So he has sacrificed me, even thrown me into the clutches of … of whom? A vile creature … But how can I say that! I’ve even lost the right to despise her. She hasn’t broken faith with so many of her duties; she’s less guilty than I. Oh, how dreadful it is not just to suffer but to feel your suffering exacerbated by remorse. I can feel my anguish weighing on me more and more. Goodbye, dear, dear friend. I hardly deserve any pity from you now but you will still spare some for me if you can have some idea of the torture I’m enduring …
I’ve just reread my letter and realized that it tells you virtually nothing, so I shall try to pluck up courage enough to tell you what has happened to cause me such terrible distress. It was yesterday: for the first time since my return I was going out to supper. Valmont called on me at five o’clock; he had never seemed more loving. He gave me to understand that he was put out by my plan to go out to supper and you can imagine that I quickly changed my mind so as to stay at home. Two hours later, however, and all of a sudden, his tone and attitude changed markedly. I don’t know if I had blurted something out which he might have taken amiss; in any case, shortly afterwards he claimed to have remembered a matter which demanded his urgent attention and he left, not without expressing considerable regrets in what seemed very loving terms which at the time I took to be sincere.
Left to my own devices, I thought that as I was now free, it would be only right of me to fulfil my earlier commitments. I dressed and got into my carriage. Unfortunately my driver took us past the Opéra: as the performance had just ended we were held up in the crush of carriages. Four yards ahead of me in the line next to mine I caught sight of Valmont’s carriage. My heart gave a sudden leap but not from fear; my only wish was for my carriage to move up. Instead his was forced to move backwards and ended level with mine. I at once leaned forward; imagine my surprise to see a woman sitting beside him, a notorious prostitute! As you may well understand, I drew back. This sight alone cut my heart to the quick; but you will find it hard to believe that, having apparently been let into my secret by some odious informant, she sat glued to the window of the carriage staring at me all the time and creating a scene with her loud ribald laughter.
With death in my soul, I still went on to the house where I was to have supper but feeling that I might faint any minute, I found it impossible to stay; above all, I could not hold back my tears.
When I got home I wrote Monsieur de Valmont a letter and sent it off to him immediately. He was not at home. Being anxious to be relieved from my devastating situation at all costs or at least to know the worst, I instructed my man to go back and wait for him; but before midnight he had returned with the news that the coachman had come back and told him that his master wouldn’t be coming home that night. This morning I came to the conclusion that my only course now was once again to ask for the return of my letters and request him to cease calling. I gave the appropriate instructions but no doubt they were futile: it is now after noon and he has not yet appeared nor have I even received any word from him.
Now I have nothing more to add, dear friend: you know all and you know my feelings. My one hope is that I shall not be a burden on your friendship and sympathy much longer.
136
Madame de Tourvel to the Vicomte de Valmont Paris, 15 November 17—
After what happened yesterday, Monsieur, you doubtless no longer expect nor indeed have any great wish to be admitted to my house! This note is thus intended not so much to request that you cease calling on me as to ask yet again for the return of those letters which should never have been written and which, if they may briefly have aroused your interest as proofs of the blindness which you set out to create, can only be a matter of indifference for you now that my eyes have been opened and that they have come to express nothing but feelings which you have destroyed.
I recognize and admit that I was wrong to offer you the trust which had led to the downfall of so many of your other victims. For this I blame only myself but I did at least think that I had not deserved to be subjected by you to obloquy and contempt. I thought that in sacrificing everything to you and forfeiting purely for your sake my rights to the respect of others as well as of myself, I might nevertheless have expected not to be judged by you more harshly than by public opinion, which still acknowledges the immense gap between a weak and a depraved woman. I am here referring only to those wrongs which everybody would feel; I shall say nothing of those committed against love: your heart would not understand mine … I wish you farewell, Monsieur.
