Farewell, Monsieur Danceny, I can certainly assure you that if I was allowed to love anybody, it would not be anyone but you. But that’s the very most I can tell you and perhaps even that’s more than I ought.
50
Madame de Tourvel to the Vicomte de Valmont 1 September 17—
So this is how you fulfil the conditions I laid down when I agreed to let you write to me occasionally? And how can I not have grounds for complaint when in your letter you speak to me of a feeling which I would still be afraid of giving way to even were I able to do so without flying in the face of my duty.
In any case, if I needed further reasons to reinforce this salutary fear, it seems to me that I could find them in your last letter. In fact, at the very moment when you think you are justifying love, you are instead merely showing me its storms and perils. Who can wish for a happiness which involves sacrificing reason, when its short-lived pleasures lead at best to regret, if not to remorse?
And even although you are so much at home in this dangerous frenzy that you are bound to be less affected, weren’t you yourself forced to admit that it can overpower you? Aren’t you the first to complain of the uncontrollable agitation into which it throws you? How devastating its effect would be on an untried, sensitive heart and all the more overpowering because of the immense sacrifices it would entail!
You think, or appear to think, that love brings happiness; but I am so convinced that it would make me unhappy that I should prefer never to hear the word. The mere mention of it seems to me unsettling and so it is not only out of a sense of duty but for my own happiness that I appeal to you to be so good as never to use the word again.
After all, this must be a very easy request for you to grant at the moment. Now that you’re back in Paris, you’ll have ample opportunity to forget a feeling that perhaps arose from your habit of concerning yourself with such matters, reinforced by having nothing better to do in the country. Aren’t you now back in those places where you used to take no notice of me whatsoever? Can you take a single step without coming across some evidence of your fickleness? Aren’t you surrounded by women, all more attractive than me, who have a greater claim on your attentions? I lack the vanity attributed to our sex. Even less do I have that false modesty which is merely a subtle form of pride. So it is quite sincerely that I tell you that I can see little in myself to attract anyone and even if I had everything, I should still not have enough to hold you. So asking you to stop concerning yourself with me is merely asking you to do today something you have done before and would certainly do again in a short while, even if I were to ask you not to.
This is a truth that I will never forget and is in itself a sufficiently strong reason for me not to listen to you. There are a thousand and one others but to avoid embarking on a long discussion, I shall confine myself to repeating my request never again to mention a feeling to which I must neither listen nor, even less, respond.
PART II
51
The Marquise de Merteuil to the Vicomte de Valmont 2 September 17—
Vicomte, you’re really quite unbearable. You’re treating me as casually as if I were your mistress. You know, I’m going to get cross and at the moment I’m in an absolutely foul temper. So you’re seeing Danceny tomorrow? And you are aware how important it is for me to talk to you before this meeting? Yet completely unconcerned, you keep me waiting all day to go gallivanting off God knows where. You are to blame for making me arrive obscenely late at Madame de Volanges’s so that all the old crones thought me phenomenal. I had to butter them up all evening to pacify them; you must be careful not to vex old ladies: they’re the ones who decide young women’s reputations.
It’s now one a.m. and instead of being able to go to bed, which I’m dying to do, I’ve got to write you a long letter which will make me sleepier still because it’s so boring. You’re damned lucky I haven’t time to go on ticking you off. And don’t take that to mean that I’m letting you off; it so happens I’m in a hurry. So pay attention while I get on with it.
You won’t need to be a genius to learn all Danceny’s secrets tomorrow. It’s the psychological moment for soul-baring: he’s in a mess. The little girl went to confession and like a child, bared hers. Since then she’s been so tormented by fears of hell fire that she wants to break off with him completely. She explained all her little qualms to me with a fervour that showed me plainly enough how worked up she was. She produced a letter she’s written him breaking it off: a real pulpit piece. She nattered on for a whole hour without once talking sense. All the same, she still embarrassed me because, as you realize, I couldn’t risk speaking openly with such a perverse young girl.
But amidst all this claptrap I could see that she still loves her Danceny; I even noticed one of those ingenious little ruses which love always has up its sleeve and which the child has rather amusingly fallen for. Agonized by her longing to go on thinking of her lover, and her fear of damnation if she does, she has hit on the idea of praying God to make her forget him and as she keeps on making this prayer every minute of the day, she’s found a way of never letting him out of her mind.
With anyone more sophisticated than Danceny this little hiccough would have been more of an advantage than not; but the young man is such a Céladon* that unless we lend him a hand, he’ll take so long to tackle the slightest obstacles that we’ll be left with no time to bring our plan to fruition.
