And do not imagine that the more or less numerous exceptions one could cite can disprove these general truths in any way! They have as their guarantee public opinion, which for men alone has differentiated between inconstancy and infidelity. A distinction they glory in, rather than being humiliated by it, as they should be; and one which has never been adopted by our sex except by those depraved women who are a disgrace to it and to whom all means seem good, if they will save them from the painful consciousness of their own degradation.
I thought, my dear girl, that it might be useful to you to have these thoughts to place beside the fantastical ideas of perfect happiness with which love never fails to abuse our imagination; false hopes to which one clings even when one sees one must abandon them and whose loss aggravates and multiplies the pain that is already only too real, because inseparable from deep passion! This task of alleviating your sorrows or of diminishing their number is the only one I can, or wish to, fulfil at the moment. When the malady is incurable, advice can be only on the subject of the regimen. All I ask is that you remember that to pity a sick person is not the same as to blame her. Ah, who are we to blame one another? Let us leave the right of judgement to Him who alone reads our hearts. I even dare believe that in His paternal sight a host of virtues may redeem one weakness.
But I beg you, my dear friend, defend yourself above all against these violent resolutions which do not indicate your strength so much as a total loss of courage. Do not forget that, as you make another person the possessor of your life – to use your own expression – you have not deprived your friends of the part that belonged to them and that they will continue to demand of you.
Farewell, dear daughter. Think of your loving mother sometimes, and be assured that you will always be above all else the object of her tender thoughts.
From the Chateau de —, 4 November 17**
LETTER 131
The Marquise de Merteuil to the Vicomte de Valmont
Good for you, Vicomte. I am bettter pleased with you this time than last. But now let us talk as good friends, and I hope to persuade you that for you as well as me the arrangement you seem to be wanting would be absolute folly.
Have you not yet noticed that pleasure, which is indeed the one and only reason why the two sexes come together, is nevertheless insufficient to forge a relationship between them? And that if it is preceded by desire which attracts, it is succeeded by disgust which repels? This is a law of nature that love alone can change. But can one have love whenever one wants? Yet it must always be present. And that necessity would be truly embarrassing if one had not perceived that fortunately it is enough for it to exist on one side only. The difficulty therefore becomes halved without much being lost thereby. In fact, one party enjoys the happiness of loving and the other that of pleasing, the latter rather less intense, it is true, but to it is added the pleasure of being unfaithful, which evens things out. And so it is satisfactory all round.
But tell me, Vicomte, which of us two will take responsibility for deceiving the other? You know the story about those two gamblers who realized as they played that they were both cardsharpers: ‘We shall not win anything,’ they told each other. ‘Let us divide the stakes between us.’ And they abandoned the game. Believe me, we must follow their wise example and not waste time that we can so usefully employ elsewhere.
To prove to you that it is your interests that are influencing my decision as much as my own, and that I am not acting out of pique or on an impulse, I am not going back on the reward we agreed. I feel perfectly sure that we shall be enough for each other for one night, and I am even certain that it will be so good that we shall be sorry to see it end. But do not let us forget that this regret is necessary to our happiness. And, however sweet the illusion, let us not suppose that it can last.
As you see, I am fulfilling my part of the bargain without you having done what you said you would do. For, after all, I was supposed to have the first letter from the celestial prude. Either you intend to keep your part of the bargain or you are forgetting the terms, which concern you perhaps less than you would have me believe, but I have received nothing, absolutely nothing. However, unless I am much mistaken, the loving devotee must write a lot of letters. What else does she do when she is on her own? Surely she has not enough wit to amuse herself? So I might make a few little complaints about you, if I wished. But I shall let them go, to make up for the slightly bad mood you may have detected in my last letter.
Now, Vicomte, all that remains is to ask you a favour. And I ask it as much for your benefit as mine. It is to delay for the moment what I desire perhaps as much as you, but I think will have to be put off until I get back to Town.4 For one reason, we should not have the necessary freedom here. And for another, I should be running rather a risk. For it requires but a little jealousy to attach this gloomy Belleroche even more firmly to me, although he is at present only hanging by a thread. He already has to whip himself into loving me. It has got to the point where I am now putting as much malice as prudence into the caresses I lavish upon him. But at the same time you quite see that this is not the sacrifice to make for you! A reciprocal infidelity will make the pleasure much more intense.
Do you know I sometimes regret we are reduced to doing these things! In the time when we were lovers, for I believe it was love, I was happy. Were you too, Vicomte?…But why must we think about a happiness which can never return? No, whatever you say, it is impossible to go back. In the first place I should demand sacrifices that you would surely not want or be able to give, and which quite possibly I should not deserve. And then again, how to be sure of you? Oh no, no, I definitely do not wish to entertain the idea. And in spite of my pleasure at this moment in writing to you I prefer to leave you at once.
Farewell, Vicomte.
