Dangerous Liaisons

by Choderlos De Laclos

  And I must suffer all this humiliation! Oh, let me at least use it to pierce my soul with an awareness of my utter frailty…Yes, I shall treasure these letters he does not care to keep any longer. I shall impose upon myself the shame of reading them each day until my tears have blotted out the least trace. And I shall burn his, as if infected with that dangerous poison which has eaten into my soul. Oh, what then is love if it makes us regretful even of the dangers to which it has exposed us? And especially if we still have to fear we may feel it even when we no longer inspire it! Let us flee from this baleful passion, which leaves us no choice except shame or misfortune and often entails both of these. And let prudence at least prevail instead of virtue.

  How long it is till Thursday! Why can I not bring this painful sacrifice to a conclusion now this minute and forget both cause and object at the same time! This visit is an intrusion. I am sorry I gave my promise. Why oh why should he need to see me again? What are we now to one another? If he has offended me, I forgive him. I even congratulate him for wanting to make amends for his wrongdoing. I commend him for it. I shall do more; I shall imitate him. I have been led into the same errors but shall follow his example and resume my former state. But if his plan is to flee from me, why does he start by seeking me out? Is not the most pressing thing for both of us to forget one another? Oh, surely it is, and that shall henceforth be my sole aim.

  With your permission, my dear friend, and in your company, I shall set about this difficult task. If I need help and perhaps consolation, I wish to receive it from no one but you. You alone understand me and speak to my heart. Your precious friendship shall fill my whole life. Nothing will seem difficult if it is to justify your kind help and support. I shall owe to you my peace of mind, my happiness and my virtue. And the reward of your goodness for me will be to have made myself worthy of it at last.

  I believe I have been very incoherent in this letter. I presume so at least, judging from the agitation I have constantly felt as I have been writing. If I have expressed any sentiments in it which I ought to have been ashamed of, draw the veil of your indulgent friendship over them. I have complete trust in that. From you I cannot wish to conceal the slightest impulse of my heart.

  Farewell, my honourable friend. I hope in a few days to tell you when I shall arrive.

  Paris, 25 October 17**

  PART FOUR

  LETTER 125

  The Vicomte de Valmont to the Marquise de Merteuil

  So I have defeated her, this arrogant woman who dared to think she could resist me! Yes, my love, she is mine, all mine! And ever since yesterday there is nothing left for her to give.

  I am still too full of happiness to be able to appreciate it, but I am surprised by the unfamiliar delight it gave me. Can it then be true that virtue increases the value of a woman even in the very moment of her weakness? But let us dismiss this childish idea as an old wives’ tale. Do we not nearly always come across some resistance, more or less well-feigned, at the first surrender? Have I not found the delights I am speaking of with any other women? And yet this is not love. For I have to say that though with this astonishing woman I have sometimes experienced moments of weakness which resemble that unmanly passion, I have always managed to subdue them and adhere to my principles. Even if yesterday’s scene had carried me rather further than I expected in that direction and for a moment I had shared the passion and the delirium I created in her, that passing illusion would be dispelled today. And yet the fascination persists. I should take, I don’t mind admitting, a certain sweet pleasure in indulging it if it did not worry me a little. Am I at my age to be mastered, like some schoolboy, by an involuntary and unknown feeling? No. Above all, I must get to the bottom of it, and fight it.

  And perhaps I have already perceived the cause! At least I am pleased with this idea and like to think it is correct.

  Among the crowds of women with whom I have until now fulfilled the role and function of lover, until that point I had not met a single one who was not at least as eager to give herself to me as I was to persuade her to do it. I had even grown accustomed to calling the ones who did not meet me halfway prudes, by contrast with so many others whose provocative defences only ever imperfectly concealed the first advances they made.

  In her case, on the other hand, there was an unfavourable prejudice from the very beginning, corroborated afterwards by the advice and tale-telling of an odious but perspicacious woman; a natural and extreme shyness fortified by a refined modesty; an attachment to virtue, guided by religion, which already had two years of triumph to its credit; and some brilliant tactics, inspired by these various feelings, whose sole aim was to escape my pursuit.

