To make amends to him and perhaps even to myself, I decided on the spot to introduce him to my little house* that he knew nothing about. I called my trusty Victoire; my migraine sets in and my servants are all told I’ve gone to bed. Finally, left with just my maid, my old reliable, I myself dress up as a lady’s maid while she disguises herself as a footman. She then arranges for a cab to pick me up at my garden gate and off we go. Having arrived at this temple of love, I select my most fetching négligé, a delectable lacy thing designed by myself, extremely revealing but with minimum exposure. I’ll let you have a pattern of it for your judge’s wife when she’s proved a fit person to wear it.
Thus armed, leaving Victoire to look after the other details, I read a chapter of Le Sopha, one of Eloïsa’s letters and a couple of tales of La Fontaine,* so as to make sure I had all my various roles by heart. My lover meanwhile, champing at the bit as usual, turns up at the door of my house, is refused admission by my major-domo and told I’m not well: episode one. At the same time, he is handed a note from me but not written by me, in accordance with the Merteuil principle of absolute discretion. He opens it and reads these words, in Victoire’s handwriting: ‘Nine o’clock sharp, on the boulevard in front of the cafés.’* He betakes himself thither to be met by a small footman whom he doesn’t know or thinks he doesn’t know—once again, it’s Victoire—who tells him to send his carriage away and follow her. These romantic* proceedings inflame his already heated imagination—there’s never any harm in a heated imagination. And finally, here he is and truly spellbound by wonder and by love. To give him time to recover, we took a short stroll under the trees and then I took him back to the house. The first thing he saw was a table laid for two; next, a bed, already made up; then we went through into my boudoir, decked out in all its splendour. Once there, impelled partly by design and partly by emotion, I flung my arms around him and slid to my knees at his feet. ‘Oh, my dear, dear man,’ I said, ‘I’ve been very naughty and pretending to be angry with you. It was only to give you this surprise but it was wrong of me to hide my real feelings from you even for a second. Please forgive me and let me make amends by proving to you how much I love you.’ You can imagine the effect of this sentimental set-piece. The happy lover picked me up and consummated my forgiveness on that very ottoman where you and I consummated in similar style our joyous decision to part for ever.*
Since we had six hours to spend together and I was determined that each one was to be equally enjoyable for him, I damped his ardour down a trifle and lovemaking was succeeded by a little gentle dalliance. I think I’ve never taken such trouble to be agreeable before nor ever been so pleased with my performance. After supper, I enjoyed pretending he was a sultan and by being alternately girlish and sensible, sentimental and impish, and now and again even lascivious, I took on the roles of various favourites in his harem, so that while each of his amatory efforts was addressed to the same woman, it met with a response from a different mistress.
At daybreak, it was time to stop. He needed a rest; his spirit was willing but the flesh … As we were leaving, as a parting gesture I handed him the key of my little love-nest. ‘I only got it for you,’ I said, ‘so it’s only right that you alone should have charge of it. The temple of love belongs to the one who performs the sacrifices.’ This subterfuge should forestall any misgivings he may have at my owning a little house, always something rather suspect. I know him well enough to be sure he’ll use the key only for me; in any case, should I ever need it for my own use, I’ve got a spare. He was very keen to arrange a return visit but I’m too fond of him to wish to wear him out so quickly. We must only over-indulge with people we don’t want to keep too long. He doesn’t understand this but luckily for him I’m clever enough for both of us.
I see it’s three o’clock in the morning and I’ve written whole screeds when I only intended to write a short note! That’s the result of having such a charming and trusted friend. And that’s why you’re still the man I’m fondest of, though, to be frank, I get more pleasure out of my knight.*
11
Madame de Tourvel to Madame de Volanges From the Château de—–, 13 August 17—
Your stern letter would have scared me, dear Madame de Volanges, if, fortunately, it hadn’t contained more to reassure than to frighten me. Before coming to the château, that reputed terror of the ladies, Monsieur de Valmont, seems to have laid down his deadly weapons. Far from hatching plots he couldn’t be more unassuming, and those winning ways which even his enemies are prepared to grant him have almost disappeared and been replaced by pure and simple friendliness. It must be the country air which has brought about this miraculous transformation.* I can assure you that although he is in constant attendance on me, and apparently even enjoying it, not one word even remotely connected with love has crossed his lips, not a single remark of the kind men seem unable to refrain from passing even when, unlike him, they have none of the necessary qualities to justify it. He never forces me to be on my guard, as every decent woman needs to be these days to ensure respect from the men around her. He understands how to avoid taking advantage of the good humour which radiates from him. He is perhaps a trifle too ready to pay compliments but he does this with a delicacy that would not bring a blush to the cheek of the most modest of women. In fact, if I had a brother, I should be delighted if he were like Monsieur de Valmont, as I see him here. Many women might perhaps like him to pay them more marked attention but I must confess that I am extremely grateful to him for not mistaking me for that kind of woman.
