Читать книгу The Gold Thieves - Александр Дюма - Страница 6
ОглавлениеPROLOGUE
A salon in Doctor Ivan’s home in Portsmouth.
At rise, Louisa is alone, preparing.
LOUISA
(looking at the clock)
Four o’clock. The offices close at 4:15. Mr. Williams will be here at 4:30.
(rapping)
Good, that’s the doctor knocking.
(she goes to open. Knocking in the English manner—four or five rapid taps which increase)
DOCTOR
A man didn’t come here in my absence?
LOUISA
With a word from you, Doctor, allowing him to visit the house?
DOCTOR
Exactly.
LOUISA
Oh—sir—what’s he come to do here? He looked and inventoried all the furniture as if he were going to buy them.
DOCTOR
He came precisely for that. Did he speak to the ladies?
LOUISA
Only to Miss Émeraude.
DOCTOR
Fine. Where is he?
LOUISA
He must be in your office now.
DOCTOR
My poor furniture. Each of them brings back a memory.
(Patrick enters and looks at him.)
DOCTOR
What are you doing here?
PATRICK
Me? Nothing, sir. I was coming in to help Miss Louisa prepare the tea. If you have orders for me—
DOCTOR
Have you prepared your accounts?
PATRICK
Then the Doctor is sending me away?
DOCTOR
On the contrary, it’s you who are sending us away since you don’t wish to come with us.
PATRICK
You didn’t give me time to think it over, sir.
DOCTOR
(low to Louisa)
Are they busy packing?
LOUISA
The ladies have done nothing else all day.
DOCTOR
And with what mood?
LOUISA
Miss Melida was sad; Miss Émeraude was joyful.
DOCTOR
Poor Melida—but it has to be done. I’m going to my office, if the ladies ask after me, you will say I’ve returned but that I am busy.
LOUISA
Yes, doctor.
(He leaves, sighing.)
PATRICK
Ah—then—so it’s decided—completely decided?
LOUISA
What?
PATRICK
The departure.
LOUISA
You can see plainly since the Doctor told you to deliver your accounts to him.
PATRICK
Well—and you?
LOUISA
And me—what?
PATRICK
You’re leaving, too?
LOUISA
Doubtless.
PATRICK
You’re going to expatriate yourself—?
LOUISA
I’ll follow my mistress.
PATRICK
You will follow your mistress—that’s well said that is.
LOUISA
Is it not the duty of a good servant to follow their masters?
PATRICK
Doubtless when the change of residence is reasonable; but when the master’s change residence to go establish themselves in the Antipodes, that’s another matter. Do you know where these Antipodes are, Miss Louisa?
LOUISA
No.
PATRICK
Well, I’ve informed myself about it. It’s exactly 3,000 leagues beneath my feet—directly—in a country where men walk with their heads down and their feet in the air—where day is night and night is day—where they burn in winter and freeze in summer—Come on! Does one go to such an unreasonable country?
LOUISA
Apparently since we are going there.
PATRICK
But you’ll never come back from there.
LOUISA
Then say your goodbyes to me.
PATRICK
What! Goodbye—
LOUISA
Yes—goodbye.
PATRICK
Anyway, you aren’t going tomorrow.
LOUISA
Who knows?
PATRICK
And you are telling me all this for true,— plainly?
LOUISA
Without any doubt.
PATRICK
Why there’s a way to kill a man on the spot.
LOUISA
Bah! You will do as Mr. Williams, you will resign yourself.
PATRICK
Mr. Williams resigned! Why that means that he’s like me—not quite like me—he’s in despair.
LOUISA
Ah! Now there’s someone who, if he were free to come as you are, wouldn’t beg—he doesn’t compromise with those he loves.
PATRICK
Excuse me, I seldom compromise with those I don’t love—and I have my reasons for that—if you were to know.
LOUISA
I ask nothing better.
PATRICK
Have you ever made a crossing—you who speak?
LOUISA
Never—
PATRICK
Well—as for me, I made one—not very long—from Dover to Calais—I am only telling you that—and yet I am a man—!
LOUISA
A bad sailor, that’s all.
PATRICK
Ah, yes—I am subject to attacks of giddiness, only looking at waves; I prefer turf to the sea; earthquakes are rare unlike big boats bearing immigrants where it’s a perpetual uproar! The wind blows, the ropes screech, the boards crack, everyone is complaining—and when the weather is calm—you see them following you opening their jaws to swallow the boat! I get ill just to think of it—I was at the point that if I could do without fog, I’d never go back to England. But what do you want? I’m a true Englishman, I cannot do without fog—that’s what make us so gay.
