It was then that Franval learned, from servants in whom he had complete confidence and whom he had planted in the service of his mother-in-law, that Eugénie was in the gravest danger and that Madame de Farneille was on the verge of obtaining a writ to have her taken away from him. Franval had no doubt but that the whole plot was Clervil’s work. And momentarily putting aside his plans involving Valmont, he turned his complete attention to ridding himself of this poor ecclesiastic whom he wrongly judged to be the instigator of everything. He sowed his gold; this powerful weapon of every vice is properly planted in a thousand different hands, and finally six trustworthy scoundrels are ready and willing to do his bidding.
One evening when Clervil, who was wont to dine rather frequently with Madame de Farneille, was leaving her house alone and on foot, he was surrounded and seized. . . . He was told that the arrest was made upon the orders of the government, and shown a forged document. Then he was thrown into a post chaise and he was driven in all haste to the prison of an isolated château which Franval owned in the depths of the Ardennes. There the poor man was turned over to the concierge of the château as a scoundrel who was plotting to kill his master. And the most careful precautions were taken to make certain that this unfortunate victim, whose only wrong was to have shown himself overly indulgent toward those who outraged him so cruelly, could never again be seen.
Madame de Farneille was on the brink of despair. She had not the slightest doubt but that the whole affair was the work of her son-in-law. Her efforts to ascertain the whereabouts of Clervil slowed those touching upon Eugénie’s abduction. Having at her disposal only a limited amount of money, and with only a few friends, it was difficult to pursue two equally important undertakings at once. And furthermore, Franval’s drastic action had forced them onto the defensive. They directed all their energies, therefore, toward finding the father confessor. But all their efforts were in vain; our villain had executed his plan so cleverly that it became impossible to uncover the slightest trace.
Madame de Franval, who had not seen her husband since their last scene, was hesitant to question him. But the intensity of one’s interest in a matter destroys any other considerations, and she finally found the courage to ask her tyrant if he planned to add to the already long list of grievances of which he was guilty on her behalf by depriving her mother of the best friend she had in the world. The monster protested his innocence. He even carried hypocrisy so far as to offer to help in the search. And seeing that he needed to mollify his wife’s hardened heart and mind in preparation for the scene with Valmont, he again promised her that he would do everything in his power to find Clervil. He even caressed his credulous wife, and assured her that, no matter how unfaithful he might be to her, he found it impossible, deep in his heart, not to adore her. And Madame de Franval, always gentle and accommodating, always pleased by anything which brought her closer to a man who was dearer to her than life itself, gave herself over to all the desires of this perfidious husband; she anticipated them, served them, shared them all, without daring, as she should have, to profit from the occasion in order at least to extract a promise from this barbarian to improve his ways, one which would not precipitate his poor wife each day into an abyss of torment and sorrow. But even had she extracted such a promise, would her efforts have been crowned with success? Would Franval, so false in every other aspect of his life, have been any more sincere in the one which, according to him, was only attractive to the extent one could go beyond certain set limits. He would doubtless have made all sorts of promises solely for the pleasure of being able to break them; and perhaps he might even have made her demand that he swear to them, so that to his other frightful pleasures he might add that of perjury.
Franval, absolutely at peace, turned all his attention to troubling others. Such was his vindictive, turbulent, impetuous nature when he was disturbed; desiring to regain his tranquillity at any cost whatever, he would awkwardly obtain it only by those means most likely to make him lose it again. And if he regained it? Then he bent all his physical and moral faculties to making certain he lost it again. Thus, in a state of perpetual agitation, he either had to forestall the artifices he obliged others to employ against him, or else he had to use some of his own against them.
Everything was arranged to Valmont’s satisfaction; his tête-à-tête took place in Eugénie’s apartment and lasted for the better part of an hour.
