Les Liaisons Dangereuses

by Pierre Choderlos De Laclos

  A carriage has just stopped in front of the gate and Mummy’s sent a message telling me to come and see her straight away. Suppose it’s Him! I’m not dressed and my hand’s shaking and my heart’s beating so fast! I’ve asked my maid if she knows who it is with my mother. ‘It’s really Monsieur C—–,’ she said and she was laughing! Oh, I think it is him! I’ll certainly let you know what’s happened as soon as I come back. Any way, you know his name now. Goodbye, I’ll be right back.

  Here I am again and you’re really going to laugh at me! It’s ever so embarrassing but you’d have been taken in just as much as me. When I went up to Mummy’s there was a gentleman dressed in black standing beside her. I did my best curtsey and just stood there frozen to the ground. You can imagine how closely I examined him! ‘What a charming young daughter you have, Madame,’ he said and gave me a bow, ‘and I appreciate your kindness even more.’ These words were so plain that I started trembling so much that I couldn’t stay on my feet so I made for an armchair and sat down all red and flustered. And then there was this man on his knees in front of me! Poor me! I lost my head completely, as Mummy said, I was scared out of my wits and I leapt up with a scream, you know, just like that time there was that thunderclap. Mummy burst out laughing and said to me: ‘What on earth’s the matter? Sit down and let the gentleman have your foot.’ And in fact, Sophie dear, this gentleman was actually the bootmaker! I can’t tell you how ashamed I felt… Fortunately, only Mummy was there. When I’m married, I don’t think I’ll use that bootmaker any more.

  Well, you must admit we girls really are very clever, aren’t we? Goodbye, it’s nearly six o’clock and my maid’s just told me it’s time to get dressed. Goodbye, Sophie darling, I still love you just like I did in the convent!

  PS I don’t know who I can find to get this letter to you so I’ll wait till Joséphine comes.

  2

  The Marquise de Merteuil to the Vicomte de Valmont at the Château de—–Paris, 4 August 17—

  My dear Vicomte, you must come back to Paris, you really must! What are you up to? What on earth can you be doing down there with an old aunt when you’re due to inherit everything she’s got anyway? You must pack your bags at once, I have need of you. I’ve dreamed up a really wonderful scheme and I’m ready and willing to let you put it into practice. These few words should be quite enough for you to feel so honoured that my choice has fallen on you that you’ll rush to fall at my feet, panting to receive my instructions; but you’re still taking advantage of my kindness of heart even now you’ve stopped taking any advantage of my kindness in other directions, leaving me with no alternatives but implacable hatred or sublime forgiveness. Luckily for you, my kind heart has prevailed and I’m willing to tell you my plan, but you must give me your word, as a perfect gentle knight, not to embark on any other adventures until you have brought this one to successful completion. It’s a task worthy of a hero: you’ll be serving the cause of Love and of Revenge; and it will indeed be one rakery* more to put in your memoirs*—I’m determined they’ll be published one day and I undertake to write them myself. But let’s leave that for the moment and come back to what I have in mind.

  Madame de Volanges has unearthed a husband for her daughter; it’s still a secret but she told me about it yesterday. And who do you think is the lucky man? None other than the Comte de Gercourt. Who’d ever have guessed I’d be de Gercourt’s cousin? I’m positively livid … And you still can’t see why? What an obtuse fellow you are! Have you forgiven him for that affair he had with the wife of that intendant?* And haven’t I even stronger reasons for complaint, you monster!* All right, all right, I’ll calm down and comfort my soul with the hope of getting my revenge …

  Like me, you’ve been bored times without number by Gercourt’s inordinate concern regarding his future wife and his fatuous presumption that he alone will be spared the common fate; you know his ridiculous prejudice in favour of convent-bred girls and his even more ridiculous conviction that blondes are modest and reserved. In fact, I bet that in spite of the Volanges girl’s private income of sixty thousand a year,* he’d never have agreed to marry her if she’d been a brunette and not been educated in a convent. So let’s give him proof that he’s cheating himself. He’ll be cheated on sooner or later, I’ve no worries on that score, but it would be such fun if he was cheated from the start. How wonderful it would be to hear him bragging the morning after! And brag he certainly will … What’s more, once you’ve set that little girl off on the right track, it’ll be bad luck indeed if that fellow Gercourt doesn’t become the talk of Paris, like anyone else.

