The Plays of W. E. Henley and R. L. Stevenson - Роберт Льюис Стивенсон 4 стр.

Brodie. Great heavens! answer in three words, and be hanged to you! What are you, and where are you from?

Hunt. A patter-cove from Seven Dials.

Brodie. 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. Hes a patter-cove from Seven Dials. Hillo! whats all this?

Ainslie. Dod, Im for nae mair! (At back, and rising.)

Players. Sit down, Ainslie.  Sit down, Andra.  Ma revenge!

Ainslie. Na, na, Im for canny goin. (Coming forward with bottle.) Deacon, lets see your gless.

Brodie. Not an inch of it.

Moore. No rotten shirking, Deacon!

[Ainslie. Im sayin, man, lets see your gless.

Brodie. Go to the deuce!]

Ainslie. But Im sayin

Brodie. Havent I to play to-night?

Ainslie. But, man, yell drink to bonnie Jean Watt?

Brodie. Ay, Ill follow you there. A la reine de mes amours! (Drinks.) What fiend put this in your way, you hound? Youve filled me with raw stuff. By the muckle deil!

Moore. Dont hit him, Deacon; tell his mother.

Hunt (aside). Oho!

Smith. Wheres 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!

Rivers. Stupendiously pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. Deakin, split me!

[Brodie. We dont often see Englands heroes our way, Captain, but when we do, we make them infernally welcome.

Rivers. Prettily put, sink me! A demned genteel sentiment, stap my vitals!]

Brodie. Oh Captain! you flatter me. [We Scotsmen have our qualities, I suppose, but we are but rough and ready at the best. Theres nothing like your Englishman for genuine distinction. He is nearer France than we are, and smells of his neighbourhood. That d d thing, the je ne sais quoi, too! Lard, Lard, split me! stap my vitals! O such manners are pure, pure, pure. They are, by the shade of Claude Duval!]

Rivers. Mr. Deakin, Mr. Deakin [this is passatively too much]. What will you sip? Give it the hanar of a neam.

Brodie. By these most hanarable 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! (forcing him boisterously into a chair.) I dont know if you can lie, but, sink me! you shall sit. (Drinking, etc., in dumb-show.)

Moore (aside to Smith). Weve nobbled him, Geordie!

Smith (aside to Moore). As neat as ninepence! Hes taking it down like mothers milk. But therell be wigs on the green to-morrow, Badger! Itll be tuppence and toddle with George Smith.

Moore. O muck! Whos afraid of him? (To Ainslie.) Hang on, Slinkie.

Hunt (who is feigning drunkenness, and has overheard; aside). By jingo!

[Rivers. Will you sneeze, Mr. Deakin, sir?

Brodie. Thanks; I have all the vices, Captain. You must send me some of your rappee. It is passatively perfect.]

Rivers. Mr. Deakin, I do myself the hanar of a sip to you.

Brodie. Topsy-turvy with the can!

Moore (aside to Smith). That made him wink.

Brodie. Your high and mighty hand, my Captain! Shall we dice dice dice? (Dumb-show between them.)

Ainslie (aside to Moore). Im sayin ?

Moore. Whats up now?

Ainslie. Im no to gie him the coggit dice?

Moore. The square ones, rot you! Aint he got to lose every brass farden?

Ainslie. Whatll like be my share?

Moore. You mucking well leave that to me.

Rivers. Well, Mr. Deakin, if you passatively will have me shake a helbow

Brodie. Where are the bones, Ainslie? Where are the dice, Lord George? (Ainslie gives the dice and dice-box to Brodie; and privately a second pair of dice.) Old Fortunes 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!

Smith. Easy does it, my lord of high degree! Keep cool.

Brodie. Cools the word, Captain a cool twenty on the first?

Rivers. Done and done. (They play.)

Hunt (aside to Moore, a little drunk). Aint that ere Scotch gentleman, your friend, too drunk to play, sir?

Moore. You hold your jaw; thats whats the matter with you.

Ainslie. Hes waur nor he looks. Hes knockit the box aff the table.

Smith (picking up box). Thats the way we does it. Ten to one and no takers!

Brodie. Deuces again! More liquor, Mother Clarke!

Smith. Hooray our side! (Pouting out.) George and his pal for ever!

Brodie. Deuces again, by heaven! Another?

Rivers. Done!

Brodie. Ten more; moneys made to go. On with you!

Rivers. Sixes.

Brodie. Deuce-ace. Death and judgment? Double or quits?

Rivers. Drive on! Sixes.

Smith. Fire away, brave boys! (To Moore) Its Tally-ho-the-Grinder, Hump!

Brodie. Treys! Death and the pit! How much have you got there?

Rivers. A cool forty-five.

Brodie. I play you thrice the lot.

Rivers. Whos afraid?

Smith. Stand by, Badger!

Rivers. Cinq-ace.

Brodie. My turn now. (He juggles in and uses the second pair of dice.) Aces! Aces again! Whats this? (Picking up dice.) Sold!.. You play false, you hound!

Rivers. You lie!

Brodie. In your teeth. (Overturns table, and goes for him.)

Moore. Here, none o that. (They hold him back. Struggle.)

Smith. Hold on, Deacon!

