Viscount de Valmont, _to the_ Presidente de Tourvel.
For heaven’s sake, Madam, let us renew the conversation so
unfortunately interrupted, that I may convince you how different I am
from the odious picture that has been drawn of me, and may, at least,
enjoy that amiable confidence you placed in me. How many charms do
you not add to virtue! How you embellish and make us cherish virtuous
sentiments! It is there you are truly enchanting; that is the strongest
of all seductions; it is the only one which is truly respectable and
powerful.
It is enough to see you, to wish to please you; and to converse with
you, to augment this wish: but he that has the happiness to know you,
who can sometimes read your mind, soon gives way to a more noble
enthusiasm, and, struck with veneration as with love—in your person
adores the image of all the virtues. Formed, perhaps, more than any
other, to cherish and admire them, but led away by some errors that
had fatally drawn me from virtue, it is you have brought me back, who
have again made me feel all its charms. Would you impute, then, to
criminality this new affection? Will you blame your own work? Would you
reproach yourself the interest you ought to take in it?—How can you
dread so virtuous a sentiment, and what happiness can be greater than
to experience it?
My affection frightens you. You think it too violent, too immoderate;
qualify it, then, by a softer passion. Do not reject the obedience I
offer you, which I now swear never to withdraw myself from, and in
which I shall be ever virtuously employed. What sacrifice would be
painful when your heart could dispense the reward? Where is the man so
unthinking as not to know how to enjoy the privations he imposes on
himself; who would not prefer a word or a look which should be granted
him, to all the enjoyments he could steal or surprise? And yet you
have believed me to be such a man, and have dreaded me. Ah! why is not
your happiness dependent on me? How pleasingly should I be avenged
in making you happy! But the influence of barren friendship will not
produce it; it is love alone can realize it.
This word alarms you; and, pray, why? A tender attachment, a stronger
union, congenial thoughts, the same happiness as the same sorrows; what
is there in this that is foreign to you? Yet such is love; such is, at
least, the passion you have inspired, and which I feel. It is it that
calculates without interest, and rates the actions according to their
merit, and not their value, the inexhaustible treasure of sensitive
souls; every thing becomes precious formed for it or by it.
Those striking truths, so easy to put in practice, what have they in
them frightful? What fears can a man of sensibility occasion you, to
whom love will never permit any other happiness than yours. It is now
the only vow I make. I would sacrifice every thing to fulfil it, except
the sentiment it inspires, which, if you even consent to admit, you
shall regulate at will. But let us not suffer it to part us, when it
ought to reunite us, if the friendship you have offered me is not a
futile word. If, as you told me yesterday, it is the softest sentiment
your soul is capable of, let it stipulate between us; I shall not
challenge its decree: but in erecting it the judge of love, let it,
at least, consent to hear its defence. To refuse to admit it would be
unjust, which is not the characteristic of friendship.
A second conversation will not be attended with more inconvenience than
the first; chance may furnish the opportunity; you might even appoint
the time. I will readily believe I am wrong: but would you not rather
recall me by reason, than to combat my opinion? And do you doubt my
docility? If I had not been interrupted, perhaps I had already been
brought over to your opinion; for your power over me knows no bounds.
I will acknowledge, that this invincible power to which I have
surrendered, without daring to examine the irresistible charm that
gives you the ascendancy over my thoughts and actions, often alarms me;
and, perhaps, this conversation that I now solicit may be formidable
to me. Perhaps, after being bound down by my promises, I shall see
myself reduced to consume with a flame which I well feel can never be
extinguished, without even daring to implore your assistance. Ah! for
heaven’s sake, Madam, do not abuse your power over me: but if it will
make you happier, if I shall appear more worthy of you, how much will
my pains be softened by those consoling ideas! Yes, I feel it. Again
to converse with you, is furnishing you with stronger arms against me:
it is submitting myself entirely to your will. It is easier to make a
defence against your letters; it is true, they are your sentiments: but
you are not present to give them their full force; yet the pleasure
of hearing you induces me to defy the danger; at least, I shall have
the happiness of thinking I have done every thing for you even against
myself, and my sacrifices will become a homage; too happy, in being
able to convince you in a thousand shapes, as I feel it, in a thousand
ways, that without self-exception, you are, and always will be, the
dearest object of my heart.
_Sept._ 23, 17—.