalier Danceny, and I have been informed that -she has gone so far as to receive letters from him, and even to reply -to them; but I believed I had succeeded in preventing this error -of a child from having any dangerous consequences: to-day, when I -dread everything, I can conceive that it may have been possible for -my surveillance to have been deceived; and I fear that my misguided -daughter may have set a seal upon her wrong doing. - -I recall to mind, again, several circumstances which lend weight to -this fear. I told you that my daughter was taken ill at the news of M. -de Valmont’s misfortune; perhaps this sensitiveness was merely due to -her thought of the risks M. Danceny had run in this combat. Afterwards, -when she shed so many tears on learning all that was said of Madame -de Merteuil, perhaps what I thought to be the grief of friendship was -but the effect of jealousy, or of regret at finding her lover to be -unfaithful. Her latest course may again, it seems to me, be explained -by the same motive. It often happens that one believes one’s self -called to God, only because one has revolted against men. Finally, -supposing these facts to be true, and that you have been informed -of them, you may have found them sufficient to justify the rigorous -counsel you gave me. - -However, if this be so, whilst blaming my daughter, I should still -believe it my duty to try every means to save her from the torments and -dangers of an illusory and transient vocation. If M. Danceny is not -lost to every sentiment of honour, he will not refuse to repair a wrong -of which he is the sole author, and I am entitled to believe that a -marriage with my daughter is sufficiently advantageous to gratify him, -as well as his family. - -This, my dear and revered friend, is the one hope remaining to me; -hasten to confirm it, if you can. You may judge how desirous I am that -you should reply to me, and what a terrible blow your silence would -inflict.[19] - -I was about to close my letter, when a gentleman of my acquaintance -came to see me, and related the cruel scene which Madame de Merteuil -underwent the day before yesterday. As I have seen nobody for the last -few days, I knew nothing of this adventure; here is the relation of it, -as I have it from an eye-witness: - -Madame de Merteuil, on her return from the country on Thursday, -alighted at the Italian Comedy, where she had her box; she was alone in -it, and, what must have seemed most extraordinary to her, no gentleman -of her acquaintance presented himself during the performance. At the -close, she entered the withdrawing-room, as was her custom; it was -already crowded; a hum was raised immediately, but apparently she was -not aware that she was the object of it. She saw a vacant place on one -of the benches, and went and sat there; but at once all the women who -were there before her rose, as if in concert, and left her absolutely -alone. This marked sign of general indignation was applauded by all the -men, and the murmurs, which even amounted, it is said, to hooting, were -redoubled. - -That nothing might be lacking to her humiliation, her ill-luck had it -that M. de Prévan, who had shown himself nowhere since his adventure, -should enter the withdrawing-room that same moment. As soon as he was -recognized, everybody, men and women, surrounded and applauded him; -and he was carried, so to speak, in face of Madame de Merteuil by -the crowd, which made a circle round them. I was assured that Madame -de Merteuil preserved an appearance of seeing and hearing nothing, -and that she did not change her expression! But I think this fact -exaggerated. Be that as it may, this truly ignominious situation lasted -until her carriage was announced; and, at her departure, the scandalous -hooting was redoubled. It is fearful to be related to such a woman. -M. de Prévan met with a great reception the same evening from all the -officers of his regiment who were present, and there is no doubt but -that he will shortly regain his rank and employment. - -The same person who gave me these details told me that Madame de -Merteuil was seized the following night with a violent fever, which -was at first thought to be the effect of the terrible situation in -which she had been placed; but it became known yesterday that confluent -small-pox had declared itself, of a very dangerous kind. Truly, it -would be a piece of good-fortune for her if she were to die of it. They -say, further, that all this adventure will damage her case, which is on -the point of being tried, and in which they assert that she had need of -much favour. - -Adieu, my dear and revered friend. I see the wicked punished in all -this; but I find no consolation in it for their unfortunate victims. - - Paris, 18th December, 17**. - - - - -LETTER THE