not content with having unworthily tricked me, you have not feared
to vaunt and applaud yourself for it. I have seen the proof of your
treachery written in your own hand. I confess that my heart was sick,
and that I felt a certain shame at having assisted somewhat myself
at the odious abuse you have made of my blind confidence: I do not,
however, envy you this shameful advantage; I am only curious to learn
whether you will preserve them all alike over me. I shall know this if,
as I hope, you will be ready to meet me to-morrow, between eight and
nine o’clock in the morning, at the entrance to the Bois de Vincennes
by the village of Saint-Mandé. I will be careful to have there all that
is necessary for the explanations which I still have to obtain from you.
The Chevalier DANCENY.
Paris, 6th December, 17**, in the evening.
LETTER THE HUNDRED AND SIXTY-THIRD
M. BERTRAND TO MADAME DE ROSEMONDE
MADAME,
It is with great regret that I undertake the sad task of announcing
to you news which will cause you such cruel sorrow. Allow me, first,
to recommend to you that pious resignation which we have all so much
admired in you, and which alone enables us to support the ills with
which our wretched life is strewn.
Your nephew.... Gracious Heaven! Must I afflict so greatly so venerable
a lady! Your nephew has had the misfortune to fall in a remarkable duel
which he had this morning with M. le Chevalier Danceny. I am entirely
ignorant of the motive of this quarrel; but it appears, from the
missive which I found still in the pocket of M. le Vicomte, and which I
have the honour to forward you; it appears, I say, that he was not the
aggressor. Yet it needs must be he whom Heaven allowed to fall!
I had been to wait upon M. le Vicomte, precisely at the hour when he
was brought back to the _hôtel_. Imagine my terror, when I saw your
nephew carried by two of his servants, and bathed in his blood. He
had two sword-thrusts through his body, and was already very weak. M.
Danceny was there also, and he even wept. Ah, certainly, he has
reason to weep: but it is a fine time to shed tears, when one has
caused an irreparable misfortune!
[Illustration: Mlle Gerard del. Simonet sculpᵗ.]
As for me, I could not contain myself; and, in spite of my humble
condition, I none the less told him my fashion of thinking. But it was
then that M. le Vicomte showed himself truly great. He ordered me to be
silent; and, taking the hand of the very man who was his murderer, he
called him his friend, embraced him before us all and said to us, “I
command you to treat Monsieur with all the consideration that is due
to a brave and gallant man.” He further caused him to be presented, in
my presence, with a voluminous mass of papers, the contents of which I
am not acquainted with, but to which I am well aware he attached vast
importance. He then desired that we should leave them alone together
for a moment. Meanwhile, I had sent in search of every kind of succour,
both spiritual and temporal: but, alas, the ill was incurable! Less
than half-an-hour later, M. le Vicomte lost consciousness. He was only
able to receive extreme unction; and the ceremony was hardly over, when
he rendered his last breath.
Great God! When I received in my arms, at his birth, this precious prop
of so illustrious a house, how little did I foresee that it was to be
in my arms that he would expire, and that I should have to weep for
his death! A death so premature and so unfortunate! My tears flow in
spite of myself. I ask your pardon, Madame, for thus daring to mingle
my grief with your own: but, in every condition, we have hearts and
sensibility; and I should be ungrateful, indeed, if I did not weep all
my life for a lord who shewed me so much kindness, and honoured me with
so great confidence.
To-morrow, after the removal of the body, I will have the seals placed
on everything, and you can depend entirely on my care. You will be
aware, Madame, that this unhappy event cuts off the entail, and leaves
the disposition of your property entirely free. If I can be of any use
to you, I beg you to be good enough to convey to me your orders: I will
employ all my zeal in their punctual fulfilment.
I remain, with the most profound respect, Madame, your most humble, etc.
BERTRAND.
Paris, 7th December, 17**.
LETTER THE HUNDRED AND SIXTY-FOURTH
MADAME DE ROSEMONDE TO M. BERTRAND
I HAVE this moment received your letter, my dear Bertrand, and learn
from it the fearful event of which my nephew has been the unhappy
victim. Yes, I shall doubtless have orders to give you, and it is only
on account of them that I can occupy myself with anything else than my
mortal affliction.