  This is not, therefore, as it was in my other affairs, a simple capitulation, more or less advantageous to me, easier to profit from than to boast about. It was total victory bought by a difficult campaign and decided by clever manoeuvres. So it is hardly surprising if this success, which has been entirely my own doing, should become all the more precious to me. And the excess of pleasure that I experienced in my triumph, and which I am still enjoying, is but the sweet sensation of glory. I cherish this belief since it saves me from the humiliation of thinking that I am in some way dependent upon the very slave whom I have subjected to my will; that I might not possess the capacity for total happiness within myself alone; or that the ability for making me enjoy it in all its intensity should rest with one woman, to the exclusion of all others.

  These judicious reflections will govern my conduct at this important stage. And you may be sure I shall not allow myself to become so involved that I am not capable of breaking, with the utmost ease, these new bonds whenever I feel like it. But I am already speaking of breaking up when you are still ignorant of how I acquired the right to it. So read this and see to what dangers wisdom is exposed when it comes to the help of folly. I took such careful note of what I said and what replies I obtained that I hope I can set out both with an accuracy that will gladden your heart.

  You will see from the two copies of the attached letters* which mediator I chose to help me to get near to my lady, and with what zeal the holy man set about uniting us. What I have to tell you still and what I learned by letter – intercepted as usual – is that the fear and the small humiliation of being jilted rather upset the prudence of our austere devotee, filling her heart and mind with feelings and ideas that had no foundation in common sense, but were none the less interesting. It was after these preliminaries, which you need to be aware of, that yesterday, Thursday the 28th, the day duly appointed by the ungrateful creature, I presented myself at her house, a timid and repentant slave, only to emerge as crowned conqueror.

  It was six in the evening when I arrived at the house of the fair recluse, for since her return her door has been closed to one and all. She tried to rise when I was announced, but her trembling knees did not permit her to remain in this position. She sat down again immediately. The servant who had let me in had some duty to attend to in the apartments, which seemed to cause her some impatience. We filled the interval with the usual courtesies. But in order not to waste a moment of this precious time I cast a careful eye over my surroundings, and instantly marked out the territory for my conquest. I might have chosen a more appropriate one, for in the same room there was an ottoman and I noticed that immediately opposite it was her husband’s portrait. I must admit I was afraid that with such an odd woman a stray glance in this direction might destroy all my painstaking work in a trice. But, anyway, there we were on our own at last, and I began talking.

  After venturing a few words about how Father Anselme must have informed her of the reasons for my visit, I complained of the harsh treatment I had received. And I particularly dwelt upon the contempt shown to me. This was denied, as I expected. And, as you no doubt expected, I based my proof upon the mistrust and fear I had inspired; on the scandalous way she had fled as a result; her refusal to answer my letters, or even receive them, etc., etc. As she was beginning a justification of her
actions, which would have been very easy to make, I thought I had better interrupt. And to ensure I was forgiven for this rudeness I immediately covered it up with flattery. ‘If all your charms,’ I continued, ‘have made such a profound impression upon my heart, all your virtue has made just as deep an impression upon my soul. Carried away, no doubt, by my desire to draw near to such virtue, I dared believe I was worthy of it. I do not hold it against you that you judged otherwise. But I am punished for my error.’ As she maintained an embarrassed silence I went on: ‘I wished, Madame, either to justify myself in your eyes or to obtain pardon for the wrongs you believe I have done you, in order at least to end my life in some peace and quiet, a life I no longer hold dear, since you have refused to lend it any beauty.’

  At this she none the less attempted a reply: ‘My duty did not permit me…’ But the difficulty of finishing the lie that duty demanded did not permit her to finish the sentence. I therefore continued in the tenderest tones:

  ‘So is it true that it was me you were escaping from?’

