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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/2461-0.txt b/2461-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..dcaf849 --- /dev/null +++ b/2461-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,2921 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Lady of Lyons, by Edward Bulwer Lytton + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Lady of Lyons + or Love and Pride + +Author: Edward Bulwer Lytton + +Release Date: January, 2001 +Posting Date: December 23, 2008 [EBook #2461] +Last Updated: August 29, 2016 + + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LADY OF LYONS *** + + + + +Produced by Dianne Bean, and David Ceponis + + + + + +THE LADY OF LYONS + +or, LOVE AND PRIDE + + + +By Edward Bulwer Lytton + + + To the author of "Ion." + + Whose genius and example have alike contributed + towards the regeneration of The National Drama, + + This play is inscribed. + + + + +PREFACE. + +An indistinct recollection of the very pretty little tale, called "The +Bellows-Mender," suggested the plot of this Drama. The incidents are, +however, greatly altered from those in the tale, and the characters +entirely re-cast. + +Having long had a wish to illustrate certain periods of the French +history, so, in the selection of the date in which the scenes of this +play are laid, I saw that the era of the Republic was that in which the +incidents were rendered most probable, in which the probationary career +of the hero could well be made sufficiently rapid for dramatic effect, +and in which the character of the time itself was depicted by the +agencies necessary to the conduct of the narrative. For during the early +years of the first and most brilliant successes of the French Republic, +in the general ferment of society, and the brief equalization of ranks, +Claude's high-placed love; his ardent feelings, his unsettled principles +(the struggle between which makes the passion of this drama), his +ambition, and his career, were phenomena that characterized the age, and +in which the spirit of the nation went along with the extravagance of +the individual. + +The play itself was composed with a twofold object. In the first place, +sympathizing with the enterprise of Mr. Macready, as Manager of Covent +Garden, and believing that many of the higher interests of the Drama +were involved in the success or failure of an enterprise equally +hazardous and disinterested, I felt, if I may so presume to express +myself, something of the Brotherhood of Art; and it was only for Mr. +Macready to think it possible that I might serve him in order to induce +me to make the attempt. + +Secondly, in that attempt I was mainly anxious to see whether or +not, after the comparative failure on the stage of "The Duchess de la +Valliere," certain critics had truly declared that it was not in my +power to attain the art of dramatic construction and theatrical effect. +I felt, indeed, that it was in this that a writer, accustomed to the +narrative class of composition, would have the most both to learn and +unlearn. Accordingly, it was to the development of the plot and the +arrangement of the incidents that I directed my chief attention;--and I +sought to throw whatever belongs to poetry less into the diction and +the "felicity of words" than into the construction of the story, the +creation of the characters, and the spirit of the pervading sentiment. + +The authorship of the play was neither avowed nor suspected until the +play had established itself in public favor. The announcement of my +name was the signal for attacks, chiefly political, to which it is now +needless to refer. When a work has outlived for some time the earlier +hostilities of criticism, there comes a new race of critics to which a +writer may, for the most part, calmly trust for a fair consideration, +whether of the faults or the merits of his performance. + + + + +DRAMATIS PERSONAE. + + BEAUSEANT, a rich gentleman of Lyons, in love with, + and refused by, Pauline Deschappelles MR. ELTON. + + GLAVIS, his friend, also a rejected suitor to Pauline MR. MEADOWS. + + COLONEL (afterwards General) DAMAS, cousin to Mme. Deschappelles, + and an officer in the French army MR. BARTLEY. + + MONSIEUR DESCHAPPELLES, a Lyonnese merchant father to Pauline + MR. STRICKLAND. + + + GASPAR MR. DIDDEAR. + + CLAUDE MELNOTTE MR. MACREADY. + + FIRST OFFICER MR. HOWE. + + SECOND OFFICER MR. PRITCHARD. + + THIRD OFFICER MR. ROBERTS. + + Servants, Notary, etc. + + MADAME DESCHAPPELLES MRS. W. CLIFFORD. + + PAULINE, her daughter MISS HELEN FAUCIT. + + THE WIDOW MELNOTTE, mother to Claude MRS. GRIFFITH. + + JANET, the innkeeper's daughter MRS. EAST. + + MARIAN, maid to Pauline MISS GARRICK. + + +Scene--Lyons and the neighborhood. + +Time--1795-1798 + +First performed on Thursday, the 15th of February, 1838, at Covent +Garden Theatre. + + + + +THE LADY OF LYONS; + +or, + +LOVE AND PRIDE. + + + + +ACT I.--SCENE I. + +A room in the house of M. DESCHAPPELLES, at Lyons. PAULINE reclining +on a sofa; MARIAN, her maid, fanning her--Flowers and notes on a table +beside the sofa--MADAME DESCHAPPELLES seated--The gardens are seen from +the open window. + +Mme. Deschap. Marian, put that rose a little more to the left.--[MARIAN +alters the position of a rose in PAULINE's hair.]--Ah, so!--that +improves the hair,--the tournure, the j'e ne sais quoi!--You are +certainly very handsome, child!--quite my style;--I don't wonder that +you make such a sensation!--Old, young, rich, and poor, do homage to the +Beauty of Lyons!--Ah, we live again in our children,--especially when +they have our eyes and complexion! + +Pauline [languidly]. Dear mother, you spoil your Pauline!--[Aside.] I +wish I knew who sent me these flowers! + +Mme. Deschap. No, child!