plays [83]
and short of it is this: that I'm going to bed, and
that you're all going to bed, and that I refuse to hear another
word upon the subject or upon any subject. There!
MACAIRE. Bitten. }
BERTRAND. Sold again. } Aside
(ALINE AND MAIDS EXTINGUISH HANGING LAMPS OVER TABLES, R. AND L.
STAGE LIGHTED ONLY BY GUESTS' CANDLES.)
CHARLES. But, sir, I cannot decently retire to rest till I
embrace my honoured parent. Which is it to be?
MACAIRE. Charles, to my -
DUMONT. Embrace neither of them; embrace nobody; there has been
too much of this sickening folly. To bed!!! (EXIT VIOLENTLY R.
U. E. ALL THE CHARACTERS TROOP SLOWLY UPSTAIRS, TALKING IN DUMB
SHOW. BERTRAND AND MACAIRE REMAIN IN FRONT C., WATCHING THEM
GO.)
BERTRAND. Sold again, captain?
MACAIRE. Ay, they will have it.
BERTRAND. It? What?
MACAIRE. The worst, Bertrand. What is man? a beast of prey. An
hour ago, and I'd have taken a crust, and gone in peace. But no:
they would trick and juggle, curse them; they would wriggle and
cheat! Well, I accept the challenge: war to the knife.
BERTRAND. Murder?
MACAIRE. What is murder? A legal term for a man dying. Call it
Fate, and that's philosophy; call me Providence, and you talk
religion. Die? My, that is what man is made for; we are full of
mortal parts; we are all as good as dead already, we hang so
close upon the brink: touch a button, and the strongest falls in
dissolution. Now, see how easy: I take you - (GRAPPLING HIM.)
BERTRAND. Macaire - O no!
MACAIRE. Fool! would I harm a fly, when I had nothing to gain?
As the butcher with the sheep, I kill to live; and where is the
difference between man and mutton? pride and a tailor's bill.
Murder? I know who made that name - a man crouching from the
knife! Selfishness made it - the aggregated egotism called
society; but I meet that with a selfishness as great. Has he
money? Have I none - great powers, none? Well, then, I fatten
and manure my life with his.
BERTRAND. You frighten me. Who is it?
MACAIRE. Mark well. (THE MARQUIS OPENS THE DOOR OF NUMBER
THIRTEEN, AND THE REST, CLUSTERING ROUND, BID HIM GOOD-NIGHT. AS
THEY BEGIN TO DISPERSE ALONG THE GALLERY HE ENTERS AND SHUTS THE
DOOR.) Out, out, brief candle! That man is doomed.
DROP
ACT III.
SCENE I
MACAIRE, BERTRAND
As the curtain rises, the stage is dark and empty. Enter
MACAIRE, L. U. E., with lantern. He looks about.
MACAIRE (CALLING OFF). S'st!
BERTRAND (ENTERING L. U. E.). It's creeping dark.
MACAIRE. Blinding dark; and a good job.
BERTRAND. Macaire, I'm cold; my very hair's cold.
MACAIRE. Work, work will warm you: to your keys.
BERTRAND. No, Macaire, it's a horror. You not kill him; let's
have no bloodshed.
MACAIRE. None: it spoils your clothes. Now, see: you have
keys and you have experience; up that stair, and pick me the lock
of that man's door. Pick me the lock of that man's door.
BERTRAND. May I take the light?
MACAIRE. You may not. Go. (BERTRAND MOUNTS THE STAIRS, AND IS
SEEN PICKING THE LOCK OF NUMBER THIRTEEN.) The earth spins
eastward, and the day is at the door. Yet half an hour of
covert, and the sun will be afoot, the discoverer, the great
policeman. Yet, half an hour of night, the good, hiding,
practicable night; and lo! at a touch the gas-jet of the
universe turned on; and up with the sun gets the providence of
honest people, puts off his night-cap, throws up his window,
stares out of house - and the rogue must skulk again till dusk.
Yet half an hour and, Macaire, you shall be safe and rich. If
yon fool - my fool - would but miscarry, if the dolt within
would hear and leap upon him, I could intervene, kill both, by
heaven - both! - cry murder with the best, and at one stroke
reap honour and gold. For, Bertrand dead -
BERTRAND (FROM ABOVE). S'st, Macaire!
MACAIRE. Is it done, dear boy? Come down. (BERTRAND DESCENDS.)