  Incidentally, the heroine of this new romance merits your close attention; she’s very pretty; only fifteen years old, the rosebud.* True, she’s awkward—incredibly so—and completely unsophisticated, but you men aren’t put off by that. In addition, there’s a sort of soulful look that really is most promising. And what’s more, she comes with my recommendation. All you’re asked to do is to thank me and do as you’re told.

  You’ll be getting this letter tomorrow morning and I require you to present yourself here at seven o’clock sharp tomorrow evening.* I’ll not be in for anyone else till eight, not even to my current knight: he’s not quite bright enough for such important business. I’ll release you at eight and you are to come back at ten for supper with the beautiful object, because mother and daughter are to be there then. Goodbye. It’s after twelve noon and very shortly you’ll be far from my thoughts …

  3

  Cécile Volanges to Sophie Carnay at the Ursuline Convent of—–Paris, 4 August 17—

  I’m still in the dark, dear Sophie. Yesterday Mummy had a lot of people to supper. I realize it was worth my while to take a good look, especially at the men, but I was dreadfully bored. The men and the women were all watching me a lot and then whispering to each other and I could see they were talking about me, which made me blush. I just couldn’t stop myself though I wished I could have because I’d noticed that when other women were looked at they didn’t blush. Or perhaps it’s all that rouge they wear that prevents you seeing if they go red when they’re embarrassed, because it must be jolly difficult not to go red if a man’s staring at you.

  The thing which made me feel most uncomfortable was not knowing what people were thinking about me. Though I do believe I heard the word pretty* a couple of times and I definitely did hear the word awkward and I know that’s true because the woman saying it is related to Mummy and a friend of hers. She even seems to have taken to me straight away. She was the only one to speak to me at all the whole evening. We’re going to supper at her’s tomorrow.

  I also heard after supper a man who I’m sure was talking about me and saying to another man: ‘We’ll have to let it ripen up a bit and see what happens this winter.’ Perhaps he’s the one who’s going to marry me but in that case it wouldn’t be for another four months! I’d love to know what’s actually going on.

  Here’s Joséphine and she says she’s in a hurry but I’d still like to tell you one of the awkward things I did. Oh, I think that lady was quite right!

  After supper, people started playing cards. I sat near Mummy and I don’t know how it happened but I dropped off to sleep almost at once. I was woken up by a loud burst of laughter. I don’t know if they were laughing at me but I think they were. Mummy gave me permission to go off to bed which I was very glad to do, it was after eleven o’clock! Goodbye, Sophie dear, please don’t stop being fond of your Cécile. I promise you society isn’t half as much fun as we used to think it would be.

  4

  The Vicomte de Valmont to the Marquise de Merteuil in Paris From the Château de—–, 5 August 17—

  Your commands exude charm, dear lady, and the way you issue them is even more charming; you’d make a really lovable dictator. As you know, this isn’t the first time I’ve felt sorry I’m no longer your humble and obedient slave, and however much a monster I may be—your own words—I always look back with pleasure on the time when
you bestowed less unfriendly names on me. Indeed, I often have the desire to earn them again, thus finally providing, with you, an example of constancy* in love for all the world to see. But there are more important matters to engage our attention: we are fated to be conquerors and we must follow our destiny;* perhaps at the end of our career we shall meet again, because, with all due respect, most lovely Marquise, you are following in my tracks at a pace at least equal to mine, and ever since, for the greater good of mankind, we set out on our separate paths to preach the good word each in our own way, it seems to me that as a missionary of love, you have made more converts than 1.1 know your proselytizing eagerness, your burning zeal, and if that particular God judged us according to our works, you would one day have risen to be the patron saint of some great city whereas your humble friend would be at best a local village saint. You find my choice of language surprising, don’t you? But it’s the only language I’ve been using and hearing for the last week and it’s because I’m anxious to hone my skills that I find myself compelled to disobey you.