LOUISA
Well—don’t leave your fog—and wish me bon voyage. Hey, someone’s knocking.
PATRICK
I hear, I hear.
LOUISA
Then go open.
PATRICK
Fine! Why rush? You can plainly hear—it’s some common person—the knock of a servant probably—
LOUISA
Perhaps the one rapping so humbly is coming to seek help for some poor sick person or some injured worker! You know Doctor Ivans’ orders are to open quickly—whatever may be the manner of the person knocking.
(two small knocks)
Go ahead, Patrick, go ahead!
(Patrick heads out.)
PATRICK
Coming—ah, I don’t know if it’s the sorrow of leaving you or the memory of the sea—but I don’t feel well.
(Exit Patrick.)
LOUISA
I’m beginning to think it’s really lucky I’m leaving. I might have been mad enough to marry that boy—I’d noticed he had no wit, but now I begin to see he has no heart.
(Enter Robinson with the Doctor.)
ROBINSON
Word of honor—of an honest man, Doctor Ivans, I cannot give you more than 200 pounds sterling for all this.
DOCTOR
(aside)
He ought to say—word of a trickster.
(aloud)
Anyway, can I have the money tonight by ten o’clock?
ROBINSON
I need to prepare a bill of sale.
DOCTOR
That’s very true—but it will be ready in twenty minutes. Send it to me.
ROBINSON
The Bill, together with 200 pounds will be delivered to you by six o’clock, Dr. Ivans.
DOCTOR
You always have to be careful about people who give their word about everything.
(noticing the Parisian in the antechamber)
Ah! Ah! There’s someone waiting for me in the antechamber, and you didn’t tell me about him, Louisa?
LOUISA
I didn’t know it, sir. It’s that imbecile of a Patrick; he is so upset about our departure that under the pretext of helping me, he messes up everything.
DOCTOR
It’s to me you wish to speak, young man?
PARISIAN
Yes, Doctor, with your permission, if it doesn’t disturb you.
DOCTOR
Not in the least. Come in: I am yours.
(to Mr. Robinson)
So, at six o’clock, Mr. Robinson?
(The Parisian enters.)
ROBINSON
At six.
(He leaves.)
LOUISA
Should I tell Miss Melida to come make tea?
DOCTOR
If you like.
(Louisa leaves.)
DOCTOR
The two of us now.
PARISIAN
The honor is mine, Doctor.
DOCTOR
Look—what do you want with me?
PARISIAN
By God, you know quite well what I want with you.
DOCTOR
No—Devil take me!
PARISIAN
Oh—indeed yes! I am coming to ask a service of you—no one ever comes to you for anything else.
DOCTOR
Ah! Ah! It seems to me that I know you.
PARISIAN
I should think so, I am a patient.
DOCTOR
I treated you?
PARISIAN
And gallantly! Meaning that if I am sure of my legs, and if I have the honor of telling you, your very humble servant, Doctor Ivans—I owe it to you.
DOCTOR
Can’t you be more precise?
PARISIAN
Don’t you recall a drowning case, a man already green like a meadow that you, as they say—into whose lungs you breathed air, and into his esophagus you poured a little cup of Brandy.
DOCTOR
I remember. You’d thrown yourself into the sea to save a poor devil who was drowning.
PARISIAN
Go on!
DOCTOR
And you almost drowned with him.
PARISIAN
What do you want? One has heart or done doesn’t. And indeed, it’s a shame to a man with heart to see another drinking a cup without throwing himself in the water to drink with him.
DOCTOR
(laughing, getting up)
And you were drinking so well that without me, you would have swallowed all the water in the port of Portsmouth.
PARISIAN
Luckily you arrived; as you said: Enough like this: Let’s stop the trouble and here I am.
DOCTOR
It’s an old story. What do you want from me?
PARISIAN
Oh, don’t worry. It’s not to pay you for your prescription. What I want, since that day—I don’t know if it’s because I was too soaked, but my pockets are dry—you see, which is a pity—what I want—damn—it’s hard to say.
DOCTOR
(putting his hand in his pocket)
Look—say it all the same.
PARISIAN
They say you are embarking for Australia.
DOCTOR
It’s true.
