Les Liaisons Dangereuses

by Pierre Choderlos De Laclos

  Now, Vicomte, the only thing left for me to do is to make a request, as much for your sake as mine: it is to postpone an event which I am perhaps looking forward to as much as you but which it seems to me must be held over until I come back to town. For one thing, we wouldn’t find the requisite freedom here; for another, I’d be running a certain amount of risk because a little touch of jealousy is all that’s required for that dreary fellow Belleroche to grow more attached to me again than ever, even though he’s on his last legs. As it is, he’s making such desperate efforts to love me that at times I’m continuing to smother him with caresses as much out of mischief as of prudence. But all the same, as you can see, it could hardly be described as making a sacrifice for you! Being unfaithful to each other will add a lot more spice to a charming occasion.

  Do you know, I’m sometimes sorry that we’ve been reduced to these expedients? In the old days, when we loved one another—for I think it was love—I was happy. How about you, Vicomte? But why concern ourselves with a happiness that can never return? No, whatever you may say, it’s not possible to turn the clock back. First of all, I’d demand sacrifices from you which you’d be unable or unwilling to accept and which I may not even deserve. And then, how could I hold on to you? No, I don’t want such a thought even to come into my head and although at this moment I’m enjoying writing to you, I’d better break off quickly now… Goodbye, Vicomte.

  132

  Madame de Tourvel to Madame de Rosemonde Paris, 7 November 17—

  I am overwhelmed by your kindness, Madame, and the only thing which somehow holds me back from throwing myself on that kindness is fear of profaning it. At a time when your help is so precious, why do I feel so unworthy of it? Ah, at least I shall not be afraid to show how grateful I am for it and, above all, how greatly I admire the way in which a virtuous woman can forgive and feel only sympathy for the weaknesses she perceives; who can cast such a powerful spell over our hearts with a strong yet gentle authority which prevails even over the spell of love.

  But am I still worthy of your friendship now that it no longer has any power to make me happy? And I feel the same with regard to your advice: I value it yet I cannot follow it. And how could I fail to believe in perfect happiness when I am enjoying it at this very moment? Yes, indeed, if men are like you say, they must be shunned, they are odious; but if that is the case, how different from them Valmont is! If like them he feels that impetuosity of passion which you describe as ‘being carried away’, how he manages to transcend it by his exquisite delicacy of feeling! Dear friend, you talk of sharing my sorrows; why don’t you enjoy the happiness my love is bringing me and which is all the more rewarding because of its object? You say you are fond of your nephew, perhaps to the point of weakness? Ah, if you only knew him as well as I do! I idolize him but far less than he deserves. No doubt, as he himself admits, he may have been led astray; but who ever understood the meaning of true love better than he does? What more can I say? He feels it as strongly as he inspires it.

  You will be thinking that this is one of these illusions of perfect bliss in love that we never cease to dream about: but in that case, how is it that he has become more loving, more attentive since he has nothing more to gain? I must confess that earlier on I used to think he almost always had a reserved and brooding look which in spite of myself often reminded me of the false and cruel impressions of him which I had been given. But ever since he has been able to surrender unreservedly to the dictates of his heart, he seems to be able to see into my own. Who knows if we weren’t made for each other? Or if my happiness wasn’t fated to be necessary for his? Oh, if that’s an illusion, may I die before it’s destroyed. No, that’s wrong: I want to live and cherish him, to adore him. Why should he ever stop loving me? What other woman could he make happier than me? And I can feel it myself: the happiness we inspire is the strongest link, the only link that really holds two people together. Yes, it’s that delightful feeling which uplifts love, which somehow purifies it and makes it really worthy of a loving and generous heart such as Valmont’s.

  Goodbye, my dear, my honourable, indulgent friend. I cannot hope to write to you at greater length at this moment; this is when he’s promised to come and that is the only thing I can think of. Forgive me! But you do want me to be happy and at the moment my happiness is almost greater than I can bear.

  133

  The Vicomte de Valmont to the Marquise de Merteuil Paris, 8 November 17—

  Fair lady, what pray are these sacrifices which you consider me incapable of, though their reward will be to give you pleasure? Oh, just let me know what they are and if I hesitate one second, I authorize you to reject my offering. How have you come to change your view of me so much recently that, indulgent as you are, you still doubt my energy and my feelings towards you? Sacrifices that I couldn’t or wouldn’t make? So you think I’m in love and helpless? And you suspect me of thinking that the person is as important as the success? Ah, I’ve not yet been reduced to such straits, thank Heaven, and I hereby volunteer to prove it. Yes, I’ll prove it even if it has to be at Madame de Tourvel’s expense. After that, you’ll surely have no further room for doubt.

  I don’t think I’ve compromised my reputation in setting aside some time for a woman who has at least the merit of being something of a rara avis. Perhaps it was also the close season when this adventure turned up that made me rather keener; and even now when the open season is getting into full swing, it’s not surprising that I’m still giving it most of my attention. After all, if you think of it, it’s barely a week ago that I started enjoying the fruits of three months’ hard work. I’ve so often spent more time than that over something that was far less worth while (and didn’t require anything like as much effort!). You didn’t draw invidious conclusions about me then.

