Cecilia Volanges _to the_ Marchioness de Merteuil.
How shall I thank you, dear Madam, for your goodness: you judged well
that it would be easier for me to write than speak; what I have to
tell you is not an easy matter; but you are my friend! Yes, you are my
very good friend! And I’ll endeavour not to be afraid; and then I have
so much occasion for your advice!—I am in great grief; I think every
one guesses my thoughts, especially when he is present; I redden up as
soon as any one looks at me. Yesterday, when you saw me crying, it was
because I wanted to speak to you, and I don’t know what hindered me;
when you asked me what ailed me, the tears came into my eyes in spite
of me. I could not have spoke a word. If it had not been for you, Mamma
would have taken notice of it; and then what would have become of me?
This is the way I spend my time for these four days: that day, Madam, I
will out with it, on that day Chevalier Danceny wrote to me; I assure
you, when I received his letter, I did not know what it was; but to
tell the truth, I read it with great pleasure. I would have suffered
any thing all my lifetime, rather than he should not have wrote it to
me; however, I know very well I must not tell him so; and I can even
assure you, that I told him I was very angry; but he says it gets the
better of him, and I believe him; for I had resolved not to answer him,
and yet I could not avoid it. I wrote him but once, it was partly even
to tell him not to write to me any more; yet he is continually writing;
and as I don’t answer him, I see plainly he is very melancholy, and
that afflicts me greatly: so that I do not know what to do, nor what
will become of me: I am much to be pitied!
I beg, Madam, you’ll tell me, would there be any great harm in writing
an answer to him now and then, only until he can prevail on himself to
write me no more, and to be as we used to be before? For myself, if
it continues this way, I don’t know what I shall do. I assure you, on
reading his last letter, I could not forbear crying all the time; and
I am very certain, that if I do not answer him again, it will make us
both very uneasy.
I will enclose you his letter, or a copy of it, and you’ll see he does
not ask any harm. However, if you think it is not proper, I promise
you I will not give way to my inclination; but I believe you’ll think
as I do, that there’s no harm in it.
And now that I am upon it, give me leave to put you a question: I have
been often told it was very wrong to be in love with any body, but
why so? What makes me ask you, is this; the Chevalier Danceny insists
there’s no harm at all in it, and that almost every body is; if that’s
the case, I don’t know why I should be the only one should be hindered;
or is it that it is only wrong for young ladies? For I heard Mamma
herself say, that Madam de D—— loved M. M——, and she did not speak
as if it was so bad a thing; and yet I am sure she would be very angry
with me, if she had the least suspicion of my affection for M. Danceny.
She behaves to me always as if I was a child, and never tells me any
thing at all. I thought, when she took me from the convent, I was to
be married; but now I think not. It is not that I care much about it,
I assure you; but you who are so intimate with her, you, perhaps, know
something about it; and if you do, I hope you will tell me.
This is a very long letter, Madam; but since you was so good to give me
leave to write to you, I made use of it to tell you every thing, and I
depend on your friendship.
I have the honour, &c.
_Paris, Aug._ 23, 17—.