--If I praise you, it is only to inspire you +with a proper ambition.--You are born to make a great marriage.--Beauty +is valuable or worthless according as you invest the property to the +best advantage. Marian, go and order the carriage! [Exit MARIAN. + +Pauline. Who can it be that sends me, every day, these beautiful +flowers?--how sweet they are! + +Enter Servant. + +Servant. Monsieur Beauseant, Madam. + +Mme. Deschap. Let him enter. Pauline, this is another offer!--I know +it is!--Your father should engage an additional clerk to keep the +account-book of your conquests. + +Enter BEAUSEANT. + +Beau. Ah, ladies how fortunate I am to find you at home!--[Aside.] How +lovely she looks!--It is a great sacrifice I make in marrying into a +family in trade!--they will be eternally grateful!--[Aloud.] Madam, you +will permit me a word with your charming daughter.--[Approaches PAULINE, +who rises disdainfully.]--Mademoiselle, I have ventured to wait upon +you, in a hope that you must long since have divined. Last night, when +you outshone all the beauty of Lyons, you completed your conquest +over me! You know that my fortune is not exceeded by any estate in the +province,--you know that, but for the Revolution, which has defrauded +me of my titles, I should be noble. May I, then, trust that you will not +reject my alliance? I offer you my hand and heart. + +Pauline [aside.] He has the air of a man who confers a favor!--[Aloud.] +Sir, you are very condescending--I thank you humbly; but, being duly +sensible of my own demerits, you must allow me to decline the honor you +propose. [Curtsies, and turns away. + +Beau. Decline! Impossible!--you are not serious!--Madam, suffer me to +appeal to you. I am a suitor for your daughter's hand--the settlements +shall be worthy of her beauty and my station. May I wait on M. +Deschappelles? + +Mme. Deschap. M. Deschappelles never interferes in the domestic +arrangements,--you are very obliging. If you were still a marquis, or if +my daughter were intended to marry a commoner,--why, perhaps, we might +give you the preference. + +Beau. A commoner!--we are all commoners in France now. + +Mme. Deschap. In France, yes; but there is a nobility still left in the +other countries in Europe. We are quite aware of your good qualities, +and don't doubt that you will find some lady more suitable to your +pretensions. We shall be always happy to see you as an acquaintance, M. +Beauseant!--My dear child, the carriage will be here presently. + +Beau. Say no more, madam!--say no more!--[Aside.] Refused! and by +a merchant's daughter!--refused! It will be all over Lyons before +sunset!--I will go and bury myself in my chateau, study philosophy, +and turn woman-hater. Refused! they ought to be sent to a madhouse!-- +Ladies, I have the honor to wish you a very good morning. [Exit. + +Mme. Deschap. How forward these men are!--I think, child, we kept up our +dignity. Any girl, however inexperienced, knows how to accept an +offer, but it requires a vast deal of address to refuse one with proper +condescension and disdain. I used to practise it at school with the +dancing-master. + +Enter DAMAS. + +Damas. Good morning, cousin Deschappelles.--Well, Pauline, are you +recovered from last night's ball?--So many triumphs must be very +fatiguing. Even M. Glavis sighed most piteously when you departed; but +that might be the effect of the supper. + +Pauline. M. Glavis, indeed! + +Mme. Deschap. M. Glavis?--as if my daughter would think of M. Glavis! + +Damas. Hey-day!--why not?--His father left him a very pretty fortune, +and his birth is higher than yours, cousin Deschappelles. But perhaps +you are looking to M. Beauseant,--his father was a marquis before the +Revolution. + +Pauline. M. Beauseant!--Cousin, you delight in tormenting me! + +Mme. Deschap. Don't mind him, Pauline!--Cousin Damas, you have no +susceptibility of feeling,--there is a certain indelicacy in all your +ideas.--M. Beauseant knows already that he is no match for my daughter! + +Damas. Pooh! pooh! one would think you intended your daughter to marry a +prince! + +Mme. Deschap. Well, and if I did?--what then?--Many a foreign prince-- + +Damas [interrupting her]. Foreign prince!--foreign fiddlestick!--you +ought to be ashamed of such nonsense at your time of life. + +Mme. Deschap. My time of life!--That is an expression never applied to +any lady till she is sixty-nine and three-quarters;--and only then by +the clergyman of the parish. + +Enter Servant. + +Servant. Madame, the carriage is at the door. [Exit. + +Mme. Deschap. Come, child, put on your bonnet--you really have a very +thorough-bred air--not at all like your poor father.--[Fondly]. Ah, you +little coquette! when a young lady is always making mischief, it is a +sure sign that she takes after her mother! + +Pauline. Good day, cousin Damas--and a better humor to you.--[Going +back to the table and taking the flowers]. Who could have sent me these +flowers? [Exeunt PAULINE and MADAME DESCHAPPELLES. + +Damas. That would be an excellent girl if her head had not been turned. +I fear she is now become incorrigible! Zounds, what a lucky fellow I am +to be still a bachelor! They may talk of the devotion of the sex--but +the most faithful attachment in life is that of a woman in love--with +herself. [Exit. + +SCENE II. + +The exterior of a small Village Inn--sign, the Golden Lion--A few +leagues from Lyons, which is seen at a distance. + +Beau. [behind the scenes.] Yes, you may bait the horses; we shall rest +here an hour. + +Enter BEAUSEANT and GLAVIS. + +Gla. Really, my dear Beauseant, consider that I have promised to spend +a day or two with you at your chateau, that I am quite at your mercy for +my entertainment,--and yet you are as silent and as gloomy as a mute at +a funeral, or an Englishman at a party of pleasure. + +Beau. Bear with me!