to allow him exercise on the towers, the cannon are loaded and it would be most dangerous. The whole staff would be obliged if you would accede to their wish to have the Marquis de Sade transferred elsewhere without delay.
(signed) De Launay
P.S. He threatens to shout again.
IN THE FIRST WEEK of July Laclos went out on a foray. There were just a few names to be added to the payroll at this last minute.
On the very day he had heard Camille Desmoulins speak at the Palais-Royal, a copy of his unpublished pamphlet, circulating in manuscript, had come into the Duke’s hands. The Duke declared it made his eyes ache, but said, ‘This man, the one who wrote this, he might be useful to us, eh?’
‘I know him,’ Laclos said.
‘Oh, good man. Look him up, will you?’
Laclos could not imagine why the Duke thought Desmoulins must be some old acquaintance of his.
At the Café du Foy Fabre d’Églantine was reading aloud from his latest work. It didn’t sound promising. Laclos marked him down as a man who would soon need more money. He had a low opinion of Fabre, but then, he thought, there are some jobs for which you need a fool.
Camille came up to him inconspicuously, willing to be steered aside. ‘Will it be the 12th?’ he asked.
Laclos was appalled by his directness: as if he did not see the infinite patience, the infinite complexity… ‘The 12th is no longer possible. We plan for the 15th.’
‘Mirabeau says that by the 13th the Swiss and German troops will be here.’
‘We must take a chance on that. Communications are what worry me. You could be massacring the entire population in one district, and half a mile away they wouldn’t know anything about it.’ He took a sip of coffee. ‘There is talk, you know, of forming a citizen militia.’
‘Mirabeau says the shopkeepers are more worried about the brigands than the troops, and that’s why they want a militia.’
‘Will you stop,’ Laclos said with a flash of irritation, ‘will you stop quoting Mirabeau at me? I don’t need his opinions secondhand when I can hear the man himself shouting his mouth off every day in the Assembly. The trouble with you is that you get these obsessions with people.’
Laclos has only known him a matter of weeks; already he is launched on ‘the trouble with you…’ Is there no end to it? ‘You’re only angry,’ Camille said, ‘because you haven’t been able to buy Mirabeau for the Duke.’
‘I’m sure we will soon agree on an amount. Anyway, there’s talk of asking Lafayette – Washington pot-au-feu, as you so aptly call him – to take charge of this citizen militia. I need hardly point out to you that this will not do at all.’
‘No indeed. Lafayette is so rich that he could buy the Duke.’
‘That is not for you to concern yourself with,’ Laclos said coldly. ‘I want you to tell me about Robespierre.’
‘Forget it,’ Camille said.
‘Oh, he may have his uses in the Assembly. I agree he’s not the most stylish performer as yet. They laugh at him, but he improves, he improves.’
‘I’m not questioning that he’s of use. I’m saying you won’t be able to buy him. And he won’t come with you for love of the Duke. He’s not interested in factions.’
‘Then what is he interested in? If you tell me, I will arrange it. What are the man’s weaknesses, that’s all I require to know. What are his vices?’
‘He has no weaknesses, as far as I can see. And he certainly has no vices.’
Laclos was perturbed. ‘Everyone has some.’
‘In your novel, perhaps.’
‘Well, this is certainly stranger than fiction,’ Laclos said. ‘Are you telling me the man is not in want of funds? Of a job? Of a woman?’
‘I don’t know anything about his bank account. If he wants a woman, I should think he can get one for himself.’
‘Or perhaps – well now, you’ve known each other for a long time, haven’t you? He isn’t perhaps otherwise inclined?’
‘Oh no. Good God.’ Camille put his cup down. ‘Absolutely not.’
‘Yes, I agree it’s difficult to imagine,’ Laclos said. He frowned. He was good at imagining what went on in other people’s beds – after all, it was his stock-in-trade. Yet the deputy from Artois had a curious innocence about him. Laclos could only imagine that when he was in bed, he slept. ‘Leave it for now,’ he said. ‘It sounds as if M. Robespierre is more trouble than he’s worth. Tell me about Legendre, this butcher – they tell me the man will say anything, and has a formidable pair of lungs.’
‘I wouldn’t have thought he was in the Duke’s class. He must be desperate.’
Laclos pictured the Duke’s bland, perpetually inattentive face. ‘Desperate times, my dear,’ he said with a smile.
‘If you want someone in the Cordeliers district, there is someone much much better than Legendre. Someone with a trained pair of lungs.’
‘You mean Georges d’Anton. Yes, I have him on file. He is the King’s Councillor who refused a good post under Barentin last year. Strange that you should recommend to me someone who recommends himself to Barentin. He turned down another offer later – oh, didn’t he tell you? You should be omniscient, like me. Well – what about him?’
‘He knows everybody in the district. He is an extremely articulate man, he has a very forceful personality. His opinions are – not extreme. He could be persuaded to channel them.’
Laclos looked up. ‘You do think well of him, I see.’
Camille blushed as if he had been detected in a petty deception. Laclos looked at him with his knowing blue eyes, his head tilted to one side. ‘I recollect d’Anton. Great ugly brute of a man. A sort of poor man’s Mirabeau, isn’t he? Really, Camille, why do you have such peculiar taste?’
‘I can’t answer all your questions at once, Laclos. Maître d’Anton is in debt.’
Laclos smiled a simple pleased smile, as if a weight had been taken off his mind. It was one of his operating principles that a man in debt could be seduced by quite small amounts, while a man who was comfortably-off must be tempted by sums that gave his avarice a new dimension. The Duke’s coffers were well-supplied, and indeed he had recently been offered a token of good will by the Prussian Ambassador, whose King was always anxious to upset a French reigning monarch. Still, his cash was not inexhaustible; it amused Laclos to make small economies. He considered d’Anton with guarded interest. ‘How much for his good will?’
‘I’ll negotiate for you,’ Camille said with alacrity. ‘Most people would want a commission, but in this case I’ll forgo it as a mark of my esteem for the Duke.’
‘You’re very cocksure,’ Laclos said, needled. ‘I’m not paying out unless I know he’s safe.’
‘But
