The other category, much smaller but worth its weight in gold, contains those women of character who haven’t neglected to enrich their minds and are capable of creating a life of their own when nature begins to desert them; these women are determined to decorate their minds, just as earlier they have decorated their faces. Normally they possess sound judgement and have lively, judicious, and cultivated minds. They replace physical attraction by an engaging kindness as well as by a sprightliness which grows all the more charming with age; in this way they somehow manage to come closer to being young by winning the affection of the young. But with such women, far from being sour and strict as you allege, their habits of tolerance, the many hours they spend pondering on human weakness, and finally their youthful memories which are now their only link with life would tend rather to make them almost too easy-going.
What I can tell you, finally, is that having always sought the company of older women, since I realized early in life the importance of obtaining their approval, I met a large number to whom I felt drawn as much by inclination as by interest. I shall say no more, for now that you catch fire on the slightest provocation, and so high-mindedly, I’d be afraid you might fall unexpectedly in love with your old aunt and allow yourself to be buried with her in the tomb where you’ve been spending so much of your life recently. So let’s come back to the point.
In spite of the spell which your little schoolgirl seems to have cast over you, I cannot believe she has any part to play in your plans. She was available, you took her: bravo!—but you can’t really fancy her. If the truth be known, you’re not actually possessing anything but her body; quite apart from her heart which I’m pretty sure you’ve not got much interest in, she doesn’t even have any room for you in her head. I don’t know if you’ve noticed it yourself but I have proof of it in the last letter she wrote me,* which I’m enclosing so that you can judge for yourself. You can see that when she refers to you, it’s always Monsieur de Valmont; all her thoughts, even when they’ve started off from you, always end up with Danceny; and she doesn’t call him Monsieur Danceny, always just Danceny. This shows how different she considers him from everybody else; and even when she’s giving herself to you, she only feels at home with Danceny. If you find such a conquest attractive, if the pleasures you enjoy with her are delightful, you really must be modest and undemanding! I’m not objecting to your keeping her on; actually it fits in with my plans. But it does seem to me that it’s not worth putting yourself out for even a quarter of an hour if you can’t also assert some authority over her, as, for instance, by not allowing her to go back to Danceny without first driving him out of her head rather more convincingly.
Before leaving your affairs and turning to mine, I should like to say that this bogus illness which you told me you’re thinking of using seems to me trite and extremely old hat. You really do lack imagination, Vicomte. Actually, I do occasionally repeat myself, as you’ll see, but I frequently redeem myself with a certain originality in the details and above all I’m justified by my success. I’m about to try for another one: I’m pursuing a new amorous venture. I agree it will hardly rank as difficult but it will at least provide some distraction: I’m bored stiff.
I don’t know why it is but ever since my Prévan caper, I’ve found Belleroche quite unbearable. He’s become so madly attentive, affectionate, and downright adoring that I just can’t take it any more. At first I found his anger quite amusing, though I had to cool him down because had I let him go ahead I should have been compromised. But there was no way of making him see reason except by showing myself more devoted to him, which I proceeded to do so as to bring him to heel more easily. The trouble was that he took me seriously and ever since he’s been driving me to distraction with his unending ecstasies of delight. In particular I notice the utterly outrageous trust he shows in me and the smug way he considers me his permanent property. It’s positively mortifying! What a low opinion he must have of me if he thinks he’s good enough to hold on to me for ever! Didn’t he say recently that he’d be the only man I’d ever loved? Oh, when I heard that, I needed all my self-control not to undeceive him on the spot by telling him the truth. What a ludicrous oaf to claim exclusive rights! I concede that he’s well-built and moderately good-looking but taken all round, in fact, as a lover he’s no more than a hack. It’s time for a break.
