_The_ Marchioness de Merteuil _to the_ Viscount de Valmont.
It was not for want of time, that I did not answer your letter of the
19th, Viscount, but plainly because it put me out of temper, and did
not contain a single syllable of common sense. I thought it then the
best way to leave it in oblivion—but since you seem fond of this
production, and the sublime ideas it contains, that you construe my
silence into consent, it is necessary you should have my opinion
explicitly.
I may have heretofore formed the design of singly performing the
functions of a whole seraglio; but it never entered my head to become
only a part of one; this I thought you knew, now, that you cannot plead
ignorance, you may readily conceive how ridiculous your proposition
must appear to me. Should I sacrifice an inclination, and a new one,
for you? And in what manner, pray? Why, waiting for my turn, like a
submissive slave, the sublime favours of your _highness_. When, for
example, you was inclined to relax for a moment from _that unknown
charm_ that the _adorable, the celestial_ M. de Tourvel only had made
you feel;—or when you dread to risk with the _engaging Cecilia_, the
superior idea you wished her to preserve for you;—then condescending
to stoop to me, you will seek pleasures less violent, but of not much
consequence, and your inestimable bounty, though scarce, must fill the
measure of my felicity. Certainly you stand high in your own opinion;
and my modesty nor my glass have yet prevailed on me to think I am
sunk so low. This may be owing to my wrong way of thinking; but I beg
you will be persuaded I have more imaginations of the same kind.
One especially, which is, that _Danceny, the school-boy, the whiner,_
totally taken up with me, sacrificing, without making a merit of it,
his first love, even before it was enjoyed, and loving me to that
excess that is usual with those at his age, may contribute more to my
happiness and pleasure than you—I will even take the liberty to add,
that if I had the inclination to give him a partner, it should not be
you, at least now.
Perhaps you’ll ask me why? Probably I should be at a loss for a
reason; for the same whim that would give you the preference, might
also exclude you. However, politeness requires I should inform you of
my motive—I think you must make too many sacrifices; and instead of
being grateful, as you certainly would expect, I should be inclined
to think you still owed me more—You must therefore be sensible, our
manner of thinking being so opposite, we can by no means unite: I fear
it will be some time, nay a great while, before I change my opinion.
When that happens, I promise to give you notice:—Until then, let me
advise you to take some other measures, and keep your kisses for those
to whom they will be more agreeable.
You say _adieu, as formerly!_ but formerly, if I remember, you
set a greater value on me than to appoint me entirely to the
third characters; and was content to wait until I answered in the
affirmative, before you was certain of my consent: don’t be angry
then, if instead of saying adieu, as formerly, I say adieu, as at
present.
Your servant, Viscount.
_The castle of_ ——, _Oct._ 31, 17—.