Dangerous Liaisons

by Choderlos De Laclos

  The rendez-vous that I fixed so loudly on my way out of the Opera* was overheard, as I had hoped it would be. Prévan was there. And when the Maréchale obliged him by saying how gratified she was to see him twice running at her evenings, he was particular to say that since Tuesday evening he had undone a thousand arrangements in order to have this evening free. A nod is as good as a wink! But, as I wished to reassure myself that I was the real object of this flattering enthusiasm, I decided to force my new suitor to choose between me and his favourite pastime. I declared I would not play cards. He found, therefore, a thousand pretexts not to play. And so it was over the game of lansquenet29 that I scored my first triumph.

  I engaged the Bishop of — in conversation. I chose him because of his relationship with the hero of the day, wanting to give him every opportunity of approaching me. I was also very happy to have a respectable witness who could, if necessary, provide evidence of my conduct and conversation. This plan succeeded.

  After the usual generalities, Prévan soon dominated the conversation and tried various lines in turn to see which one I would find most pleasing. I refused to speak of sentiment, since I do not believe in it; I put a halt to his frivolous remarks with my serious tone, since they seemed to me too flippant for a beginning. He was reduced to a tone of courteous friendship. And it was under this flag of banality that we joined battle.

  The Bishop did not come down for supper.30 So Prévan gave me his arm and naturally found himself placed next to me at table. One must be fair. He kept up our private exchanges with a great deal of skill while still apparently making general conversation, of which he appeared to be bearing the entire burden. At dessert there was talk of a new play that was supposed to be put on the following Monday at the Comédie Française. I expressed a few regrets that I did not have my box that night; he offered me his and I refused first of all, as one does. To which he responded rather amusingly that I did not understand him; that of course he would not give up his box to someone he did not know, but he meant simply to inform me that it would be at Madame la Maréchale’s disposal. She went along with this little joke, and I accepted.

  Once back in the salon, as you can guess, he asked for a seat in this box. And as the Maréchale, who is very kindly disposed towards him, promised he could have it if he behaved himself, he took the opportunity to conduct one of these conversations with a double meaning, of the kind you have said he is so talented at. Going down on his knees to her like an obedient child, as he put it, while ostensibly asking what she meant and begging her to explain, he passed many flattering, affectionate remarks which quite plainly were intended for me. Several people did not return to cards after supper and the conversation became more general and less interesting. But our eyes spoke volumes. I say our eyes. I should say his, for mine registered only surprise. He must have thought I was startled and that my mind was extremely preoccupied with the prodigious effect he was having upon me. I think I left him very satisfied with himself, and I was no less pleased.

  The following Monday I was at the theatre as agreed. Despite your interest in literary matters, I have nothing to say about the spectacle except that Prévan has a prodigious talent for flattery and the play was a flop. That is all I gathered. But I was sorry when the evening was over, for in fact I enjoyed it enormously. And to make it last longer I asked the Maréchale to come and sup with me, which gave me a pretext to invite my amiable flatterer, who asked only time to hurry to the Comtesses de P—* and make his excuses. Their name filled me with rage again as I saw quite clearly that he was going to start sharing confidences with them. I remembered your wise advice and determined to pursue the affair, sure that I would be able to cure him of such dangerous indiscretions in future.

  As a newcomer among my friends, of whom there were not very many that evening, he was obliged to pay me the usual attentions. So when we went in to supper he offered me his hand. As I accepted it, I was wicked enough to make my own tremble just a little in his. I lowered my eyes and my breath quickened as I walked, as if I could foresee my defeat and was in awe of my conqueror. He fell for it straight away. The traitor! In a split second his tone and attitude changed. He had been gallant, he became tender. Not that the remarks themselves were very different. Circumstances saw to that. But the expression in his eyes grew softer, more caressing. There was a gentler inflection in his voice. His smile was no longer calculated but more contented. And when he spoke his salvos became fewer and kinder, and cleverness gave way to compliments. I ask you, would you have done better?

  I, for my part, became so pensive that people could not but notice. And when they chided me for it, I was adroit enough to make a clumsy defence of myself, and to flash a quick but timid and disconcerted glance at Prévan, one that was designed to make him think I was afraid he might guess the reason for my agitation.

  After supper, when the good Maréchale was telling one of the stories she is always telling, I availed myself of the opportunity to arrange myself in an attitude of dreamy abandon and sweet reverie upon my ottoman. I was quite content that Prévan should see me like this. In fact, he honoured me with a quite particular attention. You can guess that my shy glances did not dare meet those of my conqueror. But as I aimed them in a more modest manner in his direction I quickly realized that I was obtaining the effect I hoped to produce.31 I still had to persuade him that I shared his feelings. So when the Maréchale announced she was about to leave I cried in a soft and tender voice: ‘Oh, I was so comfortable here!’ But I got up. Before leaving her I asked what her plans were, so that I could have a pretext to say what mine were and let it be known that two days hence I would be at home. Upon which everyone went their way.

