Dangerous Liaisons

by Choderlos De Laclos

  From —, 16 September 17**

  LETTER 79

  The Vicomte de Valmont to the Marquise de Merteuil

  I was hoping to go out hunting this morning, but the weather is foul. All I have to read is a modern novel which would be tedious even for a convent girl. Luncheon will be another two hours at the earliest, so despite my long letter of yesterday I am going to chatter to you again. I am positive I shan’t bore you, for I am going to speak of the very handsome Prévan. I am surprised you do not know about his famous affair, the one which separated the Inseparables.19 I’ll wager you will remember as soon as I start. But here it is, since you ask.

  You remember that the whole of Paris was astonished that three women, all very pretty and all three equally talented and able to have similar aspirations, should remain very close from the moment they entered society. At first people thought it was because of their extreme shyness. But soon, surrounded as they were by innumerable suitors whose homage they shared, and made aware of their worth by being the object of so much interest and attention, they none the less became closer. And it always seemed that the success of any one of them was a success for the two others also. We all hoped at least that the advent of love would bring with it some rivalry. Our eligible young men were quarrelling over the privilege of being the apple of discord, and I myself would have joined the ranks if the Comtesse de — had not risen so high in favour at that time that I could not permit myself to be unfaithful to her before I had obtained the pleasure I was seeking.

  However, our three beauty queens made their choices at the same ball, as it were in concert. And far from it causing the storm everyone had promised themselves it only rendered their friendship more interesting by the way they confided so charmingly in one another.

  The throngs of unhappy suitors then joined the hordes of jealous women, and this scandalous display of loyalty was subjected to public censure. Certain people claimed that in this society of the Inseparables (that was what they called them) the basic law was that all possessions should be held in common, and even love was subject to that law. Others asserted that the three gallants, though safe from male rivals, had women rivals to contend with.20 People even went so far as to say men had only been admitted for the sake of decency and had only obtained their title without their function.

  These rumours, true or false, failed to produce the intended effect. Quite the opposite: the three couples felt that if they did not stick together at this juncture they would be lost. They decided to ride out the storm. Society, which gets bored with everything, soon got bored with its ineffectual satire and, carried along by its natural frivolity, occupied itself with other matters; then, in its usual inconsequential manner, reverted to this subject and, instead of criticizing, praised them. As everything here goes by what is fashionable, enthusiasm won the day. It was becoming a real craze when Prévan took it upon himself to investigate these prodigies, and settle his own and the public’s opinion about them.

  So he sought out these models of perfection. He was admitted readily into their society, and believed this augured well. He was perfectly aware that happy people are not so easy to approach. But he soon saw in fact that this much vaunted happiness was like that of kings, more envied than desirable. He noticed that among these so-called Inseparables some were starting to seek their pleasures outside the circle and that they were even eager for other entertainment. And he concluded that the bonds of love or friendship were already loosened or broken, and that any strength that remained was only preserved through vanity or habit.

  The women, drawn together out of mutual need, kept the appearance of the old intimacy between them. But the men, who were more at liberty with regard to their behaviour, found things they had to do or business they had to attend to. They still complained about it, but no longer neglected it, and evenings were rarely spent all together.

  This conduct on their part afforded the assiduous Prévan an advantage; since he was naturally placed next to the woman who was on her own that day, he was able to pay court in turn to all three friends, according to the circumstances. He quickly realized that if he made a choice between them he would be the loser. That the false shame of finding herself the first to be unfaithful would frighten off the one who had been singled out; that wounded vanity would make the other two into enemies, who would be sure to bring strict and lofty principles to bear against him. And lastly he realized that jealousy would most certainly bring back the attention of a rival, who might still be someone to be feared. There would be so many problems; but by proceeding in triplicate, everything became easy: each woman was in favour of it because she had an interest; each man because he thought he did not.

  Prévan, who at the time had only one woman to sacrifice, was lucky in that she had become something of a celebrity. The fact that she was a foreigner and had adroitly turned down the homage of a great prince had focused the attention of both court and town upon her. Prévan shared the glory and went up in the estimation of his new mistresses. The only problem was to keep all three intrigues going at the same time, and they all necessarily had to be conducted at the pace of the slowest. As it happens, I have it from one of his confidants that the greatest difficulty was in stopping one of them from reaching maturity nearly a fortnight before the others.

  Finally the great day arrived. Prévan, who had obtained the avowals of all three, was already in charge and organized the proceedings, as you will see. Of the three husbands, one was away, another was leaving at dawn the next day and the third was in town. The inseparable friends were supposed to have supper at the future grass-widow’s house. But the new lord did not allow them to invite their former suitors. That very morning he divided the letters from his mistress into three packets: in the first he put the portrait she had sent him; in the second a cameo sketch that she had done herself; and in the third, one of her locks of hair. Each took this third part of the sacrifice as complete surrender, and consented in exchange to send a decisive letter breaking off the relationship with her disgraced lover.