137
The Vicomte de Valmont to Madame de Tourvel Paris, 15 November 17—
Your letter has only just been handed to me, Madame. I shuddered as I read it and hardly have strength enough to answer it. What an atrocious image you have of me! Oh, no doubt I have shortcomings, and ones that I shall never forgive myself even were you prepared to throw a kindly veil over them. But how could those of which you accuse me have ever, even remotely, crossed my mind?/humiliate you? Debase you? I, who respect you as much as I adore you? I, who only learned the real meaning of the word pride when you considered me worthy of you. You have been misled by appearances—and I admit that they may have seemed against me; but did not your heart give you the means to refute them? Was it not shocked at the mere thought that it might have cause to complain of mine? Yet you believed that! So not only did you think me capable of such an abominable lunacy but you were even afraid that you had been exposed to it as a result of the favours you have shown me! Ah, if you think yourself so debased by my love, then I myself must be a vile creature in your eyes.
And I am so dejected by this appalling thought that here I am wasting the time refuting your idea of me which should be spent demolishing it. I shall speak frankly: there is still one further consideration holding me back. Do I have to go back over actions which I should prefer to consign to oblivion and draw your and my attention to a moment of weakness, that I should like to redeem by all my remaining years, whose cause I can still recall and the meaning of which will for ever fill me with humiliation and despair? Ah, if these self-accusations arouse your anger, at least you will not have far to seek for your vengeance: you need only leave me to suffer the pangs of my own remorse.
However, incredible as it may seem, the main cause of this unfortunate incident is the charm of your company. It was this that drove an important matter of business completely out of my mind, a matter which brooked no delay. I was too late in leaving you to meet the person concerned, went on to the Opéra in the hope of being more successful but in vain. However, I did there meet Émilie whom I used to know in a period of my life when I was very far from having any knowledge of love or of you. She was without her carriage and asked me to give her a lift to her house, only a few yards further up the street. It seemed a trivial request and I agreed. But it was then that I met you and I immediately sensed that you would be inclined to condemn me.
I am so appalled at the thought of incurring your displeasure or causing you distress that my fear was bound to be and indeed soon became obvious. I confess that it even made me attempt to persuade this abandoned creature not to show herself; but this solicitude itself misfired at the expense of love. Like all her sort she was used to asserting her authority—never legitimately acquired—only by shamelessly abusing it and Émilie took good care not to miss such a heaven-sent opportunity. The greater and more evident my embarrassment, the more she delighted in making an exhibition of herself; and her extravagant hilarity—and I blush to think that you imagined even for a second that it was directed at you—was motivated purely by my own anguish of mind, itself the result of my love and respect!
Till now I had been no doubt unfortunate rather than guilty; and as you were referring only to those wrongs such as everybody would feel and these wrongs are non-existent, you cannot blame me for them. But as for saying nothing about the wrongs committed against love, I cannot agree and I shall not remain equally silent: I am too closely affected not to speak out.
&nbs
p; Not that I find it anything but extremely painful to bring myself to revive memories of such unimaginable profligacy which still leaves me ashamed. I am so strongly convinced of my errors that I would be ready to pay the penalty for them or wait for the passage of time, my eternal devotion, your forbearance, and my repentance to bring forgiveness. But how could I keep silent when what I have still to say is a matter of such delicacy for you?
Do not imagine that I am trying to find some devious expedient to justify myself or mitigate my fault: I admit my guilt. But I do not and never shall admit that this humiliating error can be considered a wrong committed against love. Ah, Madame, what can a turmoil of the senses, a momentary loss of self-control, quickly followed by shame and regret, really have in common with a pure feeling which can only arise in a sensitive soul, be based on respect, and whose ultimate outcome is happiness? Oh, you must not profane love in that way! And above all, beware of profaning yourself by bringing together things which are so distinct. Those depraved women who are tormented and humiliated by the pangs of jealousy, and feel under threat despite all their efforts, may well keep an anxious eye on their rivals; but you will spurn such creatures, their sight alone would defile your eyes; as a pure image of the Divinity, you must, like Him, punish the sin while shunning it.
