_The_ Viscount de Valmont _to the_ Chevalier Danceny.
I called on you twice, my dear Chevalier; but since you have thrown
off the character of a lover for the man of intrigue, you are very
properly invisible: however, your valet assured me you would be at
home to-night; that you had ordered him to expect you. I, who am well
acquainted with your designs, immediately conjectured it would be but
for a short time for fashion’s sake, and that you would immediately
pursue your victorious career. Go on; I must applaud you: but,
perhaps, you will be tempted to alter your course for this night. You
are yet acquainted with only half your business; I must let you into
the other half, and then you will resolve. Take time, then, to read
my letter. It will not dissipate you from your enjoyments; on the
contrary, its object is to give you your choice.
If you had opened your mind confidentially to me; if you had told me
the part of your secrets you left me to guess at, I should with my
zeal, and less awkwardness, have smoothed the path of your progression.
But let us set out from this point. Whatever resolution you take would,
at worst, be the summit of good fortune to any one else.
You have a rendezvous for to-night: have you not? With a charming
woman, whom you adore? For at your age, where is the woman one does
not adore for, at least, the first eight days? The field of action
should also add greatly to your enjoyment—A delicious little villa,
_which was taken for you only,_ must embellish voluptuousness with
the charms of mysteriousness and liberty. All is agreed on: you are
expected; and you are inflamed with desire to be there! All this we
both know, though you told me nothing of it. Now I will tell you what
you do not know; but you must be told.
Since my return to Paris, I have been taken up with contriving the
means of an interview between you and Mademoiselle de Volanges: I
promised it; and when I last mentioned it to you, I had reason to
expect from your answer, I may say, from your transports, I was
exerting myself in your happiness. I could not succeed alone in this
difficult undertaking: but after having settled every thing, I
left the rest with your young mistress. She found resources in her
affection, resources which escaped my experience; after all, to your
great misfortune she has succeeded. She told me this evening, for these
two days past all obstacles are removed, and your happiness depends on
yourself alone.
She flattered herself, also, for those two days, to have been able to
send you this news herself, and notwithstanding her mama’s absence
you would have been admitted: but you never once showed yourself! and
I must farther tell you, whether from reason or capriciousness, the
little thing did not seem pleased at your want of assiduity. At last
she found means to see me, and made me promise to deliver you the
enclosed letter as soon as possible. From the eagerness she expressed,
I would venture to lay a wager she gives you an assignation this
night; however, I promised her, upon honour and friendship, you should
have the tender summons in the course of the day, and neither can or
will break my word.
Now, young gentleman, how will you behave in this business? Placed
between coquetry and love, pleasure and happiness, which will you
choose? If I was writing to the Danceny of three months ago, or even
the Danceny of a week past, certain of the emotions of his heart, I
should be certain of his proceedings: but the Danceny of the day,
carried away by women, hunting after intrigue, and, according to
custom, a little profligate, will he prefer a timorous young girl, who
has nothing but beauty innocence, and love, to the allurements of a
common _intriguer?_
For my part, my dear friend, I think, even in your new system, which,
I confess, I am not much averse to, circumstances would decide the
preference to the lover. First, it is an additional conquest, then
the novelty is attracting, and the fear of losing the fruits of your
addresses, by neglecting to gather them; for to take it in this point
of view, it would really be an opportunity missed, which is not always
to be regained, especially in a first weakness: often in this case, a
moment of ill humour, a jealous suspicion, even less, may prevent the
finest conquest. Sinking virtue will sometimes grasp at a twig; and
once escaped, will be on its guard, and not easily surprised.
On the other hand, you hazard nothing; not even a rupture; at most, a
little quarrel: then your purchase with a little trouble the pleasure
of a reconciliation; for what other resource has a woman you have
already enjoyed but compliance? What would she get by severity? The
privation of pleasure, without profit, for her glory.
If, as I suppose, you make love your choice, which appears to me,
also, that of reason, I think it would be more prudent not to send
any apology for the disappointment of the rendezvous; leave her in
expectancy; for if you venture to give a reason, she will, perhaps,
be tempted to dive into the truth. Women are curious and obstinate.
All may be discovered: I myself, you see, am now an example of this
truth. But if you let her remain in hope, which will be supported by
vanity, it will not be lost until a long time after the proper hour for
information is over; then to-morrow you will have time to choose the
insurmountable obstacle that detained you: you may have been sick, dead
if necessary, or any thing else that has almost made you frantic, and
all will be made up.
But which ever side you incline to, I only beg you will inform me; and
as I am totally unconcerned, I will always think you have done right.
Adieu, my dear friend!
All I have to add is, I regret M. de Tourvel. I am in a state of
desperation at being separated from her; and I would lay down one
half my life, to devote the other to her. Ah! believe me, there is no
felicity but in love.
_Paris, Dec._ 5, 17—.