Goodbye, darling Sophie. Tell me what you think anyway.
17
The Chevalier Danceny to Cécile Volanges 18 August 17—
Dear Mademoiselle, the pleasure I feel in writing to you and my need to reveal my feelings towards you have become too strong for me to resist. So I beg you to forgive my audacity and to hear me to the end. It’s true that there would hardly be any point in asking for your forgiveness merely to justify my feelings for you because all I am doing in fact is to reveal the overpowering effect you have had on me. And what can I say that hasn’t already been expressed by my eyes, my embarrassment, my every action, and even by my silence? So why should you be offended by a feeling that you have yourself inspired? And since you have caused it, surely it is right for me to offer it to you: it is as ardent as my soul and as innocent as yours. Was it a crime to admire your entrancing features, your fascinating gifts, your graceful charm, and the touching candour of your mind which adds so immeasurably to your other priceless qualities? No, surely not; but being not guilty is no bar to being unhappy and that will be my fate if you reject my offer of love and devotion. You are the first person ever to touch my heart so deeply. But for you, I should be, if not happy, at least at peace. Then I saw you and in a flash my peace was shattered and my happiness in jeopardy. And yet you are surprised that I look sad and you ask me why; at times, I even half-thought that you were unhappy yourself because I was. Ah, one word from you will make me blissfully happy! But before you speak, remember that one word can also plunge me into the depths of despair. It is for you to decide my fate. Through you, I shall be for ever* happy or unhappy. And in what dearer hands can I place any matter of greater concern to me?
I shall conclude as I began by begging your forgiveness and indulgence. I asked you to hear me to the end; and now I’ll be even bolder and beg you to grant me a reply. If you refuse, I shall think I have offended you, yet my heart is my pledge that I respect you as much as I love you.
PS For your reply, you can use the same method as I have used to send you this letter. I think it’s safe and convenient.*
18
Cécile Volanges to Sophie Carnay Paris, 20 August 17—
Really, Sophie! So you’re telling me off in advance for what I’m going to do! I’m already worried enough without you adding to my worries. It’s obvious, you say, that I mustn’t reply. It’s all very well for you to talk and anyway you don’t really understand the situation, you’re not here to see how things are. I’m sure that in my place you’d do the same. Certainly in theory one ought not to reply and you saw quite well from my letter yesterday that I didn’t want to either. But the fact is that I don’t think anyone has ever been in a situation like mine.
And now I’ve got to decide what to do all on my own! I was expecting Madame de Merteuil yesterday evening but she didn’t come. Everything’s conspiring against me, it was through her that I got to know him, she’s almost always there when I see him and speak to him. It’s not that I bear her a grudge but she is leaving me rather in the lurch just at an awkward time. Oh, I’m in such a fix!
Just imagine, he came to see me yesterday as usual. I was so confused that I didn’t dare look at him. He couldn’t say anything to me because Mummy was there. I felt pretty sure he’d be put out when he saw I hadn’t written to him and I couldn’t think what I could possibly do. A moment later he asked me if I’d like him to go and fetch my harp for me. My heart was beating so hard that I could only just manage to say yes. When he came back it was even worse. I only took a quick peep at him and he didn’t look at me at all but his face had the sort of expression as if he wasn’t feeling very well. It made me feel very sorry for him. He began tuning my harp and when he handed it over to me he said: ‘Oh, Mademoiselle …’, just those two words but in such a way that I was quite upset. I started running my fingers over the strings without knowing what I was doing.
Mummy asked weren’t we going to sing something. He excused himself, saying he wasn’t feeling very well, so as I didn’t have any excuse, I had to sing. I wished I’d never been able to sing at all. I deliberately chose a tune I didn’t know because I was quite sure I wouldn’t be able to sing anything properly and it would have been noticed. Luckily for me a visitor called and as soon as I heard a carriage pulling up I stopped and asked him to put my harp away. I was terribly afraid he wouldn’t come back, but he did.
While Mummy and the lady who’d called were chatting, I tried to take another quick peep at him. Our eyes met and I couldn’t look away. A moment later I saw tears in his eyes and he had to turn away so as not to be seen. So then I couldn’t bear it any longer and I felt I was going to start crying myself. I went out of the room and quickly wrote on a bit of paper: ‘Please don’t look so sad, I promise I’ll write to you.’ Surely you can’t say there’s anything wrong in that? And anyway I just couldn’t help myself. I put my note between the strings of my harp, like his letter, and came back into the drawing-room. I was feeling calmer and very anxious for our visitor to go. Fortunately she had other calls to make and left soon afterwards. As soon as she’d gone, I said I’d like to have my harp again and asked him to go and fetch it. I could tell by the way he looked that he didn’t suspect anything. But didn’t he look happy when he came back! When he put the harp down in front of me, he placed himself so that Mummy couldn’t see and took my hand and squeezed it… but in such a way! … It was only for a second but I can’t tell you the pleasure it gave me. All the same, I took my hand away, so I’ve nothing to be ashamed of.
