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diff --git a/old/69913-h/69913-h.htm b/old/69913-h/69913-h.htm deleted file mode 100644 index 55a2d36..0000000 --- a/old/69913-h/69913-h.htm +++ /dev/null @@ -1,10021 +0,0 @@ -<!DOCTYPE html> -<html lang="en"> -<head> - <meta charset="UTF-8"> - <title> - Les liaisons dangereuses Vol. II | A Project Gutenberg eBook - </title> - <link rel="icon" href="images/cover.jpg" type="image/x-cover"> - <style> - -body {margin: auto 25%;} - -h1,h3 {text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ - clear: both;} -h2 {text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ - clear: both; line-height: 1.5em;} -p { margin-top: .51em; - text-align: justify; - margin-bottom: .49em; text-indent: 1em;} -.noin {text-indent: 0;} - -.p2 {margin-top: 2em;} - -hr {width: 33%; - margin-top: 2em; - margin-bottom: 2em; - margin-left: 33.5%; - margin-right: 33.5%; - clear: both;} - -hr.chap {width: 65%; margin-left: 17.5%; margin-right: 17.5%;} -@media print { hr.chap {display: none; visibility: hidden;} } - -div.chapter {page-break-before: always;} -h2.nobreak {page-break-before: avoid;} - -ul {list-style-type: none; } - -table {margin-left: auto; - margin-right: auto;} - -.tdr {text-align: right;} - -.pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ - /* visibility: hidden; */ - position: absolute; - left: 92%; - font-size: small; - text-align: right; - font-style: normal; - font-weight: normal; - font-variant: normal; - text-indent: 0; -} /* page numbers */ - -.blockquot { - margin-left: 5%; - margin-right: 10%;} - -.center {text-align: center;} - -.right {text-align: right;} - -.smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} -.sync {clear: both;} -.allsmcap {font-variant: small-caps; text-transform: lowercase;} -.large {font-size: 120%;} -.u {text-decoration: underline;} -.err {border-bottom: thin dotted red;} - -.caption {text-align: left; margin: 0 1em 0.5em 1em; - text-indent: 0; font-size: 80%;} -.captionr {float: right; padding-left: 3em;} - -/* Images */ - -img { - max-width: 100%; - height: auto; -} -img.w100 {width: 100%;} - -.figcenter {margin: auto; - page-break-inside: avoid; - max-width: 100%;} - -/* Footnotes */ -.footnote {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-size: 1em;} -.footnote .label {position: relative; bottom: 0.4em; - vertical-align: baseline; font-size: 80%; text-decoration: none;;} -.fnanchor {vertical-align: super; bottom: 0.4em; - font-size: .8em; white-space: nowrap;} - -/* Transcriber's notes */ -.transnote {background-color: #E6E6FA; - color: black; - font-size:small; - padding:0.5em; - margin-bottom:5em; - font-family:sans-serif, serif;} - -/* Illustration classes */ -.illowe29_75 {width: 29.75em;} -.illowe30_875 {width: 30.875em;} -.illowe30_625 {width: 30.625em;} -.illowe37_5 {width: 37.5em;} -.illowp43 {width: 43%;} -.x-ebookmaker .illowp43 {width: 100%;} -.illowp44 {width: 44%;} -.x-ebookmaker .illowp44 {width: 100%;} -.illowp45 {width: 45%;} -.x-ebookmaker .illowp45 {width: 100%;} - - </style> -</head> -<body> -<p style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Les liaisons dangereuses, volume 2 (of 2), by Choderlos de Laclos</p> -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -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 <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. 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. -</div> - -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: Les liaisons dangereuses, volume 2 (of 2)</p> -<p style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:0; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:1em;'>or, letters collected in a private society and published for the instruction of others</p> -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Choderlos de Laclos</p> -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Translator: Ernest Dowson</p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: January 31, 2023 [eBook #69913]</p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</p> - <p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em; text-align:left'>Produced by: Adam Buchbinder, Eleni Christofaki and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net</p> -<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LES LIAISONS DANGEREUSES, VOLUME 2 (OF 2) ***</div> - -<div class="transnote"><h3>Transcriber’s note</h3> - -<p class="noin">Variable spelling and hyphenation have been retained. Minor punctuation -inconsistencies have been silently repaired. The <a href="#LIST_OF_PLATES">list of plates</a> appears in the <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/69891">first volume</a>. A list of the changes made -can be found <a href="#Corrections">at the end of the book</a>. </p></div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h1 class="nobreak">LES LIAISONS DANGEREUSES <span class="smcap">Vol. II</span></h1> -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="figcenter illowe30_875" id="004-gray"> - <img class="w100" src="images/004-gray.jpg" alt=""> - <div class="caption"><i>C. Monet del.</i> <span class="captionr"><i>Patas sculp.</i></span></div> -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p class="nobreak center">LES LIAISONS DANGEREUSES -<br> -<small>OR</small> -<br> -<i>LETTERS COLLECTED IN A PRIVATE SOCIETY<br> -AND PUBLISHED FOR THE INSTRUCTION<br> -OF OTHERS</i></p> - -<p class="center p2"><small>BY</small><br> -CHODERLOS DE LACLOS</p> - -<p class="center p2"><small>TRANSLATED BY</small><br> -ERNEST DOWSON</p> - -<p class="center p2"><span class="smcap">Vol</span>. II</p> - -<p class="center p2">LONDON<br> -PRIVATELY PRINTED<br> -1898</p> -</div> -<figure class="figcenter illowe37_5" id="005"> - <img class="w100" src="images/005.jpg" alt="cover"> -</figure> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak"><a id="LIST_OF_PLATES"></a>LIST OF PLATES</h2> -</div> - -<h3><span class="smcap">Vol.</span> II.</h3> - -<table> -<tr><td><span class="allsmcap">FRONTISPIECE</span></td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#004-gray">to face the title</a></td> -</tr> -<tr><td><span class="allsmcap">“ARMED WITH MY DARK LANTERN.... I PAID MY FIRST -VISIT TO YOUR PUPIL”</span></td> <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_313">313</a></td> -</tr> -<tr><td><span class="allsmcap">“THE LOVELY FORM LEANED UPON MY ARM”</span></td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#044-gray">329</a></td> -</tr> -<tr><td><span class="allsmcap">“YESTERDAY, HAVING FOUND YOUR PUPIL.... WRITING TO HIM”</span></td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_401">401</a></td> -</tr> -<tr><td><span class="allsmcap">“YOU SHALL LISTEN TO ME, IT IS MY WISH”</span></td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_435">435</a></td> -</tr> -<tr><td><span class="allsmcap">“I COMMAND YOU TO TREAT MONSIEUR WITH ALL CONSIDERATION”</span></td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_543">543</a></td> -</tr> -<tr><td><span class="allsmcap">“I FEEL THAT MY ILLS WILL SOON BE ENDED”</span></td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_549">549</a></td> -</tr></table> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CONTENTS_OF_VOLUME_THE_SECOND">CONTENTS OF VOLUME THE SECOND</h2> -</div> - -<table> -<tr><th><span class="allsmcap">LETTER</span></th> <th> </th> - <th><span class="allsmcap">PAGE</span></th></tr> - - <tr><td class="tdr">XCI.</td> <td>The Vicomte de Valmont to the Présidente de Tourvel</td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#LES">299</a></td></tr> - - <tr><td class="tdr">XCII.</td> <td>The Chevalier Danceny to the Vicomte de Valmont</td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_302">302</a></td></tr> - - <tr><td class="tdr">XCIII.</td> <td>The Chevalier Danceny to Cécile Volanges </td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_304">304</a></td></tr> - - <tr><td class="tdr">XCIV.</td> <td>Cécile Volanges to the Chevalier Danceny</td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_306">306</a></td></tr> - - <tr><td class="tdr">XCV.</td> <td>Cécile Volanges to the Vicomte de Valmont</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_308">308</a></td></tr> - - <tr><td class="tdr">XCVI.</td> <td>The Vicomte de Valmont to the Marquise de Merteuil</td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_310">310</a></td></tr> - - <tr><td class="tdr">XCVII.</td> <td>Cécile Volanges to Madame de Merteuil</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_317">317</a></td></tr> - - <tr><td class="tdr">XCVIII.</td> <td>Madame de Volanges to the Marquise de Merteuil</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_321">321</a></td></tr> - - <tr><td class="tdr">XCIX.</td> <td>The Vicomte de Valmont to the Marquise de Merteuil</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_325">325</a></td></tr> - - <tr><td class="tdr">C.</td> <td>The Vicomte de Valmont to the Marquise de Merteuil</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_333">333</a></td></tr> - - <tr><td class="tdr">CI.</td> <td>The Vicomte de Valmont to Azolan, his <i>chasseur</i></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_338">338</a></td></tr> - - <tr><td class="tdr">CII.</td> <td>The Présidente de Tourvel to Madame de Rosemonde</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_341">341</a></td></tr> - - <tr><td class="tdr">CIII.</td> <td>Madame de Rosemonde to the Présidente de Tourvel</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_345">345</a></td></tr> - - <tr><td class="tdr">CIV.</td> <td>The Marquise de Merteuil to Madame de Volanges</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_348">348</a></td></tr> - - <tr><td class="tdr">CV.</td> <td>The Marquise de Merteuil to Cécile Volanges</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_355">355</a></td></tr> - - <tr><td class="tdr">CVI.</td> <td>The Marquise de Merteuil to the Vicomte de Valmont</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_361">361</a></td></tr> - - <tr><td class="tdr">CVII.</td> <td>Azolan to the Vicomte de Valmont</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_366">366</a></td></tr> - - <tr><td class="tdr">CVIII.</td> <td>The Présidente de Tourvel to Madame de Rosemonde</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_371">371</a></td></tr> - - <tr><td class="tdr">CIX.</td> <td>Cécile Volanges to the Marquise de Merteuil</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_374">374</a></td></tr> - - <tr><td class="tdr">CX.</td> <td>The Vicomte de Valmont to the Marquise de Merteuil</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_377">377</a></td></tr> - - <tr><td class="tdr">CXI.</td> <td>The Comte de Gercourt to Madame de Volanges</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_383">383</a></td></tr> - - <tr><td class="tdr">CXII.</td> <td>Madame de Rosemonde to the Présidente de Tourvel</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_385">385</a></td></tr> - - <tr><td class="tdr">CXIII.</td> <td>The Marquise de Merteuil to the Vicomte de Valmont</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_387">387</a></td></tr> - - <tr><td class="tdr">CXIV.</td> <td>The Présidente de Tourvel to Madame de Rosemonde</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_395">395</a></td></tr> - - <tr><td class="tdr">CXV.</td> <td>The Vicomte de Valmont to the Marquise de Merteuil</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_397">397</a></td></tr> - - <tr><td class="tdr">CXVI.</td> <td>The Chevalier Danceny to Cécile Volanges</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_403">403</a></td></tr> - - <tr><td class="tdr">CXVII.</td> <td>Cécile Volanges to the Chevalier Danceny</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_406">406</a></td></tr> - - <tr><td class="tdr">CXVIII.</td> <td>The Chevalier Danceny to the Marquise de Merteuil</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_408">408</a></td></tr> - - <tr><td class="tdr">CXIX.</td> <td>Madame de Rosemonde to the Présidente de Tourvel</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_411">411</a></td></tr> - - <tr><td class="tdr">CXX.</td> <td>The Vicomte de Valmont to the Père Anselme</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_413">413</a></td></tr> - - <tr><td class="tdr">CXXI.</td> <td>The Marquise de Merteuil to the Chevalier Danceny</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_415">415</a></td></tr> - - <tr><td class="tdr">CXXII.</td> <td>Madame de Rosemonde to the Présidente de Tourvel</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_418">418</a></td></tr> - - <tr><td class="tdr">CXXIII.</td> <td>The Père Anselme to the Vicomte de Valmont</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_421">421</a></td></tr> - - <tr><td class="tdr">CXXIV.</td> <td>The Présidente de Tourvel to Madame de Rosemonde</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_423">423</a></td></tr> - - <tr><td class="tdr">CXXV.</td> <td>The Vicomte de Valmont to the Marquise de Merteuil</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_427">427</a></td></tr> - - <tr><td class="tdr">CXXVI.</td> <td>Madame de Rosemonde to the Présidente de Tourvel</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_439">439</a></td></tr> - - <tr><td class="tdr">CXXVII.</td> <td>The Marquise de Merteuil to the Vicomte de Valmont</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_442">442</a></td></tr> - - <tr><td class="tdr">CXXVIII.</td> <td>The Présidente de Tourvel to Madame de Rosemonde</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_445">445</a></td></tr> - - <tr><td class="tdr">CXXIX.</td> <td>The Vicomte de Valmont to the Marquise de Merteuil</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_447">447</a></td></tr> - - <tr><td class="tdr">CXXX.</td> <td>Madame de Rosemonde to the Présidente de Tourvel</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_450">450</a></td></tr> - - <tr><td class="tdr">CXXXI.</td> <td>The Marquise de Merteuil to the Vicomte de Valmont</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_453">453</a></td></tr> - - <tr><td class="tdr">CXXXII.</td> <td>The Présidente de Tourvel to Madame de Rosemonde</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_456">456</a></td></tr> - - <tr><td class="tdr">CXXXIII.</td> <td>The Vicomte de Valmont to the Marquise de Merteuil</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_458">458</a></td></tr> - - <tr><td class="tdr">CXXXIV.</td> <td>The Marquise de Merteuil to the Vicomte de Valmont</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_463">463</a></td></tr> - - <tr><td class="tdr">CXXXV.</td> <td>The Présidente de Tourvel to Madame de Rosemonde</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_467">467</a></td></tr> - - <tr><td class="tdr">CXXXVI.</td> <td>The Présidente de Tourvel to the Vicomte de Valmont</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_470">470</a></td></tr> - - <tr><td class="tdr">CXXXVII.