  Would you like to know the real reason for the sort of enthusiasm I’m showing? Here it is: this woman is naturally timorous; in the early days, she still felt permanently doubtful of her happiness and this doubt was enough to upset it, so that I’m only now beginning to be able to realize the full extent of my power over this kind of woman. However, this was something I was curious to find out and the chance of doing it doesn’t occur as often as people think.

  First of all, for lots of women, pleasure is always just pleasure and nothing more; and with such women, whatever high-falutin title we may be given, we’re just ciphers, stand-ins whose only assets are our performance and the most vigorous man is always the best.

  In another category, perhaps these days the largest, the lover’s prestige, the pleasure of having taken him away from a rival, the fear of subsequently seeing him taken away from them, absorb almost the entire attention of women; so while we certainly play some part, more or less, in the sort of happiness they enjoy, it’s more related to the circumstances than the person. They achieve it through us, not from us.

  So for my investigation I needed a woman with a delicate, sensitive nature, who would devote herself completely and utterly to love and who, in that love, had eyes only for her lover; whose emotions would reverse the normal route and always start from the heart to arrive at the senses; one whom I’ve seen, for instance (I’m not referring to the first day), emerge in tears from her pleasure and a moment later be again plunged into delight by a word which struck a chord in her heart. Finally, all this still needed to be combined with a natural candour which, having become an inveterate second habit, never allows her to conceal any of her innermost feelings. Well, you’ll agree that such women are exceptional and I’m tempted to believe that but for her I might never have found one at all.

  So it wouldn’t be surprising if she does hold my attention longer than any other woman, and if the research I wish to carry out on her requires me to make her happy, completely and utterly happy, why should I refuse, particularly when that suits my purpose rather than hindering it? But because the mind is absorbed, does it follow that the heart is infatuated? Certainly not. And any importance which I am bound to a
ttach to this adventure won’t prevent me from embarking on others nor even from sacrificing it to other, more congenial, ones.

  So free do I feel that I’ve even not been neglecting the Volanges girl, though she doesn’t mean very much to me. Her mother’s taking her back to town in three days’ time; and yesterday I made sure of keeping my lines of communication open: a small tip to the porter and a little soft soap to his wife did the trick. Can you conceive how Danceny couldn’t even manage to find such a simple solution? And then they say that love sharpens your wits! On the contrary, it merely makes the love-sick more stupid. And I’m supposed to be incapable of resisting it? Ah, don’t worry. Very shortly, in a few days’ time, I’m going to weaken the perhaps over-favourable impression I had by bestowing part of it on someone else and if one woman isn’t enough, I’ll find more.

  However, I shall be ready to hand the little convent girl back to her discreet lover as soon as you think fit. It seems to me that you’ve no grounds for any further delay and as for me, I’ve no objection to doing poor Danceny this signal favour. In fact, it’s the least I can do in return for all those he’s done me. At the moment he’s terribly worried as to whether Madame de Volanges will admit him to her house. I’m calming him down as well as I can by assuring him that, one way or another, I’ll make him a happy man on the very first day he comes;* meanwhile, I continue to look after his correspondence which he wants to take over as soon as his Cécile arrives. I’ve already got six of his letters and I shall certainly have a couple more before the happy day. That young fellow really doesn’t know what to do with his spare time!

  But let’s leave these two children and come back to us, so that I can concentrate exclusively on the marvellous hope your letter gave me. Yes, of course you’ll be able to hold on to me and I shan’t forgive you for doubting it. Have I ever failed to be constant to you? Our relationship may have been strained but it was never broken; our so-called separation was never anything but a figment of our imagination: our feelings and interests have always remained united. Like the returning traveller who has seen the light, I shall acknowledge that I had deserted the substance of happiness to pursue its shadowy hope and, like d’Harcourt, I shall say:

  Plus je vis d’étrangers, plus j’aimai ma patrie.*

  So stop struggling against your thoughts, or rather your feelings, which are drawing you back to me and after having, in the course of our different careers, tried out every pleasure, let us appreciate our good fortune and realize that none of them can match those we used to enjoy together and which will prove more delightful than ever!

  Goodbye, charming lady. I agree to wait until you come back: but do make it soon and don’t forget how much I’m longing for the day.

  134

  The Marquise de Merteuil to the Vicomte de Valmont From the Château de—–, 11 November 17—

  Really, Vicomte, you’re just like those children whom you can’t say anything in front of or show anything to without their wanting to lay hands on it straight away! A simple thought crosses my mind which I even tell you I’ve no intention of pursuing and you take advantage of my mentioning it not only to remind me of it but to focus my attention on it—even although I’m doing my best to move on to other things—and make me somehow connive at your ridiculous desires in spite of myself. Is it very nice of you to put the responsibility for being cautious on to my shoulders alone? I must tell you again, as I continually tell myself even more often: your proposed arrangement really is out of the question. Even were you to continue to display your present magnanimity, don’t you think I also have my own scruples about accepting sacrifices that would stand in the way of your happiness?