  ‘This departure was necessary.’

  ‘And you are putting a distance between us?’

  ‘It is necessary.’

  ‘For ever?’

  ‘I must.’

  I need not tell you that during this short dialogue the voice of the tender-hearted prude was forlorn and her downcast eyes would not meet mine. I decided I should liven up this languorous scene a little; so, rising with an air of annoyance, I declared: ‘Your firm resolve gives me back all my own. Well then, Madame, we shall be separated, separated even more than you imagine. And you will congratulate yourself at leisure on what you have done.’ Rather surprised by this tone of rebuke, she made an effort to reply. ‘The decision you have come to—’ she said. ‘Is simply the result of my despair,’ I rejoined emphatically. ‘It was your wish that I should be unhappy. I shall prove to you that you have succeeded far beyond what you might have hoped.’ ‘I desire your happiness,’ she replied, and her voice began to betray quite deep emotion. So, throwing myself at her feet and in my habitual dramatic style, I cried: ‘Ah, cruel woman, can there be any happiness for me if you do not share it? How can I find it if not with you? Ah! Never! Never!’ I admit that in having recourse to this expedient I had very much relied upon the assistance of tears: but whether it was due to my being in the wrong mood or whether it was just the effect of the constant and exacting attention that I was putting into the whole thing, the tears would not come.

  Happily I remembered that all means are equally good for conquering a woman, and that a grand and unexpected gesture would be all that was required to leave a deep and favourable impression. So I used fear to make up for my lack of sensibility. I changed only my tone of voice and, retaining the same posture, I continued: ‘I humbly swear before you, I shall possess you or die.’ As I uttered these last words, our eyes met. I do not know what the timid creature could see, or thought she could see in mine, but she rose in alarm and escaped from my embrace. It is true I did nothing to restrain her; for I have several times observed that scenes of despair enacted too enthusiastically become absurd when long-drawn-out, or else leave one with only the tragic option, which was very far from my intention. However, while she made her escape, I added in a low and sinister voice, but loud enough to be heard: ‘Well then, death it is!’

  Then I rose and, remaining silent for a moment, I threw wild glances in her direction; I appeared distraught but was none the less shrewdly observant. Her hesitant demeanour, her loud breathing, the contraction of every muscle, her trembling half-raised arms, all were sufficient proof of the effect I wished to produce. But as in love nothing is achieved unless one is at close quarters, and since we were at that point rather distant from one another, the first priority was to get closer. It was to this end that as soon as I could I assumed a composure calculated to calm the effects of this violence without taking anything away from the impression I had given.

  By way of transition I said: ‘I am so unhappy. I wanted to live for your happiness and I have destroyed it. All I desired was your peace of mind and I am destroying that too.’ Then, composed but constrained: ‘Forgive me, Madame. Unaccustomed as I am to the storms of passion, I have not learned how to repress my emotions. If I was wrong to give way to them, at least remember that it was for the last time. Oh! Calm yourself, calm yourself, I entreat you.’ And during this long speech I was getting closer, without her realizing.

  ‘If you wish me to calm myself,’ replied the terrified beauty, ‘you must calm yourself too.’

  ‘Well then,’ I told her, ‘I promise.’ I added more softly: ‘If the effort is great, at least it will not be long. But,’ I continued immediately with a distracted air, ‘is it not the case that I came to give you back your letters? Take them back, I beg you. This painful sacrifice has still to be made. Do not leave me anything which might weaken my resolve.’ And pulling from my pocket the precious package: ‘There it is,’ I declared, ‘this deceitful store of friendship! That was what bound me to life. Take it back. Give me the sign that must separate us for ever.’

  Here my fearful beloved yielded utterly to her tender solicitude. ‘But Monsieur de Valmont, what is the matter? What do you mean? Is what you are doing today not done of your own accord? Is it not the result of your own reflections? And did this not lead you to approve of the course of action I took because it was my duty?’

