scholar has become almost as learned as the master. Yes, in truth, I
have taught her everything, even to complaisances! I have only made an
exception of precautions.
Occupied thus all night, I gain thereby in that I sleep a great portion
of the day; and as the actual society of the _château_ has nothing to
attract me, I hardly appear in the _salon_ for an hour during the day.
To-day, I even adopted the course of eating in my room, and I do not
intend to leave it again, except for short walks. These eccentricities
pass on the ground of my health. I have declared that I am _worn out
with vapours_; I have also announced a little fever. It cost me no more
than to speak in a slow and faint voice. As for the alteration in my
face, trust your pupil for that. “_Love will provide._”[7]
I employ my leisure in meditating means of recovering over my ingrate
the advantages I have lost; and also in composing a sort of catechism
of debauch for the use of my scholar. I amuse myself by mentioning
nothing except by its technical name; and I laugh in advance at the
interesting conversation which this ought to furnish between Gercourt
and herself on the first night of their marriage. Nothing could be more
amusing than the ingenuity with which she makes use already of the
little she knows of this tongue! She has no conception that one can
speak differently. This child is really seductive! The contrast of
naive candour with the language of effrontery does not fail to have an
effect; and, I know not why, but it is only _bizarre_ things which give
me any longer pleasure.
Perhaps, I am abandoning myself overmuch to this, since I am
compromising by it both my time and my health: but I hope that my
feigned malady, besides that it will save me from the _ennui_ of the
drawing-room, will, perhaps, be of some use to me with the rigid
Puritan, whose ferocious virtue is none the less allied with soft
sensibility. I doubt not but that she is already informed of this
mighty event, and I have a great desire to know what she thinks of it;
all the more so in that I will wager she does not fail to attribute
the honour of it to herself. I shall regulate the state of my health
according to the impression which it makes upon her.
Here you are, my fair friend, as fully acquainted with my affairs as I
am myself. I hope to have, shortly, more interesting news to tell you;
and I beg you to believe that, in the pleasure which I promise myself,
I count for much the reward which I expect from you.
At the Château de ..., 11th October, 17**.
LETTER THE HUNDRED AND ELEVENTH
THE COMTE DE GERCOURT TO MADAME DE VOLANGES
ALL seems to be quiet in this country, Madame; and we expect, from day
to day, the permission to return to France. I hope you will not doubt
that I have always the same eagerness to betake myself thither, and to
tie there the knots which are to unite me to you and to Mademoiselle de
Volanges. Meanwhile, M. le Duc de ***, my cousin, to whom, as you know,
I am under so many obligations, has just informed me of his recall from
Naples. He tells me that he intends to pass through Rome, and to see,
on his road, that part of Italy with which he is not yet acquainted.
He begs me to accompany him on this journey, which will take about six
weeks or two months. I do not hide from you that it would be agreeable
to me to profit by this opportunity; feeling sure that, once married,
I shall with difficulty find the time for other absences than those
which my service demands. Perhaps, also, it would be more proper, to
wait till winter for the wedding, since it will not be till then that
all my kinsmen will be assembled in Paris; and notably M. le Marquis
de ***, to whom I owe my hope of belonging to you. In spite of these
considerations, my plans in this respect will be entirely subordinate
to your own; and if you should have the slightest preference for your
first arrangements, I am ready to abandon mine. I beg you only to let
me know, as early as possible, your intentions on this subject. I will
await your reply here, and it alone shall regulate my action.
I am with respect, Madame, and with all the sentiments that befit a
son, your most humble, etc.
The Comte DE GERCOURT.
Bastia, 10th October, 17**.
LETTER THE HUNDRED AND TWELFTH
MADAME DE ROSEMONDE TO THE PRÉSIDENTE DE TOURVEL
(Dictated)
I HAVE only this instant received, my dearest fair, your letter of the
11th,[8] and the gentle reproaches which it contains. Confess that
you were quite disposed to make one more; and that, if you had not
recollected that you were _my daughter_, you would have really scolded
me. Yet you would have been very unjust! It was the desire and hope I
had of being able to reply to you myself which made me postpone this
from day to day; and you see that, even to-day, I am obliged to borrow
the hand of my maid. My wretched rheumatism has come back again; it
has taken up its abode this time in the right arm, and I am absolutely
crippled. That is what it is, young and fresh as you are, to have so
old a friend! One suffers for those incongruities.
