But what dreadful fate forced me to become so attached to that woman? Aren’t there a hundred others longing to receive my attentions? Wouldn’t they rush to respond to them? Even if none of them is as good, isn’t the charm of variety, the lure of fresh conquests, the prestige of having so many women a sufficiently pleasant prospect? Why chase after someone and ignore all those lined up waiting? Why, oh why? I have no idea, yet I cannot deny the strength of my feelings.
My happiness and peace of mind are utterly dependent on getting that woman whom I love and hate with equal intensity. I cannot come to terms with my fate until I control hers. Not until then shall I be able to watch, calm and relaxed, as she is buffeted in her turn by the storms which I’m enduring at present. And I shall whip up hundreds more: I shall fill her heart with hope and fear, suspicion and trust, every calamity that can be thought up by hatred, every benefit offered by love, in an orderly succession orchestrated by me. That time will come … But what efforts I still have to make! Yet how close I was to my goal yesterday! And how far I am from it today! How can I get at her? I daren’t risk doing anything at the moment; before deciding on anything, I need to be calm and I’m seething …
What upsets me even more is how calmly everyone is responding to my questions on what’s happened, what’s caused it, on all its extraordinary aspects. Nobody knows anything or even wants to know: people would hardly have mentioned it if I’d been content to talk of something else. When I rushed round to see Madame de Rosemonde as soon as I heard the news, she replied with the indifference of old age that it was the natural result of Madame de Tourvel’s indisposition yesterday: she was afraid she was sickening for something and preferred to be in her own home; she considered it perfectly normal, she’d have done the same. As if there was any possible comparison between them: my aunt tottering on the brink of the grave and that other woman, the torment and the charm of my life!
Madame de Volanges whom I’d suspected of being a party to the matter seemed concerned only because she hadn’t been consulted. I confess that I’m delighted that she wasn’t given the chance of hurting me; she’d have really enjoyed that! It also proves that she’s not in that woman’s confidence as much as I’d feared: that’s one enemy the fewer. How delighted she’d be to know that I was the person Madame de Tourvel was escaping from! And how positively bloated with pride if she knew it was on her advice! What a boost that would have been to her self-esteem! God, how I loathe that woman! Oh, I must pick up the threads of my affair with her daughter again; I want to mould her to my will. So I think I’ll stay on here for a while; at least the few thoughts I’ve been able to collect up till now lead me to that view.
Don’t you think, in fact, that after such a flagrant act, that ungrateful woman of mine will be dreading to see me appear on her doorstep. But if she thinks I’m likely to pursue her, she’ll not have failed to give instructions not to admit me; and I’m as anxious to stop her from getting into the habit of using such tactics as I am to avoid being humiliated by them. So instead, I think it’s better to let her know that I’m staying on here; I’ll even try to persuade her to return and when she’s really convinced that I’m keeping away, I’ll turn up at her house and we’ll see how she reacts to that sort of meeting. But to increase the impact, I shall have to delay it, and I’m not sure that I have the patience; a dozen times today I’ve had to bite back my order to hitch up my horses. But I intend to control myself; I promise to wait here for your reply; my only request, fair lady, is that you don’t keep me waiting too long.
The most tiresome thing would be to remain in ignorance of what’s happening; but my man who’s in Paris has certain rights of access to her maid and he may be able to help me. I’ve sent him instructions and some money. Will you please let me enclose them in this letter and make sure that they are delivered to him personally by one of your servants? I’m taking this precaution because the rogue has the habit of never receiving my letters when they require him to do something which he finds inconvenient and because he doesn’t seem quite so attached to his lady-love at the moment as I’d like him to be.
Farewell, lovely lady. If some bright idea occurs to you, some way of speeding my cause, do let me know. I’ve seen more than once how great a help your friendship can be for me and I can feel it again now, for since starting this letter I’ve grown progressively calmer. At least I’m talking to someone who understands me and not to the automata I’ve been vegetating amongst since this morning. Truth to tell, the longer I live, the more I’m tempted to think that the only moderately worthwhile people in the world are you and I.