</td> <td>The Vicomte de Valmont to the Présidente de Tourvel</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_472">472</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdr">CXXXVIII. </td><td>The Vicomte de Valmont to the Marquise de Merteuil</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_476">476</a></td></tr> - - <tr><td class="tdr">CXXXIX.</td> <td>The Présidente de Tourvel to Madame de Rosemonde</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_479">479</a></td></tr> - - <tr><td class="tdr">CXL.</td> <td>The Vicomte de Valmont to the Marquise de Merteuil</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_481">481</a></td></tr> - - <tr><td class="tdr">CXLI.</td> <td>The Marquise de Merteuil to the Vicomte de Valmont</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_484">484</a></td></tr> - - <tr><td class="tdr">CXLII.</td> <td>The Vicomte de Valmont to the Marquise de Merteuil</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_488">488</a></td></tr> - - <tr><td class="tdr">CXLIII.</td> <td>The Présidente de Tourvel to Madame de Rosemonde</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_490">490</a></td></tr> - - <tr><td class="tdr">CXLIV.</td> <td>The Vicomte de Valmont to the Marquise de Merteuil</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_491">491</a></td></tr> - - <tr><td class="tdr">CXLV.</td> <td>The Marquise de Merteuil to the Vicomte de Valmont</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_495">495</a></td></tr> - - <tr><td class="tdr">CXLVI.</td> <td>The Marquise de Merteuil to the Chevalier Danceny</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_498">498</a></td></tr> - - <tr><td class="tdr">CXLVII.</td> <td>Madame de Volanges to Madame de Rosemonde</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_500">500</a></td></tr> - - <tr><td class="tdr">CXLVIII.</td> <td>The Chevalier Danceny to the Marquise de Merteuil</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_504">504</a></td></tr> - - <tr><td class="tdr"> CXLIX.</td> <td>Madame de Volanges to Madame de Rosemonde</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_506">506</a></td></tr> - - <tr><td class="tdr">CL.</td> <td>The Chevalier Danceny to the Marquise de Merteuil</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_510">510</a></td></tr> - - <tr><td class="tdr">CLI.</td> <td>The Vicomte de Valmont to the Marquise de Merteuil</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_513">513</a></td></tr> - - <tr><td class="tdr">CLII.</td> <td>The Marquise de Merteuil to the Vicomte de Valmont</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_516">516</a></td></tr> - - <tr><td class="tdr">CLIII.</td> <td>The Vicomte de Valmont to the Marquise de Merteuil</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_520">520</a></td></tr> - - <tr><td class="tdr">CLIV.</td> <td>Madame de Volanges to Madame de Rosemonde</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_522">522</a></td></tr> - - <tr><td class="tdr">CLV.</td> <td>The Vicomte de Valmont to the Chevalier Danceny</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_524">524</a></td></tr> - - <tr><td class="tdr">CLVI.</td> <td>Cécile Volanges to the Chevalier Danceny</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_528">528</a></td></tr> - - <tr><td class="tdr">CLVII.</td> <td>The Chevalier Danceny to the Vicomte de Valmont</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_531">531</a></td></tr> - - <tr><td class="tdr">CLVIII.</td> <td>The Vicomte de Valmont to the Marquise de Merteuil</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_533">533</a></td></tr> - - <tr><td class="tdr">CLIX.</td> <td>The Marquise de Merteuil to the Vicomte de Valmont</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_535">535</a></td></tr> - - <tr><td class="tdr">CLX.</td> <td>Madame de Volanges to Madame de Rosemonde</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_536">536</a></td></tr> - - <tr><td class="tdr">CLXI.</td> <td>The Présidente de Tourvel to——</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_538">538</a></td></tr> - - <tr><td class="tdr">CLXII.</td> <td>The Chevalier Danceny to the Vicomte de Valmont</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_541">541</a></td></tr> - - <tr><td class="tdr">CLXIII.</td> <td>M. Bertrand to Madame de Rosemonde</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_542">542</a></td></tr> - - <tr><td class="tdr">CLXIV.</td> <td>Madame de Rosemonde to M. Bertrand</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_545">545</a></td></tr> - - <tr><td class="tdr">CLXV.</td> <td>Madame de Volanges to Madame de Rosemonde</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_547">547</a></td></tr> - - <tr><td class="tdr">CLXVI.</td> <td>M. Bertrand to Madame de Rosemonde</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_551">551</a></td></tr> - - <tr><td class="tdr">CLXVII.</td> <td>Anonymous to M. le Chevalier Danceny</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_553">553</a></td></tr> - - <tr><td class="tdr">CLXVIII.</td> <td>Madame de Volanges to Madame de Rosemonde</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_555">555</a></td></tr> - - <tr><td class="tdr">CLXIX.</td> <td>The Chevalier Danceny to Madame de Rosemonde</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_559">559</a></td></tr> - - <tr><td class="tdr">CLXX.</td> <td>Madame de Volanges to Madame de Rosemonde</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_563">563</a></td></tr> - - <tr><td class="tdr">CLXXI.</td> <td>Madame de Rosemonde to the Chevalier Danceny</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_567">567</a></td></tr> - - <tr><td class="tdr">CLXXII.</td> <td>Madame de Rosemonde to Madame de Volanges</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_570">570</a></td></tr> - - <tr><td class="tdr">CLXXIII.</td><td>Madame de Volanges to Madame de Rosemonde</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_572">572</a></td></tr> - - <tr><td class="tdr">CLXXIV.</td> <td>The Chevalier Danceny to Madame de Rosemonde</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_576">576</a></td></tr> - - <tr><td class="tdr">CLXXV.</td> <td>Madame de Volanges to Madame de Rosemonde</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_579">579</a></td></tr> -</table> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p class="nobreak center" id="LES"><span class="large">LES -LIAISONS DANGEREUSES</span></p> - -<h2>LETTER THE NINETY-FIRST -<br> -<small>THE VICOMTE DE VALMONT TO THE PRÉSIDENTE DE TOURVEL</small></h2> -</div> - -<p class="noin"><span class="smcap">In</span> 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?</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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;<span class="pagenum" id="Page_300">[300]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_301">[301]</span> -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?</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p class="right"> -At the Château de ..., 27th September, 17**. -</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_302">[302]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_THE_NINETY-SECOND">LETTER THE NINETY-SECOND -<br> -<small>THE CHEVALIER DANCENY TO THE VICOMTE DE VALMONT</small></h2> -</div> - -<p class="noin">O <span class="smcap">my</span> 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.</p> - -<p>What course ought I to adopt? What do you counsel -me? If I attempted to see her! Is that utterly impossible?<span class="pagenum" id="Page_303">[303]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p class="right"> -Paris, 27th September, 17**. -</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_304">[304]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_THE_NINETY-THIRD">LETTER THE NINETY-THIRD -<br> -<small>THE CHEVALIER DANCENY TO CÉCILE VOLANGES</small></h2><br> -</div> - -<p class="center">(Enclosed in the preceding)</p> - -<p class="noin">I <span class="smcap">cannot</span> 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!...</p> - -<p>Is it true then that you have rejected a means of seeing -me? A <i>simple</i>, <i>convenient</i> and <i>sure</i> means?<a id="FNanchor_1" href="#Footnote_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> 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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_305">[305]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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?</p> - -<p>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!</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p class="right"> -Paris, 27th September, 17**. -</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_306">[306]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_THE_NINETY-FOURTH">LETTER THE NINETY-FOURTH -<br><small>CÉCILE VOLANGES TO THE CHEVALIER DANCENY</small></h2> -</div> - -<p class="noin">I <span class="smcap">can</span> 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!</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_307">[307]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p class="right"> -At the Château de ..., 28th September, 17**. -</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_308">[308]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_THE_NINETY-FIFTH">LETTER THE NINETY-FIFTH -<br><small>CÉCILE VOLANGES TO THE VICOMTE DE VALMONT</small></h2> -</div> - -<p class="noin">I <span class="smcap">beg</span> 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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_309">[309]</span> -it does not take long, because there will be less time for -the danger of Mamma’s seeing it.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>I have the honour to be, Monsieur, your most humble -and obedient servant.</p> - -<p class="right"> -At the Château de ..., 28th September, 17**. -</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_310">[310]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_THE_NINETY-SIXTH">LETTER THE NINETY-SIXTH - <br> - - <small>THE VICOMTE DE VALMONT TO THE MARQUISE DE MERTEUIL</small></h2> -</div> - -<p class="noin">I <span class="smcap">will</span> 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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_311">[311]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>But, in talking of her to you, I forget that I did not<span class="pagenum" id="Page_312">[312]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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 <i>gaucherie</i>, fortified these sage resolutions; I consequently -resolved on action, and my enterprise has been -crowned by success.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_313">[313]</span></p> - -<div class="figcenter illowe29_75" id="026-gray"> - <img class="w100" src="images/026-gray.jpg" alt=""> - <div class="caption"><i>M<sup>le</sup> Gerard del.</i> <span class="captionr"><i>Masquelier sculp.</i></span></div> -</div> -<div class="sync"> </div> -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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 <i>rendez-vous</i>—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.</p> - -<p>I was mighty pleased, I confess, at having thus changed -the <i>rôles</i>, 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.</p> - -<p>After assuring myself that all was quiet in the <i>château</i>, -armed with my dark lantern, and in the costume, befitting -the hour, which the circumstance demanded, I paid my<span class="pagenum" id="Page_314">[314]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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 <span class="err" title="original: do">to</span> 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.</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>This short harangue calmed neither her grief nor her -anger; but it brought about her submission. I know not<span class="pagenum" id="Page_315">[315]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_316">[316]</span> -much effect. It was opportunity alone; but it was there, -always offered, always present, and love was absent.</p> - -<p>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 <i>rendez-vous</i> to-night.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p class="right"> -At the Château de ..., 1st October, 17**. -</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_317">[317]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_THE_NINETY-SEVENTH">LETTER THE NINETY-SEVENTH -<br> - <small>CÉCILE VOLANGES TO MADAME DE MERTEUIL</small></h2> -</div> - -<p class="noin"><span class="smcap">Oh</span>, 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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>You must know then, that M. de Valmont, who has<span class="pagenum" id="Page_318">[318]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_319">[319]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_320">[320]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>I have the honour to be, Madame, always with great -affection, your most humble and obedient servant....</p> - -<p>I dare not sign this letter.</p> - -<p class="right"> -At the Château de ..., 1st October, 17**. -</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_321">[321]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_THE_NINETY-EIGHTH">LETTER THE NINETY-EIGHTH <br> - <small>MADAME DE VOLANGES TO THE MARQUISE DE MERTEUIL</small></h2> -</div> - -<p class="noin"><span class="smcap">It</span> 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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_322">[322]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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!</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>I think, therefore, that I shall be taking the more -prudent course in retracting the promise I have given<span class="pagenum" id="Page_323">[323]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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?</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_324">[324]</span> -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!</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Adieu, my charming friend; never doubt the sincerity -of my sentiments.</p> - -<p class="right"> -At the Château de ..., 2nd October, 17**. -</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_325">[325]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_THE_NINETY-NINTH">LETTER THE NINETY-NINTH -<br> - <small>THE VICOMTE DE VALMONT TO THE MARQUISE DE MERTEUIL</small></h2> -</div> - -<p class="noin">A <span class="smcap">few</span> 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 <i>ennui</i> in -my old aunt’s dreary <i>château</i>. 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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_326">[326]</span></p> - -<p>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?