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diff --git a/719-h/719-h.htm b/719-h/719-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..c5850ff --- /dev/null +++ b/719-h/719-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,10367 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=US-ASCII" /> +<title>The Plays of W. E. Henley and R. L. Stevenson, by Robert Louis Stevenson</title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + P { margin-top: .75em; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + P.gutsumm { margin-left: 5%;} + P.poetry {margin-left: 3%; } + .GutSmall { font-size: 0.7em; } + H1, H2 { + text-align: center; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + } + H3, H4, H5 { + text-align: center; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; + } + BODY{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + table { border-collapse: collapse; } +table {margin-left:auto; margin-right:auto;} + td { vertical-align: top; border: 1px solid black;} + td p { margin: 0.2em; } + .blkquot {margin-left: 4em; margin-right: 4em;} /* block indent */ + + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + + .pagenum {position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: small; + text-align: right; + font-weight: normal; + color: gray; + } + img { border: none; } + img.dc { float: left; width: 50px; height: 50px; } + p.gutindent { margin-left: 2em; } + div.gapspace { height: 0.8em; } + div.gapline { height: 0.8em; width: 100%; border-top: 1px solid;} + div.gapmediumline { height: 0.3em; width: 40%; margin-left:30%; + border-top: 1px solid; } + div.gapmediumdoubleline { height: 0.3em; width: 40%; margin-left:30%; + border-top: 1px solid; border-bottom: 1px solid;} + div.gapshortdoubleline { height: 0.3em; width: 20%; + margin-left: 40%; border-top: 1px solid; + border-bottom: 1px solid; } + div.gapdoubleline { height: 0.3em; width: 50%; + margin-left: 25%; border-top: 1px solid; + border-bottom: 1px solid;} + div.gapshortline { height: 0.3em; width: 20%; margin-left:40%; + border-top: 1px solid; } + .citation {vertical-align: super; + font-size: .8em; + text-decoration: none;} + img.floatleft { float: left; + margin-right: 1em; + margin-top: 0.5em; margin-bottom: 0.5em; } + img.floatright { float: right; + margin-left: 1em; margin-top: 0.5em; + margin-bottom: 0.5em; } + img.clearcenter {display: block; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; margin-top: 0.5em; + margin-bottom: 0.5em} + --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> +</head> +<body> +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Plays of W. E. Henley and R. L. +Stevenson, by Robert Louis Stevenson, et al + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: The Plays of W. E. Henley and R. L. Stevenson + + +Author: Robert Louis Stevenson + + + +Release Date: March 10, 2013 [eBook #719] +[This file was first posted on November 22, 1996] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PLAYS OF W. E. HENLEY AND R. +L. STEVENSON*** +</pre> +<p>Transcribed from the 1907 William Heinemann edition by David +Price, email ccx074@pglaf.org</p> +<h1>The Plays<br /> +of<br /> +W. E. Henley and<br /> +R. L. Stevenson</h1> +<table> +<tr> +<td><p>Deacon Brodie</p> +</td> +<td><p>Beau Austin</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Admiral Guinea</p> +</td> +<td><p>Robert Macaire</p> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/tpb.jpg"> +<img alt= +"Decorative graphic" +title= +"Decorative graphic" +src="images/tps.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p style="text-align: center">London</p> +<p style="text-align: center">William Heinemann</p> +<p style="text-align: center">1907</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p> <i>Copyright</i><br /> +<i>All rights reserved</i></p> +<h2>CONTENTS</h2> +<table> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">PAGE</span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>DEACON BRODIE</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page1">1</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>BEAU AUSTIN</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page111">111</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>ADMIRAL GUINEA</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page177">177</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>ROBERT MACAIRE</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page251">251</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +<h2><a name="page1"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 1</span>DEACON +BRODIE<br /> +OR THE DOUBLE LIFE<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">A MELODRAMA IN FIVE ACTS</span><br /> +<span class="GutSmall">AND EIGHT TABLEAUX</span></h2> +<h3>PERSONS REPRESENTED</h3> +<p><span class="smcap">William Brodie</span>, Deacon of the +Wrights, Housebreaker and Master Carpenter.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Old Brodie</span>, the Deacon’s +Father.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">William Lawson</span>, Procurator-Fiscal, +the Deacon’s Uncle.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Andrew Ainslie</span>, <span +class="smcap">Humphrey Moore</span>, <span class="smcap">George +Smith</span>, Robbers in the Deacon’s gang.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Captain Rivers</span>, an English +Highwayman.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Hunt</span>, a Bow Street Runner.</p> +<p>A <span class="smcap">Doctor</span>.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Walter Leslie</span>.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Mary Brodie</span>, the Deacon’s +Sister.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Jean Watt</span>, the Deacon’s +Mistress.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="smcap">Vagabonds</span>, <span class="smcap">Officers of +the Watch</span>, <span class="smcap">Men-servants</span>.</p> +<p>The Scene is laid in Edinburgh. The Time is towards the +close of the Eighteenth Century. The Action, some fifty +hours long, begins at eight p.m. on Saturday and ends before +midnight on Monday.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Note</span>.—<i>Passages suggested +for omission in representation are enclosed in square +brackets</i>, <i>thus</i> [ ].</p> +<h3>SYNOPSIS OF ACTS AND TABLEAUX</h3> +<table> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p style="text-align: center">ACT I.</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">TABLEAU I.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p>The Double Life.</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">TABLEAU II.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p>Hunt the Runner.</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">TABLEAU III.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p>Mother Clarke’s.</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p style="text-align: center">ACT II.</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">TABLEAU IV.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p>Evil and Good.</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p style="text-align: center">ACT III.</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">TABLEAU V.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p>King’s Evidence.</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">TABLEAU VI.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p>Unmasked.</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p style="text-align: center">ACT IV.</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">TABLEAU VII.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p>The Robbery.</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p style="text-align: center">ACT V.</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">TABLEAU VIII.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p>The Open Door.</p> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +<h3>LONDON: PRINCE’S THEATRE</h3> +<p style="text-align: center">2<i>d</i> <i>July</i> 1884</p> +<table> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Deacon Brodie</span>,</p> +</td> +<td><p>Mr. E. J. <span class="smcap">Henley</span>.</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Walter Leslie</span>,</p> +</td> +<td><p>Mr. <span class="smcap">Charles Cartwright</span>.</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">William Lawson</span>,</p> +</td> +<td><p>Mr. <span class="smcap">John Maclean</span>.</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Andrew Ainslie</span>,</p> +</td> +<td><p>Mr. <span class="smcap">Fred Desmond</span>.</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Humphrey Moore</span>,</p> +</td> +<td><p>Mr. <span class="smcap">Edmund Grace</span>.</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">George Smith</span>,</p> +</td> +<td><p>Mr. <span class="smcap">Julian Cross</span>.</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Hunt</span>,</p> +</td> +<td><p>Mr. <span class="smcap">Hubert Akhurst</span>.</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Old Brodie</span>,</p> +</td> +<td><p>Mr. A. <span class="smcap">Knight</span>.</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Captain Rivers</span>,</p> +</td> +<td><p>Mr. <span class="smcap">Brandon Thomas</span>.</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Mary Brodie</span>,</p> +</td> +<td><p>Miss <span class="smcap">Lizzie Williams</span>.</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Jean Watt</span>,</p> +</td> +<td><p>Miss <span class="smcap">Minnie Bell</span>.</p> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +<h3>MONTREAL</h3> +<p style="text-align: center">26<i>th</i> <i>September</i> +1887</p> +<table> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Deacon Brodie</span>,</p> +</td> +<td><p>Mr. E. J. <span class="smcap">Henley</span>.</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Walter Leslie</span>,</p> +</td> +<td><p>Mr. <span class="smcap">Graham Stewart</span>.</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">William Lawson</span>,</p> +</td> +<td><p>Mr. <span class="smcap">Edmund Lyons</span>.</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Andrew Ainslie</span>,</p> +</td> +<td><p>Mr. <span class="smcap">Fred Desmond</span>.</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Humphrey Moore</span>,</p> +</td> +<td><p>Mr. <span class="smcap">Edmund Grace</span>.</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">George smith</span>,</p> +</td> +<td><p>Mr. <span class="smcap">Horatio Saker</span>.</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Hunt</span>,</p> +</td> +<td><p>Mr. <span class="smcap">Henry Vernon</span>.</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Captain Rivers</span>,</p> +</td> +<td><p>Mr. <span class="smcap">Bruce Philips</span>.</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Mary Brodie</span>,</p> +</td> +<td><p>Miss <span class="smcap">Annie Robe</span>.</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Jean Watt</span>,</p> +</td> +<td><p>Miss <span class="smcap">Carrie Coote</span>.</p> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +<h3>ACT I.</h3> +<h4>TABLEAU I.<br /> +<span class="smcap">The Double Life</span>.</h4> +<p><i>The Stage represents a room in the Deacon’s +house</i>, <i>furnished partly as a sitting-</i>, <i>partly as a +bed-room</i>, <i>in the style of an easy burgess of about</i> +1780. <i>C.</i>, <i>a door</i>; <i>L. C.</i>, <i>a second +and smaller door</i>; <i>R. C.</i>, <i>practicable window</i>; +<i>L.</i>, <i>alcove</i>, <i>supposed to contain bed</i>; <i>at +the back</i>, <i>a clothes-press and a corner cupboard containing +bottles</i>, <i>etc.</i> <span class="smcap">Mary +Brodie</span> <i>at needlework</i>; <span class="smcap">Old +Brodie</span>, <i>a paralytic</i>, <i>in wheeled chair</i>, <i>at +the fireside</i>, <i>L.</i></p> +<h5>SCENE I</h5> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To these</i> <span +class="smcap">Leslie</span>, <i>C.</i></p> +<p><span class="smcap">Leslie</span>. May I come in, +Mary?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Mary</span>. Why not?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Leslie</span>. I scarce knew where +to find you.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Mary</span>. The dad and I must have +a corner, must we not? So when my brother’s friends +are in the parlour he allows us to sit in his room. +’Tis a great favour, I can tell you; the place is +sacred.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Leslie</span>. Are you sure that +‘sacred’ is strong enough?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Mary</span>. You are satirical!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Leslie</span>. I? And with +regard to the Deacon? Believe me, I am not so +ill-advised. You have trained me well, and I feel by him as +solemnly as a true-born Brodie.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Mary</span>. And now you are +impertinent! Do you mean to go any further? We are a +fighting race, we Brodies. Oh, you may laugh, sir! +But ’tis no child’s play to jest us on our Deacon, +or, for that matter, on our Deacon’s chamber either. +It was his father’s before him: he works in it by day and +sleeps in it by night; and scarce anything it contains but is the +labour of his hands. Do you see this table, Walter? +He made it while he was yet a ’prentice. I remember +how I used to sit and watch him at his work. It would be +grand, I thought, to be able to do as he did, and handle +edge-tools without cutting my fingers, and getting my ears pulled +for a meddlesome minx! He used to give me his mallet to +keep and his nails to hold; and didn’t I fly when he called +for them! and wasn’t I proud to be ordered about with +them! And then, you know, there is the tall cabinet yonder; +that it was that proved him the first of Edinburgh joiners, and +worthy to be their Deacon and their head. And the +father’s chair, and the sister’s workbox, and the +dear dead mother’s footstool—what are they all but +proofs of the Deacon’s skill, and tokens of the +Deacon’s care for those about him?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Leslie</span>. I am all +penitence. Forgive me this last time, and I promise you I +never will again.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Mary</span>. Candidly, now, do you +think you deserve forgiveness?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Leslie</span>. Candidly, I do +not.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Mary</span>. Then I suppose you must +have it. What have you done with Willie and my uncle?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Leslie</span>. I left them talking +deeply. The dear old Procurator has not much thought just +now for anything but those mysterious burglaries—</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Mary</span>. I know!—</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Leslie</span>. Still, all of him +that is not magistrate and official is politician and citizen; +and he has been striving his hardest to undermine the +Deacon’s principles, and win the Deacon’s vote and +interest.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Mary</span>. They are worth having, +are they not?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Leslie</span>. The Procurator seems +to think that having them makes the difference between winning +and losing.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Mary</span>. Did he say so? +You may rely upon it that he knows. There are not many in +Edinburgh who can match with our Will.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Leslie</span>. There shall be as +many as you please, and not one more.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Mary</span>. How I should like to +have heard you! What did uncle say? Did he speak of +the Town Council again? Did he tell Will what a wonderful +Bailie he would make? O why did you come away?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Leslie</span>. I could not pretend +to listen any longer. The election is months off yet; and +if it were not—if it were tramping upstairs this +moment—drums, flags, cockades, guineas, candidates, and +all!—how should I care for it? What are Whig and Tory +to me?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Mary</span>. O fie on you! It +is for every man to concern himself in the common weal. Mr. +Leslie—Leslie of the Craig!—should know that much at +least.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Leslie</span>. And be a politician +like the Deacon? All in good time, but not now. I +hearkened while I could, and when I could no more I slipped out +and followed my heart. I hoped I should be welcome.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Mary</span>. I suppose you mean to +be unkind.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Leslie</span>. Tit for tat. +Did you not ask me why I came away? And is it usual for a +young lady to say ‘Mr.’ to the man she means to +marry?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Mary</span>. That is for the young +lady to decide, sir.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Leslie</span>. And against that +judgment there shall be no appeal?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Mary</span>. O, if you mean to +argue!—</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Leslie</span>. I do not mean to +argue. I am content to love and be loved. I think I +am the happiest man in the world.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Mary</span>. That is as it should +be; for I am the happiest girl.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Leslie</span>. Why not say the +happiest wife? I have your word, and you have mine. +Is not that enough?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Mary</span>. Have you so soon +forgotten? Did I not tell you how it must be as my brother +wills? I can do only as he bids me.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Leslie</span>. Then you have not +spoken as you promised?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Mary</span>. I have been too happy +to speak.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Leslie</span>. I am his +friend. Precious as you are, he will trust you to me. +He has but to know how I love you, Mary, and how your life is all +in your love of me, to give us his blessing with a full +heart.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Mary</span>. I am sure of him. +It is that which makes my happiness complete. Even to our +marriage I should find it hard to say ‘Yes’ when he +said ‘No.’</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Leslie</span>. Your father is trying +to speak. I’ll wager he echoes you.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Mary</span> (<i>to</i> <span +class="smcap">Old Brodie</span>). My poor dearie! Do +you want to say anything to me? No? Is it to Mr. +Leslie, then?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Leslie</span>. I am listening, Mr. +Brodie.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Mary</span>. What is it, daddie?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Old Brodie</span>. My son—the +Deacon—Deacon Brodie—the first at school.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Leslie</span>. I know it, Mr. +Brodie. Was I not the last in the same class? +(<i>To</i> <span class="smcap">Mary</span>.) But he seems +to have forgotten us.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Mary</span>. O yes! his mind is +wellnigh gone. He will sit for hours as you see him, and +never speak nor stir but at the touch of Will’s hand or the +sound of Will’s name.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Leslie</span>. It is so good to sit +beside you. By and by it will be always like this. +You will not let me speak to the Deacon? You are fast set +upon speaking yourself? I could be so eloquent, +Mary—I would touch him. I cannot tell you how I fear +to trust my happiness to any one else—even to you!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Mary</span>. He must hear of my good +fortune from none but me. And besides, you do not +understand. We are not like families, we Brodies. We +are so clannish, we hold so close together.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Leslie</span>. You Brodies, and your +Deacon!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Old Brodie</span>. Deacon of his +craft, sir—Deacon of the Wrights—my son! If his +mother—his mother—had but lived to see!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Mary</span>. You hear how he runs +on. A word about my brother and he catches it. +’Tis as if he were awake in his poor blind way to all the +Deacon’s care for him and all the Deacon’s kindness +to me. I believe he only lives in the thought of the +Deacon. There, it is not so long since I was one with +him. But indeed I think we are all Deacon-mad, we +Brodies. Are we not, daddie dear?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span> (<i>without</i>, <i>and +entering</i>). You are a mighty magistrate, Procurator, but +you seem to have met your match.</p> +<h5>SCENE II</h5> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To these</i>, <span +class="smcap">Brodie</span> and <span +class="smcap">Lawson</span>.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Mary</span> (<i>curtseying</i>). So, +uncle! you have honoured us at last.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Lawson</span>. <i>Quam primum</i>, +my dear, <i>quam primum</i>.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. Well, father, do you +know me? (<i>He sits beside his father and takes his +hand</i>.)</p> +<p>[<span class="smcap">Old Brodie</span>. +William—ay—Deacon. Greater +man—than—his father.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. You see, Procurator, +the news is as fresh to him as it was five years ago. He +was struck down before he got the Deaconship, and lives his lost +life in mine.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Lawson</span>. Ay, I mind. He +was aye ettling after a bit handle to his name. He was kind +of hurt when first they made me Procurator.]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Mary</span>. And what have you been +talking of?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Lawson</span>. Just o’ thae +robberies, Mary. Baith as a burgher and a Crown offeecial, +I tak’ the maist absorbing interest in thae robberies.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Leslie</span>. Egad, Procurator, and +so do I.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span> (<i>with a quick look at</i> +<span class="smcap">Leslie</span>). A dilettante interest, +doubtless! See what it is to be idle.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Leslie</span>. Faith, Brodie, I +hardly know how to style it.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. At any rate, +’tis not the interest of a victim, or we should certainly +have known of it before; nor a practical tool-mongering interest, +like my own; nor an interest professional and official, like the +Procurator’s. You can answer for that, I suppose?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Leslie</span>. I think I can; if for +no more. It’s an interest of my own, you see, and is +best described as indescribable, and of no manner of moment to +anybody. [It will take no hurt if we put off its discussion +till a month of Sundays.]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. You are more +fortunate than you deserve. What do you say, +Procurator?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Lawson</span>. Ay is he! There +is no a house in Edinburgh safe. The law is clean helpless, +clean helpless! A week syne it was auld Andra +Simpson’s in the Lawnmarket. Then, naething would set +the catamarans but to forgather privily wi’ the +Provost’s ain butler, and tak’ unto themselves the +Provost’s ain plate. And the day, information was +laid before me offeecially that the limmers had made infraction, +<i>vi et clam</i>, into Leddy Mar’get Dalziel’s, and +left her leddyship wi’ no sae muckle’s a spune to sup +her parritch wi’. It’s unbelievable, it’s +awful, it’s anti-christian!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Mary</span>. If you only knew them, +uncle, what an example you would make! But tell me, is it +not strange that men should dare such things, in the midst of a +city, and nothing, nothing be known of them—nothing at +all?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Leslie</span>. Little, indeed! +But we do know that there are several in the gang, and that one +at least is an unrivalled workman.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Lawson</span>. Ye’re right, +sir; ye’re vera right, Mr. Leslie. It had been +deponed to me offeecially that no a tradesman—no the Deacon +here himsel’—could have made a cleaner job wi’ +Andra Simpson’s shutters. And as for the lock +o’ the bank—but that’s an auld sang.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. I think you believe +too much, Procurator. Rumour’s an ignorant jade, I +tell you. I’ve had occasion to see some little of +their handiwork—broken cabinets, broken shutters, broken +doors—and I find them bunglers. Why, I could do it +better myself!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Leslie</span>. Gad, Brodie, you and +I might go into partnership. I back myself to watch +outside, and I suppose you could do the work of skill within?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. An opposition +company? Leslie, your mind is full of good things. +Suppose we begin to-night, and give the Procurator’s house +the honours of our innocence?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Mary</span>. You could do anything, +you two!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Lawson</span>. Onyway, Deacon, +ye’d put your ill-gotten gains to a right use; they might +come by the wind but they wouldna gang wi’ the water; and +that’s aye <i>a solatium</i>, as we say. If I am to +be robbit, I would like to be robbit wi’ decent folk; and +no think o’ my bonnie clean siller dirling among jads and +dicers. [Faith, William, the mair I think on’t, the +mair I’m o’ Mr. Leslie’s mind. Come the +night, or come the morn, and I’se gie ye my free +permission, and lend ye a hand in at the window forbye!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. Come, come, +Procurator, lead not our poor clay into temptation. (<span +class="smcap">Leslie</span> <i>and</i> <span +class="smcap">Mary</span> <i>talk apart</i>.)</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Lawson</span>. I’m no muckle +afraid for your puir clay, as ye ca’t.] But hark +i’ your ear: ye’re likely, joking apart, to be gey +and sune in partnership wi’ Mr. Leslie. He and Mary +are gey and pack, a body can see that.</p> +<p>[<span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. ‘Daffin’ +and want o’ wit’—you know the rest.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Lawson</span>. <i>Vidi</i>, +<i>scivi</i>, <i>et audivi</i>, as we say in a Sasine, +William.] Man, because my wig’s pouthered do ye think +I havena a green heart? I was aince a lad mysel’, and +I ken fine by the glint o’ the e’e when a lad’s +fain and a lassie’s willing. And, man, it’s the +town’s talk; <i>communis error fit jus</i>, ye ken.</p> +<p>[<span class="smcap">Old Brodie</span>. Oh!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Lawson</span>. See, ye’re +hurting your faither’s hand.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. Dear dad, it is not +good to have an ill-tempered son.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Lawson</span>. What the deevil ails +ye at the match? ’Od, man, he has a nice bit divot +o’ Fife corn-land, I can tell ye, and some Bordeaux wine in +his cellar! But I needna speak o’ the Bordeaux; +ye’ll ken the smack o’t as weel’s I do +mysel’; onyway it’s grand wine. <i>Tantum et +tale</i>. I tell ye the <i>pro’s</i>, find you the +<i>con.’s</i>, if ye’re able.]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. [I am sorry, +Procurator, but I must be short with you.] You are talking +in the air, as lawyers will. I prefer to drop the subject +[and it will displease me if you return to it in my hearing].</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Leslie</span>. At four o’clock +to-morrow? At my house? (<i>to</i> <span +class="smcap">Mary</span>).</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Mary</span>. As soon as church is +done. (<i>Exit</i> <span class="smcap">Mary</span>.)</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Lawson</span>. Ye needna be sae high +and mighty, onyway.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. I ask your pardon, +Procurator. But we Brodies—you know our +failings! [A bad temper and a humour of privacy.]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Lawson</span>. Weel, I maun be about +my business. But I could tak’ a doch-an-dorach, +William; <i>superflua non nocent</i>, as we say; an extra dram +hurts naebody, Mr. Leslie.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span> (<i>with bottle and +glasses</i>). Here’s your old friend, +Procurator. Help yourself, Leslie. Oh no, thank you, +not any for me. You strong people have the advantage of me +there. With my attacks, you know, I must always live a bit +of a hermit’s life.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Lawson</span>. ’Od, man, +that’s fine; that’s health o’ mind and +body. Mr. Leslie, here’s to you, sir. +’Od, it’s harder to end than to begin wi’ stuff +like that.</p> +<h5>SCENE III</h5> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To these</i>, <span +class="smcap">Smith</span> and <span class="smcap">Jean</span>, +<i>C.</i></p> +<p><span class="smcap">Smith</span>. Is the king of the +castle in, please?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Lawson</span> (<i>aside</i>). +Lord’s sake, it’s Smith!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span> (<i>to</i> <span +class="smcap">Smith</span>). I beg your pardon?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Smith</span>. I beg yours, +sir. If you please, sir, is Mr. Brodie at home, sir?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. What do you want with +him, my man?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Smith</span>. I’ve a message +for him, sir, a job of work, sir!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span> (<i>to</i> <span +class="smcap">Smith</span>; <i>referring to</i> <span +class="smcap">Jean</span>). And who is this?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Jean</span>. I am here for the +Procurator, about my rent. There’s nae offence, I +hope, sir.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Lawson</span>. It’s just an +honest wife I let a flat to in Libberton’s Wynd. +It’ll be for the rent?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Jean</span>. Just that, sir.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Lawson</span>. Weel, ye can just +bide here a wee, and I’ll step down the road to my office +wi’ ye. (<i>Exeunt</i> <span +class="smcap">Brodie</span>, <span class="smcap">Lawson</span>, +<span class="smcap">Leslie</span>, <i>C.</i>)</p> +<h5>SCENE IV</h5> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">Smith</span>, +<span class="smcap">Jean Watt</span>, <span class="smcap">Old +Brodie</span>.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Smith</span> (<i>bowing them +out</i>). Your humble and most devoted servant, George +Smith, Esquire. And so this is the garding, is it? +And this is the style of horticulture? Ha, it is! +(<i>At the mirror</i>.) In that case George’s mother +bids him bind his hair. (<i>Kisses his hand</i>.) My +dearest Duchess,—(<i>To</i> <span +class="smcap">Jean</span>.) I say, Jean, there’s a +good deal of difference between this sort of thing and the way we +does it in Libberton’s Wynd.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Jean</span>. I daursay. And +what wad ye expeck?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Smith</span>. Ah, Jean, if +you’d cast affection’s glance on this poor but honest +soger! George Lord S. is not the nobleman to cut the object +of his flame before the giddy throng; nor to keep her boxed up in +an old mouse-trap, while he himself is revelling in purple +splendours like these. He didn’t know you, Jean: he +was afraid to. Do you call that a man? Try a man that +is.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Jean</span>. Geordie Smith, ye ken +vera weel I’ll tak’ nane o’ that sort of talk +frae you. And what kind o’ a man are you to even +yoursel’ to the likes o’ him? He’s a +gentleman.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Smith</span>. Ah, ain’t he +just! And don’t he live up to it? I say, Jean, +feel of this chair.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Jean</span>. My! look at yon +bed!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Smith</span>. The carpet too! +Axminster, by the bones of Oliver Cromwell!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Jean</span>. What a expense!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Smith</span>. Hey, brandy! The +deuce of the grape! Have a toothful, Mrs. Watt. +[(<i>Sings</i>)—</p> +<blockquote><p> ‘Says +Bacchus to Venus,<br /> + There’s brandy between +us,<br /> +And the cradle of love is the bowl, the bowl!’]</p> +</blockquote> +<p><span class="smcap">Jean</span>. Nane for me, I thank +ye, Mr. Smith.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Smith</span>. What brings the man +from stuff like this to rotgut and spittoons at Mother +Clarke’s; but ah, George, you was born for a higher +spear! And so was you, Mrs. Watt, though I say it that +shouldn’t. (<i>Seeing</i> <span class="smcap">Old +Brodie</span> <i>for the first time</i>.) Hullo! it’s +a man!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Jean</span>. Thonder in the +chair. (<i>They go to look at him</i>, <i>their backs to +the door</i>.)</p> +<p><span class="smcap">George</span>. Is he alive?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Jean</span>. I think there’s +something wrong with him.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">George</span>. And how was you +to-morrow, my valued old gentleman, eh?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Jean</span>. Dinna mak’ a mock +o’ him, Geordie.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Old Brodie</span>. My son—the +Deacon—Deacon of his trade.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Jean</span>. He’ll be his +feyther. (<span class="smcap">Hunt</span> <i>appears at +door C.</i>, <i>and stands looking on</i>.)</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Smith</span>. The Deacon’s old +man! Well, he couldn’t expect to have his quiver full +of sich, could he, Jean? (<i>To</i> <span class="smcap">Old +Brodie</span>.) Ah, my Christian soldier, if you had, the +world would have been more varigated. Mrs. Deakin +(<i>to</i> <span class="smcap">Jean</span>), let me introduce you +to your dear papa.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Jean</span>. Think shame to +yoursel’! This is the Deacon’s house; you and +me shouldna be here by rights; and if we are, it’s the +least we can do to behave dacent. [This is no the way +ye’ll mak’ me like ye.]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Smith</span>. All right, +Duchess. Don’t be angry.</p> +<h5>SCENE V</h5> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To these</i>, <span +class="smcap">Hunt</span>, <i>C.</i> (<i>He steals +down</i>, <i>and claps each one suddenly on the +shoulder</i>.)</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Hunt</span>. Is there a gentleman +here by the name of Mr. Procurator-Fiscal?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Smith</span> (<i>pulling himself +together</i>). D—n it, Jerry, what do you mean by +startling an old customer like that?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Hunt</span>. What, my brave +un’? You’re the very party I was looking +for!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Smith</span>. There’s nothing +out against me this time?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Hunt</span>. I’ll take odds +there is. But it ain’t in my hands. (<i>To</i> +<span class="smcap">Old Brodie</span>.) You’ll excuse +me, old genelman?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Smith</span>. Ah, well, if +it’s all in the way of friendship! . . . I say, Jean, [you +and me had best be on the toddle.] We shall be late for +church.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Hunt</span>. Lady, George?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Smith</span>. It’s +a—yes, it’s a lady. Come along, Jean.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Hunt</span>. A Mrs. Deacon, I +believe? [That was the name, I think?] Won’t +Mrs. Deacon let me have a queer at her phiz?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Jean</span> (<i>unmuffling</i>). +I’ve naething to be ashamed of. My name’s +Mistress Watt; I’m weel kennt at the Wynd heid; +there’s naething again me.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Hunt</span>. No, to be sure, there +ain’t; and why clap on the blinkers, my dear? You +that has a face like a rose, and with a cove like Jerry Hunt that +might be your born father? [But all this don’t tell +me about Mr. Procurator-Fiscal.]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">George</span> (<i>in an agony</i>). +Jean, Jean, we shall be late. (<i>Going with attempted +swagger</i>.) Well, ta-ta, Jerry.</p> +<h5>SCENE VI</h5> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To these</i>, <i>C</i>, <span +class="smcap">Brodie</span> and <span class="smcap">Lawson</span> +(greatcoat, muffler, lantern).</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Lawson</span> (<i>from the +door</i>). Come your ways, Mistress Watt.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Jean</span>. That’s the Fiscal +himsel’.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Hunt</span>. Mr. Procurator-Fiscal, +I believe?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Lawson</span>. That’s +me. Who’ll you be?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Hunt</span>. Hunt the Runner, sir; +Hunt from Bow Street; English warrant.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Lawson</span>. There’s a place +for a’ things, officer. Come your ways to my office, +with me and this guid wife.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span> (<i>aside to</i> <span +class="smcap">Jean</span>, <i>as she passes with a +curtsey</i>). How dare you be here? (<i>Aloud to</i> +<span class="smcap">Smith</span>.) Wait you here, my +man.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Smith</span>. If you please, +sir. (<span class="smcap">Brodie</span> <i>goes out</i>, +<i>C.</i>)</p> +<h5>SCENE VII</h5> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>, +<span class="smcap">Smith</span>.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. What the devil brings +you here?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Smith</span>. <i>Con</i>found it, +Deakin! Not rusty?</p> +<p>[<span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. And not you only: +Jean too! Are you mad?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Smith</span>. Why, you don’t +mean to say, Deakin, that you have been stodged by G. Smith, +Esquire? Plummy old George?]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. There was my uncle +the Procurator—</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Smith</span>. The Fiscal? He +don’t count.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. What d’ye +mean?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Smith</span>. Well, Deakin, since +Fiscal Lawson’s Nunkey Lawson, and it’s all in the +family way, I don’t mind telling you that Nunkey +Lawson’s a customer of George’s. We give Nunkey +Lawson a good deal of brandy—G. S. and Co.’s +celebrated Nantz.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. What! does he buy +that smuggled trash of yours?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Smith</span>. Well, we don’t +call it smuggled in the trade, Deakin. It’s a wink, +and King George’s picter between G. S. and the Nunks.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. Gad! that’s +worth knowing. O Procurator, Procurator, is there no such +thing as virtue? [<i>Allons</i>! It’s enough to +cure a man of vice for this world and the other.] But hark +you hither, Smith; this is all damned well in its way, but it +don’t explain what brings you here.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Smith</span>. I’ve trapped a +pigeon for you.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. Can’t you pluck +him yourself?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Smith</span>. Not me. +He’s too flash in the feather for a simple nobleman like +George Lord Smith. It’s the great Capting Starlight, +fresh in from York. [He’s exercised his noble art all +the way from here to London. ‘Stand and deliver, stap +my vitals!’] And the north road is no bad lay, +Deakin.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. Flush?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Smith</span> (<i>mimicking</i>). +‘The graziers, split me! A mail, stap my vitals! and +seven demned farmers, by the Lard—’</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. By Gad!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Smith</span>. Good for trade, +ain’t it? And we thought, Deakin, the Badger and me, +that coins being ever on the vanish, and you not over sweet on +them there lovely little locks at Leslie’s, and them there +bigger and uglier marine stores at the Excise Office . . .</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span> (<i>impassible</i>). +Go on.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Smith</span>. Worse luck! . . . We +thought, me and the Badger, you know, that maybe you’d like +to exercise your helbow with our free and galliant horseman.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. The old move, I +presume? the double set of dice?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Smith</span>. That’s the rig, +Deakin. What you drop on the square you pick up again on +the cross. [Just as you did with G. S. and Co.’s own +agent and correspondent, the Admiral from Nantz.] You +always was a neat hand with the bones, Deakin.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. The usual terms, I +suppose?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Smith</span>. The old discount, +Deakin. Ten in the pound for you, and the rest for your +jolly companions every one. [<i>That’s</i> the way +<i>we</i> does it!]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. Who has the dice?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Smith</span>. Our mutual friend, the +Candleworm.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. You mean +Ainslie?—We trust that creature too much, Geordie.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Smith</span>. He’s all right, +Marquis. He wouldn’t lay a finger on his own +mother. Why, he’s no more guile in him than a set of +sheep’s trotters.</p> +<p>[<span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. You think so? +Then see he don’t cheat you over the dice, and give you +light for loaded. See to that, George, see to that; and you +may count the Captain as bare as his last grazier.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Smith</span>. The Black Flag for +ever! George’ll trot him round to Mother +Clarke’s in two twos.] How long’ll you be?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. The time to lock up +and go to bed, and I’ll be with you. Can you find +your way out?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Smith</span>. Bloom on, my Sweet +William, in peaceful array. Ta-ta.</p> +<h5>SCENE VIII</h5> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>, +<span class="smcap">Old Brodie</span>; to whom, <span +class="smcap">Mary</span>.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Mary</span>. O Willie, I am glad you +did not go with them. I have something to tell you. +If you knew how happy I am, you would clap your hands, +Will. But come, sit you down there, and be my good big +brother, and I will kneel here and take your hand. We must +keep close to dad, and then he will feel happiness in the +air. The poor old love, if we could only tell him! +But I sometimes think his heart has gone to heaven already, and +takes a part in all our joys and sorrows; and it is only his poor +body that remains here, helpless and ignorant. Come, Will, +sit you down, and ask me questions—or guess—that will +be better, guess.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. Not to-night, Mary; +not to-night. I have other fish to fry, and they +won’t wait.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Mary</span>. Not one minute for your +sister? One little minute for your little sister?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. Minutes are precious, +Mary. I have to work for all of us, and the clock is always +busy. They are waiting for me even now. Help me with +the dad’s chair. And then to bed, and dream happy +things. And to-morrow morning I will hear your +news—your good news; it must be good, you look so proud and +glad. But to-night it cannot be.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Mary</span>. I hate your +business—I hate all business. To think of chairs, and +tables, and foot-rules, all dead and wooden—and cold pieces +of money with the King’s ugly head on them; and here is +your sister, your pretty sister, if you please, with something to +tell, which she would not tell you for the world, and would give +the world to have you guess, and you won’t?—Not +you! For business! Fie, Deacon Brodie! But +I’m too happy to find fault with you.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. ‘And me a +Deacon,’ as the Procurator would say.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Mary</span>. No such thing, +sir! I am not a bit afraid of you—nor a bit angry +neither. Give me a kiss, and promise me hours and hours +to-morrow morning.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. All day long +to-morrow, if you like.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Mary</span>. Business or none?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. Business or none, +little sister! I’ll make time, I promise you; and +there’s another kiss for surety. Come along. +(<i>They proceed to push out the chair</i>, <i>L.C.</i>) +The wine and wisdom of this evening have given me one of my +headaches, and I’m in haste for bed. You’ll be +good, won’t you, and see they make no noise, and let me +sleep my fill to-morrow morning till I wake?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Mary</span>. Poor Will! How +selfish I must have seemed! You should have told me sooner, +and I wouldn’t have worried you. Come along.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">(<i>She goes out</i>, <i>pushing +chair</i>.)</p> +<h5>SCENE IX</h5> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="smcap">Brodie</span></p> +<p style="text-align: center">(<i>He closes</i>, <i>locks</i>, +<i>and double-bolts both doors</i>)</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. Now for one of the +Deacon’s headaches! Rogues all, rogues all! +(<i>Goes to clothes-press</i>, <i>and proceeds to change his +coat</i>.) On with the new coat and into the new +life! Down with the Deacon and up with the robber! +(<i>Changing neck-band and ruffles</i>.) Eh God! how still +the house is! There’s something in hypocrisy after +all. If we were as good as we seem, what would the world +be? [The city has its vizard on, and we—at night we +are our naked selves. Trysts are keeping, bottles cracking, +knives are stripping; and here is Deacon Brodie flaming forth the +man of men he is!]—How still it is! . . . My father and +Mary—Well! the day for them, the night for me; the grimy +cynical night that makes all cats grey, and all honesties of one +complexion. Shall a man not have <i>half</i> a life of his +own?—not eight hours out of twenty-four? [Eight shall +he have should he dare the pit of Tophet.] (<i>Takes out +money</i>.) Where’s the blunt? I must be cool +to-night, or . . . steady, Deacon, you must win; damn you, you +must! You must win back the dowry that you’ve stolen, +and marry your sister, and pay your debts, and gull the world a +little longer! (<i>As he blows out the lights</i>.) +The Deacon’s going to bed—the poor sick Deacon! +<i>Allons</i>! (<i>Throws up the window</i>, <i>and looks +out</i>.) Only the stars to see me! (<i>Addressing the +bed</i>.) Lie there, Deacon! sleep and be well +to-morrow. As for me, I’m a man once more till +morning. (<i>Gets out of the window</i>.)</p> +<h4>TABLEAU II.<br /> +<span class="smcap">Hunt the Runner</span></h4> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>The Scene represents the +Procurator’s Office</i>.</p> +<h5>SCENE I</h5> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">Lawson</span>, +<span class="smcap">Hunt</span></p> +<p>[<span class="smcap">Lawson</span> (<i>entering</i>). +Step your ways in, Officer. (<i>At wing</i>.) Mr. +Carfrae, give a chair to yon decent wife that cam’ in +wi’ me. Nae news?</p> +<p>A <span class="smcap">voice without</span>. Naething, +sir.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Lawson</span> (<i>sitting</i>). +Weel, Officer, and what can I do for you?]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Hunt</span>. Well, sir, as I was +saying, I’ve an English warrant for the apprehension of one +Jemmy Rivers, <i>alias</i> Captain Starlight, now at large within +your jurisdiction.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Lawson</span>. That’ll be the +highwayman?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Hunt</span>. That same, Mr. +Procurator-Fiscal. The Captain’s given me a hard hunt +of it this time. I dropped on his marks first at +Huntingdon, but he was away North, and I had to up and after +him. I heard of him all along the York road, for he’s +a light hand on the pad, has Jemmy, and leaves his mark. [I +missed him at York by four-and-twenty hours, and lost him for as +much more. Then I picked him up again at Carlisle, and we +made a race of it for the Border; but he’d a better nag, +and was best up in the road; so I had to wait till I ran him to +earth in Edinburgh here and could get a new warrant.] So +here I am, sir. They told me you were an active sort of +gentleman, and I’m an active man myself. And Sir John +Fielding, Mr. Procurator-Fiscal, he’s an active gentleman, +likewise, though he’s blind as a himage, and he desired his +compliments to you, [sir, and said that between us he thought +we’d do the trick].</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Lawson</span>. Ay, he’ll be a +fine man, Sir John. Hand me owre your papers, Hunt, and +you’ll have your new warrant <i>quam primum</i>. And +see here, Hunt, ye’ll aiblins have a while to +yoursel’, and an active man, as ye say ye are, should aye +be grinding grist. We’re sair forfeuchen wi’ +our burglaries. <i>Non constat de personâ</i>. +We canna get a grip o’ the delinquents. Here is the +<i>Hue and Cry</i>. Ye see there is a guid two hundred +pounds for ye.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Hunt</span>. Well, Mr. +Procurator-Fiscal [I ain’t a rich man, and two +hundred’s two hundred. Thereby, sir], I don’t +mind telling you I’ve had a bit of a worry at it +already. You see, Mr. Procurator-Fiscal, I had to look into +a ken to-night about the Captain, and an old cock always likes to +be sure of his walk; so I got one of your Scotch +officers—him as was so polite as to show me round to Mr. +Brodie’s—to give me full particulars about the +’ouse, and the flash companions that use it. In his +list I drop on the names of two old lambs of my own; and I put it +to you, Mr. Procurator-Fiscal, as a genleman as knows the world, +if what’s a black sheep in London is likely or not to be +keeping school in Edinburgh?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Lawson</span>. <i>Coelum non +animum</i>. A just observe.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Hunt</span>. I’ll give it a +thought, sir, and see if I can’t kill two birds with one +stone. Talking of which, Mr. Procurator-Fiscal, I’d +like to have a bit of a confab with that nice young woman as came +to pay her rent.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Lawson</span>. Hunt, that’s a +very decent woman.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Hunt</span>. And a very decent woman +may have mighty queer pals, Mr. Procurator-Fiscal. Lord +love you, sir, I don’t know what the profession would do +without ’em!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Lawson</span>. Ye’re vera +richt, Hunt. An active and a watchful officer. +I’ll send her in till ye.</p> +<h5>SCENE II</h5> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">Hunt</span> +(<i>solus</i>)</p> +<p>Two hundred pounds reward. Curious thing. One +burglary after another, and these Scotch blockheads without a man +to show for it. Jock runs east, and Sawney cuts west; +everything’s at a deadlock; and they go on calling +themselves thief-catchers! [By jingo, I’ll show them +how we do it down South! Well, I’ve worn out a good +deal of saddle leather over Jemmy Rivers; but here’s for +new breeches if you like.] Let’s have another queer +at the list. (<i>Reads</i>.) ‘Humphrey Moore, +otherwise Badger; aged forty, thick-set, dark, close-cropped; has +been a prize-fighter; no apparent occupation.’ +Badger’s an old friend of mine, ‘George Smith, +otherwise the Dook, otherwise Jingling Geordie; red-haired and +curly, slight, flash; an old thimble-rig; has been a stroller; +suspected of smuggling; an associate of loose women.’ +G. S., Esquire, is another of my flock. ‘Andrew +Ainslie, otherwise Slink Ainslie; aged thirty-five; thin, +white-faced, lank-haired; no occupation; has been in trouble for +reset of theft and subornation of youth; might be useful as +king’s evidence.’ That’s an acquaintance +to make. ‘Jock Hamilton, otherwise Sweepie,’ +and so on. [’Willie M’Glashan,’ +hum—yes, and so on, and so on.] Ha! here’s the +man I want. ‘William Brodie, Deacon of the Wrights, +about thirty; tall, slim, dark; wears his own hair; is often at +Clarke’s, but seemingly for purposes of amusement only; [is +nephew to the Procurator-Fiscal; is commercially sound, but has +of late (it is supposed) been short of cash; has lost much at +cock-fighting;] is proud, clever, of good repute, but is fond of +adventures and secrecy, and keeps low company.’ Now, +here’s what I ask myself: here’s this list of the +family party that drop into Mother Clarke’s; it’s +been in the hands of these nincompoops for weeks, and I’m +the first to cry Queer Street! Two well-known cracksmen, +Badger and the Dook! why, there’s Jack in the Orchard at +once. This here topsawyer work they talk about, of course +that’s a chalk above Badger and the Dook. But how +about our Mohock-tradesman? ‘Purposes of +amusement!’ What next? Deacon of the Wrights? +and wright in their damned lingo means a kind of carpenter, I +fancy? Why, damme, it’s the man’s trade! +I’ll look you up, Mr. William Brodie, Deacon of the +Wrights. As sure as my name’s Jerry Hunt, I +wouldn’t take one-ninety-nine in gold for my chance of that +’ere two hundred!</p> +<h5>SCENE III</h5> +<p><span class="smcap">Hunt</span>; to him <span +class="smcap">Jean</span></p> +<p><span class="smcap">Hunt</span>. Well, my dear, and how +about your gentleman friend now? How about Deacon +Brodie?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Jean</span>. I dinna ken your name, +sir, nor yet whae ye are; but this is a very poor employ for ony +gentleman—it sets ill wi’ ony gentleman to cast my +shame in my teeth.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Hunt</span>. Lord love you, my dear, +that ain’t my line of country. Suppose you’re +not married and churched a hundred thousand times, what odds to +Jerry Hunt? Jerry, my Pamela Prue, is a cove as might be +your parent; a cove renowned for the ladies’ friend [and +he’s dead certain to be on your side]. What I +can’t get over is this: here’s this Mr. Deacon Brodie +doing the genteel at home, and leaving a nice young ’oman +like you—as a cove may say—to take it out on cold +potatoes. That’s what I can’t get over, Mrs. +Watt. I’m a family man myself; and I can’t get +over it.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Jean</span>. And whae said that to +ye? They lee’d whatever. I get naething but +guid by him; and I had nae richt to gang to his house; and O, I +just ken I’ve been the ruin of him!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Hunt</span>. Don’t you take +on, Mrs. Watt. Why, now I hear you piping up for him, I +begin to think a lot of him myself. I like a cove to be +open-handed and free.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Jean</span>. Weel, sir, and +he’s a’ that.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Hunt</span>. Well, that shows what a +wicked world this is. Why, they told me—. Well, +well, ‘here’s the open ’and and the ’appy +’art.’ And how much, my dear—speaking as +a family man—now, how much might your gentleman friend +stand you in the course of a year?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Jean</span>. What’s your +wull?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Hunt</span>. That’s a mighty +fancy shawl, Mrs. Watt. [I should like to take its +next-door neighbour to Mrs. Hunt in King Street, Common +Garden.] What’s about the figure?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Jean</span>. It’s paid +for. Ye can sweir to that.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Hunt</span>. Yes, my dear, and so is +King George’s crown; but I don’t know what it cost, +and I don’t know where the blunt came from to pay for +it.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Jean</span>. I’m thinking +ye’ll be a vera clever gentleman.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Hunt</span>. So I am, my dear; and I +like you none the worse for being artful yourself. But +between friends now, and speaking as a family man—</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Jean</span>. I’ll be +wishin’ ye a fine nicht. (<i>Curtsies and goes +out</i>.)</p> +<h5>SCENE IV</h5> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">Hunt</span> +(<i>solus</i>)</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Hunt</span>. Ah! that’s it, is +it? ‘My fancy man’s my ’ole +delight,’ as we say in Bow Street. But which +<i>is</i> the fancy man? George the Dock, or William the +Deacon? One or both? (<i>He winks +solemnly</i>.) Well, Jerry, my boy, here’s your work +cut out for you; but if you took one-nine-five for that +’ere little two hundred you’d be a disgrace to the +profession.</p> +<h4>TABLEAU III.<br /> +<span class="smcap">Mother Clarke’s</span></h4> +<h5>SCENE I</h5> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>The Stage represents a room of +coarse and sordid appearance</i>: <i>settles</i>, +<i>spittoons</i>, <i>etc.</i>; <i>sanded floor</i>. <i>A +large table at back</i>, <i>where</i> <span +class="smcap">Ainslie</span>, <span +class="smcap">Hamilton</span>, <i>and others are playing cards +and quarrelling</i>. <i>In front</i>, <i>L. and R. smaller +tables</i>, <i>at one of which are</i> <span +class="smcap">Brodie</span> <i>and</i> <span +class="smcap">Moore</span>, <i>drinking</i>. <span +class="smcap">Mrs. Clarke</span> <i>and women serving</i>.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Moore</span>. You’ve got the +devil’s own luck, Deacon, that’s what you’ve +got.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. Luck! +Don’t talk of luck to a man like me! Why not say +I’ve the devil’s own judgment? Men of my stamp +don’t risk—they plan, Badger; they plan, and leave +chance to such cattle as you [and Jingling Geordie. They +make opportunities before they take them].</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Moore</span>. You’re artful, +ain’t you?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. Should I be here +else? When I leave my house I leave an <i>alibi</i> behind +me. I’m ill—ill with a jumping headache, and +the fiend’s own temper. I’m sick in bed this +minute, and they’re all going about with the fear of death +on them lest they should disturb the poor sick Deacon. [My +bedroom door is barred and bolted like the bank—you +remember!—and all the while the window’s open, and +the Deacon’s over the hills and far away. What do you +think of me?]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Moore</span>. I’ve seen your +sort before, I have.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. Not you. As for +Leslie’s—</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Moore</span>. That was a nick above +you.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. Ay was it. He +wellnigh took me red-handed; and that was better luck than I +deserved. If I’d not been drunk, and in my tantrums, +you’d never have got my hand within a thousand years of +such a job.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Moore</span>. Why not? +You’re the King of the Cracksmen, ain’t you?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. Why not! He +asks me why not! Gods, what a brain it is! Hark ye, +Badger, it’s all very well to be King of the Cracksmen, as +you call it; but however respectable he may have the misfortune +to be, one’s friend is one’s friend, and as such must +be severely let alone. What! shall there be no more honour +among thieves than there is honesty among politicians? Why, +man, if under heaven there were but one poor lock unpicked, and +that the lock of one whose claret you’ve drunk, and who has +babbled of woman across your own mahogany—that lock, sir, +were entirely sacred. Sacred as the Kirk of Scotland; +sacred as King George upon his throne; sacred as the memory of +Bruce and Bannockburn.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Moore</span>. Oh, rot! I +ain’t a parson, I ain’t; I never had no college +education. Business is business. That’s +wot’s the matter with me.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. Ay, so we said when +you lost that fight with Newcastle Jemmy, and sent us all home +poor men. That was a nick above <i>you</i>.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Moore</span>. Newcastle Jemmy! +Muck: that’s my opinion of him: muck. I’ll mop +the floor up with him any day, if so be as you or any on +’em ’ll make it worth my while. If not, +muck! That’s my motto. Wot I now ses is, about +that ’ere crib at Leslie’s, wos I right, I ses? or +wos I wrong? That’s wot’s the matter with +you.