101
The Vicomte de Valmont to his valet Azolan (enclosed with letter 100) From the Château de —–, 3 October 17—
What a complete idiot you are to have left here this morning without realizing that Madame de Tourvel was leaving too or, assuming you did know, not to have come and warned me. What’s the use of wasting my money boozing with the servants and making eyes at other people’s maids instead of attending to me, if you can’t keep me better informed of what’s going on? It’s one of your typical cock-ups! But I warn you that if you make just one more in this business, it’ll be the last one you make in my service.
You’re to report back everything about Madame de Tourvel’s household: the state of her health; how she’s sleeping; if she’s sad or cheerful; how often she goes out and whose houses she goes to; if she has callers and who they are; how she spends her time; if she treats her maids well or badly, particularly the one she had with her here; what she does when she’s alone; if when she’s reading she does so uninterruptedly or whether she breaks off to dream; similarly when she’s writing. Also arrange to make friends with the man who takes her letters to the post. Keep offering to do this job for him and when he accepts, post only those letters that appear unimportant, letting me have the others, particularly those addressed to Madame de Volanges, if there are any.*
So arrange to remain in your Julie’s good books for a little while longer. If, as you thought, she’s got another lover, get her to agree to share her favours and don’t make too much of a fuss: you’ll only be joining many of your betters in similar circumstances. And if this second string gets in the way, if, for instance, you see him taking up too much of Julie’s time during the day and she’s spending less with her mistress, try to find some way of ousting him or else pick a quarrel with him. Don’t be scared of the consequences, I’ll back you up. Above all, hang around the house. It’s by being constantly on the spot that you’ll see everything and see it thoroughly. If one of the servants even happens to get the sack, apply for the job yourself, saying you’re no longer in my employ. In such a case, mention that you left me in order to find a quieter and better-run household. Anyway, try and get the job. I’ll still keep you on during that time: it’ll be the same as your stay at the Duchesse de ——’s and in the end you’ll be similarly rewarded by Madame de Tourvel.
If you were bright enough and keen enough, these instructions should be sufficient, but in order to improve your performance in both these areas I’m sending you some money. As you see, the enclosed note authorizes my agent to pay you twentyfive louis:* I’ve no doubt you’re broke. Out of this sum, give Julie enough to persuade her to enter into correspondence with me. Anything left over will pay for your drinking sessions with Madame de Tourvel’s servants. Try as far as possible to include the butler so that he looks forward to seeing you come to the house. But don’t forget that I’m subsidizing your services, not your pleasures.
Get Julie into the habit of observing and reporting everything, even things that might seem utterly trivial. It’s better for her to include a dozen useless details than to leave out one interesting one and often something that looks quite unimportant isn’t so. As I need to be kept informed immediately if something happens which seems to you worth notifying, as soon as you get this letter, send Philippe off with the spare horse to install himself at M ——* where he’s to stay until further notic
e; he will provide a relay if needed. For ordinary communications the normal post will be adequate.
Be careful not to lose this letter. Reread it every day, both to make sure you haven’t forgotten anything and that you’ve still got it. In fact, do everything that needs to be done now that I’ve done you the honour of entrusting you with this task. You know that if I’m pleased with you, you can expect to be pleased with me.
102
Madame de Tourvel to Madame de Rosemonde 3 October, 1 a.m.
You will be greatly surprised, dear Madame de Rosemonde, to hear that I am leaving so hurriedly. My action must seem most extraordinary to you but your surprise will undoubtedly be far greater when you learn the reasons for it! You may possibly think that in confiding them to you I am showing a lack of consideration for the peace of mind so necessary at your age, or even wanting in the respect due to you on so many counts. So I ask your forgiveness but my heart is oppressed and needs to pour out its burden into the bosom of a friend who is as kind as she is wise. Whom could it choose but you? Look upon me as your daughter; I beg you to show me a mother’s kindness. I hope that my feelings for you may perhaps give me some claim on yours.