</p> - -<p>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 <i>rendez-vous</i> 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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_327">[327]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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 <i>friendship</i> which<span class="pagenum" id="Page_328">[328]</span> -responded to my <i>love</i>; 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.</p> - -<p>As it is ordinarily when walking that our little <i>rendez-vous</i> -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 <i>contretemps</i>.</p> - -<p>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 <i>salon</i>.” 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 <i>my love -for my friend</i>. 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.</p> - -<div class="figcenter illowe30_625" id="044-gray"> - <img class="w100" src="images/044-gray.jpg" alt=""> - <div class="caption"><i>M<sup>le</sup> Gerard del.</i> <span class="captionr"><i>Baquoy sculp.</i></span></div> -</div> -<div class="sync"> </div> -<p>However, she was wrong to be afraid. For some time -past, assured of success some day or other, and seeing that -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_329">[329]</span>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?</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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;<span class="pagenum" id="Page_330">[330]</span> -a glance would suffice; only one glance, and I -was happy.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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 <i>salon</i>, and only informed<span class="pagenum" id="Page_331">[331]</span> -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 <i>salon</i> 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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_332">[332]</span> -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:</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p>“<i>Je suis juste, et ne suis point galant.</i>”<a id="FNanchor_2" href="#Footnote_2" class="fnanchor">[2]</a></p> -</div> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p class="right"> -At the Château de ..., 2nd October, 17**, in the evening. -</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_333">[333]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_THE_HUNDREDTH">LETTER THE HUNDREDTH -<br> - <small>THE VICOMTE DE VALMONT TO THE MARQUISE DE MERTEUIL</small></h2> -</div> - -<p class="noin"><span class="smcap">My</span> 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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_334">[334]</span></p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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!</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_335">[335]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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!</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_336">[336]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>The thing which would thwart me the most would be -not to know what is passing; but my <i>chasseur</i>, 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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_337">[337]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p class="right"> -At the Château de ..., 3rd October, 17**. -</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_338">[338]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_THE_HUNDRED_AND_FIRST">LETTER THE HUNDRED AND FIRST -<br> - <small>THE VICOMTE DE VALMONT TO AZOLAN, HIS <i>CHASSEUR</i></small></h2> -</div> - -<p class="center">(Enclosed in the preceding)</p> - -<p class="noin"><span class="smcap">You</span> 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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_339">[339]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_340">[340]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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...;<a id="FNanchor_3" href="#Footnote_3" class="fnanchor">[3]</a> he will remain there until -further orders; it will make a relay in case of need. For -the current correspondence, the post will suffice.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p class="right"> -At the Château de ..., 3rd October, 17**. -</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_341">[341]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_THE_HUNDRED_AND_SECOND">LETTER THE HUNDRED AND SECOND -<br> - <small>THE PRÉSIDENTE DE TOURVEL TO MADAME DE ROSEMONDE</small></h2> -</div> - -<p class="noin"><span class="smcap">You</span> 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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_342">[342]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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...!</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_343">[343]</span></p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_344">[344]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p class="right"> -At the Château de ..., 3rd October, 17**, -at one o’clock in the morning.<br> -</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_345">[345]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_THE_HUNDRED_AND_THIRD">LETTER THE HUNDRED AND THIRD -<br> - <small>MADAME DE ROSEMONDE TO THE PRÉSIDENTE DE TOURVEL</small></h2> -</div> - -<p class="noin">I <span class="smcap">was</span> 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 <i>him</i> 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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_346">[346]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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 <i>him</i>. 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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_347">[347]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p class="right"> -At the Château de ..., 3rd October, 17**. -</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_348">[348]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_THE_HUNDRED_AND_FOURTH">LETTER THE HUNDRED AND FOURTH -<br> - <small>THE MARQUISE DE MERTEUIL TO MADAME DE VOLANGES</small></h2> -</div> - -<p class="noin"><span class="smcap">In</span> 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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_349">[349]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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, -<i>to aid her daughter with her experience</i>. 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?</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_350">[350]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_351">[351]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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!...”</p> - -<p>Perhaps, her respect would stifle these complaints: but -maternal love would divine them; and the tears of your<span class="pagenum" id="Page_352">[352]</span> -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?</p> - -<p>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?</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_353">[353]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_354">[354]</span> -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.</p> - -<p class="right"> -Paris, 4th October, 17**. -</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_355">[355]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_THE_HUNDRED_AND_FIFTH">LETTER THE HUNDRED AND FIFTH -<br> - <small>THE MARQUISE DE MERTEUIL TO CÉCILE VOLANGES</small></h2> -</div> - -<p class="noin"><span class="smcap">Well</span>, 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 <i>ennui</i> sometimes, it is true, but one pays -it back.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_356">[356]</span></p> - -<p>In spite of the praise I am forced to give you, as you -see, I must, however, admit that you failed in your <i>chef-d’œuvre</i>; -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 <span class="err" title="original: pathethic">pathetic</span> 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.</p> - -<p>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?</p> - -<p>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.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_357">[357]</span> -That trouble which prevented you <i>from acting as you spoke</i>, -which made you find it <i>so difficult to resist</i>, which made -you feel <i>as though you were sorry</i> when Valmont went -away, was it really shame which caused it, or was it -pleasure? and <i>his way of saying things to which one does -not know how to answer</i>, may that not have arisen from -his <i>way of acting</i>? Ah, little girl, you are fibbing, and -you are fibbing to your friend. That is not right. But -let us leave that.</p> - -<p>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!</p> - -<p>Does not the course which I propose to you seem -to you the most reasonable, as it is the most pleasant?<span class="pagenum" id="Page_358">[358]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_359">[359]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Adieu, sweet angel; follow my advice, and you shall -tell me if you feel the better for it.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_360">[360]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>Adieu, sweetheart: I kiss you instead of scolding you, -in the hope that you will become more reasonable.</p> - -<p class="right"> -Paris, 4th October, 17**. -</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_361">[361]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_THE_HUNDRED_AND_SIXTH">LETTER THE HUNDRED AND SIXTH - - <br><small>THE MARQUISE DE MERTEUIL TO THE VICOMTE DE VALMONT</small></h2> -</div> - -<p class="noin"><span class="smcap">Amazing</span>, 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 <i>moved you so deeply</i>, observing -your restraint, worthy of the fairest days of our chivalry, -I said to myself a score of times: The affair has failed!</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Here you are then, reduced, brought to impotence! -And that between two women, one of whom had already<span class="pagenum" id="Page_362">[362]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_363">[363]</span></p> - -<p>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 <i>understudies</i> 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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>The course I deem the better, and upon which I have -decided, has induced me to conduct the little person<span class="pagenum" id="Page_364">[364]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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 “<i>the day -after</i>.” 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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_365">[365]</span> -same letter, the idea of harming Gercourt gave me the -courage to speak well of him.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p class="right"> -Paris, 3rd October, 17**. -</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_366">[366]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_THE_HUNDRED_AND_SEVENTH">LETTER THE HUNDRED AND SEVENTH -<br> - <small>AZOLAN TO THE VICOMTE DE VALMONT</small></h2> -</div> - -<p class="noin"><span class="smcap">Monsieur,</span></p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>I returned this morning to Mademoiselle Julie, and she -seemed delighted to see me. I questioned her upon the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_367">[367]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>In the morning, Madame de Tourvel, before leaving, -handed a letter to the porter of the <i>château</i>. Mademoiselle -Julie does not know for whom: she says that it was, -perhaps, for Monsieur; but Monsieur does not speak of it.</p> - -<p>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...,<a id="FNanchor_4" href="#Footnote_4" class="fnanchor">[4]</a> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_368">[368]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>Madame la Présidente went in the afternoon to the -library, and took thence two books which she carried to -her <i>boudoir</i>: 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 <i>Pensées chrétiennes</i>, and the other, -the first of a book entitled <i>Clarissa</i>. I write the name as -it is written: Monsieur will, perhaps, know what it is.</p> - -<p>Yesterday evening, Madame did not sup; she only took -some tea.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_369">[369]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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 <i>château</i>.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_370">[370]</span></p> - -<p>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 <i>chasseur</i>. 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.</p> - -<p class="right"> -<span class="smcap">Roux Azolan</span>, <i>chasseur</i>. </p> -<p class="right"> -Paris, 5th October, 17**, at eleven o’clock at night. -</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_371">[371]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_THE_HUNDRED_AND_EIGHTH">LETTER THE HUNDRED AND EIGHTH - - <br><small>THE PRÉSIDENTE DE TOURVEL TO MADAME DE ROSEMONDE</small></h2> -</div> - -<p class="noin">O <span class="smcap">my</span> 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!</p> - -<p>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!...</p> - -<p>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!<span class="pagenum" id="Page_372">[372]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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?<span class="pagenum" id="Page_373">[373]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>You tell me that he seemed to you <i>keenly grieved at -my departure</i>. 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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p class="right"> -Paris, 5th October, 17**. -</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_374">[374]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_THE_HUNDRED_AND_NINTH">LETTER THE HUNDRED AND NINTH - - <br><small>CÉCILE VOLANGES TO THE MARQUISE DE MERTEUIL</small></h2> -</div> - -<p class="noin"><span class="smcap">It</span> 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.</p> - -<p>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!</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_375">[375]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_376">[376]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p class="right"> -At the Château de ..., 10th October, 17**. -</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_377">[377]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_THE_HUNDRED_AND_TENTH">LETTER THE HUNDRED AND TENTH - - <br><small>THE VICOMTE DE VALMONT TO THE MARQUISE DE MERTEUIL</small></h2> -</div> - -<p class="noin">“<i>Powers of Heaven! I had a soul for sorrow, grant me -one now for felicity.