Once I had this precious hoard in my possession, I set about making an inventory of its contents, in accordance with my cautious habits which you’re familiar with: it was important to put everything back in its proper place. First up were two of the husband’s letters, an indigestible mish-mash of court proceedings and flatulent ranting about conjugal love which I had the patience to read right through without finding a single mention of myself.* I angrily put them back but my anger melted when I came upon the torn-up pieces of my famous Dijon letter carefully pasted together. I felt a sudden urge to read it again and it was lucky I did: imagine my delight on detecting the very distinct stains of this saintly woman’s adorable tears. I confess that I gave way to youthful impulse and kissed the letter with a rapture I thought I’d lost ages ago. I continued my lucky dip and found the whole series of my letters arranged in order of their date; even more pleasing was the discovery of the first letter of all, which I thought had been so ungraciously returned to me, carefully copied out in her own hand, in shaky characters quite unlike her normal writing and proof enough of her disturbed state of mind whilst doing it.
Till now my thoughts were all of love; but it was soon replaced by rage. Who do you think is trying to ruin my reputation with the woman I adore? What fiend in woman’s shape is evil enough to weave such an abominable plot? You know her, it’s your friend and relative, Madame de Volanges. You cannot imagine the tissue of horrors that obnoxious old hag has written about me. It is she and she alone who has been disturbing my angel’s peace of mind; it’s her views and her pernicious advice that are forcing me to leave; in a word, it is she who has victimized me. Oh, there’s no doubt about it, her daughter has got to be seduced; no, that’s not enough. That woman must be smashed and since the old trout is too long in the tooth to be attacked directly, she must be made to suffer through someone she loves.
So she wants me to come back to Paris! She’s forcing me to do so! Very well, I shall. But how I shall make her suffer for having to return! I’m sorry Danceny’s the hero of this adventure; he’s basically a decent young chap and that may prove awkward for us. However, he’s in love and I often see him; we may be able to make use of that. I’m so angry that I’m letting my thoughts run wild and forgetting that I owe you an account of today’s events. Let’s go back.
This morning I saw my tender-hearted prude. Never had she seemed lovelier. That was inevitable: a woman’s finest hour, the only time when she can arouse that spiritual ecstasy that people talk so much about—and experience so seldom—comes when we are sure she loves us but not yet sure whether we can enjoy her favours; and that’s exactly the situation I’m in. Perhaps the thought that I was going to be deprived of the pleasure of seeing her also made her more beautiful. Finally, when the post arrived I was handed your letter of the 27th and as I read it I was still hesitating whether to keep my word or not; but I caught the eyes of my beauty and it would have been impossible to refuse her anything.
So I announced my departure. A moment later, Madame de Rosemonde left us alone but I was still four steps away from the coy young woman when she sprang to her feet. ‘Please, Monsieur de Valmont, please leave me alone,’ she exclaimed in a frightened voice. ‘In God’s name, don’t come near me!’ Such a frantic plea which betrayed her emotion could only spur me on; in a second I was by her side and had seized her hands which she was holding clasped with an intensely touching expression; but just as I was launching into protestations of my devotion some evil spirit brought Madame de Rosemonde back. The timid God-fearing woman—she’s got good reason to be afraid—seized her chance and made for the door.
However, I offered my hand to escort her and she accepted it. Encouraged by this amiability which she hadn’t displayed for a long while, I tried to squeeze her hand while continuing my protestations. At first she tried to draw it away but when I pressed her, she consented, not ungraciously though without responding to either my action or my words. When we reached the door of her suite, before releasing her hand I tried to kiss it. At first she firmly resisted but a tender whisper, Don’t forget I’m leaving, left her flustered and uncertain. Hardly had the kiss been given than my lovely lady recovered and snatched her hand away to escape into her room and join her maid. So ends my story.
I assume you’ll be at the Maréchale de B—–’s tomorrow; as her house is definitely one where I’ll not be coming to look for you and as I suspect we shall have more than one matter of business on the agenda at our first meeting, notably the Volanges girl, which I’m keeping well in mind, I’ve decided to send this letter on ahead, and though it’s so long, I won’t seal it until I’m ready to post it, because at this particular juncture all could depend on some opportunity turning up. I’m now off to see if I can find one.
PS 8 p.m. All quiet on all fronts; not a single free moment, in fact studiously avoided. However, at least as much melancholy as decency permitted. Another event that may have some relevance is that I’ve been asked by Madame de Rosemonde to pass on an invitation to Madame de Volanges to come and spend a little time down here in the country.
Goodbye, dear lady, I’ll be seeing you tomorrow or the day after at the latest.
45
Madame de Tourvel to Madame de Volanges From the Château de—–, 29 August 17—
Monsieur de Valmont left this morning; I felt I ought to inform you, Madame, since you seemed so anxious for him to do so. Madame de Rosemonde is extremely unhappy to see her nephew go and indeed it must be said that he is pleasant company; she spent the whole morning talking about him in the warm-hearted way you know so well; she could not stop singing his praises.* I thought it was only polite not to contradict her, particularly as it must be conceded that, in many ways, she was right. I felt more and more guilty at having been the cause of separating them and I have little hope of making amends for the pleasure I’ve deprived her of. As you know, I’m not a very lively person by nature and the sort of life we shall be leading here is not calculated to make me any more so.