  Then I began to think it over. I did not doubt that Prévan would take advantage of the kind of rendez-vous I had just given him; that he would come early enough to find me alone, and that he would launch a strong attack. But I was also very sure that, given my reputation, he would not treat me in the casual fashion in which men, if they ever do, treat only loose or inexperienced women. And I could foresee certain success for me if he uttered the word love, and especially if he attempted to make me say it.

  How easy it is to deal with you men of principle! Sometimes a mawkish lover will disconcert you by his shyness, or embarrass you with his transports of passion. He may be in a fever that, like any other, has moments when one shivers and sweats; sometimes the symptoms vary. But a well-regulated advance is so predictable! The arrival, the comportment, the tone, the speech – I knew it all from the day before. So I will not give you an account of our conversation, which you will have no trouble supplying for yourself. Only observe that I gave him every possible help in my feigned defence. Embarrassment, to allow him time to speak; faulty arguments, to allow him to counter them; fear and mistrust, to make him return to his protestations; and I met his perpetual refrain, ‘I ask only one word from you’, with a silence which seemed to keep him waiting only in order to increase his desire. And in addition to all that, a hand taken a hundred times, always withdrawn but never refused. You could spend the whole day doing that. We spent one mortal hour, and should perhaps still be at it if we had not heard a carriage enter the courtyard. This happy contretemps made his demands all the more insistent, as you might expect, and, seeing I would now be safe from a surprise attack, I prepared myself with a long-drawn-out sigh and allowed myself to utter the blessed word. Someone was announced and a short time later quite a few had arrived.

  Prévan asked if he might call the next morning, and I agreed. But, taking care to defend myself, I ordered my chambermaid to stay in my bedroom the whole time, from which, as you know, one can see everything that goes on in my dressing room, and it was there that I received him. We talked freely and, as we were both wanting the same thing, we were soon in agreement. But we had to get rid of our unwelcome spectator. And that was my moment to strike.

  Painting a fictitious picture of my domestic arrangements, I easily managed to persuade him that we should not
be free, not for one moment, and that we should regard the time we had enjoyed together the day before as a sort of miracle, but that all the same it had exposed me to too great a danger, since anyone could have entered my drawing room at any moment. I did not fail to add that all these habits had become established because until now they had never got in my way. And I insisted at the same time on how impossible it was to change them without compromising myself in the eyes of my servants. He feigned sadness, became moody, told me I did not love him. And you can guess how touching I found that! But, wishing to strike the final blow, I sought help in tears. It was exactly like ‘Zaïre, you are weeping.’32 The power he supposed he had over me, and the hopes he entertained of ruining me as he chose, did duty with him for all Orosmane’s love.

  This coup de théâtre accomplished, we got back to our arrangements. Since there was no possibility in the day we wondered about night time. But my porter proved to be an insurmountable obstacle, and I did not allow him to be bribed. He suggested the small garden gate. But I had foreseen this and I invented a dog, who was calm and quiet by day but a real demon at night. The ease with which I went into all this detail was just what was necessary to make him more determined. So then he suggested the most ridiculous expedient of all, and that was the one I agreed to.

  First, his manservant was as trustworthy as he was. In that he was not wrong, one was as bad as the other. I was to give a big supper party at my house; he would be there; he would choose his moment and leave alone. The servant, in on the plan, would quickly call his cab and open the door, and he, Prévan, instead of getting in, would adroitly slip away. His coachman would not notice a thing. And thus having left, as everyone else thought, he would still be in the house, and it was simply a question of knowing if he would be able to reach my room. At first, I admit, my problem was to find objections to this plan that were weak enough for him to appear to be demolishing them. He countered with examples of its previous use. To hear him you would think there was nothing more banal than this tactic; he had often used it himself. It was indeed the one he used most frequently, being the least dangerous.

  Crushed by this irrefutable expertise, I candidly admitted that I did have a secret stairway leading very near to my boudoir. I could leave the key to it, and it would be possible for him to lock himself in and wait there without too much danger until my women retired. And then, to make my consent seem more believable, a moment later I pretended I no longer wanted that, and was only persuaded again on condition of his perfect submission, of his discretion…Ah, what discretion! Anyway, I was very happy to give proofs of my love, but not to satisfy his.

  His departure, which I was forgetting to tell you about, was supposed to be by the little garden gate. He would only have to wait until dawn and Cerberus would not make a sound. Not a soul passes that way at that hour and people are fast asleep. If you are surprised by this string of feeble arguments, it is because you are forgetting the nature of the situation between us. Why bother to invent better ones? He was quite happy for all of this to be known, and I was very sure that it should not be known. The day was fixed for the next but one.

  You will observe that the affair is all arranged and no one has seen Prévan with me as yet. I meet him for supper at a friend’s house, he offers her his box for a new play and I accept a seat in it. During the performance and in front of Prévan I invite this woman to supper. I can scarcely not invite him as well. He accepts and comes to see me two days later, as custom demands. In fact, he comes to see me the following morning. But apart from the fact that morning visits are no longer thought anything out of the ordinary, I am the only one who should judge whether it is too improper. And I place him in the category of people who are not such close friends by a written invitation to a formal dinner. I may well remark, like Annette, ‘That’s all there is to it in fact.’33

  The fateful day arrived, the day I was to lose my virtue and my reputation. I gave my orders to the faithful Victoire, and she carried them out, as you shall soon see.