Ah, where are those days when those feelings were all honourable, when I was untroubled by those now causing me such dreadful turmoil and rendering me powerless to control them while at the same time making it my duty to do so? Ah, that fatal trip has proved my ruin!
So what can I say? I am in love, yes, desperately in love. Alas, this is the first time I have ever written this word which has been so frequently requested and never granted, yet I would give my life for the pleasure of letting the man who has inspired it hear it just once from my lips; yet I must continually refuse to utter it. So yet again he will be doubting my feelings and thinking he has the right to reproach me for my behaviour. Ah, how wretched I am! Why can’t he read in my heart as easily as he dominates it? Yes, if he knew all that I am suffering, I should suffer less; yet even you whom I’m telling about it will still have only the smallest conception of my sufferings!
In a moment, I shall be fleeing from him and causing him distress. While he will still be thinking he is close to me, I shall be far away. At a time when I have become accustomed to seeing him every day, I shall be in places where he has never been and where I must never allow him to come. I have already made my preparations; it’s all there under my very eyes; there’s nothing in sight that doesn’t proclaim the cruel fact of my departure. Everything’s ready, except me. And the more my heart resists, the more it proves how necessary it is for me to submit.
I shall no doubt submit; better to die than live in guilt. And I can already feel that I’m all too guilty; the only thing I’ve salvaged is decorum; my virtue is in ruins and I must confess to you that what little is left I owe to his generosity. I was intoxicated with the pleasure of hearing him and seeing him, with the bliss of feeling him close beside me, with the even greater happiness of being able to make him happy; I was powerless and helpless; I barely had strength enough to continue to struggle, let alone to resist. I was trembling on the brink of the abyss but incapable of avoiding it. Well, he saw my anguish and took pity on me. How could I fail to adore him? I owe him more than my life.
Ah, if it were only my life that was in danger by staying here, believe me, I should never agree to leave. What is my life worth without him? Wouldn’t I be only too glad to sacrifice it? Since I’m doomed for ever to make both him and myself unhappy, forced to defend myself not only against him but against myself, never venturing either to console him or to complain myself, spending my whole time causing him distress when all I want is to devote it to making him happy: isn’t such a life like dying a thousand deaths? Yet that will be my fate. But I’ll not give way, I have courage enough; I swear it and I want you, my adoptive mother, to bear witness to that promise.
And I swear to you as well never to conceal from you any of my actions; I appeal to you to accept that promise too, for I need your help: if I am committed to telling you everything, I shall grow used to thinking of you as always being at my side. Your virtue will double for mine. I shall surely never be prepared to blush in front of you; you will have the power to restrain me and I shall cherish you as an indulgent friend to whom I can confide my shortcomings as well as worshipping you as my guardian angel who can protect me from bringing shame on myself.
It is surely shameful enough to have to make such a request. A fatal consequence of overweening confidence! Why didn’t I beware sooner of the sympathy I felt growing inside me? Why did I delude myself that I could control it or rise above it at will? Sheer madness! How little I knew of love! Ah, if I had given more care to my struggle against it, perhaps it might never have become so all-powerful! Then I should perhaps not have needed to leave or even, while still bowing to this painful necessity, I should have been able to avoid having to break off our relationship completely and merely try to ensure that it was less close! But having to give up everything at one blow! And for ever! Ah, my dear, dear friend … But what has come over me? Even while I’m writing my mind is straying towards guilty hopes and desires … Ah, let us go away, far away from here and may these sins which I cannot control be washed away by my sacrifice …
Farewell, my dear respected friend, adopt me, love me as a daughter. You can rest assured that with all my weakness, I would rather die than prove unworthy of your choice.