  ‘Well,’ I returned, ‘your action has determined my own.’

  ‘And what is that?’

  ‘The only one which can, by separating us, put an end to my pain.’

  ‘But answer me, what is it?’

  At this point I took her in my arms without her making any attempt whatsoever to defend herself. And, judging from this disregard for the proprieties, how strong and powerful her emotions must be: ‘You adorable woman,’ I said to her, risking a little fervour, ‘you have no idea how much I love you. You will never know to what extent you have been adored, and how much dearer to me this sentiment is than my life! May all your days be happy and peaceful. May they be blessed with all the happiness you have deprived me of! At least repay this sincere wish with one regret, with one tear; and believe me when I say that my ultimate sacrifice will not have been the most painful one. Farewell.’

  As I spoke I felt her heart beating violently. I observed her face change. To be precise I saw her choked with tears, but unable to shed them except slowly and with great difficulty. It was only then that I decided to pretend to leave. But immediately, holding me back by force, she insisted:

  ‘No, listen to me!’

  ‘Let me go,’ I replied.

  ‘You will listen to me, I insist.’

  ‘I must fly from you, I must!’

  ‘No!’ she cried…At this last word she threw herself or rather fell into my arms in a faint. As I was still doubtful of such a happy outcome, I pretended to be dreadfully alarmed. But at the same time I was leading her or carrying her towards the place I had designated before as the field of victory. And, in fact, she only regained consciousness having already submitted and surrendered to her happy conqueror.

  Up to this point, my love, you will be pleased, I think, by the purity of my method. And you will see that I have not diverged at all from the true principles of this art, which we have often noticed is so very similar to the art of warfare. Judge me then as you would a Turenne or a Friedrich.1 I forced into battle an enemy who only wished to use delaying tactics. Thanks to clever manoeuvring I obtained for myself the choice of terrain and dispositions. I was able to inspire a sense of security in the enemy in order to attack her more easily in her refuge. After that I was able to cause terror before joining battle. There was no risk, since there would be a huge advantage if I were successful and I was certain of my other resources in case of defeat. Finally I only went into action when I was assured of a safe retreat by which I could protect and preserve everything I had previously won. I think no one could have done more. But at present I fear I have
become soft as Hannibal among the fleshpots of Capua.2 Here is what later ensued.

  I was expecting that such a momentous event would not take place without the usual tears and despair. And if I remarked at first rather more embarrassment and a sort of withdrawal, I attributed them both to her prudish disposition. So, without bothering about these slight differences which I thought purely local, I went down the well-trodden road of consolation, fully persuaded that, as normally happens, sensation would come to the help of sentiment and that one single action would speak louder than any words – which I did not in any case neglect. But I found a truly terrifying resistance, not so much by its excess as by the form it took.

  Just imagine a woman seated, stiff and motionless, with a fixed expression on her face, apparently not thinking, nor listening, nor comprehending; from her eyes tears flowing more or less continuously, and effortlessly. Such was Madame de Tourvel while I was speaking. But if I tried to bring her attention back to me by a caress, or by even the most innocent of gestures, her seeming apathy gave way immediately to terror, suffocation, convulsions, sobs and a few cries now and then, but not one single articulate word.

  These crises were repeated several times over, each one more violent than the one before. The last was so violent that I was completely discouraged by it and feared for a moment that I had carried off a useless victory. I fell back on the usual commonplaces, and among them was this one: ‘And you are in despair because you have made me a happy man?’ At this, the adorable woman turned to me and her face, although still a little distraught, had nevertheless already recovered its beatific expression. ‘Happy?’ she said. You can guess what I said to her. ‘Are you…happy, then?’ I redoubled my protestations. ‘And happy because of me!’ I added tender words and compliments. While I was speaking all her limbs relaxed; she fell back limply, leaning on her armchair. And, allowing her hand, which I had had the temerity to take, to rest in mine: ‘That thought,’ she said, ‘is a solace and a comfort to me.’