As soon as my pains give me a little respite, I promise to have a long
talk with you. In the meantime, I merely tell you that I have received
your two letters; that they would have redoubled, had that been
possible, my tender friendship for you; and that I shall never cease to
take a very lively interest in all that concerns you.
My nephew too is somewhat indisposed, but in no danger, nor is there
need for the least anxiety; it is a slight indisposition which, as it
appears to me, affects his humour more than his health. We see hardly
anything of him now.
His retreat and your departure do not add to the gaiety of our little
circle. The little Volanges, especially, misses you furiously, and
yawns consumedly all day long. Since the last few days, in particular,
she has done us the honour of falling into a profound sleep every
afternoon.
Adieu, my dearest fair; I am always your very good friend, your mamma,
your sister even, did my great age permit that title. In short, I am
attached to you by all the most affectionate sentiments.
_Signed_: ADELAIDE, for Madame DE ROSEMONDE.
At the Château de ..., 14th October, 17**.
LETTER THE HUNDRED AND THIRTEENTH
THE MARQUISE DE MERTEUIL TO THE VICOMTE DE VALMONT
I THINK I ought to warn you, Vicomte, that they are beginning to busy
themselves with you in Paris; your absence is remarked there, and they
are already divining the cause. I was yesterday at a very numerous
supper; it was said positively that you were retained in the country
by an unhappy and romantic love: joy was immediately depicted on the
faces of all those envious of your success, and of all the women whom
you have neglected. If you are advised by me, you will not let these
dangerous rumours acquire credit, but will come at once to destroy them
by your presence.
Remember that, if you once allow the idea that you are irresistible to
be lost, you will soon find that it will, as a matter of fact, become
easier to resist you; that your rivals, too, will lose their respect
for you, and dare to combat you: for which of them does not believe
himself stronger than virtue? Reflect above all that, in the multitude
of women whom you have advertised, all those whom you have not had
will endeavour to undeceive the public, whilst the others will exert
themselves to hoodwink it. In short, you must expect to be appreciated,
perhaps, as much below your value, as you have been, hitherto, beyond
it.
Come back, then, Vicomte, and do not sacrifice your reputation to a
puerile caprice. You have done all we wished with the little Volanges;
and as for your Présidente, it is not, apparently, by remaining ten
leagues away from her, that you will get over your fantasy. Do you
think she will come to fetch you? Perhaps she has already ceased to
dream of you, or is only so far occupied with you as to congratulate
herself on having humiliated you. At any rate, here you will be able to
find some opportunity of a brilliant reappearance: and you have need of
one; and even if you insist on your ridiculous adventure, I do not see
how your return can hurt it ... on the contrary.
In effect, if your Présidente _adores you_, as you have so often
told me and said so little to prove, her sole consolation, her sole
pleasure now, must be to talk of you, and to know what you are doing,
what you are saying, what you are thinking, even the slightest detail
which concerns you. These trifles increase in value according to the
extent of the privations one endures. They are the crumbs that fall
from the rich man’s table: he disdains them; but the poor man collects
them greedily. Now the poor Présidente gathers up all these crumbs at
present; and the more she has, the less will be her haste to abandon
herself to her appetite for the rest.
Moreover, since you know her confidant, you cannot doubt but that
each of her letters contains at least one little sermon, and all that
she thinks befitting “_to corroborate her prudence and fortify her
virtue_.”[9] Why, then, leave to the one resources to defend herself,
to the other the means of injuring you?
It is not that I am at all of your opinion as to the loss you believe
you have sustained by the change of confidant. In the first place,
Madame de Volanges hates you, and hatred is always clearer-sighted and
more ingenious than friendship. All the virtue of your old aunt will
not persuade her to speak ill of her dear nephew, for virtue also has
its weaknesses. Next, your fears depend upon a consideration which is
absolutely false.
