plays [84]
budge
not beyond - the night is crowded with hobgoblins. See ghosts
and tremble like a jelly if you must; but remember men are my
concern; and at the creak of a man's foot, hist! (SHARPENING
HIS KNIFE UPON HIS SLEEVE.) What is a knife? A plain man's
sword.
BERTRAND. Not the knife, Macaire; O, not the knife!
MACAIRE. My name is Self-Defence. (HE GOES UPSTAIRS AND ENTERS
NUMBER THIRTEEN.)
BERTRAND. He's in. I hear a board creak. What a night, what a
night! Will he hear him? O Lord, my poor Macaire! I hear
nothing, nothing. The night's as empty as a dream: he must hear
him; he cannot help but hear him; and then - O Macaire, Macaire,
come back to me. It's death, and it's death, and it's death.
Red, red: a corpse. Macaire to kill, Macaire to die? I'd
rather starve, I'd rather perish, than either: I'm not fit, I'm
not fit, for either! Why, how's this? I want to cry. (A
STROKE, AND GROAN FROM ABOVE.) God Almighty, one of them's
gone! (HE FALLS WITH HIS HEAD ON TABLE, R. MACAIRE APPEARS AT
THE TOP OF THE STAIRS, DESCENDS, COMES AIRILY FORWARD AND TOUCHES
HIM ON THE SHOULDER. BERTRAND, WITH A CRY, TURNS AND FALLS UPON
HIS NECK.) O, O, and I thought I had lost him. (DAY BREAKING.)
MACAIRE. The contrary, dear boy. (HE PRODUCES NOTES.)
BERTRAND. What was it like?
MACAIRE. Like? Nothing. A little blood, a dead man.
BERTRAND. Blood! . . . Dead! HE FALLS AT TABLE SOBBING.
MACAIRE DIVIDES THE NOTES INTO TWO PARTS; ON THE SMALLER HE WIPES
THE BLOODY KNIFE, AND FOLDING THE STAINS INWARD, THRUSTS THE
NOTES INTO BERTRAND'S FACE.)
MACAIRE. What is life without the pleasures of the table!
BERTRAND (TAKING AND POCKETING NOTES). Macaire, I can't get over
it.
MACAIRE. My mark is the frontier, and at top speed. Don't hang
your jaw at me. Up, up, at the double; pick me that cash-box;
and let's get the damned house fairly cleared.
BERTRAND. I can't. Did he bleed much?
MACAIRE. Bleed? Must I bleed you? To work, or I'm dangerous.
BERTRAND. It's all right, Macaire; I'm going.
MACAIRE. Better so: an old friend is nearly sacred. (FULL
DAYLIGHT: LIGHTS UP. MACAIRE BLOWS OUT LANTERN.)
BERTRAND. Where's the key?
MACAIRE. Key? I tell you to pick it.
BERTRAND (WITH THE BOX). But it's a patent lock. Where is the
key? You had it.
MACAIRE. Will you pick that lock?
BERTRAND. I can't: it's a patent. Where's the key?
MACAIRE. If you will have it, I put it back in that old ass's
pocket.
BERTRAND. Bitten, I think. (MACAIRE DANCING MAD.)
SCENE II
To these, DUMONT
DUMONT. Ah, friends, up so early? Catching the worm, catching
the worm?
MACAIRE. Good-morning, good-morning! } SITTING ON THE TABLE
BERTRAND. Early birds, early birds. } DISSEMBLING BOX.
DUMONT. By the way, very remarkable thing: I found the key.
MACAIRE. No!
BERTRAND. O!
DUMONT. Perhaps a still more remarkable thing: it was my key
that had the twisted handle.
MACAIRE. I told you so.
DUMONT. Now, what we have to do is to get the cash-box. Hallo!
what's that your sitting on?
BERTRAND. Nothing.
MACAIRE. The table! I beg your pardon.
DUMONT. Why, it's my cash-box!
MACAIRE. Why, so it is!
DUMONT. It's very singular.
MACAIRE. Diabolishly singular.
BERTRAND. Early worms, early worms!
DUMONT (BLOWING IN KEY). Well, I suppose you are still willing
to begone?
MACAIRE. More than willing, my dear soul: pressed, I may say,
for time; for though it had quite escaped my memory, I have an
appointment in Turin with a lady of title.
DUMONT (AT BOX). It's very odd. (BLOWS ITS KEY.) It's a
singular thing (BLOWING), key won't turn. It's a patent. Some
one must have tampered with the lock (BLOWING). It's strangely
singular, it's singularly singular! I've shown this key to
commercial gentlemen all the way from Paris: they never saw a
better key! (MORE BUSINESS). Well (GIVING IT UP AND LOOKING
REPROACHFULLY ON KEY), that's pretty singular.