PARISIAN
On the Marco Polo.
DOCTOR
That’s true, too.
PARISIAN
As ship’s doctor.
DOCTOR
As ship’s doctor.
PARISIAN
Well—I said this to myself—Parisian, my lad—you want to see the world, but cannot pay the transportation expenses—you have to go find Doctor Ivans—he has a good heart, a man like no other—indeed! He will get you free passage. And you—during the voyage will serve him—gratis, of course. Damn—if the thing is agreeable to you, Doctor, you will be doing me a proud service.
DOCTOR
That would make you really happy?
PARISIAN
More than your refusal would cause me sorrow.
DOCTOR
Well, my friend, that works with me.
PARISIAN
Really true?
(Melida enters and concerns herself with the tea.)
PARISIAN
Ah! Doctor—if I were a crazy woman, I would kiss you—
(offering his hand)
Ah—Doctor—
(withdrawing his hand)
Pardon—pardon!
DOCTOR
Well—what?
(offering his hand)
PARISIAN
(hiding his hand behind his back)
Never! Never! Never!
DOCTOR
It’s to see if you have fever.
PARISIAN
In that case it’s another matter. Oh, yes—I have a fever—of joy—of—well—what are you putting in my hand, Doctor?
DOCTOR
Me? Nothing.
PARISIAN
A half crown. No—thanks—no—no!
DOCTOR
My friend, it’s to drink my health—and of this child and her sister.
PARISIAN
Really—it’s for that?
DOCTOR
Oh, my God, yes—! Not for anything else.
PARISIAN
If it’s for that, it’s sacred—and it will be done—conscientiously. By the way—when do we leave?
DOCTOR
Hush! Be here at eight o’clock in the evening—with your baggage—you will pass for one of the household.
PARISIAN
What? It’s for tonight.
DOCTOR
Hush! I tell you.
PARISIAN
Ah—I understand. They don’t know this yet in the family. Mum’s the word, Doctor, till tonight.
DOCTOR
Till tonight, my lad.
(Exit the Parisian.)
MELIDA
There you are, Father, we’ve hardly seen you since morning.
DOCTOR
(looking at her)
Yes, and poor child, you’ve profited by my absence—to weep.
MELIDA
It’s not my fault, Father. I am doing what I can! You see my mouth is smiling.
DOCTOR
(pulling out his handkerchief and drying her eyes)
Yes—and your eyes are weeping.
MELIDA
Oh—it’s not for only for me! To follow you, to serve you, to love you everywhere, somewhere—that would be too much joy—! But Williams, Williams, father—
(Williams enters.)
DOCTOR
Williams is a man, my child.
MELIDA
Oh—he’ll die of it—
DOCTOR
(turning and noticing Williams)
No—come tell her that, Williams—come tell her that one doesn’t die for some years of absence—come tell her that hearts truly united always end by being rejoined. Come!
MELIDA
Oh—father—
DOCTOR
Console her—sustain her—be strong, Williams. Tell her I’m getting old—my child—that I have perhaps five or six years—— not more to live. God doesn’t want to take me so soon from two children who have only me in the world and love me so much—but to exercise my profession. Tell her that it’s necessary for me to amass down there in five or six years a little fortune that despite the trouble I took, I haven’t been able to realize here. Tell her that the situation you occupy which pay 125 pounds per year doesn’t suffice to support a wife and children—tell her all this, Williams—words that passing from your mouth will have greater force than coming from mine.
BOTH
Father.
DOCTOR
I know that I’m dealing with two valiant souls—two honest hearts, and that I leave them supporting each other, certain that instead of weakening, they will strengthen each other.
(He looks at them, places Melida’s arm in Williams’—and leaves)
MELIDA
Williams!
(Melida falls in an armchair)
WILLIAMS
Why he thinks I have a heart of bronze—your father—
(with agitation)
Oh! My duty, I know quite well will be to sustain you—by repeating to you, word for word, the statements he just made—but I haven’t the strength. I haven’t the courage—this departure is killing me! Oh—the sea, the ocean—space—and you down there without me.
MELIDA
Who would heave said, Williams, that it would be I who was consoling you!
WILLIAMS
Don’t try, Melida, for if you resign yourself like this, I will believe you are indifferent.
MELIDA
We will return.