So now you realize, Sophie dear, that I can’t possibly not write to him because I’ve promised. And anyway, I’m not going to make him miserable again because it makes me unhappier than him. If it was for something wrong, I’d certainly not do it, but what harm can there be in writing, particularly if it’s to stop someone being unhappy? What does worry me is I don’t know how to write a proper letter but he’ll understand that it’s not my fault. And anyway I’m sure the fact that it’s from me will be enough to make him glad.*
Goodbye, dear, dear Sophie. If you think I’m wrong you must tell me but I don’t think I am. It’s nearly time for me to write to him so you can imagine how fast my heart’s beating. But I’ll have to go ahead with it now I’ve given my word. Goodbye.
19
Cécile Volanges to the Chevalier Danceny Paris, 20 August 17—
Dear Chevalier Danceny, yesterday you looked so sad and made me feel so sorry for you that I couldn’t stop myself from promising to write to you though today I feel that I ought not to. However, as I’ve given my word I don’t want to break it, which must show how friendly I feel towards you. Now that you know that, I hope you will not ask me to write to you again. I hope too that you won’t tell anybody that I did write to you because I would certainly get told off and that would make me very unhappy. Above all, I hope you will not think badly of me, that would make me unhappiest of all. I promise you I would never have agreed to do something like this for anyone else but you and I hope you can now do something to oblige me and stop looking so sad, because that completely spoils my pleasure at seeing you. You see, Monsieur Danceny, that I am speaking very frankly. I should like nothing better than for us always to remain good friends but please don’t write to me again. Yours truly, etc.
20
The Marquise de Merteuil to the Vicomte de Valmont Paris, 20 August 17—
Ah, you’re trying to get round me, you naughty man, because you’re afraid I shall make fun of you! All right, I’ll let you off; you’ve been writing such dotty things to me that I suppose I shall have to forgive the good behaviour imposed on you by your judge’s wife. I doubt if my knight would be so forbearing; he’s not the sort of man likely to approve any renewal of our lease; he’d be positively unfriendly towards your mad idea. All the same, it gave me a good laugh and I was really sorry I couldn’t share the joke with anyone else. If you’d been there, I can’t imagine what my good humour might not have led to… But having had time
to think it over, I shall harden my heart. Not that I shall always say no but I shall play a delaying action. And I’m right: my vanity might become involved and once my blood’s up, we could never be certain where things might end. I’m the sort of woman who’d get you under her thumb again and make you forget your judicial wife; and if an unworthy woman like me were to spoil your taste for virtue, what a scandal that would be! To obviate such a risk, here are my conditions:
As soon as you’ve had your pious beauty and produced proof of it to me, come into my arms, I’m yours. But as you are aware, in matters of consequence, proof is required in writing. This arrangement means that, in the first place, I shall be a reward rather than a consolation prize and I prefer it that way; in the second place, your success will have the added zest of paving the way for your infidelity. So do come as soon as you can, bringing with you a warrant testifying to your conquest, just as gallant knights of yore laid their shining trophies of victory at their ladies’ feet. But seriously, I’m really curious to see what a prude can write after such an event, what sort of language she can clothe it in when in other respects she’s been left rather bare … I leave it to you to judge whether you think I’m setting too high a price on my favours, but I must warn you, I’m not offering any discounts. Until such time, my dear Vicomte, you must be content for me to remain true to my own knight and beguile my time making him happy even if it means leaving you a trifle disgruntled.
Incidentally, were I a less moral woman than I am, I think my knight would at the moment be facing a dangerous rival: the little Volanges girl. The child is adorable and I’m quite infatuated. Unless I’m mistaken, she’s shaping up to become one of our very smartest women. I can see her little heart starting to open up and it’s a delight to watch. She’s already madly in love with Danceny, without realizing it. Although he’s very much in love himself, he’s young and still shy and can’t pluck up the courage to tell her. They both worship me. The girl in particular is keen to confide in me, especially during the last few days which have really been weighing her down and I’d have done her a great kindness by offering her a little help. But I remember that she’s still a child and I mustn’t compromise my position. Danceny has spoken to me rather more openly but I’ve made my mind up as to him and I’m refusing to listen. As for the girl, I’ve often been tempted to give her a few lessons; I’d enjoy doing Gercourt that favour. He’s giving me the chance to do it because he’s stuck in Corsica until October. I have a mind to take advantage of that opportunity and we can deliver him a properly house-trained young woman and not his innocent convent girl. And the sheer impertinence and conceit of the man to be sleeping the sleep of the just when a woman he has wronged is waiting to settle her account with him! You know, if that girl were here at this very moment, I don’t answer for what I wouldn’t tell her!