I agree that it’s a pity and I’m just as sorry as you that he’s the hero of this adventure; but what can we do about it? What’s done can’t be undone; and I blame it on you. I asked to see his reply:* it was pitiful. He puts forward endless arguments to prove that a feeling you aren’t able to control can’t be a crime; as if it didn’t stop being uncontrollable the minute you give up trying to control it! This is such an elementary idea that even the little girl thought of it. He’s rather touching when he complains how miserable he is; but he’s so meek and his suffering is so genuine and deep that it seems to me scarcely possible for any woman who is offered such a golden chance—with so little risk—to reduce a male to despair could resist indulging in such a treat. Finally he explains that he isn’t a monk, as the girl thought. That was definitely his best point, for if you do decide to go in for monks, our Knights of Malta would assuredly not be top of the list.*
Be that as it may, instead of wasting my time in arguments which might perhaps have been unconvincing and could have been compromising, I agreed to her decision to break with Danceny, adding the proviso that in such cases it was more honourable to explain one’s reasons in person rather than in writing; also that it was usual to give back letters and any other little objects one might have received. So, while apparently falling in with the little person’s views, I got her to give Danceny a rendezvous. We arranged the details on the spot and I undertook to persuade her mother to go out without her daughter; the moment of truth is to be tomorrow afternoon. Danceny’s already been informed but if you get a chance, for God’s sake do urge our handsome swain to wake up, and since he’s got absolutely everything to learn, teach him that the best way of overcoming scruples is to leave those who have them with nothing more to lose.
Furthermore, in order to avoid any repetition of this ridiculous scene, I did not fail to sow certain seeds of doubt in the mind of the little creature as to the discreetness of confessors; and I can assure you that at the moment she’s paying for the fright she caused me by her own fear that her confessor may go along to her Mummy and reveal all. I hope that after I’ve had a few more chats with her she’ll stop blabbing about her silly conduct to all and sundry.*
Goodbye, Vicomte: take Danceny in hand, guide his steps. It would be too mortifying for words if we couldn’t manage to get two children to do what we wanted. And if it’s proving more difficult than we first envisaged, never forget there are two things to spur us on: for you, that it’s Madame de Volanges’s daughter who’s involved; and for me, that it’s Gercourt’s future wife.
Goo
dbye.
52
The Vicomte de Valmont to Madame de Tourvel 3 September 17—
You forbid me to mention my love to you, Madame, but also fail to tell me where to find the courage to obey you. Constantly obsessed as I am with an emotion which should be so gentle and which you are making so cruel; languishing in an exile to which you have banished me; living as I do in frustration and sorrow, with my heartache made even more painful since it is a reminder of your indifference: must I then lose my only remaining consolation? For what other consolation can I find but baring my soul to you now and again—a soul which you are filling with bewilderment and bitterness? Will you turn your eyes away to avoid the sight of the tears which you are forcing me to shed? Will you even prevent me from offering you the sacrifices you are demanding from me? Would it not be more fitting for you, decent and gentle soul that you are, to take pity on an unhappy wretch whose unhappiness is of your making, rather than to increase his misery even more by a veto which is not only harsh but unfair?
You pretend to be afraid of love and you refuse to see that you yourself are the only cause of the harm of which you are accusing it. Yes, of course it is a sad emotion when it is not shared by the person inspiring it; but where is happiness to be found if not in mutual love? Cordial friendship, gentle trust—the only trust which knows no limits—sorrows soothed and pleasure enhanced, the charm of hope and of remembrance: where else can you find all these but in love? You are slandering it, whereas in order to reap its bounty you yourself need only to stop rejecting it; and by spending my time defending it, I can forget my own misery.
And you are also forcing me to come to my own defence because though I spend my life worshipping you, you spend yours finding fault with me. You’ve already assumed that I’m frivolous and deceitful and by drawing unfairly on a few lapses which I myself admitted, you take pleasure in confusing the man I once was with the man I now am. Not content with banishing me into miserable exile, you indulge in cruel banter at my expense for pleasures which, because of you, have, as you know, become indifferent to me. You won’t believe my promises or my pledges. Well, there is still one witness I can ask to vouch for me whom at least you won’t be able to suspect: yourself. Let me ask you merely in all good faith to question yourself: if you don’t believe in my love, if you have a moment’s doubt as to your unchallenged power over my soul, if you are not certain of having finally anchored that heart which till now was indeed too way ward, I agree to bear the punishment for that error. I shall grieve but I shan’t appeal against your sentence. If, on the other hand, in fairness to both of us, you’re forced to agree in your heart of hearts that you neither have nor ever will have a rival, then I entreat you not to force me to fight these figments of your imagination and let me at least have the comfort of knowing that you no longer doubt that my feeling for you will and can end only with my life. Allow me to ask you, Madame, to give me a specific answer to this question.
Yet if I turn my back on that period of my life which seems to be damaging me so grievously in your eyes, it is not because, if need be, I am short of reasons to justify it.
After all, what was I doing but failing to resist the whirligig into which I’d been plunged? I’d gone into society as a young man without any experience; been passed, so to speak, from hand to hand by a horde of women relying on the speed of their capitulation to forestall any reasoned judgement which they sensed would certainly be unfavourable. Was it for me to offer any resistance when I never met any myself? Or was I supposed to go on suffering for a momentary error, which had often been provoked, by remaining faithful, which would certainly have been pointless and made me look ridiculous? How else do you think I could have freed myself from a dishonourable commitment except by breaking off as soon as possible?
