Ten days later. Evening. Mme de Merteuil’s salon. A domestic tableau. DANCENY lies on the sofa with his head in MERTEUIL’s lap. She plays idly with his hair. After a time, at first unseen by the others and unaccompanied by servants, VALMONT appears in the doorway. He assesses the scene and then clears his throat, causing DANCENY to shoot upwards in confusion. MERTEUIL looks at VALMONT, her eyes cold.
VALMONT: Your porter appears to be under the impression that you are still out of town.
MERTEUIL: I have in fact only just returned.
VALMONT: Without attracting the attention of your porter? I think it may be time to review your domestic arrangements.
MERTEUIL: I’m exhausted from the journey. Naturally I instructed my porter to inform casual callers that I was out.
(VALMONT seems to check a retort at this point, and turns instead, smiling, to DANCENY.)
VALMONT: And you here, as well, my dear young friend. The porter would appear to be having a somewhat erratic evening.
DANCENY: Oh, well, I, erm, yes.
VALMONT: I’m glad to find you, I’ve been trying to contact you for some days.
DANCENY: Have you?
VALMONT: Mademoiselle Cécile returns to Paris after an absence of over two months. What do you suppose is uppermost in her mind? Answer, of course, the longed-for reunion with her beloved Chevalier.
MERTEUIL: Vicomte, this is no time to make mischief.
VALMONT: Nothing could be further from my mind, Madame.
DANCENY: Go on.
VALMONT: Imagine her distress and alarm when her loved one is apparently nowhere to be found. I’ve had to do more improvising than an Italian actor.
DANCENY: But how is she? Is she all right?
VALMONT: Oh, yes. Well, no, to be quite frank with you. I’m sorry to tell you she’s been ill.
(DANCENY springs to his feet, horrified.)
DANCENY: Ill!
VALMONT: Whether it was brought on by her anxieties it’s impossible to say, but it seems about a week ago they were compelled to send for the surgeon in the middle of the night, and for a while he was very concerned.
DANCENY: But this is terrible!
VALMONT: Calm yourself, my friend, she has been declared well on the road to recovery and she is convalescing now. But you can well imagine how desperate I’ve been to find you.
DANCENY: Of course, my God, how could I have not been here at such a time? How can I ever forgive myself?
(VALMONT chooses not to answer this: he looks at MERTEUIL for a moment, assessing the damage.)
VALMONT: But look, I hate to be the bearer of bad tidings. All is well now with Cécile, I assure you, I have it from the surgeon himself. And I shan’t disturb you further.
(He produces a piece of paper from an inside pocket.)
It’s just that I had a letter, the contents of which I thought might be of interest to the Marquise.
(Silence. The ball is in MERTEUIL’s court and she makes the effort to reach a decision.)
MERTEUIL: I think perhaps I should spend a few minutes with the Vicomte on a private matter. Why don’t you go upstairs, I shan’t be long.
DANCENY: But I’m worried about Cécile.
MERTEUIL: I don’t think there’s anything to be done at this hour of the evening. You can send to enquire after her tomorrow.
DANCENY: Well, all right, if you say so.
MERTEUIL: I do.
DANCENY: I’m sorry, Vicomte, I …
VALMONT: Don’t upset yourself, dear boy, everything is as it should be.
DANCENY: Thank you. Thank you.
(He leaves the room. Silence. MERTEUIL is about to speak, when VALMONT interrupts her by handing her the letter. MERTEUIL gives it a cursory glance and then hands it back to VALMONT.)
MERTEUIL: I see she writes as badly as she dresses.
VALMONT: I think I’m right in saying that in this case it’s the content not the style which is the essential. But perhaps there’s something else we should discuss first.
MERTEUIL: I do hope you’re not going to be difficult about Danceny: it was a complete coincidence he arrived at the gates at the same moment as my carriage.
