The Works of Robert Louis Stevenson – Swanston Edition. Volume 15

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

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

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

Brigadier. Justice is impartial. Gentlemen, your health.

Macaire. Will not these brave fellows join us?

Brigadier. They are on duty; but what matters?

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

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

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

Bertrand (sitting down). O Lord!

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

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

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

Brigadier. This gentleman is speaking.

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

Brigadier. Are you connected with justice?

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

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

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

Brigadier. Halt!

Macaire. Sir, what is this jest?

Brigadier. Sentry at the door. Your passports.

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

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

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

Brigadier. Your name is?

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

Brigadier. Justice exacts your name.

Macaire. Henri-Frédéric de Latour de Main de la Tonnerre de Brest.

Brigadier. Your profession?

Macaire. Gentleman.

Brigadier. No, but what is your trade?

Macaire. I am an analytical chemist.

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

Bertrand. I feel kind of ill.

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

Brigadier. Those are my sentiments.

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

Brigadier. Your name?

Bertrand. Napoleon.

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

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

Brigadier. The truth is always best. Your profession?

Bertrand. I am an orphan.

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

Macaire. Pardon me, he is a poet.

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

Macaire. Then we may go?

SCENE IV To these, Charles, who is seen on the gallery going to the door of Number Thirteen. Afterwards all the characters but the Notary and the Marquis

Brigadier. One glass more. (Bertrand touches Macaire, and points to Charles, who enters Number Thirteen.)

Macaire. No more, no more, no more.

Brigadier (rising and taking Macaire by the arm). I stipulate.

Macaire. Engagement in Turin!

Brigadier. Turin?

Macaire. Lyons, Lyons!

Bertrand. For God’s sake …

Brigadier. Well, good-bye!

Macaire. Good-bye, good —

Charles (from within). Murder! Help! (Appearing.) Help here! The Marquis is murdered.

Brigadier. Stand to the door. A man up there. (A Gendarme hurries up staircase into Number Thirteen, Charles following him. Enter on both sides of gallery the remaining characters of the piece, except the Notary and the Marquis.)

Brigadier (to Dumont). John Paul Dumont, I arrest you.

Dumont. Do your duty, officer. I can answer for myself and my own people.

Brigadier. Yes, but these strangers?

Dumont. They are strangers to me.

Macaire. I am an honest man: I stand upon my rights: search me; or search this person, of whom I know too little. (Smiting his brow.) By heaven, I see it all! This morning – (To Bertrand.) How, sir, did you dare to flaunt your booty in my very face? (To Brigadier.) He showed me notes; he was up ere day; search him, and you’ll find. There stands the murderer.

Bertrand. O, Macaire! (He is seized and searched and the notes are found.)

Brigadier. There is blood upon the notes. Handcuffs. (Macaire edging towards the door.)

Bertrand. Macaire, you may as well take the bundle. (Macaire is stopped by sentry, and comes front, R.)

Charles (re-appearing). Stop, I know the truth. (He comes down.) Brigadier, my father is not dead. He is not even dangerously hurt. He has spoken. There is the would-be assassin.

Macaire. Hell! (He darts across to the staircase, and turns on the second step, flashing out the knife.) Back, hounds! (He springs up the stair, and confronts them from the top.) Fools, I am Robert Macaire! (As Macaire turns to flee, he is met by the Gendarme coming out of Number Thirteen; he stands an instant checked, is shot from the stage, and falls headlong backward down the stair. Bertrand, with a cry, breaks from the Gendarmes, kneels at his side, and raises his head.)

Bertrand. Macaire, Macaire, forgive me. I didn’t blab; you know I didn’t blab.

Macaire. Sold again, old boy. Sold for the last time; at least, the last time this side death. Death – what is death? (He dies.)

CURTAIN