Madame de Volanges _to_ Madame de Rosemonde.
At length, my dear and worthy friend, Madame de Merteuil’s fate is
determined; and it is such, that her greatest enemies are divided
between the indignation she deserves, and the compassion she raises. I
was right, when I wrote you it would be happy for her to have died of
the small pox. She is recovered, it is true, but horribly disfigured;
and has lost an eye. You may well imagine, I have not seen her; but I
have been informed she is a hideous spectacle.
The Marquis of —— who never loses an opportunity of saying a
sarcastical thing, speaking of her yesterday, said, that her disorder
had turned her inside out; that now her mind was painted on her
countenance. Unfortunately all present thought the remark very just.
Another event adds to her disgraces and her misfortunes: her lawsuit
came to a trial the day before yesterday, and she was cast by the
unanimous opinion of all the judges; costs of suit, damages, and
interest.
All in favour of the minors: so that the little she had exclusive of
this suit, is all swallowed, and more too by the expences.
As soon as she was informed of this news, although still ill, she set
off post in the night alone—Her people say to-day, that not one of
them would accompany her; it is imagined she has taken the road to
Holland.
This sudden flight raises the general outcry more than all the rest;
as she has carried off all her diamonds, which are a very considerable
object; and were a part of her husband’s succession; her plate, her
jewels, in short every thing she could; and has left behind her debts
to the amount of 50,000 livres—it is an actual bankruptcy.
The family are to assemble to-morrow to take some measures with
the creditors. Although a very distant relation, I have offered to
contribute, but I was not at this meeting, being obliged to assist at a
more melancholy ceremony. To-morrow my daughter will put on the habit
of novice; I hope you will not forget, my dear friend, my only motive
in agreeing to this sacrifice, is the silence you keep with me.
M. Danceny quitted Paris about a fortnight ago; it is said he is gone
to Malta, to settle: perhaps it would be yet time enough to prevent
him? My dear friend, my daughter was very culpable then! You will
undoubtedly excuse a mother being difficult in acquiescing to such a
dreadful truth.
What a fatality I am involved in for some time past, and has wounded me
in my dearest connections! My daughter and my friend.
Who can refrain being struck with horror at the misfortunes one
dangerous connection may cause, and how many sorrows and troubles would
be avoided by seriously reflecting on this point! Where is the woman
who would not fly the first advances of a seducer? What mother would
not tremble to see any other but herself speak to her daughter? But
those cool reflections never occur until after the event. And one of
the most important and generally acknowledged truths, is stifled and
useless in the vortex of our absurd manners.
Farewell, my dear and worthy friend! I now feel, our reason, which
is inadequate to prevent misfortunes, is still less to administer
consolation[1].
_Paris, Jan._ 14, 17—.
[1] Particular reasons and considerations, which we shall always think
it our duty to respect, oblige us to stop here.
We cannot at this time give the reader neither the continuation of
Mademoiselle de Volanges’ adventures, nor the sinister events which
fulfilled the miseries or ended Madame de Merteuil’s Punishment.
We shall be permitted, perhaps, some time or other, to complete this
work, but we cannot pledge ourselves to this: even if we could, we
should first think ourselves obliged to consult the taste of the
public, who have not the same reasons we have to be concerned in this
publication.