I’m writing this letter very early in the morning in the hope that Joséphine will be coming. If I can get to speak to her alone I’ll ask her to hand Madame de Merteuil a little note I’m going to write her, otherwise I’ll put it in with this letter to you and I’ll ask you please to send it on to her as if it’s from you. She’s the only one I can hope for any comfort from at the moment. At least we shall be able to talk about him, because I can’t hope ever to see him again. Poor me! I’m so miserable! Perhaps she’ll be kind enough to agree to take a letter to Danceny. I daren’t trust Joséphine for something like that and certainly not my maid ‘cause it may even be her that told Mummy that I’d got some letters in my secretaire.
I won’t write any more now because I want to leave myself time to write to Madame de Merteuil as well as to Danceny so that my letter is absolutely ready, if she’s prepared to take it. After that, I’m going back to bed, so that I’ll be there when they come into my room. I’ll say I’m not very well so I shan’t have to go and see Mummy. It won’t really be a big fib, I’m sure I’m feeling a lot worse than if I had a temperature. My eyes are burning because I’ve been crying so much and I’ve got a heavy feeling in the pit of my stomach which makes it hard for me to breathe. When I think that I’m never going to see Danceny again, I wish I was dead. Goodbye, Sophie dear, I can’t write any more, I’m crying so much I can’t breathe properly.
Note: Cécile Volanges’s letter to the Marquise de Merteuil has been omitted as it contains, in less detail, the same information as letter 61. The letter to the Chevalier Danceny is missing; the reason for this will be revealed in letter 63.
62
Madame de Volanges to the Chevalier Danceny 7 September 17—
Having grossly abused a mother’s trust and the innocence of a child, you will scarcely be surprised, Monsieur, that your presence is no longer welcome in this house where you have repaid the most genuine friendship by showing utter disregard for decent behaviour. Rather than having to give orders to my servants not to admit you, I prefer to ask you to cease your visits and thus avoid compromising us all equally by the observations they would not fail to make. I have the right, therefore, to hope that you will not force me to ban you from the house. Furthermore, I warn you that should you make the slightest attempt to persist in leading my daughter astray, she will be removed from your unwelcome attentions to spend the rest of her days in the strict reclusion of a convent. It will be for you, Monsieur, to see if you are as reluctant to bring about this calamity for her as you were to try to dishonour her. For myself, my choice is made and I have informed my daughter accordingly.
I enclose herewith a packet containing your letters, in return for which I expect you to let me have all those which you have received from my daughter and to ensure that no trace is left of an occurrence that I should be unable to recall without indignation, she without shame, and you, Monsieur, without remorse.
I have the honour, etc. etc.
63
The Marquise de Merteuil to the Vicomte de Valmont 9 September 17—
Yes indeed, I can shed light on Danceny’s letter to you. The event which has led him to write to you is my doing and, if I may say so, my master-stroke. Since your last letter, I haven’t been letting the grass grow under my feet and like the Athenian architect* I said: ‘What that man said, I’ll do.’
So this splendid hero of romance needs obstacles, does he, and he’s drifting along in a blissful daze! Don’t worry, he can rely on me to provide him with something to do and if I’m not much mistaken, his daze is not going to be blissful any more. He really had to be taught the value of time and I flatter myself that at this moment he’s regretting all the time he’s wasted. You also said he needed more mystery. Well, from now on he’s not going to be short of that, either. One good thing about me is that you have only to draw my attention to my faults and I then never rest until I’ve remedied them all. Here’s what I’ve done.
When I got home two mornings ago, I read your letter: it was positively brilliant. So, thoroughly convinced that you had put your finger on the sore spot, I devoted my whole attention to curing it. However, first of all I went to bed; for my indefatigable knight hadn’t let me have a wink of sleep, and I thought I needed some. However, I was quite wrong. Engrossed as I was with Danceny and with my desire to jerk him out of his lethargy or else make him pay for it, I just couldn’t drop off and it wasn’t until I’d worked out my plot in detail that I was at last able to snatch a couple of hours’ beauty sleep.
