Dangerous Liaisons

by Choderlos De Laclos

  She did not even wish to take the money I offered. But I am sure Monsieur would like to make her a little present and, if he does and he wishes me to do so on his behalf, I can easily find out what she would like.

  I hope Monsieur will not find I have neglected my duties. I believe it is important to give him reasons why I did what he has accused me of. If I was not aware of the departure of Madame la Présidente, it was because of my zeal to serve Monsieur, since he was the one who made me leave at three in the morning, which meant that I did not see Mademoiselle Julie the evening before, as I usually do, since I slept at Tournebride,9 so that I would not wake anyone in the chateau.

  As to Monsieur scolding me for being so often penniless, first it is because I like to keep up a good appearance, as Monsieur can see; and I have to uphold the honour of the coat I wear. I know I should perhaps save a little for the future, but I put my entire trust in the generosity of Monsieur, who is such a good master.

  As for entering the service of Madame de Tourvel while remaining in Monsieur’s service, I hope Monsieur will not require this of me. It was very different at Madame la Duchesse’s. But I certainly shall not wear the livery and especially not that of the Law after having had the privilege of being Monsieur’s valet.10 As to the rest, Monsieur may do what he likes with the man who has the honour of being his most respectful, affectionate and humble servant.

  Roux Azolan, valet

  Paris, 5 October 17**, at eleven o’clock at night

  LETTER 108

  The Présidente de Tourvel to Madame de Rosemonde

  My dear, kind mother, how grateful I am to you and how I needed that letter of yours! I read and re-read it, over and over. I could not tear myself away. The only moments I have found bearable since my departure I owe to that letter. How kind you are! Wisdom and virtue have compassion for my faiblesse! You pity my misfortune! Oh, if you only knew!…It is terrible. I believed I had felt the pangs of love. But the inexpressible torment, and you must feel it yourself to have any idea what it is like, is to be separated from your beloved, to be separated from him for ever!…Yes, the overwhelming pain I feel today will be there again tomorrow, and the day after, and through my whole life! My God, I am still so young, what a deal of time is left for suffering!

  To be the architect of my own misfortune; to tear my heart out with my own hands; and, while I am suffering this unbearable pain, to know that I could end it with a single word, except that the word is a crime! Oh, my friend!…

  When I took that painful decision to leave him, I hoped that absence would increase my courage and strength. How wrong I was! Quite the opposite seems to be the case; it has destroyed them utterly. I know I had more to fight against. But even when I was resisting him I was not totally deprived of him. At least I saw him sometimes. Often, even, without daring to raise my eyes and look at him, I could feel his eyes fixed upon me. Yes, my dear, I could feel them. They seemed to be giving warmth to my soul. And though his gaze did not meet mine, it nevertheless entered my heart. But now, in my painful solitude and isolated from everything which is dear to me, cloistered with my misfortune, all moments of my sad existence are bathed in tears and nothing sweetens the bitterness. My sacrifices have brought me no consolation. And those I have made so far have served only to render more painful still the sacrifices I have yet to make.

  Only yesterday this was brought home to me. In the letters they delivered there was one from him. From two yards away I recognized it from among the others. I rose involuntarily. I was shaking; I could scarcely hide my emotion. But this state was not unpleasurable. One moment later, as soon as I was alone, this deceptively sweet feeling vanished and left me with but one more sacrifice to make. For how could I open this letter that I was nevertheless longing to read? Because of the fate that pursues me, the consolations which seem to offer themselves only impose new privations. And these become still more cruel when I reflect that Monsieur de Valmont is experiencing them as well.

  So there it is finally, the name that is obsessing me, the one I had so much trouble writing. When you almost rebuked me for this it truly alarmed me. I beg you to believe that a false modesty has not lessened my trust in you. Why should I be fearful of naming him? Oh, I blush for my feelings and not for the person who causes them. Who is worthier than he to inspire them! Yet I do not know why this name does not come naturally to my pen. And this time I still needed to reflect before I wrote it. But let us return to the subject again.