</i>”<a id="FNanchor_5" href="#Footnote_5" class="fnanchor">[5]</a> 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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_378">[378]</span></p> - -<p>I have discovered, however, that the fickle creature has -changed her confidant: at least, I have made sure that, -since her departure from the <i>château</i>, 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 <i>her dearest fair</i>, 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.</p> - -<p>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 <i>chasseur</i>; 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 <i>the pleasures of vice and the honours of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_379">[379]</span> -virtue</i>.<a id="FNanchor_6" href="#Footnote_6" class="fnanchor">[6]</a> ’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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_380">[380]</span> -education. But to pursue this work with greater freedom, -I found it necessary to change the place of our <i>rendez-vous</i>; -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 <i>innocently</i> 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.</p> - -<p>The little person loves laughter; and to promote her -gaiety, I bethought myself, during our <i>entr’actes</i>, 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.</p> - -<p>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 <i>a terrible noise</i>. -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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_381">[381]</span> -hours earlier than was customary; we agreed, therefore, -on separating, that, from the morrow, it was in my room -that we should meet.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Occupied thus all night, I gain thereby in that I sleep -a great portion of the day; and as the actual society of -the <i>château</i> has nothing to attract me, I hardly appear -in the <i>salon</i> 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 <i>worn out with vapours</i>; 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. “<i>Love will provide.</i>”<a id="FNanchor_7" href="#Footnote_7" class="fnanchor">[7]</a></p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_382">[382]</span> -of naive candour with the language of effrontery does not -fail to have an effect; and, I know not why, but it is -only <i>bizarre</i> things which give me any longer pleasure.</p> - -<p>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 <i>ennui</i> 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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p class="right"> -At the Château de ..., 11th October, 17**. -</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_383">[383]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_THE_HUNDRED_AND_ELEVENTH">LETTER THE HUNDRED AND ELEVENTH - - <br><small>THE COMTE DE GERCOURT TO MADAME DE VOLANGES</small></h2> -</div> - -<p class="noin"><span class="smcap">All</span> 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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_384">[384]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>I am with respect, Madame, and with all the sentiments -that befit a son, your most humble, etc.</p> - -<p class="right"> -The Comte <span class="smcap">de Gercourt</span>.</p> -<p class="right"> -Bastia, 10th October, 17**. -</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_385">[385]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_THE_HUNDRED_AND_TWELFTH">LETTER THE HUNDRED AND TWELFTH - - <br><small>MADAME DE ROSEMONDE TO THE PRÉSIDENTE DE TOURVEL</small></h2> -</div> -<p class="center">(Dictated)</p> - -<p class="noin">I <span class="smcap">have</span> only this instant received, my dearest fair, your -letter of the 11th,<a id="FNanchor_8" href="#Footnote_8" class="fnanchor">[8]</a> 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 <i>my daughter</i>, 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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_386">[386]</span></p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p class="right"> -<i>Signed</i>: <span class="smcap">Adelaide</span>, for Madame <span class="smcap">de Rosemonde</span>.<br> -</p> -<p class="right"> -At the Château de ..., 14th October, 17**. -</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_387">[387]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_THE_HUNDRED_AND_THIRTEENTH">LETTER THE HUNDRED AND THIRTEENTH - - <br><small>THE MARQUISE DE MERTEUIL TO THE VICOMTE DE VALMONT</small></h2> -</div> - -<p class="noin">I <span class="smcap">think</span> 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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_388">[388]</span></p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>In effect, if your Présidente <i>adores you</i>, 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.</p> - -<p>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 “<i>to corroborate -her prudence and fortify her virtue</i>.”<a id="FNanchor_9" href="#Footnote_9" class="fnanchor">[9]</a> Why, then, leave to -the one resources to defend herself, to the other the -means of injuring you?</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_389">[389]</span></p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>It is not true that <i>the older women grow, the more crabbed -and severe they become</i>. 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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_390">[390]</span> -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, <i>crabbed and severe</i>, -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_391">[391]</span> -last letter she sent me;<a id="FNanchor_10" href="#Footnote_10" class="fnanchor">[10]</a> I send it you, that you may -judge of it. Observe that when she speaks of you, it is -always as <i>M. de Valmont</i>; 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 <i>Danceny</i> 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 <i>seductive</i>, if the -pleasures she gives <i>attach you</i>, 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.</p> - -<p>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 <i>ennui</i>.</p> - -<p>I know not why, but, since the adventure of Prévan, -Belleroche has become insupportable. He has redoubled -his attention, his tenderness, his <i>veneration</i> to such a degree -that I can no longer submit to it. His anger seemed to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_392">[392]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_393">[393]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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 <i>tête-à-tête</i>. 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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_394">[394]</span> -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 <i>his Cécile</i> (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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p class="right"> -Paris, 15th October, 17**. -</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_395">[395]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_THE_HUNDRED_AND_FOURTEENTH">LETTER THE HUNDRED AND FOURTEENTH -<br><small>THE PRÉSIDENTE DE TOURVEL TO MADAME DE ROSEMONDE</small></h2> -</div> - -<p class="noin"><span class="smcap">My</span> 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 <i>not dangerous</i>, -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.</p> - -<p>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?</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_396">[396]</span> -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!</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Adieu, my dear friend: love me, pity me. Shall I have -a letter from you to-day?</p> - -<p class="right"> -Paris, 16th October, 17**. -</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_397">[397]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_THE_HUNDRED_AND_FIFTEENTH">LETTER THE HUNDRED AND FIFTEENTH - <br><small>THE VICOMTE DE VALMONT TO THE MARQUISE DE MERTEUIL</small></h2> -</div> - -<p class="noin"><span class="smcap">It</span> 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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_398">[398]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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!</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_399">[399]</span></p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_400">[400]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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 <i>his virtuous Cécile</i>, and do not compromise yourself -at these childish games. Leave boys to form themselves -in their <i>nurses’</i> hands, or to play with school-girls -<i>at little innocent games</i>. 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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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 -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_401">[401]</span>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 <i>attaches</i>, 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....</p> - -<div class="figcenter illowe30_875" id="118-gray"> - <img class="w100" src="images/118-gray.jpg" alt=""> - <div class="caption"><i>M<sup>le</sup> Gérard del.</i> <span class="captionr"><i>Pauquet sculp.</i></span></div> -</div> -<div class="sync"> </div> -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_402">[402]</span> -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 <i>liaison</i>.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p class="right"> -At the Château de ..., 19th October, 17**. -</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_403">[403]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_THE_HUNDRED_AND_SIXTEENTH">LETTER THE HUNDRED AND SIXTEENTH - -<br> <small>THE CHEVALIER DANCENY TO CÉCILE VOLANGES</small></h2> -</div> - -<p class="noin"><span class="smcap">Madame de Merteuil</span> 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.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_404">[404]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_405">[405]</span> -Madame de Merteuil had renewed in me the sentiment of -all my woes.</p> - -<p>Adieu, my Cécile; adieu, my beloved. Remember that -your lover is grieving, and that you alone can restore -him to happiness.</p> - -<p class="right"> -Paris, 17th October, 17**. -</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_406">[406]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_THE_HUNDRED_AND_SEVENTEENTH">LETTER THE HUNDRED AND SEVENTEENTH - - <br><small>CÉCILE VOLANGES TO THE CHEVALIER DANCENY</small></h2> -</div> - -<p class="center">(Dictated by Valmont)</p> - -<p class="noin">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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_407">[407]</span> -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?</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p class="right"> -At the Château de ..., 18th October, 17**. -</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_408">[408]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_THE_HUNDRED_AND_EIGHTEENTH">LETTER THE HUNDRED AND EIGHTEENTH - - <br><small>THE CHEVALIER DANCENY TO THE MARQUISE DE MERTEUIL</small></h2> -</div> - -<p class="noin"><span class="smcap">If</span> 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!</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_409">[409]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_410">[410]</span></p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>I have nothing new to tell you with regard to my -situation. The last letter I received from <i>her</i> 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 <i>parole</i>. 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 <i>thousand reasons</i> which -detain you where you are, or teach me to live where you -are not.</p> - -<p>I have the honour to be, etc.</p> - -<p class="right"> -Paris, 19th October, 17**. -</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_411">[411]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_THE_HUNDRED_AND_NINETEENTH">LETTER THE HUNDRED AND NINETEENTH - - <br><small>MADAME DE ROSEMONDE TO THE PRÉSIDENTE DE TOURVEL</small></h2> -</div> - -<p class="noin"><span class="smcap">Although</span> 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!</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_412">[412]</span></p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p class="right"> -At the Château de ..., 20th October, 17**. -</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_413">[413]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_THE_HUNDRED_AND_TWENTIETH">LETTER THE HUNDRED AND TWENTIETH - -<br> <small>THE VICOMTE DE VALMONT TO THE PÈRE ANSELME</small></h2> -</div> - -<p class="center">(a Bernardine of the monastery of the Rue Saint-Honoré)</p> - -<p class="noin">I <span class="smcap">have</span> 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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_414">[414]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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?</p> - -<p>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,</p> - -<p>Your most humble, etc.</p> - -<p class="p2">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.</p> - -<p class="right"> -At the Château de ..., 22nd October, 17**. -</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_415">[415]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_THE_HUNDRED_AND_TWENTY-FIRST">LETTER THE HUNDRED AND TWENTY-FIRST - -<br> <small>THE MARQUISE DE MERTEUIL TO THE CHEVALIER DANCENY</small></h2> -</div> - -<p class="noin">I <span class="smcap">have</span> 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.</p> - -<p>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: <i>Teach me to live where you are -not</i>; so that, I suppose, when you are with your mistress,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_416">[416]</span> -you will not be able to live unless I make a third. The -pity of it! And these women <i>who always fail in being me</i>: -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.</p> - -<p>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 <i>attentive</i> Belleroche.</p> - -<p>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.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_417">[417]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>You are right in yielding to the <i>pure and tender motives</i> -which, according to what you tell me, <i>delay your happiness</i>. -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Upon this, my dear Chevalier, I pray God to have you -in His good and holy keeping.