There, in the ornate room, Eugénie, on a pedestal, portrayed a young savage weary of the hunt, leaning on the trunk of a palm tree whose soaring branches concealed an infinite number of lights arranged in such a way that their reflections, which shone only on the beautiful girl’s physical charms, accentuated them most artfully. The sort of miniature theater wherein this tableau vivant appeared was surrounded by a six-foot-wide moat which was filled with water and acted as a barrier which prevented anyone from approaching her on any side. At the edge of this circumvallation was placed the throne of a knight, with a silk cord leading from the base of the pedestal to the chair. By manipulating this string, the person in the chair could cause the pedestal to turn in such a manner that the object of his admiration could be viewed from every angle by him, and the arrangement was such that, no matter which way he turned her, she was always delightful to behold. The Count, concealed behind a decorative shrub, was in a position to view both his mistress and his friend. According to the agreement, Valmont was free to examine Eugénie for half an hour. . . . Valmont took his place in the chair . . . he is beside himself; never, he maintains, has he seen so many allurements in one person. He yields to the transports which inflame him, the constantly moving cord offers him an endless succession of new angles and beauties. Which should he prefer above all others, to which shall he sacrifice himself? He cannot make up his mind: Eugénie is such a wondrous beauty! Meanwhile the fleeting minutes pass; for time, in such circumstances, passes quickly. The hour strikes, the knight abandons himself, and the incense flies to the feet of a god whose sanctuary is forbidden him. A veil descends, it is time to leave the room.
“Well, are you content now?” Franval said, rejoining his friend.
“She is a delightful creature,” Valmont replied. “But Franval, if I may offer you one piece of advice, never chance such a thing with any other man. And congratulate yourself for the sentiments I have for you in my heart, which protect you from all danger.”
“I am counting on them,” Franval said rather seriously. “And now, you must act as soon as you can.”
“I shall prepare your wife tomorrow. . . . It is your feeling that a preliminary conversation is required. . . . Four days later you can be sure of me.”
They exchanged vows and took leave of each other.
But after his hour with Eugénie, Valmont had not the slightest desire to seduce Madame de Franval or further to assure his friend of a conquest of which he had become only too envious. Eugénie had made such a profound impression upon him that he was unable to put her out of his mind, and he was resolved to have her, no matter what the cost, as his wife. Recollecting upon the matter in tranquillity, once he was no longer repelled by the idea of Eugénie’s affair with her father, Valmont was quite certain that his fortune was equal to that of Colunce and that he had just as much right to demand her hand in marriage. He therefore presumed that were he to offer himself as her husband, he could not be refused. He also concluded that by acting zealously to break Eugénie’s incestuous bonds, by promising her family that he could not but succeed in such an undertaking, he would inevitably obtain the object of his devotion. There would, of course, be a duel to be fought with Franval, but Valmont was confident that his courage and skill would successfully overcome that obstacle.
Twenty-four hours sufficed for these reflections, and ’twas with these thoughts crowding through his mind that Valmont set off to visit Madame de Franval. She had been informed of his impending call. It will be recalled that in her last conversation with her husband, she had almost become reconciled with him; o
r, rather, having yielded to the insidious cunning of this traitor, she was no longer in a position to refuse to see Valmont. As an objection to such a visit, she brought up the remarks and the ideas that Franval had advanced, and the letters he had shown her; but he, with seeming unconcern, had more than reassured her that the surest way of convincing people that there was absolutely nothing to her alleged affair with Valmont was to see him exactly as before; to refuse to do so, he assured her, would only lend credence to their suspicions. The best proof a woman can provide of her chastity, he told her, was to continue seeing in public the man to whom her name had been linked. All this was so much sophistry, and Madame de Franval was perfectly well aware of it. Still, she was hoping for some explanation from Valmont, and her desire to obtain it, coupled with her desire not to anger her husband, had blinded her to all the good reasons that should normally have kept her from seeing Valmont.
Thus Valmont arrived to pay his call, and Franval quickly left them alone as he had the previous time: the explanations and clarifications were sure to be lively and long. Valmont, his head bursting with the ideas which had filled it during the previous twenty-four hours, cut short the formalities and came straight to the point.