The letter of M. Danceny, which you have sent me, is a very convincing
proof that it was he who provoked the duel, and it is my intention that
you should immediately lodge a complaint, and in my name. My nephew
may have satisfied his natural generosity in pardoning his enemy and
murderer; but it is my duty to avenge, at the same time, his death,
humanity and religion. One cannot be too eager to invoke the severity
of the law against this remnant of barbarism, and I do not believe that
this is a case in which we are required to pardon injuries. I expect
you, then, to pursue this matter with all the zeal and activity of
which I know you to be capable, and which you owe to my nephew’s memory.
You will be sure, before all, to see M. le Président de *** on my
behalf, and confer with him on the subject. I have not written to him,
eager as I am to be left quite alone with my sorrow. You will convey
him my excuses, and communicate this letter to him.
Adieu, my dear Bertrand; I praise and thank you for your kind
sentiments, and am, for life, entirely yours.
At the Château de ..., 8th December, 17**.
LETTER THE HUNDRED AND SIXTY-FIFTH
MADAME DE VOLANGES TO MADAME DE ROSEMONDE
I KNOW you are already acquainted, my dear and revered friend, with the
loss you have just sustained; I knew your affection for M. de Valmont,
and I participate most sincerely in the affliction which you must feel.
I am truly grieved to have to add a fresh regret to those which are
trying you already: but, alas! you have only your tears now to bestow
upon our unhappy friend. We lost her yesterday, at eleven o’clock
at night. By a fatality which attended her lot, and which seemed to
make a mock of all human prudence, the short interval by which she
survived M. de Valmont sufficed to inform her of his death; and, as she
herself said, to enable her not to succumb beneath the weight of her
misfortunes until the measure of them was full.
You are aware, of course, that for more than two days she was
absolutely without consciousness; and even yesterday morning, when
her physician arrived, and we approached her bedside, she recognized
neither of us, and we could not extract the least word or sign from
her. Well, hardly had we returned to the chimney, and the physician
was relating to me the sad episode of M. de Valmont’s death, when the
unfortunate woman recovered her reason, whether that nature alone had
produced this revolution, or that it was caused by the repetition of
the words, _M. de Valmont_ and _death_, which may have brought back to
the patient the only ideas which have occupied her for a long time.
However that may be, she hurriedly threw back the curtains of her bed,
crying out, “What? What are you saying? M. de Valmont is dead!” I hoped
to make her believe that she was mistaken, and at first assured her
that she had heard wrong: but far from letting herself be persuaded,
she required the physician to repeat the cruel story, and, upon my
endeavouring again to dissuade her, she called me and whispered, “Why
wish to deceive me? Was he not already dead to me?” It was necessary,
therefore, to yield.
Our unhappy friend listened, at first, with a fairly tranquil air: but
soon afterwards, she interrupted the story, saying, “Enough, I know
enough.” She asked at once for her curtains to be closed; and, when
the physician subsequently tried to busy himself with the care of her
condition, she never would have him near her.
As soon as he had left, she similarly dismissed her nurse and
waiting-maid; and when we were left alone, she begged me to help her to
kneel down upon her bed, and support her so. There she stayed for some
time in silence, and with no other expression than that which was given
by her tears, which flowed copiously. At last, clasping her hands, and
raising them to Heaven: “Almighty God,” said she, in a weak but fervent
voice, “I submit myself to Thy justice; but forgive Valmont. Let not
my misfortunes, which I admit are deserved, be a cause of reproach to
him, and I will bless Thy mercy!” I have permitted myself, my dear and
respected friend, to enter into these details on a subject which I
am well aware must renew and aggravate your grief, because I have no
doubt that that prayer of Madame de Tourvel’s will, nevertheless, be
a great consolation to your soul. After our friend had uttered these
brief words, she fell back in my arms; and she was hardly replaced in
her bed, when she was overcome by weakness, which lasted long, but
which gave way to the ordinary remedies. As soon as she had regained
consciousness, she asked me to send for the Père Anselme, and added,
“He is now the only physician whom I need; I feel that my ills will
soon be ended.” She complained much of oppression, and spoke with
difficulty.
[Illustration: Mlle Gerard del. Triere sculp.]
A short time afterwards, she handed me, through her waiting-maid, a
casket which I am sending to you, which she tells me contains papers of
hers, and which she charged me to convey to you immediately after her
death.[16] She next spoke to me of you, and of your friendship for her,
so far as her situation permitted, and with much emotion.
