Late October. The principal salon in le Vicomte de Valmont’s Paris hôtel. VALMONT sits at his desk, writing. He signs with a flourish and looks up as AZOLAN appears in the doorway and hurries into the room, pausing only to bow deeply.
VALMONT: Well, what treasures do you have in store for me today?
(AZOLAN hands him two letters, one sealed and one unsealed.)
AZOLAN: A letter to Madame your aunt, sir. And this one, which Julie managed to get to before it was sealed up, to Madame’s confessor.
VALMONT: Ah, very good!
(He runs an eye quickly over the contents of the letter, then proceeds to seal it and his own letter as he speaks.)
This is excellent, I have a letter for Father Anselme myself; you may deliver them both when you leave.
AZOLAN: Yes, sir.
(He takes the letters from VALMONT.)
VALMONT: And what news?
AZOLAN: No visitors: there still hasn’t been a single visitor since she got back from the country. Kept to her room. Bit of soup last night, but didn’t touch the pheasant. Afterwards a cup of tea. Nothing else to report. Oh, yes, there is. You wanted to know what she was reading. She has two books by her bed.
VALMONT: I don’t suppose you found out what they were?
AZOLAN: Course I did, sir, what do you take me for? Let me think, now. One was Christian Thoughts, volume two. And the other was a novel written by some Englishman. Clarissa.
VALMONT: Ah.
AZOLAN: See, I was right, wasn’t I, sir, there was no need for me to join her staff, now was there? I can find out everything you want to know, no trouble at all.
VALMONT: I just thought you might prefer to be paid two salaries. As at the time of the Duchesse.
AZOLAN: Oh, well, sir, with Madame the Duchesse, that was quite different, I didn’t mind that at all. But I couldn’t wear a magistrate’s livery, could I, sir, now be fair, not after being in your service.
(He indicates his magnificent chasseur’s uniform. VALMONT smiles, shaking his head. Then he opens a drawer and hands him a small bag of money.)
Thank you, sir, thank you very much. One day I’ll start saving a bit, like you recommended, but I do like to do justice to you.
VALMONT: After letting Madame de Tourvel leave my aunt’s house without even managing to warn me, you’re lucky to be working for anybody.
AZOLAN: Now we’ve been through all that, sir, haven’t we? Not even Julie knew she was going till she went.
VALMONT: How is Julie?
AZOLAN: Seems a bit keener than she was in the country.
VALMONT: And yourself?
(AZOLAN shakes his head gloomily.)
AZOLAN: Talk about devotion to duty.
(VALMONT smiles and looks up as a FOOTMAN shows MME DE MERTEUIL and DANCENY into the room. He rises to greet them, dismissing AZOLAN as he does so, speaking out of the corner of his mouth.)
VALMONT: Off you go. Keep it up.
(AZOLAN bows and leaves, together with the FOOTMAN.)
Madame. My dear boy.
(DANCENY embraces VALMONT impulsively.)
DANCENY: Thank you, Monsieur, for everything.
(VALMONT holds him for a moment, smiling wickedly at MERTEUIL over DANCENY’s shoulder.)
VALMONT: I was afraid I’d been a sad disappointment to you.
DANCENY: Of course I’m disappointed not to have seen Cécile for more than a month, but I believe I have you to thank for keeping our love alive.
VALMONT: Oh, as to love, she thinks of little else.
DANCENY: I had so hoped you’d be able to arrange a meeting between us in the country.
VALMONT: Well, so had I, I made all the necessary arrangements, but she was adamant.
DANCENY: I know, she said in her last letter you’d been trying hard to persuade her.
VALMONT: I did what I could. In many respects I’ve found her very open to persuasion, but not, alas, on this issue.
DANCENY: Yes, she said I couldn’t do more myself than you’ve been doing on my behalf.
VALMONT: She’s a most generous girl.
MERTEUIL: What else did she say?
DANCENY: She said she’d seen signs of a change of heart in her mother. Perhaps in the end she’ll come round to the idea of our marriage.
MERTEUIL: That would be wonderful.
DANCENY: Anyway, how is she, that’s what I’ve really come round to ask you, Monsieur.
VALMONT: Blooming. I really think the country air has done her good, I think she’s even begun to fill out a little.
DANCENY: Really?
VALMONT: And of course she sends you all her love. She and her mother will be returning to Paris in about a fortnight, by which time the situation should be resolved one way or the other; and either way, she’s longing to see you.
DANCENY: I don’t know how I can bear to go another two weeks without seeing her.
MERTEUIL: We shall have to do our very best to provide some distraction for you.
