_The_ Presidente de Tourvel _to the_ Viscount de Valmont.
I was determined not to answer you any more, Sir, and, perhaps, the
embarrassment I now experience, is the strongest proof that I ought
not. Notwithstanding, I will leave you no cause of complaint against
me; and will convince you that I have done every thing I ought.
I gave you leave to write to me, you say? I admit it; but when you put
me in mind of this permission, do you think I forget the conditions
on which it was granted? If I had adhered to them as strictly as you
have disregarded them, you would not have received a single line from
me; yet this is now the third, and whilst you are doing every thing
you possibly can to oblige me to break off this correspondence, I am
employed in the means of keeping it up. There is one, and it is the
only one, which, if you refuse, will be sufficient proof, say what you
will, how little you esteem it:
Give over, then, a language that I neither can nor will hear; renounce
a passion that terrifies and offends me; and which, perhaps, you should
be the less attached to, as it is the only obstacle that separates us.
Is this passion, then, the only one that you are capable of? is it so
powerful as to exclude friendship? and could you possibly not wish to
have her for a friend, whom you would wish to inspire with more tender
sentiments? I cannot believe it: this humiliating idea would turn me
against you for ever!
Thus offering you my friendship, Sir, I give you every thing that
belongs to me; every thing that is at my disposal; what can you wish
for more? To this proposition, so pleasing to my mind, I shall expect
your consent; as also, your word of honour, that this friendship will
constitute your happiness. I shall forget every thing that has been
related to me, and I will depend upon your care to justify my choice.
You see how frankly I deal with you, which ought to be a proof of my
confidence in you; it rests with you to increase it still more; but
I must inform you, that the first expression of love will for ever
destroy it, and will bring back all my fears: it will be the first
signal of an eternal silence from me to you.
If, as you say, _you have abandoned your errors,_ would you not rather
be the object of friendship of a virtuous woman, than that of the
remorse of a guilty one? Adieu, Sir! You may conceive that having said
thus much, I can say nothing more that you have not already answered.
_Sept._ 9, 17—.