Goodbye, Valmont; goodnight and good hunting. But for Heaven’s sake, do get on with it. Don’t forget that if you don’t have that woman, your other women will feel ashamed at having had you …
21
The Vicomte de Valmont to the Marquise de Merteuil From the Château de—–, 20 August 17—
Fair lady: At last I have made a step forward and even if I’m not yet home and dry, I can see that at least I’m heading in the right direction and have removed my fear of being on the wrong track. I have finally declared my love and though greeted by a very dogged silence, I did obtain perhaps the least ambiguous and most gratifying admission. But let’s not anticipate. To start from the beginning:
You will remember that my comings and goings were being spied on. Well, I decided to turn this scandalous proceeding into an edifying experience for all concerned. This is how I set about it. I got my man to rout out for me some poor wretch in need of help. It didn’t prove difficult. Yesterday afternoon he informed me that this morning the whole of a family’s furniture was due to be seized for non-payment of taxes. I made sure that the family concerned didn’t have any daughter or wife who by her age or looks might have raised any suspicions concerning the purity of my motives and having gained all the necessary information, during supper I declared my intention of going shooting next day. And here I must be fair to Madame de Tourvel. No doubt she had qualms as to the instructions she had given, and even if she was too weak to resist her curiosity, she did at least have the strength to try to dissuade me: it was going to be frightfully hot; my health might suffer; I wouldn’t shoot anything and I’d be tiring myself out for nothing. During this exchange her eyes, which were perhaps saying rather more than she would have liked, were telling me pretty plainly that she wanted me to accept her reasons, poor though they were. As you may imagine, I took good care not to be intimidated and even refrained from responding to a minor diatribe against game-shooting and those who practise it, as well as to a slight shadow of disapproval which clouded the beauty of her heavenly features for the rest of that evening. For a moment I was afraid she might countermand her instructions and foil my plans by being too scrupulous. I was mistaken: I’d underestimated her feminine curiosity. My man was able to reassure me that very night and I went to bed at peace with the world.
I got up at dawn and left the château but I’d hardly gone thirty yards before I caught sight of my spy following me. I set off carrying my gun and struck out across country towards the village I’d been told of. On the way my only pleasure was keeping the rascal following me on his toes because as he didn’t dare leave the tracks he was often forced to run hard to keep up, covering three times the distance I had to walk. Giving him all this exercise made me extremely hot too, so I sat down under a tree. Do you know, the fellow had the colossal cheek to slip behind a bush less than a dozen yards away and sit down as well? For a second I was tempted to take a pot-shot at him, which, although I was only using birdshot, would have taught him a salutary lesson on the dangers of being inquisitive. Luckily for him, I reminded myself that he was a useful and indeed indispensable part of my plan, so he got off scot-free.
Meanwhile, here I am at the village where I observe an uproar; I enquire what’s happening; I’m told the situation; I send for the tax-collector and, yielding to my compassionate and generous heart, I magnanimously pay over fifty-six francs for which amount five people were being condemned to destitution and despair. This very simple gesture gave rise to a chorus of blessings which you can’t imagine, showered on me from all sides! The tears of gratitude streamed from the eyes of the venerable head of this unhappy family, transfiguring the old patriarch’s countenance which a moment before had been hideously distorted by frantic grief! I was contemplating this sight when another younger yokel, holding a woman and two children by the hand, flung himself towards me, saying to them: ‘Let us all give grateful thanks to this living image of God!’ And before I knew where I was, I was surrounded by this whole family prostrate at my knees. I must confess to a moment of weakness: my eyes filled with tears and in spite of myself I felt a delicious emotion stirring inside me. I was amazed at the pleasure a good deed can produce and I’m tempted to think that those so-called virtuous people don’t deserve quite as much credit as we’re invited to believe. Be that as it may, I thought it was only fair to repay those poor folk for the pleasure they’d just given me. I’d brought ten louis* with me which I now handed over to them. They began thanking me all over again b it this time it was less touching: their heartfelt response had been when they saw the necessaries of life provided; the rest was merely expressing their surprise and thanks at my superfluous generosity.
All the same, in the midst of this family’s garrulous blessings, I did look somewhat like the hero in the final scene of a drama.* Please note particularly the presence, in the crowd, of my faithful shadow. My goal was achieved; I tore myself away from them all and returned to the château. All things considered, I have reason to feel pleased with my scheme. Certainly that woman is well worth my trouble;* it will stand me in good stead one day. And since I shall, so to speak, have paid for her in advance, I needn’t feel any s
cruples about disposing of her as I think fit.
I was forgetting to tell you that in order to ensure the greatest possible benefit, I asked all those good folk to pray God to help me in all my doings. And you are now about to hear whether their prayers have to some extent not already been answered … But I’ve just been told that supper is served and if I left this letter unfinished until I came back, it would miss the post. So the rest by the next post. It’s a nuisance because the rest is the best part… Farewell, dear lady: you’re depriving me of several moments of the pleasure of her company.
22
Madame de Tourvel to Madame de Volanges From the Château de—–, 20 August 17—
Dear Madame de Volanges, I am sure you will be more than pleased to hear of an action by Monsieur de Valmont which seems in stark contrast to everything else that other people have told you about him. It is so horrible to think badly of anyone, so distressing to see nothing but viciousness in people who would have every quality to make virtue attractive! And after all, you are so fond of showing forbearance that you can only be glad to have a reason to reverse too stern a judgement. Monsieur de Valmont seems to me to have grounds to hope for this forbearance, I’m tempted to say, this act of redress. Here are my reasons.
Les Liaisons Dangereuses Page 9