</p> - -<p class="right"> -At the Château de ..., 22nd October, 17**. -</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_418">[418]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_THE_HUNDRED_AND_TWENTY-SECOND">LETTER THE HUNDRED AND TWENTY-SECOND - - <br><small>MADAME DE ROSEMONDE TO THE PRÉSIDENTE DE TOURVEL</small></h2> -</div> - -<p class="noin">I <span class="smcap">had</span> 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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_419">[419]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>We then commenced to talk quietly. He told me soon -afterwards that perhaps an affair, <i>the most important affair -of his life</i>, 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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_420">[420]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>But the more I reflect upon it, the less can I guess -what he wished to say. What is this affair, <i>the most important -of his life</i>? 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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p class="right"> -At the Château de ..., 25th October, 17**. -</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_421">[421]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_THE_HUNDRED_AND_TWENTY-THIRD">LETTER THE HUNDRED AND TWENTY-THIRD - - <br><small>THE PÈRE ANSELME TO THE VICOMTE DE VALMONT</small></h2> -</div> - -<p class="noin">I <span class="smcap">have</span> 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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_422">[422]</span> -regulated by justice; and that a moment may come when -the God of mercy shall turn into a God of vengeance.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>I have the honour to be, with respectful consideration, etc.</p> - -<p class="right"> -Paris, 25th October, 17**. -</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_423">[423]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_THE_HUNDRED_AND_TWENTY-FOURTH">LETTER THE HUNDRED AND TWENTY-FOURTH - -<br><small>THE PRÉSIDENTE DE TOURVEL TO MADAME DE ROSEMONDE</small></h2> -</div> - -<p class="noin"><span class="smcap">In</span> 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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_424">[424]</span> -not prayed for it, and leaves me without succour, utterly -abandoned -to my weakness.</p> - -<p>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?</p> - -<p>’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!</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_425">[425]</span> -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!</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_426">[426]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Adieu, my venerable friend. I hope, in a few days, to -announce the day of my arrival.</p> - -<p class="right"> -Paris, 25th October, 17**. -</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_427">[427]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_THE_HUNDRED_AND_TWENTY-FIFTH">LETTER THE HUNDRED AND TWENTY-FIFTH - <br><small>THE VICOMTE DE VALMONT TO THE MARQUISE DE MERTEUIL</small></h2> -</div> - -<p class="noin"><span class="smcap">Behold</span> 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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_428">[428]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_429">[429]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>You will see from the copies of the two letters enclosed<a id="FNanchor_11" href="#Footnote_11" class="fnanchor">[11]</a> -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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_430">[430]</span> -ingrate, I presented myself before her in the quality of a -timid and repentant slave, to leave her crowned with -victory.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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 <i>scorn</i> 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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_431">[431]</span> -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:</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>Here, however, she endeavoured to reply:</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_432">[432]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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!”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_433">[433]</span></p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_434">[434]</span> -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....”</p> - -<p>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!”</p> - -<p>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 -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_435">[435]</span>answered. “You <i>shall</i> listen to me; it is my wish.” “I -must flee from you, I must!” “No,” she cried....</p> - -<figure class="figcenter illowp43" id="154-gray" style="max-width: 29.375em;"> - <img class="w100" src="images/154-gray.jpg" alt=""> - <figcaption class="caption"><i>M<sup>lle</sup> Gerard del.</i> <span class="captionr"><i>Bertaux et Dupréel sculp.</i></span></figcaption> -</figure> -<div class="sync"> </div> -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>I fully expected that such a great event would not be -accomplished without the customary tears and despair; and,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_436">[436]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_437">[437]</span> -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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_438">[438]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>Adieu, as of old.... Yes, <i>adieu my angel! I send thee -all the kisses of love.</i></p> - -<p>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!</p> -<p class="right"> -Paris, 29th October, 17**. -</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_439">[439]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_THE_HUNDRED_AND_TWENTY-SIXTH">LETTER THE HUNDRED AND TWENTY-SIXTH - - <br><small>MADAME DE ROSEMONDE TO THE PRÉSIDENTE DE TOURVEL</small></h2> -</div> - -<p class="noin">I <span class="smcap">should</span> 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?</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_440">[440]</span></p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_441">[441]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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!</p> - -<p class="right"> -At the Château de ..., 30th October, 17**. -</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_442">[442]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_THE_HUNDRED_AND_TWENTY-SEVENTH">LETTER THE HUNDRED AND TWENTY-SEVENTH - - <br><small>THE MARQUISE DE MERTEUIL TO THE VICOMTE DE VALMONT</small></h2> -</div> - -<p class="noin"><span class="smcap">If</span> 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.</p> - -<p>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 <i>Your Highness</i>! When, forsooth, you -want a moment’s distraction from <i>that unknown charm</i> -which <i>the adorable</i>, <i>the celestial</i> Madame de Tourvel has -alone made you experience, or when you are afraid of -compromising, in the eyes of <i>the seductive Cécile</i>, the superior<span class="pagenum" id="Page_443">[443]</span> -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!</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>I have, in especial, that of believing that the <i>school-boy</i>, -<i>the mawkish</i> 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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_444">[444]</span> -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!...</p> - -<p><i>Adieu, as of old</i>, 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.</p> - -<p>Your servant, M. le Vicomte.</p> - -<p class="right"> -At the Château de ..., 31st October, 17**. -</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_445">[445]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_THE_HUNDRED_AND_TWENTY-EIGHTH">LETTER THE HUNDRED AND TWENTY-EIGHTH - - <br><small>THE PRÉSIDENTE DE TOURVEL TO MADAME DE ROSEMONDE</small></h2> -</div> - -<p class="noin">I <span class="smcap">only</span> 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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_446">[446]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>I am with respect, Madame, your most humble and -obedient servant.</p> - -<p class="right"> -Paris, 1st November, 17**. -</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_447">[447]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_THE_HUNDRED_AND_TWENTY-NINTH">LETTER THE HUNDRED AND TWENTY-NINTH - - <br><small>THE VICOMTE DE VALMONT TO THE MARQUISE DE MERTEUIL</small></h2> -</div> - -<p class="noin"><span class="smcap">Tell</span> 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.</p> - -<p>Methinks, even, that this free and frank method, when -it is founded on an old <i>liaison</i>, 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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_448">[448]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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?</p> - -<p>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 <i>adorable</i>, <i>celestial</i>, -<i>seductive</i>, 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 <i>liaison</i>, except to the prejudice of the two -others, I do not find in that so great a matter for reproach.</p> - -<p>It will be no more difficult for me to justify myself as to -<i>the unknown charm</i> with which you seem to be also somewhat -shocked: for, to begin with, it does not result that it is<span class="pagenum" id="Page_449">[449]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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 <i>seductive</i>, 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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Adieu, my lovely friend; I await your reply with much -eagerness.</p> - -<p class="right"> -Paris, 3rd November, 17**. -</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_450">[450]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_THE_HUNDRED_AND_THIRTIETH">LETTER THE HUNDRED AND THIRTIETH - -<br><small>MADAME DE ROSEMONDE TO THE PRÉSIDENTE DE TOURVEL</small></h2> -</div> - -<p class="noin"><span class="smcap">And</span> 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!</p> - -<p>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?</p> - -<p>’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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_451">[451]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_452">[452]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p class="right"> -At the Château de ..., 4th November, 17**. -</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_453">[453]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_THE_HUNDRED_AND_THIRTY-FIRST">LETTER THE HUNDRED AND THIRTY-FIRST - - <br><small>THE MARQUISE DE MERTEUIL TO THE VICOMTE DE VALMONT</small></h2> -</div> - -<p class="noin"><span class="smcap">’Tis</span> 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.</p> - -<p>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 <i>liaison</i> 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.</p> - -<p>But tell me, Vicomte, which of us two will undertake -to deceive the other? You know the story of the two<span class="pagenum" id="Page_454">[454]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_455">[455]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Adieu, Vicomte.</p> - -<p class="right"> -At the Château de ..., 6th November, 17**. -</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_456">[456]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_THE_HUNDRED_AND_THIRTY-SECOND">LETTER THE HUNDRED AND THIRTY-SECOND - - <br><small>THE PRÉSIDENTE DE TOURVEL TO MADAME DE ROSEMONDE</small></h2> -</div> - -<p class="noin"><span class="smcap">Deeply</span> 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.</p> - -<p>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.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_457">[457]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>You will think that this is <i>one of those chimerical ideas -with which love never fails to abuse our imagination</i>: 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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p class="right"> -Paris, 7th November, 17**. -</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_458">[458]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_THE_HUNDRED_AND_THIRTY-THIRD">LETTER THE HUNDRED AND THIRTY-THIRD - - <br><small>THE VICOMTE DE VALMONT TO THE MARQUISE DE MERTEUIL</small></h2> -</div> - -<p class="noin"><span class="smcap">What</span>, 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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_459">[459]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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),<span class="pagenum" id="Page_460">[460]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>I shall be none the less ready to restore the little school-girl -to her discreet lover as soon as you think proper.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_461">[461]</span> -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 <i>his Cécile</i>. 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!</p> - -<p>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:</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p class="noin">“The more strange lands I saw, I loved my country more.”<a id="FNanchor_12" href="#Footnote_12" class="fnanchor">[12]</a></p> -</div> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_462">[462]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p class="right"> -Paris, 8th November, 17**. -</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_463">[463]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_THE_HUNDRED_AND_THIRTY-FOURTH">LETTER THE HUNDRED AND THIRTY-FOURTH - - <br><small>THE MARQUISE DE MERTEUIL TO THE VICOMTE DE VALMONT</small></h2> -</div> - -<p class="noin"><span class="smcap">Truly</span>, 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?</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_464">[464]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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 <i>an astounding -woman</i>, <i>a delicate and sensitive woman</i>, even to the exclusion -of all others; in short <i>a rare woman</i> and such that -<i>you would never have met another</i>. It is the same with that -unknown charm, which is not <i>the strongest</i>. 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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_465">[465]</span></p> - -<p>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 <i>exact</i> 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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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!