Brodie. Let me go. Hands off, I say! Ill not touch him. (Stands weighing dice in his hand.) But as for that thieving whinger, Ainslie, Ill cut his throat between this dark and to-morrows. To the bone. (Addressing the company.) Rogues, rogues, rogues! (Singing without.) Ha! whats that?

Ainslie. Its the psalm-singing up by at the Holy Weavers. And O Deacon, if yere a Christian man

The Psalm Without:

Brodie. I think Ill go. My son the Deacon was aye regular at kirk. If the old man could see his son, the Deacon! I think Ill Ay, who shall stand? Theres the rub! And forgiveness, too? Theres 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 theres no fool like an old fool! (Becoming conscious of the others.) Rogues!

Smith. Take my arm, Deacon.

Brodie. 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. (As he goes out, Hunt, who has been staggering about in the crowd, falls on a settle, as about to sleep.)

ACT II

TABLEAU IV.

Evil and Good

The Stage represents the Deacons workshop; benches, shavings, tools, boards, and so forth. Doors, C. on the street, and L. into the house. Without, church bells; not a chime, but a slow broken tocsin.

Brodie (solus). My head! my head! Its 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! Wheres a hat for the Deacon? wheres a hat for the Deacons headache? (searching). This place is a piggery. To be respectable and not to find ones hat.)

Jean (who has entered silently during the Deacons last words). Its me, Wullie.

Brodie (turning upon her). What! You here again? [you again!]

Jean. Deacon, Im unco vexed.

Brodie. 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?]

Jean. I was wrong to come yestreen; I ken that fine. But the day its different; I but to come the day, Deacon, though I ken fine its the Sabbath, and I think shame to be seen upon the streets.

Brodie. See here, Jean. You must go now. I come to you to-night; I swear that. But now Im for the road.

Jean. No till youve heard me, William Brodie. Do ye think I came to pleasure mysel, where Im no wanted? Ive a pride o my ains.

Brodie. 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 (going).

Jean. Its the man frae Bow Street.

Brodie. Bow Street?

Jean. I thocht ye would hear me. Ye think little o me; but its mebbe a braw thing for you that I think sae muckle o William Brodie.. ill as it sets me.

Brodie. [You dont know what is on my mind, Jeannie, else you would forgive me.] Bow Street?

Jean. Its the man Hunt: him that was here yestreen for the Fiscal.

Brodie. Hunt?

Jean. He kens a hantle. He.. Ye maunna be angered wi me, Wullie! I said what I shouldna.

Brodie. Said? Said what?

Jean. 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 leed.

Brodie. God knows he did! What next?

Jean. 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.

Brodie. Where I got my siller?

Jean. Ay, that was it! You ken, says he.

Brodie. Did he? and what said you?

Jean. I couldna think on naething, but just that he was a gey and clever gentleman.

Brodie. You should have said I was in trade, and had a good business. Thats what you should have said. Thats what you would have said had you been worth your salt. But its blunder, blunder, outside and in [upstairs, downstairs, and in my ladys chamber]. You women! Did he see Smith?

Jean. Ay, and kennt him.

Brodie. Damnation!  No, Im not angry with you. But you see what Ive to endure for you. Dont cry. [Heres the devil at the door, and we must bar him out as best we can.]

Jean. Gods truth, ye are nae vexed wi me?

Brodie. Gods truth, I am grateful to you. How is the child? Well? Thats right. (Peeping.) Poor wee laddie! Hes like you, Jean.

Jean. I aye thocht he was liker you.

Brodie. Is he? Perhaps he is. Ah, Jeannie, you must see and make him a better man than his father.

Jean. Eh man, Deacon, the proud wumman Ill be gin hes only half sae guid.

Brodie. Well, well, if I win through this, well see what we can do for him between us. (Leading her out, C.) And now, go go go.

Lawson (without, L.). I ken the way, I ken the way.

Jean (starring to door). Its the Fiscal; Im awa. (Brodie, L.).

Lawson. A braw day this, William. (Seeing Jean.) Eh Mistress Watt? And whatll have brocht you here?

Brodie (seated on bench). Something, uncle, she lost last night, and she thinks that something she lost is here. Voilà.

Lawson. Why are ye no at the kirk, woman? Do ye gang to the kirk?

Jean. Im mebbe no what ye would just ca reglar. Ye see, Fiscal, its the wean.

Lawson. A bairns 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; theyre ringing in. (Jean curtsies to both, and goes out C.The bells which have been ringing quicker, cease.)

Brodie. Im no judge, Procurator, but Ill take your word for it. Is she not a tenant of yours?

Lawson. Ay, ay; a bit house on my land in Libertons Wynd. Her mans awa, puir body; or they tell me sae; and Im concerned for her [shes 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. [Therell be twa words about this in the Kirk Session.] However, its nane of my business that brings me, or I should tak the mair shame to mysel. Na, sir, its for you; its your business keeps me frae the kirk.

Brodie. My business, Procurator? I rejoice to see it in such excellent hands.

Lawson. Ye see, its this way. I had a crack wi the laddie, Leslie, inter pocula (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 whatll you have said to her?

Brodie. She has not spoken; I have said nothing; and I believe I asked you to avoid the subject.

Lawson. Ay, I made a note o that observation, William [and assoilzied mysel]. Marys a guid lass, and Im her uncle, and Im here to be answered. Is it to be ay or no?