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7 This is the same who is mentioned in Madame de Merteuil's

letters.

LETTER 14

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CECILIA VOLANGES to SOPHIA CARNAY.

I did not write to you yesterday, my dear Sophy; but I assure

you it was not pleasure that prevented me. My Mamma was
indisposed, and I did not quit her the whole day. At night, when
I retired, I had not spirits to do any thing; and I went to bed
very early, in order to terminate the day: never did I pass so
long a one. It is not but I love Mamma very much; but I don't
know how it was. I was to have gone to the opera with Madame
de Merteuil; the Chevalier Danceny was to have been there. You
know they are the two I love most. When the hour of the opera
arrived, my heart was oppressed in spite of me; every thing
displeased me, and I wept involuntarily. Fortunately Mamma
was in bed, and could not see me. I am sure Chevalier Danceny
must have been chagrined as well as I; but the company and
performance must have amused him: I am very differently
situated. But Mamma is better to-day, and Madame de
Merteuil, Chevalier Danceny, and another gentleman, will be
with us.

Madame de Merteuil comes late, and it's very tiresome to be so

long alone. It is only eleven, yet I must practise my harpsichord,
it is true; and then my toilet will take me up some time, for I will
have my head well dressed to-day. I really believe our mother
Abbess was right, that one becomes a coquet on entering into
life.

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I never had so strong a desire to be handsome, as for some
days past, and I think I am not so handsome as I thought; in
women's company that paint, one looks much worse; for
example, all the men think Madame de Merteuil handsomer
than me; that does not vex me much, because she loves me:
and then she assures me the Chevalier Danceny thinks me
handsomer than her. It is very good natured of her to tell me so;
she even seemed to be glad of it.

Now I don't conceive how that can be. It is because she loves
me so much! And he too! Oh that gives me infinite pleasure! I
really think, barely looking at him makes me appear handsome.
I would always be looking at him, if I was not afraid of meeting
his eyes: for as often as that happens, it disconcerts me, and
gives me uneasiness; but that signifies nothing.

Adieu, my dear Sophy! I am going to dress.

Paris, Aug. 14, 17ʁ.

LETTER 15

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VISCOUNT VALMONT to the MARCHIONESS DE MERTEUIL.

Indeed you are very kind not to abandon me to my melancholy

fate: the life I lead here is really fatiguing, from excess of
repose and insipid uniformity. Reading your letter with the
particulars of your delightful excursion, I was tempted twenty
times to pretend business, fly to your feet, and beg of you to
commit, in my favour, an infidelity to your Chevalier, who really
does not deserve his bliss. Do you know you have roused my
jealousy? Why tell me of an eternal rupture? I recant an oath
taken in a fit of frenzy. We should not have been entitled to so
solemn a privilege, had we seriously intended to keep it. Ah,
may I be one day revenged in your embraces, for the vexation
the Chevalier's happiness gives me! I am all indignation I own,
to think that a man who has scarce common sense, without
taking the least trouble, and only simply following the instinct of
his heart, should find a happiness I can't attain.

Oh, I will disturb him: promise me I shall disturb him! But have
you not humiliated yourself? You take the trouble to deceive
him, and he is happier than you.

You think you have him in your toils, but you are in his. He
sleeps quietly, whilst you wake for his pleasures. What could his
slaves do more?

Hark ye, my lovely friend, while you divide yourself among

many, I am not in the least jealous; I then look down on your

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lovers as on Alexander's successors; incapable of preserving
among them that empire where I reigned sole monarch; but
that you should give yourself up entirely to one of them, that
another should exist as happy as me, I will not suffer; don't
expect I'll bear it! Either take me again, or take another; and do
not, by any exclusive caprice, betray the inviolable friendship
we have sworn to each other.

Is it not curious, that I should have reason to complain of love?

You see I give into your ideas, and confess my errors.

If not to be able to exist without the possession of what we

desire, if to sacrifice time, pleasure, and life for it, then am I
really in love; and I have

made no progress. I should not even have a word to say to you

on the subject, but for an accident that racks my imagination,
and leaves me in suspense between hope and fear.

You know my huntsman; a treasure of intrigue, and a true valet

as ever dramatic pen drew. You may conceive he had it in his
instructions to be in love with the waiting-maid, and make the
servants drunk.