DANCENY: Without your friendship and encouragement, I can’t think what would have become of me.
MERTEUIL: My dear, if you’d be so kind as to wait in the carriage for a few minutes, there’s a matter I must discuss with the Vicomte in private.
DANCENY: Of course.
(He bows to VALMONT and pumps his hand heartily.)
I don’t know how I can ever repay you.
VALMONT: Don’t give it another thought, it’s been delightful.
(DANCENY smiles charmingly at them both and leaves the room. As soon as he’s gone, VALMONT and MERTEUIL burst out laughing and fall into each other’s arms. They embrace for a moment and then pull apart, still smiling.)
Poor boy. He’s quite harmless.
MERTEUIL: Well, I must say, I thought Cécile’s letter sounded unusually witty.
VALMONT: So I should hope: I dictated it.
MERTEUIL: Ah, Vicomte, I do adore you.
VALMONT: I have a piece of news I hope you might find entertaining: I have reason to believe the next head of the house of Gercourt might be a Valmont.
MERTEUIL: What do you mean?
VALMONT: Cécile is two weeks late.
(MERTEUIL is startled by this: she frowns, assessing its implications.)
Aren’t you pleased?
MERTEUIL: I’m not sure. You have rather overstepped your brief.
VALMONT: Providing they hold the wedding before the end of the year, I don’t see what harm can come of it.
MERTEUIL: No, you’re right, the situation does have possibilities. It just makes everything a good deal more chancy. You’ve used no precautions, then?
VALMONT: I’ve tried to give her a thorough grounding in all aspects of our subject: but in this one area, I’m afraid I may have misled her to some extent.
(MERTEUIL shakes her head, amused but still dubious.)
Your aim was to revenge yourself on Gercourt: I’ve provided him with a wife trained by me to perform quite naturally services you would hesitate to request from a professional. And very likely pregnant as well. What more do you want?
MERTEUIL: All right, Vicomte, I agree, you’ve more than done your duty. Shame you let the other one slip through your fingers. I can only assume that’s what happened?
(VALMONT’s expression darkens.)
VALMONT: I let her go. Can you imagine? I took pity on her. She was ready, the die was cast and the bill was paid. And I relented. And, what do you know, she vanished, like a thief in the night.
MERTEUIL: Why did you let her escape?
VALMONT: I was … moved.
MERTEUIL: Oh, well, then, no wonder you bungled it.
VALMONT: I had no idea she was capable of being so devious.
MERTEUIL: Poor woman, what else could you expect? To surrender and not be taken, it would try the patience of a saint.
VALMONT: It won’t happen again.
MERTEUIL: What you mean is, you won’t get the chance again.
VALMONT: Oh, yes, this time I have a foolproof plan.
MERTEUIL: What, another one?
VALMONT: Absolutely guaranteed. I have an appointment to visit her at her house on Thursday. And this time, I shall be merciless. I’m going to punish her.
MERTEUIL: I’m pleased to hear it.
VALMONT: Why do you suppose we only feel compelled to chase the ones who run away?
MERTEUIL: Immaturity?
VALMONT: I shan’t have a moment’s peace until it’s over, you know. I love her, I hate her, I’m furious with her, my life’s a misery; I’ve got to have her so that I can pass all these feelings on to her and be rid of them.
(MERTEUIL is beginning to look displeased. There’s a pause, during which VALMONT notices this and does his best to break the mood.)
Now tell me what’s happening in your life.
MERTEUIL: Belleroche is about to fall by the wayside.
VALMONT: But this is excellent.
MERTEUIL: I have smothered him with so much affection, the poor man can hardly stand up. He’s desperately trying to devise some graceful exit.
VALMONT: Long overdue, in my opinion.
MERTEUIL: And his successor has already been marked out.
VALMONT: Oh? Who’s the lucky man?
MERTEUIL: I’m not sure I care to tell you just at the moment.
VALMONT: Oh, well, in that case, I shall have to conceal from you the details of my foolproof plan.
MERTEUIL: That seems an acceptable enough bargain.
(VALMONT frowns, puzzled.)
VALMONT: What’s the matter?
MERTEUIL: Nothing. I think I may have kept our young friend waiting long enough.
VALMONT: I shall call on you sometime soon after Thursday.
MERTEUIL: Only if you succeed, Vicomte. I’m not sure I could face another catalogue of incompetence.
VALMONT: Oh, I shall succeed.
MERTEUIL: I hope so. Once upon a time you were a man to be reckoned with.
(He makes to embrace her, but she limits herself to delivering a frosty peck on the cheek and hurries away. VALMONT watches her go, troubled.)