But what greater penance could you impose on me than the one I am now suffering? What can be compared to my regret at having displeased you, my despair at distressing you, to the devastating thought of having made myself less worthy of you? You are thinking of ways of punishing me! But I shall ask you to comfort me, not that I deserve to be comforted but because I need it and it can come only from you.
But if on the other hand you suddenly choose to forget my love and yours, to consider my happiness of no further interest, to wish to condemn me to suffer for ever, you have the right: strike me down. If, however, you choose to show more forbearance or more feeling; if you can still recall those tender sentiments that bound our hearts together, those raptures of our souls, ever renewed and ever more deeply felt, those sweet, blissful days for which we were beholden to each other: all those treasures of love which love alone can provide; then perhaps you may prefer to use your power over me to bring them back rather than to destroy them?
So now what is left for me to say? I have lost everything, lost through my own fault … But through your charitable heart, may I not yet win everything back? It is for you now to decide; I shall say no more. Only yesterday you swore that my happiness was in safe hands as long as it was with you! Ah, Madame, will you condemn me today to everlasting despair?
138
The Vicomte de Valmont to the Marquise de Merteuil Paris, 15 November 17—
I still can’t agree, fair lady: no, I’m not in love and it’s no fault of mine if circumstances are forcing me to act as if I am. So accept the fact and come back: you’ll see for yourself how sincere I am. I passed my test with flying colours yesterday and that cannot be destroyed by what happens today.
Well then: there I was with the tender-hearted prude and without anything else on my mind whatsoever: the Volanges girl, in spite of her condition, was off to spend all night at the preseason ball at Madame V——’s. Having nothing else to do, I felt tempted to stay on and to do so, I’d even prevailed on her to make a small sacrifice; but hardly had she done so than the pleasure I’d been promising myself was soured by the thought of that love which you persist in attributing to me or at least accusing me of; my only wish now was to be able to convince myself and you that it was a pure libel on your part.
So I decided to take stern measures and on rather a slim pretext at that. To her great surprise and no doubt to her even greater distress, I took leave of my beloved and calmly went off to meet Émilie at the Opéra; and she could confirm that throughout the whole time until we parted this morning our pleasures were quite untroubled by the slightest regrets …
All the same, had I not been feeling completely unconcerned, I had a pretty sound reason for being worried, for I have to inform you that barely had I gone four houses along the street from the Opéra with Émilie in my carriage beside me than the saintly prude’s own carriage drew up level with us and we were held up for a good ten minutes or so side by side; and it was as bright as day and there was no way of escape.
Nor was that all: I took it into my head to tell Émilie that she was the woman in the letter—you may remember that crazy idea I had when I used Émilie as my writing desk? She had certainly remembered and as she’s fond of a laugh, she couldn’t rest until she’d taken a good long look at this paragon of virtue, as she called her; and what’s more, she kept bursting into fits of laughter in a most irritating and scandalous way.
And that was still not the end: didn’t the jealous woman send round a message to me that very night? I wasn’t at home; but she insisted on sending a messenger again with instructions to wait until I returned. But having decided to spend the night at Émilie’s, I had sent my carriage away, merely instructing the driver to come back and pick me up this morning; and when on arriving at my house he found the messenger of love waiting, he thought the simplest thing was to tell him that I wouldn’t be home that night. You can well imagine the effect of this news and that on my return I’d been given my marching orders with all the solemnity appropriate to the circumstances!
So this affair which you regard as love eternal could, as you see, have been brought to an abrupt end this morning and even if it hasn’t, it’s not because, as you may be tempted to think, I attach the slightest importance to prolonging it but because, on the one hand, I don’t think it proper for someone to leave me* and, on the other, because I wished this sacrifice to be a tribute to you.