I’ve been trying to bring this about for nearly a fortnight: I’ve been successively cold, moody, sulky, cantankerous but the pigheaded man still clings on. I shall have to resort to more drastic measures: I’m going to cart him off to my country house. We’re leaving the day after tomorrow. There’ll be only a few other people there who’ll be neither concerned nor discerning; we shall be pretty well as free as if we were on our own. Once there, I intend to stuff him with a surfeit of love and caresses and we shall be living in each other’s pockets so much that I bet that he’ll be longing for our little trip, which he’s expecting to be marvellous, to come to an end even sooner than I shall and if he doesn’t come back more bored with me than I am with him, then I’m perfectly ready to let you tell me I’m as ignorant in such matters as you are …
My pretext for this sort of retreat is to give serious consideration to my big lawsuit which is finally coming on at the beginning of the winter. I’m glad it is because it’s not very pleasant having your entire fortune hanging in the air. Not that I’m worried about the outcome: for one thing, all my lawyers tell me I’m in the right. And even if I weren’t, I’d surely have to be extremely inept not to be able to win a case where my only adversaries will be under-age girls, still children, and their guardian! Nevertheless, in a matter of such importance, one mustn’t leave anything to chance and I shall in fact be taking two lawyers down with me. A jolly trip, don’t you think? All the same, if it means winning my case and losing Belleroche it won’t have been time wasted.
And now, Vicomte, guess who’s designated as his successor? I’ll give you a hundred to one you can’t! But what’s the point? I know you’re hopeless at guessing, don’t I? Well, it’s… Danceny! That’s a surprise for you, isn’t it? Because after all, I’m not yet reduced to baby-snatching! However, he deserves to be an exception: he has the charm of youth without any of its frivolity. His discreet behaviour in society is admirably designed to avoid suspicion and when he lets himself go in private, he’s all the more delightful. Not that I’ve as yet had any personal contact with him on his own, till now I’ve only been his confidante. But under this veil of friendship I think I can detect that he fancies me a lot and I can feel that I’m beginning to fancy him very much indeed … It would be such a pity if so much wit and delicacy of feeling were to be thrown away and desecrated with that cretinous Volanges girl! I do hope he’s mistaken in thinking he’s in love with her; she doesn’t deserve him in the least. Not that I’m jealous of her but it would be sheer murder and I do want to protect Danceny. So while I’m away, Vicomte, I’m asking you to use your good offices to prevent Danceny from having closer contact with his Cécile as he still unfortunately persists in calling her. A first love is always stronger than we suspect and I should feel extremely unsure of my ground if he were to see her now, particularly while I’m away. Once I’m back, I can look after everything myself—and I guarantee the result.
The thought did, in fact, cross my mind of taking the young man away with me but I sacrificed that idea on the altar of my normal cautiousness; and I’d also be afraid he might become aware of something between Belleroche and me and I’d be devastated if he had the slightest suspicion of what’s happening. I want to present myself at least to his imagination as chaste and immaculate, as indeed I should be to be really worthy of him.*
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Madame de Tourvel to Madame de Rosemonde Paris, 16 October 17—
Dear friend, while I have no idea if you can answer this query I am so uneasy in my mind that I cannot refrain from approaching you: Monsieur de Valmont’s state of health which you describe as giving no cause for alarm doe
s not seem as reassuring to me as it appears to be to you. It is not uncommon for melancholy and aversion to company to be preliminary symptoms of some serious disease; physical as well as mental disorders lead us to seek solitude and we often accuse people of being moody when we should sympathize with them for being ill.
It seems to me that at the very least he ought to consult someone. Since you are yourself not in the best of health, do you not have a doctor in attendance? My own doctor, whom I saw this morning and whom I make no secret of having consulted indirectly, is of the opinion that with naturally active persons this kind of sudden apathy should never be ignored; he added that certain disorders may fail to respond to treatment if they are not taken in time. Why let someone of whom you are so fond run this risk?
I am doubly anxious because I have had no news of him for the past four days. Dear Heavens! You are not hiding from me the truth about his health, are you? Why should he suddenly have stopped writing to me? If it is merely because I persist in sending back his letters, I think he would have adopted that course earlier. In any case, although I hold no brief for forebodings, I have for the last few days been alarmed by my feeling of depression. Ah, perhaps I am on the brink of a great catastrophe!