--the fact is that I am miserable. + +Gla. You--the richest and gayest bachelor in Lyons? + +Beau. It is because I am a bachelor that I am miserable.--Thou knowest +Pauline--the only daughter of the rich merchant, Mons. Deschappelles? + +Gla. Know her?--who does not?--as pretty as Venus, and as proud as Juno. + +Beau. Her taste is worse than her pride.--[Drawing himself up.] Know, +Glavis, she has actually refused me! + +Gla. [aside]. So she has me!--very consoling! In all cases of +heart-ache, the application of another man's disappointment draws +out the pain and allays the irritation.--[Aloud.] Refused you! and +wherefore? + +Beau. I know not, unless it be because the Revolution swept away my +father's title of Marquis,--and she will not marry a commoner. Now, as +we have no noblemen left in France,--as we are all citizens and equals, +she can only hope that, in spite of the war, some English Milord or +German Count will risk his life, by coming to Lyons, that this fille du +Roturier may condescend to accept him. Refused me, and with scorn!--By +Heaven, I'll not submit to it tamely:--I'm in a perfect fever of +mortification and rage.--Refuse me, indeed! + +Gla. Be comforted, my dear fellow,--I will tell you a secret. For the +same reason she refused ME! + +Beau. You!--that's a very different matter! But give me your hand, +Glavis,--we'll think of some plan to humble her. Mille diables! I should +like to see her married to a strolling player! + +Enter Landlord and his Daughter from the Inn. + +Land. Your servant, citizen Beauseant,--servant, Sir. Perhaps you will +take dinner before you proceed to your chateau; our larder is most +plentifully supplied. + +Beau. I have no appetite. + +Gla. Nor I. Still it is bad travelling on an empty stomach. What have +you got? [Takes and looks over the bill of fare.] + +[Shout without.] "Long live the Prince!--Long live the Prince!" + +Beau. The Prince!--what Prince is that? I thought we had no princes left +in France. + +Land. Ha, ha! the lads always call him Prince. He has just won the prize +in the shooting-match, and they are taking him home in triumph. + +Beau. Him! and who's Mr. Him? + +Land. Who should he be but the pride of the village, Claude +Melnotte?--Of course you have heard of Claude Melnotte? + +Gla. [giving back the bill of fare.] Never had that honor. Soup--ragout +of hare--roast chicken, and, in short, all you have! + +Beau. The son of old Alelnotte, the gardener? + +Land. Exactly so--a wonderful young man. + +Beau. How, wonderful?--Are his cabbages better than other people's + +Land. Nay, he don't garden any more; his father left him well off. He's +only a genus. + +Gla. A what? + +Land. A genus!--a man who can do everything in life except anything +that's useful--that's a genus. + +Beau. You raise my curiosity;--proceed. + +Land. Well, then, about four years ago, old Melnotte died, and left his +son well to do in the world. We then all observed that a great change +came over young Claude: he took to reading and Latin, and hired a +professor from Lyons, who had so much in his head that he was forced to +wear a great full-bottom wig to cover it. Then he took a fencing-master, +and a dancing-master, and a music-master; and then he learned to paint; +and at last it was said that young Claude was to go to Paris, and set +up for a painter. The lads laughed at him at first; but he is a stout +fellow, is Claude, and as brave as a lion, and soon taught them to laugh +the wrong side of their mouths; and now all the boys swear by him, and +all the girls pray for him. + +Beau. A promising youth, certainly! And why do they call him Prince? + +Land. Partly because he is at the head of them all, and partly because +he has such a proud way with him, and wears such fine clothes--and, in +short, looks like a prince. + +Beau. And what could have turned the foolish fellow's brain? The +Revolution, I suppose? + +Land. Yes--the revolution that turns us all topsy-turvy--the revolution +of Love. + +Beau. Romantic young Corydon! And with whom is he in love? + +Land. Why--but it is a secret, gentlemen. + +Beau. Oh! certainly. + +Land. Why, then, I hear from his mother, good soul! that it is no less a +person than the Beauty of Lyons, Pauline Deschappelles. + +Beau. and Glavis. Ha, ha!--Capital! + +Land. You may laugh, but it is as true as I stand here. + +Beau. And what does the Beauty of Lyons say to his suit? + +Land. Lord, sir, she never even condescended to look at him, though when +he was a boy he worked in her father's garden. + +Beau. Are you sure of that? + +Land. His mother says that Mademoiselle does not know him by sight. + +Beau. [taking Glavis aside]. I have hit it,--I have it; here is our +revenge! Here is a prince for our haughty damsel. Do you take me? + +Gla. Deuce take me if I do! + +Beau. Blockhead!--it's as clear as a map. What if we could make this +elegant clown pass himself off as a foreign prince?--lend him money, +clothes, equipage for the purpose?--make him propose to Pauline?--marry +Pauline? Would it not be delicious? + +Gla. Ha, ha!--Excellent! But how shall we support the necessary expenses +of his highness? + +Beau. Pshaw! Revenge is worth a much larger sacrifice than a few hundred +louis;--as for details, my valet is the trustiest fellow, in the world, +and shall have the appointment of his highness's establishment. Let's go +to him at once, and see if he be really this Admirable Crichton. + +Gla. With all my heart;--but the dinner? + +Beau. Always thinking of dinner! Hark ye, landlord; how far is it to +young Melnotte's cottage? I should like to see such a prodigy. + +Land. Turn down the lane,--then strike across the common,--and you will +see his mother's cottage. + +Beau. True, he lives with his mother.