_The_ Marchioness de Merteuil _to the_ Viscount de Valmont.
Very well, Viscount; come, I am better pleased with you than I was
before: now let us converse in a friendly manner, and I hope to
convince you, the scheme you propose would be the highest act of folly
in us both.
Have you never observed that pleasure, which is the _primum mobile_ of
the union of the sexes, is not sufficient to form a connection between
them? and that if desire, which brings them together, precedes it,
it is nevertheless followed by disgust, which repels it—This is a
law of nature, that love alone can alter; and pray, can we have this
same love at will? It is then necessary it should be always ready,
which would have been very troublesome had it not been discovered, it
is sufficient if it exists on one side: by this means the difficulty
is lessened by half, even without apparent prejudice; for the one
enjoys the happiness of loving, the other of pleasing—not perhaps in
altogether so lively a manner, but that is compensated by deceit, which
makes the balance, and then all is right.
But say, Viscount, which of us two will undertake to deceive the other?
You know the story of the two sharpers who discovered each other at
play—“We must not prejudice ourselves,” said they; “let us club for
the cards, and leave off.” Let us follow this prudent advice, nor lose
time together, which we may so usefully employ elsewhere.
To convince you that I consult your interest as much as my own, and
that I am not actuated either by ill humour or capriciousness, I
will not refuse your reward—I am very sensible one night will be
sufficient; and do not in the least doubt, we shall know how to make it
so pleasing, the morning will come with regret—but let us not forget,
this regret is necessary to happiness; although the illusion may be
enchanting, nor flatter ourselves it can be durable.
You see I fulfil my promise in my turn, and even before you perform the
conditions stipulated—for I was to have had your celestial prude’s
first letter. Whether you do not choose to part with it, or that you
have forgot the conditions of a bargain that is not so interesting to
you as you would have me think, I have not received any thing; and I am
much mistaken, or the tender devotee must have wrote a great deal; for
how can she employ her time alone? she certainly has not sense enough
for dissipation? If I was inclined, then, I have room to make you some
little reproaches, which I shall pass over in silence, in consideration
of the petulance I perhaps showed in my last letter.
Nothing more remains, now, Viscount, but to make you a request, and it
is as much for you as myself; that is, to defer the time, which perhaps
I wish for as much as you, but which I think may be put off until my
return to town. On the one hand, it would be very inconvenient here;
and on the other, it would be running too great a risk; for a little
jealousy would fix me with the dismal Belleroche, who no longer holds
but by a thread. He is already struggling to love me; we are at present
so critically circumstanced, I blend as much malice as prudence in the
caresses I lavish on him; at the same time you will observe, it would
not be a sacrifice worthy of you—A reciprocal infidelity will add
power to the charm.
Do you know I regret sometimes we are reduced to those resources—At
the time we loved each other, for I believe it was love, I was
happy—and you, Viscount—but why engage our thoughts on a happiness
that can never return? No, say what you will, it is impossible—First,
I should require sacrifices that you could not or would not make; that
probably I do not deserve. Again, how is it possible to fix you? Oh,
no; I will not even think of it; and notwithstanding the pleasure I now
have in writing to you, I prefer quitting you abruptly. Adieu, Viscount.
_Castle of_ ——, _Nov._ 6, 17—.