No, my sufferings shall be dear to me, if his happiness is purchased at their expence.
Doubtless, in his turn he should come back to our common father.
The almighty hand that formed him should cherish its own work.
He did not create that charming being to be reprobated.
It is me should bear the pain of my daring imprudence.
Should I not have reflected, since I was forbid loving him, I should not indulge myself in gazing on him.
My fault or misfortune is to have rejected this truth too long.
You, my dear and worthy friend, will be my witness, I submitted to this sacrifice as soon as I discovered the necessity of it: but to render it complete, there wanted the circumstance of M. de Valmont not taking any share in it.
Shall I confess to you, this is the idea that at present torments me most?
Intolerable pride! which alleviates the evils we endure, by a consciousness of those woes we cause to others!
But I will conquer this rebellious heart. I will accustom it to humiliation.
This, motive exclusive of all other considerations, made me at last consent to receive next Thursday, M. de Valmont's painful visit;—he will then tell me he no longer knows me; that the feeble, transitory impression I had made on him exists, no longer!
He will look upon me without any emotion, whilst the dread of revealing mine will cast my eyes down.
Even those very letters which he so long refused to my repeated solicitations, I shall receive from his indifference; he will return them as useless trifles he no longer cares for; and my trembling hand will receive this shameful trust from a tranquil steady one; last he will depart!—Depart for ever!—My eyes which will follow him, will not see his return to me.
Am I then reserved for all this humiliation?
Let me at least make it useful by being penetrated with a sense of my weakness.—Those letters he will no longer keep, I will lay up with care:—I will impose on myself the shame of daily reading them until my tears have defaced the last letter—and his, I will destroy, as infected with the dangerous poison which has tainted my soul.—What then is love, which makes us regret even the danger it exposes us to, and dread feeling it, even when we can no longer inspire it?
Let me fly this destructive passion, which leaves no choice between shame and misery, and often reunites them:—let prudence then replace virtue.
How distant is this Thursday still!
Why can't I instantly consummate this sorrowful sacrifice, and forget at once the cause and the object?
This visit importunes me; I repent having promised it—what occasion to see me again—what are we now to each other?
If he has offended me, I forgive him—I even congratulate him on his reformation; I praise him for it; I do more, I will follow his example; and, seduced by the same errors, his example shall reform me.
But why, when his resolution is to fly me, why begin by seeking me?
The one that is in most danger, ought they not to forget the other?
Doubtless they ought; and that shall hereafter be my sole care.
With your permission, my amiable friend, it shall be with you I will undertake this difficult task; if I should want assistance, or perhaps consolation, I will not receive it from any other—you alone understand and can speak to my heart:—Your endearing friendship will fill up my existence;—nothing will be difficult to second your cares:—I shall be indebted to you for my tranquillity, my happiness, my virtue; and the fruits of your goodness will be to have at length made made me deserving of it.
I believe I have gone very much astray in this letter, at least I think so, from the perturbed state I have been in during the whole time:—If there is a sentiment which ought to make me blush, cover it with your indulgent friendship; I submit entirely to it; I have not a wish to hide from you any emotion of my heart.
Adieu, my most respectable friend!
I hope to be able in a few days to announce that of my arrival.
Paris, Oct. 25, 17—.
LETTER CXXV.
VISCOUNT DE VALMONT to the MARCHIONESS DE MERTEUIL.
At last this haughty woman is conquered, who dared think she could resist me.—She is mine—totally mine.—She has nothing left to grant since yesterday.
My happiness is so great I cannot appreciate it, but am astonished at the unknown charm I feel:—Is it possible virtue can augment a woman's value even at the time of her weakness?—Avaunt such puerile ideas—don't we every day meet resistance more or less feigned at the first conquest?
Yet I never experienced the charm I mean; it is not love—for although I have had fits of weakness with this amazing woman, which very much resembled that pusillanimous passion, I ever subdued them and returned to my first rules—if even the scene of yesterday should have led me farther than I intended; had I partook for a moment of the intoxication I raised, that transitory illusion would have been now evaporated, yet still the same charm remains—I own I should be pleased to indulge it, if it did not give me some uneasiness:—At my age must I then be mastered like a school-boy by an unknown and involuntary sentiment?—I must first oppose and then examine it.
Perhaps I already see into the cause—the idea pleases me—I wish it may be true.
Among the multitude of women with whom I have played the part of a lover, I never met any who were not as well inclined to surrender as I was to persuade them—I used even to call those prudes who met me but halfway, in contrast to so many others, whose provoking defence is intended as a cloak to their first advances.
But here I found an unfavourable prepossession against me, afterwards confirmed on the report and advice of a penetrating woman who hated me; a natural, excessive timidity, fortified with genuine modesty; a strong attachment to virtue under the powerful direction of religion, and who had already been married two years—an unsullied character—the result of those causes, which all tended to screen her from my solicitations.
It is not any way similar to my former adventures:—a mere capitulation more or less advantageous, which is easier to be acquired than to be vain of; but this is a complete victory, purchased by a hard campaign, and decided by skilful man?uvres, therefore it is not at all surprising, this success, solely my own acquisition, should be dear to me; and the increase of pleasure I experienced in my triumph, which I still feel, is no more than the soft impression of a sentiment of glory.
I indulge this thought, as it saves me the humiliation of harbouring the idea of my being dependent on the very slave I have brought under subjection, as well as the disagreeable thoughts of not having within myself the plenitude of my happiness, or that the power of calling it forth into energy and making me fully enjoy it, should be revived for this or that woman exclusively of any other.
Those judicious reflections shall regulate my conduct on this important occasion and you may depend, I shall never suffer myself to be so captivated, but that I may at pleasure break those new bands:—Already I begin to talk of a rapture, and have not yet informed you how I acquired the powers—proceed and you will see to what dangers wisdom exposes itself endeavouring to assist folly—I studied my conversation and the answers to them with so much attention, I hope to be able to give you both with the utmost exactitude.
You will observe by the annexed copies of letters,[Letters 120 and 123] what kind of mediator I fixed on to gain me admittance with my fair one, with what zeal the holy man exercised himself to reunite us; I must tell you also, I learned from an intercepted letter, according to custom, the dread the humiliation of being left, had a little disconcerted the austere devotee's prudence, and stuffed her head and heart with ideas and sentiments which, though destitute of common sense, were nevertheless interesting—After these preliminaries necessary to be related, yesterday, Thursday the 28th, the day appointed by my ingrate, I presented myself as a timid and repentant slave, to retire a successful conqueror.
It was six in the evening when I came to the fair recluse; for since her return, her gates were shut against every one.
She endeavoured to rise when I was announced; but her trembling knees being unable to support her, she was obliged to sit down immediately.
The servant who had showed me in, having something to do in the apartment, she seemed impatient.
This interval was taken up with the usual compliments.
Not to lose a moment of so precious an opportunity, I examined the room carefully, and fixed my eye on the intended spot for my victory.
I could have chose a more commodious one; for there was a sopha in the room: but I observed directly opposite to it a picture of the husband; and I own I was afraid with so strange a woman, a single glance, which accidentally she might cast on that side, would in an instant have destroyed a work of so much care.
At last we were alone, and I entered on the business.
After relating in few words, I supposed Father Anselmus had informed her the motive of my visit, I lamented the rigorous treatment I received, and dwelt particularly on the contempt that had been shown.
She made an apology, as I expected, and you also: but I grounded the proof on the diffidence and dread I had infused; on the scandalous flight in consequence of it, the refusal to answer my letters, or even receive them, &c. &c.