  This was a great deal, but it was not enough. The one whose husband was in town was only free in the daytime. It was agreed that a feigned indisposition would excuse her from supping at her friend’s house, and that the evening would be devoted to Prévan. The night was accorded by the one whose husband was away. And dawn, the lovers’ hour, the time the third husband was to leave, was set aside by the last.

  Prévan, who thinks of everything, rushed to his beautiful foreign mistress, threw the fit of temper he needed and was repaid in kind, and only left after picking a quarrel which guaranteed him twenty-four hours of freedom. Having made his arrangements, he went back home in the hope of getting some rest. But other business was waiting for him.

  The letters of dismissal had been an eye-opener for the disgraced lovers. Each was certain he had been sacrificed to Prévan. And all three, piqued at having had a trick played on them, and in the bad humour that almost always results from the minor humiliation of being abandoned, without telling each other but as if with one mind, resolved to demand satisfaction from their fortunate rival.

  So when he got home the latter found their three challenges, which he duly accepted. But, not wishing to lose either the pleasures or the glory of the adventure, he fixed the rendez-vous for the following morning, assigning all three to the same place and time, at one of the gates of the Bois de Boulogne.

  When evening came he accomplished his triple task with equal success. At least, he has boasted ever since that each of his new mistresses received in triplicate the vows and proof of his love. Here, as you may guess, the authentication of his story is lacking. All the impartial historian can do is to point out to his incredulous reader that vanity embellished by imagination can bring forth miracles; and moreover that the morning after such a brilliant night appeared to dispense with the need for any care for the future. Whatever the truth of the matter, the following facts are more certain.

  Prévan was punctual for the meeti
ng he had arranged. He found his three rivals a little surprised at meeting each other there, and perhaps each already partly consoled by the sight of his companions in misfortune. He approached them in an affable and casual manner and made this speech to them, which has been faithfully reported to me.

  ‘Gentlemen,’ he said, ‘you must have guessed when you found yourselves all together here that you had the same grounds for complaint about me. I am ready to give you satisfaction. All three of you have an equal right to revenge, so let it be decided by lot who will be the first to try his luck. I have brought neither witness nor second with me. I did not need any when I committed the offence and I do not ask for any now for the reparation.’ Then, true gambler that he was, he added: ‘I know one rarely wins with le sept et le va;21 but whatever fate awaits me, one has always lived long enough when one has had time to acquire the love of women and the esteem of men.’

  While his astonished adversaries looked at each other in silence and were beginning to think, like the gentlemen they were, that perhaps this combat of three against one was not quite fair, Prévan started to speak again: ‘I cannot hide from you,’ he went on, ‘that the night I have just spent has worn me out. It would be generous of you to permit me to mend my strength. I have given orders for breakfast to be served here. Do me the honour of joining me. Let us eat together and, above all, let us eat with gaiety. We may fight over such trifles, but it is my opinion that we should not allow them to spoil our temper.’

  The invitation was accepted. They say that Prévan was never more amiable. He was clever enough not to humiliate any of his rivals; he persuaded them that they would all easily have had the same success as he did, and, above all, he made them admit that they would not have let slip such an opportunity either. Once these facts were admitted everything went as smoothly as could be. Before breakfast was finished it had already been said a dozen times that such women did not deserve to be fought over by men of honour. This idea inspired an air of conviviality. Wine reinforced it. And so only a few moments later, no longer just content with not bearing a grudge, they were swearing eternal friendship to one another.

  Prévan, no doubt as pleased as anyone by this turn of events, did not wish to forfeit any of the glory. In consequence, adapting his plans to the circumstances with some skill, he said to the three men who had been offended: ‘It is not upon me but upon your faithless mistresses you must take revenge. I shall offer you the opportunity to do this. I already feel for you this injury that soon I shall be sharing. For if none of you has managed to keep one single one of them for himself, how could I expect to hold on to all three? Your quarrel has become mine. Please accept supper in my petite maison this evening, and I hope I shall not have to defer your revenge any longer.’ They asked him to explain. But, with the tone of superiority that he was entitled to take in the circumstances, he replied: ‘Gentlemen, I believe I have proved to you that I am skilled in these matters. Count on me.’ They all agreed and, after embracing their new friend, they separated until the evening, to await the fulfilment of his promises.

  Prévan, without delay, returned to Paris and, as is customary, visited his new conquests. He obtained a promise from all three that they would come that very evening and partake of supper alone with him in his petite maison. Two of them certainly raised a few objections. But after the night before, what was there left to refuse? He told them to come at intervals of an hour, which was the time he needed to carry out his plans. After these preparations he retired, warned his three partners in crime, and all four went off with a light heart to await their victims.

  They heard the first one arrive. Prévan appeared on his own, receiving her with tender solicitude, conducting her into the sanctuary whose presiding goddess she believed herself to be. Then, disappearing suddenly on some slight pretext, he was himself immediately replaced by the outraged lover.