“Oh, Madame! Do not think of me as the same man who, the last time he saw you, conducted himself so guiltily in your eyes,” he hastened to say. “Then I was the accomplice of your husband’s wrongdoings; today I come to repair those wrongs. Have confidence in me, Madame, I beseech you to believe my word of honor that I have come here neither to lie to you nor to deceive you in any way.”
Then he confessed to the forged letters and promissory notes and apologized profusely for having allowed himself to be implicated in the affair. He warned Madame of the new horrors they had demanded of him, and as a proof of his candor, he confessed his feelings for Eugénie, revealed what had already been done, and pledged his word to break off everything, to abduct Eugénie from Franval and spirit her away to one of Madame de Farneille’s estates in Picardy, if both these worthy ladies would grant him the permission to do so, and as a reward would bestow on him in marriage the girl whom he would thus have rescued from the edge of the abyss.
Valmont’s declarations and confessions had such a ring of truth about them that Madame de Franval could not help but be convinced. Valmont was an excellent match for her daughter. After Eugénie’s wretched conduct, had she even a right to expect as much? Valmont would assume the responsibility for everything; there was no other way to put a stop to this frightful crime which was driving her to distraction. Moreover, could she not flatter herself that, once the only affair which could really become dangerous both for her and her husband had been broken off, his sentiments might once again be directed toward her? This last consideration tipped the scales in favor of Valmont’s plan, and she gave her consent, but only on condition that Valmont give her his word not to fight a duel with her husband and that, after he had delivered Eugénie into Madame de Farneille’s hands, he would go abroad and remain there until Franval’s fury had abated sufficiently to console himself for the loss of his illicit love and finally consent to the marriage. Valmont agreed to everything; and for her part, Madame de Franval assured him of her mother’s full co-operation and promised that she would in no wise oppose or obstruct any of the decisions they came to together. Upon which Valmont left, after again apologizing for having acted so basely against her by participating in her unprincipled husband’s schemes.
Madame de Farneille, who was immediately apprised of the affair, left the following day for Picardy, and Franval, caught up in the perpetual whirlwind of his pleasures, counting solidly on Valmont and no longer fearful of Clervil, cast himself into the trap prepared for him with the same guilelessness which he had so often desired to see in others when, in his turn, he had been making his preparations to ensnare them.
For about six months Eugénie, who was now just shy of turning seventeen, had been going out alone or in the company of a few of her female friends. On the eve of the day when Valmont, in accordance with the arrangements made with her father, was to launch his assault upon Madame de Franval, Eugénie had gone alone to see a new play at the Comédie-Française. She likewise left the theater alone, having arranged to meet her father at a given place from which they were to drive elsewhere to dine together. . . . Shortly after her carriage had left the Faubourg Saint-Germain, ten masked men stopped the horses, opened the carriage door, seized Eugénie, and bundled her into a post chaise beside Valmont who, taking every precaution to keep her from crying out, ordered the post chaise to set off with all possible speed, and in the twinkling of an eye they were out of Paris.
Unfortunately, it had been impossible to get rid of Eugénie’s retainers or her carriage, and as a result Franval was notified very quickly. Valmont, to make a safe escape, had counted both on Franval’s uncertainty as to the route he would take and the two or three hour advance that he would necessarily have. If only he could manage to reach Madame de Farneille’s estate, that was all he would need, for from there two trustworthy women and a stagecoach were waiting for Eugénie to drive her toward the border, to a sanctuary with which even he was unfamiliar. Meanwhile, Valmont would go immediately to Holland, returning only to marry Eugénie when Madame de Farneille and her daughter informed him there were no further obstacles. But fate allowed these well laid plans to come to grief through the designs of the horrible scoundrel with whom we are dealing.
When the news reached him, Franval did not lose a second. He rushed to the post house and asked for what routes horses had been given since six o’clock that evening. At seven, a traveling coach had departed for Lyon; at eight, a post chaise for Picardy. Franval did not hesitate: the coach for Lyon was certainly of no interest to him, but a post chaise heading toward a province where Madame de Farneille had an estate, yes, that was it: to doubt it would have been madness.
