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The Marquise de Merteuil writes like a woman used to being obeyed. Her first letter to the Vicomte de Valmont is half flirtation, half command: come back to Paris. She has an old score to settle with the man who once jilted her, and she wants Valmont's help.
Valmont has a grander target in mind. He is staying at his aunt's château, playing the devout guest and borrowing the household's pious language for his own jokes. His real interest is Madame de Tourvel, famous for her piety and her loyalty to her absent husband. Valmont means to have her. He wants Merteuil to admire the ambition. And somewhere in the boasting, he admits he must win this woman to save himself from being in love with her. Is he joking?
Choderlos de Laclos was an artillery officer, and his two aristocrats talk about seduction the way a soldier talks about a siege. Told entirely in letters, the novel hands you everyone's mail. You know more than any single character does.
This is a pre-order of the Reader's Companion Edition from Bookhawk Press: the complete novel, with Laclos's own notes, in Richard Aldington's lively English translation, first published in 1924. A short reader's note before every letter tells you who is writing to whom and what they're really after. An introduction for today's reader, a guide to the correspondents and their circle, and a glossary of 18th-century words, titles and customs do the rest.
Pour something cold. Start reading other people's mail.
What’s inside
The complete novel, with Laclos's own notes
Richard Aldington's English translation, first published in 1924
An introduction for today's reader, covering Laclos's life and how to read a novel in letters
A short reader's note before every letter: who is writing to whom, and what they're really after
A guide to the correspondents and their circle
A glossary of 18th-century words, titles and customs
Formats
Ebook (EPUB + PDF) Pre-order. Delivered by email within 5 days.
$7.99
Paperback, 6 × 9 in, about 380–440 pages Pre-order. Ships within 14 days.
$21.99
Paperback + ebook Pre-order. Ebook within 5 days; paperback ships within 14 days.
$24.99
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From the opening letters
Two letters as they appear in the book, each with its reader’s note. Download the sample (PDF), which includes the introduction.
Letter I
Cécile Volanges to Sophie Carnay at the Ursuline Convent of…
You will see, my dear, that I have kept my word and that bonnets and pom-poms do not take up all my time—there will always be some left over for you. Yet I have seen more clothes in this single day than in the four years we spent together; and I think the haughty Tanville1 will be more angered by my first visit (when I intend to ask for her), than she thought we were when she came to see us in fiocchi.2 Mamma asks my opinion in everything and treats me much less like a school-girl than she used to do. I have my own maid; I have a room and a study at my disposal and I am writing this to you at a very pretty writing-table whose key was given to me so that I can shut up anything I want in it. Mamma says I am to see her every day when she gets up; that I need not arrange my hair3 until dinner time because we shall always be alone, and that she will tell me every day when I am to join her in the afternoon. The rest of my time is at my disposal and I have my harp, my drawing and my books just as in the convent, except that Mother Perpetue is not here to scold me and that I need do nothing unless I wish; but since my Sophie is not here to talk and laugh with me, I may just as well occupy myself.
It is not yet five o’clock; I do not see Mamma until seven; plenty of time, if I had anything to say to you! but so far nothing has been said and except for the preparations I see being made and the numbers of sewing-women who all come for me I should think there is no intention of marrying me and that it was one more delusion on the part of the good Josephine.4 Yet Mamma has told me so often that a young lady should remain at the convent until she is married that Josephine must be right, since Mamma has taken me away.
A carriage has just stopped at the door and Mamma sends me a message to come to her at once. Suppose it were he? I am not dressed; my hand trembles and my heart beats. I asked my maid if she knew who was with my mother. “Why,” said she, “it is M. C…” And she laughed. Oh! I think it is he! I shall surely return to tell you what has happened. This, at all events, is his name. I must not keep them waiting. Adieu, for a moment…
How you will laugh at your poor Cécile! Oh! I was very much ashamed, but you would have been as helpless as I was. When I entered Mamma’s room I saw a gentleman in black standing beside her. I saluted him as well as I could and remained rooted to the spot. You can imagine how I looked at him! “Madame,” said he to my mother, as he bowed to me, “This is a charming young lady and I feel more than ever the value of your favour.” At this plain remark I began to tremble, to such an extent that I could not stand up; I found an arm-chair and sat down in it, blushing deeply and very disconcerted. I had scarcely sat down when this man was at my knees! Your poor Cécile then lost her head; as Mamma said, I was thoroughly scared. I sprang up with a piercing cry… just like the day of the thunder-storm. Mamma burst out laughing and said: “Why! What is the matter with you? Sit down and give Monsieur your foot.” My dear, “Monsieur” was a shoemaker! I cannot tell you how ashamed I was; fortunately no one was there but Mamma. I think that when I am married I shall never employ this shoemaker.
You must admit we are well informed! Good-bye. It is nearly six o’clock and my maid says I must dress. Good-bye, dear Sophie; I love you as if I were still at the convent.
P.S. I do not know by whom to send this letter, so I shall wait until Josephine comes.
Paris, 3rd August, 17—.
Pupil in the same convent. (C. de L.).
In her best clothes.
This refers to the elaborate head-dress of the 18th century lady.
Attendant at the convent turning-box. (C. de L.).