The Père Anselme arrived about four o’clock, and remained alone with
her for nearly an hour. When we returned, the face of the sick woman
was calm and serene; but it was easy to see that the Père Anselme
had shed many tears. He remained to assist at the last ceremonies of
the Church. This spectacle, always so imposing and so sorrowful, was
rendered even more so by the contrast which the tranquil resignation of
the sufferer formed with the profound grief of her venerable confessor,
who burst into tears at her side. The emotion became general; and she,
for whom everybody wept, was the only one not to weep.
The remainder of the day was spent in the customary prayers, which were
only interrupted by the sufferer’s frequent fits of weakness. At last,
at about eleven o’clock at night, she appeared to be more oppressed
and to suffer more. I put out my hand to seek her arm; she had still
strength enough to take it, and she placed it upon her heart. I could
no longer discern any movement; and, indeed, at that very moment, our
unfortunate friend expired.
You will remember, my dear friend, that, on your last visit here, not
a year ago, when we talked together of certain persons whose happiness
seemed to us more or less assured, we dwelt complacently upon the lot
of this very woman, whose misfortunes and whose death we lament to-day.
So many virtues, laudable qualities and attractions; a character so
sweet and easy; a husband whom she loved, and by whom she was adored;
a society which pleased her, and of which she was the delight; a face,
youth, fortune; so many combined advantages lost through a single
imprudence! O Providence, doubtless we must worship Thy decrees; but
how incomprehensible they are! I stop myself; I fear to add to your
sorrow by indulging my own.
I leave you, to return to my daughter, who is a little indisposed. When
she heard from me this morning of so sudden a death of two persons of
her acquaintance, she was taken ill, and I had her sent to bed. I hope,
however, that this slight indisposition will have no ill results. At
her age, one is not yet habituated to sorrow, and its impression is
keener and more potent. Such sensibility is, doubtless, a praiseworthy
quality; but how greatly does all that we daily see teach us to dread
it!
Adieu, my dear and venerable friend.
Paris, 9th December, 17**.
LETTER THE HUNDRED AND SIXTY-SIXTH
M. BERTRAND TO MADAME DE ROSEMONDE
MADAME,
In consequence of the orders which you have done me the honour of
sending me, I have had that of seeing M. le Président de ***, and have
communicated your letter to him, informing him that, in pursuance of
your wishes, I should do nothing without his advice. The honourable
magistrate desires me to point out to you that the complaint which you
intend to lodge against M. le Chevalier Danceny would be compromising
to the memory of your nephew, and that his honour would also inevitably
be tarnished by the decree of the court, which would, of course, be a
great misfortune. His opinion, therefore, is that you should carefully
abstain from taking any proceedings; and that what you had better do,
on the contrary, would be to endeavour to prevent the Government from
taking cognizance of this unfortunate adventure, which has already made
too much noise.
These observations seemed to me full of wisdom, and I resolved to
wait for further orders from you. Allow me to beg you, Madame, to be
so good, when you dispatch them, as to add a word as to the state of
your health, the sad effect upon which of so many troubles I greatly
dread. I hope that you will pardon this liberty in consideration of my
attachment and my zeal.
I am, with respect, Madame, your, etc.
Paris, 10th December, 17**.
LETTER THE HUNDRED AND SIXTY-SEVENTH
ANONYMOUS TO M. LE CHEVALIER DANCENY
MONSIEUR,
I HAVE the honour to inform you that this morning, in the corridors of
the Court, there was talk amongst the King’s officers of the affair
which you had a few days ago with M. le Vicomte de Valmont, and that it
is to be feared that the Government will take proceedings against you.
I thought that this warning might be of use to you, either to enable
you to seek out what protection you have, to ward off these vexatious
results; or, in the event of your being unable to succeed in this, to
put you in a position to take measures for your personal safety.
If you will even permit me to give you a piece of advice, I think you
would do well to show yourself less often than you have done during the
last few days. Although, ordinarily, affairs of this sort are treated
with indulgence, this respect nevertheless continues due to the law.