103
Madame de Rosemonde to Madame de Tourvel From the Château de —–, 3 October 17—
I was more distressed by your leaving, dear young friend, than surprised by its cause: long experience and my great interest in you made the state of your heart clear enough and, to tell the truth, your letter told me little or nothing new.* If you were the only source of my information I should still not be aware of the name of the man you love, for by speaking throughout of him you did not once disclose who he is. I did not need you to do so; I know his identity perfectly well. But I remark on it because I am reminded that such has always been the case in matters of love; I see that things haven’t changed since my day.
I scarcely imagined I should ever find myself delving into memories so remote from my present concerns and so alien to my age. Nevertheless since yesterday, in my desire to find some sort of help for you, I really have been thinking very deeply on the subject. But what can I do except feel admiration and pity? I applaud your wise decision but it frightens me since it tells me that you considered it necessary, and once someone has reached that stage, it is always difficult to remain at a distance from the man when our heart continually draws us towards him.
But you must remain staunch and steadfast. For noble souls like yourself nothing is impossible and even if you should have the misfortune to succumb (which God forbid), believe me, dear young friend, you will at least still have the consolation of having fought with all your might. And things which human wisdom cannot achieve may be accomplished by God’s grace whenever He so pleases. His help may be about to descend and your virtue, tried and tested in your painful struggle, will emerge purified and shining more brightly than ever. You must hope that tomorrow you will be granted the strength which you lack today. Do not put your trust in Him alone; but He will urge you on to make every effort yourself.
So I must leave you in the hands of divine Providence to help you in a peril against which I can do nothing; but I shall watch and wait, supporting and comforting you as far as lies in my power. I cannot relieve you of your weight of suffering but I will share it. So I shall gladly listen to your confidences; I can understand that you must feel the need to unburden your heart and I shall open mine to you. Age has not yet chilled it so much that it is dead to friendship. You will always find it ready to welcome you; never hesitate to come and confide in me and let your troubled heart find rest in mine. It will not provide great comfort for your distress but at least you will not be crying alone. And whenever this unhappy love threatens to overpower you and you feel obliged to talk about it with someo
ne, it is better that you do so with me rather than with him. And now I’m talking like you and I think that the pair of us together will never manage to spell out his name … But in any case, we know what we mean.
I do not know if I am doing right to tell you that he seemed greatly affected by your leaving. It would perhaps be wiser not to mention this to you; but I don’t like the sort of wisdom which distresses our friends. However, I find myself forced not to say anything further on that subject: my poor sight and my shaking hand prevent me from writing long letters when I have to pen them myself.
So farewell, my dear young friend; goodbye, dear, lovely child: yes, I’m delighted to adopt you as my daughter and you have every good quality to make a mother proud and happy.
104
The Marquise de Merteuil to Madame de Volanges Paris, 4 October 17—
Reading your letter, dear, kind friend, I must confess that I was barely able to repress a movement of pride. You are actually doing me the honour of confiding in me! And confiding to the point of asking my advice! Oh, how happy I shall be if I really can deserve your good opinion of me and it does not come merely from friendly prejudice in my favour! Whatever the grounds, your trust is none the less heart-warming for me and to have acquired it is in my view a further reason to make a greater effort to be worthy of it. So, while making no claim to be offering you advice, I shall give you my frank opinion. I am full of misgivings, because it differs from yours but when I have explained my reasons, you must judge for yourself and if you reject them, I am ready to endorse your objections in advance. I shall at least be wise enough not to think myself wiser than you.
However, if, on this one occasion, my opinion happened to be preferable, the explanation would have to be found in the illusions of motherly love. Since this is an entirely admirable feeling it is certain to be found within your heart. Indeed, it is that feeling that must have dictated the decision which you are being tempted to take. That is why, if you sometimes happen to err, it is only ever in your choice between paths of virtue.
Les Liaisons Dangereuses Page 30