That very evening I called on Madame de Volanges and in accordance with my plan informed her in confidence that I felt sure that a dangerous relationship existed between her daughter and Danceny. While extremely clear-sighted in her hostility to you, this woman is so blinkered that at first she replied that I must surely be mistaken, that her daughter was only a child, and so on and so forth. I couldn’t tell her everything I knew but I mentioned instances of remarks and glances that had shocked my moral principles and my friendship. In fact, I put on almost as good an act as any Devout Woman and to clinch the matter I went so far as to say that I thought I had seen letters change hands. ‘Which reminds me,’ I added, ‘that one day I saw her open a drawer of her secretaire where I caught a glimpse of lots of papers that she must be keeping. Do you know of any correspondence she might be conducting?’ Here Madame de Volanges’s expression changed and I saw a stray tear come into her eyes. ‘Thank you,’ she said, clasping my hand. ‘You are a good, kind friend. I shall look into the matter.’
After this short conversation, too short to arouse any suspicion, I went over to talk to the girl for a second and then came back to her mother to ask her not to compromise me in her daughter’s eyes, which she promised all the more readily as I pointed out how fortunate it was that the child had sufficient trust in me to open her heart, thus putting me in a position to give her my wise advice. And I’m confident she’ll keep her word because I’ve no doubt that she’s anxious to claim credit for her perspicacity with her daughter. This will authorize me to remain on friendly terms with the girl without appearing deceitful in Madame de Volanges’s eyes, something I want to avoid. It gives me the further advantage of spending as much time with the damsel with all the secrecy I might need without the mother’s taking offence.
I availed myself of this privilege that very evening: when we’d stopped playing cards, I cornered the girl and brought the conversation round to Danceny, always an inexhaustible source of chatter with her. I enjoyed whipping her into a frenzy of anticipation at the thought of her pleasure when she saw him next day and I egged her on to make all sorts of quite outrageous remarks. I was determined to give her a foretaste of the pleasures I was preventing her from enjoying in reality: that’s bound to make the shock even worse. I’m convinced that the more she suffers now, the keener she’ll be to make up for lost time at the first opportunity. And anyway, it’s an excellent thing for someone being groomed for grand adventures to become accustomed to grand occasions.
After all, what are a few tears compared to the pleasure of having her Danceny; she’s crazy about him. Well, I promise her she’ll have him even sooner than she would have done without this intervening storm. It’s a bad dream with a delicious awakening; and all things considered, I think she should be grateful to me. Even if I have been a trifle mischievous, we’re entitled to our bit of fun:
Les sots sont ici-bas pour nos menus plaisirs.*
I finally left, well pleased with my mission, saying to myself that either Danceny, spurred on by these obstacles, will become even more passionate and if so, I’ll lend him a hand in every possible way; or else, as I’m sometimes tempted to think, he’s just dim and I give up in despair; in which case, I’ll at least have settled my score with him as well as I could and meanwhile I’ll have reinforced the mother’s good opinion of me, my friendship with the daughter, and the trust of both. As for my prime target, Gercourt, I should feel I’d been extremely unlucky or excessively clumsy if, dom
inating his wife as I do and intend to do even more, I didn’t find a thousand and one ways of making him become what I want him to become. With these comforting thoughts I went to bed and slept like a log. When I woke up, very late, I found two letters waiting for me, one from the mother, the other from the daughter, each containing, literally, the identical words: You are the only one I can hope to comfort me. I laughed till I cried. Isn’t it really funny to be a well-wisher both for and against and to be the only go-between of two people diametrically opposed? So here I am like the Divinity, with blind mortals vying in their prayers to me while I never change my immutable decrees. However, I abandoned this august role in favour of that of consoling angel and in accordance with that mandate, went to call on my friends in their tribulation.