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. You are both right +and wrong. You dared me to do it. I was drunk; I was +upon my mettle; and I as good as did it. More than that, +black-guardly as it was, I enjoyed the doing. He is my +friend. He had dined with me that day, and I felt like a +man in a story. I climbed his wall, I crawled along his +pantry roof, I mounted his window-sill. That one turn of my +wrist—you know it I—and the casement was open. +It was as dark as the pit, and I thought I’d won my wager, +when, phewt! down went something inside, and down went somebody +with it. I made one leap, and was off like a rocket. +It was my poor friend in person; and if he’d caught and +passed me on to the watchman under the window, I should have felt +no viler rogue than I feel just now.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Moore</span>. I s’pose he +knows you pretty well by this time?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. ’Tis the worst +of friendship. Here, Kirsty, fill these glasses. +Moore, here’s better luck—and a more honourable +plant!—next time.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Moore</span>. Deacon, I looks +towards you. But it looks thundering like rotten eggs, +don’t it?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. I think not. I +was masked, for one thing, and for another I was as quick as +lightning. He suspects me so little that he dined with me +this very afternoon.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Moore</span>. Anyway, you +ain’t game to try it on again, I’ll lay odds on +that. Once bit, twice shy. That’s your +motto.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. Right again. +I’ll put my <i>alibi</i> to a better use. And, +Badger, one word in your ear: there’s no Newcastle Jemmy +about <i>me</i>. Drop the subject, and for good, or I shall +drop you. (<i>He rises</i>, <i>and walks backwards and +forwards</i>, <i>a little unsteadily</i>. <i>Then +returns</i>, <i>and sits L.</i>, <i>as before</i>.)</p> +<h5>SCENE II</h5> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To these</i>, <span +class="smcap">Hunt</span>, <i>disguised</i></p> +<p><i>He is disguised as a</i> ‘<i>flying +stationer</i>’ <i>with a patch over his eye</i>. +<i>He sits at table opposite</i> <span +class="smcap">Brodie’s</span> <i>and is served with bread +and cheese and beer</i>.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Hamilton</span> (<i>from +behind</i>). The deevil tak’ the cairts!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Ainslie</span>. Hoot, man, dinna +blame the cairts.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Moore</span>. Look here, Deacon, I +mean business, I do. (<span class="smcap">Hunt</span> +<i>looks up at the name of</i> ‘<i>Deacon</i>.’)</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. Gad, Badger, I never +meet you that you do not. [You have a set of the most +commercial intentions!] You make me blush.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Moore</span>. That’s all +blazing fine, that is! But wot I ses is, wot about the +chips? That’s what I ses. I’m after that +thundering old Excise Office, I am. That’s my +motto.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. ’Tis a very +good motto, and at your lips, Badger, it kind of warms my +heart. But it’s not mine.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Moore</span>. Muck! why not?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. ’Tis too big +and too dangerous. I shirk King George; he has a fat +pocket, but he has a long arm. [You pilfer sixpence from +him, and it’s three hundred reward for you, and a hue and +cry from Tophet to the stars.] It ceases to be business; it +turns politics, and I’m not a politician, Mr. Moore. +(<i>Rising</i>.) I’m only Deacon Brodie.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Moore</span>. All right. I can +wait.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span> (<i>seeing</i> <span +class="smcap">Hunt</span>). Ha, a new face,—and with +a patch! [There’s nothing under heaven I like so +dearly as a new face with a patch.] Who the devil, sir, are +you that own it? And where did you get it? And how +much will you take for it second-hand?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Hunt</span>. Well, sir, to tell you +the truth (<span class="smcap">Brodie</span> <i>bows</i>) +it’s not for sale. But it’s my own, and +I’ll drink your honour’s health in anything.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. An Englishman, +too! Badger, behold a countryman. What are you, and +what part of southern Scotland do you come from?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Hunt</span>. Well, your honour, to +tell you the honest truth—</p> +<p>[<span class="smcap">Brodie</span> (<i>bowing</i>). Your +obleeged!]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Hunt</span>. I knows a gentleman +when I sees him, your honour [and, to tell your honour the +truth—</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. <i>Je vous baise les +mains</i>! (<i>Bowing</i>.)]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Hunt</span>. A gentleman as is a +gentleman, your honour [is always a gentleman, and to tell you +the honest truth]—</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. Great heavens! answer +in three words, and be hanged to you! What are you, and +where are you from?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Hunt</span>. A patter-cove from +Seven Dials.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. Is it possible? +All my life long have I been pining to meet with a patter-cove +from Seven Dials! Embrace me, at a distance. [A +patter-cove from Seven Dials!] Go, fill yourself as drunk +as you dare, at my expense. Anything he likes, Mrs. +Clarke. He’s a patter-cove from Seven Dials. +Hillo! what’s all this?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Ainslie</span>. Dod, I’m for +nae mair! (<i>At back</i>, <i>and rising</i>.)</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Players</span>. Sit down, +Ainslie.—Sit down, Andra.—Ma revenge!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Ainslie</span>. Na, na, I’m +for canny goin’. (<i>Coming forward with +bottle</i>.) Deacon, let’s see your gless.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. Not an inch of +it.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Moore</span>. No rotten shirking, +Deacon!</p> +<p>[<span class="smcap">Ainslie</span>. I’m +sayin’, man, let’s see your gless.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. Go to the deuce!]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Ainslie</span>. But I’m +sayin’—</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. Haven’t I to +play to-night?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Ainslie</span>. But, man, +ye’ll drink to bonnie Jean Watt?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. Ay, I’ll follow +you there. <i>A la reine de mes amours</i>! +(<i>Drinks</i>.) What fiend put this in your way, you +hound? You’ve filled me with raw stuff. By the +muckle deil!—</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Moore</span>. Don’t hit him, +Deacon; tell his mother.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Hunt</span> (<i>aside</i>). Oho!</p> +<h5>SCENE III</h5> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To these</i>, <span +class="smcap">Smith</span>, <span +class="smcap">Rivers</span>.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Smith</span>. Where’s my +beloved? Deakin, my beauty, where are you? Come to +the arms of George, and let him introduce you. Capting +Starlight Rivers! Capting, the Deakin: Deakin, the +Capting. An English nobleman on the grand tour, to open his +mind, by the Lard!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Rivers</span>. Stupendiously pleased +to make your acquaintance, Mr. Deakin, split me!</p> +<p>[<span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. We don’t often +see England’s heroes our way, Captain, but when we do, we +make them infernally welcome.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Rivers</span>. Prettily put, sink +me! A demned genteel sentiment, stap my vitals!]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. Oh Captain! you +flatter me. [We Scotsmen have our qualities, I suppose, but +we are but rough and ready at the best. There’s +nothing like your Englishman for genuine distinction. He is +nearer France than we are, and smells of his neighbourhood. +That d—d thing, the <i>je ne sais quoi</i>, too! +Lard, Lard, split me! stap my vitals! O such manners are +pure, pure, pure. They are, by the shade of Claude +Duval!]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Rivers</span>. Mr. Deakin, Mr. +Deakin [this is passatively too much]. What will you +sip? Give it the <i>h</i>anar of a neam.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. By these most +<i>h</i>anarable hands now, Captain, you shall not. On such +an occasion I could play host with Lucifer himself. Here, +Clarke, Mother Midnight! Down with you, Captain! +(<i>forcing him boisterously into a chair</i>.) I +don’t know if you can lie, but, sink me! you shall +sit. (<i>Drinking</i>, <i>etc.</i>, <i>in +dumb-show</i>.)</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Moore</span> (<i>aside to</i> <span +class="smcap">Smith</span>). We’ve nobbled him, +Geordie!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Smith</span> (<i>aside to</i> <span +class="smcap">Moore</span>). As neat as ninepence! +He’s taking it down like mother’s milk. But +there’ll be wigs on the green to-morrow, Badger! +It’ll be tuppence and toddle with George Smith.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Moore</span>. O muck! +Who’s afraid of him? (<i>To</i> <span +class="smcap">Ainslie</span>.) Hang on, Slinkie.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Hunt</span> (<i>who is feigning +drunkenness</i>, <i>and has overheard; aside</i>). By +jingo!</p> +<p>[<span class="smcap">Rivers</span>. Will you sneeze, Mr. +Deakin, sir?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. Thanks; I have all +the vices, Captain. You must send me some of your +rappee. It is passatively perfect.]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Rivers</span>. Mr. Deakin, I do +myself the <i>h</i>anar of a sip to you.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. Topsy-turvy with the +can!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Moore</span> (<i>aside to</i> <span +class="smcap">Smith</span>). That made him wink.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. Your high and mighty +hand, my Captain! Shall we +dice—dice—dice? (<i>Dumb-show between +them</i>.)</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Ainslie</span> (<i>aside to</i> <span +class="smcap">Moore</span>). I’m +sayin’—?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Moore</span>. What’s up +now?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Ainslie</span>. I’m no to gie +him the coggit dice?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Moore</span>. The square ones, rot +you! Ain’t he got to lose every brass farden?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Ainslie</span>. What’ll like +be my share?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Moore</span>. You mucking well leave +that to me.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Rivers</span>. Well, Mr. Deakin, if +you passatively will have me shake a <i>h</i>elbow—</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. Where are the bones, +Ainslie? Where are the dice, Lord George? (<span +class="smcap">Ainslie</span> <i>gives the dice and dice-box +to</i> <span class="smcap">Brodie</span>; <i>and privately a +second pair of dice</i>.) Old Fortune’s counters the +bonnie money-catching, money-breeding bones! Hark to their +dry music! Scotland against England! Sit round, you +tame devils, and put your coins on me!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Smith</span>. Easy does it, my lord +of high degree! Keep cool.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. Cool’s the +word, Captain—a cool twenty on the first?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Rivers</span>. Done and done. +(<i>They play</i>.)</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Hunt</span> (<i>aside to</i> <span +class="smcap">Moore</span>, <i>a little drunk</i>). +Ain’t that ’ere Scotch gentleman, your friend, too +drunk to play, sir?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Moore</span>. You hold your jaw; +that’s what’s the matter with you.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Ainslie</span>. He’s waur nor +he looks. He’s knockit the box aff the table.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Smith</span> (<i>picking up +box</i>). That’s the way we does it. Ten to one +and no takers!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. Deuces again! +More liquor, Mother Clarke!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Smith</span>. Hooray our side! +(<i>Pouting out</i>.) George and his pal for ever!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. Deuces again, by +heaven! Another?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Rivers</span>. Done!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. Ten more; +money’s made to go. On with you!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Rivers</span>. Sixes.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. Deuce-ace. +Death and judgment? Double or quits?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Rivers</span>. Drive on! +Sixes.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Smith</span>. Fire away, brave +boys! (<i>To</i> <span class="smcap">Moore</span>) +It’s Tally-ho-the-Grinder, Hump!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. Treys! Death +and the pit! How much have you got there?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Rivers</span>. A cool +forty-five.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. I play you thrice the +lot.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Rivers</span>. Who’s +afraid?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Smith</span>. Stand by, Badger!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Rivers</span>. Cinq-ace.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. My turn now. +(<i>He juggles in and uses the second pair of dice</i>.) +Aces! Aces again! What’s this? +(<i>Picking up dice</i>.) Sold! . . . You play false, you +hound!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Rivers</span>. You lie!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. In your teeth. +(<i>Overturns table</i>, <i>and goes for him</i>.)</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Moore</span>. Here, none o’ +that. (<i>They hold him back</i>. +<i>Struggle</i>.)</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Smith</span>. Hold on, Deacon!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. Let me go. +Hands off, I say! I’ll not touch him. +(<i>Stands weighing dice in his hand</i>.) But as for that +thieving whinger, Ainslie, I’ll cut his throat between this +dark and to-morrow’s. To the bone. +(<i>Addressing the company</i>.) Rogues, rogues, +rogues! (<i>Singing without</i>.) Ha! what’s +that?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Ainslie</span>. It’s the +psalm-singing up by at the Holy Weaver’s. And O +Deacon, if ye’re a Christian man—</p> +<p><span class="smcap">The Psalm Without</span>:—</p> +<blockquote><p>‘Lord, who shall stand, if Thou, O Lord,<br +/> + Should’st mark iniquity?<br /> +But yet with Thee forgiveness is,<br /> + That feared Thou may’st be.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. I think I’ll +go. ‘My son the Deacon was aye regular at +kirk.’ If the old man could see his son, the +Deacon! I think I’ll—Ay, who <i>shall</i> +stand? There’s the rub! And forgiveness, +too? There’s a long word for you! I learnt it +all lang syne, and now . . . hell and ruin are on either hand of +me, and the devil has me by the leg. ‘My son, the +Deacon . . . !’ Eh, God! but there’s no fool +like an old fool! (<i>Becoming conscious of the +others</i>.) Rogues!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Smith</span>. Take my arm, +Deacon.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. Down, dog, +down! [Stay and be drunk with your equals.] Gentlemen +and ladies, I have already cursed you pretty heavily. Let +me do myself the pleasure of wishing you—a very—good +evening. (<i>As he goes out</i>, <span +class="smcap">Hunt</span>, <i>who has been staggering about in +the crowd</i>, <i>falls on a settle</i>, <i>as about to +sleep</i>.)</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="smcap">Act-Drop</span>.</p> +<h3>ACT II.</h3> +<h4>TABLEAU IV.<br /> +<span class="smcap">Evil and Good</span></h4> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>The Stage represents the +Deacon’s workshop</i>; <i>benches</i>, <i>shavings</i>, +<i>tools</i>, <i>boards</i>, <i>and so forth</i>. +<i>Doors</i>, <i>C. on the street</i>, <i>and L. into the +house</i>. <i>Without</i>, <i>church bells</i>; <i>not a +chime</i>, <i>but a slow broken tocsin</i>.</p> +<h5>SCENE I</h5> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span> (<i>solus</i>). My +head! my head! It’s the sickness of the grave. +And those bells go on . . . go on! . . . inexorable as death and +judgment. [There they go; the trumpets of respectability, +sounding encouragement to the world to do and spare not, and not +to be found out. Found out! And to those who are they +toll as when a man goes to the gallows.] Turn where I will +are pitfalls hell-deep. Mary and her dowry; Jean and her +child—my child; the dirty scoundrel Moore; my uncle and his +trust; perhaps the man from Bow Street. Debt, vice, +cruelty, dishonour, crime; the whole canting, lying, +double-dealing, beastly business! ‘My son the +Deacon—Deacon of the Wrights!’ My thoughts +sicken at it. [Oh the Deacon, the Deacon! +Where’s a hat for the Deacon? where’s a hat for the +Deacon’s headache? (<i>searching</i>). This place is +a piggery. To be respectable and not to find one’s +hat.)</p> +<h5>SCENE II</h5> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To him</i>, <span +class="smcap">Jean</span>, <i>a baby in her shawl</i>. +<i>C.</i></p> +<p><span class="smcap">Jean</span> (<i>who has entered silently +during the Deacon’s last words</i>). It’s me, +Wullie.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span> (<i>turning upon +her</i>). What! You here again? [you +again!]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Jean</span>. Deacon, I’m unco +vexed.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. Do you know what you +do? Do you know what you risk? [Is there +nothing—nothing!—will make you spare me this idiotic, +wanton prosecution?]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Jean</span>. I was wrong to come +yestreen; I ken that fine. But the day it’s +different; I but to come the day, Deacon, though I ken fine +it’s the Sabbath, and I think shame to be seen upon the +streets.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. See here, Jean. +You must go now. I come to you to-night; I swear +that. But now I’m for the road.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Jean</span>. No till you’ve +heard me, William Brodie. Do ye think I came to pleasure +mysel’, where I’m no wanted? I’ve a pride +o’ my ains.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. Jean, I am going +now. If you please to stay on alone, in this house of mine, +where I wish I could say you are welcome, stay +(<i>going</i>).</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Jean</span>. It’s the man frae +Bow Street.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. Bow Street?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Jean</span>. I thocht ye would hear +me. Ye think little o’ me; but it’s mebbe a +braw thing for you that I think sae muckle o’ William +Brodie . . . ill as it sets me.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. [You don’t know +what is on my mind, Jeannie, else you would forgive me.] +Bow Street?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Jean</span>. It’s the man +Hunt: him that was here yestreen for the Fiscal.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. Hunt?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Jean</span>. He kens a hantle. +He . . . Ye maunna be angered wi’ me, Wullie! I said +what I shouldna.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. Said? Said +what?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Jean</span>. Just that ye were a +guid frien’ to me. He made believe he was awful sorry +for me, because ye gied me nae siller; and I said, ‘Wha +tellt him that?’ and that he lee’d.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. God knows he +did! What next?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Jean</span>. He was that +soft-spoken, butter wouldna melt in his mouth; and he keept aye +harp, harpin’; but after that let out, he got neither black +nor white frae me. Just that ae word and nae mair; and at +the hinder end he just speired straucht out, whaur it was ye got +your siller frae.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. Where I got my +siller?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Jean</span>. Ay, that was it! +‘You ken,’ says he.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. Did he? and what said +you?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Jean</span>. I couldna think on +naething, but just that he was a gey and clever gentleman.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. You should have said +I was in trade, and had a good business. That’s what +you should have said. That’s what you would have said +had you been worth your salt. But it’s blunder, +blunder, outside and in [upstairs, downstairs, and in my +lady’s chamber]. You women! Did he see +Smith?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Jean</span>. Ay, and kennt him.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. Damnation!—No, +I’m not angry with you. But you see what I’ve +to endure for you. Don’t cry. [Here’s the +devil at the door, and we must bar him out as best we can.]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Jean</span>. God’s truth, ye +are nae vexed wi’ me?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. God’s truth, I +am grateful to you. How is the child? Well? +That’s right. (<i>Peeping.</i>) Poor wee +laddie! He’s like you, Jean.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Jean</span>. I aye thocht he was +liker you.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. Is he? Perhaps +he is. Ah, Jeannie, you must see and make him a better man +than his father.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Jean</span>. Eh man, Deacon, the +proud wumman I’ll be gin he’s only half sae guid.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. Well, well, if I win +through this, we’ll see what we can do for him between +us. (<i>Leading her out</i>, <i>C.</i>) And now, +go—go—go.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Lawson</span> (<i>without</i>, +<i>L.</i>). I ken the way, I ken the way.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Jean</span> (<i>starring to +door</i>). It’s the Fiscal; I’m awa. +(<span class="smcap">Brodie</span>, <i>L.</i>).</p> +<h5>SCENE III</h5> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To these</i>, <span +class="smcap">Lawson</span>, <i>L.</i></p> +<p><span class="smcap">Lawson</span>. A braw day this, +William. (<i>Seeing</i> <span +class="smcap">Jean</span>.) Eh Mistress Watt? And +what’ll have brocht you here?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span> (<i>seated on +bench</i>). Something, uncle, she lost last night, and she +thinks that something she lost is here. +<i>Voilà</i>.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Lawson</span>. Why are ye no at the +kirk, woman? Do ye gang to the kirk?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Jean</span>. I’m mebbe no what +ye would just ca’ reg’lar. Ye see, Fiscal, +it’s the wean.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Lawson</span>. A bairn’s an +excuse; I ken that fine, Mistress Watt. But bairn or nane, +my woman, ye should be at the kirk. Awa wi’ ye! +Hear to the bells; they’re ringing in. (<span +class="smcap">Jean</span> <i>curtsies to both</i>, <i>and goes +out C.</i> <i>The bells which have been ringing +quicker</i>, <i>cease</i>.)</p> +<h5>SCENE IV</h5> +<p><span class="smcap">Lawson</span> (<i>to</i> <span +class="smcap">Brodie</span>, <i>returning C. from +door</i>). <i>Mulier formosa superne</i>, William: a braw +lass, and a decent woman forbye.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. I’m no judge, +Procurator, but I’ll take your word for it. Is she +not a tenant of yours?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Lawson</span>. Ay, ay; a bit house +on my land in Liberton’s Wynd. Her man’s awa, +puir body; or they tell me sae; and I’m concerned for her +[she’s unco bonnie to be left her lane]. But it sets +me brawly to be finding faut wi’ the puir lass, and me an +elder, and should be at the plate. [There’ll be twa +words about this in the Kirk Session.] However, it’s +nane of my business that brings me, or I should tak’ the +mair shame to mysel’. Na, sir, it’s for you; +it’s your business keeps me frae the kirk.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. My business, +Procurator? I rejoice to see it in such excellent +hands.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Lawson</span>. Ye see, it’s +this way. I had a crack wi’ the laddie, Leslie, +<i>inter pocula</i> (he took a stirrup-cup wi’ me), and he +tells me he has askit Mary, and she was to speak to ye +hersel’. O, ye needna look sae gash. Did she +speak? and what’ll you have said to her?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. She has not spoken; I +have said nothing; and I believe I asked you to avoid the +subject.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Lawson</span>. Ay, I made a note +o’ that observation, William [and assoilzied +mysel’]. Mary’s a guid lass, and I’m her +uncle, and I’m here to be answered. Is it to be ay or +no?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. It’s to be +no. This marriage must be quashed; and hark ye, Procurator, +you must help me.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Lawson</span>. Me? ye’re +daft! And what for why?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. Because I’ve +spent the trust-money, and I can’t refund it.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Lawson</span>. Ye reprobate +deevil!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. Have a care, +Procurator. No wry words!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Lawson</span>. Do you say it to my +face, sir? Dod, sir, I’m the Crown Prosecutor.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. Right. The +Prosecutor for the Crown. And where did you get your +brandy?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Lawson</span>. Eh?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. Your brandy! +Your brandy man! Where do you get your brandy? And +you a Crown official and an elder!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Lawson</span>. Whaur the deevil did +ye hear that?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. Rogues all! +Rogues all, Procurator!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Lawson</span>. Ay, ay. Lord +save us! Guidsake, to think o’ that noo! . . . Can ye +give me some o’ that Cognac? I’m . . . +I’m sort o’ shaken, William, I’m sort o’ +shaken. Thank you, William! (<i>Looking</i>, <i>piteously +at glass</i>.) <i>Nunc est bibendum</i>. +(<i>Drinks</i>.) Troth, I’m set ajee a bit. Wha +the deevil tauld ye?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. Ask no questions, +brother. We are a pair.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Lawson</span>. Pair, indeed! +Pair, William Brodie! Upon my saul, sir, ye’re a +brazen-faced man that durst say it to my face! Tak’ +you care, my bonnie young man, that your craig doesna feel the +wecht o’ your hurdies. Keep the plainstanes side +o’ the gallows. <i>Via trita</i>, <i>via tuta</i>, +William Brodie!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. And the brandy, +Procurator? and the brandy?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Lawson</span>. Ay . . . weel . . . +be’t sae! Let the brandy bide, man, let the brandy +bide! But for you and the trust-money . . . damned! +It’s felony. <i>Tutor in rem suam</i>, ye ken, +<i>tutor in rem suam</i>. But O man, Deacon, whaur is the +siller?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. It’s +gone—O how the devil should I know? But it’ll +never come back.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Lawson</span>. Dear, dear! +A’ gone to the winds o’ heaven! Sae ye’re +an extravagant dog, too. <i>Prodigus et furiosus</i>! +And that puir lass—eh, Deacon, man, that puir lass! I +mind her such a bonny bairn.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span> (<i>stopping his +ears</i>). Brandy, brandy, brandy, brandy, brandy</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Lawson</span>. William Brodie, +mony’s the long day that I’ve believed in you; prood, +prood was I to be the Deacon’s uncle; and a sore hearing +have I had of it the day. That’s past; that’s +past like Flodden Field; it’s an auld sang noo, and +I’m an aulder man than when I crossed your door. But mark +ye this—mark ye this, William Brodie, I may be no sae +guid’s I should be; but there’s no a saul between the +east sea and the wast can lift his een to God that made him, and +say I wranged him as ye wrang that lassie. I bless God, +William Brodie—ay, though he was like my brother—I +bless God that he that got ye has the hand of death upon his +hearing, and can win into his grave a happier man than me. +And ye speak to me, sir? Think shame—think shame upon +your heart!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. Rogues all!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Lawson</span>. You’re the son +of my sister, William Brodie. Mair than that I stop not to +inquire. If the siller is spent, and the honour +tint—Lord help us, and the honour tint!—sae be it, I +maun bow the head. Ruin shallna come by me. Na, and +I’ll say mair, William; we have a’ our weary sins +upon our backs, and maybe I have mair than mony. But, man, +if ye could bring <i>half</i> the jointure . . . [<i>potius quam +pereas</i>] . . . for your mither’s son? Na? +You couldna bring the half? Weel, weel, it’s a sair +heart I have this day, a sair heart and a weary. If I were +a better man mysel’ . . . but there, there, it’s a +sair heart that I have gotten. And the Lord kens I’ll +help ye if I can. [<i>Potius quam pereas</i>.]</p> +<h5>SCENE V</h5> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. Sore hearing, does he +say? My hand’s wet. But it’s +victory. Shall it be go? or stay? [I should show them +all I can, or they may pry closer than they ought.] Shall I +have it out and be done with it? To see Mary at once [to +carry bastion after bastion at the charge]—there were the +true safety after all! Hurry—hurry’s the road +to silence now. Let them once get tattling in their +parlours, and it’s death to me. For I’m in a +cruel corner now. I’m down, and I shall get my +kicking soon and soon enough. I began it in the lust of +life, in a hey-day of mystery and adventure. I felt it +great to be a bolder, craftier rogue than the drowsy citizen that +called himself my fellow-man. [It was meat and drink to +know him in the hollow of my hand, hoarding that I and mine might +squander, pinching that we might wax fat.] It was in the +laughter of my heart that I tip-toed into his greasy +privacy. I forced the strong-box at his ear while he +sprawled beside his wife. He was my butt, my ape, my +jumping-jack. And now . . . O fool, fool! [Duped by +such knaves as are a shame to knavery, crime’s rabble, +hell’s tatterdemalions!] Shorn to the quick! +Rooked to my vitals! And I must thieve for my daily bread +like any crawling blackguard in the gutter. And my sister . +. . my kind, innocent sister! She will come smiling to me +with her poor little love-story, and I must break her +heart. Broken hearts, broken lives! . . . I should have +died before.</p> +<h5>SCENE VI</h5> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>, +<span class="smcap">Mary</span></p> +<p><span class="smcap">Mary</span> (<i>tapping +without</i>). Can I come in, Will?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. O yes, come in, come +in! (<span class="smcap">Mary</span> <i>enters</i>.) +I wanted to be quiet, but it doesn’t matter, I see. +You women are all the same.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Mary</span>. O no, Will, +they’re not all so happy, and they’re not all +Brodies. But I’ll be a woman in one thing. For +I’ve come to claim your promise, dear; and I’m going +to be petted and comforted and made much of, altho’ I +don’t need it, and . . . Why, Will, what’s wrong with +you? You look . . . I don’t know what you look +like.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. O nothing! A +splitting head and an aching heart. Well! you’ve come +to speak to me. Speak up. What is it? Come, +girl! What is it? Can’t you speak?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Mary</span>. Why, Will, what is the +matter?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. I thought you had +come to tell me something. Here I am. For God’s +sake out with it, and don’t stand beating about the +bush.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Mary</span>. O be kind, be kind to +me.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. Kind? I am +kind. I’m only ill and worried, can’t you +see? Whimpering? I knew it! Sit down, you +goose! Where do you women get your tears?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Mary</span>. Why are you so cross +with me? Oh, Will, you have forgot your sister! +Remember, dear, that I have nobody but you. It’s your +own fault, Will, if you’ve taught me to come to you for +kindness, for I always found it. And I mean you shall be +kind to me again. I know you will, for this is my great +need, and the day I’ve missed my mother sorest. Just +a nice look, dear, and a soft tone in your voice, to give me +courage, for I can tell you nothing till I know that you’re +my own brother once again.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. If you’d take a +hint, you’d put it off till to-morrow. But I suppose +you won’t. On, then, I’m listening. +I’m listening!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Mary</span>. Mr. Leslie has asked me +to be his wife.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. He has, has he?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Mary</span>. And I have +consented.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. And . . . ?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Mary</span>. You can say that to +me? And that is all you have to say?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. O no, not all.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Mary</span>. Speak out, sir. I +am not afraid.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. I suppose you want my +consent?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Mary</span>. Can you ask?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. I didn’t +know. You seem to have got on pretty well without it so +far.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Mary</span>. O shame on you! shame +on you!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. Perhaps you may be +able to do without it altogether. I hope so. For +you’ll never have it. . . . Mary! . . . I hate to see you +look like that. If I could say anything else, believe me, I +would say it. But I have said all; every word is spoken; +there’s the end.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Mary</span>. It shall not be the +end. You owe me explanation; and I’ll have it.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. Isn’t my +‘No’ enough, Mary?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Mary</span>. It might be enough for +me; but it is not, and it cannot be, enough for him. He has +asked me to be his wife; he tells me his happiness is in my +hands—poor hands, but they shall not fail him, if my poor +heart should break! If he has chosen and set his hopes upon +me, of all women in the world, I shall find courage somewhere to +be worthy of the choice. And I dare you to leave this room +until you tell me all your thoughts—until you prove that +this is good and right.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. Good and right? +They are strange words, Mary. I mind the time when it was +good and right to be your father’s daughter and your +brother’s sister . . . Now! . . .</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Mary</span>. Have I changed? +Not even in thought. My father, Walter says, shall live and +die with us. He shall only have gained another son. +And you—you know what he thinks of you; you know what I +would do for you.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. Give him up.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Mary</span>. I have told you: not +without a reason.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. You must.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Mary</span>. I will not.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. What if I told you +that you could only compass your happiness and his at the price +of my ruin?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Mary</span>. Your ruin?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. Even so.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Mary</span>. Ruin!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. It has an ugly sound, +has it not?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Mary</span>. O Willie, what have you +done? What have you done? What have you done?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. I cannot tell you, +Mary. But you may trust me. You must give up this +Leslie . . . and at once. It is to save me.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Mary</span>. I would die for you, +dear, you know that. But I cannot be false to him. +Even for you, I cannot be false to him.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. We shall see. +Let me take you to your room. Come. And, remember, it +is for your brother’s sake. It is to save me.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Mary</span>. I am true Brodie. +Give me time, and you shall not find me wanting. But it is +all so sudden . . . so strange and dreadful! You will give +me time, will you not? I am only a woman, and . . . O my +poor Walter! It will break his heart! It will break +his heart! (<i>A knock</i>.)</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. You hear!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Mary</span>. Yes, yes. Forgive +me. I am going. I will go. It is to save you, +is it not? To save you. Walter . . . Mr. Leslie . . . +O Deacon, Deacon, God forgive you! (<i>She goes +out</i>.)</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. Amen. But will +He?</p> +<h5>SCENE VII</h5> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>, <span +class="smcap">Hunt</span></p> +<p><span class="smcap">Hunt</span> (<i>hat in hand</i>). +Mr. Deacon Brodie, I believe?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. I am he, +Mr.—</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Hunt</span>. Hunt, sir; an officer +from Sir John Fielding of Bow Street.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. There can be no +better passport than the name. In what can I serve you?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Hunt</span>. You’ll excuse me, +Mr. Deacon.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. Your duty excuses +you, Mr. Hunt.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Hunt</span>. Your obedient. +The fact is, Mr. Deacon [we in the office see a good deal of the +lives of private parties; and I needn’t tell a gentleman of +your experience it’s part of our duty to hold our +tongues. Now], it’s come to my knowledge that you are +a trifle jokieous. Of course I know there ain’t any +harm in that. I’ve been young myself, Mr. Deacon, and +speaking—</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. O, but pardon +me. Mr. Hunt, I am not going to discuss my private +character with you.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Hunt</span>. To be sure you +ain’t. [And do I blame you? Not me.] But, +speaking as one man of the world to another, you naturally see a +great deal of bad company.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. Not half so much as +you do. But I see what you’re driving at; and if I +can illuminate the course of justice, you may command me. +(<i>He sits</i>, <i>and motions</i> <span +class="smcap">Hunt</span> <i>to do likewise</i>.)</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Hunt</span>. I was dead sure of it; +and ’and upon ’art, Mr. Deacon, I thank you. +Now (<i>consulting pocket-book</i>), did you ever meet a certain +George Smith?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. The fellow they call +Jingling Geordie? (<span class="smcap">Hunt</span> +<i>nods</i>.) Yes.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Hunt</span>. Bad character.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. Let us say . . . +disreputable.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Hunt</span>. Any means of +livelihood?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. I really cannot +pretend to guess, I have met the creature at cock-fights [which, +as you know, are my weakness]. Perhaps he bets.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Hunt</span>. [Mr. Deacon, from what +I know of the gentleman, I should say that if he +don’t—if he ain’t open to any mortal +thing—he ain’t the man I mean.] He used to be +about with a man called Badger Moore.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. The boxer?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Hunt</span>. That’s him. +Know anything of him?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. Not much. I +lost five pieces on him in a fight; and I fear he sold his +backers.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Hunt</span>. Speaking as one admirer +of the noble art to another, Mr. Deacon, the losers always +do. I suppose the Badger cockfights like the rest of +us?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. I have met him in the +pit.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Hunt</span>. Well, it’s a +pretty sport. I’m as partial to a main as +anybody.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. It’s not an +elegant taste, Mr. Hunt.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Hunt</span>. It costs as much as +though it was. And that reminds me, speaking as one +sportsman to another, Mr. Deacon, I was sorry to hear that +you’ve been dropping a hatful of money lately.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. You are very +good.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Hunt</span>. Four hundred in three +months, they tell me.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. Ah!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Hunt</span>. So they say, sir.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. They have a perfect +right to say so, Mr. Hunt.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Hunt</span>. And you to do the other +thing? Well, I’m a good hand at keeping close +myself.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. I am not consulting +you, Mr. Hunt; ’tis you who are consulting me. And if +there is nothing else (<i>rising</i>) in which I can pretend to +serve you . . . ?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Hunt</span> (<i>rising</i>). +That’s about all, sir, unless you can put me on to anything +good in the way of heckle and spur? I’d try to look +in.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. O, come, Mr. Hunt, if +you have nothing to do, frankly and flatly I have. This is +not the day for such a conversation; and so good-bye to +you. (<i>A knocking</i>, <i>C.</i>)</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Hunt</span>. Servant, Mr. +Deacon. (<span class="smcap">Smith</span> <i>and</i> <span +class="smcap">Moore</span>, <i>without waiting to be +answered</i>, <i>open and enter</i>, <i>C.</i> <i>They are +well into the room before they observe</i> <span +class="smcap">Hunt</span>.) [Talk of the Devil, sir!]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. What brings you +here? (<span class="smcap">Smith</span> <i>and</i> <span +class="smcap">Moore</span>, <i>confounded by the officer’s +presence</i>, <i>slouch together to right of door</i>. +<span class="smcap">Hunt</span>, <i>stopping as he goes out</i>, +<i>contemplates the pair</i>, <i>sarcastically</i>. <i>This +is supported by</i> <span class="smcap">Moore</span> <i>with +sullen bravado</i>; <i>by</i> <span class="smcap">Smith</span>, +<i>with cringing airiness</i>.)</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Hunt</span> (<i>digging</i> <span +class="smcap">Smith</span> <i>in the ribs</i>). Why, you +are the very parties I was looking for! (<i>He goes +out</i>, <i>C.</i>)</p> +<h5>SCENE VIII</h5> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>, <span +class="smcap">Moore</span>, <span class="smcap">Smith</span></p> +<p><span class="smcap">Moore</span>. Wot was that cove here +about?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span> (<i>with folded arms</i>, +<i>half-sitting on bench</i>). He was here about you.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Smith</span> (<i>still quite +discountenanced</i>). About us? Scissors! And +what did you tell him?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span> (<i>same +attitude</i>). I spoke of you as I have found you. [I +told him you were a disreputable hound, and that Moore had +crossed a fight.] I told him you were a drunken ass, and +Moore an incompetent and dishonest boxer.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Moore</span>. Look here, +Deacon! Wot’s up? Wot I ses is, if a +cove’s got any thundering grudge agin a cove, why +can’t he spit it out, I ses.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. Here are my answers +(<i>producing purse and dice</i>). These are both too +light. This purse is empty, these dice are not +loaded. Is it indiscretion to inquire how you share? +Equal with the Captain, I presume?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Smith</span>. It’s as easy as +my eye, Deakin. Slink Ainslie got letting the merry glass +go round, and didn’t know the right bones from the +wrong. That’s <i>h</i>all.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. [What clumsy liars +you are!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Smith</span>. In boyhood’s +hour, Deakin, he were called Old Truthful. Little did he +think—]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. What is your +errand?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Moore</span>. Business.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Smith</span>. After the melancholy +games of last night, Deakin, which no one deplores so much as +George Smith, we thought we’d trot round—didn’t +us, Hump? and see how you and your bankers was a-getting on.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. Will you tell me your +errand?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Moore</span>. You’re dry, +ain’t you?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. Am I?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Moore</span>. We ain’t none of +us got a stiver, that’s wot’s the matter with us.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. Is it?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Moore</span>. Ay, strike me, it +is! And wot we’ve got to is to put up the Excise.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Smith</span>. It’s the last +plant in the shrubbery Deakin, and it’s breaking George the +gardener’s heart, it is. We really must!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. Must we?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Moore</span>. Must’s the +thundering word. I mean business, I do.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. That’s +lucky. I don’t.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Moore</span>. O, you don’t, +don’t you?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. I do not.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Moore</span>. Then p’raps +you’ll tell us wot you thundering well do?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. What do I mean? +I mean that you and that merry-andrew shall walk out of this room +and this house. Do you suppose, you blockheads, that I am +blind? I’m the Deacon, am I not? I’ve +been your king and your commander. I’ve led you, and +fed you, and thought for you with this head. And you think +to steal a march upon a man like me? I see you through and +through [I know you like the clock]; I read your thoughts like +print. Brodie, you thought, has money, and won’t do +the job. Therefore, you thought, we must rook him to the +heart. And therefore, you put up your idiot cockney. +And now you come round, and dictate, and think sure of your +Excise? Sure? Are you sure I’ll let you pack +with a whole skin? By my soul, but I’ve a mind to +pistol you like dogs. Out of this! Out, I say, and +soil my home no more.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Moore</span> (<i>sitting</i>). Now +look ’ere. Mr. bloody Deacon Brodie, you see this +’ere chair of yours, don’t you? Wot I ses to +you is, here I am, I ses, and here I mean to stick. +That’s my motto. Who the devil are you to do the high +and mighty? You make all you can out of us, don’t +you? and when one of your plants get cross, you order us out of +the ken? Muck! That’s wot I think of you. +Muck! Don’t you get coming the nob over me, Mr. +Deacon Brodie, or I’ll smash you.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. You will?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Moore</span>. Ay will I. If I +thundering well swing for it. And as for clearing +out? Muck! Here I am, and here I stick. Clear +out? You try it on. I’m a man, I am.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. This is plain +speaking.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Moore</span>. Plain? Wot about +your father as can’t walk? Wot about your fine-madam +sister? Wot about the stone-jug, and the dock, and the rope +in the open street? Is that plain? If it ain’t, +you let me know, and I’ll spit it out so as it’ll +raise the roof off this ’ere ken. Plain! +I’m that cove’s master, and I’ll make it plain +enough for him.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. What do you want of +me?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Moore</span>. Wot do I want of +you? Now you speak sense. Leslie’s is wot I +want of you. The Excise is wot I want of you. +Leslie’s to-night and the Excise to-morrow. +That’s wot I want of you, and wot I thundering well mean to +get.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. Damn you!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Moore</span>. Amen. But +you’ve got your orders.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span> (<i>with pistol</i>). +Orders? hey? orders?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Smith</span> (<i>between them</i>). +Deacon, Deacon!—Badger, are you mad?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Moore</span>. Muck! +That’s my motto. Wot I ses is, has he got his orders +or has he not? That’s wot’s the matter with +him.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Smith</span>. Deacon, half a +tick. Humphrey, I’m only a light weight, and you +fight at twelve stone ten, but I’m damned if I’m +going to stand still and see you hitting a pal when he’s +down.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Moore</span>. Muck! +That’s wot I think of you.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Smith</span>. He’s a cut above +us, ain’t he? He never sold his backers, did +he? We couldn’t have done without him, could +we? You dry up about his old man, and his sister; and +don’t go on hitting a pal when he’s knocked out of +time and cannot hit back, for, damme, I will not stand it.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Moore</span>. Amen to you. But +I’m cock of this here thundering walk, and that +cove’s got his orders.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span> (<i>putting pistol on +bench</i>). I give in. I will do your work for you +once more. Leslie’s to-night and the Excise +to-morrow. If that is enough, if you have no more . . . +orders, you may count it as done.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Moore</span>. Fen larks. No +rotten shirking, mind.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. I have passed you my +word. And now you have said what you came to say, you must +go. I have business here; but two hours hence I am at your +. . . orders. Where shall I await you?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Moore</span>. What about that +woman’s place of yours?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. Your will is my +law.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Moore</span>. That’s good +enough. Now, Dock.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Smith</span>. Bye-bye, my +William. Don’t forget.</p> +<h5>SCENE IX</h5> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. Trust me. No +man forgets his vice, you dogs, or forgives it either. It +must be done: Leslie’s to-night and the Excise +to-morrow. It shall be done. This settles it. +They used to fetch and carry for me, and now . . . I’ve +licked their boots, have I? I’m their man, their +tool, their chattel. It’s the bottom rung of the +ladder of shame. I sound with my foot, and there’s +nothing underneath but the black emptiness of damnation. +Ah, Deacon, Deacon, and so this is where you’ve been +travelling all these years; and it’s for this that you +learned French! The gallows . . . God help me, it begins to +dog me like my shadow. <i>There’s</i> a step to +take! And the jerk upon your spine! How’s a man +to die with a night-cap on? I’ve done with +this. Over yonder, across the great ocean, is a new land, +with new characters, and perhaps new lives. The sun shines, +and the bells ring, and it’s a place where men live gladly; +and the Deacon himself can walk without terror, and begin again +like a new-born child. It must be good to see day again and +not to fear; it must be good to be one’s self with all +men. Happy like a child, wise like a man, free like +God’s angels . . . should I work these hands off and eat +crusts, there were a life to make me young and good again. +And it’s only over the sea! O man, you have been +blind, and now your eyes are opened. It was half a +life’s nightmare, and now you are awake. Up, Deacon, +up, it’s hope that’s at the window! Mary! Mary! +Mary!</p> +<h5>SCENE X</h5> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>, <span +class="smcap">Mary</span>, <span class="smcap">Old +Brodie</span></p> +<p>(<span class="smcap">Brodie</span> has fallen into a chair, +with his face upon the table. Enter <span +class="smcap">Mary</span>, by the side door pushing her +father’s chair. She is supposed to have advanced far +enough for stage purposes before <span +class="smcap">Brodie</span> is aware of her. He starts up, +and runs to her.)</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. Look up, my lass, +look up, and be a woman! I . . . O kiss me, Mary I give me +a kiss for my good news.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Mary</span>. Good news, Will? +Is it changed?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. Changed? Why, +the world’s a different colour! It was night, and now +it’s broad day and I trust myself again. You must +wait, dear, wait, and I must work and work; and before the week +is out, as sure as God sees me, I’ll have made you +happy. O you may think me broken, hounds, but the +Deacon’s not the man to be run down; trust him, he shall +turn a corner yet, and leave you snarling! And you, Poll, +you. I’ve done nothing for you yet; but, please God, +I’ll make your life a life of gold; and wherever I am, +I’ll have a part in your happiness, and you’ll know +it, by heaven! and bless me.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Mary</span>. O Willie, look at him; +I think he hears you, and is trying to be glad with us.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. My +son—Deacon—better man than I was.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. O for God’s +sake, hear him!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Mary</span>. He is quite happy, +Will, and so am I . . . so am I.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. Hear me, Mary. +This is a big moment in our two lives. I swear to you by +the father here between us that it shall not be fault of mine if +this thing fails; if this ship founders you have set your hopes +in. I swear it by our father; I swear it by God’s +judgments.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Mary</span>. I want no oaths, +Will.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. No, but I do. +And prayers, Mary, prayers. Pray night and day upon your +knees. I must move mountains.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Old Brodie</span>. A wise son +maketh—maketh—</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. A glad father? +And does your son, the Deacon, make you glad? O heaven of +heavens, if I were a good man.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="smcap">Act-Drop</span></p> +<h3>ACT III.</h3> +<h4>TABLEAU V.<br /> +<span class="smcap">King’s Evidence</span></h4> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>The Stage represents a public +place in Edinburgh</i>.</p> +<h5>SCENE I</h5> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">Jean</span>, +<span class="smcap">Smith</span>, <i>and</i> <span +class="smcap">Moore</span></p> +<p>(<i>They loiter in L.</i>, <i>and stand looking about as for +somebody not there</i>. <span class="smcap">Smith</span> +<i>is hat in hand to</i> <span class="smcap">Jean</span>; <span +class="smcap">Moore</span> <i>as usual</i>.)</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Moore</span>. Wot did I tell +you? Is he ’ere, or ain’t he? Now, +then. Slink by name and Slink by nature, that’s +wot’s the matter with him.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Jean</span>. He’ll no be lang; +he’s regular enough, if that was a’.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Moore</span>. I’d regular him; +I’d break his back.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Smith</span>. Badger, you brute, you +hang on to the lessons of your dancing-master. None but the +genteel deserves the fair; does they, Duchess?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Moore</span>. O rot! Did I +insult the blowen? Wot’s the matter with me is Slink +Ainslie.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Smith</span>. All right, old +Crossed-in-love. Give him forty winks, and he’ll turn +up as fresh as clean sawdust and as respectable as a new +Bible.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Moore</span>. That’s right +enough; but I ain’t agoing to stand here all day for +him. I’m for a drop of something short, I am. +You tell him I showed you that (<i>showing his doubled +fist</i>). That’s wot’s the matter with +him. (<i>He lurches out</i>, <i>R.</i>)</p> +<h5>SCENE II</h5> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">Smith</span> +<i>and</i> <span class="smcap">Jean</span>, <i>to whom</i> <span +class="smcap">Hunt</span>, <i>and afterwards</i> <span +class="smcap">Moore</span></p> +<p><span class="smcap">Smith</span> (<i>critically</i>). +No, Duchess, he has not good manners.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Jean</span>. Ay, he’s an +impident man.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Smith</span>. So he is, Jean; and +for the matter of that he ain’t the only one.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Jean</span>. Geordie, I want nae +mair o’ your nonsense, mind.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Smith</span>. There’s our old +particular the Deacon, now. Why is he ashamed of a lovely +woman? That’s not my idea of the Young Chevalier, +Jean. If I had luck, we should be married, and retire to +our estates in the country, shouldn’t us? and go to church +and be happy, like the nobility and gentry.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Jean</span>. Geordie Smith, div ye +mean ye’d mairry me?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Smith</span>. Mean it? What +else has ever been the ’umble petition of your honest but +well-meaning friend, Roman, and fellow-countryman? I know +the Deacon’s your man, and I know he’s a cut above G. +S.; but he won’t last, Jean, and I shall.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Jean</span>. Ay, I’m muckle +ta’en up wi’ him; wha could help it?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Smith</span>. Well, and my sort +don’t grow on apple-trees either.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Jean</span>. Ye’re a fine, +cracky, neebourly body, Geordie, if ye wad just let me be.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Smith</span>. I know I ain’t a +Scotchman born.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Jean</span>. I dinna think sae +muckle the waur o’ ye even for that; if ye would just let +me be.</p> +<p>[<span class="smcap">Hunt</span> (<i>entering behind</i>, +<i>aside</i>). Are they thick? Anyhow, it’s a +second chance.]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Smith</span>. But he won’t +last, Jean, and when he leaves you, you come to me. Is that +your taste in pastry? That’s the kind of harticle +that I present.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Hunt</span> (<i>surprising them as in +Tableau I</i>.). Why, you’re the very parties I was +looking for!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Jean</span>. Mercy me!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Smith</span>. Damn it, Jerry, this +is unkind.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Hunt</span>. [Now this is what I +call a picter of good fortune.] Ain’t it strange I +should have dropped across you comfortable and promiscuous like +this?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Jean</span> (<i>stolidly</i>). I +hope ye’re middling weel, Mr. Hunt? +(<i>Going</i>.) Mr. Smith!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Smith</span>. Mrs. Watt, +ma’am! (<i>Going</i>.)