Had it not been on your advice, I should have been concerned at having acted perhaps a trifle thoughtlessly. I was really unhappy to see that dear old lady so miserable and in tears and I wasn’t far from shedding some myself.
Now we’re living in hopes that you will be accepting the invitation which Monsieur de Valmont is due to convey to you from Madame de Rosemonde to come and spend some time here with her. I am sure you have no doubts as to how pleased I shall be to see you. I’ll be delighted to make an earlier acquaintance with your daughter and to be in a position to convince you even more of the deep respect with which, etc. etc.
46
The Chevalier Danceny to Cécile Volanges Paris, 29 August 17—
What has come over you, my adorable Cécile? What can have caused such a sudden cruel change in your attitude? What has become of your pledge never to change, which you repeated to me only yesterday and with such pleasure? What has made you forget it today? I have examined my conscience without finding any cause in myself and it is dreadful to have to look for it in you. Oh, you certainly aren’t frivolous or deceitful and even in this moment of despair I shan’t demean myself or insult you by letting any such suspicion cross my mind. Some trick of fate must have made you different, for you are different! The tender-hearted Cécile, the Cécile whom I adore, would never have avoided catching my eye, would never have refused the lucky chance that had placed me close to her. Or if for some reason which I can’t comprehend she was obliged to treat me so unkindly, she would at least have condescended to tell me why.
Oh, Cécile, you don’t realize, you can never realize how much you made me suffer, how much I’m still suffering. Do you imagine I can go on living without your love? Yet when I asked you for a word, one single word, to calm my fears, instead of answering you made the excuse, which wasn’t true, of being afraid of being overheard and immediately made it come true by choosing to go over and join the others. When I was obliged to leave and asked you what time we could meet tomorrow
you pretended not to know and it was left to your mother to tell me. And so the pleasure of being with you which I always look forward to with such joy has been ruined and the thought of seeing you which is such a comfort to me will be replaced by the fear of not being welcome.
Already I can feel that fear gripping me and preventing me from mentioning my love to you. But if you really have changed, the words I love you, which were so wonderful just to repeat over and over again when I could hear you echoing them, three words which were all I needed to make me blissfully happy, will only make me feel doomed to eternal despair. Yet I can’t believe that those words have lost all their magic charm, so I shall still try to use them: yes, Cécile, I love you. So please, please, darling Cécile, repeat these words with me, for they comprise my whole happiness. Don’t forget that it’s you who’ve got me used to hearing them and that depriving me of them will condemn me to a torment which, like my love, will end only with my death.*
47
The Vicomte de Valmont to the Marquise de Merteuil P—–, 30 August 17—
I still shan’t be able to see you today, fair lady, for the following reasons, for which I crave your indulgence.
Yesterday, instead of returning directly, I stopped off at the château of the Comtesse de—–which was more or less on my way and asked if I could stay for dinner. I didn’t arrive in Paris till about 7 p.m. and called in at the Opéra in the hope of seeing you.
After the opera, I looked up my actress friends in the greenroom where I met my old flame Émilie surrounded by a large circle of admirers, women as well as men, whom she was going to entertain in P—–that very night. Hardly had I joined them than they invited me, by general acclaim, to go along with them. I was also invited by a little dumpling of a man who issued his invitation in a sort of French double Dutch and in whom I recognized the real hero of the party. I accepted.
On the way there I learned that the house we were going to was Émilie’s price for her favours contracted with this repulsive little man and the supper was truly a wedding feast. The little fellow could scarcely contain himself for joy in anticipation of the bliss in store for him. He seemed to me so smug that he gave me the desire to put a spoke in his wheel, which I in fact managed to do.
My only problem was getting Émilie to agree; the burgomaster’s wealth was giving her a few scruples. However, after a little humming and hawing, she agreed to the plan which I proposed of filling this little beer-barrel up with wine and so putting him out of action for the rest of the night.
Our exalted conception of the capacity of a Dutch toper led us to employ every known method, with such success that by dessert he was already incapable of holding his own glass; but the charitable Émilie and myself vied with each other in topping him up. Finally he rolled under the table, so paralytic that it’ll take him at least a week to recover. We decided to get him carted back to Paris and as he’d dismissed his own carriage I had him stowed into mine. Meanwhile I took his place, receiving the congratulations of the assembled company. Shortly afterwards they all departed, leaving me in undisputed possession of the field. All this fun and games and perhaps the cloistered life I’d been leading made Émilie so eminently desirable that I promised to stay with her until the Dutchman’s resurrection.