WILLIAMS
You will return? And do you know that the crossing alone takes five months? Do you think that during those five months I will have a moment’s rest? The noise of the wind alone will drive me mad! I don’t wish to exhort you to disobedience—I love your father as if he were my own—but I feel that he’s committing a folly—! And I am all the more wretched that I cannot tell him stop! He will accuse me of egoism. Poverty imposes silence on me. But if you leave, Melida—a presentment tells me that we will never see each other again.
MELIDA
(rising and crossing in front of Williams)
Why terrify me so? Why take from me my only last hope?
WILLIAMS
Because I see with the eyes of my heart! Because the ocean brought misfortune to the only being I loved as much as you—my mother—because it swallowed her without leaving me a tomb to weep over! Nothing returns from what it swallows—its depths are abysses. It’s twelve years since parting with her to rejoin my father at the Cape of Good Hope. I saw my mother die. It was twelve years ago I saw a porthole open and the bier which shut in the being who loved me most in the world slide into the ocean! I saw that coffin come to the surface of the water and float on the surface in the wake of the ship, as if the dear creature didn’t want to abandon me—! This terrible spectacle is not only present in my thoughts, but still before my eyes—as if it happened yesterday. When I think that you are going to cross the ocean—the same image comes before my eyes—! Oh, my God! You won’t permit Melida to leave or you will grant me the favor of leaving with her.
MELIDA
Oh—if that could be—with what joy would I leave England!
WILLIAMS
Do you speak truly, Melida?
MELIDA
I swear that with you, for me all would be joy, happiness, hope.
WILLIAMS
(kissing her hand)
Melida! Well!
MELIDA
What?
WILLIAMS
I don’t dare say anything—I don’t dare promise you—I don’t dare hope anything—but this evening at ten o’clock—expect me—and if God looks on our side—I will have good news to tell you.
MELIDA
Well what?
WILLIAMS
Nothing, nothing—for it requires a miracle.
MELIDA
I will expect you—
WILLIAMS
Goodbye—
MELIDA
Already!
WILLIAMS
It’s necessary—till tonight—till tonight!
(Exit Williams.)
MELIDA
(alone)
How easily the heart hopes for what it wishes—I know nothing and I think all is possible—to escape the sorrow of a separation—
(The Doctor and Émeraude enter. The Doctor goes to sit at the table. Émeraude approaches Melida from behind and embraces her.)
MELIDA
(throwing her arms around Émeraude’s neck)
Oh, Sister! Sister!
ÉMERAUDE
Silence! Our father is there.
MELIDA
My God!
ÉMERAUDE
Courage, Melida.
MELIDA
That’s easy for you to say—your heart is free.
ÉMERAUDE
Free! Heavens, read this—I received that an hour ago.
MELIDA
A letter?
ÉMERAUDE
Read—
MELIDA
(reading)
“You are going to leave, Émeraude, you cannot refuse me a few minutes meeting. I am allowing myself to be sacrificed and I am so miserable for having lost you—that you must take pity on me. My name alone belongs to another—but my soul is yours and you are carrying it off with you—Sir Edward!”
ÉMERAUDE
Yes!
MELIDA
You love him?
ÉMERAUDE
As you love Williams.
MELIDA
And he is married!
ÉMERAUDE
I was poor! You see that. It’s possible to be more miserable then you. You, at least, still have hope.
MELIDA
Ah—that’s why you are so happy to leave?
ÉMERAUDE
I distrust myself and we need nothing less than an ocean between him and me to reassure me.
MELIDA
You are right, Émeraude. We must leave.
DOCTOR
What are you talking about over there?
MELIDA
Father, we were saying that you are supremely wise and that we will leave on the day and hour you choose.
DOCTOR
You are two brave children. You’ve understood, I haven’t much courage and you each bring me a little of your own. Here, what future would you have, dear daughters of my heart, if death were to suddenly strike me? Alas, our society is careless with regard to young and beautiful orphans.
ÉMERAUDE
You’ve given us skills that we should be able to utilize if you’d allowed us.
DOCTOR
You would be governesses. Governesses! That is to say—the first servants of the house. Sacrificial lambs to all the bad humors of an aristocratic family; slaves of pupils who are deemed to obey you. I’ve seen many of those poor young girls; with pale faces, humble voices, eyes red with tears—all were wretched because those who employed them only had the power of money over them—the most insolent of powers.
(crossing the stage)
MELIDA
Father—human experience teaches us we are in this world to suffer.