</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Hunt</span>. Hold hard, +George. Speaking as one lady’s man to another, turn +about’s fair play. You’ve had your confab, and +now I’m going to have mine. [Not that I’ve done +with you; you stand by and wait.] Ladies first, George, +ladies first; that’s the size of it. (<i>To</i> <span +class="smcap">Jean</span>, <i>aside</i>.) Now, Mrs. Watt, I +take it you ain’t a natural fool?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Jean</span>. And thank ye kindly, +Mr. Hunt.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Smith</span> (<i>interfering</i>). +Jean . . . !</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Hunt</span> (<i>keeping him +off</i>). Half a tick, George. (<i>To</i> <span +class="smcap">Jean</span>.) Mrs. Watt, I’ve a warrant +in my pocket. One, two, three: will you peach?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Jean</span>. Whaten kind of a +word’ll that be?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Smith</span>. Mum it is, Jean!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Hunt</span>. <i>When</i> +you’ve done dancing, George! (<i>To</i> <span +class="smcap">Jean</span>.) It ain’t a pretty +expression, my dear, I own it. ‘Will you blow the +gaff?’ is perhaps more tenderer.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Jean</span>. I think ye’ve a +real strange way o’ expressin yoursel’.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Hunt</span> (<i>to</i> <span +class="smcap">Jean</span>). I can’t waste time on +you, my girl. It’s now or never. Will you turn +king’s evidence?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Jean</span>. I think ye’ll +have made a mistake, like.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Hunt</span>. Well, I’m . . . ! +(<i>Separating them</i>.) [No, not yet; don’t push +me.] George’s turn now. (<i>To</i> <span +class="smcap">George</span>.) George, I’ve a warrant +in my pocket.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Smith</span>. As per usual, +Jerry?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Hunt</span>. Now I want king’s +evidence.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Smith</span>. Ah! so you came a +cropper with <i>her</i>, Jerry. Pride had a fall.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Hunt</span>. A free pardon and fifty +shiners down.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Smith</span>. A free pardon, +Jerry?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Hunt</span>. Don’t I tell you +so?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Smith</span>. And fifty down? +fifty?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Hunt</span>. On the nail.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Smith</span>. So you came a cropper +with her, and then you tried it on with me?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Hunt</span>. I suppose you mean +you’re a born idiot?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Smith</span>. What I mean is, Jerry, +that you’ve broke my heart. I used to look up to you +like a party might to Julius Cæsar. One more of +boyhood’s dreams gone pop. (<i>Enter</i> <span +class="smcap">Moore</span>, <i>L.</i>)</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Hunt</span> (<i>to both</i>). Come, +then, I’ll take the pair, and be damned to you. Free +pardon to both, fifty down and the Deacon out of the way. I +don’t care for you commoners, it’s the Deacon I +want.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Jean</span> (<i>looking off +stolidly</i>). I think the kirks are scalin’. +There seems to be mair people in the streets.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Hunt</span>. O that’s the way, +is it? Do you know that I can hang you, my woman, and your +fancy man a well?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Jean</span>. I daur say ye would +like fine, Mr. Hunt; and here’s my service to you. +(<i>Going</i>.)</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Hunt</span>. George, don’t you +be a tomfool, anyway. Think of the blowen here, and have +brains for two.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Smith</span> (<i>going</i>). Ah, +Jerry, if you knew anything, how different you would talk! +(<i>They go together</i>, <i>R.</i>)</p> +<h5>SCENE III</h5> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">Hunt</span>, +<span class="smcap">Moore</span></p> +<p><span class="smcap">Hunt</span>. Half a tick, +Badger. You’re a man of parts, you are; you’re +solid, you’re a true-born Englishman; you ain’t a +Jerry-go-Nimble like him. Do you know what your pal the +Deacon’s worth to you? Fifty golden Georges and a +free pardon. No questions asked, and no receipts +demanded. What do you say? Is it a deal?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Moore</span> (<i>as to himself</i>). +Muck. (<i>He goes out</i>, <i>R.</i>)</p> +<h5>SCENE IV</h5> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">Hunt</span>, +<i>to whom</i> <span class="smcap">Ainslie</span></p> +<p><span class="smcap">Hunt</span> (<i>looking after them +ruefully</i>). And these were the very parties I was +looking for! [Ah, Jerry, Jerry, if they knew this at the +office!] Well, the market price of that ’ere two +hundred is a trifle on the decline and fall. (<i>Looking +L.</i>) Hullo! (<i>Slapping his thigh</i>). +Send me victorious! It’s king’s evidence on two +legs. (<i>Advancing with great cordiality to meet</i> <span +class="smcap">Ainslie</span>, <i>who enters L.</i>) And so +your name’s Andrew Ainslie, is it? As I was saying, +you’re the very party I was looking for. Ain’t +it strange, now, that I should have dropped across you +comfortable and promiscuous like this?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Ainslie</span>. I dinna ken wha ye +are, an’ I’m ill for my bed.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Hunt</span>. Let your bed wait, +Andrew. I want a little chat with you; just a quiet little +sociable wheeze. Just about our friends, you know. +About Badger Moore, and George the Dook, and Jemmy Rivers, and +Deacon Brodie, Andrew. Particularly Deacon Brodie.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Ainslie</span>. They’re nae +friens o’ mine’s, mister. I ken naething +an’ naebody. An’ noo I’ll get to my bed, +wulln’t I?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Hunt</span>. We’re going to +have our little talk out first. After that perhaps +I’ll let you go, and perhaps I won’t. It all +depends on how we get along together. Now, in a general +way, Andrew, and speaking of a man as you find him, I’m all +for peace and quietness myself. That’s my usual game, +Andrew, but when I do make a dust I’m considered by my +friends to be rather a good hand at it. So don’t you +tread upon the worm.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Ainslie</span>. But I’m +sayin’—</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Hunt</span>. You leave that to me, +Andrew. You shall do your pitch presently. I’m +first on the ground, and I lead off. With a question, +Andrew. Did you ever hear in your life of such a natural +curiosity as a Bow Street Runner?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Ainslie</span>. Aiblins ay an’ +aiblins no.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Hunt</span>. ‘Aiblins ay and +aiblins no.’ Very good indeed, Andrew. Now, +I’ll ask you another. Did you ever see a Bow Street +Runner, Andrew? With the naked eye, so to speak?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Ainslie</span>. What’s your +wull?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Hunt</span>. Artful bird! Now +since we’re getting on so cosy <i>and</i> so free, +I’ll ask you another, Andrew. Should you like to see +a Bow Street Runner? (<i>Producing staff</i>.) +’Cos, if so, you’ve only got to cast your eyes on +me. Do you queer the red weskit, Andrew? Pretty +colour, ain’t it? So nice and warm for the winter +too. (<span class="smcap">Ainslie</span> <i>dives</i>, +<span class="smcap">Hunt</span> <i>collars him</i>.) No, +you don’t. Not this time. Run away like that +before we’ve finished our little conversation? +You’re a nice young man, you are. Suppose we +introduce our wrists into these here darbies? Now we shall +get along cosier and freer than ever. Want to lie down, do +you? All right! anything to oblige.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Ainslie</span> (<i>grovelling</i>). +It wasna me, it wasna me. It’s bad companions; +I’ve been lost wi’ bad companions an’ the +drink. An’ O mister, ye’ll be a kind gentleman +to a puir lad, an’ me sae weak, an’ fair rotten +wi’ the drink an’ that. Ye’ve a bonnie +kind heart, my dear, dear gentleman; ye wadna hang sitchan a +thing as me. I’m no fit to hang. They ca’ +me the Cannleworm! An’ I’ll dae somethin’ +for ye, wulln’t I? An’ ye’ll can hang the +ithers?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Hunt</span>. I thought I +hadn’t mistook my man. Now, you look here, Andrew +Ainslie, you’re a bad lot. I’ve evidence to +hang you fifty times over. But the Deacon is my mark. +Will you peach, or wont you? You blow the gaff, and +I’ll pull you through. You don’t, and +I’ll scragg you as sure as my name’s Jerry Hunt.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Ainslie</span>. I’ll dae +onything. It’s the hanging fleys me. I’ll +dae onything, onything no to hang.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Hunt</span>. Don’t lie +crawling there, but get up and answer me like a man. +Ain’t this Deacon Brodie the fine workman that’s been +doing all these tip-topping burglaries?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Ainslie</span>. It’s him, +mister; it’s him. That’s the man. +Ye’re in the very bit. Deacon Brodie. +I’ll can tak’ ye to his vera door.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Hunt</span>. How do you know?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Ainslie</span>. I gi’ed him a +han’ wi’ them a’. It was him an’ +Badger Moore, and Geordie Smith; an’ they gart me gang +wi’ them whether or no; I’m that weak, an’ +whiles I’m donner’d wi’ the drink. But I +ken a’, an’ I’ll tell a’. And O +kind gentleman, you’ll speak to their lordships for me, +an’ I’ll no be hangit . . . I’ll no be hangit, +wull I?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Hunt</span>. But you shared, +didn’t you? I wonder what share they thought you +worth. How much did you get for last night’s +performance down at Mother Clarke’s?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Ainslie</span>. Just five pund, +mister. Five pund. As sure’s deith it wadna be +a penny mair. No but I askit mair: I did that; I’ll +do deny it, mister. But Badger kickit me, an’ +Geordie, he said a bad sweir, an’ made he’d cut the +liver out o’ me, an’ catch fish wi’t. +It’s been that way frae the first: an aith an’ a +bawbee was aye guid eneuch for puir Andra.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Hunt</span>. Well, and why did they +do it? I saw Jemmy dance a hornpipe on the table, and booze +the company all round, when the Deacon was gone. What made +you cross the fight, and play booty with your own man?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Ainslie</span>. Just to make him rob +the Excise, mister. They’re wicked, wicked men.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Hunt</span>. And is he right for +it?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Ainslie</span>. Ay is he.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Hunt</span>. By jingo! +When’s it for?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Ainslie</span>. Dear, kind +gentleman, I dinna rightly ken: the Deacon’s that sair +angered wi’ me. I’m to get my orders frae +Geordie the nicht.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Hunt</span>. O, you’re to get +your orders from Geordie, are you? Now look here, +Ainslie. You know me. I’m Hunt the Runner; I +put Jemmy Rivers in the jug this morning; I’ve got you this +evening. I mean to wind up with the Deacon. You +understand? All right. Then just you listen. +I’m going to take these here bracelets off, and send you +home to that celebrated bed of yours. Only, as soon as +you’ve seen the Dook you come straight round to me at Mr. +Procurator-Fiscal’s, and let me know the Dook’s +views. One word, mind, and . . . cl’k! +It’s a bargain?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Ainslie</span>. Never you fear +that. I’ll tak’ my bannet an’ come +straucht to ye. Eh God, I’m glad it’s nae mair +nor that to start wi’. An’ may the Lord bless +ye, dear, kind gentleman, for your kindness. May the Lord +bless ye.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Hunt</span>. You pad the hoof.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Ainslie</span> (<i>going out</i>). +An’ so I wull, wulln’t I not? An’ bless, +bless ye while there’s breath in my body, wulln’t I +not?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Hunt</span> (<i>solus</i>). +You’re a nice young man, Andrew Ainslie. Jemmy Rivers +and the Deacon in two days! By jingo! (<i>He dances +an instant gravely</i>, <i>whistling to himself</i>.) +Jerry, that ’ere little two hundred of ours is as safe as +the bank.</p> +<h4>TABLEAU VI.<br /> +<span class="smcap">Unmasked</span></h4> +<p><i>The Stage represents a room in Leslie’s +house</i>. <i>A practicable window</i>, <i>C.</i>, +<i>through which a band of strong moonlight falls into the +room</i>. <i>Near the window a strong-box</i>. <i>A +practicable door in wing</i>, <i>L.</i> +<i>Candlelight</i>.</p> +<h5>SCENE I</h5> +<p><span class="smcap">Leslie</span>, <span +class="smcap">Lawson</span>, <span class="smcap">Mary</span>, +<i>seated</i>. <span class="smcap">Brodie</span> <i>at +back</i>, <i>walking between the windows and strong-box</i>.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Lawson</span>. Weel, weel, weel, +weel, nae doubt.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Leslie</span>. Mr. Lawson, I am +perfectly satisfied with Brodie’s word; I will wait +gladly.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Lawson</span>. I have nothing to say +against that.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span> (<i>behind</i> <span +class="smcap">Lawson</span>). Nor for it.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Lawson</span>. For it? for it, +William? Ye’re perfectly richt there. +(<i>To</i> <span class="smcap">Leslie</span>.) Just you do +what William tells you; ye canna do better than that.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Mary</span>. Dear uncle, I see you +are vexed; but Will and I are perfectly agreed on the best +course. Walter and I are young. Oh, we can wait; we +can trust each other.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span> (<i>from behind</i>). +Leslie, do you think it safe to keep this strong-box in your +room?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Leslie</span>. It does not trouble +me.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. I would not. +’Tis close to the window.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Leslie</span>. It’s on the +right side of it.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. I give you my advice: +I would not.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Lawson</span>. He may be right there +too, Mr. Leslie.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. I give him fair +warning: it’s not safe</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Leslie</span>. I have a different +treasure to concern myself about; if all goes right with that I +shall be well contented.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Mary</span>. Walter!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Lawson</span>. Ay, bairns, ye speak +for your age.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Leslie</span>. Surely, sir, for +every age; the ties of blood, of love, of friendship, these are +life’s essence.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Mary</span>. And for no one is it +truer than my uncle. If he live to be a thousand, he will +still be young in heart, full of love, full of trust.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Lawson</span>. All, lassie, +it’s a wicked world.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Mary</span>. Yes, you are out of +sorts to-day; we know that.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Leslie</span>. Admitted that you +know more of life, sir; admitted (if you please) that the world +is wicked; yet you do not lose trust in those you love.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Lawson</span>. Weel . . . ye get +gliffs, ye ken.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Leslie</span>. I suppose so. +We can all be shaken for a time; but not, I think, in our +friends. We are not deceived in them; in the few that we +admit into our hearts.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Mary</span>. Never in these.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Leslie</span>. We know these +(<i>to</i> <span class="smcap">Brodie</span>), and we think the +world of them.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span> (<i>at back</i>). We +are more acquainted with each other’s tailors, believe +me. You, Leslie, are a very pleasant creature. My +uncle Lawson is the Procurator-Fiscal. I—What am +I?—I am the Deacon of the Wrights, my ruffles are generally +clean. And you think the world of me? Bravo!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Leslie</span>. Ay, and I think the +world of you.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span> (<i>at back</i>, <i>pointing +to</i> <span class="smcap">Lawson</span>). Ask him.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Lawson</span>. Hoot-toot. A +wheen nonsense: an honest man’s an honest man, and a randy +thief’s a randy thief, and neither mair nor less. +Mary, my lamb, it’s time you were hame, and had you beauty +sleep.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Mary</span>. Do you not come with +us?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Lawson</span>. I gang the ither +gate, my lamb. (<span class="smcap">Leslie</span> +<i>helps</i> <span class="smcap">Mary</span> <i>on with her +cloak</i>, <i>and they say farewell at back</i>. <span +class="smcap">Brodie</span> <i>for the first time comes front +with</i> <span class="smcap">Lawson</span>.) Sae +ye’ve consented?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. As you see.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Lawson</span>. Ye’ll can pay +it back?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. I will.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Lawson</span>. And how? +That’s what I’m wonderin’ to mysel’.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. Ay, God knows +that.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Mary</span>. Come, Will.</p> +<h5>SCENE II</h5> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">Leslie</span>, +<span class="smcap">Lawson</span> (<i>wrapping up</i>)</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Leslie</span>. I wonder what ails +Brodie?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Lawson</span>. How should I +ken? What should I ken that ails him?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Leslie</span>. He seemed angry even +with you.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Lawson</span> (<i>impatient</i>). +Hoot awa’.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Leslie</span>. Of course, I +know. But you see, on the very day when our engagement is +announced, even the best of men may be susceptible. You +yourself seem not quite pleased.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Lawson</span> (<i>with great +irritation</i>). I’m perfectly pleased. +I’m perfectly delighted. If I werena an auld man, +I’d be just beside mysel’ wi’ happiness.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Leslie</span>. Well, I only +fancied.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Lawson</span>. Ye had nae possible +excuse to fancy. Fancy? Perfect trash and +nonsense. Look at yersel’. Ye look like a +ghaist, ye’re white-like, ye’re black aboot the een; +and do ye find me deavin’ ye wi’ fancies? Or +William Brodie either? I’ll say that for him.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Leslie</span>. ’Tis not sorrow +that alters my complexion; I’ve something else on +hand. Come, I’ll tell you, under seal. +I’ve not been in bed till daylight for a week.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Lawson</span>. Weel, there’s +nae sense in the like o’ that.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Leslie</span>. Gad, but there is +though. Why, Procurator, this is town’s business; +this is a municipal affair; I’m a public character. +Why? Ah, here’s a nut for the Crown Prosecutor! +I’m a bit of a party to a robbery.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Lawson</span>. Guid guide us, man, +what d’ye mean?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Leslie</span>. You shall hear. +A week ago to-night, I was passing through this very room without +a candle on my way to bed, when . . . what should I see, but a +masked man fumbling at that window! How he did the Lord +knows. I suspect, Procurator, it was not the first +he’d tried . . . for he opened it as handily as his own +front door.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Lawson</span>. Preserve me! +Another of thae robberies!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Leslie</span>. That’s +it. And, of course, I tried to seize him. But the +rascal was too quick. He was down and away in an +instant. You never saw a thing so daring and adroit.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Lawson</span>. Is that +a’? Ye’re a bauld lad, I’ll say that for +ye. I’m glad it wasna waur.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Leslie</span>. Yes, that’s all +plain sailing. But here’s the hitch. Why +didn’t I tell the Procurator-Fiscal? You never +thought of that.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Lawson</span>. No, man. +Why?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Leslie</span>. Aha! +There’s the riddle. Will you guess? No? . . . I +thought I knew the man.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Lawson</span>. What d’ye +say?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Leslie</span>. I thought I knew +him.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Lawson</span>. Wha was’t?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Leslie</span>. Ah, there you go +beyond me. That I cannot tell.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Lawson</span>. As God sees ye, +laddie, are ye speaking truth?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Leslie</span>. Well . . . of +course!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Lawson</span>. The haill truth?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Leslie</span>. All of it. Why +not?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Lawson</span>. Man, I’d a kind +o’ gliff.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Leslie</span>. Why, what were you +afraid of? Had you a suspicion?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Lawson</span>. Me? Me a +suspicion? Ye’re daft, sir; and me the Crown +offeecial! . . . Eh man, I’m a’ shakin’ . . . +And sae ye thocht ye kennt him?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Leslie</span>. I did that. And +what’s more, I’ve sat every night in case of his +return. I promise you, Procurator, he shall not slip me +twice. Meanwhile I’m worried and put out. You +understand how such a fancy will upset a man. I’m +uneasy with my friends and on bad terms with my own +conscience. I keep watching, spying, comparing, putting two +and two together, hunting for resemblances until my head goes +round. It’s like a puzzle in a dream. Only +yesterday I thought I had him. And who d’you think it +was?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Lawson</span>. Wha? Wha +was’t? Speak, Mr. Leslie, speak. I’m an +auld man; dinna forget that.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Leslie</span>. I name no +names. It would be unjust to him; and, upon my word, it was +so silly it would be unfair to me. However, here I sit, +night after night. I mean him to come back; come back he +shall; and I’ll tell you who he was next morning.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Lawson</span>. Let sleeping dogs +lie, Mr. Leslie; ye dinna ken what ye micht see. And then, +leave him alane, he’ll come nae mair. And sitting up +a’ nicht . . . it’s a <i>factum imprestabile</i>, as +we say: a thing impossible to man. Gang ye to your bed, +like a guid laddie, and sleep lang and soundly, and bonnie, +bonnie dreams to ye! (<i>Without</i>.) Let sleeping +dogs lie, and gang ye to your bed.</p> +<h5>SCENE III</h5> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="smcap">Leslie</span></p> +<p><span class="smcap">Leslie</span> (<i>calling</i>). In +good time, never fear! (<i>He carefully bolts and chains +the door</i>.) The old gentleman seems upset. What +for, I wonder? Has he had a masked visitor? Why +not? It’s the fashion. Out with the +lights. (<i>Blows out the candles</i>. <i>The stage +is only lighted by the moon through the window</i>.) He is +sure to come one night or other. He must come. Right +or wrong, I feel it in the air. Man, but I know you, I know +you somewhere. That trick of the shoulders, the hang of the +clothes—whose are they? Where have I seen them? +And then, that single look of the eye, that one glance about the +room as the window opened . . . it is almost friendly; I have +caught it over the glass’s rim! If it should be . . . +his? No, his it is not.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Watchman</span> (<i>without</i>). +Past ten o’clock, and a fine moonlight night.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Another</span> (<i>further +away</i>). Past ten o’clock, and all’s +well.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Leslie</span>. Past ten? Ah, +there’s a long night before you and me, watchmen. +Heavens, what a trade! But it will be something to laugh +over with Mary and . . . with him? Damn it, the delusion is +too strong for me. It’s a thing to be ashamed +of. ‘We Brodies’: how she says it! +‘We Brodies and our Deacon’: what a pride she takes +in it, and how good it sounds to me! ‘Deacon of his +craft, sir, Deacon of the . . .! (<span +class="smcap">Brodie</span>, <i>masked</i>, <i>appears without at +the window</i>, <i>which he proceeds to force</i>.) Ha! I +knew he’d come. I was sure of it. (<i>He +crouches near and nearer to the window</i>, <i>keeping in the +shade</i>.) And I know you too. I swear I know +you.</p> +<h5>SCENE IV</h5> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>, +<span class="smcap">Leslie</span></p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span> <i>enters by the window with +assurance and ease</i>, <i>closes it silently</i>, <i>and +proceeds to traverse the room</i>. <i>As he moves</i>, +<span class="smcap">Leslie</span> <i>leaps upon and grapples +him</i>.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Leslie</span>. Take off that +mask!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. Hands off!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Leslie</span>. Take off the +mask!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. Leave go, by God, +leave go!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Leslie</span>. Take it off!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span> (<i>overpowered</i>). +Leslie . . .</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Leslie</span>. Ah! you know +me! (<i>Succeeds in tearing off the mask</i>.) +Brodie!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span> (<i>in the +moonlight</i>). Brodie.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Leslie</span>. You . . . you, +Brodie, you?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. Brodie, sir, Brodie +as you see.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Leslie</span>. What does it +mean? What does it mean, my God? Were you here +before? Is this the second time? Are you a thief, +man? are you a thief? Speak, speak, or I’ll kill +you.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. I am a thief.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Leslie</span>. And my friend, my own +friend, and . . . Mary, Mary! . . . Deacon, Deacon, for +God’s sake, no!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. God help me!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Leslie</span>. ‘We +Brodies! We Brodies!’</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. Leslie—</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Leslie</span>. Stand off! +Don’t touch me! You’re a thief!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. Leslie, Leslie</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Leslie</span>. A thief’s +sister! Why are you here? why are you here? Tell +me! Why do you not speak? Man, I know you of +old. Are you Brodie, and have nothing to say?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. To say? Not +much—God help me—and commonplace, commonplace like +sin. I was honest once; I made a false step; I +couldn’t retrace it; and . . . that is all.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Leslie</span>. You have forgot the +bad companions!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. I did forget +them. They were there.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Leslie</span>. Commonplace! +Commonplace! Do you speak to me, do you reason with me, do +you make excuses? You—a man found out, shamed, a +liar, a thief—a man that’s killed me, killed this +heart in my body; and you speak! What am I to do? I +hold your life in my hand; have you thought of that? What +am I to do?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. Do what you please; +you have me trapped.</p> +<p>(<span class="smcap">Jean Watt</span> <i>is heard singing +without two bars of</i> ‘<i>Wanderin’ +Willie</i>,’ <i>by way of signal</i>.)</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Leslie</span>. What is that?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. A signal.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Leslie</span>. What does it +mean?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. Danger to me; there +is someone coming.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Leslie</span>. Danger to you?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. Some one is +coming. What are you going to do with me? (<i>A knock +at the door</i>.)</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Leslie</span> (<i>after a +pause</i>). Sit down. (<i>Knocking</i>.)</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. What are you going to +do with me?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Leslie</span>. Sit down. +(<span class="smcap">Brodie</span> <i>sits in darkest part of +stage</i>. <span class="smcap">Leslie</span> <i>opens +door</i>, <i>and admits</i> <span +class="smcap">Lawson</span>. <i>Door open till end of +Act</i>.)</p> +<h5>SCENE V</h5> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>, +<span class="smcap">Lawson</span>, <span +class="smcap">Leslie</span></p> +<p><span class="smcap">Lawson</span>. This is an +unco’ time to come to your door; but eh, laddie, I couldna +bear to think o’ ye sittin’ your lane in the +dark.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Leslie</span>. It was very good of +you.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Lawson</span>. I’m no very +fond of playing hidee in the dark mysel’; and noo that +I’m here—</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Leslie</span>. I will give you a +light. (<i>He lights the candles</i>. <i>Lights +up</i>.)</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Lawson</span>. God +A’michty! William Brodie!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Leslie</span>. Yes, Brodie was good +enough to watch with me.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Lawson</span>. But he gaed +awa’ . . . I dinna see . . . an’ Lord be guid to us, +the window’s open!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Leslie</span>. A trap we laid for +them: a device of Brodie’s.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span> (<i>to</i> <span +class="smcap">Lawson</span>). Set a thief to catch a +thief. (<i>Passing to</i> <span +class="smcap">Leslie</span>, <i>aside</i>.) Walter Leslie, +God will reward. (<span class="smcap">Jean</span> +<i>signals again</i>.)</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Lawson</span>. I dinna like that +singin’ at siccan a time o’ the nicht.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. I must go.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Lawson</span>. Not one foot o’ +ye. I’m ower glad to find ye in guid hands. Ay, +ye dinna ken how glad.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span> (<i>aside to</i> <span +class="smcap">Leslie</span>). Get me out of this. +There’s a man there will stick at nothing.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Leslie</span>. Mr. Lawson, Brodie +has done his shift. Why should we keep him? (<span +class="smcap">Jean</span> <i>appears at the door</i>, <i>and +signs to</i> <span class="smcap">Brodie</span>.)</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Lawson</span>. Hoots! this is my +trade. That’s a bit o’ ‘Wanderin’ +Willie.’ I’ve had it before me in +precognitions; that same stave has been used for a signal by some +o’ the very warst o’ them.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span> (<i>aside to</i> <span +class="smcap">Leslie</span>). Get me out of this. +I’ll never forget to-night. (<span +class="smcap">Jean</span> <i>at door again</i>.)</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Leslie</span>. Well, good-night, +Brodie. When shall we meet again?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Lawson</span>. Not one foot o’ +him. (<span class="smcap">Jean</span> <i>at +door</i>.) I tell you, Mr. Leslie—</p> +<h5>SCENE VI</h5> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To these</i>, <span +class="smcap">Jean</span></p> +<p><span class="smcap">Jean</span> (<i>from she door</i>). +Wullie, Wullie!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Lawson</span>. Guid guide us, Mrs. +Watt! A dacent wumman like yoursel’! Whatten a +time o’ nicht is this to come to folks’ doors?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Jean</span> (<i>to</i> <span +class="smcap">Brodie</span>). Hawks, Wullie, hawks!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. I suppose you know +what you’ve done, Jean?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Jean</span>. I <i>had</i> to come, +Wullie, he wadna wait another minit. He wad have come +himsel’.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. This is my +mistress.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Lawson</span>. William, dinna tell +me nae mair.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. I have told you so +much. You may as well know all. That good man knows +it already. Have you issued a warrant for me . . . yet?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Lawson</span>. No, no, man: not +another word.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>, (<i>pointing to the +window</i>). That is my work. I am the man. +Have you drawn the warrant?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Lawson</span> (<i>breaking +down</i>). Your father’s son!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Leslie</span> (<i>to</i> <span +class="smcap">Lawson</span>). My good friend! Brodie, +you might have spared the old man this.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. I might have spared +him years ago; and you and my sister, and myself. I might . +. . would God I had! (<i>Weeping himself</i>.) +Don’t weep, my good old friend; I was lost long since; +don’t think of me; don’t pity me; don’t shame +me with your pity! I began this when I was a boy. I +bound the millstone round my neck; [it is irrevocable now,] and +you must all suffer . . . all suffer for me! . . . [for this +suffering remnant of what was once a man]. O God, that I +can have fallen to stand here as I do now. My friend lying +to save me from the gallows; my second father weeping tears of +blood for my disgrace! And all for what? By +what? Because I had an open hand, because I was a selfish +dog, because I loved this woman.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Jean</span>. O Wullie, and she +lo’ed ye weel! But come near me nae mair, come near +me nae mair, my man; keep wi’ your ain folks . . . your ain +dacent folks.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Lawson</span>. Mistress Watt, ye +shall sit rent free as lang’s there’s breath in +William Lawson’s body.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Leslie</span>. You can do one thing +still . . . for Mary’s sake. You can save yourself; +you must fly.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. It is my purpose; the +day after to-morrow. It cannot be before. Then I will +fly; and O, as God sees me, I will strive to make a new and a +better life, and to be worthy of your friendship, and of your +tears . . . your tears. And to be worthy of you too, Jean; +for I see now that the bandage has fallen from my eyes; I see +myself, O how unworthy even of you.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Leslie</span>. Why not to-night?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. It cannot be +before. There are many considerations. I must find +money.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Jean</span>. Leave me, and the +wean. Dinna fash yoursel’ for us.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Leslie</span> (<i>opening the +strong-box</i>, <i>and pouring gold upon the table</i>). +Take this and go at once.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. Not that . . . not +the money that I came to steal!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Lawson</span>. Tak’ it, +William; I’ll pay him.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. It is in vain. +I cannot leave till I have said. There is a man; I must +obey him. If I slip my chain till he has done with me, the +hue and cry will blaze about the country; every outport will be +shut; I shall return to the gallows. He is a man that will +stick at nothing.</p> +<h5>SCENE VII</h5> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To these</i>, <span +class="smcap">Moore</span></p> +<p><span class="smcap">Moore</span>. Are you coming?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. I am coming.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Moore</span> (<i>appearing in the +door</i>). Do you want us all to get thundering well +scragged?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span> (<i>going</i>). There +is my master.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="smcap">Act-Drop</span></p> +<h3>ACT IV.</h3> +<h4>TABLEAU VII.<br /> +<span class="smcap">The Robbery</span></h4> +<p><i>The Stage represents the outside of the Excise Office in +Chessel’s Court</i>. <i>At the back</i>, <i>L.C.</i>, +<i>an archway opening on the High Street</i>. <i>The door +of the Excise in wing</i>, <i>R.</i>; <i>the opposite side of the +stage is lumbered with barrels</i>, <i>packing-cases</i>, +<i>etc.</i> <i>Moonlight</i>; <i>the Excise Office casts a +shadow over half the stage</i>. <i>A clock strikes the +hour</i>. <i>A round of the City Guard</i>, <i>with +halberts</i>, <i>lanterns</i>, <i>etc.</i>, <i>enters and goes +out again by the arch</i>, <i>after having examined the +fastenings of the great door and the lumber on the +left</i>. <i>Cry without in the High Street</i>: +‘<i>Ten by the bell</i>, <i>and a fine clear +night</i>.’ <i>Then enter cautiously by the arch</i>, +<span class="smcap">Smith</span> <i>and</i> <span +class="smcap">Moore</span>, <i>with</i> <span +class="smcap">Ainslie</span> <i>loaded with tools</i>.</p> +<h5>SCENE I</h5> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">Smith</span>, +<span class="smcap">Moore</span>, <span +class="smcap">Ainslie</span></p> +<p><span class="smcap">Smith</span> (<i>entering +first</i>). Come on. Coast clear.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Moore</span> (<i>after they have come to +the front</i>.) Ain’t he turned up yet?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Smith</span> (<i>to</i> <span +class="smcap">Ainslie</span>). Now Maggot! The +fishing’s a going to begin.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Ainslie</span>. Dinna cangle, +Geordie. My back’s fair broke.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Moore</span>. O muck! Hand out +them pieces.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Smith</span>. All right, +Humptious! (<i>To</i> <span +class="smcap">Ainslie</span>.) You’re a nice old sort +for a rag-and-bone man: can’t hold a bag open! +(<i>Taking out tools</i>.) Here they was. Here are +the bunchums, one <i>and</i> two; and jolly old keys was +they. Here’s the picklocks, crow-bars, and +here’s Lord George’s pet bull’s eye, his old +and valued friend, the Cracksman’s treasure!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Moore</span>. Just like you. +Forgot the rotten centrebit.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Smith</span>. That’s all you +know. Here she is, bless her! Portrait of George as a +gay hironmonger.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Moore</span>. O rot! Hand it +over, and keep yourself out of that there thundering +moonlight.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Smith</span> (<i>lighting +lantern</i>). All right, old mumble-peg. Don’t +you get carried away by the fire of old Rome. That’s +your motto. Here are the tools; a perfect picter of the +sublime and beautiful; and all I hope is, that our friend and +pitcher, the Deakin, will make a better job of it than he did +last night. If he don’t, I shall retire from the +business—that’s all; and it’ll be George and +his little wife and a black footman till death do us part.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Moore</span>. O muck! +You’re all jaw like a sheep’s jimmy. +That’s my opinion of you. When did you see him +last?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Smith</span>. This morning; and he +looked as if he was rehearsing for his own epitaph. I never +see such a change in a man. I gave him the office for +to-night; and was he grateful? Did he weep upon my faithful +bosom? No; he smiled upon me like a portrait of the dear +departed. I see his ’art was far away; and it broke +my own to look at him.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Moore</span>. Muck! Wot I ses +is, if a cove’s got that much of the nob about him, +wot’s the good of his working single-handed? +That’s wot’s the matter with him.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Smith</span>. Well, old Father +Christmas, he ain’t single-handed to-night, is he?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Moore</span>. No, he ain’t; +he’s got a man with him to-night.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Smith</span>. Pardon me, Romeo; two +men, I think?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Moore</span>. A man wot means +business. If I’d a bin with him last night, it +ain’t psalm-singin’ would have got us off. +Psalm-singin’? Muck! Let ’em try it on +with me.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Ainslie</span>. Losh me, I heard a +noise. (<i>Alarm; they crouch into the shadow and +listen</i>.)</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Smith</span>. All serene. +(<i>To</i> <span class="smcap">Ainslie</span>) Am I to cut +that liver out of you? Now, am I? (<i>A +whistle</i>.) ’St! here we are. (<i>Whistles a +modulation</i>, <i>which is answered</i>.)</p> +<h5>SCENE II</h5> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To these</i> <span +class="smcap">Brodie</span></p> +<p><span class="smcap">Moore</span>. Waiting for you, +Deacon.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. I see. +Everything ready?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Smith</span>. All a-growing and +a-blowing.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. Give me the +light. (<i>Briefly examines tools and door with +bull’s eye</i>.) You, George, stand by, and hand up +the pieces. Ainslie, take the glim. Moore, out and +watch.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Moore</span>. I didn’t come +here to do sentry-go, I didn’t.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. You came here to do +as I tell you. (<span class="smcap">Moore</span> <i>goes up +slowly</i>.) Second bunch, George. I know the +lock. Steady with the glim. (<i>At work</i>.) +No good. Give me the centrebit.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Smith</span>. Right. (<i>Work +continues</i>. <span class="smcap">Ainslie</span> <i>drops +lantern</i>.)</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. Curse you! +(<i>Throttling and kicking him</i>.) You shake, and you +shake, and you can’t even hold a light for your +betters. Hey?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Ainslie</span>. Eh Deacon, Deacon . +. .</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Smith</span>. Now Ghost! +(<i>With lantern</i>.)</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. ’St, Moore!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Moore</span>. Wot’s the +row?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. Take you the +light.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Moore</span> (<i>to</i> <span +class="smcap">Ainslie</span>). Wo’ j’ yer +shakin’ at? (<i>Kicks him</i>.)</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span> (<i>to</i> <span +class="smcap">Ainslie</span>). Go you, and see if +you’re good at keeping watch. Inside the arch. +And if you let a footfall pass, I’ll break your back. +(<span class="smcap">Ainslie</span> <i>retires</i>.) Steady +with the light. (<i>At work with centrebit</i>.) Hand +up number four, George. (<i>At work with +picklock</i>.) That has it.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Smith</span>. Well done our +side.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. Now the crow +bar! (<i>At work</i>.) That’s it. Put +down the glim, Badger, and help at the wrench. Your whole +weight, men! Put your backs to it! (<i>While they +work at the bar</i>, <span class="smcap">Brodie</span> <i>stands +by</i>, <i>dusting his hands with a +pocket-handkerchief</i>. <i>As the door +opens</i>.)<i> Voilà</i>! In with you.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Moore</span> (<i>entering with +light</i>). Mucking fine work too, Deacon!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. Take up the irons, +George!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Smith</span>. How about the +P(h)antom?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. Leave him to +me. I’ll give him a look. (<i>Enters +office</i>.)</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Smith</span> (<i>following</i>). +Houp-là!</p> +<h5>SCENE III</h5> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">Ainslie</span>; +<i>afterwards</i> <span class="smcap">Brodie</span>; +<i>afterwards</i> <span class="smcap">Hunt</span> <i>and</i> +<span class="smcap">Officers</span></p> +<p><span class="smcap">Ainslie</span>. Ca’ ye that +mainners? Ye’re grand gentry by your way +o’t! Eh sirs, my hench! Ay, that was the +Badger. Man, but ye’ll look bonnie +hangin’! (<i>A faint whistle</i>.) Lord’s +sake, what’s thon? Ay, it’ll be Hunt an’ +his lads. (<i>Whistle repeated</i>.) Losh me, what +gars him whustle, whustle? Does he think me deaf? +(<i>Goes up</i>. <span class="smcap">Brodie</span> +<i>enters from office</i>, <i>stands an instant</i>, <i>and sees +him making a signal through the arch</i>.)</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. Rats! Rats! +(<i>Hides L. among lumber</i>. <i>Enter noiselessly through +arch</i> <span class="smcap">Hunt</span> <i>and</i> <span +class="smcap">Officers</span>.)</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Hunt</span>. Birds caught?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Ainslie</span>. They’re +a’ ben the house, mister.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Hunt</span>. All three?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Ainslie</span>. The hale set, +mister.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. Liar!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Hunt</span>. Mum, lads, and follow +me. (<i>Exit</i>, <i>with his men</i>, <i>into +office</i>. <span class="smcap">Brodie</span> <i>seen with +dagger</i>.)</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Hunt</span> (<i>within</i>). In the +King’s name!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Moore</span> (<i>within</i>). +Muck!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Smith</span> (<i>within</i>). Go it, +Badger.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Hunt</span> (<i>within</i>). Take +’em alive, boys!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Ainslie</span>. Eh, but that’s +awful. (<i>The Deacon leaps out</i>, <i>and stabs +him</i>. <i>He falls without a cry</i>.)</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. Saved! (<i>He +goes out by the arch</i>.)</p> +<h5>SCENE IV</h5> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">Hunt</span> +<i>and</i> <span class="smcap">Officers</span>; <i>with</i> <span +class="smcap">Smith</span> <i>and</i> <span +class="smcap">Moore</span> <i>handcuffed</i>. <i>Signs of a +severe struggle</i></p> +<p><span class="smcap">Hunt</span> (<i>entering</i>). Bring +’em along, lads! (<i>Looking at prisoners with +lantern</i>.) Pleased to see you again, Badger. And +you too, George. But I’d rather have seen your +principal. Where’s he got to?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Moore</span>. To hell, I hope.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Hunt</span>. Always the same pretty +flow of language, I see, Hump. (<i>Looking at burglary with +lantern</i>.) A very tidy piece of work, Dook; very +tidy! Much too good for you. Smacks of a fine +tradesman. It <i>was</i> the Deacon, I suppose?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Smith</span>. You ought to know G. +S. better by this time, Jerry.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Hunt</span>. All right, your Grace: +we’ll talk it over with the Deacon himself. +Where’s the jackal? Here, you, Ainslie! Where +are you? By jingo, I thought as much. Stabbed to the +heart and dead as a herring!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Smith</span>. Bravo!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Hunt</span>. More of the +Deacon’s work, I guess? Does him credit too, +don’t it, Badger?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Moore</span>. Muck. Was that +the thundering cove that peached?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Hunt</span>. That was the thundering +cove.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Moore</span>. And is he corpsed?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Hunt</span>. I should just about +reckon he was.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Moore</span>. Then, damme, I +don’t mind swinging!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Hunt</span>. We’ll talk about +that presently. M’Intyre and Stewart, you get a +stretcher, and take that rubbish to the office. Pick it up; +it’s only a dead informer. Hand these two gentlemen +over to Mr. Procurator-Fiscal, with Mr. Jerry Hunt’s +compliments. Johnstone and Syme, you come along with +me. I’ll bring the Deacon round myself.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="smcap">Act-Drop</span></p> +<h3>ACT V.</h3> +<h4>TABLEAU VIII.<br /> +<span class="smcap">The Open Door</span></h4> +<p><i>The Stage represents the Deacon’s room</i>, <i>as in +Tableau I</i>. <i>Fire light</i>. <i>Stage +dark</i>. <i>A pause</i>. <i>Then knocking at the +door</i>, <i>C.</i> <i>Cries without of</i> ‘<span +class="smcap">Willie</span>!’ ‘<span +class="smcap">Mr. Brodie</span>!’ <i>The door is +burst open</i>.</p> +<h5>SCENE I</h5> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">Doctor</span>, +<span class="smcap">Mary</span>, a <span +class="smcap">Maidservant</span> with lights.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Doctor</span>. The apartment is +unoccupied.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Mary</span>. Dead, and he not +here!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Doctor</span>. The bed has not been +slept in. The counterpane is not turned down.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Mary</span>. It is not true; it +cannot be true.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Doctor</span>. My dear young lady, +you must have misunderstood your brother’s language.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Mary</span>. O no; that I did +not. That I am sure I did not.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Doctor</span> (<i>looking at +door</i>). The strange thing is . . . the bolt.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Servant</span>. It’s unco +strange.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Doctor</span>. Well, we have acted +for the best.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Servant</span>. Sir, I dinna think +this should gang nae further.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Doctor</span>. The secret is in our +keeping. Affliction is enough without scandal.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Mary</span>. Kind heaven, what does +it mean?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Doctor</span>. I think there is no +more to be done.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Mary</span>. I am here alone, +Doctor; you pass my uncle’s door?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Doctor</span>. The +Procurator-Fiscal? I shall make it my devoir. Expect +him soon. (<i>Goes out with</i> <span +class="smcap">Maid</span>.)</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Mary</span> (<i>hastily searches the +room</i>). No, he is not there. She was right! +O father, you can never know, praise God!</p> +<h5>SCENE II</h5> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">Mary</span>, +<i>to whom</i> <span class="smcap">Jean</span> <i>and +afterwards</i> <span class="smcap">Leslie</span></p> +<p><span class="smcap">Jean</span> (<i>at door</i>). +Mistress . . . !</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Mary</span>. Ah! Who is +there? Who are you?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Jean</span>. Is he no hame +yet? I’m aye waitin’ on him.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Mary</span>. Waiting for him? +Do you know the Deacon? You?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Jean</span>. I maun see him. +Eh, lassie, it’s life and death.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Mary</span>. Death . . . O my +heart!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Jean</span>. I maun see him, bonnie +leddie. I’m a puir body, and no fit to be seen +speakin’ wi’ the likes o’ you. But O +lass, ye are the Deacon’s sister, and ye hae the +Deacon’s e’en, and for the love of the dear kind +Lord, let’s in and hae a word wi’ him ere it be ower +late. I’m bringin’ siller.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Mary</span>. Siller? +You? For him? O father, father, if you could +hear! What are you? What are you . . . to him?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Jean</span>. I’ll be the best +frien’ ’at ever he had; for, O dear leddie, I wad gie +my bluid to help him.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Mary</span>. And the . . . the +child?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Jean</span>. The bairn?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Mary</span>. Nothing! O +nothing! I am in trouble, and I know not what I say. +And I cannot help you; I cannot help you if I would. He is +not here; and I believed he was; and ill . . . ill; and he is +not—he is . . . O, I think I shall lose my mind!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Jean</span>. Ay, it’s unco +business.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Mary</span>. His father is dead +within there . . . dead, I tell you . . . dead!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Jean</span>. It’s mebbe just +as weel.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Mary</span>. Well? Well? +Has it come to this? O Walter, Walter! come back to me, or +I shall die. (<span class="smcap">Leslie</span> +<i>enters</i>, <i>C.</i>)</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Leslie</span>. Mary, Mary! I +hoped to have spared you this. (<i>To</i> <span +class="smcap">Jean</span>.) What—you? Is he not +here?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Jean</span>. I’m aye +waitin’ on him.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Leslie</span>. What has become of +him? Is he mad? Where is he?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Jean</span>. The Lord A’michty +kens, Mr. Leslie. But I maun find him; I maun find him.</p> +<h5>SCENE III</h5> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">Mary</span>, +<span class="smcap">Leslie</span></p> +<p><span class="smcap">Mary</span>. O Walter, Walter! +What does it mean?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Leslie</span>. You have been a brave +girl all your life, Mary; you must lean on me . . . you must +trust in me . . . and be a brave girl till the end.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Mary</span>. Who is she? What +does she want with <i>him</i>? And he . . . where is +he? Do you know that my father is dead, and the Deacon not +here? Where has he gone? He may be dead, too. +Father, brother . . . O God, it is more than I can bear!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Leslie</span>. Mary, my dear, dear +girl . . . when will you be my wife?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Mary</span>. O, do not speak . . . +not speak . . . of it to-night. Not to-night! O not +to-night!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Leslie</span>. I know, I know dear +heart! And do you think that I whom you have chosen, I +whose whole life is in your love—do you think that I would +press you now if there were not good cause?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Mary</span>. Good cause! +Something has happened. Something has happened . . . to +him! Walter . . . ! Is he . . . dead?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Leslie</span>. There are worse +things in the world than death. There is O . . . Mary, he +is your brother!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Mary</span>. What? Dishonour! +. . . The Deacon! . . . My God!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Leslie</span>. My wife, my wife!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Mary</span>. No, no! Keep away +from me. Don’t touch me. I’m not fit . . +. not fit to be near you. What has he done? I am his +sister. Tell me the worst. Tell me the worst at +once.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Leslie</span>. That, if God wills, +dear, that you shall never know. Whatever it be, think that +I knew it all, and only loved you better; think that your true +husband is with you, and you are not to bear it alone.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Mary</span>. My husband? . . . +Never.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Leslie</span>. Mary . . . !</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Mary</span>. You forget, you forget +what I am. I am his sister. I owe him a lifetime of +happiness and love; I owe him even you. And whatever his +fault, however ruinous his disgrace, he is my brother—my +own brother—and my place is still with him.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Leslie</span>. Your place is with +me—is with your husband. With me, with me; and for +his sake most of all. What can you do for him alone? how +can you help him alone? It wrings my heart to think how +little. But together is different. Together . . . I +join my strength, my will, my courage to your own, and together +we may save him.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Mary</span>. All that is over. +Once I was blessed among women. I was my father’s +daughter, my brother loved me, I lived to be your wife. Now +. . . ! My father is dead, my brother is shamed; and you . +. . O how could I face the world, how could I endure myself, if I +preferred my happiness to your honour?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Leslie</span>. What is my honour but +your happiness? In what else does it consist? Is it +in denying me my heart? is it in visiting another’s sin +upon the innocent? Could I do that, and be my +mother’s son? Could I do that, and bear my +father’s name? Could I do that, and have ever been +found worthy of you?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Mary</span>. It is my duty . . . my +duty. Why will you make it so hard for me? So hard, +Walter so hard!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Leslie</span>. Do I pursue you only +for your good fortune, your beauty, the credit of your friends, +your family’s good name? That were not love, and I +love you. I love you, dearest, I love you. Friend, +father, brother, husband . . . I must be all these to you. +I am a man who can love well.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Mary</span>. Silence . . . in +pity! I cannot . . . O, I cannot bear it.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Leslie</span>. And say it was I who +had fallen. Say I had played my neck and lost it . . . that +I were pushed by the law to the last limits of ignominy and +despair. Whose love would sanctify my jail to me? whose +pity would shine upon me in the dock? whose prayers would +accompany me to the gallows? Whose but yours? Yours! +. . . And you would entreat me—me!—to do what you +shrink from even in thought, what you would die ere you attempted +in deed!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Mary</span>. Walter . . . on my +knees . . . no more, no more!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Leslie</span>. My wife! my +wife! Here on my heart! It is I that must kneel . . . +I that must kneel to you.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Mary</span>. Dearest! . . . +Husband! You forgive him? O, you forgive him?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Leslie</span>. He is my brother +now. Let me take you to our father. Come.