So my description of him is very different from yours, but I suspect the two can be reconciled if we look at the periods concerned: he himself admits to behaving badly on many occasions in the past and society is likely to have credited him with a few extra scandals. But I know few men who speak with greater deference, I’m tempted even to say with greater enthusiasm, of respectable women. Your letter confirmed that on this point at least he is not being deceitful: his attitude towards Madame de Merteuil proves this. He has mentioned her a good deal, always singing her praises and with such transparent affection that until you told me, I thought that what he described as their friendship was in fact love. I feel guilty at having judged him over-hastily, especially as he himself often made a point of speaking up on her behalf. I confess I thought he was being disingenuous when in fact he was merely being honest and straightforward. I cannot be sure but it seems to me that a man capable of such devoted friendship for so well-respected a woman cannot be an out-and-out libertine. I am not in a position to judge if, as you surmise, his impeccable behaviour is due to anything he may be plotting in the neighbourhood. There are certainly a few agreeable women living around here but he goes out very little except in the mornings when he tells us he is going shooting. It’s true he doesn’t often bring back any game but he freely admits to being rather a poor shot. In any case, I’m not greatly concerned by what he may do outside; if I did want to find out, it would only be in order to discover some further reason either to persuade me to accept your opinion of him or to convert you to my view.
As for your suggestion that I make an effort to curtail Monsieur de Valmont’s stay here, I would find it very awkward to request his aunt to dispense with her nephew’s Company, especially when she is so fond of him. However, purely in deference to you, although I don’t think it necessary, I promise to find an opportunity of making this request, either to her directly or to him. As for me, Monsieur de Tourvel knows of my plans to stay here until he returns and he would be justifiably surprised were I to be inconsiderate enough to change them.
Well, dear Madame de Volanges, I’ve taken up a good deal of your time with my explanations but I felt that, in the interests of truth, I ought to show Monsieur de Valmont in a more favourable light since it is plain that he badly needs it in your eyes. But please do not think that I am unappreciative of your friendly advice nor of the nice things you were saying about me to your daughter. However, I would willingly sacrifice the
very great pleasure which I look forward to enjoying during my stay with you to my hope that Mademoiselle de Volanges’s happiness will not be too long delayed, even if she can surely hardly ever be happier than she is with a mother who so greatly deserves her love and respect, which I also share and which fill me, dear, kind Madame de Volanges, with such affection for you.
With sincerest regards, etc.
12
Note from Cécile Volanges to Madame de Merteuil 13 August 17—
Dear Madame de Merteuil, Mama is a trifle indisposed and not well enough to go out, so I have to stay here and keep her company. I’m afraid I shan’t be able to go to the Opéra with you, though I’m much more sorry to miss seeing you than at missing the performance. Please believe me, I’m so fond of you! And would you please tell Monsieur Danceny that I haven’t got the selection he mentioned and that I shall be delighted if he can bring it along with him tomorrow? If he calls today, he’ll be told we’re not at home, because Mama doesn’t want to see anybody. I’m hoping she’ll be better tomorrow.
Very faithfully, etc.
13
Madame de Merteuil to Cécile Volanges 13 August 17—
My dear girl, I’m really so vexed at being deprived of your company as well as by the reason for it. I do hope we may have another chance. I’ll deliver your message to the Chevalier Danceny, who will certainly be very upset to hear that your Mama is not well. If she will be fit enough to see me tomorrow, I shall call on her. She and I will jointly take on the Chevalier de Belleroche* at piquet and while relieving him of his money we shall enjoy the additional pleasure of hearing you sing with your pleasant young music master; I’ll suggest it to him. If that suits your Mama, I can answer for my two knights. Goodbye, dear girl; my regards to Madame de Volanges. Affectionately yours, etc.
