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Les liaisons dangereuses, volume 1 (of 2) / or, Letters collected in a private society and published for the instruction of others cover

Les liaisons dangereuses, volume 1 (of 2) / or, Letters collected in a private society and published for the instruction of others

Chapter 25: LETTER THE SEVENTEENTH THE CHEVALIER DANCENY TO CÉCILE VOLANGES
By Choderlos de Laclos
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About This Book

The narrative is assembled from letters exchanged among members of an elite social circle, each voice disclosing private schemes and motives. Two seasoned manipulators orchestrate seductions and betrayals that draw in a devout woman, an inexperienced young woman, and a hopeful young musician, treating intimacy as a tool of influence. The correspondence lays bare hypocrisy, sexual politics, and the fragile value of reputation while shifting perspective between conspirators and victims. As secrets accumulate, the letters trace the widening harm of calculated deceit and leave readers with unresolved questions about responsibility and moral consequence.

LETTER THE SEVENTEENTH
THE CHEVALIER DANCENY TO CÉCILE VOLANGES

Before succumbing, Mademoiselle, to the pleasure, or, shall I say, the necessity of writing to you, I commence by imploring you to hear me. I feel that, to be bold enough to declare my sentiments, I have need of indulgence; did I but wish to justify them, it would be useless to me. What am I about to do, after all, save to show you your handiwork? And what have I to tell you, that my eyes, my embarrassment, my conduct and even my silence have not told you already? And why should you take offence at a sentiment to which you have given birth? Emanating from you, it is worthy to be offered to you; if it is ardent as my soul, it is pure as your own. Shall it be a crime to have known how to appreciate your charming face, your seductive talents, your enchanting graces, and that touching candour which adds inestimable value to qualities already so precious? No, without a doubt: but without being guilty, one may be unhappy; and that is the fate which awaits me if you refuse to accept my homage. It is the first that my heart has offered. But for you, I should have been, not happy, but tranquil. I have seen you, repose has fled far away from me, and my happiness is insecure. Yet you are surprised at my sadness; you ask me its cause: sometimes, I have even thought to see that it affected you. Ah, speak but a word and my felicity will be your handiwork! But, before you pronounce it, remember that one word can also fill the cup of my misery. Be then the arbiter of my destiny. Through you I am to be eternally happy or wretched. In what dearer hands can I commit an interest of such importance?

I shall end as I have begun, by imploring your indulgence. I have begged you to hear me; I will dare more, I will pray you to reply to me. A refusal would lead me to think that you were offended and my heart is a witness that my respect is equal to my love.

P.S. You can make use, to send a reply, of the same method which I employed to bring this letter into your hands; it seems to me as convenient as it is secure.

Paris, 18th August, 17**.