</p> +<h5>SCENE IV</h5> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>After a pause</i>, <span +class="smcap">Brodie</span>, <i>through the window</i></p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. Saved! And the +alibi! Man, but you’ve been near it this +time—near the rope, near the rope. Ah boy, it was +your neck, your neck you fought for. They were closing +hell-doors upon me, swift as the wind, when I slipped through and +shot for heaven! Saved! The dog that sold me, I +settled him; and the other dogs are staunch. Man, but your +alibi will stand! Is the window fast? The neighbours +must not see the Deacon, the poor, sick Deacon, up and stirring +at this time o’ night. Ay, the good old room in the +good, cozy old house . . . and the rat a dead rat, and all +saved. (<i>He lights the candles</i>.) Your hand +shakes, sir? Fie! And you saved, and you snug and +sick in your bed, and it but a dead rat after all? (<i>He +takes off his hanger and lays it on the table</i>.) Ay, it +was a near touch. Will it come to the dock? If it +does! You’ve a tongue, and you’ve a head, and +you’ve an alibi; and your alibi will stand. (<i>He +takes off his coat</i>, <i>takes out the dagger</i>, <i>and with +a gesture of striking</i>) Home! He fell without a +sob. ‘He breaketh them against the bosses of his +buckler!’ (<i>Lays the dagger on the +table</i>.) Your alibi . . . ah Deacon, that’s your +life! . . . your alibi, your alibi. (<i>He takes up a +candle and turns towards the door</i>.) O! . . . +Open, open, open! judgment of God, the door is open!</p> +<h5>SCENE V</h5> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>, +<span class="smcap">Mary</span>.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. Did you open the +door?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Mary</span>. I did.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. You . . . you opened +the door?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Mary</span>. I did open it</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. Were you . . . +alone?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Mary</span>. I was not. The +servant was with me; and the doctor.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. O . . . the servant . +. . and the doctor. Very true. Then it’s all +over the town by now. The servant and the doctor. The +doctor? What doctor? Why the doctor?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Mary</span>. My father is +dead. O Will, where have you been?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. Your father is +dead. O yes! He’s dead, is he? +Dead. Quite right. Quite right . . . How did you open +the door? It’s strange. I bolted it.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Mary</span>. We could not help it, +Will, now could we? The doctor forced it. He had to, +had he not?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. The doctor forced +it? The doctor? Was he here? He forced +it? He?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Mary</span>. We did it for the best; +it was I who did it . . . I, your own sister. And O Will, +my Willie, where have you been? You have not been in any +harm, any danger?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. Danger? O my +young lady, you have taken care of that. It’s not +danger now, it’s death. Death? Ah! Death! +Death! Death! (<i>Clutching the table</i>. +<i>Then</i>, <i>recovering as from a dream</i>.) +Death? Did you say my father was dead? My +father? O my God, my poor old father! Is he dead, +Mary? Have I lost him? is he gone? O, Mary dear, and +to think of where his son was!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Mary</span>. Dearest, he is in +heaven.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. Did he suffer?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Mary</span>. He died like a +child. Your name . . . it was his last.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. My name? +Mine? O Mary, if he had known! He knows now. He +knows; he sees us now . . . sees me! Ay, and sees you, left +how lonely!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Mary</span>. Not so, dear; not while +you live. Wherever you are, I shall not be alone, so you +live.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. While I live? +I? The old house is ruined, and the old master dead, and +I! . . . O Mary, try and believe I did not mean that +it should come to this; try and believe that I was only weak at +first. At first? And now! The good old man +dead, the kind sister ruined, the innocent boy fallen, fallen . . +. ! You will be quite alone; all your old friends, all the +old faces, gone into darkness. The night (<i>with a +gesture</i>) . . . it waits for me. You will be quite +alone.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Mary</span>. The night!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. Mary, you must +hear. How am I to tell her, and the old man just +dead! Mary, I was the boy you knew; I loved pleasure, I was +weak; I have fallen . . . low . . . lower than you think. A +beginning is so small a thing! I never dreamed it would +come to this . . . this hideous last night.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Mary</span>. Willie, you must tell +me, dear. I must have the truth . . . the kind truth . . . +at once . . . in pity.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. Crime. I have +fallen. Crime.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Mary</span>. Crime?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. Don’t shrink +from me. Miserable dog that I am, selfish hound that has +dragged you to this misery . . . you and all that loved him . . . +think only of my torments, think only of my penitence, +don’t shrink from me.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Mary</span>. I do not care to hear, +I do not wish, I do not mind; you are my brother. What do I +care? How can I help you?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. Help? help +<i>me</i>? You would not speak of it, not wish it, if you +knew. My kind good sister, my little playmate, my sweet +friend! was I ever unkind to you till yesterday? Not openly +unkind? you’ll say that when I am gone.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Mary</span>. If you have done wrong, +what do I care? If you have failed, does it change my +twenty years of love and worship? Never!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. Yet I must make her +understand . . . !</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Mary</span>. I am your true sister, +dear. I cannot fail, I will never leave you, I will never +blame you. Come! (<i>Goes to embrace</i>.)</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span> (<i>recoiling</i>). +No, don’t touch me, not a finger, not that, anything but +that!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Mary</span>. Willie, Willie!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span> (<i>taking the bloody dagger +from the table</i>). See, do you understand that?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Mary</span>. Ah! What, what is +it!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. Blood. I have +killed a man.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Mary</span>. You? . . .</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. I am a murderer; I +was a thief before. Your brother . . . the old man’s +only son!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Mary</span>. Walter, Walter, come to +me!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. Now you see that I +must die; now you see that I stand upon the grave’s edge, +all my lost life behind me, like a horror to think upon, like a +frenzy, like a dream that is past. And you, you are +alone. Father, brother, they are gone from you; one to +heaven, one . . . !</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Mary</span>. Hush, dear, hush! +Kneel, pray; it is not too late to repent. Think of our +father dear; repent. (<i>She weeps</i>, <i>straining to his +bosom</i>.) O Willie, my darling boy, repent and join +us.</p> +<h5>SCENE VI</h5> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To these</i>, <span +class="smcap">Lawson</span>, <span class="smcap">Leslie</span>, +<span class="smcap">Jean</span></p> +<p><span class="smcap">Lawson</span>. She kens a’, +thank the guid Lord!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span> (<i>to</i> <span +class="smcap">Mary</span>). I know you forgive me now; I +ask no more. That is a good man. (<i>To</i> <span +class="smcap">Leslie</span>.) Will you take her from my +hands? (<span class="smcap">Leslie</span> <i>takes</i> +<span class="smcap">Mary</span>.) Jean, are ye here to see +the end?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Jean</span>. Eh man, can ye no +fly? Could ye no say that it was me?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. No, Jean, this is +where it ends. Uncle, this is where it ends. And to +think that not an hour ago I still had hopes! Hopes! +Ay, not an hour ago I thought of a new life. You were not +forgotten, Jean. Leslie, you must try to forgive me . . . +you, too!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Leslie</span>. You are her +brother.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span> (<i>to</i> <span +class="smcap">Lawson</span>). And you?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Lawson</span>. My name-child and my +sister’s bairn!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span>. You won’t +forget Jean, will you? nor the child?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Lawson</span>. That I will not.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Mary</span>. O Willie, nor I.</p> +<h5>SCENE VII</h5> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To these</i>, <span +class="smcap">Hunt</span></p> +<p><span class="smcap">Hunt</span>. The game’s up, +Deacon. I’ll trouble you to come along with me.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brodie</span> (<i>behind the +table</i>). One moment, officer: I have a word to say +before witnesses ere I go. In all this there is but one man +guilty; and that man is I. None else has sinned; none else +must suffer. This poor woman (<i>pointing to</i> <span +class="smcap">Jean</span>) I have used; she never +understood. Mr. Procurator-Fiscal, that is my dying +confession. (<i>He snatches his hanger from the table</i>, +<i>and rushes upon</i> <span class="smcap">Hunt</span>, <i>who +parries</i>, <i>and runs him through</i>. <i>He reels +across the stage and falls</i>.) The new life . . . the new +life! (<i>He dies</i>.)</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="smcap">Curtain</span>.</p> +<h2><a name="page111"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 111</span>BEAU +AUSTIN</h2> +<p style="text-align: center">DEDICATED<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">WITH ADMIRATION AND RESPECT</span><br /> +<span class="GutSmall">TO</span><br /> +GEORGE MEREDITH</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p><span class="smcap">Bournemouth</span>:<br /> + 1<i>st</i> <i>October</i> +1884.</p> +<h3>PERSONS REPRESENTED</h3> +<table> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">George Frederick Austin</span>, called +‘Beau Austin’</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">Ætat. 50</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">John Fenwick</span>, of Allonby +Shaw</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">,, 26</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Anthony Musgrave</span>, Cornet in the +Prince’s Own</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">,, 21</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Menteith</span>, the Beau’s +Valet</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">,, 55</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">A Royal Duke</span> (Dumb show.)</p> +</td> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Dorothy Musgrave</span>, +Anthony’s Sister</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">,, 25</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Miss Evelina Foster</span>, her +Aunt</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">,, 45</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Barbara Ridley</span>, her Maid</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">,, 20</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Visitors to the Wells</span></p> +</td> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +<p>The Time is 1820. The Scene is laid at Tunbridge +Wells. The Action occupies a space of ten hours.</p> +<h3>HAYMARKET THEATRE</h3> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>Monday</i>, <i>November</i> +3<i>d</i>, 1890</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>CAST</i></p> +<table> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">George Frederick Austin</span></p> +</td> +<td><p>Mr. <span class="smcap">Tree</span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">John Fenwick</span></p> +</td> +<td><p>Mr. <span class="smcap">Fred Terry</span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Anthony Musgrave</span></p> +</td> +<td><p>Mr. <span class="smcap">Edmund Maurice</span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Menteith</span></p> +</td> +<td><p>Mr. <span class="smcap">Brookfield</span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">A Royal Duke</span></p> +</td> +<td><p>Mr. <span class="smcap">Robb Harwood</span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Dorothy Musgrave</span></p> +</td> +<td><p>Mrs. <span class="smcap">Tree</span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Miss Evelina Foster</span></p> +</td> +<td><p>Miss <span class="smcap">Rose Leclercq</span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Barbara Ridley</span></p> +</td> +<td><p>Miss <span class="smcap">Aylward</span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Visitors to the Wells</span></p> +</td> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +<h3>PROLOGUE</h3> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>Spoken by</i> <span +class="smcap">Mr. Tree</span> <i>in the character of Beau +Austin</i></p> +<p class="poetry">‘To all and singular,’ as Dryden +says,<br /> +We bring a fancy of those Georgian days,<br /> +Whose style still breathed a faint and fine perfume<br /> +Of old-world courtliness and old-world bloom:<br /> +When speech was elegant and talk was fit<br /> +For slang had not been canonised as wit;<br /> +When manners reigned, when breeding had the wall,<br /> +And Women—yes!—were ladies first of all;<br /> +When Grace was conscious of its gracefulness,<br /> +And man—though Man!—was not ashamed to dress.<br /> +A brave formality, a measured ease,<br /> +Were his—and her’s—whose effort was to +please.<br /> +And to excel in pleasing was to reign<br /> +And, if you sighed, never to sigh in vain.</p> +<p class="poetry">But then, as now—it may be, something +more—<br /> +Woman and man were human to the core.<br /> +The hearts that throbbed behind that quaint attire<br /> +Burned with a plenitude of essential fire.<br /> +They too could risk, they also could rebel,<br /> +They could love wisely—they could love too well.<br /> +In that great duel of Sex, that ancient strife<br /> +Which is the very central fact of life,<br /> +They could—and did—engage it breath for breath,<br /> +They could—and did—get wounded unto death.<br /> +As at all times since time for us began<br /> +Woman was truly woman, man was man,<br /> +And joy and sorrow were as much at home<br /> +In trifling Tunbridge as in mighty Rome.</p> +<p class="poetry">Dead—dead and done with! Swift from +shine to shade<br /> +The roaring generations flit and fade.<br /> +To this one, fading, flitting, like the rest,<br /> +We come to proffer—be it worst or best—<br /> +A sketch, a shadow, of one brave old time;<br /> +A hint of what it might have held sublime;<br /> +A dream, an idyll, call it what you will,<br /> +Of man still Man, and woman—Woman still!</p> +<h3>ACT I.</h3> +<p><span class="smcap">Musical Induction</span>: ‘<i>Lascia +ch’io pianga</i>’ (<i>Rinaldo</i>).</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Handel</span>.</p> +<p><i>The Stage represents Miss Foster’s apartments at the +Wells</i>. <i>Doors</i>, <i>L. and C.</i>; <i>a window</i>, +<i>L. C.</i>, <i>looking on the street</i>; <i>a table R.</i>, +<i>laid for breakfast</i>.</p> +<h4>SCENE I</h4> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">Barbara</span>; +<i>to her</i> <span class="smcap">Miss Foster</span></p> +<p><span class="smcap">Barbara</span> (<i>out of +window</i>). Mr. Menteith! Mr. Menteith! Mr. +Menteith!—Drat his old head! Will nothing make him +hear?—Mr. Menteith!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Miss Foster</span> +(<i>entering</i>). Barbara! this is incredible: after all +my lessons, to be leaning from the window, and calling (for +unless my ears deceived me, you were positively calling!) into +the street.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Barbara</span>. Well, madam, just +wait until you hear who it was. I declare it was much more +for Miss Dorothy and yourself than for me; and if it was a little +countrified, I had a good excuse.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Miss Foster</span>. Nonsense, +child! At least, who was it?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Barbara</span>. Miss Evelina, I was +sure you would ask. Well, what do you think? I was +looking out of window at the barber’s opposite—</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Miss Foster</span>. Of which I +entirely disapprove—</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Barbara</span>. And first there came +out two of the most beautiful—the Royal livery, madam!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Miss Foster</span>. Of course, of +course: the Duke of York arrived last night. I trust you +did not hail the Duke’s footmen?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Barbara</span>. O no, madam, it was +after they were gone. Then, who should come out—but +you’ll never guess!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Miss Foster</span>. I shall +certainly not try.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Barbara</span>. Mr. Menteith +himself!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Miss Foster</span>. Why, child, I +never heard of him.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Barbara</span>. O madam, not the +Beau’s own gentleman?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Miss Foster</span>. Mr. +Austin’s servant. No? Is it possible? By +that, George Austin must be here.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Barbara</span>. No doubt of that, +madam; they’re never far apart. He came out feeling +his chin, madam, so; and a packet of letters under his arm, so; +and he had the Beau’s own walk to that degree you +couldn’t tell his back from his master’s.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Miss Foster</span>. My dear Barbara, +you too frequently forget yourself. A young woman in your +position must beware of levity.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Barbara</span>. Madam, I know it; +but la, what are you to make of me? Look at the time and +trouble dear Miss Dorothy was always taking—she that +trained up everybody—and see what’s come of it: +Barbara Ridley I was, and Barbara Ridley I am; and I don’t +do with fashionable ways—I can’t do with them; and +indeed, Miss Evelina, I do sometimes wish we were all back again +on Edenside, and Mr. Anthony a boy again, and dear Miss Dorothy +her old self, galloping the bay mare along the moor, and taking +care of all of us as if she was our mother, bless her heart!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Miss Foster</span>. Miss Dorothy +herself, child? Well, now you mention it, Tunbridge of late +has scarcely seemed to suit her constitution. She falls +away, has not a word to throw at a dog, and is ridiculously +pale. Well, now Mr. Austin has returned, after six months +of infidelity to the dear Wells, we shall all, I hope, be +brightened up. Has the mail come?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Barbara</span>. That it has, madam, +and the sight of Mr. Menteith put it clean out of my head. +(<i>With letters</i>.) Four for you, Miss Evelina, two for +me, and only one for Miss Dorothy. Miss Dorothy seems quite +neglected, does she not? Six months ago, it was a different +story.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Miss Foster</span>. Well, and +that’s true, Barbara, and I had not remarked it. I +must take her seriously to task. No young lady in her +position should neglect her correspondence. (<i>Opening a +letter</i>.) Here’s from that dear ridiculous boy, +the Cornet, announcing his arrival for to-day.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Barbara</span>. O madam, will he +come in his red coat?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Miss Foster</span>. I could not +conceive him missing such a chance. Youth, child, is always +vain, and Mr. Anthony is unusually young.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Barbara</span>. La, madam, he +can’t help that.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Miss Foster</span>. My child, I am +not so sure. Mr. Anthony is a great concern to me. He +was orphaned, to be sure, at ten years old; and ever since he has +been only as it were his sister’s son. Dorothy did +everything for him: more indeed than I thought quite ladylike, +but I suppose I begin to be old-fashioned. See how she +worked and slaved—yes, slaved!—for him: teaching him +herself, with what pains and patience she only could reveal, and +learning that she might be able; and see what he is now: a +gentleman, of course, but, to be frank, a very commonplace one: +not what I had hoped of Dorothy’s brother; not what I had +dreamed of the heir of two families—Musgrave and Foster, +child! Well, he may now meet Mr. Austin. He requires +a Mr. Austin to embellish and correct his manners. +(<i>Opening another letter</i>.) Why, Barbara, Mr. John +Scrope and Miss Kate Dacre are to be married!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Barbara</span>. La, madam, how +nice!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Miss Foster</span>. They are: As +I’m a sinful woman. And when will you be married, +Barbara? and when dear Dorothy? I hate to see old maids +a-making.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Barbara</span>. La, Miss Evelina, +there’s no harm in an old maid.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Miss Foster</span>. You speak like a +fool, child: sour grapes are all very well but it’s a +woman’s business to be married. As for Dorothy, she +is five-and-twenty, and she breaks my heart. Such a match, +too! Ten thousand to her fortune, the best blood in the +north, a most advantageous person, all the graces, the finest +sensibility, excellent judgment, the Foster walk; and all these +to go positively a-begging! The men seem stricken with +blindness. Why, child, when I came out (and I was the dear +girl’s image!) I had more swains at my feet in a fortnight +than our Dorothy in—O, I cannot fathom it: it must be the +girl’s own fault.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Barbara</span>. Why, madam, I did +think it was a case with Mr. Austin.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Miss Foster</span>. With Mr. Austin? +why, how very rustic! The attentions of a gentleman like +Mr. Austin, child, are not supposed to lead to matrimony. +He is a feature of society: an ornament: a personage: a private +gentleman by birth, but a kind of king by habit and +reputation. What woman could he marry? Those to whom +he might properly aspire are all too far below him. I have +known George Austin too long, child, and I understand that the +very greatness of his success condemns him to remain +unmarried.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Barbara</span>. Sure, madam, that +must be tiresome for him.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Miss Foster</span>. Some day, child, +you will know better than to think so. George Austin, as I +conceive him, and as he is regarded by the world, is one of the +triumphs of the other sex. I walked my first minuet with +him: I wouldn’t tell you the year, child, for worlds; but +it was soon after his famous rencounter with Colonel +Villiers. He had killed his man, he wore pink and silver, +was most elegantly pale, and the most ravishing creature!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Barbara</span>. Well, madam, I +believe that: he is the most beautiful gentleman still.</p> +<h4>SCENE II</h4> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To these</i>, <span +class="smcap">Dorothy</span>, <i>L</i></p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dorothy</span> (<i>entering</i>). +Good-morning, aunt! Is there anything for me? (<i>She +goes eagerly to table</i>, <i>and looks at letters</i>.)</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Miss Foster</span>. Good-morrow, +niece. Breakfast, Barbara.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dorothy</span> (<i>with letter +unopened</i>). Nothing.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Miss Foster</span>. And what do you +call that, my dear? (<i>Sitting</i>.) Is John Fenwick +nobody?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dorothy</span> (<i>looking at +letter</i>.) From John? O yes, so it is. +(<i>Lays down letter unopened</i>, <i>and sits to breakfast</i>, +<span class="smcap">Barbara</span> <i>waiting</i>.)</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Miss Foster</span> (<i>to</i> <span +class="smcap">Barbara</span>, <i>with plate</i>). Thanks, +child; now you may give me some tea. Dolly, I must insist +on your eating a good breakfast: I cannot away with your pale +cheeks and that Patience-on-a Monument kind of look. +(Toast, Barbara.) At Edenside you ate and drank and looked +like Hebe. What have you done with your appetite?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dorothy</span>. I don’t know, +aunt, I’m sure.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Miss Foster</span>. Then consider, +please, and recover it as soon as you can: to a young lady in +your position a good appetite is an attraction—almost a +virtue. Do you know that your brother arrives this +morning?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dorothy</span>. Dear Anthony! +Where is his letter, Aunt Evelina? I am pleased that he +should leave London and its perils, if only for a day.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Miss Foster</span>. My dear, there +are moments when you positively amaze. (Barbara, some +<i>pâté</i>, if you please!) I beg you not to +be a prude. All women, of course, are virtuous; but a prude +is something I regard with abhorrence. The Cornet is seeing +life, which is exactly what he wanted. You brought him up +surprisingly well; I have always admired you for it; but let us +admit—as women of the world, my dear—it was no +upbringing for a man. You and that fine solemn fellow, John +Fenwick, led a life that was positively no better than the Middle +Ages; and between the two of you, poor Anthony (who, I am sure, +was a most passive creature!) was so packed with principle and +admonition that I vow and declare he reminded me of Issachar +stooping between his two burdens. It was high time for him +to be done with your apron-string, my dear: he has all his wild +oats to sow; and that is an occupation which it is unwise to +defer too long. By the bye, have you heard the news? +The Duke of York has done us a service for which I was +unprepared. (More tea, Barbara!) George Austin, +bringing the prince in his train, is with us once more.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dorothy</span>. I knew he was +coming.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Miss Foster</span>. You knew, child? +and did not tell? You are a public criminal.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dorothy</span>. I did not think it +mattered, Aunt Evelina.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Miss Foster</span>. O do not +make-believe. I am in love with him myself, and have been +any time since Nelson and the Nile. As for you, Dolly, +since he went away six months ago, you have been positively in +the megrims. I shall date your loss of appetite from George +Austin’s vanishing. No, my dear, our family require +entertainment: we must have wit about us, and beauty, and the +<i>bel air</i>.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Barbara</span>. Well, Miss Dorothy, +perhaps it’s out of my place: but I do hope Mr. Austin will +come: I should love to have him see my necklace on.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dorothy</span>. Necklace? what +necklace? Did he give you a necklace?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Barbara</span>. Yes, indeed, Miss, +that he did: the very same day he drove you in his curricle to +Penshurst. You remember, Miss, I couldn’t go.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dorothy</span>. I remember.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Miss Foster</span>. And so do +I. I had a touch of . . . Foster in the blood: the family +gout, dears! . . . And you, you ungrateful nymph, had him a +whole day to yourself, and not a word to tell me when you +returned.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dorothy</span>. I remember. +(<i>Rising</i>.) Is that the necklace, Barbara? It +does not suit you. Give it me.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Barbara</span>. La, Miss Dorothy, I +wouldn’t for the world.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dorothy</span>. Come, give it +me. I want it. Thank you: you shall have my birthday +pearls instead.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Miss Foster</span>. Why, Dolly, I +believe you’re jealous of the maid. Foster, Foster: +always a Foster trick to wear the willow in anger.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dorothy</span>. I do not think, +madam, that I am of a jealous habit.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Miss Foster</span>. O, the personage +is your excuse! And I can tell you, child, that when George +Austin was playing Florizel to the Duchess’s Perdita, all +the maids in England fell a prey to green-eyed melancholy. +It was the <i>ton</i>, you see: not to pine for that Sylvander +was to resign from good society.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dorothy</span>. Aunt Evelina, stop; +I cannot endure to hear you. What is he after all but just +Beau Austin? What has he done—with half a century of +good health, what has he done that is either memorable or +worthy? Diced and danced and set fashions; vanquished in a +drawing-room, fought for a word; what else? As if these +were the meaning of life! Do not make me think so poorly of +all of us women. Sure, we can rise to admire a better kind +of man than Mr. Austin. We are not all to be snared with +the eye, dear aunt; and those that are—O! I know not +whether I more hate or pity them.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Miss Foster</span>. You will give me +leave, my niece: such talk is neither becoming in a young lady +nor creditable to your understanding. The world was made a +great while before Miss Dorothy Musgrave; and you will do much +better to ripen your opinions, and in the meantime read your +letter, which I perceive you have not opened. (<span +class="smcap">Dorothy</span> <i>opens and reads +letter</i>.) Barbara, child, you should not listen at +table.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Barbara</span>. Sure, madam, I hope +I know my place.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Miss Foster</span>. Then do not do +it again.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dorothy</span>. Poor John Fenwick! +he coming here!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Miss Foster</span>. Well, and why +not? Dorothy, my darling child, you give me pain. You +never had but one chance, let me tell you pointedly: and that was +John Fenwick. If I were you, I would not let my vanity so +blind me. This is not the way to marry.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dorothy</span>. Dear aunt, I shall +never marry.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Miss Foster</span>. A +fiddlestick’s end! every one must marry. +(<i>Rising</i>.) Are you for the Pantiles?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dorothy</span>. Not to-day, +dear,</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Miss Foster</span>. Well, well! have +your wish, Dolorosa. Barbara, attend and dress me.</p> +<h4>SCENE III</h4> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="smcap">Dorothy</span></p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dorothy</span>. How she tortures me, +poor aunt, my poor blind aunt; and I—I could break her +heart with a word. That she should see nothing, know +nothing—there’s where it kills. O, it is more +than I can bear . . . and yet, how much less than I +deserve! Mad girl, of what do I complain? that this dear +innocent woman still believes me good, still pierces me to the +soul with trustfulness. Alas, and were it otherwise, were +her dear eyes opened to the truth, what were left me but +death?—He, too—she must still be praising him, and +every word is a lash upon my conscience. If I could die of +my secret: if I could cease—but one moment cease—this +living lie; if I could sleep and forget and be at +rest!—Poor John! (<i>reading the letter</i>) he at least is +guiltless; and yet for my fault he too must suffer, he too must +bear part in my shame. Poor John Fenwick! Has he come +back with the old story: with what might have been, perhaps, had +we stayed by Edenside? Eden? yes, my Eden, from which I +fell. O my old north country, my old river—the river +of my innocence, the old country of my hopes—how could I +endure to look on you now? And how to meet +John?—John, with the old love on his lips, the old, honest, +innocent, faithful heart! There was a Dorothy once who was +not unfit to ride with him, her heart as light as his, her life +as clear as the bright rivers we forded; he called her his Diana, +he crowned her so with rowan. Where is that Dorothy now? +that Diana? she that was everything to John? For O, I did +him good; I know I did him good; I will still believe I did him +good: I made him honest and kind and a true man; alas, and could +not guide myself! And now, how will he despise me! +For he shall know; if I die, he shall know all; I could not live, +and not be true with him. (<i>She takes out the necklace +and looks at it</i>.) That he should have bought me from my +maid! George, George, that you should have stooped to +this! Basely as you have used me, this is the basest. +Perish the witness! (<i>She treads the trinket under +foot</i>.) Break, break like my heart, break like my hopes, +perish like my good name!</p> +<h4>SCENE IV</h4> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To her</i>, <span +class="smcap">Fenwick</span>, <i>C.</i></p> +<p><span class="smcap">Fenwick</span> (<i>after a +pause</i>). Is this how you receive me, Dorothy? Am I +not welcome?—Shall I go then?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dorothy</span> (<i>running to him</i>, +<i>with hands outstretched</i>). O no, John, not for +me. (<i>Turning</i>, <i>and pointing to the +necklace</i>.) But you find me changed.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Fenwick</span> (<i>with a movement towards +the necklace</i>). This?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dorothy</span>. No, no, let it +lie. That is a trinket—broken. But the old +Dorothy is dead.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Fenwick</span>. Dead, dear? +Not to me.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dorothy</span>. Dead to +you—dead to all men.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Fenwick</span>. Dorothy, I loved you +as a boy. There is not a meadow on Edenside but is dear to +me for your sake, not a cottage but recalls your goodness, not a +rock nor a tree but brings back something of the best and +brightest youth man ever had. You were my teacher and my +queen; I walked with you, I talked with you, I rode with you; I +lived in your shadow; I saw with your eyes. You will never +know, dear Dorothy, what you were to the dull boy you bore with; +you will never know with what romance you filled my life, with +what devotion, with what tenderness and honour. At night I +lay awake and worshipped you; in my dreams I saw you, and you +loved me; and you remember, when we told each other +stories—you have not forgotten, dearest—that Princess +Hawthorn that was still the heroine of mine: who was she? I +was not bold enough to tell, but she was you! You, my +virgin huntress, my Diana, my queen.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dorothy</span>. O silence, +silence—pity!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Fenwick</span>. No, dear; neither +for your sake nor mine will I be silenced. I have begun; I +must go on and finish, and put fortune to the touch. It was +from you I learned honour, duty, piety, and love. I am as +you made me, and I exist but to reverence and serve you. +Why else have I come here, the length of England, my heart +burning higher every mile, my very horse a clog to me? why, but +to ask you for my wife? Dorothy, you will not deny me.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dorothy</span>. You have not asked +me about this broken trinket?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Fenwick</span>. Why should I +ask? I love you.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dorothy</span>. Yet I must tell +you. Sit down. (<i>She picks up the necklace</i>, +<i>and stands looking at it</i>. <i>Then</i>, <i>breaking +down</i>.) O John, John, it’s long since I left +home.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Fenwick</span>. Too long, dear +love. The very trees will welcome you.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dorothy</span>. Ay, John, but I no +longer love you. The old Dorothy is dead, God pardon +her!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Fenwick</span>. Dorothy, who is the +man?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dorothy</span>. O poor +Dorothy! O poor dead Dorothy! John, you found me +breaking this: me, your Diana of the Fells, the Diana of your old +romance by Edenside. Diana—O what a name for +me! Do you see this trinket? It is a chapter in my +life. A chapter, do I say? my whole life, for there is none +to follow. John, you must bear with me, you must help +me. I have that to tell—there is a secret—I +have a secret, John—O, for God’s sake, +understand. That Diana you revered—O John, John, you +must never speak of love to me again.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Fenwick</span>. What do you +say? How dare you?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dorothy</span>. John, it is the +truth. Your Diana, even she, she whom you so believed in, +she who so believed in herself, came out into the world only to +be broken. I met, here at the Wells, a man—why should +I tell you his name? I met him, and I loved him. My +heart was all his own; yet he was not content with that: he must +intrigue to catch me, he must bribe my maid with this. +(<i>Throws the necklace on the table</i>.) Did he love +me? Well, John, he said he did; and be it so! He +loved, he betrayed, and he has left me.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Fenwick</span>. Betrayed?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dorothy</span>. Ay, even so; I was +betrayed. The fault was mine that I forgot our innocent +youth, and your honest love.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Fenwick</span>. Dorothy, O +Dorothy!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dorothy</span>. Yours is the pain; +but, O John, think it is for your good. Think in England +how many true maids may be waiting for your love, haw many that +can bring you a whole heart, and be a noble mother to your +children, while your poor Diana, at the first touch, has proved +all frailty. Go, go and be happy, and let me be +patient. I have sinned.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Fenwick</span>. By God, I’ll +have his blood.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dorothy</span>. Stop! I love +him. (<i>Between</i> <span class="smcap">Fenwick</span> +<i>and door</i>, <i>C.</i>)</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Fenwick</span>. What do I +care? I loved you too. Little he thought of that, +little either of you thought of that. His +blood—I’ll have his blood!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dorothy</span>. You shall never know +his name.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Fenwick</span>. Know it? Do +you think I cannot guess? Do you think I had not heard he +followed you. Do you think I had not suffered—O +suffered! George Austin is the man. Dear shall he pay +it!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dorothy</span> (<i>at his feet</i>). +Pity me; spare me, spare your Dorothy! I love +him—love him—love him!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Fenwick</span>. Dorothy, you have +robbed me of my happiness, and now you would rob me of my +revenge.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dorothy</span>. I know it; and shall +I ask, and you not grant?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Fenwick</span> (<i>raising her</i>). +No, Dorothy, you shall ask nothing, nothing in vain from +me. You ask his life; I give it you, as I would give you my +soul; as I would give you my life, if I had any left. My +life is done; you have taken it. Not a hope, not an end; +not even revenge. (<i>He sits</i>.) Dorothy, you see +your work.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dorothy</span>. O God, forgive +me.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Fenwick</span>. Ay, Dorothy, He +will, as I do.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dorothy</span>. As you do? Do +you forgive me, John?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Fenwick</span>. Ay, more than that, +poor soul. I said my life was done, I was wrong; I have +still a duty. It is not in vain you taught me; I shall +still prove to you that it was not in vain. You shall soon +find that I am no backward friend. Farewell.</p> +<h3>ACT II.</h3> +<p><span class="smcap">Musical Induction</span>: ‘<i>The +Lass of Richmond Hill</i>.’</p> +<p><i>The Stage represents George Austin’s +dressing-room</i>. <i>Elaborate toilet-table</i>, +<i>R.</i>, <i>with chair</i>; <i>a cheval glass so arranged as to +correspond with glass on table</i>. <i>Breakfast-table</i>, +<i>L.</i>, <i>front</i>. <i>Door</i>, <i>L.</i> +<i>The Beau is discovered at table</i>, <i>in dressing-grown</i>, +<i>trifling with correspondence</i>. <span +class="smcap">Menteith</span> <i>is frothing chocolate</i>.</p> +<h4>SCENE I</h4> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">Austin</span>, +<span class="smcap">Menteith</span></p> +<p><span class="smcap">Menteith</span>. At the +barber’s, Mr. George, I had the pleasure of meeting two of +the Dook’s gentlemen.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Austin</span>. Well, and was his +Royal Highness satisfied with his quarters?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Menteith</span>. Quite so, Mr. +George. Delighted, I believe.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Austin</span>. I am rejoiced to hear +it. I wish I could say I was as pleased with my journey, +Menteith. This is the first time I ever came to the Wells +in another person’s carriage; Duke or not, it shall be the +last, Menteith.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Menteith</span>. Ah, Mr. George, no +wonder. And how many times have we made that journey back +and forth?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Austin</span>. Enough to make us +older than we look.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Menteith</span>. To be sure, Mr. +George, you do wear well.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Austin</span>. <i>We</i> wear well, +Menteith.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Menteith</span>. I hear, Mr. George, +that Miss Musgrave is of the company.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Austin</span>. Is she so? +Well, well! well, well!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Menteith</span>. I’ve not seen +the young lady myself, Mr. George; but the barber tells me +she’s looking poorly.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Austin</span>. Poorly?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Menteith</span>. Yes, Mr. George, +poorly was his word.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Austin</span>. Well, Menteith, I am +truly sorry. She is not the first.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Menteith</span>. Yes, Mr. +George. (<i>A bell</i>. <span +class="smcap">Menteith</span> <i>goes out</i>, <i>and re-enters +with card</i>.)</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Austin</span> (<i>with card</i>). +Whom have we here? Anthony Musgrave?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Menteith</span>. A fine young man, +Mr. George; and with a look of the young lady, but not so +gentlemanly.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Austin</span>. You have an eye, you +have an eye. Let him in.</p> +<h4>SCENE II</h4> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">Austin</span>, +<span class="smcap">Menteith</span>, <span +class="smcap">Anthony</span></p> +<p><span class="smcap">Austin</span>. I am charmed to have +this opportunity, Mr. Musgrave. You belong to my old corps, +I think? And how does my good friend, Sir Frederick? +I had his line; but like all my old comrades, he thinks last +about himself, and gives me not of his news.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Anthony</span>. I protest, sir, this +is a very proud moment. Your name is still remembered in +the regiment. (<span class="smcap">Austin</span> +<i>bows</i>.) The Colonel—he keeps his health, sir, +considering his age (<span class="smcap">Austin</span> <i>bows +again</i>, <i>and looks at</i> <span +class="smcap">Menteith</span>)—tells us young men you were +a devil of a fellow in your time.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Austin</span>. I believe I +was—in my time. Menteith, give Mr. Musgrave a dish of +chocolate. So, sir, we see you at the Wells.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Anthony</span>. I have but just +alighted. I had but one thought, sir: to pay my respects to +Mr. Austin. I have not yet kissed my aunt and sister.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Austin</span>. In my time—to +which you refer—the ladies had come first.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Anthony</span>. The women? I +take you, sir. But then you see, a man’s relatives +don’t count. And besides, Mr. Austin, between men of +the world, I am fairly running away from the sex: I am positively +in flight. Little Hortense of the Opera; you know; she sent +her love to you. She’s mad about me, I think. +You never saw a creature so fond.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Austin</span>. Well, well, child! +you are better here. In my time—to which you have +referred—I knew the lady. Does she wear well?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Anthony</span>. I beg your pardon, +sir!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Austin</span>. No offence, child, no +offence. She was a very lively creature. But you +neglect your chocolate I see?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Anthony</span>. We don’t +patronise it, Mr. Austin; we haven’t for some years: the +service has quite changed since your time. You’d be +surprised.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Austin</span>. Doubtless. I +am.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Anthony</span>. I assure you, sir, I +and Jack Bosbury of the Fifty-Second—</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Austin</span>. The Hampshire +Bosburys?—</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Anthony</span>. I do not know +exactly, sir. I believe he is related.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Austin</span>. Or perhaps—I +remember a Mr. Bosbury, a cutter of coats. I have the +vanity to believe I formed his business.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Anthony</span>. I—I hope not, +sir. But as I was saying, I and this Jack Bosbury, and the +Brummagem Bantam—a very pretty light-weight, +sir—drank seven bottles of Burgundy to the three of us +inside the eighty minutes. Jack, sir, was a little cut; but +me and the Bantam went out and finished the evening on hot +gin. Life, sir, life! Tom Cribb was with us. He +spoke of you, too, Tom did: said you’d given him a wrinkle +for his second fight with the black man. No, sir, I assure +you, you’re not forgotten.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Austin</span> (<i>bows</i>). I am +pleased to learn it. In my time, I had an esteem for Mr. +Cribb.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Anthony</span>. O come, sir! but +your time cannot be said to be over.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Austin</span>. Menteith, you +hear?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Menteith</span>. Yes, Mr. +George.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Anthony</span>. The Colonel told me +that you liked to shake an elbow. Your big main, sir, with +Lord Wensleydale, is often talked about. I hope I may have +the occasion to sit down with you. I shall count it an +honour, I assure you.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Austin</span>. But would your aunt, +my very good friend, approve?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Anthony</span>. Why, sir, you do not +suppose I am in leading-strings?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Austin</span>. You forget, child: a +family must hang together. When I was young—in my +time—I was alone; and what I did concerned myself. +But a youth who has—as I think you have—a family of +ladies to protect, must watch his honour, child, and preserve his +fortune. You have no commands from Sir Frederick?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Anthony</span>. None, sir, none.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Austin</span>. Shall I find you this +noon upon the Pantiles? . . . I shall be charmed. Commend +me to your aunt and your fair sister. Menteith?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Menteith</span>. Yes, Mr. +George. (<i>Shows Anthony out</i>.)</p> +<h4>SCENE III</h4> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">Austin</span>, +<span class="smcap">Menteith</span>, <i>returning</i></p> +<p><span class="smcap">Austin</span>. Was I ever like that, +Menteith?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Menteith</span>. No, Mr. George, you +was always a gentleman.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Austin</span>. Youth, my good +fellow, youth.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Menteith</span>. Quite so, Mr. +George.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Austin</span>. Well, Menteith, we +cannot make no mend. We cannot play the jockey with +Time. Age is the test: of wine, Menteith, and men.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Menteith</span>. Me and you and the +old Hermitage, Mr. George, he-he!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Austin</span>. And the best of +these, the Hermitage. But come: we lose our day. Help +me off with this. (<span class="smcap">Menteith</span> +<i>takes off</i> <span class="smcap">Austin’s</span> +<i>dressing-gown</i>; <span class="smcap">Austin</span> <i>passes +R. to dressing-table</i>, <i>and takes up first cravat</i>.)</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Austin</span>. Will the hair do, +Menteith?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Menteith</span>. Never saw it lay +better, Mr. George. (<span class="smcap">Austin</span> +<i>proceeds to wind first cravat</i>. <i>A bell</i>: +<i>exit</i> <span class="smcap">Menteith</span>. <span +class="smcap">Austin</span> <i>drops first cravat in basket and +takes second</i>.)</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Austin</span> (<i>winding and +singing</i>)—</p> + +<blockquote><p> ‘I’d +crowns resign<br /> + To call her mine,<br /> +Sweet Lass of Richmond Hill!’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>(<i>Second cravat a failure</i>. <i>Re-enter</i> <span +class="smcap">Menteith</span> <i>with card</i>.) Fenwick? +of Allonby Shaw? A good family, Menteith, but I don’t +know the gentleman. (<i>Lays down card</i>, <i>and takes up +third cravat</i>.) Send him away with every +consideration.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Menteith</span>. To be sure, Mr. +George. (<i>He goes out</i>. <i>Third cravat a +success</i>. <i>Re-enter</i> <span +class="smcap">Menteith</span>.) He says, Mr. George, that +he has an errand from Miss Musgrave.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Austin</span> (<i>with +waistcoat</i>). Show him in, Menteith, at once. +(<i>Singing and fitting waistcoat at glass</i>)—</p> + +<blockquote><p> ‘I’d +crowns resign<br /> + To call her mine,<br /> +Sweet Lass of Richmond Hill!’</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>SCENE IV</h4> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">Austin</span>, +<i>R. to him</i> <span class="smcap">Menteith</span> <i>and</i> +<span class="smcap">Fenwick</span></p> +<p><span class="smcap">Menteith</span> (<i>announcing</i>). +Mr. Fenwick, Mr. George.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Austin</span>. At the name of Miss +Musgrave, my doors fly always open.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Fenwick</span>. I believe, sir, you +are acquainted with my cousin, Richard Gaunt?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Austin</span>. The county +member? An old and good friend. But you need not go +so far afield: I know your good house of Allonby Shaw since the +days of the Black Knight. We are, in fact, and at a very +royal distance, cousins.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Fenwick</span>. I desired, sir, from +the nature of my business, that you should recognise me for a +gentleman.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Austin</span>. The preliminary, sir, +is somewhat grave.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Fenwick</span>. My business is both +grave and delicate.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Austin</span>. Menteith, my good +fellow. (<i>Exit</i> <span +class="smcap">Menteith</span>.) Mr. Fenwick, honour me so +far as to be seated. (<i>They sit</i>.) I await your +pleasure.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Fenwick</span>. Briefly, sir, I am +come, not without hope, to appeal to your good heart.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Austin</span>. From Miss +Musgrave?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Fenwick</span>. No, sir, I abused +her name, and am here upon my own authority. Upon me the +consequence.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Austin</span>. Proceed</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Fenwick</span>. Mr. Austin, Dorothy +Musgrave is the oldest and dearest of my friends, is the lady +whom for ten years it has been my hope to make my wife. She +has shown me reason to discard that hope for another: that I may +call her Mrs. Austin.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Austin</span>. In the best interests +of the lady (<i>rising</i>) I question if you have been well +inspired. You are aware, sir, that from such interference +there is but one issue: to whom shall I address my friend?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Fenwick</span>. Mr. Austin, I am +here to throw myself upon your mercy. Strange as my errand +is, it will seem yet more strange to you that I came prepared to +accept at your hands any extremity of dishonour and not +fight. The lady whom it is my boast to serve has honoured +me with her commands. These are my law, and by these your +life is sacred.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Austin</span>. Then, sir (<i>with +his hand upon the bell</i>), his conversation becomes +impossible. You have me at too gross a disadvantage; and, +as you are a gentleman and respect another, I would suggest that +you retire.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Fenwick</span>. Sir, you speak of +disadvantage; think of mine. All my life long, with all the +forces of my nature, I have loved this lady. I came here to +implore her to be my wife, to be my queen; my saint she had been +always! She was too noble to deceive me. She told me +what you know. I will not conceal that my first mood was of +anger: I would have killed you like a dog. But, Mr. +Austin—bear with me awhile—I, on the threshold of my +life, who have made no figure in the world, nor ever shall now, +who had but one treasure, and have lost it—if I, abandoning +revenge, trampling upon jealousy, can supplicate you to complete +my misfortune—O Mr. Austin! you who have lived, you whose +gallantry is beyond the insolence of a suspicion, you who are a +man crowned and acclaimed, who are loved, and loved by such a +woman—you who excel me in every point of advantage, will +you suffer me to surpass you in generosity?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Austin</span>. You speak from the +heart. (<i>Sits</i>.) What do you want with me?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Fenwick</span>. Marry her.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Austin</span>. Mr. Fenwick, I am the +older man. I have seen much of life, much of society, much +of love. When I was young, it was expected of a gentleman +to be ready with his hat to a lady, ready with his sword to a +man; to honour his word and his king; to be courteous with his +equals, generous to his dependants, helpful and trusty in +friendship. But it was not asked of us to be +quixotic. If I had married every lady by whom it is my +fortune—not my merit—to have been distinguished, the +Wells would scarce be spacious enough for my establishment. +You see, sir, that while I respect your emotion, I am myself +conducted by experience. And besides, Mr. Fenwick, is not +love a warfare? has it not rules? have not our fair antagonists +their tactics, their weapons, their place of arms? and is there +not a touch of—pardon me the word! of silliness in one who, +having fought, and having vanquished, sounds a parley, and +capitulates to his own prisoner? Had the lady chosen, had +the fortune of war been other, ’tis like she had been Mrs. +Austin. Now I . . . You know the world.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Fenwick</span>. I know, sir, that +the world contains much cowardice. To find Mr. Austin +afraid to do the right, this surprises me.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Austin</span>. Afraid, child?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Fenwick</span>. Yes, sir, +afraid. You know her, you know if she be worthy; and you +answer me with—the world: the world which has been at your +feet: the world which Mr. Austin knows so well how to value and +is so able to rule.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Austin</span>. I have lived long +enough, Mr. Fenwick, to recognise that the world is a great +power. It can make; but it can break.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Fenwick</span>. Sir, suffer me: you +spoke but now of friendship, and spoke warmly. Have you +forgotten Colonel Villiers?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Austin</span>. Mr. Fenwick, Mr. +Fenwick, you forget what I have suffered.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Fenwick</span>. O sir, I know you +loved him. And yet, for a random word you quarrelled; +friendship was weighed in vain against the world’s code of +honour; you fought, and your friend fell. I have heard from +others how he lay long in agony, and how you watched and nursed +him, and it was in your embrace he died. In God’s +name have you forgotten that? Was not this sacrifice +enough? or must the world, once again, step between Mr. Austin +and his generous heart?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Austin</span>. Good God, sir, I +believe you are in the right; I believe, upon my soul I believe, +there is something in what you say.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Fenwick</span>. Something, Mr. +Austin? O credit me, the whole difference betwixt good and +evil.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Austin</span>. Nay, nay, but there +you go too far. There are many kinds of good: honour is a +diamond cut in a thousand facets, and with the true fire in +each. Thus, and with all our differences, Mr. Fenwick, you +and I can still respect, we can still admire each other.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Fenwick</span>. Bear with me still, +sir, if I ask you what is the end of life but to excel in +generosity? To pity the weak, to comfort the afflicted, to +right where we have wronged, to be brave in +reparation—these noble elements you have; for of what +besides is the fabric of your dealing with Colonel +Villiers? That is man’s chivalry to man. Yet to +a suffering woman—a woman feeble, betrayed, +unconsoled—you deny your clemency, you refuse your aid, you +proffer injustice for atonement. Nay, you are so disloyal +to yourself that you can choose to be ungenerous and +unkind. Where, sir, is the honour? What facet of the +diamond is that?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Austin</span>. You forget, sir, you +forget. But go on.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Fenwick</span>. O sir, not +I—not I but yourself forgets: George Austin forgets George +Austin. A woman loved by him, betrayed by him, abandoned by +him—that woman suffers; and a point of honour keeps him +from his place at her feet. She has played and lost, and +the world is with him if he deign to exact the stakes. Is +that the Mr. Austin whom Miss Musgrave honoured with her +trust? Then, sir, how miserably was she deceived!