Dangerous Liaisons

by Choderlos De Laclos

  There I found the letter I am sending you, which is in fact addressed to no one and everyone. I should nevertheless think that it was to Monsieur de Valmont that our unfortunate friend wished at first to write, but that she has given in unconsciously to her deranged ideas. Whatever the case, in my opinion the letter should not be sent to anyone. I am sending it to you because you will be able to understand, better than if it came from me, what thoughts are in our patient’s head. As long as she is so gravely affected I shall not hold out any hope. The body has difficulty in recovering when the mind is so disturbed.

  Farewell, my dear, worthy friend. I am glad you are too far away to witness the sad spectacle that I have constantly before my eyes.

  Paris, 6 December 17**

  LETTER 161

  The Présidente de Tourvel to…

  (Dictated by her and written by her maid)

  Cruel, evil creature, will you never cease persecuting me? Is it not enough that you have tormented, debased, disgraced me? Do you wish to deprive me of my peace even in my grave? What! In this vale of shadows where shame has forced me to bury myself, are woes unceasing? Is hope unknown? I am not beseeching you for a grace I do not deserve. I will suffer without complaint if my sufferings are not to exceed my strength. But do not make my torment unbearable. Leave me my pain, but take away the cruel memory of the blessings I have lost; and when you have taken them from me, do not wave their harrowing image again before my eyes. I was innocent and at peace. Through seeing you I lost my peace of mind, by listening to you I became a criminal. What right have you, the author of my sins, to punish them?

  Where are the friends who used to love me? Where are they? My misfortune frightens them away. Not one dares come near. I am crushed and they leave me helpless! I am dying and no one weeps for me. All consolation is denied me. Pity pauses on the edge of the abyss into which the criminal leaps. Remorse is tearing her apart and her cries go unheard!

  And you, you whom I have offended. You whose esteem adds to my torture. You who alone in the end would have the right to take your revenge, why are you so far away? Come and punish an unfaithful wife. Let me at last suffer the torments I deserve. I should already have given myself up to your vengeance, but courage failed me to tell you of your shame. It was not that I was keeping it hidden, it was that I respected you. May this letter at least tell you of my repentance. The Almighty has taken up your cause. He is avenging you of an injury you were ignorant of. He has tied my tongue and kept back my words. He was afraid you would overlook a sin He wished to punish me for. He removed me from your indulgence, which would have harmed His justice.

  Pitiless in His vengeance, He delivered me up to the one who ruined me. It is for him and through him, at the same time, that I am suffering. In vain do I try to escape. He follows me, he is there, he haunts me constantly. But how different he is from his true self! His eyes express only hatred and scorn. His mouth utters nothing but insult and reproach. His arms embrace me only to tear me to shreds. Who can save me from his barbarous fury?

  But look! It is he! I am not deceived. It is him I can see again. Oh my beloved, take me into your arms, hide me on your breast. Yes, it is you, really you! What vile illusion led me not to recognize you? How I have suffered in your absence! Let us not be apart again, let us never be apart. Let me breathe. Feel how my heart is beating! Ah, it is no longer fear, it is the sweet voice of love. Why refuse me your tender kisses? Turn your gentle eyes on me again! What are these bonds you wish to break? Why are you preparing those instruments of death? What can change your features like that? What are you doing? Leave me, I am trembling! God, it is the monster again! My friends, do not abandon me. You who were telling me to escape from him, help me now to fight him. And you, my kind friend, who promised to lessen my grief, come near to me. Where are you both? If I am no longer permitted to see you again, at least answer this letter, and I shall know if you love me still.

  Leave me alone, cruel man! What new fury blazes up in you? Do you fear some kind feeling will penetrate my soul? You redouble my torments. You force me to hate you. Oh, how painful hatred is! How it corrodes the heart that distils it! Why are you persecuting me? What can you still have to say to me? Have you not made it as impossible for me to hear you as to answer you? Do not expect anything more from me. Farewell, Monsieur.