This precaution becomes all the more necessary in that it has come to
my ears that a certain Madame de Rosemonde, who, I am told, is an aunt
of M. de Valmont, wished to lodge a complaint against you, in which
event the public officers could not refuse her requisition. It would
not be amiss, perhaps, if you were able to communicate with this lady.
Private reasons prevent me from signing this letter. But I am acting
on the consideration that you will not render less justice to the
sentiment which has dictated it, because you know not from whom it
comes.
I have the honour to be, etc.
Paris, 10th December, 17**.
LETTER THE HUNDRED AND SIXTY-EIGHTH
MADAME DE VOLANGES TO MADAME DE ROSEMONDE
MOST surprising and distressing rumours, my dear and revered friend,
are being disseminated here in relation to Madame de Merteuil. I am,
assuredly, very far from believing them, and I would wager well that it
is nothing but a hideous calumny: but I am too well aware of the ease
with which even the most improbable slanders acquire credit, and of the
difficulty with which the impression they leave is effaced, not to be
greatly alarmed at these, easy as I believe it to be to refute them. I
should wish, above all, that they could be stopped in good time, before
they have spread further. But I only knew yesterday, at a late hour,
of these horrors which they were fast beginning to retail; and when
I sent this morning to Madame de Merteuil, she had just left for the
country, where she was to spend two days. They were not able to tell me
to whom she had gone. Her second woman, whom I sent for to speak with
me, told me that her mistress had left no orders save that she was to
be expected on Thursday next; and none of the servants whom she has
left here know any more. For myself, I have no notion where she may be;
I cannot recollect any person of her acquaintance who stays so late in
the country.
However that may be, you will be able, I hope, between now and her
return, to furnish me with information which will be of use to her: for
these odious stories are based on the circumstances of M. de Valmont’s
death; you are likely to have been informed of them, if they are true;
or, at any rate, it will be easy for you to obtain information, which I
beg you to do. This is what is being published, or rather, whispered,
at present; but it will certainly not be long before it spreads further:
It is said that the quarrel between M. de Valmont and the Chevalier
Danceny was the work of Madame de Merteuil, who deceived them both
alike; that, as happens almost always, the two rivals began by fighting
and only arrived at explanations afterwards; that these explanations
brought about a sincere reconciliation; and that, in order to expose
Madame de Merteuil to the Chevalier Danceny, and also to justify
himself entirely, M. de Valmont supported his revelations by a heap
of letters, forming a regular correspondence which he had maintained
with her, and in which she relates the most scandalous anecdotes about
herself, and in the freest of styles.
People further say that Danceny, in the first heat of his indignation,
shewed these letters to all who wished to see them, and that they
are now making the round of Paris. Two of them, in particular, are
quoted:[17] one in which she relates the whole history of her life
and principles, and which is said to attain the height of horror; the
other which entirely justifies M. de Prévan, whose story you will
remember, by the proof it contains that all he did was to yield to the
most marked advances on the part of Madame de Merteuil, and that the
_rendez-vous_ was arranged with her.
I have, happily, the strongest reasons to believe that these
imputations are as false as they are odious. First, we are both aware
that M. de Valmont was assuredly not occupied with Madame de Merteuil,
and I have every cause to believe that Danceny was equally without
interest in her: thus it seems to me clearly proved that she can have
been neither the motive nor the author of the quarrel. I equally fail
to understand what interest Madame de Merteuil can have had, assuming
her to have been in concert with M. de Prévan, in making a scene which
could only be disagreeable by its publicity, and which might become
most dangerous to her, since she made, thereby, an irreconcilable enemy
of a man who was master in part of her secret, and who, at that time,
had numerous partisans. However, it is remarkable that since that
adventure not a single voice has been raised in Prévan’s favour, and
that even from his own side there has been no protest made.
These reflections would lead me to suspect the author of the rumours
which are abroad to-day, and to look upon these slanders as the work of
the hatred and vengeance of a man who, knowing himself to be ruined,
hopes, by such a means, at least to establish a doubt, and perhaps
cause a useful diversion. But, from whatever source these malicious
reports arise, the most urgent thing is to destroy them. They would
cease of themselves, if it were to be shewn, as is probable, that MM.
de Valmont and Danceny had no communication after their unfortunate
affair, and that no papers passed between them.