</p> - -<p>’Tis true that then I should think myself obliged to thank -you; and who knows? Perhaps even to reward you. For<span class="pagenum" id="Page_466">[466]</span> -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....</p> - -<p>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 <i>authorities</i>, 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?</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Adieu, Vicomte; write to me often. The particulars of -your pleasures will recompense me, at least in part, for -the tedium I undergo.</p> - -<p class="right"> -At the Château de ..., 11th November, 17**. -</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_467">[467]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_THE_HUNDRED_AND_THIRTY-FIFTH">LETTER THE HUNDRED AND THIRTY-FIFTH - - <br><small>THE PRÉSIDENTE DE TOURVEL TO MADAME DE ROSEMONDE</small></h2> -</div> - -<p class="noin">I <span class="smcap">am</span> 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.</p> - -<p>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!</p> - -<p>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!</p> - -<p>’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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_468">[468]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_469">[469]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p class="right"> -Paris, 15th November, 17**. -</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_470">[470]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_THE_HUNDRED_AND_THIRTY-SIXTH">LETTER THE HUNDRED AND THIRTY-SIXTH - - <br><small>THE PRÉSIDENTE DE TOURVEL TO THE VICOMTE DE VALMONT</small></h2> -</div> - -<p class="noin"><span class="smcap">Doubtless</span>, 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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_471">[471]</span></p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p class="right"> -Paris, 15th November, 17**. -</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_472">[472]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_THE_HUNDRED_AND_THIRTY-SEVENTH">LETTER THE HUNDRED AND THIRTY-SEVENTH - - <br><small>THE VICOMTE DE VALMONT TO THE PRÉSIDENTE DE TOURVEL</small></h2> -</div> - -<p class="noin"><span class="smcap">This</span> 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!</p> - -<p>Oppressed by the painful emotion which this idea -causes me, I am losing, in repelling it, the time I should<span class="pagenum" id="Page_473">[473]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_474">[474]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>So far, doubtless, I am more unfortunate than guilty, -and those wrongs, <i>which would be wrongs in the case of -anybody, and the only ones you mention</i>; 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.</p> - -<p>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?</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_475">[475]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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!</p> - -<p>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?</p> - -<p class="right"> -Paris, 15th November, 17**. -</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_476">[476]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_THE_HUNDRED_AND_THIRTY-EIGHTH">LETTER THE HUNDRED AND THIRTY-EIGHTH - -<br><small>THE VICOMTE DE VALMONT TO THE MARQUISE DE MERTEUIL</small></h2> -</div> - -<p class="noin">I <span class="smcap">insist</span>, 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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_477">[477]</span> -until this morning, when we separated, no regret came to -trouble our pleasures.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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).<a id="FNanchor_13" href="#Footnote_13" class="fnanchor">[13]</a> 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, <i>this piece of virtue</i>, -as she said, and this with peals of such scandalous laughter -as would have angered anyone.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Thus this adventure, which in your view was never to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_478">[478]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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 <i>chasseur</i> 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.</p> - -<p>Adieu, my charming friend; I fly to make trial of this -great event.</p> - -<p class="right"> -Paris, 15th November, 17**. -</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_479">[479]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_THE_HUNDRED_AND_THIRTY-NINTH">LETTER THE HUNDRED AND THIRTY-NINTH - - <br><small>THE PRÉSIDENTE DE TOURVEL TO MADAME DE ROSEMONDE</small></h2> -</div> - -<p class="noin"><span class="smcap">How</span> 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?</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>’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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_480">[480]</span> -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!</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p class="right"> -Paris, 15th November, 17**. -</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_481">[481]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_THE_HUNDRED_AND_FORTIETH">LETTER THE HUNDRED AND FORTIETH - - <br><small>THE VICOMTE DE VALMONT TO THE MARQUISE DE MERTEUIL</small></h2> -</div> - -<p class="noin"><span class="smcap">How</span> 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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_482">[482]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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!</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_483">[483]</span></p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Adieu, my lovely friend; I embrace you, though I bear -you a grudge.</p> - -<p class="right"> -Paris, 21st November, 17**. -</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_484">[484]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_THE_HUNDRED_AND_FORTY-FIRST">LETTER THE HUNDRED AND FORTY-FIRST - - <br><small>THE MARQUISE DE MERTEUIL TO THE VICOMTE DE VALMONT</small></h2> -</div> - -<p class="noin"><span class="smcap">Good</span> 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.</p> - -<p>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?</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_485">[485]</span> -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 <i>espèces</i>? Whoever -abstains from it, nowadays, passes for a romantic; and -that is not, I think, the fault with which I reproach you.</p> - -<p>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 -<i>for this grand event</i>.</p> - -<p>In your last letter, again, if you do not speak exclusively -of this woman, it is because you will not tell me anything -<i>of your grand affairs</i>; 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 <i>any interests<span class="pagenum" id="Page_486">[486]</span> -in common</i>! 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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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: <i>It is not my -fault</i>. 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: <i>It is not my fault</i>. She sent him, -therefore, without any other explanation, the following -letter, as a remedy whose application might be useful to -his disease:</p> - -<p class="p2">“One tires of everything, my angel: it is a law of -nature; it is not my fault.</p> - -<p>If, then, I am tired to-day of an adventure which has<span class="pagenum" id="Page_487">[487]</span> -occupied me exclusively for four mortal months, it is not -my fault.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>To-day, a woman whom I love to distraction demands -that I sacrifice you. It is not my fault.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.”</p> - -<p class="p2">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 <i>ultimatum</i> as to the renewal of the -treaty you propose. Until then, quite simply, adieu....</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p class="right"> -At the Château de ..., 24th November, 17**. -</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_488">[488]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_THE_HUNDRED_AND_FORTY-SECOND">LETTER THE HUNDRED AND FORTY-SECOND - - <br><small>THE VICOMTE DE VALMONT TO THE MARQUISE DE MERTEUIL</small></h2> -</div> - -<p class="noin"><span class="smcap">Upon</span> 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 -<i>upon this grand event</i>, even though you should reproach -me a second time with the expression.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_489">[489]</span> -sacrifice a woman. Did he not amend? And did not -his generous friend give him her pardon?</p> - -<p>I am no less anxious to receive your <i>ultimatum</i>, 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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p class="center"> -<i>At two o’clock in the afternoon.</i> -</p> - -<p>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?</p> - -<p class="right"> -Paris, 25th November, 17**. -</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_490">[490]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_THE_HUNDRED_AND_FORTY-THIRD">LETTER THE HUNDRED AND FORTY-THIRD - - <br><small>THE PRÉSIDENTE DE TOURVEL TO MADAME DE ROSEMONDE</small></h2> -</div> - -<p class="noin"><span class="smcap">The</span> 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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Adieu, Madame. Do not answer me. I have made a -vow upon that cruel letter never to receive another.</p> - -<p class="right"> -Paris, 27th November, 17**. -</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_491">[491]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_THE_HUNDRED_AND_FORTY-FOURTH">LETTER THE HUNDRED AND FORTY-FOURTH - - <br><small>THE VICOMTE DE VALMONT TO THE MARQUISE DE MERTEUIL</small></h2> -</div> - -<p class="noin"><span class="smcap">Yesterday</span>, 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 <i>chasseur</i> 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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_492">[492]</span> -I owe her that of the celebrity which this adventure will -assume.</p> - -<p>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 <i>éclat</i>. 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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_493">[493]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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 <i>salon</i>, 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 -<i>demoiselles</i>! This one, in truth, gave me a desire to see -if the recovery was a complete one!</p> - -<p>I have still to tell you that the little girl’s accident had -like to have turned your <i>sentimental</i> Danceny’s head. At -first it was grief; to-day it is joy. <i>His Cécile</i> 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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_494">[494]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Adieu, my lovely friend; return soon, then, to enjoy -your empire over me, to receive its homage, and to pay -me its reward.</p> - -<p class="right"> -Paris, 28th November, 17**. -</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_495">[495]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_THE_HUNDRED_AND_FORTY-FIFTH">LETTER THE HUNDRED AND FORTY-FIFTH - - <br><small>THE MARQUISE DE MERTEUIL TO THE VICOMTE DE VALMONT</small></h2> -</div> - -<p class="noin"><span class="smcap">Seriously</span>, 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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_496">[496]</span></p> - -<p>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?</p> - -<p>’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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_497">[497]</span></p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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. <i>Au revoir</i>, my friend.</p> - -<p class="right"> -At the Château de ..., 29th November, 17**. -</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_498">[498]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_THE_HUNDRED_AND_FORTY-SIXTH">LETTER THE HUNDRED AND FORTY-SIXTH - -<br><small>THE MARQUISE DE MERTEUIL TO THE CHEVALIER DANCENY</small></h2> -</div> - -<p class="noin"><span class="smcap">At</span> 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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_499">[499]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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>I love my friends to come to me when they are unhappy</i>.<a id="FNanchor_14" href="#Footnote_14" class="fnanchor">[14]</a> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Adieu, Chevalier; it will be a real festival to see you -again: will you come?</p> - -<p class="right"> -At the Château de ..., 29th November, 17**. -</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_500">[500]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_THE_HUNDRED_AND_FORTY-SEVENTH">LETTER THE HUNDRED AND FORTY-SEVENTH - - <br><small>MADAME DE VOLANGES TO MADAME DE ROSEMONDE</small></h2> -</div> - -<p class="noin">I <span class="smcap">am</span> 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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>What increases my fear on this subject is a thing which -occurred the day before yesterday. Upon that day, she<span class="pagenum" id="Page_501">[501]</span> -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 <i>until her death</i>: those -were her words.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_502">[502]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>At length, Julie profited by this kind of order to go -out and seek other assistance: but Madame de Tourvel<span class="pagenum" id="Page_503">[503]</span> -refused it, with the fury and delirium which she has -displayed so often since.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Adieu, my respected friend, I am going back to the -patient. My daughter, who is fortunately almost recovered, -sends you her respects.</p> - -<p class="right"> -Paris, 29th November, 17**. -</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_504">[504]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_THE_HUNDRED_AND_FORTY-EIGHTH">LETTER THE HUNDRED AND FORTY-EIGHTH - - <br><small>THE CHEVALIER DANCENY TO THE MARQUISE DE MERTEUIL</small></h2> -</div> - -<p class="noin">O <span class="smcap">you</span> 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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_505">[505]</span> -silence that it entangles us in bonds which it is alike -impossible to notice or to break.