_The_ Viscount de Valmont _to the_ Marchioness de Merteuil.
What, then, my charming friend, are those sacrifices you think I would
not make to your pleasure? Let me only know them; and if I hesitate to
offer them to you, I give you leave to refuse the homage. What opinion
have you of late conceived of me, when even favourably inclined, you
doubt my sentiments or inclinations? Sacrifices that I would not or
could not make! So you think I am in love, subdued! The value I set on
the success, you suspect is attached to the person. Ah! thank heaven, I
am not yet reduced to that, and I offer to prove it. I will prove it,
if even it should be at Madame de Tourvel’s expence. Certainly after
that you cannot have a doubt remaining.
I may, I believe, without committing myself, give up some time to a
woman, who, at least, has the merit of being of a cast rarely met. The
dead season, perhaps, when this adventure took its rise, was another
reason to give myself totally up to it; even now that the grand current
of company scarcely begins to flow, it is not surprising my time is
almost entirely taken up with her. I beg you will also recollect, it
is scarce eight days I enjoy the fruits of three months labour. I have
often indulged longer with what has not been so valuable, and had not
cost me so much; and yet you never from thence drew any conclusions
against me.
Shall I tell you the real cause of my assiduity? It is this. She is
naturally of a timid disposition; at first she doubted incessantly of
her happiness, which was sufficient to disturb it; so that I but just
begin to observe how far my power extends in this kind. This I was
curious to know, and the occasions are not so readily offered as one
may think.
In the first place, pleasure is nothing but mere pleasure with a great
number of women, and never any thing else; with them, whatever titles
they think proper to adorn us with, we are never but factors, simple
commissioners, whose activity is all their merit, and among whom he who
performs most is always esteemed the best.
In another class, the most numerous now-a-days, the celebrity of the
lover, the pleasure of carrying him from a rival, the dread of a
reprisal again, totally engage the women. Thus we are concerned more or
less in this kind of happiness which they enjoy; but it depends more
on circumstances than on the person: it comes to them by us, and not
from us.
It was then necessary to find a woman of delicacy and sensation to make
my observations on, whose sole concern should be love, and in that
passion be absorbed by the lover; whose emotions, disdaining the common
track, should fly from the heart to the senses; who I have viewed, (I
don’t mean the first day) rise from the bed of delight all in tears,
and the instant after recover voluptuousness by a word that touched her
soul. She must also have united that natural candour, which habitude
had made insurmountable, and would not suffer her to dissemble the
least sentiment of her heart. You must agree with me, such women are
scarce; and I am confident, if I had not met this one, I never should
have found another.
Therefore it is not at all surprising she should have fascinated me
longer than another; and if the time I spend makes her happy, perfectly
happy, why should I refuse it, especially when it is so agreeable
to me? But because the mind is engaged, must the heart be enslaved?
Certainly not. And the value I set on this adventure will not prevent
my engaging in others, or even sacrificing this to some more agreeable
one.
I am even so much at liberty, that I have not neglected the little
Volanges, to whom I am so little attached. Her mother brings her
to town in three days, and I have secured my communication since
yesterday; a little money to the porter, a few soft speeches to the
waiting maid, did the business. Would you believe it? Danceny never
thought of this simple method. Where, then, is the boasted ingenuity
of love? Quite the contrary; it stupifies its votaries. Shall I not,
then, know how to preserve myself from it? Be not uneasy, in a few days
I shall divide the impression, perhaps rather too strong, it made on
me, and weaken it; if one will not do, I will increase them.
Nevertheless, I shall be ready to give up the young pensioner to her
discreet lover, when you think proper. I can’t see you have any longer
reason to oppose it. I freely consent to render poor Danceny this
signal service: upon my word, it is but trifling, for all those he has
done for me. He is now in the greatest anxiety to know whether he will
be admitted at Madame de Volanges’s. I keep him as easy as possible,
by promising some how or other to gratify him one of those days; in
the mean time, I take upon me to carry on the correspondence, which he
intends to resume on his Cecilia’s arrival. I have already six of his
letters, and shall have one or two more before the happy day. This lad
must have very little to do.
However, let us leave this childish couple, and come to our own
business, that I may be entirely engaged with the pleasing hope your
letter has given me. Do you doubt of fixing me yours? If you do, I
shall not forgive you. Have I ever been inconstant? Our bands have been
loosened, but never broken; our pretended rupture was an error only of
the imagination; our sentiments, our interests, are still the same.
Like the traveller who returned undeceived, I found out, as he did, I
quitted happiness to run after hope.[1] The more strange lands I saw,
the more I I loved my country. No longer oppose the idea, or sentiment
rather, that brings you back to me. After having tried all manner of
pleasures in our different excursions, let us sit down and enjoy the
happiness of knowing, that none is equal to what we have experienced,
and that we shall again find more delicious.
Adieu, my lovely friend! I consent to wait your return; however, hasten
it as much as possible, and do not forget how much I wish for it.
_Paris, Nov._ 8, 17—.
[1] Du Belloi’s tragedy of the Siege of Calais.