plays [74]
minutes from escape. Blessings on that
frontier line! The criminal hops across, and lo! the reputable
man. (READING) 'AUBERGE DES ADRETS, by John Paul Dumont.' A
table set for company; this is fate: Bertrand, are we the first
arrivals? An office; a cabinet; a cash-box - aha! and a
cash-box, golden within. A money-box is like a Quaker beauty:
demure without, but what a figure of a woman! Outside gallery:
an architectural feature I approve; I count it a convenience both
for love and war: the troubadour - twang-twang; the craftsmen -
(MAKES AS IF TURNING KEY.) The kitchen window: humming with
cookery; truffles, before Jove! I was born for truffles. Cock
your hat: meat, wine, rest, and occupation; men to gull, women
to fool, and still the door open, the great unbolted door of the
frontier!
BERTRAND. Macaire, I'm hungry.
MACAIRE. Bertrand, excuse me, you are a sensualist. I should
have left you in the stone-yard at Lyons, and written no
passport but my own. Your soul is incorporate with your
stomach. Am I not hungry, too? My body, thanks to immortal
Jupiter, is but the boy that holds the kite-string; my
aspirations and designs swim like the kite sky-high, and overlook
an empire.
BERTRAND. If I could get a full meal and a pound in my pocket I
would hold my tongue.
MACAIRE. Dreams, dreams! We are what we are; and what are we?
Who are you? who cares? Who am I? myself. What do we come from?
an accident. What's a mother? an old woman. A father? the
gentleman who beats her. What is crime? discovery. Virtue?
opportunity. Politics? a pretext. Affection? an affectation.
Morality? an affair of latitude. Punishment? this side the
frontier. Reward? the other. Property? plunder. Business?
other people's money - not mine, by God! and the end of life to
live till we are hanged.
BERTRAND. Macaire, I came into this place with my tail between
my legs already, and hungry besides; and then you get to
flourishing, and it depresses me worse than the chaplain in the
jail.
MACAIRE. What is a chaplain? A man they pay to say what you
don't want to hear.
BERTRAND. And who are you after all? and what right have you to
talk like that? By what I can hear, you've been the best part of
your life in quod; and as for me, since I've followed you, what
sort of luck have I had? Sold again! A boose, a blue fright,
two years' hard, and the police hot-foot after us even now.
MACAIRE. What is life? A boose and the police.
BERTRAND. Of course, I know you're clever; I admire you down to
the ground, and I'll starve without you. But I can't stand it,
and I'm off. Good-bye: good luck to you, old man! and if you
want the bundle -
MACAIRE. I am a gentleman of a mild disposition and, I thank my
maker, elegant manners; but rather than be betrayed by such a
thing as you are, with the courage of a hare, and the manners, by
the Lord Harry, of a jumping-Jack - (HE SHOWS HIS KNIFE.)
BERTRAND. Put it up, put it up: I'll do what you want.
MACAIRE. What is obedience? fear. So march straight, or look
for mischief. It's not BON TON, I know, and far from friendly.
But what is friendship? convenience. But we lose time in this
amiable dalliance. Come, now an effort of deportment: the head
thrown back, a jaunty carriage of the leg; crook gracefully the
elbow. Thus. 'Tis better. (CALLING.) House, house here!
BERTRAND. Are you mad? We haven't a brass farthing.
MACAIRE. Now! - But before we leave!
SCENE IV
TO THESE, DUMONT
DUMONT. Gentlemen, what can a plain man do for your service?
MACAIRE. My good man, in a roadside inn one cannot look for the
impossible. Give one what small wine and what country fare you
can produce.
DUMONT. Gentlemen, you come here upon a most auspicious day, a
red-letter day for me and my poor house, when all are welcome.
Suffer me, with all delicacy, to inquire if you are not in
somewhat narrow circumstances?
MACAIRE. My good creature, you are strangely in error;
frontier line! The criminal hops across, and lo! the reputable
man. (READING) 'AUBERGE DES ADRETS, by John Paul Dumont.' A
table set for company; this is fate: Bertrand, are we the first
arrivals? An office; a cabinet; a cash-box - aha! and a
cash-box, golden within. A money-box is like a Quaker beauty:
demure without, but what a figure of a woman! Outside gallery:
an architectural feature I approve; I count it a convenience both
for love and war: the troubadour - twang-twang; the craftsmen -
(MAKES AS IF TURNING KEY.) The kitchen window: humming with
cookery; truffles, before Jove! I was born for truffles. Cock
your hat: meat, wine, rest, and occupation; men to gull, women
to fool, and still the door open, the great unbolted door of the
frontier!
BERTRAND. Macaire, I'm hungry.
MACAIRE. Bertrand, excuse me, you are a sensualist. I should
have left you in the stone-yard at Lyons, and written no
passport but my own. Your soul is incorporate with your
stomach. Am I not hungry, too? My body, thanks to immortal
Jupiter, is but the boy that holds the kite-string; my
aspirations and designs swim like the kite sky-high, and overlook
an empire.
BERTRAND. If I could get a full meal and a pound in my pocket I
would hold my tongue.
MACAIRE. Dreams, dreams! We are what we are; and what are we?
Who are you? who cares? Who am I? myself. What do we come from?
an accident. What's a mother? an old woman. A father? the
gentleman who beats her. What is crime? discovery. Virtue?
opportunity. Politics? a pretext. Affection? an affectation.
Morality? an affair of latitude. Punishment? this side the
frontier. Reward? the other. Property? plunder. Business?
other people's money - not mine, by God! and the end of life to
live till we are hanged.
BERTRAND. Macaire, I came into this place with my tail between
my legs already, and hungry besides; and then you get to
flourishing, and it depresses me worse than the chaplain in the
jail.
MACAIRE. What is a chaplain? A man they pay to say what you
don't want to hear.
BERTRAND. And who are you after all? and what right have you to
talk like that? By what I can hear, you've been the best part of
your life in quod; and as for me, since I've followed you, what
sort of luck have I had? Sold again! A boose, a blue fright,
two years' hard, and the police hot-foot after us even now.
MACAIRE. What is life? A boose and the police.
BERTRAND. Of course, I know you're clever; I admire you down to
the ground, and I'll starve without you. But I can't stand it,
and I'm off. Good-bye: good luck to you, old man! and if you
want the bundle -
MACAIRE. I am a gentleman of a mild disposition and, I thank my
maker, elegant manners; but rather than be betrayed by such a
thing as you are, with the courage of a hare, and the manners, by
the Lord Harry, of a jumping-Jack - (HE SHOWS HIS KNIFE.)
BERTRAND. Put it up, put it up: I'll do what you want.
MACAIRE. What is obedience? fear. So march straight, or look
for mischief. It's not BON TON, I know, and far from friendly.
But what is friendship? convenience. But we lose time in this
amiable dalliance. Come, now an effort of deportment: the head
thrown back, a jaunty carriage of the leg; crook gracefully the
elbow. Thus. 'Tis better. (CALLING.) House, house here!
BERTRAND. Are you mad? We haven't a brass farthing.
MACAIRE. Now! - But before we leave!
SCENE IV
TO THESE, DUMONT
DUMONT. Gentlemen, what can a plain man do for your service?
MACAIRE. My good man, in a roadside inn one cannot look for the
impossible. Give one what small wine and what country fare you
can produce.
DUMONT. Gentlemen, you come here upon a most auspicious day, a
red-letter day for me and my poor house, when all are welcome.
Suffer me, with all delicacy, to inquire if you are not in
somewhat narrow circumstances?
MACAIRE. My good creature, you are strangely in error;