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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+

Жанры

зарубежная классика

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Страница 56 из 57

SCENE II

ZTo these, Dumont

Dumont. Ah, friends, up so early? Catching the worm, catching the worm?

Dumont. By the way, very remarkable thing: I found that 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 you’re sitting on?

Bertrand. Nothing.

Macaire. The table! I beg your pardon.

Dumont. Why, it’s my cash-box!

Maciare. 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 in key.) It’s a singular thing (blowing), key won’t turn. It’s a patent. Someone 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. Let me try. (He tries, and flings down the key with a curse.) Bitten!

Bertrand. Sold again!

Dumont (picking up key). It’s a patent key.

Macaire (to Bertrand). The game’s up: we must save the swag. (To Dumont.) Sir, since your key, on which I invoke the blight of Egypt, has once more defaulted, my feelings are unequal to a repetition of yesterday’s distress, and I shall simply pad the hoof. From Turin you shall receive the address of my banker, and may prosperity attend your ventures. (To Bertrand.) Now, boy! (To Dumont.) Embrace my fatherless child! farewell! (Macaire and Bertrand turn to go off, and are met in the door by the Gendarmes.)

SCENE III

To these, the Brigadier and Gendarmes

Brigadier. Let no man leave the house.

Dumont. Welcome, old friend!

Brigadier. It is not the friend that comes; it is the Brigadier. Summon your guests; I must investigate their passports. I am in pursuit of a notorious malefactor, Robert Macaire.

Dumont. But I was led to believe that both Macaire and his accomplice had been arrested and condemned.

Brigadier. They were, but they have once more escaped for the moment, and justice is indefatigable. (He sits at table, R.) Dumont, a bottle of white wine.

Macaire (to Dumont). My excellent friend, I will discharge your commission, and return with all speed. (Going.)

Brigadier. Halt!

Macaire (returning: as if he saw Brigadier for the first time). Ha! a member of the force? Charmed, I’m sure. But you misconceive me: I return, at once, and my friend remains behind to answer for me.

Brigadier. Justice is insensible to friendship. I shall deal with you in due time. Dumont, that bottle.

Macaire. Sir, my friend and I, who are students of character, would grasp the opportunity to share and – may one add? – to pay the bottle. Dumont, three!

Bertrand. For God’s sake! (Enter Aline and Maids.)

Macaire. My friend is an author: so, in a humbler way, am I. Your knowledge of the criminal classes naturally tempts one to pursue so interesting an acquaintance.

Brigadier. Justice is impartial. Gentlemen, your health.

Macaire. Will not these brave fellows join us?

Brigadier. They are on duty; but what matters?

Macaire. My dear sir, what is duty? duty is my eye.

Brigadier (solemnly). And Betty Martin. (Gendarmes sit at table.)

Macaire (to Bertrand). Dear friend, sit down.

Bertrand (sitting down). O Lord!

Brigadier (to Macaire). You seem to be a gentleman of considerable intelligence.

Macaire. I fear, sir, you flatter. One has lived, one has loved, and one remembers: that is all. One’s “Lives of Celebrated Criminals” has met with a certain success, and one is ever in quest of fresh material.

Dumont. By the way, a singular thing about my patent key.

Brigadier. This gentleman is speaking.

Macaire. Excellent Dumont! he means no harm. This Macaire is not personally known to you?

Brigadier. Are you connected with justice?

Macaire. Ah, sir, justice is a point above a poor author.

Brigadier (with glass). Justice is the very devil.

Macaire. My dear sir, my friend and I, I regret to say, have an appointment in Lyons, or I could spend my life in this society. Charge your glasses: one hour to madness and to joy! What is to-morrow? the enemy of to-day. Wine? the bath of life. One moment: I find I have forgotten my watch. (He makes for the door.)

Brigadier. Halt!

Macaire. Sir, what is this jest?

Brigadier. Sentry at the door. Your passports.

Macaire. My good man, with all the pleasure in life. (Gives papers. The Brigadier puts on spectacles and examines them.)

Bertrand (rising and passing round to Macaire’s other side). It’s life and death: they must soon find it.

Macaire (aside). Don’t I know? My heart’s like fire in my body.

Brigadier. Your name is?

Macaire. It is; one’s name is not unknown.

Brigadier. Justice exacts your name.

Brigadier. Your profession?

Macaire. Gentleman.

Brigadier. No, but what is your trade?

Macaire. I am an analytical chemist.

Brigadier. Justice is inscrutable. Your papers are in order. (To Bertrand.) Now, sir, and yours?

Bertrand. I feel kind of ill.

Macaire. Bertrand, this gentleman addresses you. He is not one of us; in other scenes, in the gay and giddy world of fashion, one is his superior. But to-day he represents the majesty of law; and as a citizen it is one’s pride to do him honour.

Brigadier. Those are my sentiments.

Bertrand. I beg your pardon, I – (Gives papers.)

Brigadier. Your name?

Bertrand. Napoleon.

Brigadier. What? In your passport it is written Bertrand.

Bertrand. It’s this way: I was born Bertrand, and then I took the name of Napoleon, and I mostly always call myself either Napoleon or Bertrand.

Brigadier. The truth is always best. Your profession?

Bertrand. I am an orphan.

Brigadier. What the devil! (To Macaire.) Is your friend an idiot?

Macaire. Pardon me, he is a poet.

Brigadier. Poetry is a great hindrance to the ends of justice. Well, take your papers.

Macaire. Then we may go?