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Austin</span>. +Child—child—</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Fenwick</span>. Mr. Austin, still +bear with me, still follow me. O sir, will you not picture +that dear lady’s life? Her years how few, her error +thus irreparable, what henceforth can be her portion but remorse, +the consciousness of self-abasement, the shame of knowing that +her trust was ill-bestowed? To think of it: this was a +queen among women; and this—this is George Austin’s +work! Sir, let me touch your heart: let me prevail with you +to feel that ’tis impossible.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Austin</span>. I am a +gentleman. What do you ask of me?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Fenwick</span>. To be the man she +loved: to be clement where the world would have you triumph, to +be of equal generosity with the vanquished, to be worthy of her +sacrifice and of yourself.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Austin</span>. Mr. Fenwick, your +reproof is harsh—</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Fenwick</span> (<i>interrupting +him</i>). O sir, be, just be just!—</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Austin</span>. But it is merited, +and I thank you for its utterance. You tell me that the +true victory comes when the fight is won: that our foe is never +so noble nor so dangerous as when she is fallen, that the +crowning triumph is that we celebrate over our conquering +selves. Sir, you are right. Kindness, ay kindness +after all. And with age, to become clement. Yes, +ambition first; then, the rounded vanity—victory still +novel; and last, as you say, the royal mood of the mature man; to +abdicate for others . . . Sir, you touched me hard about my dead +friend; still harder about my living duty; and I am not so young +but I can take a lesson. There is my hand upon it: she +shall be my wife.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Fenwick</span>. Ah, Mr. Austin, I +was sure of it.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Austin</span>. Then, sir, you were +vastly mistaken. There is nothing of Beau Austin +here. I have simply, my dear child, sate at the feet of Mr. +Fenwick.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Fenwick</span>. Ah, sir, your heart +was counsellor enough.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Austin</span>. Pardon me. I am +vain enough to be the judge: there are but two people in the +world who could have wrought this change: yourself and that dear +lady. (<i>Touches bell</i>.) Suffer me to dismiss +you. One instant of toilet, and I follow. Will you do +me the honour to go before, and announce my approach? +(<i>Enter</i> <span class="smcap">Menteith</span>.)</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Fenwick</span>. Sir, if my +admiration—</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Austin</span>. Dear child, the +admiration is the other way. (<i>Embraces him</i>. +<span class="smcap">Menteith</span> <i>shows him out</i>.)</p> +<h4>SCENE V</h4> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="smcap">Austin</span></p> +<p><span class="smcap">Austin</span>. Upon my word, I think +the world is getting better. We were none of us young men +like that—in my time, to quote my future brother. +(<i>He sits down before the mirror</i>.) Well, here ends +Beau Austin. Paris, Rome, Vienna, London—victor +everywhere: and now he must leave his bones in Tunbridge +Wells. (<i>Looks at his leg</i>.) Poor Dolly +Musgrave! a good girl after all, and will make me a good wife; +none better. The last—of how many?—ay, and the +best! Walks like Hebe. But still, here ends Beau +Austin. Perhaps it’s time. Poor Dolly—was +she looking poorly? She shall have her wish. Well, we +grow older, but we grow no worse.</p> +<h4>SCENE VI</h4> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">Austin</span>, +<span class="smcap">Menteith</span></p> +<p><span class="smcap">Austin</span>. Menteith, I am going +to be married.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Menteith</span>. Well, Mr. George, +but I am pleased to hear it. Miss Musgrave is a most +elegant lady.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Austin</span>. Ay, Mr. Menteith? and +who told you the lady’s name?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Menteith</span>. Mr. George, you was +always a gentleman.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Austin</span>. You mean I +wasn’t always? Old boy, you are in the right. +This shall be a good change for both you and me. We have +lived too long like a brace of truants: now is the time to draw +about the fire. How much is left of the old Hermitage?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Menteith</span>. Hard upon thirty +dozen, Mr. George, and not a bad cork in the bin.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Austin</span>. And a mistress, +Menteith, that’s worthy of that wine.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Menteith</span>. Mr. George, sir, +she’s worthy of you.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Austin</span>. Gad, I believe +it. (<i>Shakes hands with him</i>.)</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Menteith</span> (<i>breaking +down</i>). Mr. George, you’ve been a damned good +master to me, and I’ve been a damned good servant to you; +we’ve been proud of each other from the first; but if +you’ll excuse my plainness, Mr. George, I never liked you +better than to-day.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Austin</span>. Cheer up, old boy, +the best is yet to come. Get out the tongs, and curl me +like a bridegroom. (<i>Sits before dressing-glass</i>; +<span class="smcap">Menteith</span> <i>produces curling irons and +plies them</i>. <span class="smcap">Austin</span> +<i>sings</i>)—</p> + +<blockquote><p> ‘I’d +crowns resign<br /> + To call her mine,<br /> +Sweet Lass of Richmond Hill!’</p> +</blockquote> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">Drop</span></p> +<h3>ACT III.</h3> +<p><span class="smcap">Musical Induction</span>: the +‘Minuet’ from ‘<i>Don Giovanni</i>’</p> +<p><i>The stage represents Miss Foster’s lodging as in Act +I</i>.</p> +<h4>SCENE I</h4> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">Dorothy</span>, +R., <i>at tambour</i>; <span class="smcap">Anthony</span>, +<i>C.</i>, <i>bestriding chair</i>; <span class="smcap">Miss +Foster</span>, <i>L.C.</i></p> +<p><span class="smcap">Anthony</span>. Yes, ma’am, I +like my regiment: we are all gentlemen, from old Fred downwards, +and all of a good family. Indeed, so are all my friends, +except one tailor sort of fellow, Bosbury. But I’m +done with him. I assure you, Aunt Evelina, we are +Corinthian to the last degree. I wouldn’t shock you +ladies for the world—</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Miss Foster</span>. Don’t mind +me, my dear; go on.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Anthony</span>. Really, ma’am, +you must pardon me: I trust I understand what topics are to be +avoided among females—And before my sister, too! A +girl of her age!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dorothy</span>. Why, you dear, silly +fellow, I’m old enough to be your mother.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Anthony</span>. My dear Dolly, you +do not understand; you are not a man of the world. But, as +I was going on to say, there is no more spicy regiment in the +service.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Miss Foster</span>. I am not +surprised that it maintains its old reputation. You know, +my dear (<i>to</i> <span class="smcap">Dorothy</span>), it was +George Austin’s regiment.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dorothy</span>. Was it, aunt?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Anthony</span>. Beau Austin? +Yes, it was; and a precious dust they make about him +still—a parcel of old frumps! That’s why I went +to see him. But he’s quite extinct: he couldn’t +be Corinthian if he tried.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Miss Foster</span>. I am afraid that +even at your age George Austin held a very different position +from the distinguished Anthony Musgrave.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Anthony</span>. Come, ma’am, I +take that unkindly. Of course I know what you’re at: +of course the old pût cut no end of a dash with the +Duchess.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Miss Foster</span>. My dear child, I +was thinking of no such thing; <i>that</i> was immoral.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Anthony</span>. Then you mean that +affair at Brighton: when he cut the Prince about Perdita +Robinson.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Miss Foster</span>. No, I had +forgotten it.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Anthony</span>. O, well, I +know—that duel! But look here, Aunt Evelina, I +don’t think you’d be much gratified after all if I +were to be broke for killing my commanding officer about a +quarrel at cards.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dorothy</span>. Nobody asks you, +Anthony, to imitate Mr. Austin. I trust you will set +yourself a better model. But you may choose a worse. +With all his faults, and all his enemies, Mr. Austin is a pattern +gentleman: You would not ask a man to be braver, and there are +few so generous. I cannot bear to hear him called in fault +by one so young. Better judges, dear, are better +pleased.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Anthony</span>. Hey-day! +what’s this?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Miss Foster</span>. Why, Dolly, this +is April and May. You surprise me.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dorothy</span>. I am afraid, indeed, +madam, that you have much to suffer from my caprice. +(<i>She goes out</i>, <i>L.</i>)</p> +<h4>SCENE II</h4> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">Anthony</span>, +<span class="smcap">Miss Foster</span></p> +<p><span class="smcap">Anthony</span>. What is the meaning +of all this, ma’am? I don’t like it.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Miss Foster</span>. Nothing, child, +that I know. You spoke of Mr. Austin, our dear friend, like +a groom; and she, like any lady of taste, took arms in his +defence.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Anthony</span>. No, ma’am, +that won’t do. I know the sex. You mark my +words, the girl has some confounded nonsense in her head, and +wants looking after.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Miss Foster</span>. In my presence, +Anthony, I shall ask you to speak of Dorothy with greater +respect. With your permission, your sister and I will +continue to direct our own affairs. When we require the +interference of so young and confident a champion, you shall +know. (<i>Curtsies</i>, <i>kisses her hand</i>, <i>and goes +out</i>, <i>L.</i>)</p> +<h4>SCENE III</h4> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="smcap">Anthony</span></p> +<p><span class="smcap">Anthony</span>. Upon my word, I +think Aunt Evelina one of the most uncivil old women in the +world. Nine weeks ago I came of age; and they still treat +me like a boy. I’m a recognised Corinthian, too: take +my liquor with old Fred, and go round with the Brummagem Bantam +and Jack Bosb— . . . O damn Jack Bosbury. If his +father was a tailor, he shall fight me for his ungentlemanly +conduct. However, that’s all one. What I want +is to make Aunt Evelina understand that I’m not the man to +be put down by an old maid who’s been brought up in a +work-basket, begad! I’ve had nothing but rebuffs all +day. It’s very remarkable. There was that man +Austin, to begin with. I’ll be hanged if I can stand +him. I hear too much of him; and if I can only get a good +excuse to put him to the door, I believe it would give Dorothy +and all of us a kind of a position. After all, he’s +not a man to visit in the house of ladies: not when I’m +away, at least. Nothing in it of course; but is he a man +whose visits I can sanction?</p> +<h4>SCENE IV</h4> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">Anthony</span>, +<span class="smcap">Barbara</span></p> +<p><span class="smcap">Barbara</span>. Please, Mr. Anthony, +Miss Foster said I was to show your room.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Anthony</span>. Ha! +Baby? Now, you come here. You’re a girl of +sense, I know.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Barbara</span>. La, Mr. Anthony, I +hope I’m nothing of the kind.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Anthony</span>. Come, come! +that’s not the tone I want: I’m serious. Does +this man Austin come much about the house?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Barbara</span>. O Mr. Anthony, for +shame! Why don’t you ask Miss Foster?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Anthony</span>. Now I wish you to +understand: I’m the head of this family. It’s +my business to look after my sister’s reputation, and my +aunt’s too, begad! That’s what I’m here +for: I’m their natural protector. And what I want +you, Barbara Ridley, to understand—you whose fathers have +served my fathers—is just simply this: if you’ve any +common gratitude, you’re bound to help me in the +work. Now Barbara, you know me, and you know my Aunt +Evelina. She’s a good enough woman; I’m the +first to say so. But who is she to take care of a young +girl? She’s ignorant of the world to that degree she +believes in Beau Austin! Now you and I, Bab, who are not so +high and dry, see through and through him; we know that a man +like that is no fit company for any inexperienced girl.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Barbara</span>. O Mr. Anthony, +don’t say that. (<i>Weeping</i>.)</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Anthony</span>. Hullo! what’s +wrong?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Barbara</span>. Nothing that I know +of. O Mr. Anthony, I don’t think there can be +anything.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Anthony</span>. Think? +Don’t think? What’s this?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Barbara</span>. O sir! I +don’t know, and yet I don’t like it. +Here’s my beautiful necklace all broke to bits: she took it +off my very neck, and gave me her birthday pearls instead; and I +found it afterwards on the table, all smashed to pieces; and all +she wanted it for was to take and break it. Why that? +It frightens me, Mr. Anthony, it frightens me.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Anthony</span> (<i>with +necklace</i>). This? What has this trumpery to do +with us?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Barbara</span>. He gave it me: +that’s why she broke it.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Anthony</span>. He? who?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Barbara</span>. Mr. Austin did; and +I do believe I should not have taken it, Mr. Anthony, but I +thought no harm, upon my word of honour. He was always +here: that was six months ago; and indeed, indeed, I thought they +were to marry. How would I think else with a born lady like +Miss Dorothy?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Anthony</span>. Why, Barbara, God +help us all, what’s this? You don’t mean to say +that there was—</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Barbara</span>. Here it is, as true +as true: they were going for a jaunt; and Miss Foster had her +gout; and I was to go with them; and he told me to make-believe I +was ill; and I did; and I stayed at home; and he gave me that +necklace; and they went away together; and, oh dear! I wish +I’d never been born.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Anthony</span>. Together? he and +Dolly? Good Lord! my sister! And since then?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Barbara</span>. We haven’t +seen him from that day to this, the wicked villain; and, Mr. +Anthony, he hasn’t so much as written the poor dear a +word.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Anthony</span>. Bab, Bab, Bab, this +is a devil of a bad business; this is a cruel bad business, Baby; +cruel upon me, cruel upon all of us; a family like mine. +I’m a young man, Barbara, to have this delicate affair to +manage; but, thank God, I’m Musgrave to the bone. He +bribed a servant-maid, did he? I keep his bribe; it’s +mine now; dear bought, by George! He shall have it in his +teeth. Shot Colonel Villiers, did he? we’ll see how +he faces Anthony Musgrave. You’re a good girl, +Barbara; so far you’ve served the family. You leave +this to me. And, hark ye, dry your eyes and hold your +tongue: I’ll have no scandal raised by you.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Barbara</span>. I do hope, sir, you +won’t use me against Miss Dorothy.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Anthony</span>. That’s my +affair; your business is to hold your tongue. Miss Dorothy +has made her bed and must lie on it. Here’s Jack +Fenwick. You can go.</p> +<h4>SCENE V</h4> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">Anthony</span>, +<span class="smcap">Fenwick</span></p> +<p><span class="smcap">Anthony</span>. Jack Fenwick, is +that you? Come here, my boy. Jack, you’ve given +me many a thrashing, and I deserved ’em; and I’ll not +see you made a fool of now. George Austin is a damned +villain, and Dorothy Musgrave is no girl for you to marry: God +help me that I should have to say it.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Fenwick</span>. Good God, who told +<i>you</i>?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Anthony</span>. Ay, Jack; it’s +hard on me, Jack. But you’ll stand my friend in spite +of this, and you’ll take my message to the man, won’t +you? For it’s got to come to blood, Jack: +there’s no way out of that. And perhaps your poor +friend will fall, Jack; think of that: like Villiers. And +all for an unworthy sister.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Fenwick</span>. Now, Anthony +Musgrave, I give you fair warning; see you take it: one word more +against your sister, and we quarrel.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Anthony</span>. You let it slip +yourself, Jack: you know yourself she’s not a virtuous +girl.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Fenwick</span>. What do you know of +virtue, whose whole boast is to be vicious? How dare you +draw conclusions? Dolt and puppy! you can no more +comprehend that angel’s excellencies than she can stoop to +believe in your vices. And you talk morality? +Anthony, I’m a man who has been somewhat roughly tried: +take care.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Anthony</span>. You don’t seem +able to grasp the situation, Jack. It’s very +remarkable; I’m the girl’s natural protector; and you +should buckle-to and help, like a friend of the family. And +instead of that, begad! you turn on me like all the rest.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Fenwick</span>. Now mark me fairly: +Mr. Austin follows at my heels; he comes to offer marriage to +your sister—that is all you know, and all you shall know; +and if by any misplaced insolence of yours this marriage should +miscarry, you have to answer, not to Mr. Austin only, but to +me.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Anthony</span>. It’s all a +most discreditable business, and I don’t see how you +propose to better it by cutting my throat. Of course if +he’s going to marry her, it’s a different thing; but +I don’t believe he is, or he’d have asked me. +You think me a fool? Well see they marry, or they’ll +find me a dangerous fool.</p> +<h4>SCENE VI</h4> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To these</i>, <span +class="smcap">Austin</span>, <span class="smcap">Barbara</span> +<i>announcing</i>.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Barbara</span>. Mr. Austin. +(<i>She shows</i> <span class="smcap">Austin</span> <i>in</i>, +<i>and retires</i>.)</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Austin</span>. You will do me the +justice to acknowledge, Mr. Fenwick, that I have been not long +delayed by my devotion to the Graces.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Anthony</span>. So, sir, I find you +in my house—</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Austin</span>. And charmed to meet +you again. It went against my conscience to separate so +soon. Youth, Mr. Musgrave, is to us older men a perpetual +refreshment.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Anthony</span>. You came here, sir, +I suppose, upon some errand?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Austin</span>. My errand, Mr. +Musgrave, is to your fair sister. Beauty, as you know, +comes before valour.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Anthony</span>. In my own house, and +about my own sister, I presume I have the right to ask for +something more explicit.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Austin</span>. The right, my dear +sir, is beyond question; but it is one, as you were going on to +observe, on which no gentleman insists.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Fenwick</span>. Anthony, my good +fellow, I think we had better go.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Anthony</span>. I have asked a +question.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Austin</span>. Which I was charmed +to answer, but which, on repetition, might begin to grow +distasteful.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Anthony</span>. In my own +house—</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Fenwick</span>. For God’s +sake, Anthony!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Austin</span>. In your aunt’s +house, young gentleman, I shall be careful to refrain from +criticism. I am come upon a visit to a lady: that visit I +shall pay; when you desire (if it be possible that you desire it) +to resume this singular conversation, select some fitter +place. Mr. Fenwick, this afternoon, may I present you to +his Royal Highness?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Anthony</span>. Why, sir, I believe +you must have misconceived me. I have no wish to offend: at +least at present.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Austin</span>. Enough, sir. I +was persuaded I had heard amiss. I trust we shall be +friends.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Fenwick</span>. Come, Anthony, come: +here is your sister.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">(<i>As</i> <span +class="smcap">Fenwick</span> <i>and</i> <span +class="smcap">Anthony</span> <i>go out</i>, <i>C.</i>, +<i>enter</i> <span class="smcap">Dorothy</span>, <i>L.</i>)</p> +<h4>SCENE VII</h4> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">Austin</span>, +<span class="smcap">Dorothy</span></p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dorothy</span>. I am told, Mr. +Austin, that you wish to see me.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Austin</span>. Madam, can you doubt +of that desire? can you question my sincerity?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dorothy</span>. Sir, between you and +me these compliments are worse than idle: they are unkind. +Sure, we are alone!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Austin</span>. I find you in an hour +of cruelty, I fear. Yet you have condescended to receive +this poor offender; and having done so much, you will not refuse +to give him audience.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dorothy</span>. You shall have no +cause, sir, to complain of me. I listen.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Austin</span>. My fair friend, I +have sent myself—a poor ambassador—to plead for your +forgiveness. I have been too long absent; too long, I would +fain hope, madam, for you; too long for my honour and my +love. I am no longer, madam, in my first youth; but I may +say that I am not unknown. My fortune, originally small, +has not suffered from my husbandry. I have excellent +health, an excellent temper, and the purest ardour of affection +for your person. I found not on my merits, but on your +indulgence. Miss Musgrave, will you honour me with your +hand in marriage?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dorothy</span>. Mr. Austin, if I +thought basely of marriage, I should perhaps accept your +offer. There was a time, indeed, when it would have made me +proudest among women. I was the more deceived, and have to +thank you for a salutary lesson. You chose to count me as a +cipher in your rolls of conquest; for six months you left me to +my fate; and you come here to-day—prompted, I doubt not, by +an honourable impulse—to offer this tardy reparation. +No: it is too late.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Austin</span>. Do you refuse?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dorothy</span>. Yours is the blame: +we are no longer equal. You have robbed me of the right to +marry any one but you; and do you think me, then, so poor in +spirit as to accept a husband on compulsion?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Austin</span>. Dorothy, you loved me +once.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dorothy</span>. Ay, you will never +guess how much: you will never live to understand how ignominious +a defeat that conquest was. I loved and trusted you: I +judged you by myself; think, then, of my humiliation, when, at +the touch of trial, all your qualities proved false, and I beheld +you the slave of the meanest vanity—selfish, untrue, +base! Think, sir, what a humbling of my pride to have been +thus deceived: to have taken for my idol such a commonplace +imposture as yourself; to have loved—yes, loved—such +a shadow, such a mockery of man. And now I am unworthy to +be the wife of any gentleman; and you—look me in the face, +George—are you worthy to be my husband?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Austin</span>. No, Dorothy, I am +not. I was a vain fool; I blundered away the most precious +opportunity; and my regret will be lifelong. Do me the +justice to accept this full confession of my fault. I am +here to-day to own and to repair it.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dorothy</span>. Repair it? Sir +you condescend too far.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Austin</span>. I perceive with shame +how grievously I had misjudged you. But now, Dorothy, +believe me, my eyes are opened. I plead with you, not as my +equal, but as one in all ways better than myself. I admire +you, not in that trivial sense in which we men are wont to speak +of women, but as God’s work: as a wise mind, a noble soul, +and a most generous heart, from whose society I have all to gain, +all to learn. Dorothy, in one word, I love you.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dorothy</span>. And what, sir, has +wrought this transformation? You knew me of old, or thought +you knew me? Is it in six months of selfish absence that +your mind has changed? When did that change begin? A +week ago? Sure, you would have written! To-day? +Sir, if this offer be anything more than fresh offence, I have a +right to be enlightened.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Austin</span>. Madam, I foresaw this +question. So be it: I respect, and I will not deceive +you. But give me, first of all, a moment for defence. +There are few men of my habits and position who would have done +as I have done: sate at the feet of a young boy, accepted his +lessons, gone upon his errand: fewer still, who would thus, at +the crisis of a love, risk the whole fortune of the +soul—love, gratitude, even respect. Yet more than +that! For conceive how I respect you, if I, whose lifelong +trade has been flattery, stand before you and make the plain +confession of a truth that must not only lower me, but deeply +wound yourself.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dorothy</span>. What +means—?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Austin</span>. Young Fenwick, my +rival for your heart, he it was that sent me.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dorothy</span>. He? O +disgrace! He sent you! That was what he meant? +Am I fallen so low? Am I your common talk among men? +Did you dice for me? Did he kneel? O John, John, how +could you! And you, Mr. Austin, whither have you brought me +down? shame heaping upon shame—to what end! oh, to what +end?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Austin</span>. Madam, you wound me: +you look wilfully amiss. Sure, any lady in the land might +well be proud to be loved as you are loved, with such nobility as +Mr. Fenwick’s, with such humility as mine. I came, +indeed, in pity, in good-nature, what you will. (See, +dearest lady, with what honesty I speak: if I win you, it shall +be with the unblemished truth.) All that is gone. +Pity? it is myself I pity. I offer you not love—I am +not worthy. I ask, I beseech of you: suffer me to wait upon +you like a servant, to serve you with my rank, my name, the whole +devotion of my life. I am a gentleman—ay, in spite of +my fault—an upright gentleman; and I swear to you that you +shall order your life and mine at your free will. Dorothy, +at your feet, in remorse, in respect, in love—O such love +as I have never felt, such love as I derided—I implore, I +conjure you to be mine!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dorothy</span>. Too late! too +late.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Austin</span>. No, no, not too late: +not too late for penitence, not too late for love.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dorothy</span>. Which do you +propose? that I should abuse your compassion, or reward your +treachery? George Austin, I have been your mistress, and I +will never be your wife.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Austin</span>. Child, dear child, I +have not told you all: there is worse still: your brother knows; +the boy as good as told me. Dorothy, this is scandal at the +door—O let that move you: for that, if not for my sake, for +that, if not for love, trust me, trust me again.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dorothy</span>. I am so much the +more your victim: that is all, and shall that change my +heart? The sin must have its wages. This, too, was +done long ago: when you stooped to lie to me. The shame is +still mine, the fault still yours.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Austin</span>. Child, child, you +kill me: you will not understand. Can you not see? the lad +will force me to a duel.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dorothy</span>. And you will kill +him? Shame after shame, threat upon threat. Marry me, +or you are dishonoured; marry me, or your brother dies: and this +is man’s honour! But my honour and my pride are +different. I will encounter all misfortune sooner than +degrade myself by an unfaithful marriage. How should I +kneel before the altar, and vow to reverence as my husband you, +you who deceived me as my lover?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Austin</span>. Dorothy, you misjudge +me cruelly; I have deserved it. You will not take me for +your husband; why should I wonder? You are right. I +have indeed filled your life with calamity: the wages, ay, the +wages, of my sin are heavy upon you. But I have one more +thing to ask of your pity; and O remember, child, who it is that +asks it: a man guilty in your sight, void of excuse, but old, and +very proud, and most unused to supplication. Dorothy +Musgrave, will you forgive George Austin?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dorothy</span>. O, George!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Austin</span>. It is the old name: +that is all I ask, and more than I deserve. I shall +remember, often remember, how and where it was bestowed upon me +for the last time. I thank you, Dorothy, from my heart; a +heart, child, that has been too long silent, but is not too old, +I thank God! not yet too old, to learn a lesson and to accept a +reproof. I will not keep you longer: I will go—I am +so bankrupt in credit that I dare not ask you to believe in how +much sorrow. But, Dorothy, my acts will speak for me with +more persuasion. If it be in my power, you shall suffer no +more through me: I will avoid your brother; I will leave this +place, I will leave England, to-morrow; you shall be no longer +tortured with the neighbourhood of your ungenerous lover. +Dorothy, farewell!</p> +<h4>SCENE VIII</h4> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">Dorothy</span>; +<i>to whom</i>, <span class="smcap">Anthony</span>, <i>L.</i></p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dorothy</span> (<i>on her knees</i>, +<i>and reaching with her hands</i>.) George, George! +(<i>Enter</i> <span class="smcap">Anthony</span>.)</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Anthony</span>. Ha! what are you +crying for?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dorothy</span>. Nothing, dear! +(<i>Rising</i>.)</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Anthony</span>. Is Austin going to +marry you?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dorothy</span>. I shall never +marry.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Anthony</span>. I thought as +much. You should have come to me.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dorothy</span>. I know, dear, I +know; but there was nothing to come about.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Anthony</span>. It’s a +lie. You have disgraced the family. You went to John +Fenwick: see what he has made of it! But I will have you +righted: it shall be atoned in the man’s blood.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dorothy</span>. Anthony! And +if I had refused him?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Anthony</span>. You? refuse George +Austin? You never had the chance.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dorothy</span>. I have refused +him.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Anthony</span>. Dorothy, you +lie. You would shield your lover; but this concerns not you +only: it strikes my honour and my father’s honour.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dorothy</span>. I have refused +him—refused him, I tell you—refused him. The +blame is mine; are you so mad and wicked that you will not +see?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Anthony</span>. I see this: that man +must die.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dorothy</span>. He? never! You +forget, you forget whom you defy; you run upon your death.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Anthony</span>. Ah, my girl, you +should have thought of that before. It is too late now.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dorothy</span>. Anthony, if I beg +you—Anthony, I have tried to be a good sister; I brought +you up, dear, nursed you when you were sick, fought for you, +hoped for you, loved you—think of it, think of the dear +past, think of our home and the happy winter nights, the castles +in the fire, the long shining future, the love that was to +forgive and suffer always—O you will spare, you will spare +me this.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Anthony</span>. I will tell you what +I will do, Dolly: I will do just what you taught me—my +duty: that, and nothing else.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dorothy</span>. O Anthony, you also, +you to strike me! Heavens, shall I kill +them—I—I, that love them, kill them! Miserable, +sinful girl! George, George, thank God, you will be far +away! O go, George, go at once!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Anthony</span>. He goes the +coward! Ay, is this more of your contrivance? Madam, +you make me blush. But to-day at least I know where I can +find him. This afternoon, on the Pantiles, he must dance +attendance on the Duke of York. Already he must be there; +and there he is at my mercy.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dorothy</span>. Thank God, you are +deceived: he will not fight. He promised me that; thank God +I have his promise for that.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Anthony</span>. Promise! Do +you see this? (<i>producing necklace</i>) the thing he bribed +your maid with? I shall dash it in his teeth before the +Duke and before all Tunbridge. Promise, you poor fool? what +promise holds against a blow? Get to your knees and pray +for him; for, by the God above, if he has any blood in his body, +one of us shall die before to-night. (<i>He goes +out</i>.)</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dorothy</span>. Anthony, Anthony! . +. . O my God, George will kill him.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>Music</i>: ‘<i>Chè +farò</i>,’ <i>as the drop falls</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="smcap">Drop</span>.</p> +<h3>ACT IV.</h3> +<p><span class="smcap">Musical Induction</span>: +‘Gavotte;’ ‘<i>Iphigénie en +Aulide</i>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Gluck</span></p> +<p><i>The Stage represents the Pantiles</i>: <i>the alleys +fronting the spectators in parallel lines</i>. <i>At the +back</i>, <i>a stand of musicians</i>, <i>from which the</i> +‘<i>Gavotte</i>’ <i>is repeated on muted +strings</i>. <i>The music continues nearly through Scene +I</i>. <i>Visitors walking to and fro beneath the +lines</i>. <i>A seat in front</i>, <i>L.</i></p> +<h4>SCENE I</h4> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">Miss +Foster</span>, <span class="smcap">Barbara</span>, <span +class="smcap">Menteith</span>; <i>Visitors</i></p> +<p><span class="smcap">Miss Foster</span> (<i>entering</i>; +<i>escorted by</i> <span class="smcap">Menteith</span>, <i>and +followed by</i> <span class="smcap">Barbara</span>). And +so, Menteith, here you are once more. And vastly pleased I +am to see you, my good fellow, not only for your own sake, but +because you harbinger the Beau. (<i>Sits</i>, <i>L.</i>; +<span class="smcap">Menteith</span> <i>standing over +her</i>.)</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Menteith</span>. Honoured madam, I +have had the pleasure to serve Mr. George for more than thirty +years. This is a privilege—a very great +privilege. I have beheld him in the first societies, moving +among the first rank of personages; and none, madam, none +outshone him.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Barbara</span>. I assure you, madam, +when Mr. Menteith took me to the play, he talked so much of Mr. +Austin that I couldn’t hear a word of Mr. Kean.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Miss Foster</span>. Well, well, and +very right. That was the old school of service, Barbara, +which you would do well to imitate. This is a child, +Menteith, that I am trying to form.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Menteith</span>. Quite so, +madam.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Miss Foster</span>. And are we soon +to see our princely guest, Menteith?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Menteith</span>. His Royal Highness, +madam? I believe I may say quite so. Mr. George will +receive our gallant prince upon the Pantiles (<i>looking at his +watch</i>) in, I should say, a matter of twelve minutes from +now. Such, madam, is Mr. George’s order of the +day.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Barbara</span>. I beg your pardon, +madam, I am sure, but are we really to see one of His +Majesty’s own brothers? That will be pure! O +madam, this is better than Carlisle.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Miss Foster</span>. The wood-note +wild: a loyal Cumbrian, Menteith.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Menteith</span>. Eh? Quite so, +madam.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Miss Foster</span>. When she has +seen as much of the Royal Family as you, my good fellow, she will +find it vastly less entertaining.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Menteith</span>. Yes, madam, indeed; +In these distinguished circles, life is but a slavery. None +of the best set would relish Tunbridge without Mr. George; +Tunbridge and Mr. George (if you’ll excuse my plainness, +madam) are in a manner of speaking identified; and indeed it was +the Dook’s desire alone that brought us here.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Barbara</span>. What? the +Duke? O dear! was it for that?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Menteith</span>. Though, to be sure, +madam, Mr. George would always be charmed to find himself +(<i>bowing</i>) among so many admired members of his own set.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Miss Foster</span>. Upon my word, +Menteith, Mr. Austin is as fortunate in his servant as his +reputation.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Menteith</span>. Quite so, +madam. But let me observe that the opportunities I have had +of acquiring a knowledge of Mr. George’s character have +been positively unrivalled. Nobody knows Mr. George like +his old attendant. The goodness of that +gentleman—but, madam, you will soon be equally fortunate, +if, as I understand, it is to be a match.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Miss Foster</span>. I hope, +Menteith, you are not taking leave of your senses. Is it +possible you mean my niece?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Menteith</span>. Madam, I have the +honour to congratulate you. I put a second curl in Mr. +George’s hair on purpose.</p> +<h4>SCENE II</h4> +<p><i>To these</i>, <span class="smcap">Austin</span>. +<span class="smcap">Menteith</span> <i>falls back</i>, <i>and</i> +<span class="smcap">Austin</span> <i>takes his place in front +of</i> <span class="smcap">Miss Foster</span>, <i>his attitude a +counterpart of</i> <span +class="smcap">Menteith’s</span>.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Austin</span>. Madam, I hasten to +present my homage.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Miss Foster</span>. A truce to +compliments! Menteith, your charming fellow there, has set +me positively crazy. Dear George Austin, is it true? can it +be true?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Austin</span>. Madam, if he has been +praising your niece he has been well inspired. If he was +speaking, as I spoke an hour ago myself, I wish, Miss Foster, +that he had held his tongue. I have indeed offered myself +to Miss Dorothy, and she, with the most excellent reason, has +refused me.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Miss Foster</span>. Is it possible? +why, my dear George Austin . . . then I suppose it is John +Fenwick after all!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Austin</span>. Not one of us is +worthy.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Miss Foster</span>. This is the most +amazing circumstance. You take my breath away. My +niece refuse George Austin? why, I give you my word, I thought +she had adored you. A perfect scandal: it positively must +not get abroad.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Austin</span>. Madam, for that young +lady I have a singular regard. Judge me as tenderly as you +can, and set it down, if you must, to an old man’s +vanity—for, Evelina, we are no longer in the heyday of our +youth—judge me as you will: I should prefer to have it +known.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Miss Foster</span>. Can you? +George Austin, you? My youth was nothing; I was a failure; +but for you? no, George, you never can, you never must be +old. You are the triumph of my generation, George, and of +our old friendship too. Think of my first dance and my +first partner. And to have this story—no, I could not bear +to have it told of you.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Austin</span>. Madam, there are some +ladies over whom it is a boast to have prevailed; there are +others whom it is a glory to have loved. And I am so vain, +dear Evelina, that even thus I am proud to link my name with that +of Dorothy Musgrave.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Miss Foster</span>. George, you are +changed. I would not know you.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Austin</span>. I scarce know +myself. But pardon me, dear friend (<i>taking his +watch</i>), in less than four minutes our illustrious guest will +descend amongst us; and I observe Mr. Fenwick, with whom I have a +pressing business. Suffer me, dear Evelina!—</p> +<h4>SCENE III</h4> +<p><i>To these</i>, <span class="smcap">Fenwick</span>. +<span class="smcap">Miss Foster</span> <i>remains seated</i>, +<i>L.</i> <span class="smcap">Austin</span> <i>goes R. +to</i> <span class="smcap">Fenwick</span>, <i>whom he salutes +with great respect</i></p> +<p><span class="smcap">Austin</span>. Mr. Fenwick, I have +played and lost. That noble lady, justly incensed at my +misconduct, has condemned me. Under the burden of such a +loss, may I console myself with the esteem of Mr. Fenwick?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Fenwick</span>. She refused +you? Pardon me, sir, but was the fault not yours?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Austin</span>. Perhaps to my shame, +I am no novice, Mr. Fenwick; but I have never felt nor striven as +to-day. I went upon your errand; but, you may trust me, +sir, before I had done I found it was my own. Until to-day +I never rightly valued her; sure, she is fit to be a queen. +I have a remorse here at my heart to which I am a stranger. +Oh! that was a brave life, that was a great heart that I have +ruined.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Fenwick</span>. Ay, sir, indeed.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Austin</span>. But, sir, it is not +to lament the irretrievable that I intrude myself upon your +leisure. There is something to be done, to save, at least +to spare, that lady. You did not fail to observe the +brother?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Fenwick</span>. No, sir, he knows +all; and being both intemperate and ignorant—</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Austin</span>. Surely. I +know. I have to ask you then to find what friends you can +among this company; and if you have none, to make them. Let +everybody hear the news. Tell it (if I may offer the +suggestion) with humour: how Mr. Austin, somewhat upon the wane, +but still filled with sufficiency, gloriously presumed and was +most ingloriously set down by a young lady from the north: the +lady’s name a secret, which you will permit to be +divined. The laugh—the position of the +hero—will make it circulate;—you perceive I am in +earnest;—and in this way I believe our young friend will +find himself forestalled.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Fenwick</span>. Mr. Austin, I would +not have dared to ask so much of you; I will go further: were the +positions changed, I should fear to follow your example.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Austin</span>. Child, child, you +could not afford it.</p> +<h4>SCENE IV</h4> +<p><i>To there</i>, <i>the</i> <span class="smcap">Royal +Duke</span>, <i>C.</i>; <i>then</i>, <i>immediately</i>, <span +class="smcap">Anthony</span>, <i>L.</i> <span +class="smcap">Fenwick</span> <i>crosses to</i> <span +class="smcap">Miss Foster</span>, <i>R.</i> <span +class="smcap">Austin</span> <i>accosts the</i> <span +class="smcap">Duke</span>, <i>C.</i>, <i>in dumb show</i>; <i>the +muted strings take up a new air</i>, <i>Mozart’s</i> +‘<i>Anglaise</i>’; <i>couples passing under the +limes</i>, <i>and forming a group behind</i> <span +class="smcap">Austin</span> <i>and the</i> <span +class="smcap">Duke</span>. <span +class="smcap">Anthony</span> <i>in front</i>, <i>L.</i>, +<i>watches</i> <span class="smcap">Austin</span>, <i>who</i>, +<i>as he turns from the</i> <span class="smcap">Duke</span>, +<i>sees him</i>, <i>and comes forward with extended hand</i></p> +<p><span class="smcap">Austin</span>. Dear child, let me +present you to his Royal Highness.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Anthony</span> (<i>with +necklace</i>). Mr. Austin, do you recognise the bribe you +gave my sister’s maid?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Austin</span>. Hush, sir, hush! you +forget the presence of the Duke.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Anthony</span>. Mr. Austin, you are +a coward and a scoundrel.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Austin</span>. My child, you will +regret these words: I refuse your quarrel.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Anthony</span>. You do? Take +that. (<i>He strikes</i> <span class="smcap">Austin</span> +<i>on the mouth</i>. <i>At the moment of the +blow</i>—)</p> +<h4>SCENE V</h4> +<p><i>To these</i>, <span class="smcap">Dorothy</span>, <i>L. U. +E.</i> <span class="smcap">Dorothy</span>, <i>unseen by</i> +<span class="smcap">Austin</span>, <i>shrieks</i>. +<i>Sensation</i>. <i>Music stops</i>. +<i>Tableau</i></p> +<p><span class="smcap">Austin</span> (<i>recovering his +composure</i>). Your Royal Highness, suffer me to excuse +the disrespect of this young gentleman. He has so much +apology, and I have, I hope, so good a credit, as incline me to +accept this blow. But I must beg of your Highness, and, +gentlemen, all of you here present, to bear with me while I will +explain what is too capable of misconstruction. I am the +rejected suitor of this young gentleman’s sister; of Miss +Dorothy Musgrave: a lady whom I singularly honour and esteem; a +word from whom (if I could hope that word) would fill my life +with happiness. I was not worthy of that lady; when I was +defeated in fair field, I presumed to make advances through her +maid. See in how laughable a manner fate repaid me! +The waiting-girl derided, the mistress denied, and now comes in +this very ardent champion who publicly insults me. My +vanity is cured; you will judge it right, I am persuaded, all of +you, that I should accept my proper punishment in silence; you, +my Lord Duke, to pardon this young gentleman; and you, Mr. +Musgrave, to spare me further provocation, which I am determined +to ignore.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dorothy</span> (<i>rushing forward</i>, +<i>falling at</i> <span class="smcap">Austin’s</span> +<i>knees</i>, <i>and seizing his hand</i>). George, George, +it was for me. My hero! take me! What you will!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Austin</span> (<i>in an agony</i>). +My dear creature, remember that we are in public. +(<i>Raising her</i>.) Your Royal Highness, may I present +you Mrs. George Frederick Austin? (<i>The Curtain falls on +a few bars of the</i> ‘<i>Lass of Richmond +Hill</i>.’)</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">THE END</p> +<h2><a name="page177"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +177</span>ADMIRAL GUINEA</h2> +<p style="text-align: center">DEDICATED<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">WITH AFFECTION AND ESTEEM</span><br /> +TO ANDREW LANG BY<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">THE SURVIVORS OF</span><br /> +THE <i>WALRUS</i></p> +<p><span class="smcap">Savannah</span>, this 27<i>th</i> day +of<br /> + <i>September</i> 1884</p> +<h3>PERSONS REPRESENTED</h3> +<p><span class="smcap">John Gaunt</span>, called ‘<span +class="smcap">Admiral Guinea</span>,’ once Captain of the +Slaver <i>Arethusa</i>.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Arethusa Gaunt</span>, his Daughter.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">David Pew</span>, a Blind Beggar, once +Boatswain of the <i>Arethusa</i></p> +<p><span class="smcap">Kit French</span>, a Privateersman.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Mrs. Drake</span>, Landlady of the +<i>Admiral Benbow</i> Inn.</p> + +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p>The Scene is laid in the neighbourhood of Barnstaple. +The Time is about the year 1760. The action occupies part +of a day and night.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p><span class="smcap">Note</span>.—<i>Passages suggested +for omission in representation are enclosed in square +brackets</i>, <i>thus</i> [ ].</p> +<h3>ACT I.</h3> +<p><i>The Stage represents a room in the Admiral Guinea’s +house</i>: <i>fireplace</i>, <i>arm-chair</i>, <i>and table with +Bible</i>, <i>L.</i>, <i>towards the front</i>; <i>door C.</i>, +<i>with window on each side</i>, <i>the window on the R.</i>, +<i>practicable</i>; <i>doors</i>, <i>R. and L.</i>, <i>back</i>; +<i>corner cupboard</i>, <i>a brass-strapped sea-chest fixed to +the wall and floor</i>, <i>R.</i>; <i>cutlasses</i>, +<i>telescopes</i>, <i>sextant</i>, <i>quadrant</i>, <i>a +calendar</i>, <i>and several maps upon the wall</i>; <i>a ship +clock</i>; <i>three wooden chairs</i>; <i>a dresser against +wall</i>, <i>R. C.</i>; <i>on the chimney-piece the model of a +brig and several shells</i>. <i>The centre bare of +furniture</i>. <i>Through the widows and the door</i>, +<i>which is open</i>, <i>green trees and a small field of +sea</i>.</p> +<h4>SCENE I</h4> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">Arethusa</span> +<i>is discovered</i>, <i>dusting</i></p> +<p><span class="smcap">Arethusa</span>. Ten months and a +week to-day! Now for a new mark. Since the last, the +sun has set and risen over the fields and the pleasant trees at +home, and on Kit’s lone ship and the empty sea. +Perhaps it blew; perhaps rained; (<i>at the chart</i>) perhaps he +was far up here to the nor’ard, where the icebergs sail; +perhaps at anchor among these wild islands of the snakes and +buccaneers. O, you big chart, if I could see him sailing on +you! North and South Atlantic; such a weary sight of water +and no land; never an island for the poor lad to land upon. +But still, God’s there. (<i>She takes down the +telescope to dust it</i>.) Father’s spy-glass again; +and my poor Kit perhaps with such another, sweeping the great +deep!</p> +<h4>SCENE II</h4> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="smcap">Arethusa</span>; <i>to her</i>, <span +class="smcap">Kit</span>, <i>C.</i> [<i>He enters on +tiptoe</i>, <i>and she does not see or hear him</i>]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Arethusa</span> (<i>dusting +telescope</i>). At sea they have less dust at least: +that’s so much comfort.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Kit</span>. Sweetheart, ahoy!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Arethusa</span>. Kit!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Kit</span>. Arethusa.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Arethusa</span>. My Kit! Home +again—O my love!—home again to me!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Kit</span>. As straight as wind and +tide could carry me!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Arethusa</span>. O Kit, my +dearest. O Kit—O! O!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Kit</span>. Hey? Steady, lass: +steady, I say. For goodness’ sake, ease it off.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Arethusa</span>. I will, Kit—I +will. But you came so sudden.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Kit</span>. I thought ten months of +it about preparation enough.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Arethusa</span>. Ten months and a +week: you haven’t counted the days as I have. Another +day gone, and one day nearer to Kit: that has been my +almanac. How brown you are! how handsome!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Kit</span>. A pity you can’t +see yourself! Well, no, I’ll never be handsome: brown +I may be, never handsome. But I’m better than that, +if the proverb’s true; for I’m ten hundred thousand +fathoms deep in love. I bring you a faithful sailor. +What! you don’t think much of that for a curiosity? +Well, that’s so: you’re right; the rarity is in the +girl that’s worth it ten times over. Faithful? +I couldn’t help it if I tried! No, sweetheart, and I +fear nothing: I don’t know what fear is, but just of losing +you. (<i>Starting</i>.) Lord, that’s not the +Admiral?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Arethusa</span>. Aha, Mr. +Dreadnought! you see you fear my father.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Kit</span>. That I do. But, +thank goodness, it’s nobody. Kiss me: no, I +won’t kiss you: kiss <i>me</i>. I’ll give you a +present for that. See!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Arethusa</span>. A wedding-ring!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Kit</span>. My mother’s. +Will you take it?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Arethusa</span>. Yes, will +I—and give myself for it.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Kit</span>. Ah, if we could only +count upon your father! He’s a man every inch of him; +but he can’t endure Kit French.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Arethusa</span>. He hasn’t +learned to know you, Kit, as I have, nor yet do you know +him. He seems hard and violent; at heart he is only a man +overwhelmed with sorrow. Why else, when he looks at me and +does not know that I observe him, should his face change, and +fill with such tenderness, that I could weep to see him? +Why, when he walks in his sleep, as he does almost every night, +his eyes open and beholding nothing, why should he cry so +pitifully on my mother’s name? Ah, if you could hear +him then, you would say yourself: here is a man that has loved; +here is a man that will be kind to lovers.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Kit</span>. Is that so? Ay, +it’s a hard thing to lose your wife; ay, that must cut the +heart indeed. But for all that, my lass, your father is +keen for the doubloons.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Arethusa</span>. Right, Kit: and +small blame to him. There is only one way to be honest, and +the name of that is thrift.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Kit</span>. Well, and that’s +my motto. I’ve left the ship; no more letter of +marque for me. Good-bye to Kit French, +privateersman’s mate; and how-d’ye-do to Christopher, +the coasting skipper. I’ve seen the very boat for me: +I’ve enough to buy her, too; and to furnish a good house, +and keep a shot in the locker for bad luck. So far, +there’s nothing to gainsay. So far it’s hopeful +enough; but still there’s Admiral Guinea, you +know—and the plain truth is that I’m afraid of +him.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Arethusa</span>. Admiral +Guinea? Now Kit, if you are to be true lover of mine, you +shall not use that name. His name is Captain Gaunt. +As for fearing him, Kit French, you’re not the man for me, +if you fear anything but sin. He’s a stern man +because he’s in the right.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Kit</span>. He is a man of God; I am +what he calls a child of perdition. I was a +privateersman—serving my country, I say; but he calls it +pirate. He is thrifty and sober; he has a treasure, they +say, and it lies so near his heart that he tumbles up in his +sleep to stand watch over it. What has a harum-scarum dog +like me to expect from a man like him? He won’t see +I’m starving for a chance to mend; ‘Mend,’ +he’ll say; ‘I’ll be shot if you mend at the +expense of my daughter;’ and the worst of it is, you see, +he’ll be right.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Arethusa</span>. Kit, if you dare to +say that faint-hearted word again, I’ll take my ring +off. What are we here for but to grow better or grow +worse? Do you think Arethusa French will be the same as +Arethusa Gaunt?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Kit</span>. I don’t want her +better.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Arethusa</span>. Ah, but she shall +be!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Kit</span>. Hark, here he is! +By George, it’s neck or nothing now. Stand by to back +me up.</p> +<h4>SCENE III</h4> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To these</i>, <span +class="smcap">Gaunt</span>, <i>C.</i></p> +<p><span class="smcap">Kit</span> (<i>with</i> <span +class="smcap">Arethusa’s</span> <i>hand</i>). Captain +Gaunt, I have come to ask you for your daughter.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Gaunt</span>. Hum. (<i>He sits +in his chair</i>, <i>L.</i>)</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Kit</span>. I love her, and she +loves me, sir. I’ve left the privateering. +I’ve enough to set me up and buy a tidy sloop—Jack +Lee’s; you know the boat, Captain; clinker built, not four +years old, eighty tons burthen, steers like a child. +I’ve put my mother’s ring on Arethusa’s finger; +and if you’ll give us your blessing, I’ll engage to +turn over a new leaf, and make her a good husband.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Gaunt</span>. In whose strength, +Christopher French?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Kit</span>. In the strength of my +good, honest love for her: as you did for her mother, and my +father for mine. And you know, Captain, a man can’t +command the wind; but (excuse me, sir) he can always lie the best +course possible, and that’s what I’ll do, so God help +me.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Gaunt</span>. Arethusa, you at least +are the child of many prayers; your eyes have been unsealed; and +to you the world stands naked, a morning watch for duration, a +thing spun of cobwebs for solidity. In the presence of an +angry God, I ask you: have you heard this man?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Arethusa</span>. Father, I know Kit, +and I love him.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Gaunt</span>. I say it solemnly, +this is no Christian union. To you, Christopher French, I +will speak nothing of eternal truths: I will speak to you the +language of this world. You have been trained among sinners +who gloried in their sin: in your whole life you never saved one +farthing; and now, when your pockets are full, you think you can +begin, poor dupe, in your own strength. You are a +roysterer, a jovial companion; you mean no harm—you are +nobody’s enemy but your own. No doubt you tell this +girl of mine, and no doubt you tell yourself, that you can +change. Christopher, speaking under correction, I defy +you! You ask me for this child of many supplications, for +this brand plucked from the burning: I look at you; I read you +through and through; and I tell you—no! (<i>Striking +table with his fist</i>.)</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Kit</span>. Captain Gaunt, if you +mean that I am not worthy of her, I’m the first to say +so. But, if you’ll excuse me, sir, I’m a young +man, and young men are no better’n they ought to be; +it’s known; they’re all like that; and what’s +their chance? To be married to a girl like this! And +would you refuse it to me? Why, sir, you yourself, when you +came courting, you were young and rough; and yet I’ll make +bold to say that Mrs. Gaunt was a happy woman, and the saving of +yourself into the bargain. Well, now, Captain Gaunt, will +you deny another man, and that man a sailor, the very salvation +that you had yourself?