Act 1 — SCENE VIII

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.