You would not believe, and I feel ashamed to tell you, how hurt I feel at not receiving any more letters from him. Even although I would still have refused to read them, at least I was sure he was thinking of me! And I was seeing something that had come from him … I never opened his letters but I looked at them and cried: my tears would flow more easily and gently and they were the only means I had of relieving some part of my depressed state of mind since I’ve been here. Dear, generous friend, I beseech you to write to me in person as soon as you are able and in the mean time do let me have news of yourself and of him every day.
I see that I have hardly spoken of you; but you know my feelings, my boundless affection for you, my deep gratitude for your sympathy towards me; and you will forgive me because you realize my confused state of mind, my appalling suffering, the dreadful torment I feel at the thought of the ills I may have caused. Dear God, that devastating thought never leaves me, it is rending my heart! Till now I had escaped such a misfortune but I can feel that I’m fated to endure them all!
Farewell, dear friend. Love me and pity me. Shall I be receiving a letter from you today?
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The Vicomte de Valmont to the Marquise de Merteuil From the Château de —–, 19 October 17—
Fair lady, it is incredible how easily misunderstandings arise as soon as two people are parted … All the time I was at your side, we felt as one, we looked at things through the same eyes; and now because we’ve not met for nearly three months, we can’t agree about anything.
Who’s to blame? I’m sure you wouldn’t hesitate in your answer; but being wiser—or more polite?—I shan’t offer a judgement but merely answer your letter and continue to describe my conduct.
But first, let me thank you for your warning of the rumours circulating about me, even though at this stage I don’t feel concerned by them and I think I can be sure of being in a position to put an end to them shortly. Don’t worry: I shan’t re-emerge into society until I bear greater honours than ever before and have become even worthier of you.
I even hope that my adventure with the Volanges girl, which you seem to make light of, won’t be entirely discounted: as if it were child’s play, in the space of an evening to take a girl away from the man she loves; next, to do with her what I liked, for my own ends, like a piece of my own property, without let or hindrance; to get her to do things that you wouldn’t dare to demand from professionals;* and all this without in any way upsetting her feelings towards her man, without making her waver in her love, even without being unfaithful—indeed she gives me hardly a second thought—so that after I’ve gratified my fancy, I’ll deliver her back to her lover without her, as it were, ever having noticed anything. Is that an everyday occurrence? And what is more, having passed through my hands, the principles I’ve inculcated in her will still go on developing, believe me, and I predict that the bashful schoolgirl will soon be spreading her wings and becoming a credit to her mentor.
If, however, the heroic mode is preferred, I shall show the judge’s wife, this legendary paragon of all the virtues, so greatly respected even by our libertines that the very thought of attacking her never entered anyone’s head; yes, I tell you, I shall show her, oblivious of her duties and her virtue, sacrificing her reputation and two years of impeccable behaviour in pursuit of the happiness of pleasing me, intoxicated with the happiness of loving me, finding adequate reward for all her sacrifices in a word or a glance from me—which, indeed, she’ll not always be granted. I shall go further: I shall abandon her and unless I’m very much mistaken in the woman, I’ll not have any successor. She will fight against the need for consolation, against her newfound addiction to pleasure, against even the desire for revenge. In a word, this period of her life belongs entirely to me and whether it be long or short, I alone shall have dictated its start and its finish. Once I’ve achieved my victory, I shall say to my rivals: ‘See what I have done and ask yourselves whether you know of a similar achievement in our age!’
You’ll be anxious to know the reason for my supreme confidence? It’s because for the last week I’ve known all my lovely lady’s secrets. Not that she has told me them herself: I’m intercepting them.* Two of her letters to Madame de Rosemonde gave me all the information I needed and I shall continue to read the rest purely out of curiosity. In order to reach my goal, I’ve absolutely nothing further to do except to arrange for us to meet and I know how to do it. I intend to start at once.
Your curiosity’s aroused? Well, as a punishment for not believing in my inventiveness, I shan’t tell you. Actually, by rights, I ought to stop trusting you altogether, at any rate in this particular adventure; indeed, but for the delightful reward offered for my success, I wouldn’t tell you any more at all. As you can see, I’m cross. However, in the hope that you’ll mend your ways, I’m prepared to let you off with that minor punishment. So, in a spirit of forgiveness, let me put aside my grand designs for the moment and discuss yours.