In my impatience to verify these facts, I sent this morning
to M. Danceny; he is not in Paris either. His people told my
_valet-de-chambre_ that he had left in the night, owing to a warning he
had received yesterday, and that the place of his sojourn was a secret.
Apparently he is afraid of the results of his duel. ’Tis through you
alone, then, my dear and revered friend, that I can be informed of the
details which interest me, and which may become so necessary to Madame
de Merteuil. I renew my prayer to you to acquaint me with them as soon
as possible.
P.S. My daughter’s indisposition has had no consequences; she presents
her respects to you.
Paris, 11th December, 17**.
LETTER THE HUNDRED AND SIXTY-NINTH
THE CHEVALIER DANCENY TO MADAME DE ROSEMONDE
MADAME,
PERHAPS you will think the step I am taking to-day very unusual: but I
entreat you to hear before you judge me, and to see neither boldness
nor temerity, where only respect and confidence is meant. I do not deny
the injury I have done you; and I should not pardon myself for it,
all my life, if I could think for a moment that it had been possible
for me to avoid it. Be even persuaded, Madame, that, if I am exempt
from reproach, I am not equally so from regrets; and I may add, with
equal sincerity, that those which I have caused you count for much in
those which I feel. In order to believe in these sentiments of which
I venture to assure you, it will suffice for you to render justice to
yourself, and to reflect that, without having the honour of being known
to you, I have, however, that of knowing you.
Meanwhile, whilst I groan over the fatality which has been the cause at
once of your grief and my misfortunes, I have been led to fear that,
absorbed in your vengeance, you would seek out means of gratifying it,
even through the severity of the laws. Allow me, first, to point out
to you, on this subject, that here you are led astray by your sorrow,
since my interest in this matter is essentially at one with that of M.
de Valmont, and that he would himself be involved in the condemnation
which you would have provoked against me. I believe then, Madame, that
I can count on assistance, rather than on obstacles, on your part, in
any efforts I may be obliged to make, so that this unhappy event may
remain buried in silence.
But this resource of complicity, which befits the innocent and the
guilty alike, is not sufficient for my delicacy: while desiring to
remove you as a party to the suit, I demand you as my judge. The esteem
of persons whom we respect is too precious that I should let yours be
taken from me without defending it, and I believe I possess the means.
In fact, if you will admit that vengeance is allowed, or say rather,
that it is one’s bounden duty, when one has been betrayed in one’s
love, in one’s friendship, and, above all, in one’s confidence; if
you admit this, my wrongs against you will vanish from your eyes.
Do not take my word for this; but read, if you have the courage,
the correspondence which I place in your hands.[18] The quantity of
original letters which it contains seems to lend authenticity to those
of which only copies exist. For the rest, I received these letters,
just as I have the honour to forward them to you, from M. de Valmont
himself. I have added nothing to them, and I have only extracted two
letters which I have permitted myself to publish.
One of these was necessary to the common vengeance of M. de Valmont
and of myself; to this we had both a right, and I had been expressly
charged with it by him. I thought, moreover, that I was rendering a
service to society, in unmasking a woman so really dangerous as is
Madame de Merteuil, who, as you will see, was the sole and veritable
cause of all that passed between M. de Valmont and myself.
A feeling of justice also induced me to publish the second, for the
justification of M. de Prévan, whom I hardly know, but who had in no
way merited the rigorous treatment which he has experienced, nor the
still more redoubtable judgment of the public, beneath which he has
been groaning, ever since, without any means of defence.
You will only find copies, then, of these two letters, the originals
of which I owe it to myself to keep. For all the rest, I do not
believe I can remit in surer hands a deposit the destruction of which
is not, perhaps, to my interest, but which I should blush to abuse.
I believe, Madame, that, in confiding these papers to you, I am
serving the persons interested in them, as well as if I remitted them
to themselves; and I spare them the embarrassment of receiving them
from me, and of knowing me to be informed of adventures of which they
doubtless desire all the world to remain ignorant.
I think I ought to warn you, on this subject, that the adjoined
correspondence only forms part of a far more voluminous collection,
from which M. de Valmont extracted it in my presence, and which you
will find, on the removal of the seals, under the title, which I saw,
of “_Account opened between the Marquise de Merteuil and the Vicomte
de Valmont_.” You will adopt, in this matter, whatever course your
prudence may suggest.
I am with respect, Madame, etc.