Letter IV
The Vicomte de Valmont to the Marquise de Merteuil at Paris
Your orders are charming; your manner of giving them is still more amiable; you would make despotism attractive. As you know, this is not the first time that I regret I am no longer your slave; and however much of a monster you say I am I never think but with pleasure of the time you honoured me with softer names. Quite often I even hope to deserve them again and to end up with you by giving the world an example of constancy. But more important interests must occupy us; to conquer is our fate, and fate must be obeyed; perhaps we shall meet again at the end of our career; for be it said without offence, most fair Marquise, you follow me step by step; and since, after separating for the happiness of the world, we preach the faith separately, it seems to me that you make as many proselytes as I, in this mission of love. I know your zeal, your ardent fervour; and if this God estimated us by our works, you would one day be the patroness of some large town, while your friend at best would be a village saint. This form of expression surprises you, does it not? But for the last eight days I have heard and spoken none other; and in order to grow perfect in it I am forced to disobey you.
Do not be angry; and listen to me. You have shared all the secrets of my heart and I am about to confide to you the greatest project I have ever formed. What was it you proposed to me? To seduce a girl who has seen and knows nothing, who (so to speak) would be handed over to me defenceless, who could not fail to be intoxicated by a first attention and whom curiosity would probably lead more rapidly than love. There are twenty others who could succeed as well as I. But this is not the case with the enterprise which now occupies me; its success assures me as much fame as pleasure. The Love who is preparing my crown himself hesitates between myrtle and laurel, or rather he will unite them to honour my triumph. You yourself, my fair friend, will be seized by a holy respect and you will say enthusiastically: “Here is a man after my own heart.”
You know Madame de Tourvel, her religious devotion, her conjugal love, her austere principles. That is what I am attacking; that is the enemy worthy of me; that is the end I mean to reach;
“And if I do not carry off the prize of obtaining her, At least I shall have the honour of having attempted it.”
Bad verses may be quoted when they are by a great poet.1
You must know that her husband is in Burgundy on account of some big law-suit (I hope to make him lose a still more important one). His inconsolable spouse is compelled to spend here the whole time of her distressing widowhood. A mass every day, a few visits to the poor in the district, morning and evening prayers, solitary walks, pious conversations with my old aunt, and sometimes a dismal rubber of whist, are her only distractions. I am preparing more effectual ones for her. My good angel led me here for her happiness and for my own. Madman that I was! I regretted the twenty-four hours I sacrificed to the demands of convention. How I should be punished were I forced to return to Paris! Luckily, four people are needed for a hand of whist, and since there is no one here but the local curé my eternal aunt pressed me to sacrifice a few days to her. You may guess that I consented. You cannot imagine how much she has flattered me since then and above all how edified she is to see me regularly at prayer and at mass. She does not realise who is the divinity I adore.
For the last four days I have given myself up to this powerful passion. You know I always desire keenly and sweep away obstacles; but what you cannot know is how much solitude adds to the ardour of desire. I have but one idea; I think of it by day and dream of it by night. I must have this woman, to save myself from the ridiculous position of being in love with her—for how far may not one be led by a thwarted desire? O delicious possession! I need you for my happiness and still more for my peace of mind. It is fortunate for us that women are so weak in their own defence! Otherwise we should be nothing but their timid slaves. At this very moment I have a feeling of gratitude for facile women which quite naturally brings me to your feet. I cast myself before them to obtain forgiveness and I conclude this long letter. Good-bye, fair lady—all in good part.
From the Château de…, 5th of August 17—.
La Fontaine.
Questions
What formats are available?
Ebook, paperback, and a paperback + ebook bundle, all on pre-order. The format table on this page lists each option.
When will my order arrive?
This is a pre-order. The delivery estimate for each format appears in the format table on this page. Ebooks are delivered by email.
What is a reader's note?
A few sentences before each letter that tell you who is writing, to whom, and what they're really after. They also point out details worth noticing, such as datelines and Laclos's own footnotes, so you can follow every move.
Will the notes spoil the story?
Each note introduces the letter in front of you, so you can follow the plot as it unfolds, one letter at a time.
Is this the same translation as Dangerous Acquaintances?
Yes. Richard Aldington's translation was first published in 1924 under the title Dangerous Acquaintances.
Where do you ship?
We ship to the United States and Canada only.
What is your returns policy?
You can find our full policy at bookhawkpress.com/refunds.
The correspondents
The Marquise de Merteuil. A widow of Paris society, respected by her friends and related to Madame de Volanges, who privately plots with her former lover Valmont. Witty, commanding, and coldly strategic, she wants revenge on the Comte de Gercourt, who once left her for another woman.
The Vicomte de Valmont. A notorious seducer and Merteuil's former lover, now staying at his elderly aunt's château. He has set himself the challenge of conquering the famously virtuous Madame de Tourvel, while posing as a man who might be reformed.
Madame de Tourvel. A devout, sincere young wife of twenty-two, married nearly two years, spending the summer with Madame de Rosemonde while her husband is away. She believes Valmont is better than his reputation and hopes to help him mend his ways.
Cécile Volanges. A fifteen-year-old girl just home from her convent school, who knows she is to be married but not to whom. Innocent and eager, she writes everything to her school friend Sophie and has grown very fond of her new singing partner, the Chevalier Danceny.
Madame de Volanges. Cécile's mother, who arranged Madame de Tourvel's marriage and is now arranging her daughter's. She knows Valmont's reputation well and warns her young friend against him, while trusting Merteuil completely.
The Chevalier Danceny. A young Knight of Malta who sings and composes music, and who comes every day to sing with Cécile. According to Merteuil he is madly in love with her.