DOCTOR
Yes, but the heart that loves you refuses to listen to that voice—or at least to believe it. Suffer, you may, poor children, that I’ve brooded over for twenty, twenty watchful years! My poor chicks that a mother doesn’t shelter. Well—no, I rebel against human experience; to that voice which shouts misfortune, I answer: You lie! You won’t suffer. As for me, I don’t wish you to suffer! We shall go down under. All the papers agree in saying that doctors are needed in Australia. I’ll make a fortune there. I have the credulity of people who desire and hope—when we are rich, we’ll bring Williams—that’s for you, Melida. As for you, Émeraude, we will find you a man of heart in need of a sweet, wise, loving wife who will give you joy—happiness—my beautiful gem.
ÉMERAUDE
Beautiful dreams—father.
DOCTOR
Which will become realities. Leave it to me—well, my good children, now that you are really reasonable, there’s no reason to keep a secret from you—especially this secret—as the hour has come that I can no longer hide it.
(coming forward)
We are leaving tonight.
MELIDA
My God!
ÉMERAUDE
Oh—so much the better—father.
MELIDA
Ah—Williams.
DOCTOR
Isn’t it better for you not to see him again? Don’t you think those last goodbyes will be more painful than comforters?
MELIDA
Yes, yes—perhaps you’re right, father. Is it permitted that I write him that I was unaware of your decision—and that it was only at the moment of leaving that I learned—
DOCTOR
Yes, write him—pour your heart in his, poor child! It’s an honest heart.
(to Louisa)
Well—what is it?
(moving forward)
LOUISA
A gentleman coming on behalf of Mr. Robinson with a paper to be signed and a bag of money. I made him wait in your office.
DOCTOR
(to Louisa)
Well—bring down the trunks and the boxes—Émeraude will help you—courage my child.
MELIDA
You see plainly that I have courage, father.
(aside)
Ah, if the test were to last much longer it would kill me.
(the doctor goes into his office)
ÉMERAUDE
Courage, sister, God is watching us—Williams loves you—what are 5,000 leagues to a bird seeking spring—to a heart seeking love?
(Exit Émeraude.)
MELIDA
(alone)
Poor Williams! What’s he going to say when he comes this evening and finds the house empty?
(sitting at a table and taking up a pen)
Write then, trembling hand, and if tears cloud your eyes, it’s just one sorrow the more.
(writing)
“Dear Williams—fate subjects us sometimes to such cruel trials that one must squeeze up one’s courage in a great love like mine so as not to die; In, an hour, I’ll have left this house without seeing you again—the cradle of our love—the tomb of my hopes—my unhappiness is so great that I dare not look you in the face—if I knew I’d never see you again, I’d let myself die—but no—you will come rejoin me; very soon, right? God will take pity on those who never offended him. I love you. I love you.”
(she rings—raising hear head and perceiving Patrick)
You’re staying, right, Patrick?
PATRICK
Yes, Miss, in this house, yes—Dr. Ivans has entrusted the keys to me until Mr. Robinson shall come tomorrow to take away the furnishings and sell them.
MELIDA
(rising)
Well—when Williams comes tonight, you will give him this letter. You will tell him—no—you will tell him nothing—
(aside)
He will be wretched enough without someone telling him I’ve suffered. Take this, my friend, take this.
(giving him a half crown, she collapses on a sofa)
PATRICK
Thanks, Miss.
DOCTOR
(coming in behind Melida and resting a hand on her shoulder)
Is it done?
MELIDA
Yes, Father.
DOCTOR
And your poor heart?
MELIDA
God and my love for you will give it strength.
(Émeraude brings in a traveling cape and places in on Melida’s shoulders—she hardly notices.)
DOCTOR
Come—let’s hurry the trains leaving.
(Melida falls to both knees.)
ÉMERAUDE
Let her say her prayer—it will bring us luck.
MELIDA
(praying)
My God—you who made the world so grand and who are even grander than the world—give me strength—courage—resignation—make our hearts unite under the immensity of heaven which envelops the universe and reunites our souls—if they succumb to pain.
(soft music accompanies Melida’s prayer. Rising.)
Here I am, Father. Goodbye, Patrick—don’t forget.
PATRICK
Don’t worry, Miss.
DOCTOR
Lean on me, poor reed—
(as they leave)
Goodbye to the past—Greetings to the future.
(he leaves last—followed by Melida)
CURTAIN
