Viscount de Valmont _to the_ Marchioness de Merteuil.
My dear friend, I have a most important piece of news for you: last
night I supped, as you know, at the Marechale de ——, where you
were spoke of; I said not all the good that I think, but all that I
did not think of you. Every one seemed to be of my opinion, and the
conversation languished, as it always happens when people talk well of
their neighbours; when at length Prevan spoke, “God forbid,” said he,
rising up, “that I should have the least doubt of the virtue of Madame
de Merteuil; but I dare say, that she owes it more to levity than
principle. It is, perhaps, easier to please her, than follow her; and
as one seldom fails in running after a woman, to meet others in one’s
way, those may be as much, if not more, valuable than she; some are
dissipated by a new taste, others stop through lassitude; and she is,
perhaps, one of the women who has had the least opportunity of making a
resistance, of any of Paris; for my part,” said he, (encouraged by the
smiles of some of the women), “I will not credit Madame de Merteuil’s
virtue, until I have killed six horses in her service.”
This scurvy jest succeeded, as all those do that are replete with
scandal; and whilst the laugh went round, Prevan seated himself, and
the conversation became general; but the two Countesses de B——,
near whom the incredulous Prevan seated himself, began a particular
conversation which I overheard.
The challenge that was given to bring you to compliance was accepted;
and the promise of telling all was exchanged; of all those which passed
in this conversation, that will be the most religiously observed: but
now you have timely notice; and you know the old proverb.
I have only to tell you, moreover, that this Prevan, who you do
not know, is amazingly amiable, and still more subtle. If you have
sometimes heard me say the contrary, it is only because I don’t like
him, and that I delight in contradicting his successes; for I am not
ignorant how my opinion weighs with some thirty of our women à-la-mode.
And really I have, for a long time, prevented him by this means,
of making a figure in what is called the grand theatre. He worked
prodigies without advancing his reputation. But the eclat of his triple
adventure, by fixing every one’s eyes on him, has given him a certain
air of confidence that he, until then, wanted, and has made him truly
formidable. He is, perhaps, at this time, the only man I dread meeting
in my way; and, your interests apart, you will do me the greatest
service in making him ridiculous. I leave him in good hands; and I hope
at my return he will be a lost man.
In recompence, I promise you to bring the adventure of your pupil to a
good issue, and to employ my time as much for her as my lovely prude.
She has just now sent me a plan of capitulation. Her whole letter
announces a wish to be deceived. It is impossible to offer any means
more commodious, or more stale. She will have me to be her friend. But
I, who am fond of new and difficult methods, will not let her off so
easily; for certainly I have not taken so much pains about her, to
terminate by the ordinary methods of seduction.
On the contrary, my design is, that she should feel the value, and the
extent, of every one of the sacrifices she shall make; not to lead
her on so fast, but that remorse may follow every step; to make her
virtue expire in a slow agony; to fix her attention incessantly on that
mortifying spectacle, and not to grant her the happiness of having me
in her arms, till I have forced her to no longer dissemble her desire:
for I am worth little indeed, if I am not worth the trouble of asking.
Then I shall be revenged of a haughty woman, who seems to blush to own
she adores.
I have then refused this precious friendship, and hold to my title of
lover. As I am not ignorant that this title, which at first appears
but trifling, is, notwithstanding, of real importance to be obtained,
I took peculiar care of my style, and endeavoured to scatter through
my letter that kind of disorder which only can display sentiment, and
talked as much nonsense as possible; for, without that, there is no
tenderness: that, I believe, is the reason that women excel us so much
in love letters.
I finished mine by a soothing sentence; that is another consequence of
my profound observations. After a woman’s heart has been some time kept
in exercise, it wants rest: and I have often remarked, that a flattery
is, for all of them, the softest pillow we can offer.
Adieu, my lovely friend. I set out to-morrow. If you have any orders
to give me for the Countess de ——, I shall stop with her to dinner.
I am sorry to set out without seeing you. Forward me your sublime
instructions, and assist me with your wise counsels in the decisive
moment.
Above all, beware of Prevan; and may I one day indemnify you for this
sacrifice. Adieu!
_Sept._ 11, 17—.