Cecilia Volanges _to the_ Chevalier Danceny.
My God! what trouble your letter gives me! I had great reason, to be
sure, to be impatient to receive it. I expected to have received some
consolation, and am now more afflicted than ever. I could not help
crying when I read it. But that is not what I reproach you with; for I
have often cried already upon your account, without giving me so much
trouble: but now the case is altered.
What is it, then, you mean to say? That your love is now a torment
to you; that you can’t live any longer thus, nor bear to be so
circumstanced? What! will you cease loving me, because it is not quite
so easy to see me as formerly? Don’t think I am happier than you;
on the contrary: but I love you the more notwithstanding. If Mr. de
Valmont has not wrote to you, it is not my fault. I could not prevail
on him; because I have never been alone with him; we have agreed never
to speak to one another before company; and all upon your account, that
he may the sooner do what you would have him. I don’t say, but what I
wish it as well as you; and you ought to be very sure of it: but what
would you have me do? If you think it is so easy, find out the way; it
is what I wish for as much as you do.
Do you think it so pleasing to be scolded every day by mamma? She who
before never said any thing to me, now it is worse than if I was in a
convent. I used to be consoled thinking it was for you; even sometimes,
I was very glad of it. Now I perceive you are vexed without my giving
any occasion for it. I am more melancholy than for any thing that has
happened till now.
Nothing can be more difficult than to receive your letters; so that
if Mr. de Valmont was not so complaisant and dexterous as he is, I
should not know what to do; and it is still more difficult to write to
you. In the morning I dare not, because my mamma is always near me,
and comes every moment into my chamber. Sometimes I can do it in the
afternoon, under pretence of singing or playing on the harp. I must
stop at the end of every line, that they may hear me play. Fortunately
my chambermaid falls asleep sometimes at night, and I tell her I can go
to bed very well alone; that she may go, and leave me the candle; I am
sometimes obliged to hide behind the curtain, that no one may see the
light, and listen; for, on the least noise, I hide every thing in my
bed, lest any one should come. I wish you were only here to see: you
would be convinced one must have a great affection to do all this. In
short, you may depend I do every thing in my power.
I can’t help telling you I love you, and will always love you. I never
told you so with more sincerity, yet you are angry. You assure me,
however, before I told you so, that it would be enough to make you
happy; you can’t deny it, for it is in your letters: although I have
them no longer, I remember it as well as when I used to read them every
day; and because we are now absent, you have altered your mind; but
this absence will not last for ever, perhaps. Good God! how unhappy I
am; and you are the cause of it all.
Now I think of it, about your letters; I hope you have kept all those
that mamma took from me, and that she sent you back. Surely the time
will come, when I shan’t be so closely watched as I am at present, and
you will give them to me again. How happy shall I be, when I can keep
them always, without any one prying into them.—Now, I return them back
to Mr. de Valmont, as it would otherwise be running too great a risk,
and yet I never return any but it gives me a great deal of trouble.
Adieu, my dear friend! I love you with all my heart, and I will love
you all my life. I hope now you will not be vexed any more; if I was
sure of it, I would not be so myself. Write to me as soon as you can,
for I find that until then I shall be always uneasy.
_From the Castle of ——, Sept._ 21, 17—.