--[Aside.] We will not trust to an +old woman's discretion; better send for him hither. I'll just step in +and write a note. Come, Glavis. + +Gla. Yes,--Beauseant, Glavis, and Co., manufacturers of princes, +wholesale and retail,--an uncommonly genteel line of business. But why +so grave? + +Beau. You think only of the sport,--I of the revenge. [Exeunt within the +Inn. + +SCENE III. + +The interior of MELNOTTE'S cottage; flowers placed here and there; a +guitar on an oaken table, with a portfolio, etc.; a picture on an easel, +covered by a curtain; fencing foils crossed over the mantelpiece; an +attempt at refinement in site of the homeliness of the furniture, etc.; +a staircase to the right conducts to the upper story. + +[Shout without]. "Long live Claude Melnotte!" "Long live the Prince!" + +The Widow Mel. Hark!--there's my dear son;--carried off the prize, I'm +sure; and now he'll want to treat them all. + +Claude Mel. [opening the door]. What! you will not come in, my friends! +Well, well, there's a trifle to make merry elsewhere. Good day to you +all,--good day! + +[Shout]. "Hurrah! Long live Prince Claude!" + +Enter CLAUDE MELNOTTE, with a rifle in his hand. + +Mel. Give me joy, dear mother!--I've won the prize!--never missed one +shot! Is it not handsome, this gun? + +Widow. Humph!--Well, what is it worth, Claude? + +Mel. Worth! What is a riband worth to a soldier? Worth! everything! +Glory is priceless! + +Widow. Leave glory to great folks. Ah! Claude, Claude, castles in the +air cost a vast deal to keep up! How is all this to end? What good does +it do thee to learn Latin, and sing songs, and play on the guitar, and +fence, and dance, and paint pictures? All very fine; but what does it +bring in? + +Mel. Wealth! wealth, my mother! Wealth to the mind--wealth to the +heart--high thoughts--bright dreams--the hope of fame--the ambition to +be worthier to love Pauline. + +Widow. My poor son!--The young lady will never think of thee. + +Mel. Do the stars think of us? Yet if the prisoner see them shine into +his dungeon, wouldst thou bid him turn away from their lustre? Even so +from this low cell, poverty, I lift my eyes to Pauline and forget my +chains.--[Goes to the picture and draws aside the curtain.] + +See, this is her image--painted from memory. Oh, how the canvas wrongs +her!--[Takes up the brush and throws it aside.] I shall never be a +painter! I can paint no likeness but one, and that is above all art. +I would turn soldier--France needs soldiers! But to leave the air +that Pauline breathes! What is the hour?--so late? I will tell thee +a secret, mother. Thou knowest that for the last six weeks I have sent +every day the rarest flowers to Pauline?--she wears them. I have seen +them on her breast. Ah, and then the whole universe seemed filled +with odors! I have now grown more bold--I have poured my worship into +poetry--I have sent the verses to Pauline--I have signed them with my +own name. My messenger ought to--be back by this time. I bade him wait +for the answer. + +Widow. And what answer do you expect, Claude? + +Mel. That which the Queen of Navarre sent to the poor troubadour:--"Let +me see the Oracle that can tell nations I am beautiful!" She will admit +me. I shall hear her speak--I shall meet her eyes--I shall read upon +her cheek the sweet thoughts that translate themselves into blushes. +Then--then, oh, then--she may forget that I am the peasant's son!. + +Widow. Nay, if she will but hear thee talk, Claude? + +Mel. I foresee it all. She will tell me that desert is the true rank. +She will give me a badge--a flower--a glove! Oh rapture! I shall join +the armies of the republic--I shall rise--I shall win a name that +beauty will not blush to hear. I shall return with the right to say to +her--"See, how love does not level the proud, but raise the--humble!" +Oh, how my heart swells within me!--Oh, what glorious prophets of the +future are youth and hope! + +[Knock at the door.] + +Widow. Come in. + +Enter GASPAR. + +Mel. Welcome, Gaspar, welcome. Where is the letter? Why do you turn +away, man? where is the letter? [GASPAR gives him one.] This! This is +mine, the one I intrusted to thee. Didst thou not leave it? + +Gaspar. Yes, I left it. + +Mel. My own verses returned to me. Nothing else! + +Gaspar. Thou wilt be proud to hear how thy messenger was honored. +For thy sake, Melnotte, I have borne that which no Frenchman can bear +without disgrace. + +Mel. Disgrace, Gaspar! Disgrace? + +Gaspar. I gave thy letter to the porter, who passed it from lackey to +lackey till it reached the lady it was meant for. + +Mel. It reached her, then; you are sure of that! It reached her,--well, +well! + +Gaspar. It reached her, and was returned to me with blows. Dost hear, +Melnotte? with blows! Death! are we slaves still, that we are to be thus +dealt with, we peasants? + +Mel. With blows? No, Gaspar, no; not blows! + +Gaspar. I could show thee the marks if it were not so deep a shame to +bear them. The lackey who tossed thy letter into the mire swore that +his lady and her mother never were so insulted. What could thy letter +contain, Claude? + +Mel. [looking over the letter]. Not a line that a serf might not have +written to an empress. No, not one. + +Gaspar. They promise thee the same greeting they gave me, if thou wilt +pass that way. Shall we endure this, Claude? + +Mel. [wringing GASPAR's hand]. Forgive me, the fault was mine, I have +brought this on thee; I will not forget it; thou shalt be avenged! The +heartless insolence! + +Gaspar. Thou art moved, Melnotte; think not of me; I would go through +fire and water to serve thee; but,--a blow! It is not the bruise that +galls,--it is the blush, Melnotte. + +Mel. Say, what message?--How insulted!--Wherefore?