What I propose, on the contrary, is that she should feel, and feel thoroughly, the value of each one of the sacrifices she shall make me; not to lead her too swiftly for remorse to follow her; to let her virtue expire in a slow agony; to concentrate her, unceasingly, upon the heartbreaking spectacle; and only to grant her the happiness of having me in her arms, after compelling her no longer to dissimulate her desire. In truth, I am of little worth indeed, if I am not worth the trouble of asking for. And can I take a less revenge for the haughtiness of a woman who seems to blush to confess that she adores?
I have, therefore, refused the precious friendship, and have held to my title of lover. As I do not deny that this title, which seems at first no more than a verbal quibble, is, however, of real importance to obtain, I have taken a great deal of pains with my letter, and endeavoured to be lavish of that disorder which alone can depict sentiment. I have, in short, been as irrational as it was possible for me to be: for, without one be irrational, there is no tenderness; and it is for this reason, I believe, that women are so much our superiors in love-letters.
I concluded mine with a piece of cajolery; and that is another result of my profound observation. After a woman’s heart has been for some time exercised, it has need of repose; and I have remarked that cajolery was, to all, the softest pillow that could be offered.
Adieu, my lovely friend; I leave to-morrow. If you have any commands to give me for the Comtesse de ***, I will halt at her house, at any rate for dinner. I am vexed to leave without seeing you. Send me your sublime instructions, and aid me with your wise counsels, in this critical moment.
Above all, defend yourself against Prévan; and grant that I may make amends to you one day for the sacrifice! Adieu.
Paris, 11th September, 17**.
LETTER THE SEVENTY-FIRST
THE VICOMTE DE VALMONT TO THE MARQUISE DE MERTEUIL
My idiot of a chasseur has left my desk in Paris! My fair one’s letters, those of Danceny to the little Volanges: all have remained behind, and I have need of all. He is going off to repair his stupidity; and whilst he is saddling his horse, I will tell you my night’s story: for I beg you to believe I do not waste my time.
The adventure in itself is but a small thing; a réchauffé with the Vicomtesse de M***. But it interested me in its details. I am delighted, moreover, to let you see that, if I have a talent for ruining women, I have none the less, when I wish it, that of saving them. The most difficult course or the merriest is the one I choose; and I never reproach myself for a good action, provided that it has kept me in practice or amused me.
I found the Vicomtesse here, and as she joined her entreaties to the persecutions with which they would make me pass the night at the château: “Well, I consent,” I said to her, “on condition that I pass it with you.” “That is impossible,” she answered: “Vressac is here.” So far, I had but meant to say the polite thing to her; but the word impossible revolted me as usual. I felt humiliated at being sacrificed to Vressac, and I resolved not to suffer it; I insisted therefore.