Madame de Volanges _to the_ Presidente de Tourvel.
I never yet doubted, my young and charming friend, of your friendship
for me, nor of the interest you take in all my concerns. It is not to
clear up this point, on which I hope we are for ever agreed, that I
reply to your answer; but I think myself obliged to say a word or two
relative to Viscount Valmont.
I must own, I did not expect to meet such a name in a letter from
you. How is it possible there can be any communication between you
and him? You do not know that man. Where did you find the idea you
have imbibed of the heart of a libertine? You tell me of his uncommon
candour; yes, truly, Valmont’s candour is very uncommon. He is yet more
false and dangerous than he is lovely and seducing: never since his
earliest youth, has he taken a step, or spoke a word, without a design;
and never formed a design that was not criminal or improper. My dear
friend, you know me; you know that of all the virtues I endeavour
to acquire, indulgence is the one I cherish most; and if Valmont had
been hurried away by the impetuosity of his passions, or if, like a
thousand more at his time of life, he had been seduced by the errors
of youth, I would have compassionated his person, blamed his conduct,
and have patiently waited until time, the happy maturer of green years,
should have made him fit for the society and esteem of worthy people:
but that’s not Valmont’s case; his conduct is the result of principle;
he calculates how far a man can proceed in villainy without risking
reputation, and has chosen women for his victims, that his sacrifices
may be wicked and cruel without danger. I shall not dwell on the
numbers he has seduced; but how many has he not utterly undone? Those
scandalous anecdotes never come within the sphere of your retired and
regular course of life. I could, however, relate you some that would
make you shudder; but your mind, pure as your soul, would be defiled
with such descriptions: convinced, as I am, that Valmont will never be
an object of danger to you, such armour is unnecessary to guard you. I
can’t, however, refrain telling you, that successful or not, no woman
he ever yet dangled after, but had reason to repent her folly. The
only exception to this general rule is the Marchioness de Merteuil;
she alone has been capable not only of resisting, but of completely
defeating his wickedness.
I must acknowledge, this trait in her character strikes me the most
forcibly; and has amply justified her to the world for some trifling
indiscretions in the outset of her widowhood.[1] However, my charming
friend, authorised as I am, by age, experience, and much more by
friendship, I am obliged to inform you, the world take notice of
Valmont’s absence; and that if they come to know that he has for any
time formed a trio with you and his aunt, your reputation will be
at his mercy, which is the greatest misfortune that can happen to a
woman. I therefore advise you to prevail on his aunt not to detain
him longer; and if he should still determine to remain, I think you
should not hesitate a moment on quitting the place. But why should he
remain? How does he employ himself in the country? I am certain, if his
motions were watched, you would discover that he has only taken up his
residence in that commodious retreat for the accomplishment of some act
of villainy he meditates in the neighbourhood.
When it is not in our power to prevent an evil, let us at least take
care to preserve ourselves from its consequences. Adieu! my lovely
friend. An accident retards my daughter’s marriage for some little
time. Count Gercourt, whom we daily expected, informs me his regiment
is ordered for Corsica; and as the military operations are not yet
over, it will be impossible for him to return before winter: this
disconcerts me; however, it gives me hope we shall have your company at
the wedding; and I was vexed it should take place without you. Adieu! I
am as free from compliment as reserve, entirely yours.
P. S. Bring me back to the recollection of Madame de Rosemonde, whom I
shall always love for her great merit.
[1] Madame de Volanges’ error informs us, that Valmont, like most
profligate wretches, did not impeach his accomplices.