I started with Mummy. I found her in such a state of misery that it must already provide you with some compensation for all the unpleasantness she’s caused you with your lovely prude. Everything had gone like a dream. My only worry had been that Madame de Volanges might have seized the opportunity to gain her daughter’s confidence simply by treating her in a gentle and friendly way and making her reasons sound and seem affectionate and forgiving. Fortunately she’d taken a firm line, in fact she’d behaved so badly that I could only applaud her. True, she nearly spoilt all our plans by deciding to send her daughter back to the convent. I warded that off by persuading her to threaten to do that only if Danceny persists in pursuing her daughter: this will force the pair of them to tread warily; I think that is necessary to ensure our success.
Next I went on to see the daughter. You wouldn’t believe how much better looking her sorrows have made her! Once she’s learnt how to flirt just a little, I guarantee she’ll be shedding many a tear; however, this time it was in good earnest. Struck by this new and unfamiliar charm which I found most agreeable to the eye, my first efforts to console her were ineffectual, the sort that make people more rather than less miserable, so much so that she was actually having to fight for breath. She had stopped crying and I was afraid she might become hysterical. I advised her to go to bed. She agreed; I acted as her maid. She wasn’t dressed to go out and soon her hair was floating round her bare shoulders and bosom. I gave her a kiss and a hug; she snuggled into my arms and her tears started flowing again with no trouble at all. God, she looked lovely! If Mary Magdalen looked like that she must have been much more dangerous as a penitent than as a sinner …
Once the forlorn beauty was in bed I started to offer her genuine consolation. First of all, I set her mind at rest over the convent. I raised hopes of seeing Danceny in secret and sitting down on the bed, I began by saying, ‘Now if he were here …’, and embroidered on that theme, dangling one distraction after another in front of her eyes until she’d quite forgotten she was miserable. We’d have parted perfectly happy with each other if she hadn’t wanted me to take a letter for Danceny from her, which I refused to do, for the following reasons which you’ll undoubtedly approve.
First and foremost, it would compromise me with regard to Danceny and though that was the only reason I could put forward to the girl, for you and me there are many more. Wouldn’t giving our two love-birds such an easy means of solving their problems put the outcome of all my good work at risk? And moreover, I shouldn’t be averse to forcing them to involve a few servants in their transactions, for if their affair succeeds in the way I hope, it must be brought to light immediately after the wedding and there are few more reliable ways of spreading news; or if by some miracle the servants didn’t give the game away, we should have to do it ourselves and it’ll be very handy to have them to blame for the leak …
So you must suggest this idea to Danceny this very day and as I’m not sure about the Volanges girl’s maid, whom she seems to distrust herself, put him on to mine, my trusty Victoire. I’ll see to it that the operation’s successful. I find this idea especially attractive since keeping this matter dark will benefit us and not them: you see, I’ve still got something up my sleeve.
So: all the time I was objecting to taking the girl’s letter, I was afraid she might suggest that I put it in the local post* for her, something I could hardly have refused to do. Fortunately, in her confusion or else through ignorance, perhaps even owing to the fact that she was less interested in the letter than in his reply, which she couldn’t have received through the post, she didn’t mention it; but to prevent her from getting that idea or at least from putting it into practice, I took a lightning decision and when I went back to her mother I persuaded her to take her daughter away for a short while and go with her down into the country. And where do you think they’re going? To your aunt’s, old Rosemonde! Doesn’t your heart leap for joy? She’s going to let her know today: and then you’ll be free to go and see your saintly lady who’ll no longer be able to put forward the bogy of being alone in your company; so thanks to my kind attentions, Madame de Volanges will herself have made good the harm she’s done you.
But listen to me and don’t become so involved in your own affairs as to lose sight of this one: bear in mind my interest in it. I want you to become the confidential agent and adviser to those two young people. So inform Danceny of this trip and offer your services. Suggest that the only difficulty will be to deliver your credentials into the hands of his beloved and remove that obstacle on the spot by putting him on to my maid. There’s no doubt he’ll agree and as to reward for your trouble you’ll win the trust of the heart of a novice, which is always interesting. Poor little thing! How she’ll blush as she hands you the first letter! To tell you the truth, this job of go-between, which has given rise to certain prejudices, seems to me a delightful relaxation when one’s occupied elsewhere, which will be the case with you.