Sit down beside this light: this is your ring of safety,
that you're all going to bed, and that I refuse to hear another
word upon the subject or upon any subject. There!
MACAIRE. Bitten. }
BERTRAND. Sold again. } Aside
(ALINE AND MAIDS EXTINGUISH HANGING LAMPS OVER TABLES, R. AND L.
STAGE LIGHTED ONLY BY GUESTS' CANDLES.)
CHARLES. But, sir, I cannot decently retire to rest till I
embrace my honoured parent. Which is it to be?
MACAIRE. Charles, to my -
DUMONT. Embrace neither of them; embrace nobody; there has been
too much of this sickening folly. To bed!!! (EXIT VIOLENTLY R.
U. E. ALL THE CHARACTERS TROOP SLOWLY UPSTAIRS, TALKING IN DUMB
SHOW. BERTRAND AND MACAIRE REMAIN IN FRONT C., WATCHING THEM
GO.)
BERTRAND. Sold again, captain?
MACAIRE. Ay, they will have it.
BERTRAND. It? What?
MACAIRE. The worst, Bertrand. What is man? a beast of prey. An
hour ago, and I'd have taken a crust, and gone in peace. But no:
they would trick and juggle, curse them; they would wriggle and
cheat! Well, I accept the challenge: war to the knife.
BERTRAND. Murder?
MACAIRE. What is murder? A legal term for a man dying. Call it
Fate, and that's philosophy; call me Providence, and you talk
religion. Die? My, that is what man is made for; we are full of
mortal parts; we are all as good as dead already, we hang so
close upon the brink: touch a button, and the strongest falls in
dissolution. Now, see how easy: I take you - (GRAPPLING HIM.)
BERTRAND. Macaire - O no!
MACAIRE. Fool! would I harm a fly, when I had nothing to gain?
As the butcher with the sheep, I kill to live; and where is the
difference between man and mutton? pride and a tailor's bill.
Murder? I know who made that name - a man crouching from the
knife! Selfishness made it - the aggregated egotism called
society; but I meet that with a selfishness as great. Has he
money? Have I none - great powers, none? Well, then, I fatten
and manure my life with his.
BERTRAND. You frighten me. Who is it?
MACAIRE. Mark well. (THE MARQUIS OPENS THE DOOR OF NUMBER
THIRTEEN, AND THE REST, CLUSTERING ROUND, BID HIM GOOD-NIGHT. AS
THEY BEGIN TO DISPERSE ALONG THE GALLERY HE ENTERS AND SHUTS THE
DOOR.) Out, out, brief candle! That man is doomed.
DROP
ACT III.
SCENE I
MACAIRE, BERTRAND
As the curtain rises, the stage is dark and empty. Enter
MACAIRE, L. U. E., with lantern. He looks about.
MACAIRE (CALLING OFF). S'st!
BERTRAND (ENTERING L. U. E.). It's creeping dark.
MACAIRE. Blinding dark; and a good job.
BERTRAND. Macaire, I'm cold; my very hair's cold.
MACAIRE. Work, work will warm you: to your keys.
BERTRAND. No, Macaire, it's a horror. You not kill him; let's
have no bloodshed.
MACAIRE. None: it spoils your clothes. Now, see: you have
keys and you have experience; up that stair, and pick me the lock
of that man's door. Pick me the lock of that man's door.
BERTRAND. May I take the light?
MACAIRE. You may not. Go. (BERTRAND MOUNTS THE STAIRS, AND IS
SEEN PICKING THE LOCK OF NUMBER THIRTEEN.) The earth spins
eastward, and the day is at the door. Yet half an hour of
covert, and the sun will be afoot, the discoverer, the great
policeman. Yet, half an hour of night, the good, hiding,
practicable night; and lo! at a touch the gas-jet of the
universe turned on; and up with the sun gets the providence of
honest people, puts off his night-cap, throws up his window,
stares out of house - and the rogue must skulk again till dusk.
Yet half an hour and, Macaire, you shall be safe and rich. If
yon fool - my fool - would but miscarry, if the dolt within
would hear and leap upon him, I could intervene, kill both, by
heaven - both! - cry murder with the best, and at one stroke
reap honour and gold. For, Bertrand dead -
BERTRAND (FROM ABOVE). S'st, Macaire!
MACAIRE. Is it done, dear boy? Come down. (BERTRAND DESCENDS.)
Sit down beside this light: this is your ring of safety,