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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!</p> - -<p class="right"> -Paris, 1st December, 17**. -</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_506">[506]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_THE_HUNDRED_AND_FORTY-NINTH">LETTER THE HUNDRED AND FORTY-NINTH - - <br><small>MADAME DE VOLANGES TO MADAME DE ROSEMONDE</small></h2> -</div> - -<p class="noin">I <span class="smcap">had</span> 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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_507">[507]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_508">[508]</span> -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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_509">[509]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p class="right"> -Paris, 2nd December, 17**. -</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_510">[510]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_THE_HUNDRED_AND_FIFTIETH">LETTER THE HUNDRED AND FIFTIETH - - <br><small>THE CHEVALIER DANCENY TO THE MARQUISE DE MERTEUIL</small></h2> -</div> - -<p class="noin"><span class="smcap">While</span> 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, <i>and of which we -have no need</i>. 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?</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>It is not the same with <i>our wants</i>: here we can have -but one thought; and if our opinion differs, it is, perhaps,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_511">[511]</span> -only for lack of explanation or from misunderstanding. -This, then, methinks, is what I feel.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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....</p> - -<p>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,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_512">[512]</span> -is in repose.... All your sentiments are so precious to -me! Will you rob me of a means of cherishing them?</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p class="right"> -Paris, 3rd December, 17**. -</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_513">[513]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_THE_HUNDRED_AND_FIFTY-FIRST">LETTER THE HUNDRED AND FIFTY-FIRST - - <br><small>THE VICOMTE DE VALMONT TO THE MARQUISE DE MERTEUIL</small></h2> -</div> - -<p class="noin">I <span class="smcap">do</span> not suppose, Marquise, that you deem me so inexperienced -as to have failed to set its due value upon the -<i>tête-à-tête</i> in which I found you this evening, nor upon -the <i>remarkable chance</i> 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 <i>importunate third party</i>. 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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_514">[514]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_515">[515]</span> -believe me, rest satisfied with having tried it, abuse it no -more. We both know one another, Marquise: that word -ought to suffice.</p> - -<p>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 <i>the -other place</i>, 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.</p> - -<p>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!</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p class="right"> -Paris, 3rd December, 17**. -</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_516">[516]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_THE_HUNDRED_AND_FIFTY-SECOND">LETTER THE HUNDRED AND FIFTY-SECOND - - <br><small>THE MARQUISE DE MERTEUIL TO THE VICOMTE DE VALMONT</small></h2> -</div> - -<p class="noin"><span class="smcap">Pray</span>, 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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_517">[517]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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!</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_518">[518]</span></p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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!</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_519">[519]</span> -woman as good as another? She even who should be -<i>tender and sensitive, who should live for you alone, who, in -short, should die from love and regret</i>, 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!</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p class="right"> -Paris, 4th December, 17**. -</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_520">[520]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_THE_HUNDRED_AND_FIFTY-THIRD">LETTER THE HUNDRED AND FIFTY-THIRD - - <br><small>THE VICOMTE DE VALMONT TO THE MARQUISE DE MERTEUIL</small></h2> -</div> - -<p class="noin">I <span class="smcap">answer</span> 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.</p> - -<p>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 <i>liaison</i>; 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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_521">[521]</span></p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p class="right"> -Paris, 4th December, 17**. -</p> - -<p class="center"><span class="allsmcap">REPLY OF THE MARQUISE DE MERTEUIL</span></p> - -<p class="center">(Written at the foot of the above letter)</p> - -<p>Very well! War!</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_522">[522]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_THE_HUNDRED_AND_FIFTY-FOURTH">LETTER THE HUNDRED AND FIFTY-FOURTH - - <br><small>MADAME DE VOLANGES TO MADAME DE ROSEMONDE</small></h2> -</div> -<p class="noin"><span class="smcap">The</span> 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?<a id="FNanchor_15" href="#Footnote_15" class="fnanchor">[15]</a> If, for -once, he is sincere, he may well say that he has been<span class="pagenum" id="Page_523">[523]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p class="right"> -Paris, 5th December, 17**. -</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_524">[524]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_THE_HUNDRED_AND_FIFTY-FIFTH">LETTER THE HUNDRED AND FIFTY-FIFTH - - <br><small>THE VICOMTE DE VALMONT TO THE CHEVALIER DANCENY</small></h2> -</div> - -<p class="noin">I <span class="smcap">have</span> called upon you twice, my dear Chevalier: but, -since you have abandoned the <i>rôle</i> of lover to take up -that of the man of gallant conquests, you have naturally -become invisible. Your <i>valet-de-chambre</i>, 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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_525">[525]</span> -where we are. Whatever course you were to take, your -rejected would always make another happy.</p> - -<p>You have a <i>rendez-vous</i> 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 <i>petite-maison, which has been taken -only for you</i>, 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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_526">[526]</span> -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 <i>rendez-vous</i> -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.</p> - -<p>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 <i>well-worn</i>?</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_527">[527]</span></p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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 <i>rendez-vous</i>; 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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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!</p> - -<p class="right"> -Paris, 5th December, 17**. -</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_528">[528]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_THE_HUNDRED_AND_FIFTY-SIXTH">LETTER THE HUNDRED AND FIFTY-SIXTH - - <br><small>CÉCILE VOLANGES TO THE CHEVALIER DANCENY</small></h2> -</div> - -<p class="center">(Enclosed in the preceding)</p> - -<p class="noin"><span class="smcap">How</span> 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.</p> - -<p>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!</p> - -<p>I have managed so well, that the porter is in our interests, -and has promised me that, whenever you came, he<span class="pagenum" id="Page_529">[529]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_530">[530]</span> -shall expect you to-morrow night, and you will come without -fail, if you would not make your Cécile very unhappy.</p> - -<p>Adieu, my dear friend; I embrace you with all my -heart.</p> - -<p class="right"> -Paris, 4th December, 17**, in the evening. -</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_531">[531]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_THE_HUNDRED_FIFTY-SEVENTH">LETTER THE HUNDRED FIFTY-SEVENTH - - <br><small>THE CHEVALIER DANCENY TO THE VICOMTE DE VALMONT</small></h2> -</div> - -<p class="noin">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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_532">[532]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>I should like to talk longer with you; but the hour approaches, -and perhaps Cécile already awaits me.</p> - -<p class="right"> -Paris, 5th December, 17**. -</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_533">[533]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_THE_HUNDRED_AND_FIFTY-EIGHTH">LETTER THE HUNDRED AND FIFTY-EIGHTH - - <br><small>THE VICOMTE DE VALMONT TO THE MARQUISE DE MERTEUIL</small></h2> -</div> - -<p class="center">(Upon awaking)</p> - -<p class="noin"><span class="smcap">Well</span>, 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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_534">[534]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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: “<i>Read my heart</i>;” 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.</p> - -<p>Adieu, Marquise; until the next occasion.</p> - -<p class="right"> -Paris, 6th December, 17**. -</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_535">[535]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_THE_HUNDRED_AND_FIFTY-NINTH">LETTER THE HUNDRED AND FIFTY-NINTH - - <br><small>THE MARQUISE DE MERTEUIL TO THE VICOMTE DE VALMONT</small></h2> -</div> - -<p class="noin">I <span class="smcap">do</span> 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.</p> - -<p class="right"> -Paris, 6th December, 17**. -</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_536">[536]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_THE_HUNDRED_AND_SIXTIETH">LETTER THE HUNDRED AND SIXTIETH - - <br><small>MADAME DE VOLANGES TO MADAME DE ROSEMONDE</small></h2> -</div> - -<p class="noin">I <span class="smcap">write</span> 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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_537">[537]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>Adieu, my dear and revered friend. I congratulate you -upon being at a distance from the sad spectacle which is -continually before my eyes.</p> - -<p class="right"> -Paris, 6th December, 17**. -</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_538">[538]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_THE_HUNDRED_AND_SIXTY-FIRST">LETTER THE HUNDRED AND SIXTY-FIRST - - <br><small>THE PRÉSIDENTE DE TOURVEL TO——</small></h2> -</div> - -<p class="center">(Dictated by her and written by her waiting-maid)</p> - -<p class="noin"><span class="smcap">Cruel</span> 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?</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_539">[539]</span> -on the brink of the abyss into which the guilty one has -plunged. She is torn by remorse and her cries are not -heeded!</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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?</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_540">[540]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p class="right"> -Paris, 5th December, 17**. -</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_541">[541]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_THE_HUNDRED_AND_SIXTY-SECOND">LETTER THE HUNDRED AND SIXTY-SECOND - - <br><small>THE CHEVALIER DANCENY TO THE VICOMTE DE VALMONT</small></h2> -</div> - -<p class="noin">I <span class="smcap">am</span> 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.</p> - -<p class="center"> -The Chevalier <span class="smcap">Danceny</span>. -</p><p class="right"> -Paris, 6th December, 17**, in the evening. -</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_542">[542]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_THE_HUNDRED_AND_SIXTY-THIRD">LETTER THE HUNDRED AND SIXTY-THIRD - - <br><small>M. BERTRAND TO MADAME DE ROSEMONDE</small></h2> -</div> - -<p class="noin"><span class="smcap">Madame</span>,</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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!</p> - -<p>I had been to wait upon M. le Vicomte, precisely at -the hour when he was brought back to the <i>hôtel</i>. 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, -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_543">[543]</span>certainly, he has reason to weep: but it is a fine time to -shed tears, when one has caused an irreparable misfortune!</p> - -<figure class="figcenter illowp44" id="264-gray" style="max-width: 30.1875em;"> - <img class="w100" src="images/264-gray.jpg" alt=""> - <figcaption class="caption"><i>M<sup>lle</sup> Gerard del.</i> <span class="captionr"><i>Simonet sculp<sup>t</sup>.</i></span></figcaption> -</figure> -<div class="sync"> </div> -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>To-morrow, after the removal of the body, I will have<span class="pagenum" id="Page_544">[544]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>I remain, with the most profound respect, Madame, your -most humble, etc.</p> - -<p class="center"> -<span class="smcap">Bertrand</span>. -</p><p class="right"> -Paris, 7th December, 17**. -</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_545">[545]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_THE_HUNDRED_AND_SIXTY-FOURTH">LETTER THE HUNDRED AND SIXTY-FOURTH - - <br><small>MADAME DE ROSEMONDE TO M. BERTRAND</small></h2> -</div> - -<p class="noin">I <span class="smcap">have</span> 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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_546">[546]</span> -alone with my sorrow. You will convey him my excuses, -and communicate this letter to him.</p> - -<p>Adieu, my dear Bertrand; I praise and thank you for -your kind sentiments, and am, for life, entirely yours.</p> - -<p class="right"> -At the Château de ..., 8th December, 17**. -</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_547">[547]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_THE_HUNDRED_AND_SIXTY-FIFTH">LETTER THE HUNDRED AND SIXTY-FIFTH - - <br><small>MADAME DE VOLANGES TO MADAME DE ROSEMONDE</small></h2> -</div> - -<p class="noin">I <span class="smcap">know</span> 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.