So the outcome of this imbroglio lies in your hands. Take care. Calculate the right moment to bring the protagonists together. Country life offers a thousand and one opportunities and Danceny will certainly be ready to come down as soon as you say the word. A dark night, a disguise, an unfastened window? … How can I judge? But anyway, if that little girl comes back in the same state as she left, I shall blame you. If you feel she needs some encouragement from me, let me know. I think I’ve given her a sharp enough lesson on the dangers of hoarding letters to feel safe in writing to her now; I still have a mind to make her my pupil.
I think I forgot to mention that at first she suspected her maid of having revealed her secret correspondence but I diverted her suspicions on to her confessor. Two birds with one stone.
Goodbye, Vicomte, I’ve spent such a long time writing to you that I’ve held up my dinner. But my letter was dictated by vanity and friendship, two very talkative characters. Anyway, it’ll reach you by three o’clock and that’s all you need.
So complain about me if you dare and if it tempts you, do go and shoot over the Comte de B ——’s preserve. You say he keeps it for his friends’ sport? And what a lot of friends he’s got, hasn’t he? So long, I’m starving.
64
The Chevalier Danceny to Madame de Volanges (draft enclosed with letter 66) 9 September 17—
Dear Madame, without trying in any way to justify my actions or complain of yours, I can only feel deeply distressed at an event which has brought unhappiness to three people who deserved a better fate. Ever since yesterday I have made many attempts to avail myself of the honour of replying to your letter, but feeling even more grieved at having caused than having suffered this misfortune, I have been unable to summon up the strength to do so. Yet I have so many things to say to you that I must force myself and if this letter is somewhat disjointed and incoherent, you will surely understand the painfulness of my situation well enough not to judge me too harshly.
But please allow me in the first place to appeal against the first sentence of your letter. I venture to say that I have never abused either your trust or Mademoiselle de Volanges’s innocence: I can be held responsible only for my acts and no act of mine has ever shown disrespect either to you or to your daughter. But even should yo
u wish to hold me responsible for my feelings, which were beyond my control, I am not afraid to add that my feelings towards your daughter are such that though they may cause you displeasure, they cannot cause offence. On this point, on which I feel more strongly than I can say, I shall be happy to submit to your judgement, offering my letters as evidence.
You forbid me to visit your house in future and I shall comply with every order you choose to make in this regard; but might my abrupt and total absence not expose you to similarly unwelcome observations as the order not to admit me, which you were reluctant to give for that very same reason? I particularly stress this since it affects Mademoiselle de Volanges more than myself. I do beg you therefore to weigh these matters most carefully and not to let severity prevail over prudence. I am sure that your final decision will be governed only by the best interests of your daughter and I shall await your fresh instructions.
However, should it happen that you do allow me from time to time to pay my respects to you, I promise you, Madame, on my word of honour, never to take advantage of any such occasion to attempt to speak to Mademoiselle de Volanges in private or to pass her any letters. The pleasure of seeing her sometimes will be my compensation for this sacrifice I am required to make in order to avoid endangering her reputation.
The above paragraph is also the only reply that I am able to make to what you tell me regarding the fate you are reserving for your daughter, which you intend to make dependent on my actions. To promise you anything more would be to mislead you. An unprincipled seducer can adapt his schemes to the circumstance and exploit a situation; my love has room for only two feelings: courage and constancy.
Agree to let Mademoiselle forget me? To forget her myself? Do you expect me to do this? It is utterly impossible. I could never do it. I shall remain faithful to her, I gave her my word and I repeat that same promise here and now. You must excuse me, Madame, I am losing my head, I must control myself.
Les Liaisons Dangereuses Page 18