Chevalier Danceny _to_ Cecilia Volanges.
Cecilia, my dear Cecilia! when shall we see each other again? How shall
I live without you? Where shall I find strength or resolution? No,
never, never, shall I be able to bear this cruel absence. Each day adds
to my misery, without the least prospect of its having an end. Valmont,
who had promised me assistance and consolation; Valmont neglects, and,
perhaps, forgets me. He is with his love, and no longer acquainted
with the sufferings of absence. He has not wrote to me, although he
forwarded me the last letter; and yet it is on him I depend to know
when and by what means I shall have the happiness to see you. He, then,
can say nothing. You even do not mention a syllable about it. Surely it
cannot be, that you no longer wish for it. Ah, my Cecilia! I am very
unhappy. I love you more than ever: but this passion, which was the
delight of my life, is now become my torment.
No, I will no longer live thus. I must see you, if it was but for a
moment. When I rise, I say to myself I shall see her no more. Going
to bed, I say, I have not seen her: and notwithstanding the length
of the days, not a moment of happiness for me. All is grief, all is
despair; and all those miseries arrive from whence I expected all my
joys. You will have an idea of my situation, if you add to all this, my
uneasiness on your account. I am incessantly thinking of you; and ever
with grief. If I see you unhappy and afflicted, I bear a part in your
misfortunes; if I see you in tranquillity and consoled, my griefs are
redoubled. Everywhere and in every circumstance am I miserable.
Ah! it was not thus when you were here; every thing was then delight:
the certainty of seeing you made absence supportable. You knew how I
employed my time. If I fulfilled any duties, they rendered me more
worthy of you; if I cultivated any science, it was in hopes to be
more pleasing to you, whenever the distractions of the world drew me
from you. At the opera, I sought to discover what would please you. A
concert recalled to my mind your talents, and our pleasing occupations
in company. In my walks, I eagerly sought the most slight resemblance
of you. I compared you to all wherever you had the advantage. Every
moment of the day was distinguished by a new homage, and each evening
laid the tribute at your feet.
What is now left me? Melancholy grief, and the slight hope which
Valmont’s silence diminishes, and yours converts into uneasiness.
Ten leagues only separate us: and yet this short space becomes an
insurmountable obstacle to me; and when I implore the assistance of my
friend and of my love, both are cold and silent; far from assisting,
they will not even answer me.
What, then, is become of the active friendship of Valmont? But what is
become of the tender sentiments which inspired you with that readiness
of finding out means of daily seeing each other? I remember, sometimes
I found myself obliged to sacrifice them to considerations and to
duties. What did you then not say to me? By how many pretexts did you
not combat my reasons? I beg you will remember, my Cecilia, that my
reasons always gave way to your wishes. I do not pretend to make any
merit of it. What you wished to obtain, I was impatient to grant; but
I, in turn, now make a request; and what is that request? Only to see
you a moment; to renew, to receive the assurance of eternal love. Is
it not, then, any longer your happiness as well as mine? I reject this
desponding idea, which is the summit of misery. You love me; yes, you
will always love me. I believe it; I am sure of it; and I shall never
doubt it: but my situation is dreadful, and I can no longer support it.
Adieu, Cecilia!.
_Sept._ 18, 17—.