Cecilia Volanges _to_ Sophia Carnay.
I did not write to you yesterday, my dear Sophy; but I assure you it
was not pleasure that prevented me. My Mamma was indisposed, and I did
not quit her the whole day. At night, when I retired, I had not spirits
to do any thing; and I went to bed very early, in order to terminate
the day: never did I pass so long a one. It is not but I love Mamma
very much; but I don’t know how it was. I was to have gone to the opera
with Madame de Merteuil; the Chevalier Danceny was to have been there.
You know they are the two I love most. When the hour of the opera
arrived, my heart was oppressed in spite of me; every thing displeased
me, and I wept involuntarily. Fortunately Mamma was in bed, and could
not see me. I am sure Chevalier Danceny must have been chagrined as
well as I; but the company and performance must have amused him: I am
very differently situated. But Mamma is better to-day, and Madame de
Merteuil, Chevalier Danceny, and another gentleman, will be with us.
Madame de Merteuil comes late, and it’s very tiresome to be so long
alone. It is only eleven, yet I must practise my harpsichord, it is
true; and then my toilet will take me up some time, for I will have
my head well dressed to-day. I really believe our mother Abbess was
right, that one becomes a coquet on entering into life. I never had so
strong a desire to be handsome, as for some days past, and I think I am
not so handsome as I thought; in women’s company that paint, one looks
much worse; for example, all the men think Madame de Merteuil handsomer
than me; that does not vex me much, because she loves me: and then
she assures me the Chevalier Danceny thinks me handsomer than her. It
is very good natured of her to tell me so; she even seemed to be glad
of it. Now I don’t conceive how that can be. It is because she loves
me so much! And he too! Oh that gives me infinite pleasure! I really
think, barely looking at him makes me appear handsome. I would always
be looking at him, if I was not afraid of meeting his eyes: for as
often as that happens, it disconcerts me, and gives me uneasiness; but
that signifies nothing. Adieu, my dear Sophy! I am going to dress.
_Paris, Aug._ 14, 17—.