It is not true that _the older women grow, the more crabbed and severe
they become_. It is betwixt the ages of forty and fifty that their
despair at the sight of their fading faces, their rage at feeling
obliged to abandon their pretensions and the pleasures to which they
still cling, render almost all women scolds and shrews. They need
this long interval to make the great sacrifice in its entirety; but,
as soon as it is consummated, all distribute themselves into two
classes. The most numerous, that of the women who have had nothing
in their favour save their faces and youth, falls into an imbecile
apathy, and only issues from this for the sake of play or of a few
practices of devotion; this kind is always tiresome, often fond of
scolding, sometimes a little mischievous, but rarely malicious. One
cannot tell, either, whether these women are, or are not, severe:
without ideas, without an existence, they repeat indifferently, and
without understanding, all that they hear said, and in themselves
remain absolutely null. The other class, far rarer, but really
precious, is that of the women who, having possessed character, and
not having neglected to cultivate their reason, know how to create an
existence for themselves when that of nature fails them, and adopt the
plan of transferring to their minds the adornments which they had
before employed for their faces. These last have, as a rule, a very
sound judgment and an intelligence at once solid, gay, and gracious.
They replace seductive charms by ingratiating kindness, and even by
sprightliness, the charm of which increases in proportion to their age:
it is thus that they succeed, after a fashion, in attracting youth by
making themselves loved by it. But then, far from being, as you say,
_crabbed and severe_, the habit of indulgence, their long reflexions
upon human frailty, and, above all, the memories of their youth,
through which alone they have a hold on life, would rather place them,
perhaps too much, on the side of complaisance.
What I may say to you, finally, is that, having always sought out old
women, the utility of whose support I recognized at an early age, I
have encountered several amongst them to whom I was led as much by
inclination as interest. I stop there: for nowadays, when you take fire
so quickly and so morally, I should be afraid lest you fell suddenly in
love with your aged aunt, and buried yourself with her in the tomb in
which you have already lived so long. I resume then.
In spite of the state of enchantment in which you seem to be with your
little school-girl, I cannot believe that she counts at all in your
projects. You found her to your hand, you took her: well and good! But
it cannot be that your fancy enters into it. To tell the truth, it is
not even a complete pleasure: you possess absolutely nothing beyond
her person! I do not speak of her heart, in which I do not doubt you
take not the slightest interest; but you do not even fill her head. I
know not whether you have perceived it, but, for myself, I have the
proof of it in the last letter she sent me;[10] I send it you, that
you may judge of it. Observe that when she speaks of you, it is always
as _M. de Valmont_; that all her ideas, even those which you give rise
to, always end in Danceny; and she does not call him Monsieur, it is
plain _Danceny_ always. Thereby, she singles him out from all the rest;
and, even whilst abandoning herself to you, she is familiar only with
him. If such a conquest seems to you _seductive_, if the pleasures she
gives _attach you_, you are assuredly modest and not hard to please!
That you should retain her, I consent to that; it even forms part of my
projects. But it seems to me that it is not worth putting yourself to
a quarter of an hour’s inconvenience; also, that you had best acquire
some dominion over her, and not allow her, for instance, to approach
Danceny until after you have made her forget him a little more.
Before I cease to occupy myself with you, and come to myself, I wish to
tell you again that this means of sickness, which you announce it is
your resolve to employ, is well known and mighty stale. Truly, Vicomte,
you have no invention! I myself repeat myself sometimes, as you are
about to see; but I try to save myself by the details and, above all, I
am justified by success. I am going to try another still, and run after
a new adventure. I admit that it will not have the merit of difficulty;
but at least it will be a distraction, and I am perishing with _ennui_.
I know not why, but, since the adventure of Prévan, Belleroche has
become insupportable. He has redoubled his attention, his tenderness,
his _veneration_ to such a degree that I can no longer submit to it.
His anger seemed to me, at the outset, amusing; it was very necessary,
however, to calm it, for to let him go on would have been to compromise
myself; and there was no means of making him listen to reason. I
adopted the course then of showing him more love, in order to make
an end of it more easily: but he has taken this seriously, and ever
since surfeits me with his eternal delight. I notice, especially, the
insulting trust which he shews in me, and the security with which he
considers me as his for ever. I am really humiliated by it. He must
rate me lightly indeed, if he believes he has worth enough to make me
constant! Did he not tell me recently that I could never have loved
anyone but himself? Oh, for the moment I had need of all my prudence
not to undeceive him on the spot, by telling him how matters stood.