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Gaunt</span>. Salvation, Christopher +French, is from above.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Kit</span>. Well, sir, that is so; +but there’s means, too; and what means so strong as the +wife a man has to strive and toil for, and that bears the +punishment whenever he goes wrong? Now, sir, I’ve +spoke with your old shipmates in the Guinea trade. Hard as +nails, they said, and true as the compass: as rough as a slaver, +but as just as a judge. Well, sir, you hear me plead: I ask +you for my chance; don’t you deny it to me.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Gaunt</span>. You speak of me? +In the true balances we both weigh nothing. But two things +I know: the depth of iniquity, how foul it is; and the agony with +which a man repents. Not until seven devils were cast out +of me did I awake; each rent me as it passed. Ay, that was +repentance. Christopher, Christopher, you have sailed +before the wind since first you weighed your anchor, and now you +think to sail upon a bowline? You do not know your ship, +young man: you will go to le’ward like a sheet of paper; I +tell you so that know—I tell you so that have tried, and +failed, and wrestled in the sweat of prayer, and at last, at +last, have tasted grace. But, meanwhile, no flesh and blood +of mine shall lie at the mercy of such a wretch as I was then, or +as you are this day. I could not own the deed before the +face of heaven if I sanctioned this unequal yoke. Arethusa, +pluck off that ring from off your finger. Christopher +French, take it, and go hence.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Kit</span>. Arethusa, what do you +say?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Arethusa</span>. O Kit, you know my +heart. But he is alone, and I am his only comfort; and I +owe all to him; and shall I not obey my father? But, Kit, +if you will let me, I will keep your ring. Go, Kit; go, and +prove to my father that he was mistaken; go and win me. And +O, Kit, if ever you should weary, come to me—no, do not +come! but send a word—and I shall know all, and you shall +have your ring. (<span class="smcap">Gaunt</span> <i>opens +his Bible and begins to read</i>.)</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Kit</span>. Don’t say that, +don’t say such things to me; I sink or swim with you. +(<i>To</i> <span class="smcap">Gaunt</span>.) Old man, +you’ve struck me hard; give me a good word to go +with. Name your time; I’ll stand the test. Give +me a spark of hope, and I’ll fight through for it. +Say just this—‘Prove I was mistaken,’ and by +George, I’ll prove it.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Gaunt</span> (<i>looking up</i>). I +make no such compacts. Go, and swear not at all.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Arethusa</span>. Go, Kit! I +keep the ring.</p> +<h4>SCENE IV</h4> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="smcap">Arethusa</span>, <span +class="smcap">Gaunt</span></p> +<p><span class="smcap">Arethusa</span>. Father, what have +we done that you should be so cruel?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Gaunt</span> (<i>laying down Bible</i>, +<i>and rising</i>). Do you call me cruel? You speak +after the flesh. I have done you this day a service that +you will live to bless me for upon your knees.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Arethusa</span>. He loves me, and I +love him: you can never alter that; do what you will, father, +that can never change. I love him, I believe in him, I will +be true to him.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Gaunt</span>. Arethusa, you are the +sole thing death has left me on this earth; and I must watch over +your carnal happiness and your eternal weal. You do not +know what this implies to me. Your mother—my +Hester—tongue cannot tell, nor heart conceive the pangs she +suffered. If it lies in me, your life shall not be lost on +that same reef of an ungodly husband. (<i>Goes out</i>, +<i>C.</i>)</p> +<h4>SCENE V</h4> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="smcap">Arethusa</span></p> +<p><span class="smcap">Arethusa</span>. I thought the time +dragged long and weary when I knew that Kit was homeward bound, +all the white sails a-blowing out towards England, and my +Kit’s face turned this way? (<i>She begins to +dust</i>.) Sure, if my mother were here, she would +understand and help us; she would understand a young maid’s +heart, though her own had never an ache; and she would love my +Kit. (<i>Putting back the telescope</i>.) To think +she died: husband and child—and so much love—she was +taken from them all. Ah, there is no parting but the +grave! And Kit and I both live, and both love each other; +and here am I cast down? O, Arethusa, shame! And your +love home from the deep seas, and loving you still; and the sun +shining; and the world all full of hope? O, hope, +you’re a good word!</p> +<h4>SCENE VI</h4> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="smcap">Gaunt</span></p> +<p><span class="smcap">Arethusa</span>; <i>to her</i>, <span +class="smcap">Pew</span></p> +<p><span class="smcap">Pew</span> (<i>singing +without</i>)—</p> +<blockquote><p> ‘Time +for us to go!<br /> + Time for us to go!<br /> +And we’ll keep the brig three pints away,<br /> + For it’s time for us to +go.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p><span class="smcap">Arethusa</span>. Who comes here? a +seaman by his song, and father out! (<i>She tries the +air</i>) ‘Time for us to go!’ It sounds a +wild kind of song. (<i>Tap-tap</i>; <span +class="smcap">Pew</span> <i>passes the window</i>.) O, what +a face—and blind!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Pew</span> (<i>entering</i>). Kind +Christian friends, take pity on a poor blind mariner, as lost his +precious sight in the defence of his native country, England, and +God bless King George!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Arethusa</span>. What can I do for +you, sailor?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Pew</span>. Good Christian lady, +help a poor blind mariner to a mouthful of meat. I’ve +served His Majesty in every quarter of the globe; I’ve +spoke with ’Awke and glorious Anson, as I might with you; +and I’ve tramped it all night long, upon my sinful feet, +and with a empty belly.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Arethusa</span>. You shall not ask +bread and be denied by a sailor’s daughter and a +sailor’s sweetheart; and when my father returns he shall +give you something to set you on your road.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Pew</span>. Kind and lovely lady, do +you tell me that you are in a manner of speaking alone? or do my +ears deceive a poor blind seaman?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Arethusa</span>. I live here with my +father, and my father is abroad.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Pew</span>. Dear, beautiful, +Christian lady, tell a poor blind man your honoured name, that he +may remember it in his poor blind prayers.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Arethusa</span>. Sailor, I am +Arethusa Gaunt.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Pew</span>. Sweet lady, answer a +poor blind man one other question: are you in a manner of +speaking related to Cap’n John Gaunt? Cap’n +John as in the ebony trade were known as Admiral Guinea?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Arethusa</span>. Captain John Gaunt +is my father.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Pew</span> (<i>dropping the blind +man’s whine</i>). Lord, think of that now! They +told me this was where he lived, and so it is. And +here’s old Pew, old David Pew, as was the Admiral’s +own bo’sun, colloguing in his old commander’s +parlour, with his old commander’s gal (<i>seizes</i> <span +class="smcap">Arethusa</span>). Ah, and a bouncer you are, +and no mistake.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Arethusa</span>. Let me go! how dare +you?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Pew</span>. Lord love you, +don’t you struggle, now, don’t you. (<i>She +escapes into front R. corner</i>, <i>where he keeps her +imprisoned</i>.) Ah, well, we’ll get you again, my +lovely woman. What a arm you’ve got—great god +of love—and a face like a peach! I’m a judge, I +am. (<i>She tries to escape; he stops her</i>.) No, +you don’t; O, I can hear a flea jump! [But it’s +here where I miss my deadlights. Poor old Pew; him as the +ladies always would have for their fancy man and take no denial; +here you are with your commander’s daughter close aboard, +and you can’t so much as guess the colour of her lovely +eyes. (<i>Singing</i>)—</p> +<blockquote><p> ‘Be they black like +ebony;<br /> +Or be they blue like to the sky.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Black like the Admiral’s? or blue like his poor dear +wife’s? Ah, I was fond of that there woman, I was: +the Admiral was jealous of me.] Arethusa, my dear,—my +heart, what a ’and and arm you <i>have</i> got; I’ll +dream o’ that ’and and arm, I will!—but as I +was a-saying, does the Admiral ever in a manner of speaking refer +to his old bo’sun David Pew? him as he fell out with about +the black woman at Lagos, and almost slashed the shoulder off of +him one morning before breakfast?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Arethusa</span>. You leave this +house.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Pew</span>. Hey? (<i>he crosses and +seizes her again</i>) Don’t you fight, my lovely one: +now don’t make old blind Pew forget his manners before a +female. What! you will? Stop that, or I’ll have +the arm right out of your body. (<i>He gives her arm a +wrench</i>.)</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Arethusa</span>. O! help, help!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Pew</span>. Stash your patter, damn +you. (<span class="smcap">Arethusa</span> <i>gives +in</i>.) Ah, I thought it: Pew’s way, Pew’s +way. Now, look you here, my lovely woman. If you +sling in another word that isn’t in answer to my questions, +I’ll pull your j’ints out one by one. +Where’s the Commander?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Arethusa</span>. I have said: he is +abroad.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Pew</span>. When’s he coming +aboard again?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Arethusa</span>. At any moment.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Pew</span>. Does he keep his +strength?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Arethusa</span>. You’ll see +when he returns. (<i>He wrenches her arm again</i>.) +Ah!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Pew</span>. Is he still on +piety?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Arethusa</span>. O, he is a +Christian man!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Pew</span>. A Christian man, is +he? Where does he keep his rum?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Arethusa</span>. Nay, you shall +steal nothing by my help.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Pew</span>. No more I shall +(<i>becoming amorous</i>). You’re a lovely woman, +that’s what you are; how would you like old Pew for a +sweetheart, hey? He’s blind, is Pew, but strong as a +lion; and the sex is his ’ole delight. Ah, them +beautiful, beautiful lips! A kiss! Come!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Arethusa</span>. Leave go, leave +go!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Pew</span>. Hey? you would?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Arethusa</span>. Ah! (<i>She +thrusts him down</i>, <i>and escapes to door</i>, <i>R.</i>)</p> +<h4>SCENE VII</h4> +<p><span class="smcap">Pew</span> (<i>picking himself +up</i>). Ah, she’s a bouncer, she is! +Where’s my stick? That’s the sort of female for +David Pew. Didn’t she fight? and didn’t she +struggle? and shouldn’t I like to twist her lovely neck for +her? Pew’s way with ’em all: the prettier they +was, the uglier he were to ’em. Pew’s way: a +way he had with him; and a damned good way too. (<i>Listens +at L. door</i>.) That’s her bedroom, I reckon; and +she’s double-locked herself in. Good again: +it’s a crying mercy the Admiral didn’t come in. +But you always loses your ’ed, Pew, with a female: +that’s what charms ’em. Now for business. +The front door. No bar; only a big lock (<i>trying keys +from his pocket</i>). Key one; no go. Key two; no +go. Key three; ah, that does it. Ah! (<i>feeling +key</i>) him with the three wards and the little ’un: good +again! Now if I could only find a mate in this rotten +country ’amlick: one to be eyes to me; I can steer, but I +can’t conn myself, worse luck! If I could only find a +mate! And to-night, about three bells in the middle watch, +old Pew will take a little cruise, and lay aboard his ancient +friend the Admiral; or, barring that, the Admiral’s old +sea-chest—the chest he kept the shiners in aboard the +brig. Where is it, I wonder? in his berth, or in the cabin +here? It’s big enough, and the brass bands is plain +to feel by. (<i>Searching about with stick</i>.) +Dresser—chair—(<i>knocking his head on the +cupboard</i>.) Ah!—O, corner cupboard. +Admiral’s chair—Admiral’s +table—Admiral’s—hey! what’s this?—a +book—sheepskin—smells like a ’oly Bible. +Chair (<i>his stick just avoids the chest</i>). No +sea-chest. I must have a mate to see for me, to see for old +Pew: him as had eyes like a eagle! Meanwhile, rum. +Corner cupboard, of course (<i>tap-tapping</i>). +Rum—rum—rum. Hey? (<i>He +listens</i>.) Footsteps. Is it the Admiral? +(<i>With the whine</i>.) Kind Christian friends—</p> +<h4>SCENE VIII</h4> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">Pew</span>; to +him <span class="smcap">Gaunt</span></p> +<p><span class="smcap">Gaunt</span>. What brings you +here?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Pew</span>. Cap’n, do my ears +deceive me? or is this my old commander?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Gaunt</span>. My name is John +Gaunt. Who are you, my man, and what’s your +business?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Pew</span>. Here’s the facks, +so help me. A lovely female in this house was Christian +enough to pity the poor blind; and lo and belold! who should she +turn out to be but my old commander’s daughter! +‘My dear,’ says I to her, ‘I was the +Admiral’s own particular +bo’sun.’—‘La, sailor,’ she says to +me, ‘how glad he’ll be to see +you!’—‘Ah,’ says I, ‘won’t he +just—that’s all.’—‘I’ll go +and fetch him,’ she says; ‘you make yourself at +’ome.’ And off she went; and, Commander, here I +am.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Gaunt</span> (<i>sitting down</i>). +Well?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Pew</span>. Well, Cap’n?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Gaunt</span>. What do you want?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Pew</span>. Well, Admiral, in a +general way, what I want in a manner of speaking is money and +rum. (<i>A pause</i>.)</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Gaunt</span>. David Pew, I have +known you a long time.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Pew</span>. And so you have; aboard +the old <i>Arethusa</i>; and you don’t seem that cheered up +as I’d looked for, with an old shipmate dropping in, one as +has been seeking you two years and more—and blind at +that. Don’t you remember the old chantie?—</p> +<blockquote><p> ‘Time +for us to go,<br /> + Time for us to go,<br /> +And when we’d clapped the hatches on,<br /> + ’Twas time for us to go.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>What a note you had to sing, what a swaller for a pannikin of +rum, and what a fist for the shiners! Ah, Cap’n, they +didn’t call you Admiral Guinea for nothing. I can see +that old sea-chest of yours—her with the brass bands, where +you kept your gold dust and doubloons: you know!—I can see +her as well this minute as though you and me was still at it +playing pût on the lid of her . . . You don’t +say nothing, Cap’n? . . . Well, here it is: I +want money and I want rum. You don’t know what it is +to want rum, you don’t: it gets to that p’int, that +you would kill a ’ole ship’s company for just one +guttle of it. What? Admiral Guinea, my old Commander, +go back on poor old Pew? and him high and dry? [Not +you! When we had words over the negro lass at Lagos, what +did you do? fair dealings was your word: fair as between man and +man; and we had it out with p’int and edge on Lagos +sands. And you’re not going back on your word to me, +now I’m old and blind? No, no! belay that, I +say. Give me the old motto: Fair dealings, as between man +and man.]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Gaunt</span>. David Pew, it were +better for you that you were sunk in fifty fathom. I know +your life; and first and last, it is one broadside of +wickedness. You were a porter in a school, and beat a boy +to death; you ran for it, turned slaver, and shipped with me, a +green hand. Ay, that was the craft for you: that was the +right craft, and I was the right captain; there was none worse +that sailed to Guinea. Well, what came of that? In +five years’ time you made yourself the terror and +abhorrence of your messmates. The worst hands detested you; +your captain—that was me, John Gaunt, the chief of +sinners—cast you out for a Jonah. [Who was it stabbed +the Portuguese and made off inland with his miserable wife? +Who, raging drunk on rum, clapped fire to the baracoons and +burned the poor soulless creatures in their chains?] Ay, +you were a scandal to the Guinea coast, from Lagos down to +Calabar? and when at last I sent you ashore, a marooned +man—your shipmates, devils as they were, cheering and +rejoicing to be quit of you—by heaven, it was a ton’s +weight off the brig!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Pew</span>. Cap’n Gaunt, +Cap’n Gaunt, these are ugly words.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Gaunt</span>. What next? You +shipped with Flint the Pirate. What you did then I know +not; the deep seas have kept the secret: kept it, ay, and will +keep against the Great Day. God smote you with blindness, +but you heeded not the sign. That was His last mercy; look +for no more. To your knees, man, and repent! Pray for +a new heart; flush out your sins with tears; flee while you may +from the terrors of the wrath to come.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Pew</span>. Now, I want this clear: +Do I understand that you’re going back on me, and +you’ll see me damned first?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Gaunt</span>. Of me you shall have +neither money nor strong drink: not a guinea to spend in riot; +not a drop to fire your heart with devilry.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Pew</span>. Cap’n, do you +think it wise to quarrel with me? I put it to you now, +Cap’n, fairly, as between man and man—do you think it +wise?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Gaunt</span>. I fear nothing. +My feet are on the Rock. Begone! (<i>He opens the +Bible and begins to read</i>.)</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Pew</span> (<i>after a pause</i>). +Well, Cap’n, you know best, no doubt; and David Pew’s +about the last man, though I says it, to up and thwart an old +Commander. You’ve been ’ard on David Pew, +Cap’n: ’ard on the poor blind; but you’ll live +to regret it—ah, my Christian friend, you’ll live to +eat them words up. But there’s no malice here: that +ain’t Pew’s way; here’s a sailor’s hand +upon it . . . You don’t say nothing? (<span +class="smcap">Gaunt</span> <i>turns a page</i>.) Ah, +reading, was you? Reading, by thunder! Well, +here’s my respecks (<i>singing</i>)—</p> +<blockquote><p> ‘Time +for us to go,<br /> + Time for us to go,<br /> +When the money’s out, and the liquor’s done,<br /> + Why, it’s time for us to +go.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>(<i>He goes tapping up to door</i>, <i>turns on the +threshold</i>, <i>and listens</i>. <span +class="smcap">Gaunt</span> <i>turns a page</i>. <span +class="smcap">Pew</span>, <i>with a grimace</i>, <i>strikes his +hand upon the pocket with the keys</i>, <i>and goes</i>.)</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="smcap">Drop</span>.</p> +<h3>ACT II.</h3> +<p><i>The Stage represents the parlour of the</i> +‘<i>Admiral Benbow</i>’ <i>inn</i>. +<i>Fire-place</i>, <i>R.</i>, <i>with high-backed settles on each +side</i>; <i>in front of these</i>, <i>and facing the +audience</i>, <i>R.</i>, <i>a small table laid with a +cloth</i>. <i>Tables</i>, <i>L.</i>, <i>with glasses</i>, +<i>pipes</i>, <i>etc.</i> <i>Broadside ballads on the +wall</i>. <i>Outer door of inn</i>, <i>with the half-door +in L.</i>, <i>corner back</i>; <i>door</i>, <i>R.</i>, <i>beyond +the fire-place</i>; <i>window with red half-curtains</i>; +<i>spittons</i>; <i>candles on both the front tables</i>; +<i>night without</i>.</p> +<h4>SCENE I</h4> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">Pew</span>; +afterwards <span class="smcap">Mrs. Drake</span>, out and in</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Pew</span> (<i>entering</i>). Kind +Christian friends—(<i>listening; then dropping the +whine</i>.) Hey? nobody! Hey? A grog-shop not +two cable-lengths from the Admiral’s back-door, and the +Admiral not there? I never knew a seaman brought so low: he +ain’t but the bones of the man he used to be. Bear +away for the New Jerusalem, and this is what you run aground on, +is it? Good again; but it ain’t Pew’s way; +Pew’s way is rum.—Sanded floor. Rum is his +word, and rum his +motion.—Settle—chimbley—settle +again—spittoon—table rigged for supper. +Table-glass. (<i>Drinks heeltap</i>.) Brandy and water; and +not enough of it to wet your eye; damn all greediness, I +say. Pot (<i>drinks</i>), small beer—a drink that I +ab’or like bilge! What I want is rum. +(<i>Calling</i>, <i>and rapping with stick on table</i>.) +Halloa, there! House, ahoy!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Mrs. Drake</span> (<i>without</i>). +Coming, sir, coming. (<i>She enters</i>, <i>R.</i>) +What can I do—? (<i>Seeing</i> <span +class="smcap">Pew</span>.) Well I never did! Now, +beggar-man, what’s for you?</p> +<p>[<span class="smcap">Pew</span>. Rum, ma’am, rum; +and a bit o’ supper.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Mrs. Drake</span>. And a bed to +follow, I shouldn’t wonder!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Pew</span>. <i>And</i> a bed to +follow: <i>if</i> you please.]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Mrs. Drake</span>. This is the +‘<i>Admiral Benbow</i>,’ a respectable house, and +receives none but decent company; and I’ll ask you to go +somewhere else, for I don’t like the looks of you.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Pew</span>. Turn me away? Why, +Lord love you, I’m David Pew—old David Pew—him +as was Benbow’s own particular cox’n. You +wouldn’t turn away old Pew from the sign of his late +commander’s ’ed? Ah, my British female, +you’d have used me different if you’d seen me in the +fight! [There laid old Benbow, both his legs shot off, in a +basket, and the blessed spy-glass at his eye to that same hour: a +picter, ma’am, of naval daring: when a round shot come, and +took and knocked a bucketful of shivers right into my poor +daylights. ‘Damme,’ says the Admiral, ‘is +that old Pew, <i>my</i> old Pew?’ he +says.—‘It’s old Pew, sir,’ says the first +lootenant, ‘worse luck,’ he says.—‘Then +damme,’ says Admiral Benbow, ‘if that’s how +they serve a lion-’arted seaman, damme if I care to +live,’ he says; and, ma’am, he laid down his +spy-glass.]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Mrs. Drake</span>. Blind man, I +don’t fancy you, and that’s the truth; and I’ll +thank you to take yourself off.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Pew</span>. Thirty years have I +fought for country and king, and now in my blind old age +I’m to be sent packing from a measly +public-’ouse? Mark ye, ma’am, if I go, you take +the consequences. Is this a inn? Or haint it? +If it is a inn, then by act of parleyment, I’m free to +sling my ’ammick. Don’t you forget: this is a +act of parleyment job, this is. You look out.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Mrs. Drake</span>. Why, what’s +to do with the man and his acts of parliament? I +don’t want to fly in the face of an act of parliament, not +I. If what you say is true—</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Pew</span>. True? If +there’s anything truer than a act of parleyment—Ah! +you ask the beak. True? I’ve that in my +’art as makes me wish it wasn’t.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Mrs. Drake</span>. I don’t +like to risk it. I don’t like your looks, and +you’re more sea-lawyer than seaman to my mind. But +I’ll tell you what: if you can pay, you can stay. So +there.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Pew</span>. No chink, no +drink? That’s your motto, is it? Well, +that’s sense. Now, look here, ma’am, I +ain’t beautiful like you; but I’m good, and +I’ll give you warrant for it. Get me a noggin of rum, +and suthin’ to scoff, and a penny pipe, and a half-a-foot +of baccy; and there’s a guinea for the reckoning. +There’s plenty more in the locker; so bear a hand, and be +smart. I don’t like waiting; it ain’t my +way. (<i>Exit</i> <span class="smcap">Mrs. Drake</span>, +<i>R.</i> <span class="smcap">Pew</span> <i>sits at the +table</i>, <i>R.</i> <i>The settle conceals him from all +the upper part of the stage</i>.)</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Mrs. Drake</span> +(<i>re-entering</i>). Here’s the rum, sailor.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Pew</span> (<i>drinks</i>). Ah, +rum! That’s my sheet-anchor: rum and the blessed +Gospel. Don’t you forget that, ma’am: rum and +the Gospel is old Pew’s sheet-anchor. You can take +for another while you’re about it; and, I say, short +reckonings make long friends, hey? Where’s my +change?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Mrs. Drake</span>. I’m +counting it now. There, there it is, and thank you for your +custom. (<i>She goes out</i>, <i>R.</i>)</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Pew</span> (<i>calling after +her</i>). Don’t thank me, ma’am; thank the act +of parleyment! Rum, fourpence; two penny pieces and a +Willi’m-and-Mary tizzy makes a shilling; and a spade +half-guinea is eleven and six (<i>re-enter</i> <span +class="smcap">Mrs. Drake</span> <i>with supper</i>, <i>pipe</i>, +<i>etc.</i>); and a blessed majesty George the First crown-piece +makes sixteen and six; and two shilling bits is eighteen and six; +and a new half-crown makes—no it don’t! O, +no! Old Pew’s too smart a hand to be bammed with a +soft half-tusheroon.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Mrs. Drake</span> (<i>changing +piece</i>). I’m sure I didn’t know it, +sailor.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Pew</span> (<i>trying new coin between his +teeth</i>). In course you didn’t, my dear; but I did, +and I thought I’d mention it. Is that my supper, +hey? Do my nose deceive me? (<i>Sniffing and +feeling</i>.) Cold duck? sage and onions? a round of double +Gloster? and that noggin o’ rum? Why, I declare if +I’d stayed and took pot-luck with my old commander, +Cap’n John Gaunt, he couldn’t have beat this little +spread, as I’ve got by act of parleyment.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Mrs. Drake</span> (<i>at +knitting</i>). Do you know the captain, sailor?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Pew</span>. Know him? I was +that man’s bos’un, ma’am. In the Guinea +trade, we was known as ‘Pew’s Cap’n,’ and +‘Gaunt’s Bo’sun,’ one for other +like. We was like two brothers, ma’am. And a +excellent cold duck, to be sure; and the rum lovely.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Mrs. Drake</span>. If you know John +Gaunt, you know his daughter Arethusa.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Pew</span>. What? +Arethusa? Know her, says you? know her? Why, Lord +love you, I was her god-father. [‘Pew,’ says +Jack Gaunt to me, ‘Pew,’ he says, ‘you’re +a man,’ he says; ‘I like a man to be a man,’ +says he, ‘and damme,’ he says, ‘I like +<i>you</i>; and sink me,’ says he, ‘if you +don’t promise and vow in the name of that new-born +babe,’ he says, ‘why damme, Pew,’ says he, +‘you’re not the man I take you for.’] +Yes, ma’am, I named that female; with my own ’ands I +did; Arethusa, I named her; that was the name I give her; so now +you know if I speak true. And if you’ll be as good as +get me another noggin of rum, why, we’ll drink her +’elth with three times three. (<i>Exit</i> <span +class="smcap">Mrs. Drake</span>: <span class="smcap">Pew</span> +<i>eating</i>. <span class="smcap">Mrs. Drake</span> +<i>re-entering with rum</i>.)</p> +<p>[<span class="smcap">Mrs. Drake</span>. If what you say +be true, sailor (and I don’t say it isn’t, mind!), +it’s strange that Arethusa and that godly man her father +have never so much as spoke your name.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Pew</span>. Why, that’s +so! And why, says you? Why, when I dropped in and +paid my respecks this morning, do you think she knew me? No +more’n a babe unborn! Why, ma’am, when I +promised and vowed for her, I was the picter of a +man-o’-war’s man, I was: eye like a eagle; walked the +deck in a hornpipe, foot up and foot down; v’ice as mellow +as rum; ’and upon ’art, and all the females took dead +aback at the first sight, Lord bless ’em! Know +me? Not likely. And as for me, when I found her such +a lovely woman—by the feel of her ’and and +arm!—you might have knocked me down with a feather. +But here’s where it is, you see: when you’ve been +knocking about on blue water for a matter of two-and-forty year, +shipwrecked here, and blown up there, and everywhere out of luck, +and given over for dead by all your messmates and relations, why, +what it amounts to is this: nobody knows you, and you hardly know +yourself, and there you are; and I’ll trouble you for +another noggin of rum.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Mrs. Drake</span>. I think +you’ve had enough.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Pew</span>. I don’t; so bear a +hand. (<i>Exit</i> <span class="smcap">Mrs. Drake</span>; +<span class="smcap">Pew</span> <i>empties the glass</i>.) +Rum, ah, rum, you’re a lovely creature; they haven’t +never done you justice. (<i>Proceeds to fill and light +pipe</i>; <i>re-enter</i> <span class="smcap">Mrs. Drake</span> +<i>with rum</i>.)] And now, ma’am, since you’re +so genteel and amicable-like, what about my old commander? +Is he, in a manner of speaking, on half pay? or is he living on +his fortune, like a gentleman slaver ought?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Mrs. Drake</span>. Well, sailor, +people talk, you know.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Pew</span>. I know, ma’am; +I’d have been rolling in my coach, if they’d have +held their tongues.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Mrs. Drake</span>. And they do say +that Captain Gaunt, for so pious a man, is little better than a +miser.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Pew</span>. Don’t say it, +ma’am; not to old Pew. Ah, how often have I up and +strove with him! ‘Cap’n, live it down,’ +says I. ‘Ah, Pew,’ says he, ‘you’re +a better man than I am,’ he says; ‘but dammne,’ +he says, ‘money,’ he says, ‘is like rum to +me.’ (<i>Insinuating</i>.) And what about a old +sea-chest, hey? a old sea-chest, strapped with brass bands?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Mrs. Drake</span>. Why, +that’ll be the chest in his parlour, where he has it bolted +to the wall, as I’ve seen with my own eyes; and so might +you, if you had eyes to see with.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Pew</span>. No, ma’am, that +ain’t good enough; you don’t bam old Pew. You +never was in that parlour in your life.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Mrs. Drake</span>. I never +was? Well, I declare!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Pew</span>. Well then, if you was, +where’s the chest? Beside the chimbley, hey? +(<i>Winking</i>.) Beside the table with the ’oly +Bible?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Mrs. Drake</span>. No, sailor, you +don’t get any information out of me.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Pew</span>. What, ma’am? +Not to old Pew? Why, my god-child showed it me herself, and +I told her where she’d find my name—P, E, W, +Pew—cut out on the starn of it; and sure enough she +did. Why, ma’am, it was his old money-box when he was +in the Guinea trade; and they do say he keeps the rhino in it +still.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Mrs. Drake</span>. No, sailor, +nothing out of me! And if you want to know, you can ask the +Admiral himself! (<i>She crosses</i>, <i>L.</i>)</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Pew</span>. Hey? Old girl +fly? Then I reckon I must have a mate, if it was the parish +bull.</p> +<h4>SCENE II</h4> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To these</i>, <span +class="smcap">Kit</span>, <i>a little drunk</i></p> +<p><span class="smcap">Kit</span> (<i>looking in over +half-door</i>). Mrs. Drake! Mother! Where are +you? Come and welcome the prodigal!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Mrs. Drake</span> (<i>coming forward to +meet him as he enters</i>; <span class="smcap">Pew</span> +<i>remains concealed by the settle</i>, <i>smoking</i>, +<i>drinking</i>, <i>and listening</i>). Lord bless us and +save us, if it ain’t my boy! Give us a kiss.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Kit</span>. That I will, and twenty +if you like, old girl. (<i>Kisses her</i>.)</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Mrs. Drake</span>. O Kit, Kit, +you’ve been at those other houses, where the stuff they +give you, my dear, it is poison for a dog.</p> +<p>[<span class="smcap">Kit</span>. Round with friends, +mother: only round with friends.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Mrs. Drake</span>. Well, anyway, +you’ll take a glass just to settle it, from me. +(<i>She brings the bottle</i>, <i>and fills for him</i>.) +There, that’s pure; that’ll do you no harm.] +But O, Kit, Kit, I thought you were done with all this +Jack-a-shoring.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Kit</span>. What cheer, +mother? I’m only a sheet in the wind; and who’s +the worse for it but me?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Mrs. Drake</span>. Ah, and that dear +young lady; and her waiting and keeping single these two years +for the love of you!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Kit</span>. She, mother? she’s +heart of oak, she’s true as steel, and good as gold; and +she has my ring on her finger, too. But where’s the +use? The Admiral won’t look at me.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Mrs. Drake</span>. Why not? +You’re as good a man as him any day.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Kit</span>. Am I? He says +I’m a devil, and swears that none of his flesh and +blood—that’s what he said, mother!—should lie +at my mercy. That’s what cuts me. If it +wasn’t for the good stuff I’ve been taking aboard, +and the jolly companions I’ve been seeing it out with, +I’d just go and make a hole in the water, and be done with +it, I would, by George!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Mrs. Drake</span>. That’s like +you men. Ah, we know you, we that keeps a +public-house—we know you, good and bad: you go off on a +frolic and forget; and you never think of the women that sit +crying at home.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Kit</span>. Crying? Arethusa +cry? Why, dame, she’s the bravest-hearted girl in all +broad England! Here, fill the glass! I’ll win +her yet. I drink to her; here’s to her bright eyes, +and here’s to the blessed feet she walks upon!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Pew</span> (<i>looking round the corner of +the settle</i>). Spoke like a gallant seaman, every +inch. Shipmate, I’m a man as has suffered, and +I’d like to shake your fist, and drink a can of flip with +you.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Kit</span> (<i>coming down</i>). +Hullo, my hearty! who the devil are you? Who’s this, +mother?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Mrs. Drake</span>. Nay, I know +nothing about him. (<i>She goes out</i>, <i>R.</i>)</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Pew</span>. Cap’n, I’m a +brother seaman, and my name is Pew, old David Pew, as you may +have heard of in your time, he having sailed along of ’Awke +and glorious Benbow, and a right-’and man to both.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Kit</span>. Benbow? Steady, +mate! D’ye mean to say you went to sea before you +were born?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Pew</span>. See now! The sign +of this here inn was running in my ’ed, I reckon. +Benbow, says you? no, not likely! Anson, I mean; Anson and +Sir Edward ’Awke: that’s the pair: I was their +right-’and man.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Kit</span>. Well, mate, you may be +all that, and more; but you’re a rum un to look at, +anyhow.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Pew</span>. Right you are, and so I +am. But what is looks? It’s the ’art that +does it: the ’art is the seaman’s star; and +here’s old David Pew’s, a matter of fifty years at +sea, but tough and sound as the British Constitootion.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Kit</span>. You’re right +there, Pew. Shake hands upon it. And you’re a +man they’re down upon, just like myself, I see. +We’re a pair of plain, good-hearted, jolly tars; and all +these ’longshore fellows cock a lip at us, by George. +What cheer, mate?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Arethusa</span> (<i>without</i>). +Mrs. Drake! Mrs. Drake!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Pew</span>. What, a female? hey? a +female? Board her board her, mate! I’m +dark. (<i>He retires again behind</i>, <i>to table</i>, +<i>R.</i>, <i>behind settle</i>.)</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Arethusa</span> (<i>without</i>). +Mrs. Drake!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Mrs. Drake</span> (<i>re-entering and +running to door</i>). Here I am, my dear; come in.</p> +<h4>SCENE III</h4> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To these</i>, <span +class="smcap">Arethusa</span></p> +<p><span class="smcap">Arethusa</span>. Ah, Kit, I’ve +found you. I thought you would lodge with Mrs. Drake.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Kit</span>. What? are you looking +for your consort? Whistle, I’m your dog; I’ll +come to you. I’ve been toasting you fathom deep, my +beauty; and with every glass I love you dearer.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Arethusa</span>. Now Kit, if you +want to please my father, this is not the way. Perhaps he +thinks too much of the guineas: well, gather them—if you +think me worth the price. Go you to your sloop, clinker +built, eighty tons burthen—you see I remember, Skipper +Kit! I don’t deny I like a man of spirit; but if you +care to please Captain Gaunt, keep out of taverns; and if you +could carry yourself a bit more—more elderly!</p> +<p>[<span class="smcap">Kit</span>. Can I? Would +I? Ah, just couldn’t and just won’t I, +then!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Mrs. Drake</span>. I hope, madam, +you don’t refer to my house; a publican I may be, but +tavern is a word that I don’t hold with; and here +there’s no bad drink, and no loose company; and as for my +blessedest Kit, I declare I love him like my own.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Arethusa</span>. Why, who could help +it, Mrs. Drake?]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Kit</span>. Arethusa, you’re +an angel. Do I want to please Captain Gaunt? Why, +that’s as much as ask whether I love you. [I +don’t deny that his words cut me; for they did. But +as for wanting to please him, if he was deep as the blue +Atlantic, I would beat it out. And elderly, too? Aha, +you witch, you’re wise! Elderly? You’ve +set the course; you leave me alone to steer it. +Matrimony’s my port, and love is my cargo.] +That’s a likely question, ain’t it, Mrs. Drake? +Do I want to please him! Elderly, says you? Why, see +here: Fill up my glass, and I’ll drink to Arethusa on my +knees.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Arethusa</span>. Why, you stupid +boy, do you think that would please him?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Kit</span>. On my knees I’ll +drink it! (<i>As he kneels and drains the glass</i>, <span +class="smcap">Gaunt</span> <i>enters</i>, <i>and he scrambles to +his feet</i>.)</p> +<h4>SCENE IV</h4> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To these</i>, <span +class="smcap">Gaunt</span></p> +<p><span class="smcap">Gaunt</span>. Arethusa, this is no +place for you.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Arethusa</span>. No, father.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Gaunt</span>. I wish you had been +spared this sight; but look at him, child, since you are here; +look at God’s image, so debased. And you, young man +(<i>to</i> <span class="smcap">Kit</span>), you have proved that +I was right. Are you the husband for this innocent +maid?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Kit</span>. Captain Gaunt, I have a +word to say to you. Terror is your last word; you’re +bitter hard upon poor sinners, bitter hard and black—you +that were a sinner yourself. These are not the true +colours: don’t deceive yourself; you’re out of your +course.</p> +<p>[<span class="smcap">Gaunt</span>. Heaven forbid that I +should be hard, Christopher. It is not I; it’s +God’s law that is of iron. Think! if the blow were to +fall now, some cord to snap within you, some enemy to plunge a +knife into your heart; this room, with its poor taper light, to +vanish; this world to disappear like a drowning man into the +great ocean; and you, your brain still whirling, to be snatched +into the presence of the eternal Judge: Christopher French, what +answer would you make? For these gifts wasted, for this +rich mercy scorned, for these high-handed bravings of your better +angel,—what have you to say?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Kit</span>. Well, sir, I want my +word with you, and by your leave I’ll have it out.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Arethusa</span>. Kit, for +pity’s sake!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Kit</span>. Arethusa, I don’t +speak to you, my dear: you’ve got my ring, and I know what +that means. The man I speak to is Captain Gaunt. I +came to-day as happy a man as ever stepped, and with as fair a +look-out. What did you care? what was your reply? +None of your flesh and blood, you said, should lie at the mercy +of a wretch like me! Am I not flesh and blood that you +should trample on me like that? Is that charity, to stamp +the hope out of a poor soul?]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Gaunt</span>. You speak wildly; or +the devil of drink that is in you speaks instead.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Kit</span>. You think me drunk? +well, so I am, and whose fault is it but yours? It was I +that drank; but you take your share of it, Captain Gaunt: you it +was that filled the can.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Gaunt</span>. Christopher French, I +spoke but for your good, your good and hers. ‘Woe +unto him’—these are the dreadful +words—‘by whom offences shall come: it were +better—’ Christopher, I can but pray for both of +us.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Kit</span>. Prayers? Now I +tell you freely, Captain Gaunt, I don’t value your +prayers. Deeds are what I ask; kind deeds and +words—that’s the true-blue piety: to hope the best +and do the best, and speak the kindest. As for you, you +insult me to my face; and then you’ll pray for me? +What’s that? Insult behind my back is what I call +it! No, sir; you’re out of the course; you’re +no good man to my view, be you who you may.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Mrs. Drake</span>. O +Christopher! To Captain Gaunt?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Arethusa</span>. Father, father, +come away!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Kit</span>. Ah, you see? She +suffers too; we all suffer. You spoke just now of a devil; +well, I’ll tell you the devil you have: the devil of +judging others. And as for me, I’ll get as drunk as +Bacchus.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Gaunt</span>. Come!</p> +<h4>SCENE V</h4> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">Pew</span>, +<span class="smcap">Mrs. Drake</span>, <span +class="smcap">Kit</span></p> +<p><span class="smcap">Pew</span> (<i>coming out and waving his +pipe</i>). Commander, shake! Hooray for old +England! If there’s anything in the world that goes +to old Pew’s ’art, it’s argyment. +Commander, you handled him like a babby, kept the weather gauge, +and hulled him every shot. Commander, give it a name, and +let that name be rum!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Kit</span>. Ay, rum’s the +sailor’s fancy. Mrs. Drake, a bottle and clean +glasses.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Mrs. Drake</span>. Kit French, I +wouldn’t. Think better of it, there’s a +dear! And that sweet girl just gone!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Pew</span>. Ma’am, I’m +not a ’ard man; I’m not the man to up and force a act +of parleyment upon a helpless female. But you see here: +Pew’s friends is sacred. Here’s my friend here, +a perfeck seaman, and a man with a ’ed upon his shoulders, +and a man that, damme, I admire. He give you a order, +ma’am:—march!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Mrs. Drake</span>. Kit, don’t +you listen to that blind man; he’s the devil wrote upon his +face.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Pew</span>. Don’t you +insinuate against my friend. <i>He</i> ain’t a child, +I hope? <i>he</i> knows his business? Don’t you get +trying to go a lowering of my friend in his own esteem.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Mrs. Drake</span>. Well, I’ll +bring it, Kit; but it’s against the grain. +(<i>Exit</i>.)</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Kit</span>. I say, old boy, come to +think of it, why should we? It’s been glasses round +with me all day. I’ve got my cargo.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Pew</span>. You? and you just +argy’d the ’ed off of Admiral Guinea? O stash +that! <i>I</i> stand treat, if it comes to that!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Kit</span>. What! Do I meet +with a blind seaman and not stand him? That’s not the +man I am!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Mrs. Drake</span> (<i>re-entering with +bottle and glasses</i>). There!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Pew</span>. Easy does it, +ma’am.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Kit</span>. Mrs. Drake, you had +better trot.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Mrs. Drake</span>. Yes, I’ll +trot; and I trot with a sick heart, Kit French, to leave you +drinking your wits away with that low blind man. For a low +man you are—a low blind man—and your clothes they +would disgrace a scarecrow. I’ll go to my bed, Kit; +and O, dear boy, go soon to yours—the old room, you know; +it’s ready for you—and go soon and sleep it off; for +you know, dear, they, one and all, regret it in the morning; +thirty years I’ve kept this house, and one and all they did +regret it, dear.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Pew</span>. Come now, you walk!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Mrs. Drake</span>. O, it’s not +for your bidding. You a seaman? The ship for you to +sail in is the hangman’s cart.—Good-night, Kit dear, +and better company!</p> +<h4>SCENE VI</h4> +<p><span class="smcap">Pew</span>, <span +class="smcap">Kit</span>. They sit at the other table, +L.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Pew</span>. Commander, here’s +<i>her</i> ’ealth!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Kit</span>. Ay, that’s the +line: <i>her</i> health! But that old woman there is a good +old woman, Pew.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Pew</span>. So she is, +Commander. But there’s no woman understands a seaman; +now you and me, being both bred to it, we splice by +natur’. As for A. G., if argyment can win her, why, +she’s yours. If I’d a-had your ’ed for +argyment, damme, I’d a-been a Admiral, I would! And +if argyment won’t win her, well, see here, you put your +trust in David Pew.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Kit</span>. David Pew, I don’t +know who you are, David Pew; I never heard of you; I don’t +seem able to clearly see you. Mrs. Drake, she’s a +smart old woman, Pew, and she says you’ve the devil in your +face.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Pew</span>. Ah, and why, says +you? Because I up and put her in her place, when she forgot +herself to you, Commander.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Kit</span>. Well, Pew, that’s +so; you stood by me like a man. Shake hands, Pew; and +we’ll make a night of it, or we’ll know why, old +boy!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Pew</span>. That’s my +way. That’s Pew’s way, that is. +That’s Pew’s way all over. Commander, excuse +the liberty; but when I was your age, making allowance for a +lowlier station and less ’ed for argyment, I was as like +you as two peas. I know it by the v’ice +(<i>sings</i>)—</p> +<blockquote><p>‘We hadn’t been three days at sea +before we saw a sail,<br /> +So we clapped on every stitch would stand, although it blew a +gale,<br /> +And we walked along full fourteen knots, for the barkie she did +know<br /> +As well as ever a soul on board, ’twas time for us to +go.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Chorus, Cap’n!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Pew</span> <i>and</i> <span +class="smcap">Kit</span> (<i>in chorus</i>)—</p> +<blockquote><p> ‘Time +for us to go,<br /> + Time for us to go,<br /> +As well as ever a soul on board,<br /> + ’Twas time for us to +go.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p><span class="smcap">Pew</span> (<i>sings</i>)—</p> +<blockquote><p>‘We carried away the royal yard, and the +stunsail boom was gone;<br /> +Says the skipper, “They may go or stand, I’m damned +if I don’t crack on;”<br /> +So the weather braces we’ll round in, and the trysail set +also,<br /> +And we’ll keep the brig three p’ints away, for +it’s time for us to go.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Give it mouth, Commander!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Pew</span> <i>and</i> <span +class="smcap">Kit</span> (<i>in chorus</i>)—</p> +<blockquote><p> ‘Time +for us to go,<br /> + Time for us to go,<br /> +And we’ll keep the brig three p’ints away,<br /> + For it’s time for us to +go.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p><span class="smcap">Pew</span>. I ain’t sung like +that since I sang to Admiral ’Awke, the night before I lost +my eyes, I ain’t. ‘Sink me!’ says he, +says Admiral ’Awke, my old commander (<i>touching his +hat</i>), ‘sink me!’ he says, ‘if that +ain’t ’art-of-oak,’ he says: +‘’art-of-oak,’ says he, ‘and a pipe like +a bloody blackbird!’ Commander, here’s my +respecks, and the devil fly away with Admiral Guinea!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Kit</span>. I say, Pew, how’s +this? How do you know about Admiral Guinea? I say, +Pew, I begin to think you know too much.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Pew</span>. I ax your pardon; but as +a man with a ’ed for argyment—and that’s your +best p’int o’ sailing, Commander; intelleck is your +best p’int—as a man with a ’ed for argyment, +how do I make it out?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Kit</span>. Aha, you’re a sly +dog, you’re a deep dog, Pew; but you can’t get the +weather of Kit French. How do I make it out? +I’ll tell you. I make it out like this: Your +name’s Pew, ain’t it? Very well. And you +know Admiral Guinea, and that’s his name, eh? Very +well. Then you’re Pew; and the Admiral’s the +Admiral; and you know the Admiral; and by George, that’s +all. Hey? Drink about, boys, drink about!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Pew</span>. Lord love you, if +I’d a-had a ’ed like yours! Why the Admiral was +my first cap’n. I was that man’s bo’sun, +I was, aboard the <i>Arethusa</i>; and we was like two +brothers. Did you never hear of Guinea-land and the black +ivory business? (<i>sings</i>)—</p> +<blockquote><p>‘A quick run to the south we had, and when +we made the Bight<br /> +We kept the offing all day long and crossed the bar at night.<br +/> +Six hundred niggers in the hold and seventy we did stow,<br /> +And when we’d clapped the hatches on, ’twas time for +us to go.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Lay forward, lads!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Kit</span> <i>and</i> <span +class="smcap">Pew</span> (<i>in chorus</i>)—</p> +<blockquote><p>‘Time for us to go,’ etc.</p> +</blockquote> +<p><span class="smcap">Kit</span>. I say, Pew, I like you; +you’re a damned ugly dog; but I like you. But look ye +here, Pew: fair does it, you know, or we part company this +minute. If you and the Ad—the Admirable were like +brothers on the Guinea coast, why aren’t you like brothers +here?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Pew</span>. Ah, <i>I</i> see you +coming. What a ’ed! what a ’ed! Since Pew +is a friend of the family, says you, why didn’t he sail in +and bear a hand, says you, when you was knocking the +Admiral’s ship about his ears in argyment?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Kit</span>. Well, Pew, now you put a +name to it, why not?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Pew</span>. Ah, why not? There +I recko’nise you. [Well, see here: argyment’s +my weakness, in a manner of speaking; I wouldn’t a-borne +down and spiled sport, not for gold untold, no, not for rum, I +wouldn’t! And besides, Commander, I put it to you, as +between man and man, would it have been seaman-like to let on and +show myself to a old shipmate, when he was yard-arm to yard-arm +with a craft not half his metal, and getting blown out of water +every broadside? Would it have been ’ansome? I +put it to you, as between man and man.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Kit</span>. Pew, I may have gifts; +but I never thought of that. Why, no: not +seaman-like. Pew, you’ve a heart; that’s what I +like you for.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Pew</span>. Ah, that I have: +you’ll see. I wanted—now you follow me—I +wanted to keep square with Admiral Guinea.] Why? says +you. Well, put it that I know a fine young fellow when I +sees him; and put it that I wish him well; and put it, for the +sake of argyment, that the father of that lovely female’s +in my power. Aha? Pew’s Power! Why, in my +’ands he’s like this pocket +’andke’cher. Now, brave boy, do you see?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Kit</span>. No, Pew, my head’s +gone; I don’t see.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Pew</span>. Why, cheer up, +Commander! You want to marry this lovely female?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Kit</span>. Ay, that I do; but +I’m not fit for her, Pew; I’m a drunken dog, and +I’m not fit for her.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Pew</span>. Now, Cap’n, +you’ll allow a old seaman to be judge: one as sailed with +’Awke and blessed Benb— with ’Awke and noble +Anson. You’ve been open and above-board with me, and +I’ll do the same by you: it being the case that +you’re hard hit about a lovely woman, which many a time and +oft it has happened to old Pew; and him with a feeling ’art +that bleeds for you, Commander; why look here: I’m that +girl’s godfather; promised and vowed for her, I did; and I +like you; and you’re the man for her; and, by the living +Jacob, you shall splice!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Kit</span>. David Pew, do you mean +what you say?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Pew</span>. Do I mean what I +say? Does David Pew? Ask Admiral ’Awke! +Ask old Admiral Byng in his coffin, where I laid him with these +lands! Pew does, is what those naval commanders would +reply. Mean it? I reckon so.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Kit</span>. Then, shake hands. +You’re an honest man, Pew—old Pew!—and +I’ll make your fortune. But there’s something +else, if I could keep the run of it. O, ah! But +<i>can</i> you? That’s the point. Can you; +don’t you see?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Pew</span>. Can I? You leave +that to me; I’ll bring you to your moorings; I’m the +man that can, and I’m him that will. But only, look +here, let’s understand each other. You’re a +bold blade, ain’t you? You won’t stick at a +trifle for a lovely female? You’ll back me up? +You’re a man, ain’t you? a man, and you’ll see +me through and through it, hey? Come; is that so? Are +you fair and square and stick at nothing?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Kit</span>. Me, Pew? +I’ll go through fire and water.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Pew</span>. I’ll risk +it.—Well, then, see here, my son: another swallow and we +jog.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Kit</span>. No, not to-night, Pew, +not to-night!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Pew</span>. Commander, in a manner +of speaking, wherefore?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Kit</span>. Wherefore, Pew? +’Cause why, Pew? ’Cause I’m drunk, and be +damned to you!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Pew</span>. Commander, I ax your +pardon; but, saving your presence, that’s a lie. +What? drunk? a man with a ’ed for argyment like that? just +you get up, and steady yourself on your two pins, and +you’ll be as right as ninepence.</p> +<p>[<span class="smcap">Kit</span>. Pew, before we budge, +let me shake your flipper again. You’re heart of oak, +Pew, sure enough; and if you can bring the Adam—Admirable +about, why, damme, I’ll make your fortune! How +you’re going to do it, I don’t know; but I’ll +stand by; and I know you’ll do it if anybody can. But +I’m drunk, Pew; you can’t deny that: I’m as +drunk as a Plymouth fiddler, Pew; and how you’re going to +do it is a mystery to me.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Pew</span>. Ah, you leave that to +me. All I want is what I’ve got: your promise to +stand by and bear a hand (<i>producing a dark +lantern</i>).] Now, here, you see, is my little glim; it +ain’t for me, because I’m blind, worse luck! and the +day and night is the blessed same to David Pew. But you +watch. You put the candle near me. Here’s what +there ain’t mony blind men could do, take the pick o’ +them! (<i>lighting a screw of paper</i>, <i>and with that</i>, +<i>the lantern</i>). Hey? That’s it. +Hey? Go and pity the poor blind!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Kit</span> (<i>while</i> <span +class="smcap">Pew</span> <i>blows out the candles</i>). But +I say, Pew, what do you want with it?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Pew</span>. To see by, my son. +(<i>He shuts the lantern and puts it in his pocket</i>. +<i>Stage quite dark</i>. <i>Moonlight at window</i>.) +All ship-shape? No sparks about? No? Come, +then, lean on me and heave ahead for the lovely female. +(<i>Singing sotto voce</i>)—</p> +<blockquote><p> ‘Time +for us to go,<br /> + Time for us to go,<br /> +And when we’d clapped the hatches on,<br /> + ’Twas time for us to +go.’</p> +</blockquote> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">Drop</span></p> +<h3>ACT III.</h3> +<p><i>The Stage represents the Admiral’s house</i>, <i>as +in Act I</i>. <span class="smcap">Gaunt</span> +<i>seated</i>, <i>is reading aloud</i>; <span +class="smcap">Arethusa</span> <i>sits at his feet</i>. +<i>Candles</i></p> +<h4>SCENE I</h4> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="smcap">Arethusa</span>, <span +class="smcap">Gaunt</span></p> +<p>[<span class="smcap">Gaunt</span> (<i>reading</i>). +‘And Ruth said, Intreat me not to leave thee, or to return +from following after thee: for whither thou goest, I will go; and +where thou lodgest, I will lodge: thy people shall be my people, +and thy God my God: Where thou diest, will I die, and there will +I be buried: the Lord do so to me, and more also, if aught but +death part thee and me.’ (<i>He closes the +book</i>.) Amen.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Arethusa</span>. Amen. Father, +there spoke my heart.]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Gaunt</span>. Arethusa, the Lord in +his mercy has seen right to vex us with trials of many +kinds. It is a little matter to endure the pangs of the +flesh: the smart of wounds, the passion of hunger and thirst, the +heaviness of disease; and in this world I have learned to take +thought for nothing save the quiet of your soul. It is +through our affections that we are smitten with the true pain, +even the pain that kills.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Arethusa</span>. And yet this pain +is our natural lot. Father, I fear to boast, but I know +that I can bear it. Let my life, then, flow like common +lives, each pain rewarded with some pleasure, each pleasure +linked with some pain: nothing pure whether for good or evil: and +my husband, like myself and all the rest of us, only a poor, +kind-hearted sinner, striving for the better part. What +more could any woman ask?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Gaunt</span>. Child, child, your +words are like a sword. What would she ask? Look upon +me whom, in the earthly sense, you are commanded to +respect. Look upon me: do I bear a mark? is there any +outward sign to bid a woman avoid and flee from me?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Arethusa</span>. I see nothing but +the face I love.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Gaunt</span>. There is none: nor yet +on the young man Christopher, whose words still haunt and upbraid +me. Yes, I am hard; I was born hard, born a tyrant, born to +be what I was, a slaver captain. But to-night, and to save +you, I will pluck my heart out of my bosom. You shall know +what makes me what I am; you shall hear, out of my own life, why +I dread and deprecate this marriage. Child, do you remember +your mother?