  As you may guess, at that moment the consternation of a woman not yet accustomed to having affairs made his victory very easy. Every reproach he did not make was accounted a favour, and the fugitive slave, once more delivered up to her former master, was only too happy to hope for forgiveness by resuming her former chains. The peace treaty was ratified in a more secluded place. And the stage, now empty, was filled by the other actors, each in their turn in more or less the same manner, and of course with the same dénouement.

  Each of the women, however, believed herself to be the only one to have the trick played on her. Their astonishment and embarrassment increased when at suppertime the three couples all met up. But the confusion reached its climax when Prévan, reappearing in their midst, was cruel enough to make his excuses to the three unfaithful women and, thus revealing their secrets, made it perfectly obvious to them to what extent they had been tricked.

  Meanwhile they sat down to eat and soon began to feel more comfortable. The men gave themselves up to it and the women submitted. There was some hatred in all their hearts, but the conversation went smoothly just the same. Gaiety led to desire, which lent in its turn a new charm to the proceedings. This astonishing orgy lasted till morning. And when everyone left the ladies must have thought they were forgiven. But the men, who still harboured resentment, broke it off the next day once and for all. And not content with leaving their fickle mistresses, they completed their revenge by publicizing the whole affair. Since that time one of the women is in a convent; the two others are languishing in exile on their estates.

  So that is the story of Prévan. It is up to you if you want to add to his glory, and yoke yourself to his triumphal chariot. Your letter really has given me cause for anxiety and I await with impatience a more sensible and intelligible reply to the last one I wrote.

  Farewell, my love. Beware of the pleasing or fanciful ideas which so easily lead you astray. Remember that in the kind of life you lead it is not enough to be clever; one single unwise step may mean irremediable disaster. Permit a prudent friend to be sometimes your guide in your pleasures.

  Farewell. I still love you just as if you were a reasonable being.

  From —, 18 September 17**

  LETTER 80

  The Chevalier Danceny to Cécile Volanges

  Cécile, my darling, when shall we see each other again? How shall I ever learn to live without you? Who will give me the strength and the courage? Never, no, never will I be able to bear this dreadful absence. Each day adds to my sorrow. I see no end to it! Valmont promised me his help and comfort. But Valmont neglects me and has perhaps forgotten me. He is near his beloved. He no longer knows what one suffers when one is apart from her. When he passed your last letter to me he did not add anything. And yet it is he who is supposed to tell me when I can see you and how. So has he nothing to tell me? You yourself do not speak of him. Is that because you no longer share my longing? Oh Cécile, Cécile, I am so unhappy. I love you more than ever. But this love, which is the delight of my life, is becoming a torment to me.

  No, I can no longer live like this. I must see you, I have to, if only for a moment. When I get up, I say: ‘I shall not see her today.’ I go to bed saying: ‘I have not seen her today.’ The days so long and not a moment of happiness in them! All is privation, regret, despair. And all these ills spring from the place where I used to obtain all my pleasure! Add to these mortal sufferings my worries about your own pain and you will have some idea of how I feel. I think of you continually and never without anxiety. If I see you afflicted or unhappy, I suffer all your grief. And if I see you are calm and consoled, then my own worries are redoubled. So there is unhappiness wherever I turn.

  Oh, it was not like that when you dwelt where I did! Everything then was pleasure. The certainty of seeing you even made the moments of absence more delicious. The time I had to spend away from you brought me nearer to you as it passed. The use I made of it was never strange to you. If I went about my duties, they made me more worthy of you. If I cultivated my talents, I hoped you would be more pleased with me. Even when the distractions of society carried me far awa
y from you I was not separated from you. At the theatre I tried to guess what might have pleased you. A concert made me think about your talents and our sweet occupations together. In company and when I went walking I seized upon the slightest likeness to you. I compared you with everything and always you had the advantage. Each moment of the day was marked by some new homage and every evening I brought the tribute to your feet.

  What is there left for me now? Painful regret, eternal privation and a slight hope that Valmont will break his silence and that yours will change to concern. Only ten leagues22 separate us – such a short distance to cross, but for me an insurmountable obstacle! And when I implore my friend and my mistress to help me surmount it, they both remain cold and indifferent! Far from coming to my aid, they do not even reply.

  So what has happened to Valmont’s commitment and friendship? And especially what has become of your tender sentiments, which made you so ingenious at finding a way for us to see each other every day? Sometimes I remember that my desire to see you had to be sacrificed to other considerations or things I had to do, though I did not cease to want to see you. And then, what did you not find to say to me? With how many pretexts did you not combat my arguments? And if you remember, my Cécile, my reasons always gave way to your wishes. I take no credit for that. I did not even feel it was a sacrifice. What you wanted I was only too eager to grant. But now it is my turn to ask you something. And what is my demand? To see you for a moment, to renew and receive the vows of eternal love. Is that no longer the thing that would make you as happy as it would me? I reject this desperate thought, which would crown my misery. You do love me, you will always love me. I believe it, I am certain of it, I never wish to doubt it. But my situation is terrible, and I cannot put up with it much longer. Adieu, Cécile.