But I am able to say that this intoxication of the senses, even perhaps this frantic vanity, never penetrated into my heart. My heart was born to love and however much it was misled into amorous intrigues, they never succeeded in satisfying it. I was surrounded by attractive but despicable persons and none of them touched my heart; I was being offered pleasure whereas I wanted virtue, so that eventually I came to think of myself as fickle whereas I was merely fastidious and sensitive.
But when I saw you my eyes were opened. I soon realized that the charm of love depends on the noble qualities of the soul which alone could give rise to and justify its excesses. I felt in fact that it was as impossible not to love you as to love anyone but you.
So now you can see, Madame, the true heart to which you are so afraid to lend your trust and whose fate lies in your hands. But whatever that fate may be, you will never be able to weaken the bonds that hold it to you; they are as unshakeable as the virtues which gave birth to them.
53
The Vicomte de Valmont to the Marquise de Merteuil Evening of 3 September 17—
I’ve met Danceny but only got part of the truth out of him. In particular, he persisted in withholding the name of the Volanges girl, merely saying she was a very proper young woman, even a trifle pious. Apart from that he talked pretty openly about his affair and above all of the recent incident. I egged him on as much as possible and teased him for being so sensitive and scrupulous but as he appears set on sticking to that attitude, I can’t accept any responsibility for him. Anyway, I shall be able to report more fully the day after tomorrow. I’m taking him with me to Versailles* tomorrow and I’ll try to get to the bottom of him during the journey.
I’m also fairly optimistic about his meeting with the Volanges girl, which is due to take place today. It might well be that everything has gone according to our plan and perhaps it only remains for us to force him to confess and gather the necessary evidence. It will be easier for you to do this than for me: the little body is more confiding than her wary sweetheart, or more of a chatterbox, which amounts to the same thing. However, I’ll do what I can.
Goodbye, fair lady. I’m in a great rush. I shan’t see you tonight or tomorrow. If you learn anything on your side, drop me a line for when I return. I’ll certainly spend the night in Paris.
54
The Marquise de Merteuil to the Vicomte de Valmont 4 September 17—
Oh yes, there’s something to be got out of Danceny, I don’t think! If he said there was, he was boasting. I don’t know of anyone so stupid in love and I’m getting more and more annoyed with myself for all the trouble we’ve been taking over him. Do you know that because of him I very nearly found myself compromised? And that it was a complete waste of time as well? Ah, I’m going to get my own back on that young man, I promise.*
When I went to pick up Madame de Volanges, she didn’t want to go out: she didn’t feel very well and it needed all my powers of persuasion to induce her to do so. I could see Danceny arriving before we left, which would have been all the more tricky because Madame de Volanges had told him yesterday that she wouldn’t be at home. Her daughter and I were both on tenterhooks. We finally went off and as we left, the girl squeezed my hand so affectionately that in spite of her plan to break off with Danceny—which she was still genuinely intending to do—I could foresee wondrous things happening that evening.
My worries weren’t over yet: we’d barely been at Madame de ——’s half an hour when Madame de Volanges was in fact taken ill, really quite ill and reasonably enough wanted to go home, which I on the other hand was most anxious not to do, particularly as there was every chance of catching the couple of lovebirds by surprise and she would inevitably suspect my motives in having urged her to go out. I decided the best plan was to scare her by being solicitous about her health—luckily not frightfully difficult—and I managed to keep her there for a whole hour and a half by pointing out the risks involved in being jolted about in a carriage before eventually agreeing to see her home. So in the end we didn’t get back till the stipulated time. From the shamefaced look I observed when I arrived, I confess that I had hopes that there might at least be some return for my efforts.
Intrig
ued to discover what had happened, I stayed with Madame de Volanges when she went to bed straight away and after having supper at her bedside, we left her very early, on the pretext that she needed a good night’s rest and went off to her daughter’s room. She’d done everything I’d expected: exeunt scruples, on with fresh pledges of eternal love, etc. etc.; in a word, she’d performed impeccably but that blockhead Danceny hadn’t shifted one inch from his previous attitude. Oh, one need never worry about falling out with him: making it up offers absolutely no dangers.
However, the girl assured me that he did want to go further but she was able to defend herself. I bet she’s either bragging or trying to find excuses for him. I even managed to make fairly sure of that point myself as I suddenly took it into my head to find out in person what sort of defence she actually was capable of putting up: with one thing leading to another, I got that girl so worked up—and that’s by a mere woman … Anyway, take it from me, you can’t imagine anybody easier to arouse: what an adorable, sweet little thing she is! She deserved a better lover; at least, in me she’ll have a good friend because I feel genuinely attached to her. I’ve promised myself to educate her and that’s a promise I think I will keep. I’ve often felt the need for a confidante and I’d sooner have her than anyone else. But I can’t do a thing about her until she’s done … what she’s got to do … And that’s another reason for my grudge against Danceny.
Les Liaisons Dangereuses Page 16