HUNDRED AND SEVENTY-FOURTH - -THE CHEVALIER DANCENY TO MADAME DE ROSEMONDE - - -YOU are right, Madame, and certainly I will refuse you nothing within -my power to which you attach any value. The packet which I have the -honour to forward you contains all Mademoiselle de Volanges’ letters. -If you read them, you will see, not without astonishment perhaps, what -a wealth of perfidy and ingenuousness can be united. That is, at least, -what struck me most, on my last perusal of them. - -Above all, can one refrain from the liveliest indignation against -Madame de Merteuil, when one reflects with what a hideous pleasure she -brought all her pains to bear on the corruption of so much innocence -and candour? - -No, my love is dead. I retain nothing of a sentiment so basely -betrayed; and it is not that which makes me seek to justify -Mademoiselle de Volanges. Nevertheless, would not that simple heart, -that gentle and pliable character, have been influenced for good more -easily even than they were seduced to evil? What young person, issuing -similarly from a convent, without experience and almost without ideas, -and bringing into the world, as almost always happens then, an equal -ignorance of good and evil; what young person, I say, would have been -able to offer more resistance to such culpable artifices? Ah, to be -indulgent it suffices to reflect upon how many circumstances beyond -our own control the terrible alternative between the delicacy and the -depravation of our sentiments depends. You rendered justice to me, -then, Madame, in deeming that the wrongs of Mademoiselle de Volanges, -which I felt most keenly, did not, however, inspire me with any ideas -of vengeance. ’Tis quite enough to be obliged to renounce my love of -her! It would cost me too much to hate her. - -I needed no reflexion to desire that all which concerns and could harm -her should remain for ever unknown to the world. If I have seemed to -delay the fulfilment of your desires in this matter, I think I need -not conceal my motive from you; I wished to be sure, beforehand, that -I was not to be troubled with the consequences of my unfortunate -duel. At a time when I was craving your indulgence, when I even dared -believe I had some right to it, I should have feared to have too -much the appearance of buying it by this condescension on my part; -and, convinced of the purity of my motives, I was proud enough, I -will confess, to wish you to be left in no doubt of them. I hope you -will pardon this delicacy, perhaps too susceptible, in view of the -veneration which you inspire in me, and the value which I attach to -your esteem. - -It is the same sentiment which bids me ask of you, as a last favour, to -be so good as to let me know if, in your judgment, I have fulfilled all -the duties which have been imposed upon me by the unhappy circumstances -in which I was placed. Once at ease in this respect, my intention is -fixed; I leave for Malta; I will go there to make gladly, and keep -religiously, the vows which will separate me from a world of which, -whilst still so young, I have had such good reason to complain; I shall -go, in short, to seek to lose, beneath an alien sky, the thought of so -many accumulated horrors, whose memory could only sadden and wither my -soul. - -I am with respect, Madame, your most humble, etc. - - Paris, 26th December, 17**. - - - - -LETTER THE HUNDRED AND SEVENTY-FIFTH - -MADAME DE VOLANGES TO MADAME DE ROSEMONDE - - -THE fate of Madame de Merteuil, my dear and revered friend, seems to -be at length complete; and it is such that her greatest enemies are -divided between the indignation she merits and the pity she inspires. -I was right, indeed, in saying that it would be a happiness for her to -die of her small-pox. She has recovered, it is true, but she has been -fearfully disfigured; and, in particular, she has lost an eye. You will -imagine that I have not seen her; but I am told that she is really -hideous. - -The Marquis de ***, who never misses an occasion for saying something -malicious, said yesterday, in speaking of her, that the disease had -transformed her, and that now her soul was to be seen in her face. -Unhappily, everyone found the expression just. - -A further event has just come to add to her disgrace and to her -prejudice. Her case was tried yesterday, and the verdict was given -against her unanimously. Costs, damages, restitution of the funds -received, all was adjudged to the minors: so that the small remnant of -her fortune which was not compromised in this case is absorbed, and -more than absorbed, by the costs. - -Immediately she received this intelligence, although still sick, she -made her arrangements, and started off at night, alone and posting. Her -servants say to-day that none of them would follow her. It is believed -she has taken the road to Holland. - -This departure makes more noise than all the rest, from the fact that -she has carried off her diamonds, a possession of great value, which -should have returned to her husband’s succesion; her plate, jewels; in -short, everything that she could; and that she leaves behind her nearly -fifty thousand livres of debts. It is a real bankruptcy. - -The family is to assemble to-morrow to make arrangements with the -creditors. Although only a distant relation, I have offered to -contribute, but I shall not be present at this assembly, having to -assist at an even sadder ceremony. To-morrow, my daughter takes the -habit of a postulant. I hope that you will not forget, my dear friend, -that, in making this great sacrifice, I have no other motive for being -compelled to it than the silence which you have maintained towards me. - -M. Danceny left Paris nearly a fortnight ago. It is said that he is on -his way to Malta where it is his intention to remain. There would be -still time, perhaps, to recall him!.... My friend!.... My daughter is -guilty indeed, then!.... You will forgive a mother, no doubt, for only -yielding to this awful certainty with difficulty. - -What a fatality has fallen upon me of late, and stricken me in the -objects dearest to me! My daughter and my friend! - -Who is there who would not shudder, if he were to reflect upon the -misfortunes that may be caused by even one dangerous association! And -what troubles would one not avert by reflecting on this more often! -What woman would not fly before the first proposal of a seducer! What -mother could see another person than herself speak to her daughter, -and tremble not! But these tardy reflexions never come until after the -event; and one of the most important of truths, as it is, perhaps, one -of the most generally recognized, lies stifled and void of use in the -whirlpool of our inconsequent manners. - -Adieu, my dear and revered friend; I feel at this moment that our -reason, which is already so insufficient to avert our misfortunes, is -even more inadequate to console us for them.[20] - - Paris, 14th January, 17**. - - -THE END. - - -FOOTNOTES: - -[1] Danceny is ignorant of what this means was; he merely repeats -Valmont’s expression. - -[2] Voltaire: _Nanine_. - -[3] A village half-way between Paris and the _château_ of Madame de -Rosemonde. - -[4] The afore-mentioned village, half-way on the road. - -[5] _La Nouvelle Héloïse._ - -[6] _La Nouvelle Héloïse._ - -[7] “_L’amour y pourvoira._” Regnard: _Les Folies amoureuses_. - -[8] This letter has not been recovered. - -[9] From the comedy, “_On ne s’avise jamais de tout!_” - -[10] See letter the hundred and ninth. - -[11] Letters the hundred and twentieth and hundred and twenty-second. - -[12] “_Plus je vis d’étrangers, plus j’aimai ma patrie_”. Du Belloi’s -tragedy of _Le Siège de Calais_. - -[13] Letters the forty-sixth and forty-seventh. - -[14] Marmontel: _Conte moral d’Alcibiade_. - -[15] It is because we have discovered nothing in the subsequent -correspondence which can solve this doubt that we have decided to -suppress M. de Valmont’s letter. - -[16] This casket contained all the letters relating to her adventure -with M. de Valmont. - -[17] Letters the eighty-first and eighty-fifth of this collection. - -[18] It is from this correspondence, from that handed over in the same -way on the death of Madame de Tourvel, and from the letters alike -confided to Madame de Rosemonde by Madame de Volanges, that the present -collection has been formed, the originals of which remain in the hands -of Madame de Rosemonde’s heirs. - -[19] This letter was left unanswered. - -[20] Private reasons and considerations, which we shall ever make it a -duty to respect, force us to halt here. - -We cannot, at this moment, give our reader the continuation of -Mademoiselle de Volanges’ adventures, nor acquaint him with the -sinister events which culminated the misfortunes, or completed the -punishment, of Madame de Merteuil. - -Perhaps some day it will be in our power to complete this work; but -we can give no undertaking in this matter: and, even were we able to -do so, we should still deem it our duty first to consult the taste of -the public, which has not our reasons for taking an interest in this -narration. - - - - -Corrections - -The first line indicates the original, the second the correction - -p. 314 - - who could fail do draw profit - who could fail to draw profit - -p. 356 - - what a pathethic scene! - what a pathetic scene! - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LES LIAISONS DANGEREUSES, -VOLUME 2 (OF 2) *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the -United States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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