From the Chateau de —, 6 November 17**
LETTER 132
The Présidente de Tourvel to Madame de Rosemonde
I am so deeply grateful for your goodness towards me, Madame, that I should open up my heart entirely to you were I not held back in some way by the fear of defiling what I accept. Why, when I see how precious your kindness is, must I feel at the same time that I am no longer worthy of it? I may at least express my gratitude. I admire above all your indulgent virtue, which views weakness as something only to be sympathized with, whose irresistible charm holds such gentle yet powerful sway over my heart, along with the charms of love itself.
But do I still deserve a friendship which is no longer sufficient for my happiness? I say the same about your advice. I feel how valuable it is yet cannot follow it. And how should I not believe in perfect happiness when I am experiencing it at this moment? Yes, if men are like you say, we should flee from them, for they are detestable. But how unlike Valmont they are! They may have in common these violent feelings, which you call passions, but how far these feelings are exceeded in him by his extreme delicacy! O my friend, you speak to me of sharing my pain. Then enjoy my happiness; it is love I owe it to, and the object of my love makes its value so much greater! You love your nephew, you say, and perhaps have a weak spot for him? Ah, if only you knew him as I do! I idolize him, and that is still a great deal less than he deserves. No doubt he has been led into making some mistakes, he admits it himself. But who ever knew true love like he does? What more can I say? His feelings are equal to the feelings he inspires.
You are going to think that this is one of those fantastical ideas with which love never fails to abuse our imagination: but in that case why should he have become more loving and eager now that he has nothing more to obtain from me? I admit that previously I found in him a deliberation, a detachment, which rarely left him and which, in spite of myself, often put me in mind of the false and cruel impression that people had given me of him. But ever since he has been able to give himself up without constraint to the impulses of his heart, he seems to divine all the desires of my own. Who knows, we may have been born for one another! My happiness was perhaps destined to be nece
ssary for his! Ah, if this is an illusion, may I die before it is over.5 But no, I want to live to cherish him, to adore him. Why should he stop loving me? What other woman would he make as happy as me? I know in my own heart the happiness one gives is the strongest bond; that alone is truly binding. Yes, it is this delightful feeling that ennobles love, that in a sense purifies it and renders it truly worthy of a loving and generous spirit such as Valmont’s.
Farewell, my dear, kind and honourable friend. I should like to write more, but it is not possible. This is the time he promised to come and I can think of nothing else. Forgive me! But you desire my happiness, and it is so great at this moment, I am scarcely able to bear it.
Paris, 7 November 17**
LETTER 133
The Vicomte de Valmont to the Marquise de Merteuil
So what are these sacrifices you believe I would not make, my love, and yet whose reward would be to please you? Let me know what they are, and if I hesitate to offer them to you, you may refuse my homage. What opinion have you formed of me lately if you doubt my feelings or my capacities even when you are being kind to me? Sacrifices which I would not or could not make! So do you believe I am in love, enslaved? And the value I have placed upon victory, do you suspect me of now attaching it to the vanquished? Ah, thank God, I am not yet reduced to that state, and I offer proof of that. Yes, I shall prove it even if it were to be at Madame de Tourvel’s expense. Surely after that you will not still be in any doubt.
I have, I believe, without compromising myself spent some time on a woman who has at least the merit of belonging to a type one rarely sees. Perhaps, too, this affair having taken place in the off-season, I have devoted more attention to it. And even now when the social whirl has scarcely begun again, it is not surprising that I am almost entirely occupied with it. But remember that I have had not quite one week to enjoy the fruit of three months of labour. So often I have spent longer on what was worth much less and did not cost me so much!…And you have never because of that drawn such conclusions about me.
But do you want to know what the real cause of my enthusiasm for her is besides? Here it is. This woman is naturally shy. At the beginning she had doubts about her happiness, and those doubts were enough to destroy it. So much so that I have scarcely begun to see how far my powers in this direction will stretch. It is, however, something that I have been curious to find out. And the opportunity does not come along as often as one might think.
In the first place, for many women pleasure is always pleasure and never anything else. And with those women, whatever title they bestow on us, we are only ever servants, mere functionaries, whose whole merit resides in activity; the man who does best is always the one who does most.
Another class of women, and perhaps they are the most numerous today, are occupied almost totally with the prestige of the lover, the pleasure of having taken him away from a rival, the fear of seeing him carried off in turn by someone else. Of course we play some part, more or less, in the happiness they enjoy, but it is more dependent upon circumstance than on the person. It comes to them through, but not from, us.
So for my observations I needed to find a delicate and sensitive woman who made love her unique business and who, in love itself, saw no further than her lover; whose emotions, far from following the ordinary routes, always reached her senses through her heart; whom I saw, for example (and I don’t mean from the very first day), emerge from pleasure dissolved in tears and a moment later rediscover her voluptuousness thanks to words which touched her soul. Added to this she had to have a natural candour which, because of her habit of indulging it, was indestructible and did not allow her to hide any of her true feelings. Now you will agree such women are rare. And I can quite believe that, had it not been for her, I might never have met one.
