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The Works of Robert Louis Stevenson – Swanston Edition. Volume 15

Автор Роберт Льюис Стивенсон

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Дата написания1970-01-01

Язык книгиen

Возрастное ограничение12+

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зарубежная классика

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Страница 54 из 57

SCENE V

Marcaire, to whom Bertrand. Afterwards Dumont

Bertrand. Well?

Marcaire. Bitten!

Bertrand. Sold again!

Marcaire. Had he the wit of a lucifer-match! But what can gods or men against stupidity? Still, I have a trick. Where is that damned old man?

Dumont (entering). I hear you want me.

Marcaire. Ah, my good old Dumont, this is very sad.

Dumont. Dear me, what is wrong?

Marcaire. Dumont, you had a dowry for my son?

Dumont. I had; I have: ten thousand francs.

Marcaire. It’s a poor thing, but it must do. Dumont, I bury my old hopes, my old paternal tenderness.

Dumont. What? is he not your son?

Marcaire. Pardon me, my friend. The Marquis claims my boy. I will not seek to deny that he attempted to corrupt me, or that I spurned his gold. It was thirty thousand.

Dumont. Noble soul!

Marcaire. One has a heart… He spoke, Dumont, that proud noble spoke, of the advantages to our beloved Charles; and in my father’s heart a voice arose, louder than thunder. Dumont, was I unselfish? The voice said no; the voice, Dumont, up and told me to begone.

Dumont. To begone? to go?

Marcaire. To begone, Dumont, and to go. Both, Dumont. To leave my son to marry, and be rich and happy as the son of another; to creep forth myself, old, penniless, broken-hearted, exposed to the inclemencies of heaven and the rebuffs of the police.

Dumont. This is what I had looked for at your hands. Noble, noble man!

Marcaire. One has a heart … and yet, Dumont, it can hardly have escaped your penetration that if I were to shift from this hostelry without a farthing and leave my offspring to wallow – literally – among millions, I should play the part of little better than an ass.

Dumont. But I had thought … I had fancied…

Marcaire. No, Dumont, you had not; do not seek to impose upon my simplicity. What you did think was this, Dumont: for the sake of this noble father, for the sake of this son whom he denies for his own interest – I mean, for his interest – no, I mean, for his own – well, anyway, in order to keep up the general atmosphere of sacrifice and nobility, I must hand over this dowry to the Baron Henri-FrÃ©dÃ©ric de Latour de Main de la Tonnerre de Brest.

Dumont. Now Charles is rich he needs it not. For whom could it more fittingly be set aside than for his noble father? I will give it you at once.

Bertrand. At once, at once!

Macaire (aside to Bertrand). Hang on. (Aloud.) Charles, Charles, my lost boy! (He falls weeping at L. table. Dumont enters the office and brings down cash-box to table R. He feels in all his pockets: Bertrand from behind him making signs to Macaire, which the latter does not see.)

Dumont. That’s strange. I can’t find the key. It’s a patent key.

Bertrand (behind Dumont, making signs to Macaire). The key, he can’t find the key.

Macaire. O, yes, I remember. I heard it drop. (Drops key.) And here it is before my eyes.

Dumont. That? That’s yours. I saw it drop.

Macaire. I give you my word of honour I heard it fall five minutes back.

Dumont. But I saw it.

Macaire. Impossible. It must be yours.

Dumont. It is like mine, indeed. How came it in your pocket?

Macaire. Bitten! (Aside.)

Bertrand. Sold again! (Aside) … You forget, Baron, it’s the key of my valise; I gave it you to keep in consequence of the hole in my pocket.

Macaire. True, true; and that explains.

Dumont. O, that explains. Now, all we have to do is to find mine. It’s a patent key. You heard it drop.

Macaire. Distinctly.

Bertrand. So I did: distinctly.

Dumont. Here, Aline, Babette, Goriot, Curate, Charles, everybody, come here and look for my key!

SCENE VI

To these, with candles, all the former characters, except Fiddlers, Peasants, and Notary. They hunt for the key

Dumont. It’s bound to be here. We all heard it drop.

Marquis (with Bertrand’s bundle). Is this it?

All (with fury). No.

Bertrand. Hands off, that’s my luggage. (Hunt resumed.)

Dumont. I heard it drop, as plain as ever I heard anything.

Marquis. By the way (all start up), what are we looking for?

All (with fury). O!!

Dumont. Will you have the kindness to find my key? (Hunt resumed.)

Curate. What description of a key —

Dumont. A patent, patent, patent, patent key!

Macaire. I have it. Here it is!

All (with relief). Ah!!

Dumont. That? What do you mean? That’s yours.

Macaire. Pardon me.

Dumont. It is.

Macaire. It isn’t.

Dumont. I tell you it is: look at that twisted handle.

Macaire. It can’t be mine, and so it must be yours.

Dumont. It is NOT. Feel in your pockets. (To the others.) Will you have the kindness to find my patent key?

All. O!! (Hunt resumed.)

Macaire. Ah, well, you’re right. (He slips key into Dumont’s pocket.) An idea: suppose you felt in your pocket?

All (rising). Yes! Suppose you did!

Dumont. I will not feel in my pockets. How could it be there? It’s a patent key. This is more than any man can bear. First, Charles is one man’s son, and then he’s another’s, and then he’s nobody’s, and be damned to him! And then there’s my key lost; and then there’s your key! What is your key? Where is your key? Where isn’t it? And why is it like mine, only mine’s a patent? The long 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!

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