--What the offence? + +Gaspar. Did you not write to Pauline Deschappelles, the daughter of the +rich merchant? + +Mel. Well? + +Gaspar. And are you not a peasant--a gardener's son?--that was the +offence. Sleep on it, Melnotte. Blows to a French citizen, blows! [Exit. + +Widow. Now you are cured, Claude! + +Mel. tearing the letter. So do I scatter her image to the winds--I will +stop her in the open streets--I will insult her--I will beat her +menial ruffians--I will--[Turns suddenly to Widow.] Mother, am I +humpbacked--deformed--hideous? Widow. You! + +Mel. A coward--a thief--a liar? + +Widow. You! + +Mel. Or a dull fool--a vain, drivelling, brainless idiot? Widow. No, no. +Mel. What am I then--worse than all these? Why, I am a peasant! What has +a peasant to do with love? Vain revolutions, why lavish your cruelty on +the great? Oh that we--we, the hewers of wood and drawers of water--had +been swept away, so that the proud might learn what the world would be +without us! [Knock at the door. + +Enter Servant from the Inn. + +Servant. A letter for Citizen Melnotte. + +Mel. A letter! from her perhaps--who sent thee? + +Servant. Why, Monsieur--I mean Citizen--Beauseant, who stops to dine at +the Golden Lion, on his way to his chateau. + +Mel. Beauseant!--[Reads]. + +"Young man, I know thy secret--thou lovest above thy station: if thou +hast wit, courage, and discretion, I can secure to thee the realization +of thy most sanguine hopes; and the sole condition I ask in return is, +that thou shalt be steadfast to thine own ends. I shall demand from thee +a solemn oath to marry her whom thou lovest; to bear her to thine home +on thy wedding night. I am serious--if thou wouldst learn more, lose +not a moment, but follow the bearer of this letter to thy friend and +patron,--CHARLES BEAUSEANT." + +Mel. Can I believe my eyes? Are our own passions the sorcerers that +raise up for us spirits of good or evil? I will go instantly. + +Widow. What is this, Claude? + +Mel. "Marry her whom thou lovest,"--"bear her to thine own home."-- +Oh, revenge and love; which of you is the stronger?--[Gazing on the +picture.] Sweet face, thou smilest on me from the canvas: weak fool that +I am, do I then love her still? No, it is the vision of my own romance +that I have worshipped: it is the reality to which I bring scorn for +scorn. Adieu, mother: I will return anon. My brain reels--the earth +swims before me.--[Looks again at the letter.] No, it is not a mockery; +I do not dream! [Exit. + + + + +ACT II.--SCENE I. + +The Gardens of M. DESCHAPPELLEs' house at Lyons--the house seen at the +back of the stage. + +Enter BEAUSEANT and GLAVIS. + +Beau. Well, what think you of my plot? Has it not succeeded to a +miracle? The instant that I introduced his Highness the Prince of Como +to the pompous mother and the scornful daughter, it was all over with +them: he came--he saw--he conquered: and, though it is not many days +since he arrived, they have already promised him the hand of Pauline. + +Gla. It is lucky, though, that you told them his highness travelled +incognito, for fear the Directory (who are not very fond of princes) +should lay him by the heels; for he has a wonderful wish to keep up his +rank, and scatters our gold about with as much coolness as if he were +watering his own flower-pots. + +Beau. True, he is damnably extravagant; I think the sly dog does it out +of malice. How ever, it must be owned that he reflects credit on his +loyal subjects, and makes a very pretty figure in his fine clothes, with +my diamond snuff-box. + +Gla. And my diamond ring! But do you think he will be firm to the last? +I fancy I see symptoms of relenting: he will never keep up his rank, if +he once let out his conscience. + +Beau. His oath binds him! he cannot retract without being foresworn, +and those low fellows are always superstitious! But, as it is, I tremble +lest he be discovered: that bluff Colonel Damas (Madame Deschappelles' +cousin) evidently suspects him: we must make haste and conclude the +farce: I have thought of a plan to end it this very day. + +Gla. This very day! Poor Pauline: her dream will be soon over. + +Beau. Yes, this day they shall be married; this evening, according to +his oath, he shall carry his bride to the Golden Lion, and then pomp, +equipage, retinue, and title, all shall vanish at once; and her Highness +the Princess shall find that she has refused the son of a Marquis, to +marry the son of a gardener.--Oh, Pauline! once loved, now hated, yet +still not relinquished, thou shalt drain the cup to the dregs,--thou +shalt know what it is to be humbled! + +Enter from the house, MELNOTTE, as the Prince of Como, leading in +PAULINE; MADAME + +DESCHAPPELLES, fanning herself; and COLONEL DAMAS. + +[BEAUSEANT and GLAVIS bow respectfully, fully. PAULINE and MELNOTTE walk +apart. + +Mme. Deschap. Good morning, gentlemen; really I am so fatigued with +laughter; the dear Prince is so entertaining. What wit he has! Any one +may see that he has spent his whole life in courts. + +Damas. And what the deuce do you know about courts, cousin +Deschappelles? You women regard men just as you buy books--you never +care about what is in them, but how they are bound and lettered. +'Sdeath, I don't think you would even look at your Bible if it had not a +title to it. + +Mme. Deschap. How coarse you are, cousin Damas!--quite the manners of a +barrack--you don't deserve to be one of our family; really we must drop +your acquaintance when Pauline marries. I cannot patronize any relations +that would discredit my future son-in-law, the Prince of Como. + +Mel. [advancing]. These are beautiful gardens, madame, [BEAUSEANT and +GLAVIS retire]--who planned them? + +Mme. Deschap. A gardener named Melnotte, your highness--an honest man +who knew his station. I can't say as much for his son--a presuming +fellow, who,--ha! ha! actually wrote verses--such doggerel!