The rascal is happier than his master; he has already

succeeded; and has just discovered that Madame de Tourvel

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has appointed one of her people to observe me, and even to
follow me in my morning excursions, as much as possible,
without being perceived.

What does this woman mean? Thus, then, the most virtuous of
them will venture to do things, that one of us would not dare
think on!

Well, I swearʁbut before I think of being revenged for this

female artifice, I will endeavour to convert it to my advantage.
Hitherto those suspected excursions had no view; I must give
them one. This deserves my utmost attention, and I quit you to
reflect on it. Adieu, my charming friend!

Always from the Castle of ʁʁ,

Aug. 15, 17ʁ.

LETTER 16

CECILIA VOLANGES to SOPHIA CARNAY.

Ah, Sophia, I have a deal of news! But may be I should not tell
you: I must tell it, however, to somebody, I can't keep it.
Chevalier Dancenyʁ I'm in such trouble, I can't write; I don't
know where to begin. Since the agreeable evening that I related

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to you I spent at Mamma's 8 , with him and Madame de
Merteuil, I said no more of him: that was because I resolved not
to say any more of him to any one; but I was always thinking of
him notwithstanding. Since that, he is become so melancholy,
that it makes me uneasy; and when I asked him the reason, he
answered me he was not so, but I could plainly see he was. He
was yesterday more so than usual; that did not, however,
prevent him from singing with his usual complaisance; but every
time he looked at me, my heart was ready to break. After we
had done singing, he locked up my harpsichord; and bringing
me the key, begged I would play again in the evening when I
was alone. I had no suspicion of any thing; I even refused him:
but he insisted so much, that I promised I would. He had his
reasons for it.

When I retired to my room, and my maid was gone, I went to

my harpsichord. I found hid among the strings an unsealed
letter from him. Ah, if you did but know all he writes! Since I
read his letter, I am in such raptures I can think of nothing else.
I read it over four times running, and then locked it in my desk. I
got it by heart; and when I laid down I repeated it so often, I
could not think of sleeping; as soon as I shut my eyes, I thought
I saw him, telling me every thing I had just read. I did not sleep
till very late; and, as soon as I awoke, (though it was very early,)
I got up for the letter, to read it at my leisure; I took it into bed,
and began to kiss it; as ifʁʁbut may be I did wrong to kiss a
letter thus, but I could not help it.

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Now, my dear friend, if I am very well pleased, I am also very
much troubled; for certainly I must not answer it. I know that
must not be, and yet he urges it; and if I don't answer it, I am
certain he will be again

8 The letter that is mentioned here was not found; but there is
reason to believe that it is that Madame de Merteuil mentions in
her letter which Cecilia Volanges refers to.

melancholy. It is a great pity; what would you advise me to? But

you know no more than I.

I have a great mind to tell Madame de Merteuil, who has a

great affection for me. I wish I could console him; but I would
not do any thing wrong.

We are taught good-nature, and yet we are forbid to follow its

dictates, when a man is in question.

That I can't understand. Is not a man our neighbour as well as a

woman, and still more so? For have we not a father as well as a
mother, a brother as well as a sister, and there is the husband
besides?

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Yet if I was to do any thing that was not right, perhaps Mr.
Danceny himself would no longer have a good opinion of me!
Oh, then I would rather he should be melancholy! And I shall still
be time enough; though he wrote yesterday, I am not obliged to
write to-day; and I shall see Madame de Merteuil this evening,
and if I can have so much resolution, I will tell her all. Following
her advice, I shall have nothing to reproach myself; and may be
she may tell me I may give him a few words of answer, that he
may not be melancholy. I'm in great uneasiness! Adieu!

Be sure tell me what you think I ought to do.

Aug. 13, 17ʁ.

LETTER 17

The CHEVALIER DANCENY to CECILIA VOLANGES.

Before I give way, Miss, whether shall I call it, to the pleasure or
necessity of writing to you, I begin by entreating you to hear
me: I am sensible I stand in need of your indulgence, in daring
to declare my sentiments for you; if they wanted only
vindication, indulgence would be useless. Yet, after all, what am
I about to do, but exhibit your own productions? I have nothing
to say that my looks, my confusion, my conduct, and even my

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