  You tell me he seemed greatly affected by my departure. So what did he do? What did he say? Did he speak of returning to Paris? I beg you to persuade him not to, if it lies in your power. If he has judged me well, he should not bear me a grudge if I act in this way. But he must also realize that it is a decision I cannot go back on. One of my greatest torments is not knowing what he thinks. I have his letter still here…But you will probably agree that I must not open it.

  It is only through you, my understanding friend, that I am not entirely separated from him. I do not wish to abuse your kindness. I know perfectly well that you cannot write long letters. But you will not refuse your child two words, one to sustain her courage and the other to console her. Farewell, my honourable friend.

  Paris, 5 October 17**

  LETTER 109

  Cécile Volanges to the Marquise de Merteuil

  It is only today, Madame, that I gave Monsieur de Valmont the letter you did me the honour of writing to me. I kept it for four days in spite of my frequent fears that it would be discovered, but I did hide it very carefully. And when I was overcome by despair again I shut myself away and read it once more.

  I quite see now that what I thought was such a great misfortune is scarcely one at all. And I must admit there is a great deal in it that is pleasurable. So that I am hardly sad at all any more. It is only the thought of Danceny that still torments me sometimes. But now for much of the time I don’t think about him at all! Monsieur de Valmont is so amiable!

  I made it up with him two days ago. It was very easy for me. For I had only just opened my mouth to speak when he said that if I had something to say to him he would come to my room that evening, and all I had to do was say yes. And then, as soon as he got there, he did not seem any more put out than if I had never done anything to upset him. He only scolded me afterwards and then it was very gently, and it was like…Just like you did. And that proved to me that he was also my good friend.

  I can’t tell you how many funny things he recounted to me. I would never have believed them, especially about Mamma. I should love to know from you if they are true. What is certain is that I could not stop laughing. Once I laughed right out loud and we were both scared, for Mamma might have heard us, and if she had come to see what was going on, what would have become of me? She would certainly have sent me back to the convent!

  As I must be careful and as Monsieur de Valmont said himself he would not want to risk compromising me, we agreed that in future he would just come and open the door, and that we would go into his bedroom. There is no danger there. I was there yesterday already and at the time of writing I am expecting him to come again. So I hope, Madame, you will not scold me any more.

  But there was one thing that really surprised me about your letter. It’s what you said about when I am married, concerning Danceny and Monsieur de Valmont. It seems to me that one day at the Opera you were telling me something quite different, that once married I would only be able to love my husband and have to forget all about Danceny. But perhaps I did not quite understand you and I would much prefer it to be different, because now I shall no longer be afraid to be married. I even desire it, for then I shall have more freedom. And I hope I shall be able to manage in such a way that I need think of no one but Danceny. I feel that I shall only be truly happy with him. For at the moment the thought of him keeps tormenting me, and I am only content when I can stop thinking about him, which is very difficult. As soon as I do, I immediately become very depressed again.

  What consol
es me a little is that you assure me that Danceny will love me more. But are you absolutely certain? Oh yes, you would not wish to tell me falsehoods. Yet it is funny that it should be Danceny I love and that Monsieur de Valmont…But, as you say, perhaps it is fortunate! Well, we shall see.

  I do not quite understand what you say about my style. I think Danceny likes my letters just how they are. Yet I know I must not say anything to him about what is going on with Monsieur de Valmont. So you need not worry.

  Mamma has not spoken to me yet about my marriage. But let us wait. When she mentions it, since it is to trick me, I promise I shall be able to conceal the truth.

  Farewell, my dear friend. I am so grateful to you and I promise I shall never forget all your kindness to me. I must stop, for it is almost one and Monsieur de Valmont will be here before long.