14
Cécile Volanges to Sophie Carnay Paris, 14 August 17—
Darling Sophie, I didn’t write to you yesterday, not because I was having a nice time, I promise you, but because Mummy wasn’t well and I spent all day with her. When I went up to my room last night, I didn’t feel like doing anything so I went to bed straight away so as to be sure that the day really was over. It’s the longest day I’ve ever spent, not because I’m not fond of Mummy, I don’t really quite know what it was. I was meant to be going to the opera with Madame de Merteuil and the Chevalier Danceny was coming with us. You know they’re the two people I like best. When the time came when I’d have been there, I felt so depressed and everything was so beastly and I cried and cried and couldn’t stop. Luckily Mummy was in bed and couldn’t see me. I’m sure the Chevalier Danceny was sorry too but he’s had the pleasure of going to the opera and seeing all the people there and that’s not the same thing at all.
Fortunately Mummy’s feeling much better today and Madame de Merteuil is coming with the Chevalier Danceny and somebody else but she never comes till late and when you’re all alone for such a long time, it gets jolly boring. It’s only eleven o’clock. It’s true I’ve got my harp and it will take me quite a while to get dressed because I want my hair to look really smart tonight. I think Mother Perpétue is right when she says going into society makes a girl vain. I’ve never wanted to look pretty as much as I have recently and I don’t think I’m actually quite as pretty as I used to imagine; and we girls are at a great disadvantage compared to women who wear rouge. Take Madame de Merteuil for instance, I can see men think she’s prettier than me, though I’m not really bothered because she’s fond of me and anyway she says the Chevalier Danceny thinks I’m prettier than her. Isn’t it jolly nice of her to tell me that? She even seems quite pleased at the idea. My goodness, now that’s really something I can’t understand. It’s because she’s so fond of me! And as for him … oh, I was so glad! And I reckon that even just looking at him makes you better-looking. I’d never stop looking at him if I wasn’t scared of meeting his eyes because every time that happens, I get embarrassed and I feel rather miserable; but that’s not really important.
Goodbye, Sophie dear. I’m going to start getting dressed. Lots of love as always.
15
The Vicomte de Valmont to the Marquise de Merteuil Still from the Château de—–, 15 August 17—
How very kind of you not to abandon me to my sad fate! My life here is really quite exhausting because it’s extremely inactive, monotonous, and dull. As I read your letter with its charming blow-by-blow report on your daily round, I was often tempted to invent some business in town and come and fling myself at your feet, asking you to be unfaithful to your knight for my benefit; after all, he doesn’t really deserve your bounty. Do you realize you’ve made me feel jealous of him? And what do you mean by our joyous decision to part for ever? I hereby recant that pact, obviously the product of a moment of delirium; were we to stick by it, that would prove that we were not fit persons to have made it. Oh, if I can only one day get my revenge for the pique that lucky man has quite inadvertently caused me! I confess I’m outraged by the thought of his enjoying, effortlessly, without a second thought, merely by following the natural urgings of his heart, a bliss inaccessible to me! Oh, I’m going to put a spoke in that wheel! Promise that you’ll let me! Don’t you feel humiliated yourself? You go to enormous lengths to deceive him and yet he’s happier than you! You think he’s under your thumb? In fact, you’re under his. He’s peacefully dozing while you have to keep on the alert, for his good pleasure. What more would any slave be expected to do?
Hark ye, fair lady: as long as you distribute your favours, I’m not jealous in the least; I perceive your lovers purely as the successors of Alexander the Great, incompetent joint rulers of an empire where I once ruled supreme. But I cannot tolerate your surrendering completely to just one of them, thereby making another man as happy as I used to be. Nor must you expect me to tolerate it. Either take me back or at least take someone else. Don’t violate our mutual pact of friendship by frivolously settling on one single lover.
