Viscount Valmont _to the_ Presidente Tourvel.
From mere compassion, Madam, vouchsafe to calm my perturbed soul;
deign to inform me what I have to hope or fear. When placed between
the extremes of happiness and misery, suspense is a most insupportable
torment. Alas! why did I ever speak to you? Why did I not endeavour to
resist the dominion of your charms that have taken possession of my
imagination? Had I been content with silently adoring you, I should
at least have the pleasure that ever attends even secretly harbouring
that passion; and this pure sentiment, which was then untroubled by
the poignant reflections that have arisen from my knowledge of your
sorrow, was enough for my felicity: but the source of my happiness is
become that of my despair, since I saw those precious tears; since I
heard that cruel exclamation, _Ah! miserable wretch that I am._ Those
words, Madam, will for a long time wring my heart. By what fatality
happens it, that the softest passion produces only horror to you!
Whence proceed these fears? Ah! they do not arise from an inclination
of sharing in the passion. Your heart I have much mistaken; it is not
made for love: mine, which you incessantly slander, is yet the only
one of sensibility; yours is even divested of pity—were it not, you
could have afforded a wretched being, who only related his sufferings,
one word of consolation; you would not have deprived him of your
presence, when his sole delight is in seeing you; you would not have
made a cruel mockery of his disquietude, by acquainting him you were
indisposed, without giving him liberty to make any inquiries on the
state of your health; you would have known, that a night that brought
you twelve hours rest, was to him an age of torment.
Tell me, how have I deserved this afflicting rigour? I am not afraid
even to appeal to yourself: what have I done, but yielded to an
involuntary sensation, inspired by beauty, and justified by virtue,
always kept within due limits by respect, the innocent avowal of which
proceeded from hopeless confidence? and will you betray that confidence
that you seemed to countenance, and to which I unreservedly gave way?
No, I will not believe it; that would be supposing you capable of an
injustice, and I never can entertain, even for a moment, such an idea:
I recant my reproaches; I may have been led to write them, but never
seriously believed them. Ah, let me believe you all perfection; it is
the only satisfaction now left me! Convince me you are so, by extending
your generous care to me; of the many you have relieved, is there a
wretch wants it so much as I do? Do not abandon me to the distraction
you have plunged me into: assist me with your reason, since you have
deprived me of mine; and as you have reformed me, complete your work by
enlightening me.
I will not deceive you; it will be impossible for you to conquer my
love, but you may teach me how to regulate it: by guiding my steps,
by prescribing to me my conversation, you will, at least, preserve me
from the most dreadful of all misfortunes, that of incurring your
displeasure. Dispel, at least, my desponding fears; tell me you pity
and forgive me; promise me your indulgence; you never will afford me
that extent of it I wish; but I call for so much of it as is absolutely
necessary to me: will you refuse it?
Adieu, Madam! Accept, graciously, the homage of my feelings, to which
my respect is inseparably united.
_Aug._ 20, 17—.