</p> - -<p>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,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_548">[548]</span> -whether that nature alone had produced this revolution, or that -it was caused by the repetition of the words, <i>M. de Valmont</i> -and <i>death</i>, which may have brought back to the patient -the only ideas which have occupied her for a long time.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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 -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_549">[549]</span>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.</p> - - <figure class="figcenter illowp45" id="272-gray" style="max-width: 30.3125em;"> - <img class="w100" src="images/272-gray.jpg" alt=""> - <figcaption class="caption"><i>M<sup>lle</sup> Gerard del.</i> <span class="captionr"><i>Triere sculp.</i></span></figcaption> -</figure> -<div class="sync"> </div> -<p>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.<a id="FNanchor_16" href="#Footnote_16" class="fnanchor">[16]</a> She -next spoke to me of you, and of your friendship for her, -so far as her situation permitted, and with much emotion.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_550">[550]</span></p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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!</p> - -<p>Adieu, my dear and venerable friend.</p> - -<p class="right"> -Paris, 9th December, 17**. -</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_551">[551]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_THE_HUNDRED_AND_SIXTY-SIXTH">LETTER THE HUNDRED AND SIXTY-SIXTH - - <br><small>M. BERTRAND TO MADAME DE ROSEMONDE</small></h2> -</div> - -<p class="noin"><span class="smcap">Madame</span>,</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_552">[552]</span> -troubles I greatly dread. I hope that you will pardon -this liberty in consideration of my attachment and my -zeal.</p> - -<p>I am, with respect, Madame, your, etc.</p> - -<p class="right"> -Paris, 10th December, 17**. -</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_553">[553]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_THE_HUNDRED_AND_SIXTY-SEVENTH">LETTER THE HUNDRED AND SIXTY-SEVENTH - - <br><small>ANONYMOUS TO M. LE CHEVALIER DANCENY</small></h2> -</div> - -<p class="noin"><span class="smcap">Monsieur</span>,</p> - -<p>I <span class="smcap">have</span> 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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_554">[554]</span> -would not be amiss, perhaps, if you were able to communicate -with this lady.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>I have the honour to be, etc.</p> - -<p class="right"> -Paris, 10th December, 17**. -</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_555">[555]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_THE_HUNDRED_AND_SIXTY-EIGHTH">LETTER THE HUNDRED AND SIXTY-EIGHTH - - <br><small>MADAME DE VOLANGES TO MADAME DE ROSEMONDE</small></h2> -</div> - -<p class="noin"><span class="smcap">Most</span> 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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_556">[556]</span></p> - -<p>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:</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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:<a id="FNanchor_17" href="#Footnote_17" class="fnanchor">[17]</a> 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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_557">[557]</span> -of Madame de Merteuil, and that the <i>rendez-vous</i> was -arranged with her.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>In my impatience to verify these facts, I sent this<span class="pagenum" id="Page_558">[558]</span> -morning to M. Danceny; he is not in Paris either. His -people told my <i>valet-de-chambre</i> 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> - -<p>P.S. My daughter’s indisposition has had no consequences; -she presents her respects to you.</p> - -<p class="right"> -Paris, 11th December, 17**. -</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_559">[559]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_THE_HUNDRED_AND_SIXTY-NINTH">LETTER THE HUNDRED AND SIXTY-NINTH - - <br><small>THE CHEVALIER DANCENY TO MADAME DE ROSEMONDE</small></h2> -</div> - -<p class="noin"><span class="smcap">Madame</span>,</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Perhaps</span> 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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_560">[560]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.<a id="FNanchor_18" href="#Footnote_18" class="fnanchor">[18]</a> -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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_561">[561]</span> -extracted two letters which I have permitted myself to -publish.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_562">[562]</span> -of the seals, under the title, which I saw, of “<i>Account -opened between the Marquise de Merteuil and the Vicomte -de Valmont</i>.” You will adopt, in this matter, whatever -course your prudence may suggest.</p> - -<p>I am with respect, Madame, etc.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p class="right"> -Paris, 12th December, 17**. -</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_563">[563]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_THE_HUNDRED_AND_SEVENTIETH">LETTER THE HUNDRED AND SEVENTIETH - - <br><small>MADAME DE VOLANGES TO MADAME DE ROSEMONDE</small></h2> -</div> - -<p class="noin">I <span class="smcap">move</span>, 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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_564">[564]</span></p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_565">[565]</span> -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!</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>I reproach myself unceasingly for augmenting your -sorrows by speaking to you of my own; but I know your<span class="pagenum" id="Page_566">[566]</span> -heart: the consolation which you could give to others -would become to you the greatest you could yourself -receive.</p> - -<p>Adieu, my dear and revered friend; I await your two -replies with much impatience.</p> - -<p class="right"> -Paris, 13th December, 17**. -</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_567">[567]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_THE_HUNDRED_AND_SEVENTY-FIRST">LETTER THE HUNDRED AND SEVENTY-FIRST - - <br><small>MADAME DE ROSEMONDE TO THE CHEVALIER DANCENY</small></h2> -</div> - -<p class="noin"><span class="smcap">After</span> 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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>You may rest assured that I will keep faithfully and -willingly the deposit you have confided to me, but I<span class="pagenum" id="Page_568">[568]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_569">[569]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>I have the honour to be, etc.</p> - -<p class="right"> -At the Château de ..., 15th December, 17**. -</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_570">[570]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_THE_HUNDRED_AND_SEVENTY-SECOND">LETTER THE HUNDRED AND SEVENTY-SECOND - - <br><small>MADAME DE ROSEMONDE TO MADAME DE VOLANGES</small></h2> -</div> - -<p class="noin"><span class="smcap">Had</span> 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!</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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;<span class="pagenum" id="Page_571">[571]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p class="right"> -At the Château de ..., 15th December, 17**. -</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_572">[572]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_THE_HUNDRED_AND_SEVENTY-THIRD">LETTER THE HUNDRED AND SEVENTY-THIRD - -<br><small>MADAME DE VOLANGES TO MADAME DE ROSEMONDE</small></h2> -</div> - -<p class="noin">O <span class="smcap">my</span> 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,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_573">[573]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_574">[574]</span></p> - -<p>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.<a id="FNanchor_19" href="#Footnote_19" class="fnanchor">[19]</a></p> - -<p>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:</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_575">[575]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p class="right"> -Paris, 18th December, 17**. -</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_576">[576]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_THE_HUNDRED_AND_SEVENTY-FOURTH">LETTER THE HUNDRED AND SEVENTY-FOURTH - -<br><small>THE CHEVALIER DANCENY TO MADAME DE ROSEMONDE</small></h2> -</div> - -<p class="noin"><span class="smcap">You</span> 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.</p> - -<p>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?</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_577">[577]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_578">[578]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>I am with respect, Madame, your most humble, etc.</p> - -<p class="right"> -Paris, 26th December, 17**. -</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_579">[579]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="LETTER_THE_HUNDRED_AND_SEVENTY-FIFTH">LETTER THE HUNDRED AND SEVENTY-FIFTH - -<br><small>MADAME DE VOLANGES TO MADAME DE ROSEMONDE</small></h2> -</div> - -<p class="noin"><span class="smcap">The</span> 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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Immediately she received this intelligence, although still<span class="pagenum" id="Page_580">[580]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>What a fatality has fallen upon me of late, and stricken -me in the objects dearest to me! My daughter and my -friend!</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_581">[581]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.<a id="FNanchor_20" href="#Footnote_20" class="fnanchor">[20]</a></p> - -<p class="right"> -Paris, 14th January, 17**. -</p> - -<p class="center"><span class="allsmcap">THE END.</span></p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h3 class="nobreak" id="FOOTNOTES">FOOTNOTES:</h3> -</div> -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_1" href="#FNanchor_1" class="label">[1]</a> Danceny is ignorant of what this means was; he merely repeats -Valmont’s expression.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_2" href="#FNanchor_2" class="label">[2]</a> Voltaire: <i>Nanine</i>.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_3" href="#FNanchor_3" class="label">[3]</a> A village half-way between Paris and the <i>château</i> of Madame de -Rosemonde.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_4" href="#FNanchor_4" class="label">[4]</a> The afore-mentioned village, half-way on the road.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_5" href="#FNanchor_5" class="label">[5]</a> <i>La Nouvelle Héloïse.</i></p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_6" href="#FNanchor_6" class="label">[6]</a> <i>La Nouvelle Héloïse.</i></p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_7" href="#FNanchor_7" class="label">[7]</a> “<i>L’amour y pourvoira.</i>” Regnard: <i>Les Folies amoureuses</i>.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_8" href="#FNanchor_8" class="label">[8]</a> This letter has not been recovered.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_9" href="#FNanchor_9" class="label">[9]</a> From the comedy, “<i>On ne s’avise jamais de tout!</i>”</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_10" href="#FNanchor_10" class="label">[10]</a> See letter the <a href="#LETTER_THE_HUNDRED_AND_NINTH">hundred and ninth</a>.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_11" href="#FNanchor_11" class="label">[11]</a> Letters the <a href="#LETTER_THE_HUNDRED_AND_TWENTIETH">hundred and twentieth</a> and <a href="#LETTER_THE_HUNDRED_AND_TWENTY-SECOND">hundred and twenty-second</a>.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_12" href="#FNanchor_12" class="label">[12]</a> “<i>Plus je vis d’étrangers, plus j’aimai ma patrie</i>”. Du Belloi’s -tragedy of <i>Le Siège de Calais</i>.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_13" href="#FNanchor_13" class="label">[13]</a> Letters the <a href="https://gutenberg.org/files/69891/69891-h/69891-h.htm#Page_135">forty-sixth</a> and <a href="https://gutenberg.org/files/69891/69891-h/69891-h.htm#Page_137">forty-seventh</a>.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_14" href="#FNanchor_14" class="label">[14]</a> Marmontel: <i>Conte moral d’Alcibiade</i>.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_15" href="#FNanchor_15" class="label">[15]</a> 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.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_16" href="#FNanchor_16" class="label">[16]</a> This casket contained all the letters relating to her adventure with -M. de Valmont.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_17" href="#FNanchor_17" class="label">[17]</a> Letters the <a href="https://gutenberg.org/files/69891/69891-h/69891-h.htm#Page_249">eighty-first</a> and <a href="https://gutenberg.org/files/69891/69891-h/69891-h.htm#Page_274">eighty-fifth</a> of this collection.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_18" href="#FNanchor_18" class="label">[18]</a> 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.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_19" href="#FNanchor_19" class="label">[19]</a> This letter was left unanswered.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_20" href="#FNanchor_20" class="label">[20]</a> Private reasons and considerations, which we shall ever make it a -duty to respect, force us to halt here.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="transnote"><div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="Corrections">Corrections</h2> -</div> -<p>The first line indicates the original, the second the correction</p> -<p>p. <a href="#Page_314">314</a></p> - -<ul><li>who could fail do draw profit</li> - -<li>who could fail <span class="u">to</span> draw profit</li></ul> -<p>p. <a href="#Page_356">356</a></p> -<ul><li>what a pathethic scene!</li> - -<li>what a <span class="u">pathetic</span> scene!</li></ul></div> -<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LES LIAISONS DANGEREUSES, VOLUME 2 (OF 2) ***</div> -<div style='text-align:left'> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will -be renamed. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -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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