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Arethusa</span>. Remember her? +Ah, if she had been here to-day!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Gaunt</span>. It is thirteen years +since she departed, and took with her the whole sunshine of my +life. Do you remember the manner of her departure? +You were a child, and cannot; but I can and do. Remember? +shall I ever forget? Here or hereafter, ever forget! +Ten years she was my wife, and ten years she lay a-dying. +Arethusa, she was a saint on earth; and it was I that killed +her.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Arethusa</span>. Killed her? my +mother? You?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Gaunt</span>. Not with my hand; for +I loved her. I would not have hurt one hair upon her +head. But she got her death by me, as sure as by a +blow.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Arethusa</span>. I +understand—I can see: you brood on trifles, +misunderstandings, unkindnesses you think them; though my mother +never knew of them, or never gave them a second thought. It +is natural, when death has come between.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Gaunt</span>. I married her from +Falmouth. She was comely as the roe; I see her +still—her dove’s eyes and her smile! I was +older than she; and I had a name for hardness, a hard and wicked +man; but she loved me—my Hester!—and she took me as I +was. O how I repaid her trust! Well, our child was +born to us; and we named her after the brig I had built and +sailed, the old craft whose likeness—older than you, +girl—stands there above our heads. And so far, that +was happiness. But she yearned for my salvation; and it was +there I thwarted her. My sins were a burden upon her +spirit, a shame to her in this world, her terror in the world to +come. She talked much and often of my leaving the +devil’s trade I sailed in. She had a tender and a +Christian heart, and she would weep and pray for the poor heathen +creatures that I bought and sold and shipped into misery, till my +conscience grew hot within me. I’ve put on my hat, +and gone out and made oath that my next cargo should be my last; +but it never was, that oath was never kept. So I sailed +again and again for the Guinea coast, until the trip came that +was to be my last indeed. Well, it fell out that we had +good luck trading, and I stowed the brig with these poor heathen +as full as she would hold. We had a fair run westward till +we were past the line; but one night the wind rose and there came +a hurricane, and for seven days we were tossed on the deep seas, +in the hardest straits, and every hand on deck. For several +days they were battened down: all that time we heard their cries +and lamentations, but worst at the beginning; and when at last, +and near dead myself, I crept below—O! some they were +starved, some smothered, some dead of broken limbs; and the hold +was like a lazar-house in the time of the anger of the Lord!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Arethusa</span>. O!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Gaunt</span>. It was two hundred and +five that we threw overboard: two hundred and five lost souls +that I had hurried to their doom. I had many die with me +before; but not like that—not such a massacre as that; and +I stood dumb before the sight. For I saw I was their +murderer—body and soul their murderer; and, Arethusa, my +Hester knew it. That was her death-stroke: it felled +her. She had long been dying slowly; but from the hour she +heard that story, the garment of the flesh began to waste and +perish, the fountains of her life dried up; she faded before my +face; and in two months from my landing—O Hester, Hester, +would God I had died for thee!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Arethusa</span>. Mother! O +poor soul! O poor father! O father, it was hard on +you.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Gaunt</span>. The night she died, +she lay there, in her bed. She took my hand. ‘I +am going,’ she said, ‘to heaven. For +Christ’s sake,’ she said, ‘come after me, and +bring my little maid. I’ll be waiting and wearying +till you come;’ and she kissed my hand, the hand that +killed her. At that I broke out calling on her to stop, for +it was more than I could bear. But no, she said she must +still tell me of my sins, and how the thought of them had bowed +down her life. ‘And O!’ she said, ‘if I +couldn’t prevail on you alive, let my death.’ . . . +Well, then, she died. What have I done since then? +I’ve laid my course for Hester. Sin, temptation, +pleasure, all this poor shadow of a world, I saw them not: I saw +my Hester waiting, waiting and wearying. I have made my +election sure; my sins I have cast them out. Hester, +Hester, I will come to you, poor waiting one; and I’ll +bring your little maid: ay, dearest soul, I’ll bring your +little maid safe with me!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Arethusa</span>. O teach me +how! Show me the way! only show me.—O mother, +mother!—If it were paved with fire, show me the way, and I +will walk it bare-foot!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Gaunt</span>. They call me a +miser. They say that in this sea-chest of mine I hoard my +gold. (<i>He passes R. to chest</i>, <i>takes out key</i>, +<i>and unlocks it</i>.) They think my treasure and my very +soul are locked up here. They speak after the flesh, but +they are right. See!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Arethusa</span>. Her watch? the +wedding ring? O father, forgive me!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Gaunt</span>. Ay, her watch that +counted the hours when I was away; they were few and sorrowful, +my Hester’s hours; and this poor contrivance numbered +them. The ring—with that I married her. This +chain, it’s of Guinea gold; I brought it home for her, the +year before we married, and she wore it to her wedding. It +was a vanity: they are all vanities; but they are the treasure of +my soul. Below here, see, her wedding dress. Ay, the +watch has stopped: dead, dead. And I know that my Hester +died of me; and day and night, asleep and awake, my soul abides +in her remembrance.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Arethusa</span>. And you come in +your sleep to look at them. O poor father! I +understand—I understand you now.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Gaunt</span>. In my sleep? Ay? +do I so? My Hester!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Arethusa</span>. And why, why did +you not tell me? I thought—I was like the +rest!—I feared you were a miser. O, you should have +told me; I should have been so proud—so proud and +happy. I knew you loved her; but not this, not this.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Gaunt</span>. Why should I have +spoken? It was all between my Hester and me.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Arethusa</span>. Father, may I +speak? May I tell you what my heart tells me? You do +not understand about my mother. You loved her—O, as +few men can love. And she loved you: think how she loved +you! In this world, you know—you have told +me—there is nothing perfect. All we men and women +have our sins; and they are a pain to those that love us, and the +deeper the love, the crueller the pain. That is life; and +it is life we ask, not heaven; and what matter for the pain, if +only the love holds on? Her love held: then she was +happy! Her love was immortal; and when she died, her one +grief was to be parted from you, her one hope to welcome you +again.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Gaunt</span>. And you, Arethusa: I +was to bring her little maid.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Arethusa</span>. God bless her, yes, +and me! But, father, can you not see that she was blessed +among women?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Gaunt</span>. Child, child, you +speak in ignorance; you touch upon griefs you cannot fathom.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Arethusa</span>. No, dearest, +no. She loved you, loved you and died of it. Why else +do women live? What would I ask but just to love my Kit and +die for him, and look down from heaven, and see him keep my +memory holy and live the nobler for my sake?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Gaunt</span>. Ay, do you so love +him?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Arethusa</span>. Even as my mother +loved my father.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Gaunt</span>. Ay? Then we will +see. What right have I—You are your mother’s +child: better, tenderer, wiser than I. Let us seek guidance +in prayer. Good-night, my little maid.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Arethusa</span>. O father, I know +you at last.</p> +<h4>SCENE II</h4> +<p><span class="smcap">Gaunt</span> <i>and</i> <span +class="smcap">Arethusa</span> <i>go out</i>, <i>L.</i>, +<i>carrying the candles</i>. <i>Stage dark</i>. <i>A +distant clock chimes the quarters</i>, <i>and strikes +one</i>. <i>Then</i>, <i>the tap-tapping of Pew’s +stick is hear without</i>; <i>the key is put into the lock</i>; +<i>and enter</i> <span class="smcap">Pew</span>, <i>C.</i>, <i>he +pockets key</i>, <i>and is followed by</i> <span +class="smcap">Kit</span>, <i>with dark lantern</i></p> +<p><span class="smcap">Pew</span>. Quiet, you lubber! +Can’t you foot it soft, you that has daylights and a +glim?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Kit</span>. All right, old +boy. How the devil did we get through the door? Shall +I knock him up?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Pew</span>. Stow your gab +(<i>seizing his wrist</i>). Under your breath!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Kit</span>. Avast that! +You’re a savage dog, aren’t you?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Pew</span>. Turn on that glim.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Kit</span>. It’s as right as a +trivet, Pew. What next? By George, Pew, I’ll +make your fortune.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Pew</span>. Here, now, look round +this room, and sharp. D’ye see a old sea-chest?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Kit</span>. See it, Pew? why, +d’ye think I’m blind?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Pew</span>. Take me across, and let +me feel of her. Mum; catch my hand. Ah, that’s +her (<i>feeling the chest</i>), that’s the Golden +Mary. Now, see here, my bo, if you’ve the pluck of a +weevil in a biscuit, this girl is yours; if you hain’t, and +think to sheer off, I’m blind, but I’m deadly.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Kit</span>. You’ll keep a +civil tongue in your head all the same. I’ll take +threats from nobody, blind or not. Let’s knock up the +Admiral and be done with it. What I want is to get rid of +this dark lantern. It makes me feel like a housebreaker, by +George.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Pew</span> (<i>seated on chest</i>). +You follow this. I’m sick of drinking bilge, when I +might be rolling in my coach, and I’m dog-sick of Jack +Gaunt. Who’s he to be wallowing in gold, when a +better man is groping crusts in the gutter and spunging for +rum? Now, here in this blasted chest is the gold to make +men of us for life: gold, ay, gobs of it; and writin’s +too—things that if I had the proof of ’em I’d +hold Jack Gaunt to the grindstone till his face was flat. +I’d have done it single-handed; but I’m blind, worse +luck: I’m all in the damned dark here, poking with a +stick—Lord, burn up with lime the eyes that saw it! +That’s why I raked up you. Come, out with your iron, +and prise the lid off. You shall touch your snack, and have +the wench for nothing; ay, and fling her in the street, when +done.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Kit</span>. So you brought me here +to steal did you?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Pew</span>. Ay did I; and you +shall. I’m a biter: I bring blood.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Kit</span>. Now, Pew, you came here +on my promise, or I’d kill you like a rat. As it is, +out of that door! One, two, three (<i>drawing his +cutlass</i>), and off!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Pew</span> (<i>leaping at his throat</i>, +<i>and with a great voice</i>). Help! murder! thieves!</p> +<h4>SCENE III</h4> +<p><i>To these</i>, <span class="smcap">Arethusa</span>, <span +class="smcap">Gaunt</span>, <i>with lights</i>. <i>Stage +light</i>. <span class="smcap">Pew</span> <i>has</i> <span +class="smcap">Kit</span> <i>down</i>, <i>and is throttling +him</i></p> +<p><span class="smcap">Pew</span>. I’ve got him, +Cap’n. What, kill my old commander, and rob him of +his blessed child? Not with old Pew!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Gaunt</span>. Get up, David: +can’t you see you’re killing him? Unhand, I +say.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Arethusa</span>. In heaven’s +name, who is it?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Pew</span>. It’s a damned +villain, my pretty; and his name, to the best of my belief, is +French.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Arethusa</span>. Kit? Kit +French? Never!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Kit</span> (<i>rising</i>). +He’s done for me. (<i>Falls on chest</i>.)</p> +<p>[<span class="smcap">Pew</span>. Don’t you take on +about him, ducky; he ain’t worth it. Cap’n +Gaunt, I took him and I give him up. You was ’ard on +me this morning, Cap’n: this is my way—Pew’s +way, this is—of paying of you out.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Arethusa</span>. Father, this is the +blind man that came while you were abroad. Sure +you’ll not listen to <i>him</i>. And you, Kit, you, +what is this?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Kit</span>. Captain Gaunt, that +blind devil has half-throttled me. He brought me +here—I can’t speak—he has almost killed +me—and I’d been drinking too.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Gaunt</span>. And you, David Pew, +what do you say?]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Pew</span>. Cap’n, the rights +of it is this. Me and that young man there was partaking in +a friendly drop of rum at the <i>Admiral Benbow</i> inn; and +I’d just proposed his blessed Majesty, when the young man +he ups and says to me: ‘Pew,’ he says, ‘I like +you, Pew: you’re a true seaman,’ he says; ‘and +I’m one as sticks at nothing; and damme, Pew,’ he +says, ‘I’ll make your fortune.’ [Can he +deny as them was his words? Look at him, you as has eyes: +no, he cannot. ‘Come along of me,’ he says, +‘and damme, I’ll make your fortune.’] +Well, Cap’n, he lights a dark lantern (which you’ll +find it somewhere on the floor, I reckon), and out we goes, me +follerin’ his lead, as I thought was ’art-of-oak and +a true-blue mariner; and the next I knows is, here we was in +here, and him a-askin’ me to ’old the glim, while he +prised the lid off of your old sea-chest with his cutlass.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Gaunt</span>. The chest? +(<i>He leaps</i>, <i>R.</i>, <i>and examines chest</i>.) +Ah!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Pew</span>. Leastways, I was to +’elp him, by his account of it, while he nailed the rhino, +and then took and carried off that lovely maid of yours; for a +lovely maid she is, and one as touched old Pew’s ’art +Cap’n, when I ’eard that, my blood biled. +‘Young man,’ I says, ‘you don’t know +David Pew,’ I says; and with that I ups and does my dooty +by him, cutlass and all, like a lion-’arted seaman, though +blind. [And then in comes you, and I gives him up: as you +know for a fack is true, and I’ll subscribe at the +Assizes. And that, if you was to cut me into junks, is the +truth, the ’ole truth, and nothing but the truth, world +without end, so help me, amen; and if you’ll ’and me +over the ’oly Bible, me not having such a thing about me at +the moment, why, I’ll put a oath upon it like a man.]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Arethusa</span>. Father, have you +heard?</p> +<p>[<span class="smcap">Gaunt</span>. I know this man, +Arethusa, and the truth is not in him.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Arethusa</span>. Well, and why do we +wait? We know Kit, do we not?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Kit</span>. Ay, Captain, you know +the pair of us, and you can see his face and mine.]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Gaunt</span>. Christopher, the facts +are all against you. I find you here in my house at +midnight: you who at least had eyes to see, and must have known +whither you were going. It was this man, not you, who +called me up: and when I came in, it was he who was uppermost and +who gave you up to justice. This unsheathed cutlass is +yours; there hangs the scabbard, empty; and as for the dark +lantern, of what use is light to the blind? and who could have +trimmed and lighted it but you?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Pew</span>. Ah, Cap’n, what a +’ed for argyment!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Kit</span>. And now, sir, now that +you have spoken, I claim the liberty to speak on my side.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Gaunt</span>. Not so. I will +first have done with this man. David Pew, it were too +simple to believe your story as you tell it; but I can find no +testimony against you. From whatever reason, assuredly you +have done me service. Here are five guineas to set you on +your way. Begone at once; and while it is yet time, think +upon your repentance.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Pew</span>. Cap’n, +here’s my respecks. You’ve turned a pious man, +Cap’n; it does my ’art good to ’ear you. +But you ain’t the only one. O no! I came about +and paid off on the other tack before you, I reckon: you ask the +Chaplain of the Fleet else, as called me on the quarter-deck +before old Admiral ’Awke himself (<i>touching his hat</i>), +my old commander. [’David Pew,’ he says, +‘five-and-thirty year have I been in this trade, man and +boy,’ that chaplain says, ‘and damme, Pew,’ +says he, ‘if ever I seen the seaman that could rattle off +his catechism within fifty mile of you. Here’s five +guineas out of my own pocket,’ he says; ‘and +what’s more to the pint,’ he says, ‘I’ll +speak to my reverend brother-in-law, the Bishop of Dover,’ +he says; ‘and if ever you leave the sea, and wants a place +as beadle, why damme,’ says he, ‘you go to him, for +you’re the man for him, and him for you.’</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Gaunt</span>. David Pew, you never +set your foot on a King’s ship in all your life. +There lies the road.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Pew</span>. Ah, you was always a +’ard man, Cap’n, and a ’ard man to believe, +like Didymus the ’Ebrew prophet. But it’s time +for me to go, and I’ll be going. My service to you, +Cap’n: and I kiss my ’and to that lovely female.</p> +<blockquote><p> ‘Time +for us to go,<br /> + Time for us to go,<br /> +And when we’d clapped the hatches on,<br /> + ’Twas time for us to +go.’</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>SCENE IV</h4> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">Kit</span>, +<span class="smcap">Arethusa</span>, <span +class="smcap">Gaunt</span></p> +<p><span class="smcap">Arethusa</span>. Now, Kit?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Kit</span>. Well, sir, and now?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Gaunt</span>. I find you here in my +house at this untimely and unseemly hour; I find you there in +company with one who, to my assured knowledge, should long since +have swung in the wind at Execution Dock. What brought +you? Why did you open my door while I slept to such a +companion? Christopher French, I have two treasures. +One (<i>laying his hand on</i> <span +class="smcap">Arethusa’s</span> <i>shoulder</i>) I know you +covet. Christopher, is this your love?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Kit</span>. Sir, I have been fooled +and trapped. That man declared he knew you, declared he +could make you change your mind about our marriage. I was +drunk, sir, and I believed him: heaven knows I am sober now, and +can see my folly; but I believed him then, and followed +him. He brought me here, he told me your chest was full of +gold that would make men of us for life. At that I saw my +fault, sir, and drew my cutlass; and he, in the wink of an eye, +roared out for help, leaped at my throat like a weasel and had me +rolling on the floor. He was quick, and I, as I tell you, +sir, was off my balance.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Gaunt</span>. Is this man, Pew, your +enemy?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Kit</span>. No sir; I never saw him +till to-night.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Gaunt</span>. Then, if you must +stand the justice of your country, come to the proof with a +better plea. What? lantern and cutlass yours; you the one +that knew the house; you the one that saw; you the one overtaken +and denounced; and you spin me a galley yarn like that? If +that is all your defence, you’ll hang, sir, hang.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Arethusa</span>. Ah! Father, I give +him up: I will never see him, never speak to him, never think of +him again; I take him from my heart; I give myself wholly up to +you and to my mother; I will obey you in every point—O, not +at a word merely—at a finger raised! I will do all +this; I will do anything—anything you bid me; I swear it in +the face of heaven. Only—Kit! I love him, +father, I love him. Let him go.</p> +<p>[<span class="smcap">Gaunt</span>. Go?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Arethusa</span>. You let the +other. Open the door again—for my sake, +father—in my mother’s name—O, open the door and +let him go.]</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Kit</span>. Let me go? My +girl, if you had cast me out is morning, good and well: I would +have left you, though it broke my heart. But it’s a +changed story now; now I’m down on my luck, and you come +and stab me from behind. I ask no favour, and I’ll +take none; I stand here on my innocence, and God helping me +I’ll clear my good name, and get your love again, if +it’s love worth having. [Now, Captain Gaunt, +I’ve said my say, and you may do your pleasure. I am +my father’s son, and I never feared to face the truth.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Gaunt</span>. You have spoken like a +man, French, and you may go. I leave you free.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Kit</span>. Nay, sir, not so: not +with my will. I’m accused and counted guilty; the +proofs are against me; the girl I love has turned upon me. +I’ll accept no mercy at your hands.] Captain Gaunt, I +am your prisoner.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Arethusa</span>. Kit, dear +Kit—</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Gaunt</span>. Silence! Young +man, I have offered you liberty without bond or condition. +You refuse. You shall be judged. Meanwhile +(<i>opening the door</i>, <i>R.</i>), you will go in here. +I keep your cutlass. The night brings counsel: to-morrow +shall decide. (<i>He locks</i> <span +class="smcap">Kit</span> <i>in</i>, <i>leaving the key in the +door</i>.)</p> +<h4>SCENE V</h4> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">Gaunt</span>, +<span class="smcap">Arethusa</span>, <i>afterwards</i> <span +class="smcap">Pew</span></p> +<p><span class="smcap">Arethusa</span>. Father, you believe +in him; you do; I know you do.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Gaunt</span>. Child, I am not given +to be hasty. I will pray and sleep upon this matter. +(<i>A knocking at the door</i>, <i>C.</i>) Who knocks so +late? (<i>He opens</i>.)</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Pew</span> (<i>entering</i>). +Cap’n, shall I fetch the constable?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Gaunt</span>. No.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Pew</span>. No? Have ye killed +him?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Gaunt</span>. My man, I’ll see +you into the road. (<i>He takes</i> <span +class="smcap">Pew</span> <i>by the arm</i>, <i>and goes out with +him</i>.)</p> +<h4>SCENE VI</h4> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="smcap">Arethusa</span></p> +<p><span class="smcap">Arethusa</span>. (<i>Listens</i>; +<i>then running to door</i>, <i>R.</i>) Kit—dearest! +wait! I will come to you soon. (<span +class="smcap">Gaunt</span> <i>re-enters</i>, <i>C.</i>, <i>as the +drop falls</i>.)</p> +<h3>ACT IV.</h3> +<p><i>The Stage represents the Admiral’s house</i>, <i>as +in Acts I. and III</i>. <i>A chair</i>, <i>L.</i>, <i>in +front</i>. <i>As the curtain rises</i>, <i>the Stage is +dark</i>. <i>Enter</i> <span class="smcap">Arethusa</span>, +<i>L.</i>, <i>with candle</i>; <i>she lights another</i>; <i>and +passes to door</i>, <i>R.</i>, <i>which she unbolts</i>. +<i>Stage light</i></p> +<h4>SCENE I</h4> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="smcap">Arethusa</span>, <span class="smcap">Kit</span></p> +<p><span class="smcap">Arethusa</span>. Come, dear Kit, +come!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Kit</span>. Well, I’m +here.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Arethusa</span>. O Kit, you are not +angry with me.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Kit</span>. Have I reason to be +pleased?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Arethusa</span>. Kit, I was +wrong. Forgive me.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Kit</span>. O yes. I forgive +you. I suppose you meant it kindly; but there are some +kindnesses a man would rather die than take a gift of. When +a man is accused, Arethusa, it is not that he fears the +gallows—it’s the shame that cuts him. At such a +time as that, the way to help was to stand to your belief. +You should have nailed my colours to the mast, not spoke of +striking them. If I were to be hanged to-morrow, and your +love there, and a free pardon and a dukedom on the other +side—which would I choose?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Arethusa</span>. Kit, you must judge +me fairly. It was not my life that was at stake, it was +yours. Had it been mine—mine, Kit—what had you +done, then?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Kit</span>. I am a downright fool; I +saw it inside out. Why, give you up, by George!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Arethusa</span>. Ah, you see! +Now you understand. It was all pure love. When he +said that word—O!—death and that disgrace! . . +. But I know my father. He fears nothing so much as +the goodness of his heart; and yet it conquers. He would +pray, he said: and to-night, and by the kindness of his voice, I +knew he was convinced already. All that is wanted, is that +you should forgive me.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Kit</span>. Arethusa, if you looked +at me like that I’d forgive you piracy on the high +seas. I was only sulky; I was boxed up there in the black +dark, and couldn’t see my hand. It made me pity that +blind man, by George!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Arethusa</span>. O, that blind +man! The fiend! He came back, Kit: did you hear him? +he thought we had killed you—you!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Kit</span>. Well, well, it serves me +right for keeping company with such a swab.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Arethusa</span>. One thing puzzles +me: how did you get in? I saw my father lock the door.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Kit</span>. Ah, how? +That’s just it. I was a sheet in the wind, you +see. How did we? He did it somehow. . . . By George, +he had a key! He can get in again.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Arethusa</span>. Again? that +man!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Kit</span>. Ay, can he! +Again! When he likes!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Arethusa</span>. Kit, I am +afraid. O Kit, he will kill my father.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Kit</span>. Afraid. I’m +glad of that. Now, you’ll see I’m worth my salt +at something. Ten to one he’s back to Mrs. +Drake’s. I’ll after, and lay him aboard.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Arethusa</span>. O Kit, he is too +strong for you.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Kit</span>. Arethusa, that’s +below the belt! Never you fear; I’ll give a good +account of him.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Arethusa</span> (<i>taking cutlass from +the wall</i>). You’ll be none the worse for this, +dear.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Kit</span>. That’s so +(<i>making cuts</i>). All the same, I’m half ashamed +to draw on a blind man; it’s too much odds. (<i>He +leaps suddenly against the table</i>.) Ah!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Arethusa</span>. Kit! Are you +ill?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Kit</span>. My head’s like a +humming top; it serves me right for drinking.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Arethusa</span>. O, and the blind +man! (<i>She runs</i>, <i>L.</i>, <i>to the corner +cupboard</i>, <i>brings a bottle and glass</i>, <i>and fills and +offers glass</i>.) Here, lad, drink that.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Kit</span>. To you! +That’s better. (<i>Bottle and glass remain on +Gaunt’s table</i>.)</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Arethusa</span>. Suppose you miss +him?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Kit</span>. Miss him! The road +is straight; and I can hear the tap-tapping of that stick a mile +away.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Arethusa</span> (<i>listening</i>). +St! my father stirring in his room!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Kit</span>. Let me get clear; tell +him why when I’m gone. The door—?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Arethusa</span>. Locked!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Kit</span>. The window!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Arethusa</span>. Quick, quick! +(<i>She unfastens R. window</i>, <i>by which</i> <span +class="smcap">Kit</span> <i>goes out</i>.)</p> +<h4>SCENE II</h4> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="smcap">Arethusa</span>, <span class="smcap">Gaunt</span> +<i>entering L.</i></p> +<p><span class="smcap">Arethusa</span>. Father, Kit is gone +. . . He is asleep.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Gaunt</span>. Waiting, waiting and +wearying. The years, they go so heavily, my Hester still +waiting! (<i>He goes R. to chest</i>, <i>which he +opens</i>.) That is your chain; it’s of Guinea gold; +I brought it you from Guinea. (<i>Taking out +chain</i>.) You liked it once; it pleased you long ago; O, +why not now—why will you not be happy now? . . . I swear +this is my last voyage; see, I lay my hand upon the Holy Book and +swear it. One more venture—for the child’s +sake, Hester; you don’t think upon your little maid.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Arethusa</span>. Ah, for my sake, it +was for my sake!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Gaunt</span>. Ten days out from +Lagos. That’s a strange sunset, Mr. Yeo. All +hands shorten sail! Lay aloft there, look smart! . . +. What’s that? Only the negroes in the hold . . +. Mr. Yeo, she can’t live long at this; I have a wife and +child in Barnstaple. . . . Christ, what a sea! Hold on, for +God’s sake—hold on fore and aft! Great God! +(<i>as thought the sea were making a breach over the ship at the +moment</i>).</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Arethusa</span>. O!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Gaunt</span>. They seem quieter down +below there . . . No water—no light—no +air—seven days battened down, and the seas mountain high, +and the ship labouring hell-deep! Two hundred and five, two +hundred and five, two hundred and five—all to eternal +torture!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Arethusa</span>. O pity him, pity +him! Let him sleep, let him forget! Let her prayers +avail in heaven, and let him rest!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Gaunt</span>. Hester, no, +don’t smile at me. Rather tears! I have seen +you weep—often, often; two hundred and five times. +Two hundred and five! (<i>With ring</i>.) Hester, +here is your ring (<i>he tries to put the ring on his +finger</i>). How comes it in my hand? Not fallen off +again? O no, impossible! it was made smaller, dear, it +can’t have fallen off! Ah, you waste away. You +must live, you must, for the dear child’s sake, for mine, +Hester, for mine! Ah, the child. Yes. Who am I +to judge? Poor Kit French! And she, your little maid, +she’s like you, Hester, and she will save him! How +should a man be saved without a wife?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Arethusa</span>. O father, if you +could but hear me thank and bless you! (<i>The tapping of +Pew’s stick is heard approaching</i>. <span +class="smcap">Gaunt</span> <i>passes L. front and sits</i>.)</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Gaunt</span> (<i>beginning to count the +taps</i>). One—two—two hundred and five</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Arethusa</span> (<i>listening</i>). +God help me, the blind man! (<i>She runs to door</i>, +<i>C.</i>; <i>the key is put into the lock from without</i>, +<i>and the door opens</i>.)</p> +<h4>SCENE III</h4> +<p><span class="smcap">Arethusa</span> (<i>at back of stage by +the door</i>); <span class="smcap">Gaunt</span> (<i>front +L.</i>); <i>to these</i>, <span class="smcap">Pew</span>, +<i>C.</i></p> +<p><span class="smcap">Pew</span> (<i>sotto voce</i>). All +snug. (<i>Coming down</i>.) So that was you, my young +friend Christopher, as shot by me on the road; and so you was hot +foot after old Pew? Christopher, my young friend, I reckon +I’ll have the bowels out of that chest, and I reckon +you’ll be lagged and scragged for it. (<i>At these +words</i> <span class="smcap">Arethusa</span> <i>locks the +door</i>, <i>and takes the key</i>.) What’s +that? All still. There’s something wrong about +this room. Pew, my ’art of oak, you’re queer +to-night; brace up, and carry off. Where’s the +tool? (<i>Producing knife</i>.) Ah, here she is; and +now for the chest; and the gold; and +rum—rum—rum. What! Open? . . . old +clothes, by God! . . . He’s done me; he’s been before +me; he’s bolted with the swag; that’s why he ran: +Lord wither and waste him forty year for it! O Christopher, +if I had my fingers on your throat! Why didn’t I +strangle the soul out of him? I heard the breath squeak in +his weasand; and Jack Gaunt pulled me off. Ah, Jack, +that’s another I owe you. My pious friend, if I was +God Almighty for five minutes! (<span +class="smcap">Gaunt</span> <i>rises and begins to pace the stage +like a quarterdeck</i>, <i>L.</i>) What’s that? +A man’s walk. He don’t see me, thank the +blessed dark! But it’s time to slip, my bo. +(<i>He gropes his way stealthily till he comes to Gaunt’s +table</i>, <i>where he burns his hand in the candle</i>.) A +candle—lighted—then it’s bright as day! +Lord God, doesn’t he see me? It’s the horrors +come alive. (<span class="smcap">Gaunt</span> <i>draws near +and turns away</i>.) I’ll go mad, mad! (<i>He +gropes to the door</i>, <i>stopping and starting</i>.) +Door. (<i>His voice rising for the first time</i>, <i>sharp +with terror</i>.) Locked? Key gone? +Trapped! Keep off—keep off of me—keep +away! (<i>Sotto voce again</i>.) Keep your head, Lord +have mercy, keep your head. I’m wet with sweat. +What devil’s den is this? I must out—out! +(<i>He shakes the door vehemently</i>.) No? Knife it +is then—knife—knife—knife! (<i>He moves +with the knife raised towards</i> <span +class="smcap">Gaunt</span>, <i>intently listening</i>, <i>and +changing his direction as</i> <span class="smcap">Gaunt</span> +<i>changes his position on the stage</i>.)</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Arethusa</span> (<i>rushing to intercept +him</i>). Father, father, wake!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Gaunt</span>. Hester, Hester! +(<i>He turns</i>, <i>in time to see</i> <span +class="smcap">Arethusa</span> <i>grapple</i> <span +class="smcap">Pew</span> <i>in the centre of the Stage</i>, +<i>and</i> <span class="smcap">Pew</span> <i>force her +down</i>.)</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Arethusa</span>. Kit! Kit!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Pew</span> (<i>with the knife +raised</i>). Pew’s way!</p> +<h4>SCENE IV</h4> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To these</i>, <span +class="smcap">Kit</span></p> +<p>(<i>He leaps through window</i>, <i>R.</i>, <i>and cuts</i> +<span class="smcap">Pew</span> <i>down</i>. <i>At the same +moment</i>, <span class="smcap">Gaunt</span>, <i>who has been +staring helplessly at his daughter’s peril</i>, <i>fully +awakes</i>.)</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Gaunt</span>. Death and blood! +(<span class="smcap">Kit</span>, <i>helping</i> <span +class="smcap">Arethusa</span>, <i>has let fall the +cutlass</i>. <span class="smcap">Gaunt</span><i> picks it +up and runs on</i> <span class="smcap">Pew</span>.) Damned +mutineer, I’ll have your heart out! (<i>He stops</i>, +<i>stands staring</i>, <i>drops cutlass</i>, <i>falls upon his +knees</i>.) God forgive me! Ah, foul sins, would you +blaze forth again? Lord, close your ears! Hester, +Hester, hear me not! Shall all these years and tears be +unavailing?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Arethusa</span>. Father, I am not +hurt.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Gaunt</span>. Ay, daughter, but my +soul—my lost soul!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Pew</span> (<i>rising on his +elbow</i>). Rum? You’ve done me. For +God’s sake, rum. (<span class="smcap">Arethusa</span> +<i>pours out a glass</i>, <i>which</i> <span +class="smcap">Kit</span> <i>gives to him</i>.) Rum? +This ain’t rum; it’s fire! (<i>With great +excitement</i>.) What’s this? I don’t +like rum? (<i>Feebly</i>.) Ay, then, I’m a dead +man, and give me water.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Gaunt</span>. Now even his sins +desert him.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Pew</span> (<i>drinking water</i>). +Jack Gaunt, you’ve always been my rock ahead. +It’s thanks to you I’ve got my papers, and this time +I’m shipped for Fiddler’s Green. Admiral, we +ain’t like to meet again, and I’ll give you a toast: +Here’s Fiddler’s Green, and damn all lubbers! +(<i>Seizing</i> <span class="smcap">Gaunt’s</span> +<i>arm</i>.) I say—fair dealings, Jack!—none of +that heaven business: Fiddler’s Green’s my port, now, +ain’t it?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Gaunt</span>. David, you’ve +hove short up, and God forbid that I deceive you. Pray, +man, pray; for in the place to which you are bound there is no +mercy and no hope.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Pew</span>. Ay, my lass, +you’re black, but your blood’s red, and I’m all +a-muck with it. Pass the rum, and be damned to you. +(<i>Trying to sing</i>)—</p> +<blockquote><p>‘Time for us to go,<br /> +Time for us—’</p> +</blockquote> +<p style="text-align: right">(<i>He dies</i>.)</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Gaunt</span>. But for the grace of +God, there lies John Gaunt! Christopher, you have saved my +child; and I, I, that was blinded with self-righteousness, have +fallen. Take her, Christopher; but O, walk humbly!</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">CURTAIN</p> +<h2><a name="page251"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +251</span>MACAIRE<br /> +A MELODRAMATIC FARCE<br /> +IN THREE ACTS</h2> +<h3>PERSONS REPRESENTED</h3> +<p><span class="smcap">Robert Macaire</span>.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Bertrand</span>.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dumont</span>, Landlord of the <i>Auberge +des Adrets</i>.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Charles</span>, a Gendarme, Dumont’s +supposed son.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Goriot</span>.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">The Marquis</span>, Charles’s +Father.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">The Brigadier</span> of Gendarmerie.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">The Curate</span>.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">The Notary</span>.</p> +<p>A <span class="smcap">Waiter</span>.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Ernestine</span>, Goriot’s +Daughter.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Aline</span>.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Maids</span>, <span +class="smcap">Peasants</span> (<i>Male and Female</i>), <span +class="smcap">Gendarmes</span>.</p> +<p>The Scene is laid in the Courtyard of the <i>Auberge des +Adrets</i>, on the frontier of France and Savoy. The time +1800. The action occupies an interval of from twelve to +fourteen hours: from four in the afternoon till about five in the +morning.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p><span class="smcap">Note</span>.—<i>The time between the +acts should be as brief as possible</i>, <i>and the piece +played</i>, <i>where it is merely comic</i>, <i>in a vein of +patter</i>.</p> +<h3>ACT I.</h3> +<p><i>The Stage represents the courtyard of the Auberge des +Adrets</i>. <i>It is surrounded by the buildings of the +inn</i>, <i>with a gallery on the first story</i>, +<i>approached</i>, <i>C.</i>, <i>by a straight flight of +stairs</i>. <i>L. C.</i>, <i>the entrance +doorway</i>. <i>A little in front of this</i>, <i>a small +grated office</i>, <i>containing business table</i>, +<i>brass-bound cabinet</i>, <i>and portable cash-box</i>. +<i>In front</i>, <i>R. and L.</i>, <i>tables and benches</i>; +<i>one</i>, <i>L.</i>, <i>partially laid for a considerable +party</i>.</p> +<h4>SCENE I</h4> +<p><span class="smcap">Aline</span> and <span +class="smcap">Maids</span>; <i>to whom</i> <span +class="smcap">Fiddlers</span>; <i>afterwards</i> <span +class="smcap">Dumont</span> <i>and</i> <span +class="smcap">Charles</span>. <i>As the curtain rises</i>, +<i>the sound of the violins is heard approaching</i>. <span +class="smcap">Aline</span> <i>and the inn servants</i>, <i>who +are discovered laying the table</i>, <i>dance up to door L. +C.</i>, <i>to meet the</i> <span class="smcap">Fiddlers</span>, +<i>who enter likewise dancing to their own music</i>. +<i>Air</i>: ‘<i>Haste to the Wedding</i>.’ +<i>The</i> <span class="smcap">Fiddlers</span> <i>exeunt playing +into house</i>, <i>R. U. E.</i> <span +class="smcap">Aline</span> <i>and</i> <span +class="smcap">Maids</span> <i>dance back to table</i>, <i>which +they proceed to arrange</i></p> +<p><span class="smcap">Aline</span>. Well, give me fiddles: +fiddles and a wedding feast. It tickles your heart till +your heels make a runaway match of it. I don’t mind +extra work, I don’t, so long as there’s fun about +it. Hand me up that pile of plates. The quinces +there, before the bride. Stick a pink in the Notary’s +glass: that’s the girl he’s courting.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dumont</span> (<i>entering</i>; +<i>with</i> <span class="smcap">Charles</span>). Good +girls, good girls! Charles, in ten minutes from now what +happy faces will smile around that board!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Charles</span>. Sir, my good fortune +is complete; and most of all in this, that my happiness has made +my father happy.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dumont</span>. Your father? +Ah, well, upon that point we shall have more to say.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Charles</span>. What more remains +that has not been said already? For surely, sir, there are +few sons more fortunate in their father: and, since you approve +of this marriage, may I not conceive you to be in that sense +fortunate in your son?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dumont</span>. Dear boy, there is +always a variety of considerations. But the moment is ill +chosen for dispute; to-night, at least, let our felicity be +unalloyed. (<i>Looking off L. C.</i>) Our guests +arrive: here is our good Curate, and here our cheerful +Notary.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Charles</span>. His old infirmity, I +fear.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dumont</span>. But +Charles—dear boy!—at your wedding feast! I +should have taken it unneighbourly had he come strictly +sober.</p> +<h4>SCENE II</h4> +<p><i>To these</i>, <i>by the door L. C.</i>, <i>the</i> <span +class="smcap">Curate</span> <i>and the</i> <span +class="smcap">Notary</span>, <i>arm in arm</i>; <i>the latter +owl-like and titubant</i></p> +<p><span class="smcap">Curate</span>. Peace be on this +house!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Notary</span> (<i>singing</i>). +‘Prove an excuse for the glass.’</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dumont</span>. Welcome, excellent +neighbours! The Church and the Law.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Curate</span>. And you, Charles, let +me hope your feelings are in solemn congruence with this +momentous step.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Notary</span> (<i>digging</i> <span +class="smcap">Charles</span> <i>in the ribs</i>). +Married? Lovely bride? Prove an excuse!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dumont</span> (<i>to</i> <span +class="smcap">Curate</span>). I fear our friend? perhaps? +as usual? eh?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Curate</span>. Possibly: I had not +yet observed it.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dumont</span>. Well, well, his heart +is good.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Curate</span>. He doubtless meant it +kindly.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Notary</span>. Where’s +Aline?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Aline</span>. Coming, sir! +(<span class="smcap">Notary</span> <i>makes for her</i>.)</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Curate</span> (<i>capturing +him</i>). You will infallibly expose yourself to +misconstruction. (<i>To</i> <span +class="smcap">Charles</span>.) Where is your commanding +officer?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Charles</span>. Why, sir, we have +quite an alert. Information has been received from Lyons +that the notorious malefactor, Robert Macaire, has broken prison, +and the Brigadier is now scouring the country in his +pursuit. I myself am instructed to watch the visitors to +our house.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dumont</span>. That will do, +Charles: you may go. (<i>Exit</i> <span +class="smcap">Charles</span>.) You have considered the case +I laid before you?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Notary</span>. Considered a +case?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dumont</span>. Yes, yes. +Charles, you know, Charles. Can he marry? under these +untoward and peculiar circumstances, can he marry?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Notary</span>. Now, lemme tell you: +marriage is a contract to which there are two constracting +parties. That being clear, I am prepared to argue +categorically that your son Charles—who, it appears, is not +your son Charles—I am prepared to argue that one party to a +contract being null and void, the other party to a contract +cannot by law oblige or constrain the first party to constract or +bind himself to any contract, except the other party be able to +see his way clearly to constract himself with him. I donno +if I make myself clear?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dumont</span>. No.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Notary</span>. Now, lemme tell you: +by applying justice of peace might possibly afford relief.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dumont</span>. But how?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Notary</span>. Ay, there’s the +rub.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dumont</span>. But what am I to +do? He’s not my son, I tell you: Charles is not my +son.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Notary</span>. I know.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dumont</span>. Perhaps a glass of +wine would clear him?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Notary</span>. That’s what I +want. (<i>They go out</i>, <i>L. U. E.</i>)</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Aline</span>. And now, if +you’ve done deranging my table, to the cellar for the wine, +the whole pack of you. (<i>Manet sola</i>, <i>considering +table</i>.) There: it’s like a garden. If I had +as sweet a table for my wedding, I would marry the Notary.</p> +<h4>SCENE III</h4> +<p><i>The Stage remains vacant</i>. <i>Enter</i>, <i>by +door L. C.</i>, <span class="smcap">Macaire</span>, <i>followed +by</i> <span class="smcap">Bertrand</span> <i>with bundle</i>; +<i>in the traditional costume</i></p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>. Good! No +police.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Bertrand</span> (<i>looking off</i>, <i>L. +C.</i>). Sold again!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>. This is a favoured +spot, Bertrand: ten minutes from the frontier: ten minutes from +escape. Blessings on that frontier line! The criminal +hops across, and lo! the reputable man. +(<i>Reading</i>) ‘<i>Auberge des Adrets</i>, 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—(<i>makes as if turning key</i>.) 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!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Bertrand</span>. Macaire, I’m +hungry.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>. 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.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Bertrand</span>. If I could get a +full meal and a pound in my pocket I would hold my tongue.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>. 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.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Bertrand</span>. 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.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>. What is a +chaplain? A man they pay to say what you don’t want +to hear.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Bertrand</span>. 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.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>. What is life? +A boose and the police.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Bertrand</span>. 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—</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>. 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—(<i>He shows his knife</i>.)</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Bertrand</span>. Put it up, put it +up: I’ll do what you want.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>. What is obedience? +fear. So march straight, or look for mischief. +It’s not <i>bon ton</i>, 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. (<i>Calling</i>.) House, house here!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Bertrand</span>. Are you mad? +We haven’t a brass farthing.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>. Now!—But +before we leave!</p> +<h4>SCENE IV</h4> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To these</i>, <span +class="smcap">Dumont</span></p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dumont</span>. Gentlemen, what can a +plain man do for your service?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>. 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.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dumont</span>. 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?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>. My good creature, +you are strangely in error; one is rolling in gold.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Bertrand</span>. And very +hungry.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dumont</span>. Dear me, and on this +happy occasion I had registered a vow that every poor traveller +should have his keep for nothing, and a pound in his pocket to +help him on his journey.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span> (<i>aside</i>). A +pound in his pocket?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Bertrand</span> (<i>aside</i>). Keep +for nothing?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span> (<i>aside</i>). +Bitten!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Bertrand</span> (<i>aside</i>). Sold +again!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dumont</span>. I will send you what +we have: poor fare, perhaps, for gentlemen like you.</p> +<h4>SCENE V</h4> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>, <span +class="smcap">Bertrand</span>; <i>afterwards</i> <span +class="smcap">Charles</span>, <i>who appears on the gallery</i>, +<i>and comes down</i></p> +<p><span class="smcap">Bertrand</span>. I told you +so. Why will you fly so high?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>. Bertrand, +don’t crush me. A pound: a fortune! With a +pound to start upon—two pounds, for I’d have borrowed +yours—three months from now I might have been driving in my +barouche, with you behind it, Bertrand, in a tasteful livery.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Bertrand</span> (<i>seeing</i> <span +class="smcap">Charles</span>). Lord, a policeman!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>. Steady! What +is a policeman? Justice’s blind eye. (<i>To</i> +<span class="smcap">Charles</span>.) I think, sir, you are +in the force?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Charles</span>. I am, sir, and it +was in that character—</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>. Ah, sir, a fine +service!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Charles</span>. It is, sir, and if +your papers—</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>. You become your +uniform. Have you a mother? Ah, well, well!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Charles</span>. My duty, +sir—</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>. They tell me one +Macaire—is not that his name, Bertrand?—has broken +jail at Lyons?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Charles</span>. He has, sir, and it +is precisely for that reason—</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>. Well, +good-bye. (<i>Shaking</i> <span +class="smcap">Charles</span> <i>by the hand and leading him +towards the door</i>, <i>L. U. E.</i>) Sweet spot, sweet +spot. The scenery is . . . (<i>kisses his +finger-tips</i>. <i>Exit</i> <span +class="smcap">Charles</span>). And now, what is a +policeman?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Bertrand</span>. A bobby.</p> +<h4>SCENE VI</h4> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>, <span +class="smcap">Bertrand</span>; <i>to whom</i> <span +class="smcap">Aline</span> <i>with tray</i>; <i>and +afterwards</i> <span class="smcap">Maids</span></p> +<p><span class="smcap">Aline</span> (<i>entering with tray</i>, +<i>and proceeding to lay table</i>, <i>L.</i>) My men, you +are in better luck than usual. It isn’t every day you +go shares in a wedding feast.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>. A wedding? Ah, +and you’re the bride.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Aline</span>. What makes you fancy +that?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>. Heavens, am I +blind?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Aline</span>. Well, then, I wish I +was.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>. I take you at the +word: have me.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Aline</span>. You will never be +hanged for modesty.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>. Modesty is for the +poor: when one is rich and nobly born, ’tis but a +clog. I love you. What is your name?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Aline</span>. Guess again, and +you’ll guess wrong. (<i>Enter the other servants with +wine baskets</i>.) Here, set the wine down. No, that +is the old Burgundy for the wedding party. These gentlemen +must put up with a different bin. (<i>Setting wine +before</i> <span class="smcap">Macaire</span> <i>and</i> <span +class="smcap">Bertrand</span>, <i>who are at table</i>, +<i>L.</i>)</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span> (<i>drinking</i>). +Vinegar, by the supreme Jove!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Bertrand</span>. Sold again!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>. Now, Bertrand, mark +me. (<i>Before the servants he exchanges the bottle for the +one in front of</i> <span class="smcap">Dumont’s</span> +<i>place at the head of the other table</i>.) Was it well +done?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Bertrand</span>. Immense.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span> (<i>emptying his glass +into</i> <span class="smcap">Bertrand’s</span>). +There, Bertrand, you may finish that. Ha! music?</p> +<h4>SCENE VII</h4> +<p><i>To these</i>, <i>from the inn</i>, <i>L. U. E.</i>, <span +class="smcap">Dumont</span>, <span class="smcap">Charles</span>, +the <span class="smcap">Curate</span>, the <span +class="smcap">Notary</span> jigging: from the inn, <i>R. U. +E.</i>, <span class="smcap">Fiddlers</span> playing and dancing; +and through door L. C., <span class="smcap">Goriot</span>, <span +class="smcap">Ernestine</span>, <span +class="smcap">Peasants</span>, dancing likewise. Air: +‘Haste to the Wedding.’ As the parties meet, +the music ceases</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dumont</span>. Welcome, neighbours! +welcome friends! Ernestine, here is my Charles, no longer +mine. A thousand welcomes. O the gay day! O the +auspicious wedding! (<span class="smcap">Charles</span>, +<span class="smcap">Ernestine</span>, <span +class="smcap">Dumont</span>, <span class="smcap">Goriot</span>, +<span class="smcap">Curate</span>, <i>and</i> <span +class="smcap">Notary</span> <i>sit to the wedding feast</i>; +<span class="smcap">Peasants</span>, <span +class="smcap">Fiddlers</span>, <i>and</i> <span +class="smcap">Maids</span>, <i>grouped at back</i>, <i>drinking +from the barrel</i>.) O, I must have all happy around +me.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Goriot</span>. Then help the +soup.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dumont</span>. Give me leave: I must +have all happy. Shall these poor gentlemen upon a day like +this drink ordinary wine? Not so: I shall drink it. +(<i>To</i> <span class="smcap">Macaire</span>, <i>who is just +about to fill his glass</i>) Don’t touch it, +sir! Aline, give me that gentleman’s bottle and take +him mine: with old Dumont’s compliments.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>. What?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Bertrand</span>. Change the +bottle?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span> (<i>aside</i>). +Bitten!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Bertrand</span> (<i>aside</i>). Sold +again.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dumont</span>. Yes, all shall be +happy.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Goriot</span>. I tell ’ee, +help the soup!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dumont</span> (<i>begins to help +soup</i>. <i>Then</i>, <i>dropping ladle</i>.) One +word: a matter of detail: Charles is not my son. (<i>All +exclaim</i>.) O no, he is not my son. Perhaps I +should have mentioned it before.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Charles</span>. I am not your son, +sir?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dumont</span>. O no, far from +it.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Goriot</span>. Then who the +devil’s son be he?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dumont</span>. O, I don’t +know. It’s an odd tale, a romantic tale: it may amuse +you. It was twenty years ago, when I kept the <i>Golden +Head</i> at Lyons: Charles was left upon my doorstep in a covered +basket, with sufficient money to support the child till he should +come of age. There was no mark upon the linen, nor any clue +but one: an unsigned letter from the father of the child, which +he strictly charged me to preserve. It was to prove his +identity: he, of course, would know the contents, and he only; so +I keep it safe in the third compartment of my cash-box, with the +ten thousand francs I’ve saved for his dowry. Here is +the key; it’s a patent key. To-day the poor boy is +twenty-one, to-morrow to be married. I did perhaps hope the +father would appear: there was a Marquis coming; he wrote me for +a room; I gave him the best, Number Thirteen, which you have all +heard of: I did hope it might be he, for a Marquis, you know, is +always genteel. But no, you see. As for me, I take +you all to witness I’m as innocent of him as the babe +unborn.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>. Ahem! I think +you said the linen bore an M?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dumont</span>. Pardon me: the +markings were cut off.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>. True. The +basket white, I think?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dumont</span>. Brown, brown.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>. Ah! brown—a +whitey-brown.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Goriot</span>. I tell ’ee +what, Dumont, this is all very well; but in that case, I’ll +be danged if he gets my daater. (<i>General +consternation</i>.)</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dumont</span>. O Goriot, let’s +have happy faces!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Goriot</span>. Happy faces be +danged! I want to marry my daater; I want your son. +But who be this? I don’t know, and you don’t +know, and he don’t know. He may be anybody; by Jarge, +he may be nobody! (<i>Exclamations</i>.)</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Curate</span>. The situation is +crepuscular.