 |
 |
Page 2 of 10 |
 |
 |
|
|
You have been irritated as many times as I have, by the importance Gercourt attaches to what kind of wife he will have, and the stupid presumption which convinces him that he will escape his inevitable fate. You know his ridiculous predilection for girls educated at convents and his even more ridiculous "penchant" for blondes. As a matter of fact, I wager that in spite of the sixty thousand "livres" the little Volanges girl will bring him, he would never have thought of marriage if her hair was dark or if she had not been to the convent. So let us make a fool of him: he certainly will be one day; I have not the slightest doubt about that. But what would be amusing would be that he should be a fool right from the start. What fun we should have next day hearing him brag about it! For brag he will; and then once you have succeeded in educating the girl, we shall be extremely unlucky if Gercourt, like any other man, does not become the laughing-stock of Paris.
Besides, the heroine of this new romance deserves all your attentions: she is really pretty; only fifteen, a rosebud; truly, impossibly gauche, and lacking in style: but you men are not worried about such things; moreover, she has a certain look of languor that I must admit is rather fetching. Added to that, she comes to you on my recommendation; all you have to do is thank me and do as I bid you.
You will receive this letter tomorrow morning. I insist that you be here tomorrow evening at seven. I shall receive no one until eight, not even the reigning Chevalier: he does not have the head for so large an undertaking. As you can see I have not been blinded by love. At eight o'clock I shall give you back your freedom, and at ten you shall return and have supper with the beautiful creature; for both mother and daughter will sup with me. Adieu, it is midday gone. Soon my thoughts will no longer be of you.
Paris, 4 August 17
LETTER THREE
"Cecile Volanges to Sophie Carnay"
My dear friend, I am still completely in the dark. Yesterday Mamma had a great many people to supper. I was very bored, in spite of it being in my interest to study the men especially. Both the men and the women all looked at me a great deal, and they were whispering; I could tell they were talking about me: it made me blush, I could not help it. I wished I could have prevented it, for I noticed that when the other women were looked at, they did not blush. Or else it is the rouge they wear, which means you cannot see their colour when they are embarrassed. It must be very difficult not to blush when a man stares at you.
What bothered me most was not knowing their opinion of me. I did think I heard the word "pretty" two or three times: but I heard the word "gauche" very plainly; and that must be what they think, for the woman who said it is a relative and a friend of my mother and even appears to have taken an immediate liking to me. She was the only person who spoke a few words to me in the course of the evening. We shall sup tomorrow at her house.
I also heard a man, who I am certain was talking about me, say to somebody after supper: 'We must let her ripen; next winter we shall see.' Perhaps he is the one who is to marry me; but then it would be within the next four months! I should dearly love to know what is going on.
Here comes Josephine and she says she is in a hurry. But I want to tell you about yet another of my faux pas. Oh, I do believe that friend of my mother's is right!
After supper they started playing cards. I went and sat next to Mamma. I don't know how it came about but I fell asleep almost immediately. I was woken by a great guffaw of laughter. I could not tell if they were laughing at me but I think they must have been. I was extremely relieved when Mamma gave me permission to go to bed. It was after eleven, can you believe! Goodbye, my dear Sophie; be true to your friend Cecile. The world is not so amusing as we once imagined, I can tell you.
Paris, 4 August 17
LETTER FOUR
"The Vicomte de Valmont to the Marquise de Merteuil in Paris"
Your orders are charming; and your manner of issuing them even more delightful. You make despotism itself seem something to be cherished. Not for the first time, as you know, do I regret I am no longer your slave. And "monster" though I may be, I can never recall without a pleasurable feeling the days when you bestowed sweeter names upon me. Indeed, I often long to merit them anew and, with you, hold up to the world an example of perfect constancy. But larger matters beckon. It is our destiny to make conquests; we have to follow it. Perhaps we shall meet again at the end of the course; for I have to say, my most beautiful Marquise, without wishing to anger you, that at the very least you follow hard at my heels. Since we separated for the good of society and we both preach the gospel in our different ways, it seems to me that in this mission of love you have made more converts than I have. I know your zeal, your ardent fervour. And if God were to judge us by our works, you would be the patron of a great city some day, whereas your friend would be at most a village saint. This parlance surprises you, does it not? But for the last week I have understood and spoken none other; and it is in order to improve in this respect that I see I am obliged to disobey you.
Click here, for more information on this book and author.
Read
with Suzanne every day. Visit: www.DearReader.com
Published by the Penguin Group, Penguin Group (USA)
Inc.
First published in 1782. Published in Penguin Classics
2007
Translation and editorial
material copyright (c) Helen Constantine, 2007