Macaire. Charles, to my——
Dumont. Embrace neither of them; embrace nobody; there has been too much of this sickening folly. To bed!!! (Exit violently R.U.E. All the characters troop slowly upstairs, talking in dumb show. Bertrand and Macaire remain in front C., watching them go.)
Bertrand. Sold again, captain?
Macaire. Ay, they will have it.
Bertrand. It? What?
Macaire. The worst, Bertrand. What is man?—a beast of prey. An hour ago, and I’d have taken a crust and gone in peace. But no: they would trick and juggle, curse them: they would wriggle and cheat! Well, I accept the challenge: war to the knife.
Bertrand. Murder?
Macaire. What is murder? A legal term for a man dying. Call it Fate, and that’s philosophy; call me Providence, and you talk religion. Die? Why, that is what man is made for; we are full of mortal parts; we are all as good as dead already, we hang so close upon the brink: touch a button, and the strongest falls in dissolution. Now, see how easy: I take you——(grappling him).
Bertrand. Macaire—O no!
Macaire. Fool! Would I harm a fly, when I had nothing to gain? As the butcher with the sheep, I kill to live; and where is the difference between man and mutton? pride and a tailor’s bill. Murder? I know who made that name—a man crouching from the knife! Selfishness made it—the aggregated egotism called society; but I meet that with a selfishness as great. Has he money? Have I none—great powers, none? Well, then, I fatten and manure my life with his.