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Ernestine</span>. Father, and Mr. +Dumont (and you too, Charles), I wish to say one word. You +gave us leave to fall in love; we fell in love; and as for me, my +father, I will either marry Charles, or die a maid.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Charles</span>. And you, sir, would +you rob me in one day of both a father and a wife?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dumont</span> (<i>weeping</i>). +Happy faces, happy faces!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Goriot</span>. I know nothing about +robbery; but she cannot marry without my consent, and that she +cannot get.</p> +<p>(<i>All speak together</i> . . .</p> +<p class="gutindent"><span class="smcap">Dumont</span>. O +dear, O dear!</p> +<p class="gutindent"><span class="smcap">Aline</span>. What +spoil the wedding?</p> +<p class="gutindent"><span class="smcap">Ernestine</span>. +O father!</p> +<p class="gutindent"><span class="smcap">Charles</span>. +Sir, sir, you would not—</p> +<p>. . . )</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Goriot</span> (<i>exasperated</i>). +I wun’t, and what’s more I shan’t.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Notary</span>. I donno if I make +myself clear?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dumont</span>. Goriot, do +let’s have happy faces!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Goriot</span>. Fudge! Fudge!! +Fudge!!!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Curate</span>. Possibly on +application to this conscientious jurist, light may be +obtained.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">All</span>. The Notary; yes, yes; +the Notary!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dumont</span>. Now, how about this +marriage?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Notary</span>. Marriage is a +contract, to which there are two constracting parties, John Doe +and Richard Roe. I donno if I make myself clear?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Aline</span>. Poor lamb!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Curate</span>. Silence, my friend; +you will expose yourself to misconstruction.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span> (<i>taking the +stage</i>). As an entire stranger in this painful scene, +will you permit a gentleman and a traveller to interject one +word? There sits the young man, full, I am sure, of +pleasing qualities; here the young maiden, by her own confession +bashfully consenting to the match; there sits that dear old +gentleman, a lover of bright faces like myself, his own now +dimmed with sorrow; and here—(may I be allowed to +add?)—here sits this noble Roman, a father like myself, and +like myself the slave of duty. Last you have me—Baron +Henri-Frédéric de Latour de Main de la Tonnerre de +Brest, the man of the world and the man of delicacy. I find +you all—permit me the expression—gravelled. A +marriage and an obstacle. Now, what is marriage? The +union of two souls, and, what is possibly more romantic, the +fusion of two dowries. What is an obstacle? the +devil. And this obstacle? to me, as a man of family, the +obstacle seems grave; but to me, as a man and a brother, what is +it but a word? O my friend (<i>to</i> <span +class="smcap">Goriot</span>), you whom I single out as the victim +of the same noble failings with myself—of pride of birth, +of pride of honesty—O my friend, reflect. Go now +apart with your dishevelled daughter, your tearful son-in-law, +and let their plaints constrain you. Believe me, when you +come to die, you will recall with pride this amiable +weakness.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Goriot</span>. I shan’t, and +what’s more I wun’t. (<span +class="smcap">Charles</span> <i>and</i> <span +class="smcap">Ernestine</span> <i>lead him up stage</i>, +<i>protesting</i>. <i>All rise</i>, <i>except</i> <span +class="smcap">Notary</span>.)</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dumont</span> (<i>front R.</i>, <i>shaking +hands with</i> <span class="smcap">Macaire</span>). Sir, +you have a noble nature. (<span +class="smcap">Macaire</span> <i>picks his pocket</i>.) Dear +me, dear me, and you are rich.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>. I own, sir, I +deceived you: I feared some wounding offer, and my pride +replied. But to be quite frank with you, you behold me +here, the Baron Henri-Frédéric de Latour de Main de +la Tonnerre de Brest, and between my simple manhood and the +infinite these rags are all.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dumont</span>. Dear me, and with +this noble pride, my gratitude is useless. For I, too, have +delicacy: I understand you could not stoop to take a gift.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>. A gift? a small one? +never!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dumont</span>. And I will never +wound you by the offer.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span> (<i>aside</i>). +Bitten.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Bertrand</span> (<i>aside</i>). Sold +again.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Goriot</span> (<i>taking the +stage</i>). But, look’ee here, he can’t +marry.</p> +<p>(<i>All speak together</i> . . .</p> +<p class="gutindent"><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>. +Hey?</p> +<p class="gutindent"><span class="smcap">Dumont</span>. +Ah!</p> +<p class="gutindent"><span class="smcap">Aline</span>. Hey +day!</p> +<p class="gutindent"><span class="smcap">Curate</span>. +Wherefore?</p> +<p class="gutindent"><span class="smcap">Ernestine</span>. +Oh!</p> +<p class="gutindent"><span class="smcap">Charles</span>. +Ah!</p> +<p>. . . ) </p> +<p><span class="smcap">Goriot</span>. Not without his +veyther’s consent! And he hasn’t got it; and +what’s more, he can’t get it: and what’s more, +he hasn’t got a veyther to get it from. It’s +the law of France.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Aline</span>. Then the law of France +ought to be ashamed of itself.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Ernestine</span>. O, couldn’t +we ask the Notary again?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Curate</span>. Indubitably you may +ask him.</p> +<p>(<i>All speak together</i> . . .</p> +<p class="gutindent"><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>. +Can’t they marry?</p> +<p class="gutindent"><span class="smcap">Dumont</span>. +Can’t he marry?</p> +<p class="gutindent"><span class="smcap">Aline</span>. +Can’t she marry?</p> +<p class="gutindent"><span class="smcap">Ernestine</span>. +Can’t we marry?</p> +<p class="gutindent"><span class="smcap">Charles</span>. +Can’t I marry?</p> +<p class="gutindent"><span class="smcap">Goriot</span>. +Bain’t I right?</p> +<p>. . . )</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Notary</span>. Constracting +parties.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Curate</span>. Possibly to-morrow at +an early hour he may be more perspicuous.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Goriot</span>. Ay, before +he’ve time to get at it.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Notary</span>. Unoffending +jurisconsult overtaken by sorrow. Possibly by applying +justice of peace might afford relief.</p> +<p>(<i>All speak together</i> . . .</p> +<p class="gutindent"><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>. +Bravo!</p> +<p class="gutindent"><span class="smcap">Dumont</span>. +Excellent!</p> +<p class="gutindent"><span class="smcap">Charles</span>. +Let’s go at once!</p> +<p class="gutindent"><span class="smcap">Aline</span>. The +very thing!</p> +<p>. . . )</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Ernestine</span>. Yes, this +minute!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Goriot</span>. I’ll go. +I don’t mind getting advice, but I wun’t take it.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>. My friends, one +word: I perceive by your downcast looks that you have not +recognised the true nature of your responsibility as citizens of +time. What is care? impiety. Joy? the whole duty of +man. Here is an opportunity of duty it were sinful to +forego. With a word, I could lighten your hearts; but I +prefer to quicken your heels, and send you forth on your +ingenuous errand with happy faces and smiling thoughts, the +physicians of your own recovery. Fiddlers, to your +catgut! Up, Bertrand, and show them how one foots it in +society; forward, girls, and choose me every one the lad she +loves; Dumont, benign old man, lead forth our blushing Curate; +and you, O bride, embrace the uniform of your beloved, and help +us dance in your wedding-day. (<i>Dance</i>, <i>in the +course of which</i> <span class="smcap">Macaire</span> +<i>picks</i> <span class="smcap">Dumont’s</span> <i>pocket +of his keys</i>, <i>selects the key of the cash-box</i>, <i>and +returns the others to his pocket</i>. <i>In the end</i>, +<i>all dance out</i>: <i>the wedding-party</i>, <i>headed by</i> +<span class="smcap">Fiddlers</span>, <i>L. C.</i>; <i>the</i> +<span class="smcap">Maids</span> <i>and</i> <span +class="smcap">Aline</span> <i>into the inn</i>, <i>R. U. +E.</i> <i>Manet</i> <span class="smcap">Bertrand</span> +<i>and</i> <span class="smcap">Macaire</span>.)</p> +<h4>SCENE VIII</h4> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>, <span +class="smcap">Bertrand</span>, <i>who instantly takes a bottle +from the wedding-table</i>, <i>and sits with it</i>, +<i>L.</i></p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>. Bertrand, +there’s a devil of a want of a father here.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Bertrand</span>. Ay, if we only knew +where to find him.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>. Bertrand, look at +me: I am Macaire; I am that father.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Bertrand</span>. You, Macaire? you a +father?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>. Not yet, but in five +minutes. I am capable of anything. (<i>Producing +key</i>.) What think you of this?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Bertrand</span>. That? Is it a +key?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>. Ay, boy, and what +besides? my diploma of respectability, my patent of +fatherhood. I prigged it—in the ardour of the dance I +prigged it; I change it beyond recognition, thus (<i>twists the +handle of the key</i>); and now . . .? Where is my +long-lost child? produce my young policeman! show me my gallant +boy!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Bertrand</span>. I don’t +understand.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>. Dear innocence, how +should you? Your brains are in your fists. Go and +keep watch. (<i>He goes into the office and returns with +the cash-box</i>.) Keep watch, I say.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Bertrand</span>. Where?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>. Everywhere. +(<i>He opens box</i>.)</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Bertrand</span>. Gold.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>. Hands off! +Keep watch. (<span class="smcap">Bertrand</span> <i>at back +of stage</i>.) Beat slower, my paternal heart! The +third compartment; let me see.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Bertrand</span>. S’st! +(<span class="smcap">Macaire</span> <i>shuts box</i>.) No; +false alarm.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>. The third +compartment. Ay, here t—</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Bertrand</span>. S’st! +(<i>Same business</i>.) No: fire away.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>. The third +compartment: it must be this.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Bertrand</span>. S’st! +(<span class="smcap">Macaire</span>, <i>keeps box open</i>, +<i>watching</i> <span class="smcap">Bertrand</span>.) All +serene; it’s the wind.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>. Now, see here! +(<i>He darts his knife into the stage</i>.) I will either +be backed as a man should be, or from this minute out I’ll +work alone. Do you understand? I said alone.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Bertrand</span>. For the +Lord’s sake, Macaire!—</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>. Ay, here it +is. (<i>Reading letter</i>). ‘Preserve this +letter secretly; its terms are known only to you and me: hence +when the time comes, I shall repeat them, and my son will +recognise his father.’ Signed: ‘Your Unknown +Benefactor.’ (<i>He turns it over twice and replaces +it</i>. <i>Then</i>, <i>fingering the gold</i>) +Gold! The yellow enchantress, happiness ready-made and +laughing in my face! Gold: what is gold? The world; +the term of ills; the empery of all; the multitudinous babble of +the change, the sailing from all ports of freighted argosies; +music, wine, a palace; the doors of the bright theatre, the key +of consciences, and love—love’s whistle! All +this below my itching fingers; and to set this by, turn a deaf +ear upon the siren present, and condescend once more, naked, into +the ring with fortune—Macaire, how few would do it! +But you, Macaire, you are compacted of more subtile clay. +No cheap immediate pilfering: no retail trade of petty larceny; +but swoop at the heart of the position, and clutch all!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Bertrand</span> (<i>at his +shoulder</i>). Halves!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>. Halves? (<i>He +locks the box</i>.) Bertrand, I am a father. +(<i>Replaces box in office</i>.)</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Bertrand</span> (<i>looking after +him</i>). Well, I—am—damned!</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="smcap">Drop</span>.</p> +<h3>ACT II.</h3> +<p><i>When the curtain rises</i>, <i>the night has +come</i>. <i>A hanging cluster of lighted lamps over each +table</i>, <i>R. and L.</i> <span +class="smcap">Macaire</span>, <i>R.</i>, <i>smoking a +cigarette</i>; <span class="smcap">Bertrand</span>, <i>L.</i>, +<i>with a church-warden</i>: <i>each with bottle and +glass</i></p> +<h4>SCENE I</h4> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>, +<span class="smcap">Bertrand</span></p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>. Bertrand, I am +content: a child might play with me. Does your pipe draw +well?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Bertrand</span>. Like a factory +chimney. This is my notion of life: liquor, a chair, a +table to put my feet on, a fine clean pipe, and no police.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>. Bertrand, do you see +these changing exhalations? do you see these blue rings and +spirals, weaving their dance, like a round of fairies, on the +footless air?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Bertrand</span>. I see ’em +right enough.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>. Man of little +vision, expound me these meteors! what do they signify, O +wooden-head? Clod, of what do they consist?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Bertrand</span>. Damned bad +tobacco.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>. I will give you a +little course of science. Everything, Bertrand (much as it +may surprise you), has three states: a vapour, a liquid, a +solid. These are fortune in the vapour: these are +ideas. What are ideas? the protoplasm of wealth. To +your head—which, by the way, is a solid, +Bertrand—what are they but foul air? To mine, to my +prehensile and constructive intellects, see, as I grasp and work +them, to what lineaments of the future they transform themselves: +a palace, a barouche, a pair of luminous footmen, plate, wine, +respect, and to be honest!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Bertrand</span>. But what’s +the sense in honesty?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>. The sense? You +see me: Macaire: elegant, immoral, invincible in cunning; well, +Bertrand, much as it may surprise you, I am simply damned by my +dishonesty.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Bertrand</span>. No!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>. The honest man, +Bertrand, that God’s noblest work. He carries the +bag, my boy. Would you have me define honesty? the +strategic point for theft. Bertrand, if I’d three +hundred a year, I’d be honest to-morrow.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Bertrand</span>. Ah! +Don’t you wish you may get it!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>. Bertrand, I will bet +you my head against your own—the longest odds I can +imagine—that with honesty for my spring-board, I leap +through history like a paper hoop, and come out among posterity +heroic and immortal.</p> +<h4>SCENE II</h4> +<p><i>To these</i>, <i>all the former characters</i>, <i>less +the</i> <span class="smcap">Notary</span>. <i>The fiddles +are heard without</i>, <i>playing dolefully</i>. +<i>Air</i>: ‘<i>O dear</i>, <i>what can the matter +be</i>?’ <i>in time to which the procession enters</i></p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>. Well, friends, what +cheer?</p> +<p>(<i>All speak together</i> . . .</p> +<p class="gutindent"><span class="smcap">Aline</span>. No +wedding, no wedding!</p> +<p class="gutindent"><span class="smcap">Goriot</span>. I +told ’ee he can’t and he can’t.</p> +<p class="gutindent"><span class="smcap">Dumont</span>. +Dear, dear me!</p> +<p class="gutindent"><span class="smcap">Ernestine</span>. +They won’t let us marry.</p> +<p class="gutindent"><span class="smcap">Charles</span>. No +wife, no father, no nothing!</p> +<p>. . . )</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Curate</span>. The facts have +justified the worst anticipations of our absent friend, the +Notary.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>. I perceive I must +reveal myself.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dumont</span>. God bless me, no!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>. My friends, I had +meant to preserve a strict incognito, for I was ashamed (I own +it!) of this poor accoutrement; but when I see a face that I can +render happy, say, my old Dumont, should I hesitate to work the +change? Hear me, then, and you (<i>to the others</i>) +prepare a smiling countenance. (<i>Repeating</i>.) +‘Preserve this letter secretly; its terms are only known to +you and me; hence when the time comes, I shall repeat them, and +my son will recognise his father.—Your Unknown +Benefactor.’</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dumont</span>. The words! the +letter! Charles, alas! it is your father!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Charles</span>. Good Lord! +(<i>General consternation</i>.)</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Bertrand</span> (<i>aside</i>: <i>smiling +his brow</i>). I see it now; sublime!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Curate</span>. A highly singular +eventuality.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Goriot</span>. Him? O well, +then, I wun’t. (<i>Goes up</i>.)</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>. Charles, to my +arms! (<i>Business</i>.) Ernestine, your second +father waits to welcome you. (<i>Business</i>.) +Goriot, noble old man, I grasp your hand. (<i>He +doesn’t</i>.) And you, Dumont, how shall your unknown +benefactor thank you for your kindness to his boy? (<i>A +dead Pause</i>.) Charles, to my arms!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Charles</span>. My father, you are +still something of a stranger. I hope—er—in the +course of time—I hope that may be somewhat mended. +But I confess that I have so long regarded Mr. Dumont—</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>. Love him still, dear +boy, love him still. I have not returned to be a burden on +your heart, nor much, comparatively, on your pocket. A +place by the fire, dear boy, a crust for my friend, +Bertrand. (<i>A dead pause</i>.) Ah, well, this is a +different home-coming from that I fancied when I left the letter: +I dreamed to grow rich. Charles, you remind me of your +sainted mother.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Charles</span>. I trust, sir, you do +not think yourself less welcome for your poverty.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>. Nay, nay—more +welcome, more welcome. O, I know +your—(<i>business</i>) backs! Besides, my poverty is +noble. Political . . . Dumont, what are your politics?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dumont</span>. A plain old +republican, my lord.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>. And yours, my good +Goriot?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Goriot</span>. I be a royalist, I +be, and so be my daater.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>. How strange is the +coincidence! The party that I sought to found combined the +peculiarities of both: a patriotic enterprise in which I +fell. This humble fellow . . . have I introduced him? +You behold in us the embodiment of aristocracy and +democracy. Bertrand, shake hands with my family. +(<span class="smcap">Bertrand</span> <i>is rebuffed by one and +the other in dead silence</i>.)</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Bertrand</span>. Sold again!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>. Charles, to my +arms! (<i>Business</i>.)</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Ernestine</span>. Well, but now that +he has a father of some kind, cannot the marriage go on?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>. Angel, this very +night: I burn to take my grandchild on my knees.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Goriot</span>. Be you that young +man’s veyther?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>. Ay, and what a +father!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Goriot</span>. Then all I’ve +got to say is, I shan’t and I wun’t.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>. Ah, friends, +friends, what a satisfaction it is, what a sight is virtue! +I came among you in this poor attire to test you; how nobly have +you borne the test! But my disguise begins to irk me: who +will lend me a good suit? (<i>Business</i>.)</p> +<h4>SCENE III</h4> +<p><i>To these</i>, <i>the</i> <span +class="smcap">Marquis</span>, <i>L. C.</i></p> +<p><span class="smcap">Marquis</span>. Is this the house of +John Paul Dumont, once of Lyons?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dumont</span>. It is, sir, and I am +he, at your disposal.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Marquis</span>. I am the Marquis +Villers-Cotterêts de la Cherté de +Médoc. (<i>Sensation</i>.)</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>. Marquis, delighted, +I am sure.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Marquis</span> (<i>to</i> <span +class="smcap">Dumont</span>). I come, as you perceive, +unfollowed; my errand, therefore, is discreet. I come +(<i>producing notes from breast-pocket</i>) equipped with thirty +thousand francs; my errand, therefore, must be generous. +Can you not guess?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dumont</span>. Not I, my lord.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Marquis</span> (<i>repeating</i>). +‘Preserve this letter,’ etc.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>. Bitten.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Bertrand</span>. Sold again +(<i>aside</i>). (<i>A pause</i>.)</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Aline</span>. Well, I never did!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dumont</span>. Two fathers!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Marquis</span>. Two? +Impossible.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dumont</span>. Not at all. +This is the other.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Marquis</span>. This man?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>. This is the man, my +lord; here stands the father; Charles, to my arms! (<span +class="smcap">Charles</span> <i>backs</i>.)</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dumont</span>. He knew the +letter.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Marquis</span>. Well, but so did +I.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Curate</span>. The judgment of +Solomon.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Goriot</span>. What did I tell +’ee? he can’t marry.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Ernestine</span>. Couldn’t +they both consent?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Marquis</span>. But he’s my +living image.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>. Mine, Marquis, +mine.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Marquis</span>. My figure, I +think?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>. Ah, Charles, +Charles!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Curate</span>. We used to think his +physiognomy resembled Dumont’s.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dumont</span>. Come to look at him, +he’s really like Goriot.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Ernestine</span>. O papa, I hope +he’s not my brother.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Goriot</span>. What be talking +of? I tell ’ee, he’s like our Curate.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Charles</span>. Gentlemen, my head +aches.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Marquis</span>. I have it: the +involuntary voice of nature. Look at me, my son.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>. Nay, Charles, but +look at me.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Charles</span>. Gentlemen, I am +unconscious of the smallest natural inclination for either.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Marquis</span>. Another thought: +what was his mother’s name?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>. What was the name of +his mother by you?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Marquis</span>. Sir, you are +silenced.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>. Silenced by +honour. I had rather lose my boy than compromise his +sainted mother.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Marquis</span>. A thought: twins +might explain it: had you not two foundlings?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dumont</span>. Nay, sir, one only; +and judging by the miseries of this evening, I should say, thank +God!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>. My friends, leave me +alone with the Marquis. It is only a father that can +understand a father’s heart. Bertrand, follow the +members of my family. (<i>They troop out</i>, <i>L. U. E. +and R. U. E.</i>, <i>the fiddlers playing</i>. <i>Air</i>: +‘<i>O dear</i>, <i>what can the matter be</i>?’)</p> +<h4>SCENE IV</h4> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>, +<span class="smcap">Marquis</span></p> +<p><span class="smcap">Marquis</span>. Well, sir?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>. My lord, I feel for +you. (<i>Business</i>. <i>They sit</i>, +<i>R.</i>)</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Marquis</span>. And now, sir?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>. The bond that joins +us is remarkable and touching.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Marquis</span>. Well, sir?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span> (<i>touching him on the +breast</i>). You have there thirty thousand francs.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Marquis</span>. Well, sir?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>. I was but thinking +of the inequalities of life, my lord: that I who, for all you +know, may be the father of your son, should have nothing; and +that you who, for all I know, may be the father of mine, should +be literally bulging with bank notes. . . . Where do +you keep them at night?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Marquis</span>. Under my +pillow. I think it rather ingenious.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>. Admirably so! +I applaud the device.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Marquis</span>. Well, sir?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>. Do you snuff, my +lord?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Marquis</span>. No, sir, I do +not.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>. My lord, I am a poor +man.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Marquis</span>. Well, sir? and what +of that?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>. The affections, my +lord, are priceless. Money will not buy them; or, at least, +it takes a great deal.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Marquis</span>. Sir, your sentiments +do you honour.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>. My lord, you are +rich.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Marquis</span>. Well, sir?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>. Now follow me, I +beseech you. Here am I, my lord; and there, if I may so +express myself, are you. Each has the father’s heart, +and there we are equal; each claims yon interesting lad, and +there again we are on a par. But, my lord—and here we +come to the inequality, and what I consider the unfairness of the +thing—you have thirty thousand francs, and I, my lord, have +not a rap. You mark me? not a rap, my lord! My lord, +put yourself in my position: consider what must be my feelings, +my desires; and—hey?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Marquis</span>. I fail to grasp . . +.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span> (<i>with +irritation</i>). My dear man, there is the door of the +house; here am I; there (<i>touching</i>, <span +class="smcap">Marquis</span> <i>on the breast</i>) are thirty +thousand francs. Well, now?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Marquis</span>. I give you my word +of honour, sir, I gather nothing; my mind is quite unused to such +prolonged exertion. If the boy be yours, he is not mine; if +he be mine, he is not yours; and if he is neither of ours, or +both of ours . . . in short, my mind . . .</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>. My lord, will you +lay those thirty thousand francs upon the table?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Marquis</span>. I fail to grasp . . +. but if it will in any way oblige you . . . (<i>Does +so</i>.)</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>. Now, my lord, follow +me: I take them up; you see? I put them in my pocket; you +follow me? This is my hat; here is my stick; and here is +my—my friend’s bundle.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Marquis</span>. But that is my +cloak.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>. Precisely. +Now, my lord, one more effort of your lordship’s +mind. If I were to go out of that door, with the full +intention—follow me close—the full intention of never +being heard of more, what would you do?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Marquis</span>. I!—send for +the police.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>. Take your +money! (<i>Dashing down the notes</i>.) Man, if I met +you in a lane! (<i>He drops his head upon the +table</i>.)</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Marquis</span>. The poor soul is +insane. The other man, whom I suppose to be his keeper, is +very much to blame.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span> (<i>raising his +head</i>). I have a light! (<i>To</i> <span +class="smcap">Marquis</span>.) With invincible oafishness, +my lord, I cannot struggle. I pass you by; I leave you +gaping by the wayside; I blush to have a share in the progeny of +such an owl. Off, off, and send the tapster!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Marquis</span>. Poor fellow!</p> +<h4>SCENE V</h4> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>, <i>to whom</i> <span +class="smcap">Bertrand</span>. <i>Afterwards</i> <span +class="smcap">Dumont</span></p> +<p><span class="smcap">Bertrand</span>. Well?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>. Bitten.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Bertrand</span>. Sold again.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>. 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?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dumont</span> (<i>entering</i>). I +hear you want me.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>. Ah, my good old +Dumont, this is very sad.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dumont</span>. Dear me, what is +wrong?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>. Dumont, you had a +dowry for my son?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dumont</span>. I had; I have: ten +thousand francs.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>. It’s a poor +thing, but it must do. Dumont, I bury my old hopes, my old +paternal tenderness.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dumont</span>. What? is he not your +son?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>. 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.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dumont</span>. Noble soul!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>. 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.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dumont</span>. To begone? to go?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>. 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.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dumont</span>. This is what I had +looked for at your hands. Noble, nobleman!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>. 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.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dumont</span>. But I had thought . . +. I had fancied . . .</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>. 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-Frédéric de Latour de Main de la Tonnerre de +Brest.</p> +<p>(<i>Together</i>: <i>each shaking him by the hand</i> . . +.</p> +<p class="gutindent"><span class="smcap">Dumont</span>. +Noble, O noble!</p> +<p class="gutindent"><span class="smcap">Bertrand</span>. +Beautiful, O beautiful!</p> +<p>. . .)</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dumont</span>. 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.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Bertrand</span>. At once, at +once!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span> (<i>aside to</i> <span +class="smcap">Bertrand</span>). Hang on. +(<i>Aloud</i>.) Charles, Charles, my lost boy! (<i>He +falls weeping at L. table</i>. <span +class="smcap">Dumont</span> <i>enters the office</i>, <i>and +brings down cash-box to table R.</i> <i>He feels in all his +pockets</i>: <span class="smcap">Bertrand</span> <i>from behind +him making signs to</i> <span class="smcap">Macaire</span>, +<i>which the latter does not see</i>.)</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dumont</span>. That’s +strange. I can’t find the key. It’s a +patent key.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Bertrand</span> (<i>behind</i> <span +class="smcap">Dumont</span>, <i>making signs to</i> <span +class="smcap">Macaire</span>). The key, he can’t find +the key.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>. O yes, I +remember. I heard it drop. (<i>Drops key</i>.) +And here it is before my eyes.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dumont</span>. That? +That’s yours. I saw it drop.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>. I give you my word +of honour I heard it fall five minutes back.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dumont</span>. But I saw it.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>. Impossible. It +must be yours.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dumont</span>. It is like mine, +indeed. How came it in your pocket?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>. Bitten. +(<i>Aside</i>.)</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Bertrand</span>. Sold again +(<i>aside</i>) . . . You forget, Baron, it’s the key of my +valise; I gave it you to keep in consequence of the hole in my +pocket.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>. True, true; and that +explains.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dumont</span>. O, that +explains. Now, all we have to do is to find mine. +It’s a patent key. You heard it drop.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>. Distinctly.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Bertrand</span>. So I did: +distinctly.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dumont</span>. Here, Aline, Babette, +Goriot, Curate, Charles, everybody, come here and look for my +key!</p> +<h4>SCENE VI</h4> +<p><i>To these with candles</i>, <i>all the former +characters</i>, <i>except</i> <span +class="smcap">Fiddlers</span>, <span +class="smcap">Peasants</span>, <i>and</i> <span +class="smcap">Notary</span>. <i>They hunt for the +key</i></p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dumont</span>. It’s bound to +be here. We all heard it drop.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Marquis</span> (<i>with</i> <span +class="smcap">Bertrand’s</span> <i>bundle</i>). Is +this it?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">All</span> (<i>with fury</i>). +No.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Bertrand</span>. Hands off, +that’s my luggage. (<i>Hunt resumed</i>.)</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dumont</span>. I heard it drop, as +plain as ever I heard anything.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Marquis</span>. By the way (<i>all +start up</i>), what are we looking for?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">All</span> (<i>with fury</i>). +O!!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dumont</span>. Will you have the +kindness to find my key? (<i>Hunt resumed</i>.)</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Curate</span>. What description of a +key—</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dumont</span>. A patent, patent, +patent, patent key!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>. I have it. +Here it is!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">All</span> (<i>with relief</i>). +Ah!!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dumont</span>. That? What do +you mean? That’s yours.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>. Pardon me.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dumont</span>. It is.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>. It isn’t.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dumont</span>. I tell you it is: +look at that twisted handle.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>. It can’t be +mine, and so it must be yours.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dumont</span>. It is not. Feel +in your pockets. (<i>To the others</i>.) Will you +have the kindness to find my patent key?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">All</span>. Oh!! (<i>Hunt +resumed</i>.)</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>. Ah, well, +you’re right. (<i>He slips key into</i> <span +class="smcap">Dumont’s</span> <i>pocket</i>.) An +idea: suppose you felt in your pocket?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">All</span> (<i>rising</i>). +Yes! Suppose you did!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dumont</span>. 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!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span> (<i>aside</i>). +Bitten.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Bertrand</span> (<i>aside</i>). Sold +again.</p> +<p>(<span class="smcap">Aline</span> <i>and</i> <span +class="smcap">Maids</span> <i>extinguish hanging lamps over +tables</i>, <i>R. and L.</i> <i>Stage lighted only by +guests’ candles</i>.)</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Charles</span>. But, sir, I cannot +decently retire to rest till I embrace my honoured parent. +Which is it to be?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>. Charles, to +my—</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dumont</span>. Embrace neither of +them; embrace nobody; there has been too much of this sickening +folly. To bed!!! (<i>Exit violently R. U. +E.</i> <i>All the characters troop slowly upstairs</i>, +<i>talking in dumb show</i>. <span +class="smcap">Bertrand</span> <i>and</i> <span +class="smcap">Macaire</span> <i>remain in front C.</i>, +<i>watching them go</i>.)</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Bertrand</span>. Sold again, +captain?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>. Ay, they will have +it.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Bertrand</span>. It? What?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>. 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.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Bertrand</span>. Murder?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>. 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—(<i>grappling him</i>.)</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Bertrand</span>. Macaire—O +no!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>. 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.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Bertrand</span>. You frighten +me. Who is it?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>. Mark well. +(<i>The</i> <span class="smcap">Marquis</span> <i>opens the door +of Number Thirteen</i>, <i>and the rest</i>, <i>clustering +round</i>, <i>bid him good-night</i>. <i>As they begin to +disperse along the gallery he enters and shuts the +door</i>.) Out, out, brief candle! That man is +doomed.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">Drop</span></p> +<h3>ACT III</h3> +<h4>SCENE I</h4> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>, +<span class="smcap">Bertrand</span></p> +<p><i>As the curtain rises</i>, <i>the stage is dark and +empty</i>. <i>Enter</i> <span class="smcap">Macaire</span>, +<i>L. U. E.</i>, <i>with lantern</i>. <i>He looks +about</i></p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span> (<i>calling off</i>). +S’st!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Bertrand</span> (<i>entering L. U. +E.</i>). It’s creeping dark.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>. Blinding dark; and a +good job.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Bertrand</span>. Macaire, I’m +cold; my very hair’s cold.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>. Work, work will warm +you: to your keys.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Bertrand</span>. No, Macaire, +it’s a horror. You not kill him; let’s have no +bloodshed.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>. 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.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Bertrand</span>. May I take the +light?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>. You may not. +Go. (<span class="smcap">Bertrand</span> <i>mounts the +stairs</i>, <i>and is seen picking the lock of Number +Thirteen</i>.) 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—</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Bertrand</span> (<i>from above</i>). +S’st, Macaire!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>. Is it done, dear +boy? Come down. (<span class="smcap">Bertrand</span> +<i>descends</i>.) Sit down beside this light: this is your +ring of safety, 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! (<i>Sharpening his knife upon his +sleeve</i>.) What is a knife? A plain man’s +sword.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Bertrand</span>. Not the knife, +Macaire; O, not the knife!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>. My name is +Self-Defence. (<i>He goes upstairs and enters Number +Thirteen</i>.)</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Bertrand</span>. 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. +(<i>A stroke</i>, <i>and groan from above</i>.) God +Almighty, one of them’s gone! (<i>He falls with his +head on table</i>, <i>R.</i> <span +class="smcap">Macaire</span> <i>appears at the top of the +stairs</i>, <i>descends</i>, <i>comes airily forward and touches +him on the shoulder</i>. <span +class="smcap">Bertrand</span>, <i>with a cry</i>, <i>turns and +falls upon his neck</i>.) O, O, and I thought I had lost +him. (<i>Day breaking</i>.)</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>. The contrary, dear +boy. (<i>He produces notes</i>.)</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Bertrand</span>. What was it +like?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>. Like? +Nothing. A little blood, a dead man.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Bertrand</span>. Blood! . . . +Dead! <i>He falls at table sobbing</i>. <span +class="smcap">Macaire</span> <i>divides the notes into two +parts</i>; <i>on the smaller he wipes the bloody knife</i>, +<i>and folding the stains inward</i>, <i>thrusts the notes +into</i> <span class="smcap">Bertrand’s</span> +<i>face</i>.)</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>. What is life without +the pleasures of the table!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Bertrand</span> (<i>taking and pocketing +notes</i>). Macaire, I can’t get over it.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>. 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.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Bertrand</span>. I +can’t. Did he bleed much?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>. Bleed? Must I +bleed you? To work, or I’m dangerous.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Bertrand</span>. It’s all +right, Macaire; I’m going.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>. Better so: an old +friend is nearly sacred. (<i>Full daylight: lights +up</i>. <span class="smcap">Macaire</span> <i>blows out +lantern</i>.)</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Bertrand</span>. Where’s the +key?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>. Key? I tell +you to pick it.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Bertrand</span> (<i>with the +box</i>). But it’s a patent lock. Where is the +key? You had it.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>. Will you pick that +lock?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Bertrand</span>. I can’t: +it’s a patent. Where’s the key?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>. If you will have it, +I put it back in that old ass’s pocket.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Bertrand</span>. Bitten, I +think. (<span class="smcap">Macaire</span> <i>dancing +mad</i>.)</p> +<h4>SCENE II</h4> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To these</i>, <span +class="smcap">Dumont</span></p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dumont</span>. Ah, friends, up so +early? Catching the worm, catching the worm?</p> +<p>(Sitting on the table dissembling box and dissembling box . . +.</p> +<p class="gutindent"><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>. +Good-morning, good-morning!</p> +<p class="gutindent"><span class="smcap">Bertrand</span>. +Early birds, early birds.</p> +<p>. . . )</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dumont</span>. By the way, very +remarkable thing: I found the key.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>. No!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Bertrand</span>. O!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dumont</span>. Perhaps a still more +remarkable thing: it was my key that had the twisted handle.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>. I told you so.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dumont</span>. Now, what we have to +do is to get the cash-box. Hallo! what’s that your +sitting on?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Bertrand</span>. Nothing.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>. The table! I +beg your pardon.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dumont</span>. Why, it’s my +cash-box!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>. Why, so it is!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dumont</span>. It’s very +singular.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>. Diabolishly +singular.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Bertrand</span>. Early worms, early +worms!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dumont</span> (<i>blowing in +key</i>). Well, I suppose you are still willing to +begone?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>. 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.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dumont</span> (<i>at box</i>). +It’s very odd. (<i>Blows its key</i>.) +It’s a singular thing (<i>blowing</i>), key won’t +turn. It’s a patent. Some one must have +tampered with the lock (<i>blowing</i>). 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! (<i>more +business</i>). Well (<i>giving it up and looking +reproachfully on key</i>), that’s pretty singular.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>. Let me try. +(<i>He tries</i>, <i>and flings down the key with a +curse</i>.) Bitten.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Bertrand</span>. Sold again.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dumont</span> (<i>picking up +key</i>). It’s a patent key.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span> (<i>to</i> <span +class="smcap">Bertrand</span>). The game’s up: we +must save the swag. (<i>To</i> <span +class="smcap">Dumont</span>.) 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. (<i>To</i> <span +class="smcap">Bertrand</span>.) Now, boy! (<i>To</i> +<span class="smcap">Dumont</span>.) Embrace my fatherless +child! farewell! (<span class="smcap">Macaire</span> +<i>and</i> <span class="smcap">Bertrand</span> <i>turn to go off +and are met in the door by the</i> <span +class="smcap">Gendarmes</span>.)</p> +<h4>SCENE III</h4> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>To these</i>, <i>the</i> <span +class="smcap">Brigadier</span> <i>and</i> <span +class="smcap">Gendarmes</span></p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brigadier</span>. Let no man leave +the house.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span> (<i>aside</i>). +Bitten.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Bertrand</span> (<i>aside</i>). Sold +again.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dumont</span>. Welcome, old +friend!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brigadier</span>. 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.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dumont</span>. But I was led to +believe that both Macaire and his accomplice had been arrested +and condemned.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brigadier</span>. They were, but +they have once more escaped for the moment, and justice is +indefatigable. (<i>He sits at table R.</i>) Dumont, a +bottle of white wine.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span> (<i>to</i> <span +class="smcap">Dumont</span>). My excellent friend, I will +discharge your commission, and return with all speed. +(<i>Going</i>.)</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brigadier</span>. Halt!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span> (<i>returning: as if he +saw</i> <span class="smcap">Brigadier</span> <i>for the first +time</i>). 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.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brigadier</span>. Justice is +insensible to friendship. I shall deal with you in due +time. Dumont, that bottle.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>. 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!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Bertrand</span>. For God’s +sake! (<i>Enter</i> <span class="smcap">Aline</span> +<i>and</i> <span class="smcap">Maids</span>.)</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>. 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.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brigadier</span>. Justice is +impartial. Gentlemen, your health.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>. Will not these brave +fellows join us?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brigadier</span>. They are on duty; +but what matters?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>. My dear sir, what is +duty? duty is my eye.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brigadier</span> (<i>solemnly</i>). +And Betty Martin. (<span class="smcap">Gendarmes</span> +<i>sit at table</i>.)</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span> (<i>to</i> <span +class="smcap">Bertrand</span>). Dear friend, sit down.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Bertrand</span> (<i>sitting +down</i>). O Lord!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brigadier</span> (<i>to</i> <span +class="smcap">Macaire</span>). You seem to be a gentleman +of considerable intelligence.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>. I fear, sir, you +flatter. One has lived, one has loved, and one remembers: +that is all. One’s <i>Lives of Celebrated +Criminals</i> has met with a certain success, and one is ever in +quest of fresh material.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dumont</span>. By the way, a +singular thing about my patent key.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brigadier</span>. This gentleman is +speaking.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>. Excellent Dumont! he +means no harm. This Macaire is not personally known to +you?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brigadier</span>. Are you connected +with justice?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>. Ah, sir, justice is +a point above a poor author.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brigadier</span> (<i>with +glass</i>). Justice is the very devil.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>. 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. (<i>He makes for the +door</i>.)</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brigadier</span>. Halt!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>. Sir, what is this +jest?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brigadier</span>. Sentry at the +door. Your passports.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>. My good man, with +all the pleasure in life. (Gives papers. <i>The</i> +<span class="smcap">Brigadier</span> <i>puts on spectacles</i>, +<i>and examines them</i>.)</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Bertrand</span> (<i>rising</i>, <i>and +passing round to</i> <span class="smcap">Macaire’s</span> +<i>other side</i>). It’s life and death: they must +soon find it.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span> (<i>aside</i>). +Don’t I know? My heart’s like fire in my +body.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brigadier</span>. Your name is?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>. It is; one’s +name is not unknown.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brigadier</span>. Justice exacts +your name.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>. +Henri-Frédéric de Latour de Main de la Tonnerre de +Brest.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brigadier</span>. Your +profession?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>. Gentleman.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brigadier</span>. No, but what is +your trade?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>. I am an analytical +chymist.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brigadier</span>. Justice is +inscrutable. Your papers are in order. (<i>To</i> +<span class="smcap">Bertrand</span>.) Now, sir, and +yours?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Bertrand</span>. I feel kind of +ill.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>. 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.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brigadier</span>. Those are my +sentiments.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Bertrand</span>. I beg your pardon, +I—(<i>Gives papers</i>.)</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brigadier</span>. Your name?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Bertrand</span>. Napoleon.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brigadier</span>. What? In +your passport it is written Bertrand.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Bertrand</span>. 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.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brigadier</span>. The truth is +always best. Your profession?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Bertrand</span>. I am an orphan.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brigadier</span>. What the +devil! (<i>To</i> <span +class="smcap">Macaire</span>.) Is your friend an idiot?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>. Pardon me, he is a +poet.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brigadier</span>. Poetry is a great +hindrance to the ends of justice. Well, take your +papers.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>. Then we may go?</p> +<h4>SCENE IV</h4> +<p><i>To these</i>, <span class="smcap">Charles</span>, <i>who is +seen on the gallery</i>, <i>going to the door of Number +Thirteen</i>. <i>Afterwards all the characters but the</i> +<span class="smcap">Notary</span> <i>and the</i> <span +class="smcap">Marquis</span></p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brigadier</span>. One glass +more. (<span class="smcap">Bertrand</span> <i>touches</i> +<span class="smcap">Macaire</span>, <i>and points to</i> <span +class="smcap">Charles</span>, <i>who enters Number +Thirteen</i>).</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>. No more, no more, no +more.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brigadier</span> (<i>rising and taking</i> +<span class="smcap">Macaire</span> <i>by the arm</i>). I +stipulate!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>. Engagement in +Turin!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brigadier</span>. Turin?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>. Lyons, Lyons!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Bertrand</span>. For God’s +sake.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brigadier</span>. Well, +good-bye!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>. Good-bye, +good—</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Charles</span> (<i>from within</i>). +Murder! Help! (<i>Appearing</i>.) Help +here! The Marquis is murdered.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brigadier</span>. Stand to the +door. A man up there. (<i>A</i> <span +class="smcap">Gendarme</span> <i>hurries up staircase into Number +Thirteen</i>, <span class="smcap">Charles</span> <i>following +him</i>. <i>Enter on both sides of gallery the remaining +characters of the piece</i>, <i>except the</i> <span +class="smcap">Notary</span> <i>and the</i> <span +class="smcap">Marquis</span>.)</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span> (<i>aside</i>). +Bitten, by God!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Bertrand</span> (<i>aside</i>). +Lost!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brigadier</span> (<i>to</i> <span +class="smcap">Dumont</span>). John Paul Dumont, I arrest +you.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dumont</span>. Do your duty, +officer. I can answer for myself and my own people.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brigadier</span>. Yes, but these +strangers?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dumont</span>. They are strangers to +me.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>. I am an honest man: +I stand upon my rights: search me; or search this person, of whom +I know too little. (<i>Smiting his brow</i>.) By +heaven, I see it all! This morning—(<i>To</i> <span +class="smcap">Bertrand</span>.) How, sir, did you dare to +flaunt your booty in my very face? (<i>To</i> <span +class="smcap">Brigadier</span>.) He showed me notes; he was +up ere day; search him, and you’ll find. There stands +the murderer.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Bertrand</span>. O, Macaire! +(<i>He is seized and searched and the notes are found</i>.)</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Brigadier</span>. There is blood +upon the notes. Handcuffs. (<span +class="smcap">Macaire</span> <i>edging towards the door</i>.)</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Bertrand</span>. Macaire, you may as +well take the bundle. (<span class="smcap">Macaire</span> +<i>is stopped by sentry</i>, <i>and comes front</i>, +<i>R.</i>)</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Charles</span> +(<i>re-appearing</i>). Stop, I know the truth. (<i>He +comes down</i>.) Brigadier, my father is not dead. He +is not even dangerously hurt. He has spoken. There is +the would-be assassin.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>. Hell! (<i>He +darts across to the staircase</i>, <i>and turns on the second +step</i>, <i>flashing out the knife</i>.) Back, +hounds! (<i>He springs up the stair</i>, <i>and confronts +them from the top</i>.) Fools, I am Robert Macaire! +(<i>As</i> <span class="smcap">Macaire</span> <i>turns to +flee</i>, <i>he is met by the gendarme coming out of Number +Thirteen</i>; <i>he stands an instant checked</i>, <i>is shot +from the stage</i>, <i>and falls headlong backward down the +stair</i>. <span class="smcap">Bertrand</span>, <i>with a +cry</i>, <i>breaks from the gendarmes</i>, <i>kneels at his +side</i>, <i>and raises his head</i>.)</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Bertrand</span>. Macaire, Macaire, +forgive me. I didn’t blab; you know I didn’t +blab.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Macaire</span>. Sold again, old +boy. Sold for the last time; at least, the last time this +side death. Death—what is death? (<i>He +dies</i>.)</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">CURTAIN</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> + +<div class="gapmediumline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">Printed by T. and A. <span +class="smcap">Constable</span>, Printers to His Majesty<br /> +at the Edinburgh University Press</p> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PLAYS OF W. E. HENLEY AND R. 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