Paris, Dec. 6, 17—. _____
LETTER CLIX.
The MARCHIONESS DE MERTEUIL to the VISCOUNT DE VALMONT. _____
I do not like to have scurvy jests added to bad actions; it is not agreeable to my taste or manner.
When I have cause of complaint against a person, I do not ridicule, I do better; I take revenge.
However well pleased you may be with yourself now, do not forget it is not the first time you have applauded yourself beforehand; and singular, in the hope of a triumph that would escape from you, at the instant you was congratulating yourself on it.
Adieu.
Paris, Dec. 6, 17—. _____
LETTER CLX.
MADAME DE VOLANGES to MADAME DE ROSEMONDE. _____
I write this from the chamber of your unhappy friend, whose state is pretty much the same: there is to be a consultation held this afternoon, of four physicians—I need not tell you this resource is oftener a proof of the danger than the means of relief.
However, it seems her head is something better since last night—her waiting maid told me this morning, her mistress ordered her to be called about twelve: she desired they should be left alone, and dictated a pretty long letter—Julie adds, while she was folding it, Madame Tourvel was attacked with her delirium, so that the girl did not know who to direct it to.
I was at first surprised the letter itself was not sufficient to inform her; but telling me she was afraid of committing a mistake, and that her mistress had ordered her to send it away immediately, I took it upon me to open it.
There I found the enclosed writing, which is certainly not addressed to any body, being addressed to too many—Yet, I believe, our unhappy friend at first intended it for M. de Valmont, but gave way imperceptibly, to her disordered ideas.
However, I thought it ought not to be sent to any one—I send it you, as you will see better than I can tell you, the thoughts that engage the head of our patient.
Whilst she continues so intensely affected, I shall have very little hopes—the body seldom recovers when the mind is so agitated.
Adieu, my dear and worthy friend!
I am happy you are far from the dismal spectacle I have incessantly before my eyes.
Paris, Dec. 6, 17—. _____
LETTER CLXI.
The Presidente DE TOURVEL. (Dictated by her, and wrote by her waiting maid.) _____
Cruel and mischievous being! will thou never be tired persecuting me?
Is it not enough to have tormented, degraded, abased?
Will thou then rob me of the peaceful tomb?
In the gloom of this abode, where shame has drove me to bury myself, are my sufferings to have no respite; is hope to be for ever banished?
I do not require a favour I am undeserving of: I shall suffer without complaint, if my sufferings do not exceed my strength: but do not make my torments insupportable—Leave me my sorrows, and take away the cruel remembrance of the advantages I have lost.
Although thou hast ravished them from me, do not again draw the afflicting picture of them—I was happy and innocent—I gazed on thee and lost my peace—I listened to thee and was guilty—Thou cause of all my crimes, who gave thee authority to punish them?
Where are now the friends to whom I was dear?
My misfortunes have frightened them—No one dares come near me—I am oppressed and left without relief—I die and no one weeps over me—I am debarred of every consolation—Pity stops on the brink of the abyss where the criminal plunges—remorse tears my heart, and its cries are not heard.
And thou who I have injured; thou, whose esteem adds to my torment—thou who only hast a right to revenge; why art thou far from me?
Come, punish a faithless woman—Let me suffer the tortures I deserve—I should have already bowed to thy vengeance, but wanted courage to inform thee of thy shame; it was not dissimulation, it was respect.
Let this letter at least acquaint thee with my repentance.
Heaven has taken thy cause in hand, to punish an injury to which thou wast a stranger—It was heaven tied my tongue—It was heaven prevented my design, lest you should pardon a crime it was resolved to punish—It snatched me from thy commiseration, which would have opposed its judgment.
But unmerciful in its vengeance, it delivered me up to him who ruined me; at once to make me suffer for him and by him.
In vain I strive to fly from him; still he follows me—he is there; incessantly he besets me—How different from himself!
His eyes show nothing but hatred and contempt—His lips utter insult and reproach—His arms surround me only to destroy me—Is there no one will save me from his savage rage?
How! It is he!
I am not deceiv'd; it is he I see again—Oh, my lovely friend! receive me in thy tender arms; hide me in thy bosom!
It is thee; yes, it is thyself—What fatal illusion deceived me?
Ah, how have I suffered during thy absence—Let us part no more: let us never part.
Let me breathe—Feel my heart, how it beats!
Ah! it is no longer with fear, it is the soft emotion of love; why refuse my tender caresses?
Turn thy languishing eyes towards me—What are those bands you want to break?
Why those solemn preparations for death?
What can thus alter thy countenance?
Leave me! I shudder!
O, God! This monster again!
My dear friends, do not abandon me—You that wanted me to avoid him; help me to resist him—And you more lenient, who promised to soften my sorrows, why do not you come to me?
Where are you both?
If I must no longer see you, at least answer this letter, let me hear you still love me.