With the assistance of his passion, and a little address, they might soon be overturned, being so open to ridicule, and so opposite to fashion.
But the obstacle to this having the effect upon him is, that he thinks himself happy as he is.
First amours appear, in general, more honourable, or, as it is called, more chaste, because they are slower, and not, as is imagined, from delicacy or timidity: in those, the heart, astonished by an insensible instinct, stops, as it were, to enjoy the delight it feels; and this powerful delight takes such strong possession of a young mind, as absorbs it, and renders it callous to every other kind of enjoyment.
This axiom is so true, that a libertine when in love, if such a being exists, becomes from that moment less anxious of enjoyment; and to sum up all, between the behaviour of Danceny and the little Volanges, and mine with the prude, Madame de Tourvel, the difference is only in degree.
A few well-timed obstacles thrown in the young man's way, might have been serviceable; for obstacles, accompanied with mystery, have a wonderful effect in inspiring boldness.
I am apprehensive you have hurt our scheme by being too useful to him; your conduct would have been excellent with an experienced man, who had no view beyond desire: but you might have foreseen, that a youth of honourable dispositions, and immersed in love, the greatest value of favours, is to be proof against love; and consequently, the more certain he might be of being beloved, the less enterprising he would be.
What is to do now, I know not; but I am of opinion, the girl cannot be caught before marriage, and that our labour will be lost.
I am very sorry for it, but there is no remedy.
Whilst I am writing a dissertation on this business, you are better employed with your Chevalier.
That recalls to my memory your promise to commit an infidelity in my favour; I have it in writing, and I don't intend it should be waste paper.
I will allow, the time of payment is not expired: it would be a generous act in you not to wait the day fixed for discharging it; on my part, I would acknowledge myself your debtor for the interest.
What say you, my lovely friend; are not you tired of your constancy?
This Chevalier is a wonderful fellow, it seems.
But I am determined to compel you to acknowledge, that if you found any merit in him, it arose from your having forgot me.
Adieu, my dear friend! I embrace you as ardently as I desire to possess you.
I defy all the Chevalier's embraces to attain to an equal degree of ardour.
Sept. 5, 17—. _____
LETTER LVIII.
VISCOUNT DE VALMONT to the Presidente DE TOURVEL. _____
How is it I deserved the reproaches you make me, and the indignation you express against me?
The most violent, and yet the most respectful attachment, the most absolute submission to your will, is, in a few words, the history of my conduct and sentiments towards you.
Sinking under the weight of an unhappy passion, the only consolation left was to see you; you ordered me to depart, and I obeyed without murmuring.
For this sacrifice you permitted me to write to you, and now I am to be deprived of this only satisfaction.
But shall I then have it torn from me without a struggle?
No, certainly; it is too dear: it is the only one that remains, and I hold it from you.
You say my letters are too frequent.
I beg you will reflect, that for these ten days that I have been exiled from you, a single moment has not passed that was not taken up in thinking of you, and yet I have wrote you but two letters.
I entertain you with nothing but my mad passion.
Ah! what can I say but what I think?
All I could do, was to soften the expression; and I hope you will believe me when I assure you, I have only let you see what I could not hide.
At length you threaten to answer me no more.
And thus the man who prefers you to every thing, and whose respect is still greater than his love, you are not content to treat with the utmost severity, but add to it contempt.
But why all those threats and this wrath?
What occasion for them, when you are certain to be obeyed, even in your unjust orders?
Is it then possible for me to contradict your wishes; and have I not already proved it?
But will you abuse your power over me?
After having made me miserable, after all your injustice, will it be an easy matter for you to enjoy that tranquillity that you say is so necessary to you?
Will you never tell yourself—he made me arbitress of his fate, and I made him miserable; he implored my aid, and I did not even give him a compassionate glance—Do you know how far despair may drive me?
No.
To sooth my cares, you should know the extent of my passion, and you do not know my heart.
But to what am I made a sacrifice?
To chimerical fears.
Who inspired them?
The man who adores you; a man over whom you will ever have an absolute sway.
What do you dread, what can you dread, from a sentiment that you will always have the power to direct at your pleasure?
Your imagination creates monsters, and the fears they raise you attribute to love.
With a little confidence those fears will vanish.
A learned writer has said, that in order to dispel one's fears, it would be almost always sufficient to search the cause (It is imagined Rousseau in his Emily; but the citation is not exact, and the application that Valmont makes is false; and, perhaps, Madame de Tourvel had not read Emily).
It is to love, above all others, that this truth is applicable.
Love and your apprehensions will subside.