A merry gentleman, forsooth, to think he has exclusive rights! I
admit that he is well made and of a fair enough countenance; but, all
considered, he is, in fact, but a journeyman love-maker. In short, the
moment has come when we must separate.
I have been attempting this for the last fortnight, and have employed,
in turn, coldness, caprice, ill-humour, and quarrels; but the tenacious
personage is not made thus to lose his hold: a more violent method
must be adopted therefore; consequently, I am taking him to my
country-place. We leave the day after to-morrow. With us there will
only be a few uninterested persons, by no means clear-sighted, and we
shall have almost as much liberty as if we were there alone. There
I will surfeit him with love and caresses to such a degree, we will
live there so entirely for one another, that I wager he will be more
desirous than I am myself for the end of this expedition, which he
considers so great a piece of good fortune; and, if he does not return
more weary of me than I am of him, tell me that I know no more than
you, and I will admit it.
My pretext for this sort of retreat is that I wish to busy myself
exclusively with my great law-suit, which, in fact, will be at last
decided at the commencement of the winter. I am very glad of it; for
it is really disagreeable to have one’s whole fortune hanging thus in
the air. ’Tis not that I am at all anxious as to the result; in the
first place, I am in the right, all my lawyers assure me so; and, even
if I were not, I should be maladroit indeed if I knew not how to gain
a suit where my only adversaries are minors, still of immature years,
and their aged guardian! As nothing, however, should be neglected in a
matter of so great importance, I shall have two advocates on my side.
Does not this expedition seem to you gay? However, if it serves me to
win my suit and rid myself of Belleroche, I shall not think the time
wasted.
Now, Vicomte, divine his successor: I give you a hundred guesses. But
what is the use? Do I not know that you never guess anything? Well
then, it is Danceny! You are astonished, are you not? For after all I
am not yet reduced to the education of children! But this one deserves
to form an exception; he has but the graces of youth, and not its
frivolity. His great reserve in society is well calculated to remove
all suspicion, and one finds him only the more amiable, when he lets
himself go in a _tête-à-tête_. Not that I have yet had one with him on
my own account, I am still no more than his confidant; but beneath this
veil of friendship, I believe I discern a very lively taste for me,
and I feel that I am conceiving a great one for him. It were a mighty
pity that so much wit and delicacy should be debased and wasted upon
that little fool of a Volanges! I hope he is deceived in believing that
he loves her: she so little deserves it! ’Tis not that I am jealous
of her; it is because it would be a crime, and I would save Danceny.
I beg you then, Vicomte, to take precautions that he may not approach
_his Cécile_ (as he still has the bad habit of calling her). A first
fancy has always more sway than one thinks; and I should feel sure of
nothing, were he to see her again at present, especially during my
absence. On my return, I charge myself with everything, and answer for
the result.
I thought seriously of taking the young man with me: but, as usual,
I have made a sacrifice to my prudence; moreover I should have been
afraid lest he discovered anything between Belleroche and myself, and
I should be in despair if he were to have the least idea of what was
passing. I would at least offer myself to his imagination as pure and
spotless, such indeed as one should be, to be really worthy of him.
Paris, 15th October, 17**.
LETTER THE HUNDRED AND FOURTEENTH
THE PRÉSIDENTE DE TOURVEL TO MADAME DE ROSEMONDE
MY dear friend, I yield to the impulse of my grave anxiety; and without
knowing whether you will be able to reply to me, I cannot refrain from
questioning you. The condition of M. de Valmont, which you tell me is
_not dangerous_, does not leave me as much confidence as you appear to
have. It not rarely happens that melancholy and disgust with the world
are the symptoms and precursors of some grave illness; the sufferings
of the body, like those of the mind, make us desirous of solitude; and
often we reproach with ill-humour him who should merely be pitied for
his pain.