--to my +daughter. + +Pauline. Yes, how you would have laughed at them, Prince! you, who write +such beautiful verses! + +Mel. This Melnotte must be a monstrous impudent person! + +Damas. Is he good-looking? + +Mme. Deschap. I never notice such canaille--an ugly, mean-looking clown, +if I remember right. + +Damas. Yet I heard your porter say he was wonderfully like his highness. + +Mel. [taking snuff]. You are complimentary. + +Mme. Deschap. For shame, cousin Damas!--like the Prince, indeed! + +Pauline. Like you! Ah, mother, like our beautiful prince! I'll never +speak to you again, cousin Damas. + +Mel. [aside]. Humph!--rank is a great beautifier! I never passed for +an Apollo while I was a peasant; if I am so handsome as a prince, what +should I be as an emperor! [Aloud.] Monsieur Beauseant, will you honor +me? [Offers snuff. + +Beau. No, your highness; I have no small vices. + +Mel. Nay, if it were a vice, you'd be sure to have it, Monsieur +Beauseant. + +Mme. Deschap. Ha! ha!--how very severe!--what wit! + +Beau. [in a rage and aside]. Curse his impertinence! + +Mme. Deschap. What a superb snuff-box! Pauline. And what a beautiful +ring! + +Mel. You like the box--a trifle--interesting perhaps from associations-- +a present from Louis XIV. to my great-great grandmother. Honor me +by--accepting it. + +Beau. plucking him by the sleeve. How!--what the devil! My box--are you +mad? It is worth five hundred louis. + +Mel. [unheeding him, and turning to PAULINE]. And you like this ring? +Ah, it has, indeed a lustre since your eyes have shone on it placing it +on her finger. Henceforth hold me, sweet enchantress, the Slave of the +Ring. + +Gla. [pulling him]. Stay, stay--what are you about? My maiden aunt's +legacy--a diamond of the first water. You shall be hanged for swindling, +sir. + +Mel. [pretending not to hear]. It is curious, this ring; it is the one +with which my grandfather, the Doge of Venice, married the Adriatic! + +(Madame and PAULINE examine the ring.) Mel. [to BEAUSEANT and GLAVIS]. +Fie, gentlemen! princes must be generous?--[Turns to DAMAS, who watches +them closely.] These kind friends have my interest so much at heart, +that they are as careful of my property as if it were their own! + +Beau and Gla. [confusedly]. Ha! ha!--very good joke that! + +[Appears to remonstrate with MELNOTTE in dumb show. + +Damas. What's all that whispering? I am sure there is some juggle here: +hang me, if I think he is an Italian after all. Gad, I'll try him. +Servitore umillissimo, Eccellenza.* (* Your Excellency's most humble +servant.) + +Mel. Hum--what does he mean, I wonder? + +Damas. Godo di vedervi in buona salute.* (* I am glad to see you in good +health.) + +Mel. Hem--hem! + +Damas. Fa bel tempo--the si dice di nuovo? * (* Fine weather. What news +is there?) + +Mel. Well, sir, what's all that gibberish? + +Damas. Oh, oh!--only Italian, your highness!--The Prince of Como does +not understand his own language! + +Mel. Not as you pronounce it; who the deuce could? + +Mme. Deschap. Ha! ha! cousin Damas, never pretend to what you don't +know. + +Pauline. Ha! ha! cousin Damas; you speak Italian, indeed! + +[Makes a mocking gesture at him. + +Beau. [to GLAVIS]. Clever dog!--how ready! + +Gla. Ready, yes; with my diamond ring!--Damn his readiness! + +Damas. Laugh at me!--laugh at a Colonel in the French army!--the +fellow's an impostor; I know he is. I'll see if he understands fighting +as well as he does Italian.--[Goes up to him, and aside.] Sir, you are a +jackanapes.--Can you construe that? + +Mel. No, sir; I never construe affronts in the presence of ladies; +by-and-by I shall be happy to take a lesson--or give one. + +Damas. I'll find the occasion, never fear! + +Mme. Deschap. Where are you going, cousin? + +Damas. To correct my Italian. [Exit. + +Beau. [to GLAVIS]. Let us after, and pacify him; he evidently suspects +something. + +Gla. Yes!--but my diamond ring! + +Beau. And my box!--We are over-taxed fellow-subjects!--we must stop the +supplies, and dethrone the prince. + +Gla. Prince!--he ought to be heir-apparent to King Stork. + +[Exeunt BEAUSEANT and GLAVIS. + +Mme. Deschap. Dare I ask your highness to forgive my cousin's +insufferable vulgarity? + +Pauline. Oh yes!--you will forgive his manner for the sake of his heart. + +Mel. And the sake of his cousin.--Ah, madam, there is one comfort in +rank,--we are so sure of our position that we are not easily affronted. +Besides, M. Damas has bought the right of indulgence from his friends, +by never showing it to his enemies. + +Pauline. Ah! he is, indeed, as brave in action as he is rude in speech. +He rose from the ranks to his present grade, and in two years! + +Mel. In two years!--two years, did you say? + +Mme. Deschap. [aside]. I don't like leaving girls alone with their +lovers; but, with a prince, it would be so ill-bred to be prudish. +[Exit. + +Mel. You can be proud of your connection with one who owes his position +to merit--not birth. + +Pauline. Why, yes; but still + +Mel. Still what, Pauline! + +Pauline. There is something glorious in the heritage of command. A man +who has ancestors is like a representative of the past. + +Mel. True; but, like other representatives, nine times out of ten he is +a silent member. Ah, Pauline! not to the past, but to the future, looks +true nobility, and finds its blazon in posterity. + +Pauline. You say this to please me, who have no ancestors; but you, +prince, must be proud of so illustrious a race! + +Mel. No, no! I would not, were I fifty times a prince, be a pensioner +on the dead! I honor birth and ancestry when they are regarded as the +incentives to exertion, not the titledeeds to sloth! I honor the laurels +that overshadow the graves of our fathers; it is our fathers I emulate, +when I desire that beneath the evergreen I myself have planted, my own +ashes may repose! Dearest! couldst thou but see with my eyes! + +Pauline. I cannot forego pride when I look on thee, and think that thou +lovest me. Sweet Prince, tell me again of thy palace by the Lake of +Como; it is so pleasant to hear of thy splendors since thou didst +swear to me that they would be desolate without Pauline; and when thou +describest them, it is with a mocking lip and a noble scorn, as if +custom had made thee disdain greatness. + +Mel. Nay, dearest, nay, if thou wouldst have me paint The home to which, +could love fulfil its prayers, This hand would lead thee, listen!