  Now, is it true, Vicomte, that you are so deluded as to your feelings for Madame de Tourvel? It is love or I don’t know what love is. Certainly, you’ve been denying it in hundreds of ways—and proving it in thousands. Take, for instance, this deception you’re practising on yourself—because I do believe you’re being sincere with me—which has led you to describe as a need to observe your longing, which you’re unable to conceal or resist, to keep your hold on that woman. One would think you’d never before made any other woman happy, perfectly happy!* If you’re uncertain about that, you must have a very poor memory! But it’s not like that at all. Quite simply, it’s your heart misleading your head and letting it fob itself off with very bad reasons. But I, myself, have a considerable interest in not being misled and I’m not going to be fobbed off so easily.

  Thus, while I noticed that, for politeness’ sake, you carefully excluded all those words which you imagined displeased me, I saw that, perhaps without realizing it, you still stuck to the same ideas. So now it isn’t the adorable, the heavenly Madame de Tourvel, it’s an astonishing woman, a delicate, sensitive woman, absolutely different from other women, an exceptional woman in fact and you might never have found another one like her. It’s the same thing with the strange charm which doesn’t imply that it’s stronger. All right: but since you’d never found it up till then, it’s very unlikely that you would find it in the future either and your loss would be equally irreparable. And if these aren’t infallible symptoms of love, Vicomte, we’ll have to give up all hope of ever discovering them.

  And this time you may be sure I’m not talking crossly. I’ve made a vow never to be cross again: I recognized all too plainly what a dangerous trap that might lead me into. But take my word for it, let’s just be friends and leave it at that. Only do give me credit for having the courage to defend myself: yes, courage, because sometimes we need it even to avoid taking a decision which we know is the wrong one.

  So I’m going to answer your query about the sacrifices I’d demand of you (and which you wouldn’t be able to make), though not in any attempt to persuade you to share my views. And I’m using the word demand deliberately because I’m well aware that you’re going to find my attitude too demanding: all the better! Far from being vexed by your refusal, I’ll be grateful for it. Look, I’m not going to start pretending to you: maybe I need you to refuse.

  So let me reveal to you the full extent of my cruelty: I should demand that you cease to consider that rara avis, that astounding Madame de Tourvel, as anything other than an ordinary woman, which is what in fact she is, because, let’s face it, this charm we find in other people is all in the mind; it’s only love which makes the loved one appear so wonderful. Now, you may well be able to make the necessary effort to promise to do what I’m asking, impossible though it is, and even swear to do it; but I must confess that I wouldn’t accept mere words. I could only be convinced by your whole behaviour.

  And that’s not everything: I’d be capricious. You most graciously offer to give up Cécile: I couldn’t care less about the girl. On the contrary, I’d be asking you to continue to struggle on until further notice from me, either because I enjoy exploiting my authority in this way or else because when I’m in a more forgiving or fairer frame of mind, I’m content to control your feelings without wanting to thwart your pleasures. In any case, I’d insist on being obeyed and my orders would be very strict!

  It’s true that I’d then feel obliged to thank you; who knows, perhaps even reward you … For instance, I’d certainly cut short my stay here; I shouldn’t be able to bear being away any longer. So I’d finally be meeting you again, Vicomte; and when we met, how would that turn out? But you remember, this is just a little chat we’re having, all about an impossible plan; I don’t want to be the only one to forget that.

  Do you know, I’m a bit worried about my lawsuit? I finally decided to find out what my position actually is. My lawyers keep quoting a few laws and above all lots of leading cases as they call them; but I can’t see much reason or justice in them. I’m almost beginning to regret having turned down an out-of-court settlement. However, when I reflect that the public attorney is shrewd, my advocate glib, and the plaintiff pretty, I feel more confident. If these three qualifications were no longer to carry any weight, we’d need to change the whole syst
em and where would our respect for ancient custom be then?

  At the moment, my case is the only thing that’s keeping me down here; Belleroche’s has already been heard: case dismissed, costs shared by both parties. He’s even reached the stage of regretting this evening’s ball: the typical frustration of someone who doesn’t know what to do with his time. As soon as I’m back in town, I’ll let him off the hook completely. I shall make this painful sacrifice for his sake and console myself with the thought that he will be thinking how noble I am.

  Goodbye, Vicomte. Keep writing to me: the details of your pleasures will at least be some compensation for my current vexations.

  135

  Madame de Tourvel to Madame de Rosemonde Paris, 15 November 17—

  I’m not yet certain whether I shall be able to write this letter to you but I shall try. Dear God! When I think that I was too overwhelmed by happiness to finish my last letter and now I am overwhelmed by despair, barely strong enough to feel the full extent of my suffering and too weak to find words to express it.

  Valmont … Valmont no longer loves me, he has never loved me. Love doesn’t just vanish like that … He is deceiving me, betraying me, debasing me. I am being subjected to every imaginable humiliation and misfortune and he is the perpetrator!

  And don’t imagine that this is mere suspicion; suspicion had never even entered my head! And I can’t even hope to give him the benefit of the doubt! I saw him with my own eyes: what could he possibly say to justify himself? … But what does he care? He won’t even bother to try … Ah, poor me! What effect can your reproaches have on him? You’re the least of his concerns! …