  From the Chateau de —, 10 October 17**

  LETTER 110

  The Vicomte de Valmont to the Marquise de Merteuil

  Heavenly powers, my soul was fit for sorrow; give me a soul fit for happiness!*11 It is, I believe, the tender Saint-Preux who expresses himself thus. I am better endowed than he was; I possess both at one and the same time! Yes my friend, I am both very happy and very unhappy. And since you have my absolute trust I owe you the twofold account of my pain and of my pleasure.

  Do you know that my ungrateful devotee is still being cruel to me? She has now sent my fourth letter back. Perhaps I am wrong to say fourth, for I guessed after the first it would be followed by many others, and not wishing to waste my time like that I decided to couch my complaints in platitudes and not put any dates on them. And ever since the second it is always the same letter going back and forth. All I do is change the envelope. If my beauty ends up doing what they all do as a rule and one day takes pity, if only out of weariness, she will finally keep the letter and it will be time then to find out how things are going. As you can see, with this new kind of correspondence I cannot be in command of all the facts.

  But I have found out that the fickle creature has changed her confidante. At least I am sure that since her departure from the chateau no letter has arrived from her for Madame de Volanges, whereas two have come for old Rosemonde. And as the latter has not said anything, and as she does not open her mouth any more about her ‘dear girl’, of whom she used to talk endlessly, I conclude that she is the one who is the confidante. I presume that it is on the one hand her need to discuss me, and on the other the slight shame with regard to Madame de Volanges of reverting to feelings for so long denied, which have produced this momentous change in tactics. I am still afraid I may have lost out; for the older women get, the harsher and stricter they become. The former would certainly have spoken more ill of me, but the latter will speak more ill of love; and the sensitive prude is much more afraid of the feeling than the person who inspires it.

  The only way I can learn the facts is, as you see, to intercept the clandestine correspondence. I have already sent my orders about this to my valet and I am expecting him to carry them out day by day. Until then I can do nothing systematic. So for the last week I have been vainly going over every stratagem known to man, those taken from novels and from my own secret diaries. I find none suitable, either to the circumstances of the affair or to the character of the heroine. The difficulty would not be getting into her room, even at night, or yet again to make her go to sleep and create a new Clarissa.12 But after two months of toiling away and putting myself out for her, to have recourse to means that are not my own! Dragging myself along in that servile way in the wake of others and winning a victory without any glory!…No, she shall not have the pleasures of vice and the honours of virtue.*13 It is not enough for me to possess her, I want her to surrender. Now in order for that to happen, not only must I get into her room, I must arrive there at her invitation, find her alone and ready to listen, and especially to close her eyes to the danger, for if she sees it she must rise above it or die. But the more I know what I have to do, the harder I find it to carry it out. And if you were again to make fun of me, I can tell you that my embarrassment increases the more I think about it.

  I should be driven mad, I do believe, were it not for the happy distraction afforded me by our communal pupil. I owe it to her that I still have better things to do than write elegies.

  Would you believe that the girl was so terrified that three long days went by before your letter produced its full effect? See how one single false notion can spoil the happiest of natures!

  It was not until Saturday that she approached me and stammered out a few words. And they were mumbled so quietly and so shame-facedly that it was impossible to hear them, but the blush they provoked made me guess at their meaning. Until then I had retained my pride. However, yielding to such a pleasing repentance, I was happy to promise that I would go and see the pretty penitent that very evening. And this forgiveness on my part was received with all the gratitude due to such a kindness.

  As I never lose sight of your projects or of mine, I have resolved to take advantage of this opportunity to find out the child’s potential, and also to accelerate her education. But to pursue this work with greater freedom I needed to change our meeting place. For a mere closet, which is all that separates your pupil’s room from her mother’s, would not afford her enough security to allow her to show herself at her ease. So I had promised myself to make some noise innocently, that would cause her enough alarm to make her take a safer refuge in future. She spared me this trouble.

  The little lady laughs a lot. And to encourage her gaiety I took it into my head, during the intervals, to tell her all the scandalous adventures that came into my head. And to spice them up and focus her attention more sharply I said they all concerned her mother, whom I very much enjoyed slandering with vice and follies.