  Don’t be cross and listen to me. As you are the faithful trustee of all my heart’s secrets, let me unveil to you the most ambitious scheme I have ever devised. What were you proposing for me to undertake? To seduce a girl who’s seen nothing of life, who’s completely ignorant and who, to put it bluntly, would be handed to me on a plate; who’ll lose her head at the first compliment she receives and be impelled more by curiosity than by love. There are a dozen men as competent to do that job as I and my present campaign is very different; if I can pull it off, it’ll be not only a triumph but a pleasure. Even Cupid, now busily preparing the crown to honour my victory, is hesitating between myrtle and laurels* or perhaps a combination of the two. You yourself, lovely lady, will be stunned into respectful reverence and proclaim enthusiastically: ‘Here is a man after my own heart!’

  You know Madame de Tourvel, the judge’s wife; you know her religious fervour, her conjugal love, her strict principles. She’s my objective, an adversary worthy of my steel; I’m hoping for a bull’s-eye.

  Et si de l’obtenir je n’emporte pas le prix,

  J’aurai du moins l’honneur de l’avoir entrepris.

  We’re allowed to quote bad poetry when it comes from a great poet.*

  I must inform you that the judge has gone off to conduct an important case in Burgundy (I have in mind to make him lose a more important one). His better half is inconsolable; she’s having to spend the whole of her heart-breaking grass-widowhood here. Mass every day; a few charitable calls on the local poor; prayers night and morning; lonely walks; pious chats with my old aunt and an occasional dreary hand of whist; these were to be her only distractions. I’m arranging some rather more active ones for her… My guardian angel has guided my steps here to consummate her happiness and my own! And to think I was quite disconsolate at having to sacrifice twenty-four hours of my life to fulfil a social duty! How idiotic! What a penance it would be for me to have to go back to Paris at the moment! Fortunately you need four people to play whist and as there’s only the local parish priest, my indestructible aunt made an urgent appeal to me to sacrifice a few days for her sake. As you may guess, I didn’t say no. You can’t imagine how genial she’s been towards me ever since and especially how edifying she finds my regular attendance at her Masses and prayers. She’s got no idea of the divinity I’m worshipping …

  So for the last four days I’ve been in the grip of a total passion. You know how sharply my desire flares up, how I take every obstacle in my stride; what you don’t know is how strongly it’s fuelled by solitude. I’ve only one idea in my head; I think of it by day, I dream of it by night. I’ve got to have that woman or else I’ll make a fool of myself by falling in love with her. Who knows to what lengths frustrated lust can’t lead? Ah, the bliss of gratified desire! May it be granted me for the sake of my happiness and above all of my peace of mind. How fortunate we are that women are so bad at defending themselves, otherwise we’d become their abject slaves! And so I thank God for women of easy virtue and this naturally leads me to fling myself at your feet and humbly crave forgiveness, thus bringing this excessively long letter to an end. Goodbye, very lovely lady. No hard feelings?*

  5

  The Marquise de Merteuil to the Vicomte de Valmont Paris, 7 August 17—

  Do you know, Valmont, your letter was so remarkably impertinent that I very, very, nearly lost my temper? But it showed that you’re stark raving mad and that alone spared you from my wrath. So, with my usual generosity, sensitivity, and friendliness, I’ll overlook your offence and concern myself solely with your parlous situation; and though bringing people to their senses is frightfully boring, your present plight is so parlous that I can’t let you down.

  You, have that judge’s wife? You, Vicomte de Valmont in person? It’s absurd, a typical fancy of your perverse nature, wanting only the impossible. What sort of woman is it we’re talking about? Well, quite decent features, that I’ll grant you, even if lacking expression. A reasonable figure, though gawky; and always hilariously dowdy, draped in layers of fichus and corseted up to the chin! Here’s a bit of friendly advice: a couple of women like that would be more than enough to cost you your whole reputation. Have you forgotten the day she was taking the collection at Saint-Roch’s,* when you told me how grateful you were to me for providing you with such a sight? I can still see her, giving her hand to that long-haired beanpole of a man, stumbling every time she took a step, continually smothering people under her enormous hoop-skirt and blushing scarlet each time she genuflected. Who’d have guessed then that you’d be casting libidinous eyes on that woman? Come, come, Vicomte, you ought to be covered in blushes yourself. You must come to your senses and I then promise never to breathe a word.