It’s surely bad enough for me to have to suffer the pangs of love. You see, I’m accepting your judgement and admitting my errors. Indeed, if being unable to live without possessing the object of our desires—sacrificing our time, our pleasures, and our life to her—amounts to love, then I am in love. I’ve made little progress and I’d have nothing to report at all if something hadn’t just happened to give me food for thought, though I still don’t know if it’s a reason for fear or for hope.
You know my manservant, a prime intriguer, a valet straight out of a comedy,* and you may be sure that he’d received orders to fall in love with the maid and to get her servants drunk. The wretch has been luckier than his master: he’s already made her. He’s discovered that Madame de Tourvel has told one of her servants to obtain information as to my behaviour and even to shadow me when I go out in the morning, as well as he can, without being seen. What’s she up to? Here we have a woman who’s the soul of modesty taking reckless risks which even we would scarcely like to take! I swear that … But before thinking of how to retaliate for such feminine skulduggery, let’s work out how we can turn it to our own advantage. Up till now, these outings of mine which are arousing such suspicions haven’t had any special purpose. I must see if I can give them one. As this will require my whole care and attention, I must leave you and ponder over it. Goodbye, fair lady.
16
Cécile Volanges to Sophie Carnay Paris, 19 August 17—
Oh, Sophie dear, I’ve got some news! Maybe I shouldn’t say but I’ve absolutely got to tell someone, I just can’t stop myself! Chevalier Danceny… I’m so confused I can hardly write, I don’t know where to start… Since writing* to you about that nice evening party at ours, with him and Madame de Merteuil, I haven’t mentioned it again, because I didn’t want to talk about it with anyone. But I still kept thinking about it all the time. Since then he’s begun looking so sad, so really and truly miserable that I felt sorry for him, yet when I asked him why, he said he wasn’t but I could see he was. Anyway, yesterday he loo
ked even sadder than usual. That didn’t prevent him from being kind enough to sing with me as he always does but each time he looked at me I felt really miserable. After we’d finished singing, he took my harp away to put it in its case and when he came back with the key, he asked me to play it again that evening when I was alone. I didn’t suspect anything and wasn’t even very keen to do it but he was so pressing that I agreed. And he certainly had his reasons! After I’d gone to my room and my maid had left, I went and fetched my harp. In the strings there was a letter, not sealed, just folded, and it was from him! Oh, if you only knew what he said to me! Ever since I’ve read it, I’m so pleased that I can’t think of anything else. I read it four times straight off and then I locked it up in my secretaire. I knew it by heart and when I’d gone to bed, I kept repeating it so often that I couldn’t get to sleep. As soon as I closed my eyes I could see him there himself repeating what I’d just read. I didn’t drop off till it was very late and as soon as I woke up (it was still very early), I went and fetched the letter so as to read it again at my leisure. I took it back to bed with me and I kissed it as if… Maybe it’s naughty to kiss a letter like that but I just couldn’t help it.
And now, Sophie dear, although I’m very pleased, I’m also very embarrassed because I certainly ought not to reply to that letter, I know it’s not really the right thing to do, but he does ask me to and if I don’t, I’m sure he’ll be miserable again. It’s really bad luck for him! What do you think I ought to do? But you don’t know any more than I do. I’d love to ask Madame de Merteuil about it as she’s so fond of me and I’d love to cheer him up but I shouldn’t want to do anything wrong. We’re always being told to be kind-hearted and then they tell us it’s wrong to do what our heart tells us to do when there’s a man involved! It’s just not fair! Isn’t a man just as much our neighbour as a woman is, perhaps even more so? After all, we’ve got our fathers as well as our mothers and brothers as well as sisters. And there’s our husbands, too. But if I did something that wasn’t right, maybe Monsieur Danceny himself would have a bad opinion of me. Oh dear, in that case I’d rather he went on being miserable and then I’d always have time later on anyway. Just because he wrote yesterday, I’m not bound to reply today. And I’ll be seeing Madame de Merteuil this evening and if I can pluck up courage I’ll tell her everything. If I only do what she tells me, I shan’t have anything to blame myself for. And anyway, perhaps she’ll tell me I can let him have just a teeny reply and he won’t be so sad! Oh, my head’s in such a whirl!
Les Liaisons Dangereuses Page 8