  Paris, 5 December

  LETTER 162

  The Chevalier Danceny to the Vicomte de Valmont

  I am informed, Monsieur, of what you have done to me. I also know that, not content with playing an ignoble trick on me, you no longer fear to boast about it, to congratulate yourself on it. I have seen the proof of your treachery written in your own hand. I admit I am cut to the quick, and that I have felt some shame at having myself to a large extent assisted in the loathsome abuse you have made of my blind trust in you. However, I do not begrudge you this shameful advantage. I am only curious to know if you will continue to maintain all advantages over me. I shall soon find out if, as I hope, you will be tomorrow between eight and nine in the morning at the gates of the Bois de Vincennes, in the village of Saint-Mandé. I shall ensure that everything there is made ready for the explanations still necessary between us.14

  The Chevalier Danceny

  Paris, 6 December 17**, in the evening

  LETTER 163

  Monsieur Bertrand to Madame de Rosemonde

  Madame,

  It is with very great regret that I fulfil the sad duty of announcing some news which will cause you the most cruel distress. Allow me to urge you first to the pious attitude of resignation which everyone has so often admired in you and which alone can help us bear the ills which are scattered throughout our miserable lives.

  Your nephew…Oh God! Must I so distress such a good and worthy lady! Your nephew has had the misfortune to succumb in an individual combat he fought this morning with Monsieur le Chevalier Danceny. I am totally ignorant of the reason for their quarrel. But it would seem, from the note I found still in Monsieur le Vicomte’s pocket and which I beg to send you, that he was not the aggressor. And yet he was the one whom God allowed to die!

  I was waiting in Monsieur le Vicomte’s establishment at the very moment they brought him back. Imagine my alarm on seeing your nephew being carried by two of his servants and bathed in his own blood. He had two sword wounds in his body, and was already very weak. Monsieur Danceny was there too, and was indeed in tears. Ah, and so he should be! But it is hardly the time to shed tears when one has caused irreparable harm!

  As for me, I was beside myself, and though I am a poor creature I did not hesitate to give him a piece of my mind. But it was then that Monsieur de Valmont showed his true greatness. He told me to be quiet. And he took hold of the hand of the man who was his murderer, called him his friend, embraced him in front of us all, and said to us: ‘I order you to have all the respect for Monsieur that is owed to a just and worthy man.’ Moreover, in my presence he had delivered over to him a huge bundle of documents. I don’t know what they were, but I do know he attached great importance to them. Then he asked us to leave them alone together for a while. Meanwhile I had sent for help straight away, spiritual as well as temporal; but alas, there was nothing to be done. Within less than half an hour Monsieur le Vicomte had lost consciousness. He was just able to receive extreme unction, and the ceremony was scarcely over when he breathed his last.

  Oh God! When I received into my arms at his birth this precious scion of so illustrious a house, could I have foreseen that it would be in my arms that he would die, and that I should have to mourn his death? And such an early and unfortunate death! I cannot hold back my tears. I beg your pardon, Madame, that I should dare to mingle my tears with yours, but there are the same hearts and the same sensibilities in every walk of life, and I should indeed be very ungrateful if I did not for the rest of my days mourn my lord, who was so good to me and honoured me with so much trust.

  Tomorrow, after the removal of the body, I shall have everything sealed and you may
rely completely on me to do what is necessary. You must be aware, Madame, that this unfortunate event terminates the entail and leaves you free to dispose of the property as you wish. If I can be of any service to you, I beg you to be kind enough to give me your orders. I shall do all I can to carry them out punctually.

  I am, Madame, most humbly and respectfully yours,

  Bertrand

  Paris, 7 December 17**

  LETTER 164

  Madame de Rosemonde to Monsieur Bertrand

  I have just this minute received your letter, my dear Bertrand, and learned of the terrible event of which my nephew is the unfortunate victim. Yes, I shall no doubt have orders for you, and it is only in putting my mind to that that I can occupy myself with anything other than with my terrible bereavement.

