Plays of William E. Henley and R.L. Stevenson Part 47

ARETHUSA (_at back of stage by the door_); GAUNT (_front L._); _to these_, PEW, _C._

PEW (_sotto voce_). All snug. (_Coming down_.) 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. (_At these words_ ARETHUSA _locks the door_, _and takes the key_.) 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? (_Producing knife_.) Ah, here she is; and now for the chest; and the gold; and rum-rum-rum. What! Open? . . . old clothes, by G.o.d! . . .

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 G.o.d Almighty for five minutes! (GAUNT _rises and begins to pace the stage like a quarterdeck_, _L._) What's that? A man's walk. He don't see me, thank the blessed dark! But it's time to slip, my bo. (_He gropes his way stealthily till he comes to Gaunt's table_, _where he burns his hand in the candle_.) A candle-lighted-then it's bright as day! Lord G.o.d, doesn't he see me? It's the horrors come alive. (GAUNT _draws near and turns away_.) I'll go mad, mad! (_He gropes to the door_, _stopping and starting_.) Door. (_His voice rising for the first time_, _sharp with terror_.) Locked? Key gone? Trapped! Keep off-keep off of me-keep away! (_Sotto voce again_.) Keep your head, Lord have mercy, keep your head. I'm wet with sweat. What devil's den is this? I must out-out! (_He shakes the door vehemently_.) No? Knife it is then-knife-knife-knife! (_He moves with the knife raised towards_ GAUNT, _intently listening_, _and changing his direction as_ GAUNT _changes his position on the stage_.)

ARETHUSA (_rus.h.i.+ng to intercept him_). Father, father, wake!

GAUNT. Hester, Hester! (_He turns_, _in time to see_ ARETHUSA _grapple_ PEW _in the centre of the Stage_, _and_ PEW _force her down_.)

ARETHUSA. Kit! Kit!

PEW (_with the knife raised_). Pew's way!

SCENE IV

_To these_, KIT

(_He leaps through window_, _R._, _and cuts_ PEW _down_. _At the same moment_, GAUNT, _who has been staring helplessly at his daughter's peril_, _fully awakes_.)

GAUNT. Death and blood! (KIT, _helping_ ARETHUSA, _has let fall the cutla.s.s_. GAUNT_ picks it up and runs on_ PEW.) d.a.m.ned mutineer, I'll have your heart out! (_He stops_, _stands staring_, _drops cutla.s.s_, _falls upon his knees_.) G.o.d 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?

ARETHUSA. Father, I am not hurt.

GAUNT. Ay, daughter, but my soul-my lost soul!

PEW (_rising on his elbow_). Rum? You've done me. For G.o.d's sake, rum.

(ARETHUSA _pours out a gla.s.s_, _which_ KIT _gives to him_.) Rum? This ain't rum; it's fire! (_With great excitement_.) What's this? I don't like rum? (_Feebly_.) Ay, then, I'm a dead man, and give me water.

GAUNT. Now even his sins desert him.

PEW (_drinking water_). Jack Gaunt, you've always been my rock ahead.

It's thanks to you I've got my papers, and this time I'm s.h.i.+pped 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 d.a.m.n all lubbers! (_Seizing_ GAUNT'S _arm_.) I say-fair dealings, Jack!-none of that heaven business: Fiddler's Green's my port, now, ain't it?

GAUNT. David, you've hove short up, and G.o.d forbid that I deceive you.

Pray, man, pray; for in the place to which you are bound there is no mercy and no hope.

PEW. Ay, my la.s.s, you're black, but your blood's red, and I'm all a-muck with it. Pa.s.s the rum, and be d.a.m.ned to you. (_Trying to sing_)-

'Time for us to go, Time for us-'

(_He dies_.)

GAUNT. But for the grace of G.o.d, 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!

CURTAIN

MACAIRE A MELODRAMATIC FARCE IN THREE ACTS

PERSONS REPRESENTED

ROBERT MACAIRE.

BERTRAND.

DUMONT, Landlord of the _Auberge des Adrets_.

CHARLES, a Gendarme, Dumont's supposed son.

GORIOT.

THE MARQUIS, Charles's Father.

THE BRIGADIER of Gendarmerie.

THE CURATE.

THE NOTARY.

A WAITER.

ERNESTINE, Goriot's Daughter.

ALINE.

MAIDS, PEASANTS (_Male and Female_), GENDARMES.

The Scene is laid in the Courtyard of the _Auberge des Adrets_, 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.

NOTE.-_The time between the acts should be as brief as possible_, _and the piece played_, _where it is merely comic_, _in a vein of patter_.

ACT I.

_The Stage represents the courtyard of the Auberge des Adrets_. _It is surrounded by the buildings of the inn_, _with a gallery on the first story_, _approached_, _C._, _by a straight flight of stairs_. _L. C._, _the entrance doorway_. _A little in front of this_, _a small grated office_, _containing business table_, _bra.s.s-bound cabinet_, _and portable cash-box_. _In front_, _R. and L._, _tables and benches_; _one_, _L._, _partially laid for a considerable party_.