The Queen's Necklace. Александр Дюма
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I gave twenty-five or fifty crowns a month what would you say?
OLIVA
I would prefer fifty to twenty-five, but what must I do to earn them?
CAGLIOSTRO
You will receive me in your home, you will give me your arm when I ask for it, you will await me when I tell you—
OLIVA
All that is not impossible to arrange.
CAGLIOSTRO
Perhaps I’ll need for you to really be my mistress.
OLIVA
Oh, sir, trust me, you’ll never need that.
CAGLIOSTRO
Or at least that you seem so.
OLIVA
As for that, as much as you like.
CAGLIOSTRO
Then it’s agreed. Here’s the first month in advance.
OLIVA
And here’s Beausire—get out!
CAGLIOSTRO
Me—why?
OLIVA
Do you hear how he’s screaming—ah! So much the worse for you if some misfortune happens.
CAGLIOSTRO
(sitting peacefully) How you talk! So much the worse!
BEAUSIRE
(entering furious) By the horns of Beelzebub! Where is he, this fox—so I can gut him so—so I can disembowel him, so I can cut him to shreds!
OLIVA
My friend!
BEAUSIRE
(brutally) You! Try to shut up!
CAGLIOSTRO
There! There! Don’t be so rough to Madame, Monsieur de Beausire, and if you’re in a bad mood!
BEAUSIRE
Death of all the devils in hell—get up and leave or I’ll break this armchair and everything in it.
CAGLIOSTRO
(very calm) You didn’t tell me, Miss, that Mr. de Beausire had these violent whims. Zounds! What ferocity!
BEAUSIRE
(exasperated, pulling his rapier) One more time, get up or I’ll nail you to the back of the chair.
CAGLIOSTRO
(pulling a long sword) Really—try it!
OLIVA
Help!
CAGLIOSTRO
(still seated, sword in hand) Child, shush or you will make Mr. de Beausire deaf and that will make him skewer himself.
BEAUSIRE
(already on guard, stopping) Skewer myself? You said skewer myself—
CAGLIOSTRO
Like a chicken or a turkey at your choice.
BEAUSIRE
(sheathing his sword) Then if you are sure of it, admit it would be stupid of me to risk such an alternative.
CAGLIOSTRO
(sheathing also) If you had let me speak, I would have calmed your wrath with a single word.
BEAUSIRE
Which is?
CAGLIOSTRO
(deftly) I am Miss’s uncle.
BEAUSIRE
Her uncle! She never told me she had one.
CAGLIOSTRO
That’s because I was in the New World.
OLIVA
(entering into his idea) Oh, Uncle had left when I was so tiny, tiny that I’d almost forgotten about him.
BEAUSIRE
Ah, bah! Why then you are an uncle from America?
CAGLIOSTRO
You’ve guessed it.
BEAUSIRE
Oh! Why then that considerably changes the look of things.
(uneasily) By the way—did you return from there rich?
CAGLIOSTRO
Too rich to know my fortune! I have more money than I want.
BEAUSIRE
I really was saying so—that changes things at all at all—but I’m thinking—if you are my wife’s uncle—you’re also mine! In my arms—uncle!
CAGLIOSTRO
What do you think?
(during the embrace Oliva offers her hand to Cagliostro, who kisses it. After that Cagliostro pulls Beausire to him) By the way, nephew, aren’t you a member of a certain academy?
BEAUSIRE
Me?
CAGLIOSTRO
Oh! Don’t protest, I am not speaking of the Academy Française, but of a fraternity of Pharo cards, 21, and other analogous diversions which hold sessions in Rue de Vert-Bois—near to Porte-Saint Martin—upstairs over the ground floor—
BEAUSIRE
Keep it down!—Well?
CAGLIOSTRO
Well! In a quarter of an hour, at your academy they’re going to discuss a little pending project to give a benefice of nearly 2 million pounds to its associates.
BEAUSIRE
Head and blood! Why, if I’m not there, I’ll lose my share.
COUNTESS de la MOTTE
(enters in high fashion, with arms uncovered) You, my dear Count?
CAGLIOSTRO
Myself, Countess! But how beautiful you are!
(kissing her hand) Ah! I understand the visit took place—and no doubt you are going to dine—with him!
COUNTESS de la MOTTE
Can one hide nothing from a sorcerer! Why, it’s Mr. Beausire—oh! How happy you seem.
BEAUSIRE
There’s something to it, Countess. I found her again.
(he unmasks Oliva, who curtsies, the Countess recoils stupefied)
COUNTESS de la MOTTE
(not taking her eyes from Oliva) Huh? Madame is Miss Oliva—
OLIVA
To serve you, Madame.
COUNTESS de la MOTTE
(still watching her) I understand—the joy of Mr. Beausire, Miss, as I now am able to explain to myself all his past sorrow—
(curtsy by Oliva; aside) Oh, this resemblance is truly terrifying.
CAGLIOSTRO
(low) What’s the matter with you, Countess?
COUNTESS de la MOTTE
(hiding her emotion) Me—nothing.
CAGLIOSTRO
You find this girl resembles her—huh?
COUNTESS de la MOTTE
Resembles whom?
CAGLIOSTRO
(taking the candy box on the table, still