  My idea was not without an ulterior motive. More than anything else it encouraged my shy little schoolgirl and inspired in her at the same time the deepest contempt for her mother. I have long ago noticed that, if it is not always necessary to use this means to seduce a young girl, it is an indispensable and often the most effective course when one wishes to corrupt her. For the girl who does not respect her mother will not respect herself. A moral truth that I believe to be so useful that I am very glad to provide another example of its application.

  However, your pupil, with never a thought for morals, was in fits of laughter all the time. And once she nearly burst. It was easy to make her believe she had made a terrible noise. I pretended to be extremely scared, a feeling she was easily persuaded to share. And so that she would not forget it, I did not allow pleasure to rear its head again, but left her three hours earlier than usual. So as we parted we agreed that we should meet in my room from the following day onwards.

  I have already received her twice there. And in this short time the schoolgirl has become almost as skilled as her teacher. Yes, I have taught her everything, including the variations! Everything except the precautions.

  So being occupied all night I make up for it by sleeping a good part of the day. And as the current society in the chateau holds no attraction for me, I spend scarcely an hour in the salon in the course of the day. I have even, from today, decided to eat in my room and I hope to leave it only for a little walk now and then. This odd behaviour is put down to my health. I declared that I was overcome by the vapours.14 I also told them I had a touch of the fever. All I have to do is speak in a slow, muffled voice. As to the change in my expression, rely on your pupil. Love will provide the reason.*15

  I occupy my leisure hours with thinking up how to make good the advantage I have lost over the ungrateful woman and also with composing a sort of catechism of debauchery16 for my schoolgirl to use. I take pleasure in using only the technical word for everything, and I laugh in anticipation at the interesting conversation that that will doubtless provide for her and Gercourt on their wedding night. Nothing is more amusing than the naivety with which she already uses the little she knows of this language! She has no idea there
is any other way of expressing herself! This child is truly seductive! This contrast between her naive candour and the boldness of her language never fails to have its effect on me. I don’t know why it is only odd things that please me.

  Perhaps I am too occupied with the girl, for I am compromising my time and my health. But I hope that my pretended illness, apart from sparing me from the boredom of the salon, will still be of some use where the austere devotee is concerned, who marries the virtues of a tigress with such sweet sensitivity! I do not doubt that she has already been informed about my grave indisposition, and I am longing to know her opinion of it. All the more so because I wager she will not fail to take the credit for it herself. In future I shall regulate the state of my health by the impression it makes upon her.

  So now, my dear, you are as up-to-date as I am about my affairs. I hope soon to have more interesting news to tell; and beg you to believe that, among the pleasures I am looking forward to, I greatly prize the reward I am expecting from you.

  From the Chateau de —, 11 October 17**

  LETTER 111

  The Comte de Gercourt to Madame de Volanges

  All seems quiet in this country, Madame, and we daily expect permission to return to France. I hope you will not doubt that I am still as anxious as ever to return and tie the knot that will unite me to you and to Mademoiselle de Volanges. However, Monsieur le Duc de —, my cousin, to whom you know I have a great many obligations, has just told me of his recall to Naples. He writes that he hopes to go via Rome and see the parts of Italy he is not acquainted with on the way. He has invited me to accompany him on this journey, which will take about six weeks or two months. I cannot deny that it would be pleasant for me to take advantage of this opportunity, knowing that once I am married I shall find it hard to take the time to absent myself except when military service requires. So perhaps it would be best to wait until winter to get married, since that is the only possible time when all my relatives are together in Paris, and in particular Monsieur le Marquis de —, to whom I owe my hopes of belonging to your family. In spite of these considerations my plans in this respect will be completely subordinated to your own and, should you favour the arrangement we first made, then I am ready to cancel mine. I beg you only to let me know your intentions as soon as possible. I shall await your reply here and that alone will decide my actions.