So there you are down in the country, as boring as a pastoral novel and as bored as its reader. And poor little Belleroche! Not content with making him drink the waters of forgetfulness, you’re using them to torture him!* How’s he taking it? Is his surfeit of love making him sick of it? What fun it’d be if the treatment makes him keener than ever! I’d be curious to see what other remedies you’d have to resort to. I’m really sorry to see you’ve had to fall back on to that one. In my life only once did I ever make love merely to oblige a lady. I certainly had an excellent motive, since she was the Comtesse de ——. A dozen times or more while lying in her arms I was tempted to say: ‘Madame, I withdraw my application for the position I’ve been trying for, so please let me vacate the one I’m in at the moment.’ And that’s why she’s the only woman of all those I’ve ever had about whom I really enjoy saying nasty things.
As for your reasons, I must honestly say that I find them manifestly absurd: you were right in thinking that I shouldn’t be able to guess his successor. So you’re actually going to all that trouble for Danceny? O dear lady, do let him go on adoring his virtuous Cécile and don’t become involved in these children’s games. Let schoolboys learn the facts of life from housemaids or play innocent little games with convent girls. What a burden you’ll be taking on with a novice who’ll not know either how to take you or leave you. I must tell you in all conscience how much I disapprove of your choice and however well you managed to keep it dark, it would lower your reputation, in my eyes at least—and in your own.
You tell me you’ve developed quite a fancy for him: come, come, dear lady, you’re surely mistaken and I think I know the source of your error. This elaborate dislike for Belleroche has come over you in the dry season* and since Paris had nothing to offer you, your mind, always over-active,
settled on the first object it met. But do remember that on your return there’ll be hundreds and hundreds of candidates to pick from; and in any case, if you’re scared of the possible danger of enforced inactivity, should you delay your plans, I can volunteer to fill any spare time agreeably…
Between now and your return, my main concerns will have been settled one way or another and neither the Volanges girl nor your judge’s wife will be taking up enough of my time to prevent my being at your disposal as much as you want. By then I may even have restored the little girl to her discreet lover; while in no way agreeing, despite what you say, that she’s failing to provide me with delightful pleasures, since I plan to leave her for the rest of her life with an impression of me as a man superior to anyone else, I’ve adopted a tempo that I’d be unable to maintain for long without damage to my health and from this moment on, my interest in her is purely a family one …
You don’t grasp my meaning? … In fact I have to wait for one more period to confirm my hopes and be sure that my plans have reached full fruition. Yes, fair lady, I already have a first inkling that the husband of my young pupil runs no danger of dying childless and that the future head of the house of Gercourt will be a scion of the house of Valmont. But let me finish off this adventure—undertaken purely at your earnest instigation—as the fancy takes me. Don’t forget that if you make Danceny untrue to his love, you’ll remove all the spice from this story. And finally, do remember that by volunteering to substitute for him, I have, methinks, acquired some claim to preferential treatment.
I’m relying on this so implicitly that I’ve ventured to go counter to your advice and made my own small contribution to increase this diffident suitor’s tender passion for this first and most deserving object of his affection. Yesterday I discovered your ward writing to him and after interrupting this pleasant pursuit by one even more pleasant, I asked to see her letter and finding it cold and clumsy, I pointed out that this was no way to comfort a lover and prevailed on her to write another one, dictated by me, in which, while imitating to the best of my ability her style of girlish drivel, I tried to foster the young man’s love by holding out the promise of more tangible benefits. The little lady was utterly thrilled, in her words, to discover she could write so well and henceforth I have been put in charge of the correspondence. The things I’m doing for Danceny! I’ll have been his friend, his confidant, his rival… and his mistress! And at this very moment, I’m even doing him the favour of rescuing him from your dangerous clutches as well. Yes, dangerous indeed: for possessing you only to lose you means paying for a moment’s bliss with everlasting regrets …
Les Liaisons Dangereuses Page 34