As we are agreed on this point, I dare flatter myself that, in return, you will permit me to make some requests, much easier to be granted than yours, and which, notwithstanding, I don't wish to obtain but through a perfect resignation to your will.
The one, which I hope your justice will suggest, is, to name my accusers; I think the injury they have done me authorises me to demand who they are: the other request, for which I crave your indulgence, is, to permit me sometimes to renew the homage of a passion, which now, more than ever, will deserve your pity.
Reflect, Madam, that I am earnest to obey you, even at the expence of my happiness; I will go farther, notwithstanding my conviction, that you only wish my absence to rid you of the painful sight of the victim of your injustice.
Be ingenuous, Madam; you dread less the public censure, too long used to reverence you, to dare to harbour a disadvantageous opinion of you, than to be made uneasy by the presence of a man, whom it is easier to punish than to blame.
You banish me on the same principle that people turn their eyes from the miserable wretches they do not choose to relieve.
And then absence will redouble my torments; to whom but you can I relate my grievances?
From what other person am I to expect that consolation, which will become so necessary in my affliction?
Will you, who are the cause, refuse me that consolation?
Be not surprised, neither that before my departure, I should endeavour to justify my sentiments for you, nor that I shall not have the resolution to set out, until I receive the order from your own mouth.
Those reasons oblige me to request a moment's interview.
It would be in vain to think that a correspondence by letter would answer the end.
Volumes often cannot explain what a quarter of an hour's conversation will do.
You will readily find time to grant me this favour; for, notwithstanding my eagerness to obey you, as Madame de Rosemonde is well apprised of my design to spend a part of the autumn with her, I must, at all events, wait the return of the post, to pretend a letter of business obliging me to return.
Farewell, Madam; never till now did I experience the force of this expression, which recalls to me the idea of my separation from you.
If you could conceive how distressingly it affects me, my obedience would find me some favour in your sight.
Receive, however, with more indulgence, the homage of the most tender and respectful passion.
Aug. 26,17—. _____
Sequel to the Fortieth Letter.
From the VISCOUNT DE VALMONT to the MARCHIONESS DE MERTEUIL. _____
Now, my lovely friend, let us discuss this affair a little.
You readily conceive, that the virtuous, the scrupulous Madame de Tourvel, cannot grant the first of my requests—that of informing me who my accusers are, without a breach of friendship: thus, by promising every thing on that condition, I am not at all committed; and you must be very sensible, that the negative she must give me, will give me a title to all my other objects; so that, by leaving this place, I shall obtain the advantage of a regular correspondence, with her own consent; for I don't set great value upon the interview that I ask, by which I mean no more than to accustom her beforehand not to refuse other personal applications to her, when I shall have real occasion for them.
The only thing that remains to be done before my departure is, to know who are those that take the trouble to prejudice me in her opinion.
I presume it is that pedantic scoundrel her husband; I wish it may; for, as a conjugal prohibition is a spur to desire, I should be certain that from the moment of gaining her consent to write to me, I should have nothing more to fear from the husband, because she would then find herself under the necessity of deceiving him.
And if she has a confidential friend, and that friend should be against me, I think it will be necessary to raise a cause of misunderstanding between them, in which I hope to succeed: but, in the first place, I must see my way clear.
I imagined yesterday I had attained that necessary preliminary; but this woman does not act like any other.
We were in her apartment when dinner was announced.
She had just time to finish her toilet; and from her hurry, and making apologies, I observed her leave the key in her bureau; and she always leaves the key in her chamber door.
My mind was full of this during dinner. When I heard her waiting-maid coming down stairs, I instantly feigned a bleeding at the nose, and went out.
I flew to the bureau, found all the drawers open, but not a single paper; yet there is no occasion to burn them, situated as she is.
What can she do with the letters she receives? and she receives a great many.
I left nothing unexamined; all was open, and I searched every where; so that I am convinced this precious deposit is confided only to her pocket.
How they are to be got at, my mind has been fruitlessly employed ever since yesterday in contriving means: I cannot conquer my inclination to gain possession of them.
I often regret that I have not the talent of a pickpocket.
Don't you think it ought to be made a part of the education of a man of intrigue?
Would it not be humorous enough to steal a letter or a portrait of a rival, or to extract from the pocket of a prude, materials to unmask her?
But our forefathers had no ideas: it is in vain for me to rack my brains; for it only convinces me of my own inability, without furnishing me any remedy.
I returned to dinner very dissatisfied: my fair one however brought me into good humour, by her anxious enquiries on my feigned indisposition: I did not fail to assure her that I had for some short time, violent agitations, which impaired my health.
As she is persuaded the cause proceeded from her, ought she not in conscience endeavour to calm them?
Although a devotee, she has very little charity; she refuses any compliance to supplications of love; and this refusal appears to me sufficient to authorise any theft to obtain the object.
But adieu; for although I am writing to you, my mind is taken up with those cursed letters.
Aug. 27, 17—. _____
LETTER XLIII.
The Presidente DE TOURVEL to the VISCOUNT DE VALMONT. _____
Why, Sir, do you endeavour at a diminution of my gratitude to you?
Why obey me only by halves, and in some measure make a bargain of a simple, genteel act?
It is not, then, sufficient that I am sensible of its value!
You not only ask a great deal of me, but you demand what it is impossible to grant.
If my friends have talked of you to me, they could only do so from regard for me: should they even be mistaken, their intention was not the less good; and yet you require that I should repay this proof of their esteem, by giving you up their names.
I must own I have been very wrong in acquainting you of it; and I now feel it in a very sensible manner.
What would have been only candour with any one else, becomes imprudence with you, and would be a crime was I to attend to your request.