This generous offer of mine is in return for hers in agreeing to let me use her as a writing-desk for a letter to my pious beauty which I’ve just finished: I thought it would be rather fun to send her a letter written in the bed, in the arms, almost, of a tart* (I broke off in the middle to commit an act of gross infidelity), in which I give an accurate account of my situation and my activities. Émilie’s read it and it sent her into fits of laughter; I hope it’ll make you laugh too.
As the letter in question has to bear the Paris postmark, I’m sending it to you, unsealed. May I ask you to read it, seal it, and see that it’s posted? Be careful not to use your own seal or even any emblem relating to love; just a head. Goodbye, lovely lady.
PS I’ve opened this letter: I’ve persuaded Émilie to go to the Italians* … I’ll take advantage of this to come and see you. I’ll be there by six at the latest and if it’s convenient, we’ll go on to Madame de Volanges’s together around seven o’clock. It would be hardly polite to delay delivering Madame de Rosemonde’s invitation any longer; and I’m looking forward very much to seeing the Volanges girl, too.
Goodbye, fairest of the fair: I intend to embrace you so pleasurably that it will make your knight jealous.
48
Vicomte de Valmont to Madame de Tourvel (postmarked Paris) 30 August 17—
After a stormy night during which I never closed an eye, after being in a constant state of restless, ravaging passion or in utter annihilation of every faculty of my soul, I come to find peace with you, Madame, a peace which I sorely need but which I cannot hope to enjoy. Indeed, the situation in which I find myself as I write makes me more aware than ever of the irresistible power of love. I have difficulty in retaining my self-control or putting some order into my thoughts. I can already feel that I shall not finish this letter without being obliged to break off. Oh, can I really not have some hope that one day you will share the troubled emotions which I am feeling at this moment? And yet I dare hope that were you really to know them, you would not remain entirely unmoved. Believe me, Madame, cold composure, the stagnation of the soul, a foretaste of death, these do not lead to happiness; ardour and passion offer the only path and in spite of the agony of suffering to which you are subjecting me, I’m not afraid to assert that I am happier than you. Your harshness is devastating and relentless but that does not prevent me from surrendering completely to love and in the frenzy it inspires, I can forget the despair into which you have plunged me. This is my way of trying to expunge the exile into which you’ve banished me. Never have I enjoyed writing to you so much; never have I felt whilst doing so such a tender, yet keen emotion. Everything seems to add to my delight: the air I am breathing is full of joy and pleasure; even the table on which I am pressing as I write, which has never before been devoted to such a purpose, has been turned into a holy altar of love in my eyes: and how much lovelier will it look later on! I shall have written down on it my pledge to love you for ever! I must beg you to forgive me: my senses are in disarray. Perhaps it is wrong for me to abandon myself so utterly to delights which you cannot share yourself. I must leave you a moment to relieve the frenzy which is overtaking, nay, overpowering me …
I come back to you, Madame, certainly with unabated eagerness but my happiness is gone and I am left with a feeling of cruel frustration. What point can there be in talking to you of my feelings if I cannot succeed in convincing you of them? After so many vain attempts, my confidence and my strength are both deserting me. If I now let my mind dwell on the pleasures of love it is in order to savour more keenly my sadness at being deprived of them. I can see no help but in your understanding and I feel at the moment all too conscious how much I need it to have any hope of obtaining it. Yet never was my love more respectful, never ought it to be less offensive to you; I venture to say that it is in a state such as the most virtuous woman should not be afraid of. But I am myself afraid of taking up too much of your time in telling you of my troubles. Since I am sure that the person who is causing them doesn’t share them, I must at least not take advantage of her kindness as I should be doing were I to spend any longer painting you this unhappy picture. I shall merely use my remaining time to beg you to answer this letter and never to doubt the genuineness of my feelings.*
49
Cécile Volanges to the Chevalier Danceny 31 August 17—
I am neither frivolous nor deceitful, Monsieur. All I needed was to be enlightened as to the error of my ways to realize that I must change them; I have promised God to make this sacrifice until I feel capable of making Him a similar sacrifice of my feelings for you, which your religious status makes even more criminal. I realize that this will make me deeply unhappy and I won’t even hide the fact that ever since
the day before yesterday, every time I’ve thought of you, I’ve burst into tears. But I hope that God’s grace will give me strength to forget you as I pray to Him to do night and morning. I even hope that as a friend and an honourable man you will make no attempt to shake the good resolution which I have been inspired to make and which I shall strive to keep. Consequently I am asking you to have the kindness to stop writing to me, all the more so as I must warn you that I would not reply and that you would be forcing me to warn Mama of everything that is happening; and that would deprive me completely of the pleasure of seeing you.
Nevertheless I shall still continue to feel towards you all possible affection, as long as it is not wrong; and I really do wish you every kind of happiness with all my heart. I quite realize that you won’t love me as much now and perhaps you’ll soon find yourself loving someone else better than me. But that will be one more cross to bear to punish me for the wrong I have done in giving my heart to you when it belongs only to God and my husband, when I have one. I hope that God, in His divine mercy, will have pity on my weakness and that He will not punish me beyond my endurance.
Les Liaisons Dangereuses Page 15