  Monsieur Danceny’s note, which you sent me, is very convincing proof that he is the one who provoked the duel, and it is my intention that you should lodge an immediate accusation in my name. By pardoning his enemy, his murderer, my nephew may have satisfied his natural generosity. But I must avenge his death, and humanity and religion at one and the same time. One cannot do enough to invoke the severity of the law against this outdated barbaric practice still infecting our society; nor do I believe that in this case the forgiveness of injury is required of us. So I expect you to pursue this affair with all the zeal and energies I believe you to be capable of, and which you owe to the memory of my nephew. You will above all make a point of seeing the Président de —15 on my behalf and of consulting with him. I shall not write to him, as I wish now without further delay to allow myself to grieve wholeheartedly. Please convey to him my apologies and communicate the contents of this message to him.

  Farewell, my dear Bertrand; I commend you and thank you for your kind sympathy.

  Yours, as ever,

  From the Chateau de —, 8 December 17**

  LETTER 165

  Madame de Volanges to Madame de Rosemonde

  I realize you already know, my dear, worthy friend, about the loss you have just sustained. I know how fond you were of Monsieur de Valmont, and I sincerely share in the distress you must be feeling. I am truly sorry to have to increase the grief you are already experiencing. But alas, you have nothing left now but your tears to offer our unfortunate friend. We lost her yesterday at eleven in the evening. Her inexorable fate, which makes a mockery of all human prudence, decreed that in the short interval she survived Monsieur de Valmont she had time to learn of his death, and, as she said herself, not to succumb beneath the weight of her misfortunes until they had gone beyond what she could bear.

  In fact, as you know, for the last two days she was completely unconscious. And yesterday morning, when her doctor arrived and we drew near her bed, she recognized neither of us, and we were able to obtain from her not a word, nor the least sign. Well, we had scarcely gone back to the fireside and the doctor was just telling me about the sad event of Monsieur de Valmont’s death when the poor woman recovered her senses, whether by the forces of nature alone, or because it was caused by those repeated words, ‘Monsieur de Valmont’ and ‘death’, which may have recalled to her mind the only ideas which have concerned her for so long.

  Whatever the case, she opened the curtains of her bed, crying: ‘What! What are you saying? Monsieur de Valmont dead?’ I hoped to make her believe that she was mistaken, and assured her at first that she had misheard. But, far from allowing herself to be persuaded of this, she demanded that the doctor begin the cruel tale again. And when I tried to convince her otherwise she called me over to her and whispered: ‘Why try to lie to me? Was he not already dead as far as I am concerned!’ And so I had to admit it.

  Our unfortunate friend listened at first quite calmly. But soon she broke into the account, saying: ‘Enough, I have heard enough.’ She asked straight away that the curtains be closed, and when the doctor tried to attend to her she refused to allow him anywhere near her.

  As soon as he went out she also sent away her nurse and her chambermaid. And when we were alone she asked me to help her kneel on the bed and to hold on to her. She stayed there for some time in silence, her face expressionless except for her tears, which flowed unchecked. Finally she put her hands together and raised them to Heaven, saying in a weak but fervent voice: ‘Almighty God, I submit to your justice. But forgive Valmont. May my misfortunes, which I acknowledge I have deserved, not be held against him, and I shall bless your mercy!’ I have allowed myself, my dear and worthy friend, to go into such detail upon a subject that I realize will be bound to renew and increase your grief, because I do not doubt that this prayer of Madame de Tourvel’s will nevertheless bring great consolation to your soul.

  After our friend had uttered these few words, she fell back into my arms; and scarcely was she lying on her bed again when a prolonged weakness came over her that did however yield, in the end, to ordinary remedies. As soon as she recovered consciousness she asked me to send for Father Anselme and added: ‘He is at present the only doctor I need; I feel my troubles will soon be over.’ She complained a great deal of a weight upon her, and spoke only with difficulty.

  A short time later she gave her chambermaid a box for me, that she said contained her papers and which she charged me to give you immediately upon her death.* Then she spoke about you and your friendship for her – inasmuch as her condition allowed – with a great deal of tenderness.