So it would be hardly surprising if she has retained my interest longer than anyone else. And if my experiments with her demand that I should make her happy, perfectly happy, why should I deny her that, especially when it serves, not contradicts, my purposes? But though the mind is occupied, does it necessarily follow that the heart is enslaved? No, of course not. So the value I allow myself to attach to this affair will not prevent me from pursuing others or even sacrificing it to more agreeable ones.
I am so free that I have not even neglected the little Volanges girl, and yet I am scarcely attached to her at all. Her mother is taking her back to Town in three days’ time. And yesterday I established my communications: a little tip to the porter and a few compliments to his wife have seen to it. Can you imagine why Danceny did not hit upon such a simple method? And yet they say love makes one ingenious! On the contrary it makes those whom it dominates stupid. And you think I am not able to resist! Oh, do not fret. In a few days I shall already have diminished, by sharing it, the perhaps too vivid impression I have experienced. And if sharing it once is not enough, I shall do so again and again.
I shall be none the less ready to give the young convent girl back to her discreet lover as soon as you decide it is proper to do so. It seems to me you have no longer any reason to prevent it. And, as for me, I agree to make this gesture to poor Danceny. Truly it is the least I owe him for everything he has done for me. At the moment he is gravely worried about whether he will be received at Madame de Volanges’s house. I calm his worries as well as I can, reassuring him that one way or another I shall make him happy at the first opportunity. And in the meantime I continue looking after the correspondence, which he wishes to resume as soon as his Cécile arrives. I already have six letters from him and I shall certainly have one or two more before the happy day. This young man really must have time on his hands!
But let us leave this childish pair and come back to us, that I may occupy myself solely with the sweet hopes that your letter has given me. Yes, of course you will see me and I should not forgive you for doubting it. Have I ever ceased being constant to you? Our bonds have been loosened but not broken. Our so-called rupture was nothing but an error of our imagination. Our feelings, interests, have none the less remained united. Like the traveller who returns disappointed, I shall recognize, as he did, that I left happiness to chase after false hopes; and I shall say like d’Harcourt:
The more I saw of foreign lands the more I longed for home.*6
So do not resist the idea or rather the feeling that brings you back to me. And, having tried all the pleasures in our different pursuits, let us enjoy the happiness of feeling that none of them compares with what we once experienced; when we rediscover it, it will be even more delightful than before!
Farewell, my charming love. I agree to await your return. But make haste, and do not forget how much I desire it.
Paris, 8 November 17**
LETTER 134
The Marquise de Merteuil to the Vicomte de Valmont
In truth, Vicomte, you are just like a child; one cannot say anything in front of them; and one cannot show them anything without them wanting to snatch at it straight away! A simple thought occurs to me, one I warned you I did not wish to consider seriously, and, just because I mentioned it, you harp on it for ever more, forcing me to hold to it when I wish to forget it, and thus make me share your crazy ideas in spite of myself! Is it kind of you to let me assume the entire burden of prudence on my own? I tell you again, and I tell myself again even more often, that the arrangement you are suggesting is absolutely impossible. Even were you to invest it with all the generosity you are showing me at present, do you not understand that I also have my tact, which would not allow me to let you make sacrifices that are injurious to your happiness?
Now is it not true, Vicomte, that you are deluding yourself about your feelings for Madame de Tourvel? It is love, or love has never existed. You deny it in a hundred ways, but you prove it in a thousand. What, for example, is this subterfuge you are using with regard to yourself (for I believe you are sincere with me) which makes you attribute to an interest in experiment your desire, that you cannot conceal or conquer, to keep this woman? One w
ould think you had never made another woman happy, perfectly happy! Oh, if you doubt that, you certainly have a very bad memory! But no, it is not that. Quite simply your heart is interfering with your reason and is deceiving itself with false arguments. But I, having a keen interest in not being deceived, am not so easily satisfied.
So while observing that, for the sake of politeness, you were careful to suppress all the words you imagined had offended me, I could see that, perhaps without realizing, you still clung to the same ideas. So it was no longer the ‘adorable, heavenly’ Madame de Tourvel, but she is an astonishing woman, delicate and sensitive and to the exclusion of all others. An exceptional woman and one whose like one will not meet again. And the same goes for that strange fascination which is not of the strongest kind. Well, so be it. But as you have not found it until now, one may suppose you will not find it again, and the loss you sustain would be no less irreparable. If these are not the certain symptoms of love, Vicomte, one should give up looking for them.
Rest assured that this time I am speaking without any rancour. I have promised myself I shall not become annoyed any more. I have realized only too clearly that it might turn out to be a dangerous pitfall. Please let us remain friends, and leave it at that. Be grateful to me only for my courage in resisting you. Yes, my courage. For it is sometimes necessary, even in avoiding a decision one feels to be bad.
Dangerous Liaisons Page 36