VALMONT: Really, my love, this is hardly worthy of you. Given the uncharacteristic mystery you made about the identity of your new lover and Danceny’s and your simultaneous disappearance from Paris, I would have to have been a good deal stupider even than you seem to assume I am, not to have reached the obvious conclusion. If Danceny and your carriage arrived at the gates at the same moment, I imagine the main reason was because he was in it.
MERTEUIL: You’re quite right, of course.
VALMONT: And furthermore, I happen to know that this moment of which we speak occurred two days ago.
MERTEUIL: Your spies are efficient.
VALMONT: So much for my being the first to know when you returned. A lesser man might allow himself to get angry.
MERTEUIL: Such a man might risk losing his ability to charm, without necessarily enhancing his power to persuade.
(Silence. VALMONT restrains himself and decides to change tack.)
VALMONT: I must say I’m not surprised you chose to be reticent about so manifestly unsuitable a lover.
MERTEUIL: My motive had nothing whatever to do with his suitability.
VALMONT: I mean I know Belleroche was pretty limp, but I think you could have found a livelier replacement than that mawkish schoolboy.
MERTEUIL: Mawkish or not, he’s completely devoted to me, and, I suspect, better equipped to provide me with happiness and pleasure than you in your present mood.
VALMONT: I see.
(Slightly winded by this, he lapses into an injured silence. MERTEUIL’s mood, however, now she has regained the initiative, seems to have improved.)
MERTEUIL: So is it really true the little one has been ill?
VALMONT: Not so much an illness, more a refurbishment.
MERTEUIL: What can you mean?
(VALMONT’s energy returns at the prospect of telling his story.)
VALMONT: Once she’d returned to Paris, some money for the porter and a few flowers for his wife were enough to enable me to resume my nocturnal visits: which, incidentally, don’t you agree, shows up Danceny’s initiative in a very poor light. However, the ease of it no doubt made us overconfident, and one night last week, as we were resting after our exertions, the door, which we’d forgotten to lock, suddenly blew open. The most dreadful shock. Cécile threw herself out of bed and tried to jam herself between it and the wall. A sudden severe backache gave way to some unmistakable symptoms. After that, it was a real test of ingenuity, getting the surgeon round, without giving ourselves away.
MERTEUIL: But you evidently succeeded?
VALMONT: Can you imagine, my dear, it turned out Cécile wasn’t even aware of being pregnant in the first place. She certainly doesn’t devote any undue energy to thinking.
MERTEUIL: Well, Vicomte, I’m sorry about the loss of your son and Gercourt’s heir.
VALMONT: Oh, I thought you’d be pleased, you seemed notably disgruntled about it when I first told you.
MERTEUIL: Once I got used to the idea, I began to enjoy it. I think you should make another attempt, don’t you?
VALMONT: I rather felt the moment had come to pass her on to young Danceny.
(Silence. MERTEUIL considers for a moment.)
MERTEUIL: No, I’m not sure that would be advisable just now.
VALMONT: Oh, you don’t?
MERTEUIL: If I thought you would be your old charming self, I might invite you to visit me one evening next week.
VALMONT: Really.
MERTEUIL: I still love you, you see, in spite of all your faults and my complaints.
VALMONT: I’m touched. What else will you exact before honouring your obligations?
(There’s a pause, during which MERTEUIL looks mischievously at VALMONT.)
MERTEUIL: I have a friend, who became involved, as sometimes happens, with an entirely unsuitable woman. Whenever any of us pointed this out to him, he invariably made the same feeble reply: it’s beyond my control, he would say. He was on the verge of becoming a laughing-stock. At which point, another friend of mine, a woman, decided to speak to him seriously, and, most importantly, drew his attention to this linguistic foible, of which he’d previously been unaware, and told him his name was in danger of becoming ludicrously associated with this phrase for the rest of his life. So do you know what he did?
VALMONT: I feel sure you’re about to tell me.
MERTEUIL: He went round to see his mistress and bluntly announced he was leaving her. As you might expect, she protested vociferously. But to everything she said, to every objection she made, he simply replied: it’s beyond my control.
(Long silence. Eventually, VALMONT rises.)
VALMONT: I must leave you to your lessons.