  And just think of all the various vexations involved! And who are you competing against? A husband! Don’t you feel humiliated at the very thought? And if you were to fail, what a disgrace! Even if you succeed, it’ll be nothing to boast about! What’s more, don’t expect to get any pleasure out of it: how can you expect a prude* to provide pleasure? I mean the ones who really are prudes; even their pleasure will be carefully doled out, they’ll never be able to offer you anything but strictly limited rapture. Letting yourself go completely, without restraint, so that pleasure is refined into ecstasy because it’s pushed to excess, delights such as these are a closed book for prudes. Let me make a prophecy: even if everything turns out as you hope, your judge’s wife will imagine she’s doing her best for you by treating you like her husband; and in the most loving duet between married couples, they always remain two separate persons. In this case, it’s even worse: your prude is a pious prude and with an old womanish sort of simple piety that condemns her never to grow up. That sort of obstacle can be overcome but don’t delude yourself that you’ll ever destroy it; when you’ve won the battle against love of God you’ll still not have won it against Satan; when you feel your mistress’s heart pounding as you hold her in your arms, it’ll be for fear, not for love. Perhaps if you’d got to know her earlier on you might have made something of her; but this woman is twenty-two years old and has been married for nearly two years. Take it from me, Vicomte, that sort of stick-in-the-mud must be abandoned to her fate; she’s never going to be anything but small fry.

  And yet it’s for this splendid object that you are refusing to obey me, burying yourself in your aunt’s graveyard, and throwing away the chance of an absolutely delightful adventure and one likely to do you credit. Why should Gercourt be fated always to get the better of you? Look, speaking quite dispassionately, at the moment I’m tempted to think you’re falling far short of your reputation, and more specifically, I’m tempted not to continue letting you enjoy my trust: I could never bring myself to telling Madame de Tourvel’s lover all my secrets.

  Let me inform you meanwhile that the little Volanges girl has already turned one man’s head: young Danceny’s mad about her. He’s been singing duets with her and indeed she sin
gs better than any convent girl ought. They must spend a lot of time rehearsing their songs together and I suspect she’d not be averse to singing to his tune. But young Danceny’s still wet behind the ears; as a lover, he’s a dead loss, he’ll never see anything through to the end. For her part, the little miss is rather coy and in any event it’d be far less fun for her than it would be with you, if you were willing. So I’m in a foul mood which I shall certainly take out on my knight when he arrives. I’d advise him to be very meek because at the moment I wouldn’t think twice about sending him packing. I’m sure that if I were sensible enough to leave him now he’d be in despair, and there’s nothing quite so funny as a lover in despair. He’d call me false and faithless and I’ve always had a weakness for those two words; next to cruel,* they’re the nicest words for a woman to hear, and not so hard to earn. I must definitely start thinking about getting rid of him. Just look at the things you’re making me do! I hope it gives you bad dreams. Goodbye. Get your Madame de Tourvel to put me in her prayers.

  6

  The Vicomte de Valmont to the Marquise de Merteuil From the Château de—–, 9 August 17—

  So you’re no exception to the rule: once they’ve established their authority, all women abuse it! Even you, the one I’ve so often called the most tolerant of all my women friends, have changed your tune and had the impertinence to attack me through the object of my affection! How dare you describe Madame de Tourvel like that! Show me the man who wouldn’t have paid for such impertinence with his life! And any other woman but you would have been at least in sericus trouble! I do beg you, never submit my patience to that sort of trial again; I couldn’t guarantee to take it lying down. In deference to our friendship, if you do feel like making beastly remarks about that woman, at least wait until I’ve actually had her. Didn’t you know that it’s not until after enjoying its delights that Love can stop being blind?