He therefore promptly had the eight best horses at the post hitched up to the carriage in which he was riding, ordered saddles for his servants and, while the horses were being harnessed, purchased and loaded some pistols. And then he set off like an arrow, drawn by love, despair, and a thirst for revenge. When he stopped to change horses at Senlis, he learned that the post chaise he was pursuing had only just left. . . . Franval ordered his men to proceed at top speed. Unfortunately for him, he overtook the post chaise; both he and his servants, with drawn pistols, stopped Valmont’s coach, and as soon as the impetuous Franval recognized his adversary, he blew his brains out before Valmont had a chance to defend himself, seized Eugénie, who was faint with fright, tossed her into his own carriage, and was back in Paris before ten o’clock the following morning. Not in the least apprehensive about all that had just happened, Franval devoted his full attention to Eugénie. . . . Had the traitorous Valmont tried to take advantage of the circumstances? Was Eugénie still faithful, and were his guilty bonds still intact and unsullied? Mademoiselle de Franval reassured her father: Valmont had done no more than reveal his plans to her and, full of hope that he would soon be hers in marriage, he refrained from profaning the altar whereon he wished to offer his pure vows.
Franval was reassured by her solemn oaths. . . . But what about his wife? . . . Was she aware of these machinations? was she involved in them in any way? Eugénie, who had had ample time to inform herself on this matter, guaranteed that the entire plot had been the work of her mother, upon whom she showered the most odious names. She also declared that that fateful meeting between Valmont and her mother, wherein the former was, so Franval thought, preparing to serve him so well, had in fact been the meeting during which Valmont had most shamelessly betrayed him.
“Ah!” said Franval, beside himself with anger, “if only he had a thousand lives . . . I would wrench them from him one after the other. . . . And my wife! Here I was trying to lull her, and she was the first to deceive me . . . that creature people think so soft and gentle . . . that angel of virtue! . . . Ah, traitor, you female traitor, you will pay dearly for y
our crime. . . . My revenge calls for blood, and, if I must, I shall draw it with my own lips from your treacherous veins. . . . Do not be upset, Eugénie,” Franval went on in a state of great agitation, “yes, calm yourself, you need some rest. Go and take a few hours’ rest, and I shall take care of everything.”
Meanwhile Madame de Farneille, who had stationed spies along the road, was soon informed of everything that had just happened. Knowing that her granddaughter had been recaptured and Valmont killed, she lost not a moment returning to Paris. . . . Furious, she immediately called her advisers together; they pointed out to her that Valmont’s murder was going to deliver Franval into her hands, and that the influence she feared was shortly going to vanish and she would straightway regain control over both her daughter and Eugénie. But they counseled her to avoid a public scandal, and, for fear of a degrading trial, to solicit a writ that would put her son-in-law out of the way.
Franval was immediately informed of this counsel and of the proceedings that were being taken as a result. Having learned both that his crime was known and that his mother-in-law was, so they told him, only waiting to take advantage of his disaster, Franval left with all dispatch for Versailles, where he saw the Minister and disclosed the whole affair to him. The Minister’s reply was to advise Franval to waste no time leaving for one of his estates in Alsace, near the Swiss border.
Franval returned home at once, having made up his mind not to leave without both his wife and his daughter, for a number of reasons: to make sure he would not miss out on his plans for revenge and the punishment he had reserved for his wife’s treason, and also to be in possession of hostages dear enough to Madame de Farneille’s heart so that she would not dare, at least politically, to instigate actions against him. But would Madame de Franval agree to accompany him to Valmor, the estate to which the Minister had suggested he retire? Feeling herself guilty of that kind of treason which had been the cause of everything which had happened, would she be willing to leave for such a distant place? Would she dare to entrust herself without fear to the arms of her outraged husband? Such were the considerations which worried Franval. To ascertain exactly where he stood, Franval at once went in to see his wife, who already knew everything.