  Evening came. I already had a great many people at my house when Prévan was announced. I received him with studied politeness, a mark of how little I knew him. And I put him at the Maréchale’s table for cards, since she was the person through whom we had met. The evening only produced a very short note, which my discreet suitor managed to pass to me, and which I burned, according to my custom. In it he declared that I could count on him, and these important words were buried under the usual parasitical words like love, friendship, etc., which are invariably used on such occasions.

  At midnight when the card games were over, I proposed a short macédoine.* I had the twofold plan of making Prévan’s escape easier and at the same time making sure it was noticed, which was certain to happen, given his reputation as a card player. I was also very happy for people to remember, if the need arose, that I had not been in a hurry to be left alone.

  The card game lasted longer than expected. The devil was tempting me, and I succumbed to the desire to go and console the impatient prisoner. I was just en route to my downfall when I reflected that once I had given myself to him completely I should no longer have the authority over him to keep him in the decent costume which was necessary to my plans. I had the strength to resist. I went back and took my place again, not without a little annoyance at this everlasting card game. But finally it was over and everyone left. As for me, I rang for my women, undressed with all speed and sent them away.

  Can’t you just see me, Vicomte, scantily clad, walking timidly and looking around me as I did so, and, with an uncertain hand, opening the door to my conqueror? He saw me, quick as a flash. What can I say? I was overcome, completely overcome, before being able to say a word to stop him or protect myself! Then he wanted us to adopt a more convenient position, more suited to the circumstances. He cursed his fine clothes which, he said, meant he could not get near me. He wanted to enter into equal and close combat with me. But my extreme timidity baulked at this project, and my tender kisses did not allow him time. He was busy with other things.

  His rights being increased twofold, he again became demanding. But then I said: ‘Listen to me, until now you will have a pretty tale to tell to the two Comtesses de P— and to a thousand others: but I am curious to know how you will recount the end of the affair.’ With these words I pulled on the bell with all my strength. Instantly I had the advantage, and my action spoke louder than his words. He had done no more than stammer out a word or two when I heard Victoire come running and call the servants she had kept with her, just as I had ordered. Then, adopting my regal tone and raising my voice, I continued: ‘Go, Monsieur, and never darken my door again.’ Upon which a crowd of my domestics came in.

  Poor Prévan lost his wits and, believing it was a trap, when basically it was just a joke, tried to draw his sword. This was most unfortunate, for my intrepid and muscular valet seized hold of him and threw him to the floor. I feared for his life, I must admit. I shouted to them to stop and ordered them to let him go, and just make sure he left my house. My servants obeyed. But rumour was rife among them. They were indignant that someone had insulted their virtuous mistress. They all accompanied the unfortunate cavalier out, with a great deal of noise and cries of scandal, as I was hoping. Only Victoire remained, and we busied ourselves during this time with putting my bed to rights.

  My servants came upstairs again, still in an uproar, and I, still greatly distressed, asked how it was that they had by good fortune been up at that hour. And Victoire recounted that she had given supper to two of her friends, that they had spent the evening with her – in short, all that we had agreed together. I thanked them all and told them to retire, but ordered one of them to go and fetch my doctor immediately. It seemed to me I was right to fear the effects of my terrible shock, and it was a sure method of giving currency and fame to this piece of news.

  So the doctor came and sympathized a great deal, but only ordered me to rest. As for me, I ordered Victoire to do more than that, and se
nt her out early to gossip to all the neighbours.

  Everything worked out so well that before midday, in fact as soon as my curtains were opened, my devoted neighbour was already at my bedside to know the truth and all the details of this ghastly affair. I was forced to spend a whole hour with her deploring the corruption of our age. A moment later and I received from the Maréchale this note I enclose with mine. Lastly at five o’clock, to my great astonishment, I saw Monsieur —* arrive. He came, he said, to present his apologies that an officer of his corps could have so insulted me. He had only learned of it at dinner with the Maréchale, and had immediately sent an order that Prévan should go to prison. I asked pardon for him, but he refused. So I thought that as his accomplice I should do likewise and at least stay strictly within walls. So I had my doors closed to the outside world and gave out that I was indisposed.

  You owe this long letter to my solitude. I shall now write one to Madame de Volanges, which she will be certain to read aloud, and where you will hear this story again as it should be told to the world.

  I was forgetting to tell you that Belleroche is beside himself with anger, and is determined to fight Prévan. The poor boy! Luckily I shall have time to calm him down…Meanwhile I am going to rest, as I am tired of writing. Adieu, Vicomte.

  Chateau de —, 25 September 17**, evening

  LETTER 86

  The Maréchale de — to the Marquise de Merteuil

  (Note included in the preceding letter)

  Heavens above! What is this I hear, my dear? Can it be that Prévan has behaved so abominably? And to you! What dangers one is exposed to! Shall we no longer be safe in our own homes? Truly these events console one for being old. But what I shall never be able to console myself for is having been to some extent the cause of your receiving such a monster in your house. I promise you that if what they have told me is true, he will never set foot in my house again. And that is how all respectable people will behave towards him, if they do their duty.