  Father Anselme arrived around four o’clock and stayed with her for nearly an hour. When we went back in, the patient’s face was calm and serene, but it was easy to see that Father Anselme had been weeping a great deal. He stayed to administer the last rites. This sight, always so impressive and moving, became still more so by the contrast made by the quiet resignation of the patient and the deep grief of her venerable confessor, who broke down and wept at her side. All were deeply moved, and the one that all were weeping for was the only one not weeping.

  The remainder of the day passed in the customary prayers only interrupted by the frequent periods of weakness in the invalid. Finally, towards eleven in the evening, she appeared more oppressed and more in pain. I put out my hand to touch hers. She was still strong enough to take it, and placed it upon her heart. I could feel it beating no longer. And in fact our unfortunate friend passed away at that very moment.

  Do you remember, my dear, that when you last came here less than a year ago, when we were talking about some people whose happiness seemed more or less assured, we paused a while to consider the fate of this same woman whose ills and whose death, both at once, we are lamenting today! So many virtues, so many qualities and so much charm! Such a sweet, gentle disposition! A husband she loved and who adored her. Friends she liked and whose society she graced. Beauty, youth, fortune. So many advantages united in one person, lost by a single imprudence! Oh Providence! No doubt we must worship your decrees, but how incomprehensible they are! I must stop. I am afraid of increasing your sadness by giving myself up to my own.

  I shall leave you, and shall go and see my daughter who is somewhat out of sorts. When she heard about the death of two people of her acquaintance from me this morning, she became unwell, and I sent her to bed. However, I trust that this slight indisposition will not have any serious consequences. At her age one is not yet used to sorrow, and so it makes a stronger, deeper impression. Such lively sensibility is no doubt a praiseworthy quality, but how all we see going on in the world each day makes us fear it! Farewell, my dear, worthy friend.

  Paris, 9 December 17**

  LETTER 166

  Monsieur Bertrand to Madame de Rosemonde

  Madame,

  In consequence of the orders you were pleased to give me, I had the honour of seeing Monsieur le Président de —, and I communicated your letter to him, informing him that in accordance with your wishes I would do nothing except on his advice. The worthy magistrate instructed me to call to your attention that the charge you are intending to bring against Monsieur le Chevalier Danceny would equally compromise the memo
ry of Monsieur your nephew, and that his honour would of necessity be besmirched by the sentence of the court, which would undoubtedly be a great misfortune. His advice therefore is that one should be extremely wary of taking any action, but on the contrary try to prevent the public prosecutor from hearing about this unfortunate affair, which has already caused too much of a scandal.

  These observations seemed to me full of wisdom, and I have decided to await further orders from you.

  Allow me to beg, Madame, that you will let me know, when you give me the orders, about your state of health; I greatly fear the effect upon it of so much sorrow. I hope you will forgive this liberty because of my attachment to you and my zeal in your service.

  I am, Madame, with respect, your etc.

  Paris, 10 December 17**

  LETTER 167

  Anonymous letter to Monsieur le Chevalier Danceny

  Monsieur,

  I have the honour to inform you that this morning at the Public Prosecutor’s office the affair you had recently with Monsieur le Vicomte de Valmont was discussed, and that it is to be feared that proceedings may be taken against you. I feel this warning may be of some use to you, either so that you may instigate your defence and forestall any annoying consequences; or, in case you cannot do this, to place you in a position where you may take measures to protect yourself.

  If you will even allow me a word of advice, I believe you would do well in the immediate future to be seen in public less than of late. Though usually this kind of affair is viewed with indulgence, one nevertheless needs to show respect for the law.

  This precaution will be all the more necessary because it has come to my notice that a Madame de Rosemonde, who is, I believe, Monsieur de Valmont’s aunt, intends to lodge a complaint against you. In this case the Public Prosecutor would not be able to refuse her demand. It would perhaps be a good idea were you to enter into communication with the lady.