I thought I should punish you too little by merely breaking with you, and
that my ceasing to love you would give you but a slight concern, after
you had first forsaken me; I found it was necessary you should love me,
to feel the smart of not being loved, which I so severely experienced
myself; I was of opinion that if anything could rekindle that flame, it
would be to let you see that mine was extinguished, but to let you see
it through an endeavour to conceal it from you, as if I wanted the
power to acknowledge it to you: this resolution I adhered to; I found
it difficult to take, and when I saw you again I thought it impossible
to execute. I was ready a hundred times to break out into tears and
complaints; my ill state of health, which still continued, served as a
disguise to hide from you the affliction and trouble I was in;
afterward I was supported by the pleasure of dissembling with you, as
you had done with me; however it was doing so apparent a violence to
myself to tell you or to write to you that I loved you, that you
immediately perceived I had no mind to let you see my affection was
altered; you was touched with this, you complained of it; I endeavoured
to remove your fears, but it was done in so forced a manner, that you
were still more convinced by it, I no longer loved you; in short, I did
all I intended to do.
The fantasticalness of your heart was such, that
you advanced towards me in proportion as you saw I retreated from you.
I have enjoyed all the pleasure which can arise from revenge; I plainly
saw, that you loved me more than you had ever done, and I showed you I
had no longer any love for you. I had even reason to believe that you
had entirely abandoned her, for whom you had forsaken me; I had ground
too to be satisfied you had never spoken to her concerning me; but
neither your discretion in that particular, nor the return of your
affection can make amends for your inconstancy; your heart has been
divided between me and another, and you have deceived me; this is
sufficient wholly to take from me the pleasure I found in being loved
by you, as I thought I deserved to be, and to confirm me in the
resolution I have taken never to see you more, which you are so much
surprised at.
Madam de Cleves read this letter, and read it over again several times,
without knowing at the same time what she had read; she saw only that
the Duke de Nemours did not love her as she imagined and that he loved
others who were no less deceived by him than she. What a discovery was
this for a person in her condition, who had a violent passion, who had
just given marks of it to a man whom she judged unworthy of it, and to
another whom she used ill for his sake! Never was affliction so
cutting as hers; she imputed the piercingness of it to what had
happened that day, and believed that if the Duke de Nemours had not had
ground to believe she loved him she should not have cared whether he
loved another or not; but she deceived herself, and this evil which she
found so insupportable was jealousy with all the horrors it can be
accompanied with.