*-- + + (* The reader will observe that Melnotte evades the request + of Pauline. He proceeds to describe a home, which he does + not say he possesses, but to which he would lead her, "could + Love fulfil its prayers." This caution is intended as a + reply to a sagacious critic who censures the description, + because it is not an exact and prosaic inventory of the + characteristics of the Lake of Como!--When Melnotte, for + instance, talks of birds "that syllable the name of Pauline" + (by the way, a literal translation from an Italian poet), he + is not thinking of ornithology, but probably of the Arabian + Nights. He is venting the extravagant, but natural, + enthusiasm of the poet and the lover.) + + A deep vale + Shut out by Alphine hills from the rude world; + Near a clear lake, margin'd by fruits of gold + And whispering myrtles; glassing softest skies, + As cloudless, save with rare and roseate shadows, + As I would have thy fate! + + Pauline. My own dear love! + + Mel. A palace lifting to eternal summer + Its marble walls, from out a glossy bower + Of coolest foliage musical with birds, + Whose songs should syllable thy name! At noon + We'd sit beneath the arching vines, and wonder + Why Earth could be unhappy, while the Heavens + Still left us youth and love! We'd have no friends + That were not lovers; no ambition, save + To excel them all in love; we'd read no books + That were not tales of love--that we might smile + To think how poorly eloquence of words + Translates the poetry of hearts like ours! + And when night came, amidst the breathless Heavens + We'd guess what star should be our home when love + Becomes immortal; while the perfumed light + Stole through the mists of alabaster lamps, + And every air was heavy with the sighs + Of orange-groves and music from sweet lutes, + And murmurs of low fountains that gush forth + I' the midst of roses!--Dost thou like the picture? + + Pauline. Oh, as the bee upon the flower, I hang + Upon the honey of thy eloquent tongue! + Am I not blest? And if I love too wildly, + Who would not love thee like Pauline? + + Mel. [bitterly.] Oh, false one! + It is the prince thou lovest, not the man + If in the stead of luxury, pomp, and power, + I had painted poverty, and toil, and care, + Thou hadst found no honey on my tongue;--Pauline, + That is not love! + + Pauline. Thou wrong'st me, cruel Prince! + At first, in truth, I might not have been won, + Save through the weakness of a flatter'd pride; + But now,--oh! trust me,--couldst thou fall from power + And sink-- + + Mel. As low as that poor gardener's son + Who dared to lift his eyes to thee?-- + + Pauline. Even then, + Methinks thou wouldst be only made more dear + By the sweet thought that I could prove how deep + Is woman's love! We are like the insects, caught + By the poor glittering of a garish flame; + But, oh, the wings once scorch'd, the brightest star + Lures us no more; and by the fatal light + We cling till death! + + Mel. Angel! [Aside.] O conscience! conscience! + It must not be; her love hath grown a torture + Worse than her hate. I will at once to Beauseant, + And--ha! he comes. Sweet love, one moment leave me. + I have business with these gentlemen--I--I + Will forwith join you. + +Pauline. Do not tarry long! [Exit. + +Enter BEAUSEANT and GLAVIS. + +Mel. Release me from my oath,--I will not marry her! + +Beau Then thou art perjured. + +Mel. No, I was not in my senses when I swore to thee to marry her! I +was blind to all but her scorn!--deaf to all but my passion and my rage! +Give me back my poverty and my honor! + +Beau. It is too late,--you must marry her! and this day. I have a story +already coined, and sure to pass current. This Damas suspects thee,--he +will set the police to work!--thou wilt be detected--Pauline will +despise and execrate thee. Thou wilt be sent to the common gaol as a +swindler. + +Mel. Fiend! + +Beau. And in the heat of the girl's resentment (you know of what +resentment is capable) and the parents' shame, she will be induced to +marry the first that offers--even perhaps your humble servant. + +Mel. You! No; that were worse--for thou hast no mercy! I will marry +her.--I will keep my oath. Quick, then, with the damnable invention +thou art hatching;--quick, if thou wouldst not have me strangle thee or +myself. + +Gla. What a tiger! Too fierce for a prince; he ought to have been the +Grand Turk. + +Beau. Enough--I will dispatch; be prepared. + +[Exeunt BEAUSEANT and GLAVIS. + +Enter DAMAS with two swords. + +Damas. Now, then, sir, the ladies are no longer your excuse. I have +brought you a couple of dictionaries; let us see if your highness can +find out the Latin for bilbo. + +Mel. Away, sir! I am in no humor for jesting. Damas. I see you +understand something of the grammar; you decline the non-substantive +"small-swords" with great ease; but that won't do--you must take a +lesson in parsing. + +Mel. Fool! Damas. Sir, as sons take after their mother, so the man who +calls me a fool insults the lady who bore me; there's no escape for +you--fight you shall, or-- + +Mel. Oh, enough! enough!