It seems to me that he ought at least to consult someone. How is it
that you, who are ill yourself, have not a doctor by your side? My own,
whom I have seen this morning, and whom, I do not conceal from you, I
have indirectly consulted, is of opinion that, in persons naturally
active, this sort of sudden apathy should never be neglected; and, as
he said besides, sicknesses that are not taken in time no longer yield
to treatment. Why let one who is so dear to you incur this risk?
What enhances my anxiety is that I have received no news of him for
four days. My God! Are you not deceiving me as to his condition? Why
should he have suddenly ceased to write? If it were only the effect
of my obstinacy in returning his letters to him, I think he would
have adopted this course sooner. In short, although I do not believe
in presentiments, I have been, for some days past, in a state of
gloom which alarms me. Ah, perhaps I am on the eve of the greatest of
misfortunes!
You would not believe, and I am ashamed to tell you, how pained I
am not to receive those same letters which, however, I should still
refuse to read. I was at least sure that he was thinking of me, and I
saw something which came from him! I did not open those letters, but I
wept when I looked at them: my tears were sweeter and more easy, and
they alone partially dissipated the customary depression in which I
live since my return. I conjure you, my indulgent friend, write to me
yourself as soon as you are able, and, in the meanwhile, have your news
and his sent to me daily.
I perceive that I have hardly said a word as to yourself, but you know
my sentiments, my unlimited attachment, my tender gratitude for your
sensitive friendship; you will pardon my trouble, my mortal sufferings,
the terrible torture of having to dread calamities of which I am,
perhaps, the cause. Great Heaven! this agonizing idea pursues me and
rends my heart: this misfortune was lacking me, and I feel that I was
born to experience all.
Adieu, my dear friend: love me, pity me. Shall I have a letter from you
to-day?
Paris, 16th October, 17**.
LETTER THE HUNDRED AND FIFTEENTH
THE VICOMTE DE VALMONT TO THE MARQUISE DE MERTEUIL
IT is an incredible thing, my lovely friend, how easily, when two
people are separated, they cease to understand one another. As long as
I was near you, we had never but one same feeling, one like fashion of
seeing things; and, because for nearly three months I have ceased to
see you, we are no longer of the same opinion upon anything. Which of
us two is wrong? You would certainly not hesitate about your reply: but
I, wiser or more polite, do not decide. I am only going to answer your
letter, and continue to expound my conduct.
To begin with, I thank you for the notice you give me of the rumours
which are current about me; but I am not yet uneasy: I believe I am
certain to have something soon wherewith to make them cease. Reassure
yourself; I shall reappear in the world only more celebrated than ever,
and always more worthy of you.
I hope that even the adventure of the little Volanges will be counted
for something to me, although you appear to make so little of it: as
though it were nothing to carry off, in one evening, a young girl from
her cherished lover; to make use of her afterwards as much as one
wishes, and absolutely as one’s own property, without any further
pother; to obtain from her favours which one does not even dare demand
from all the wenches whose trade it is; and this without in the least
distracting her from her tender love; without rendering her inconstant
or even unfaithful: for, as you say, I do not even fill her head! So
that, when my fantasy has passed, I shall restore her to the arms of
her lover, so to speak, without her having perceived anything. Pray,
is this a very ordinary achievement? And then, believe me, once issued
from my hands, the principles which I am imparting to her will not fail
to develop; and I predict that the shy scholar will soon soar upon a
flight fitting to do honour to her master.
If, nevertheless, you prefer the heroic manner, I will shew you the
Présidente, that exemplary model of all the virtues! respected even by
our veriest libertines! of such a virtue that one had given up even the
thought of attacking her! I will show her, I say, forgetting her duties
and her virtue, sacrificing her reputation and two years of prudence,
to run after the happiness of pleasing me, to intoxicate herself with
that of loving me, finding herself sufficiently compensated for such
sacrifices by a word, a glance, things which she will not even always
obtain. I will do more, I will leave her; and either I do not know this
woman, or she will not give me a successor. She will resist her need
of consolation, the habit of pleasure, even the desire of vengeance.
In short, she will have existed only for me; and, be her career short
or long, I alone shall have opened and shut the barrier. Once having
attained this triumph, I will say to my rivals: Behold my handiwork,
and seek throughout the century for a second example!