So I answered the stern note with a sentimental missive on the grand scale. I gave lengthy explanations and relied on love to make them appear convincing. I’ve already succeeded: I’ve just received a second note, still very stern, confirming, as was to be expected, that we must part for ever; but it’s not in the same tone. Above all, I’m never to show my face again; this decision is repeated four times in the most categorical manner. I therefore concluded that I must present myself forthwith. I’ve already sent my man to get hold of her major-domo and in a moment I shall myself go and get my pardon signed, sealed, and delivered: when we’re guilty of such grave transgressions as these, there’s only one formula for general absolution and that can only be received in person.
Farewell, dear charmer. I’m leaving forthwith for this grand occasion.
139
Madame de Tourvel to Madame de Rosemonde Paris, evening of 16 November 17—
Dear, dear friend, how guilty I feel at having told you, in such detail and without waiting, of my short-lived worries. You’ll have been distressed by them and still be upset while I myself am happy. Yes, all is forgiven and forgotten, or perhaps it would be better to say that everything has been explained. Oh, how can I find words to express the joy in my heart! Valmont is innocent: how can anyone be guilty when he feels such love! Those horrible, insulting actions of which I was accusing him so bitterly were not true and if on just one point I have needed to make allowances, I did, after all, owe him some redress for certain unfair actions of my own, did I not?
I shan’t give you all the facts and reasons to explain this in detail; it may be difficult to understand them rationally; they can only be appreciated properly by the heart … But if you suspect me of being weak, I shall appeal to your own judgement to support mine: you said yourself that for men, infidelity is not the same thing as inconstancy.
Not that I don’t feel that this distinction doesn’t offend our susceptibilities, even if public opinion tries, unsuccessfully, to justify it; but why should my feelings be hurt if Valmont’s are even more greatly offended? You mustn’t think that he himself is easy in his mind or ready to forgive himself for his wrongdoing, which I am prepared to overlook; yet how completely he has atoned for that peccadillo by the abundance of my happiness and his love!
Ever
since I was afraid I had forfeited all my happiness it has either actually increased or else I am appreciating it more. What I can tell you is that if I still felt I had strength enough to bear yet again the cruel sufferings I have been through, I should not consider I had paid too high a price for the supreme happiness I’ve since enjoyed.* O my dear affectionate mother, scold your thoughtless daughter for having distressed you by being so hasty; scold her for having made a rash judgement and slandered a man whom she would continue to adore. But while recognizing her foolishness, see how happy she is and make her happiness even greater by sharing it!
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The Vicomte de Valmont to the Marquise de Merteuil Paris, 21 November 17—
How comes it, fair lady, that I’ve received no reply from you at all? Yet my last letter seemed to me rather to deserve one; meanwhile I’m still waiting, even though I should have received it three days ago! I’m irked, to say the least, so I’m not going to tell you anything about my own important affairs.
That the reconciliation produced the desired effect; that instead of reproaches and distrust there were new effusions; that now it’s I who’s receiving amends and apologies for the suspicions cast on my sincerity … No, I’m not going to say a single word on that subject. And but for last night’s unforeseen incident I shouldn’t be writing at all. But as this last concerns your ward and she’ll probably not be in a fit state to tell you about it herself for quite a while, I’m undertaking to do so myself.
For reasons that you may or may not be able to guess, for the last few days I’ve not been bothering myself with Madame de Tourvel and as those reasons couldn’t possibly apply to the little Volanges girl, I’d been seeing more of her.* Thanks to the obliging porter I’d not met any obstacles and your ward and I were leading a cosy, orderly life. But familiarity breeds contempt: from the first we’d never taken adequate security precautions; we still felt apprehensive behind bolted doors. Yesterday, as a result of an incredible oversight, there occurred the incident which I shall now tell you about, and though I managed to escape myself with nothing more than a scare, the little girl wasn’t quite so lucky.
Les Liaisons Dangereuses Page 40