MACAIRE.
not beyond - the night is crowded with hobgoblins. See ghosts
and tremble like a jelly if you must; but remember men are my
concern; and at the creak of a man's foot, hist! (SHARPENING
HIS KNIFE UPON HIS SLEEVE.) What is a knife? A plain man's
sword.
BERTRAND. Not the knife, Macaire; O, not the knife!
MACAIRE. My name is Self-Defence. (HE GOES UPSTAIRS AND ENTERS
NUMBER THIRTEEN.)
BERTRAND. He's in. I hear a board creak. What a night, what a
night! Will he hear him? O Lord, my poor Macaire! I hear
nothing, nothing. The night's as empty as a dream: he must hear
him; he cannot help but hear him; and then - O Macaire, Macaire,
come back to me. It's death, and it's death, and it's death.
Red, red: a corpse. Macaire to kill, Macaire to die? I'd
rather starve, I'd rather perish, than either: I'm not fit, I'm
not fit, for either! Why, how's this? I want to cry. (A
STROKE, AND GROAN FROM ABOVE.) God Almighty, one of them's
gone! (HE FALLS WITH HIS HEAD ON TABLE, R. MACAIRE APPEARS AT
THE TOP OF THE STAIRS, DESCENDS, COMES AIRILY FORWARD AND TOUCHES
HIM ON THE SHOULDER. BERTRAND, WITH A CRY, TURNS AND FALLS UPON
HIS NECK.) O, O, and I thought I had lost him. (DAY BREAKING.)
MACAIRE. The contrary, dear boy. (HE PRODUCES NOTES.)
BERTRAND. What was it like?
MACAIRE. Like? Nothing. A little blood, a dead man.
BERTRAND. Blood! . . . Dead! HE FALLS AT TABLE SOBBING.
MACAIRE DIVIDES THE NOTES INTO TWO PARTS; ON THE SMALLER HE WIPES
THE BLOODY KNIFE, AND FOLDING THE STAINS INWARD, THRUSTS THE
NOTES INTO BERTRAND'S FACE.)
MACAIRE. What is life without the pleasures of the table!
BERTRAND (TAKING AND POCKETING NOTES). Macaire, I can't get over
it.
MACAIRE. My mark is the frontier, and at top speed. Don't hang
your jaw at me. Up, up, at the double; pick me that cash-box;
and let's get the damned house fairly cleared.
BERTRAND. I can't. Did he bleed much?
MACAIRE. Bleed? Must I bleed you? To work, or I'm dangerous.
BERTRAND. It's all right, Macaire; I'm going.
MACAIRE. Better so: an old friend is nearly sacred. (FULL
DAYLIGHT: LIGHTS UP. MACAIRE BLOWS OUT LANTERN.)
BERTRAND. Where's the key?
MACAIRE. Key? I tell you to pick it.
BERTRAND (WITH THE BOX). But it's a patent lock. Where is the
key? You had it.
MACAIRE. Will you pick that lock?
BERTRAND. I can't: it's a patent. Where's the key?
MACAIRE. If you will have it, I put it back in that old ass's
pocket.
BERTRAND. Bitten, I think. (MACAIRE DANCING MAD.)
SCENE II
To these, DUMONT
DUMONT. Ah, friends, up so early? Catching the worm, catching
the worm?
MACAIRE. Good-morning, good-morning! } SITTING ON THE TABLE
BERTRAND. Early birds, early birds. } DISSEMBLING BOX.
DUMONT. By the way, very remarkable thing: I found the key.
MACAIRE. No!
BERTRAND. O!
DUMONT. Perhaps a still more remarkable thing: it was my key
that had the twisted handle.
MACAIRE. I told you so.
DUMONT. Now, what we have to do is to get the cash-box. Hallo!
what's that your sitting on?
BERTRAND. Nothing.
MACAIRE. The table! I beg your pardon.
DUMONT. Why, it's my cash-box!
MACAIRE. Why, so it is!
DUMONT. It's very singular.
MACAIRE. Diabolishly singular.
BERTRAND. Early worms, early worms!
DUMONT (BLOWING IN KEY). Well, I suppose you are still willing
to begone?
MACAIRE. More than willing, my dear soul: pressed, I may say,
for time; for though it had quite escaped my memory, I have an
appointment in Turin with a lady of title.
DUMONT (AT BOX). It's very odd. (BLOWS ITS KEY.) It's a
singular thing (BLOWING), key won't turn. It's a patent. Some
one must have tampered with the lock (BLOWING). It's strangely
singular, it's singularly singular! I've shown this key to
commercial gentlemen all the way from Paris: they never saw a
better key! (MORE BUSINESS). Well (GIVING IT UP AND LOOKING
REPROACHFULLY ON KEY), that's pretty singular.
MACAIRE.