Chapter 119

MACAIRE, BERTRAND, _who instantly takes a bottle from the wedding-table_, _and sits with it_, _L._

MACAIRE. Bertrand, there’s a devil of a want of a father here.

BERTRAND. Ay, if we only knew where to find him.

MACAIRE. Bertrand, look at me: I am Macaire; I am that father.

BERTRAND. You, Macaire? you a father?

MACAIRE. Not yet, but in five minutes. I am capable of anything. (_Producing key_.) What think you of this?

BERTRAND. That? Is it a key?

MACAIRE. 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 (_twists the handle of the key_); and now . . .? Where is my long-lost child? produce my young policeman! show me my gallant boy!

BERTRAND. I don’t understand.

MACAIRE. Dear innocence, how should you? Your brains are in your fists. Go and keep watch. (_He goes into the office and returns with the cash-box_.) Keep watch, I say.

BERTRAND. Where?

MACAIRE. Everywhere. (_He opens box_.)

BERTRAND. Gold.

MACAIRE. Hands off! Keep watch. (BERTRAND _at back of stage_.) Beat slower, my paternal heart! The third compartment; let me see.

BERTRAND. S’st! (MACAIRE _shuts box_.) No; false alarm.

MACAIRE. The third compartment. Ay, here t—

BERTRAND. S’st! (_Same business_.) No: fire away.

MACAIRE. The third compartment: it must be this.

BERTRAND. S’st! (MACAIRE, _keeps box open_, _watching_ BERTRAND.) All serene; it’s the wind.

MACAIRE. Now, see here! (_He darts his knife into the stage_.) 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.

BERTRAND. For the Lord’s sake, Macaire!—

MACAIRE. Ay, here it is. (_Reading letter_). ‘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.’ (_He turns it over twice and replaces it_. _Then_, _fingering the gold_) 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!

BERTRAND (_at his shoulder_). Halves!

MACAIRE. Halves? (_He locks the box_.) Bertrand, I am a father. (_Replaces box in office_.)

BERTRAND (_looking after him_). Well, I—am—damned!

* * * * *

DROP.