--take your ground. + +They fight; DAMAS is disarmed. MELNOTTE takes up the sword and returns +it to DAMAS respectfully. A just punishment to the brave soldier who +robs the state of its best property--the sole right to his valor and his +life. + +Damas. Sir, you fence exceedingly well; you must be a man of honor--I +don't care a jot whether you are a prince; but a man who has carte and +tierce at his fingers' ends must be a gentleman. + +Mel. [aside.] Gentleman! Ay, I was a gentleman before I turned +conspirator; for honest men are the gentlemen of Nature! Colonel, they +tell me you rose from the ranks. + +Damas. I did. + +Mel. And in two years! + +Damas. It is true; that's no wonder in our army at present. Why the +oldest general in the service is scarcely thirty, and we have some of +two-and-twenty. + +Mel. Two-and-twenty! + +Damas. Yes; in the French army, now a days, promotion is not a matter of +purchase. We are all heroes, because we may be all generals. We have no +fear of the cypress, because we may all hope for the laurel. + +Mel. A general at two-and-twenty! [turning away]--Sir, I may ask you a +favor one of these days. + +Damas. Sir, I shall be proud to grant it. It is astonishing how much I +like a man after I've fought with him. [Hides the swords. + +Enter MADAME DESCHAPPELLES and BEAUSEANT. + +Mme. Deschap. Oh, prince,--prince!--What do I hear? You must fly--you +must quit us! + +Mel. I! + +Beau. Yes, prince: read this letter, just received from my friend at +Paris, one of the Directory; they suspect you of designs against the +Republic: they are very suspicious of princes, and your family take part +with the Austrians. Knowing that I introduced your highness at Lyons, my +friend writes to me to say that you must quit the town immediately, or +you will be arrested,--thrown into prison, perhaps guillotined! Fly!--I +will order horses to your carriage instantly. Fly to Marsailles; there +you can take ship to Leghorn. + +Mme. Deschap. And what's to become of Pauline? Am I not to be mother to +a princess, after all? + +Enter PAULINE and MONSIEUR DESCHAPPELLES. + +Pauline [throwing herself into MELNOTTE's arms.] You must leave +us!--Leave Pauline! + +Beau. Not a moment is to be wasted. + +M. Deschap. I will go to the magistrates and inquire-- + +Beau. Then he is lost; the magistrates, hearing he is suspected, will +order his arrest. + +Mme. Deschap. And I shall not be a princess-dowager! + +Beau. Why not? There is only one thing to be done:--send for the +priest--let the marriage take place at once, and the prince carry home +a bride? + +Mel. Impossible!--[Aside.] Villain. + +Mme. Deschap. What, lose my child? + +Beau. And gain a princess! + +Mme Deschap. Oh, Monsieur Beauseant, you are so very kind, it must be +so,--we ought not to be selfish, my daughter's happiness at stake. She +will go away, too, in a carriage and six! + +Pauline. Thou art here still,--I cannot part from my heart will break. + +Mel. But thou wilt not consent to this hasty union?--thou wilt not wed +an outcast--a fugitive? + +Pauline. Ah! if thou art in danger, who should share it but Pauline? + +Mel. [aside]. Distraction!--If the earth could swallow me! + +M. Deschap. Gently! gently! The settlements--the contracts--my +daughter's dowry! + +Mel. The dowry!--I am not base enough for that; no, not one farthing! + +Beau. [to MADAM]. Noble fellow!--Really your good husband is too +mercantile in these matters. Monsieur Deschappelles, you hear his +highness: we can arrange the settlements by proxy; 'tis the way with +people of quality. + +M. Deschap. But-- + +Mme. Deschap. Hold your tongue!--Don't expose yourself! + +Beau. I will bring the priest in a trice. Go in all of you and prepare; +the carriage shall be at the door before the ceremony is over. + +Mme. Deschap. Be sure there are six horses, Beauseant! You are very good +to have forgiven us for refusing you; but you see--a prince! + +Beau. And such a prince! Madam, I cannot blush at the success of so +illustrious a rival.--[Aside.] Now will I follow them to the village, +enjoy my triumph, and to-morrow, in the hour of thy shame and grief, +I think, proud girl, thou wilt prefer even these arms to those of the +gardener's son. [Exit. + +Mme. Deschap. Come, Monsieur Deschappelles, give your arm to her +highness that is to be. + +M. Deschap. I don't like doing business in such a hurry; 'tis not the +way with the house of Deschappelles & Co. + +Mme. Deschap. There, now, you fancy you are in the counting-house, don't +you? + +[Pushes him to PAULINE. + +Mel. Stay, stay, Pauline--one word. Have you no scruple, no fear? +Speak--it is not yet too late. + +Pauline. When I loved thee, thy fate became mine. Triumph or danger-- +joy or sorrow--I am by thy side. + +Damas. Well, well, prince, thou art a lucky man to be so loved. She is +a good little girl in spite of her foibles make her as happy as if she +were not to be a princess [slapping him on the shoulder]. Come, sir, I +wish you joy--young tender--lovely;--zounds, I envy you! + +Mel. [who has stood apart in gloomy abstraction]. Do you?* + + (* On the stage the following lines are added:--) + + "Do you? Wise judges are we of each other. + 'Woo, wed, and bear her home! So runs the bond + To which I sold myself,--and then--what then? + Away?--I will not look beyond the hour. + Like children in the dark, I dare not face + The shades that gather sound me in the distance. + You envy me--I thank you--you may read + My joy upon my brow--I thank you, sir! + If hearts had audible language, you would hear + What mine would answer when you talk of ENVY!" + + + + +ACT III.--SCENE I. + +The exterior of the Golden Leon--time, twilight. The moon rises during +the scene. + +Enter Landlord and his Daughter from the Inn. + +Land. Ha--ha--ha! Well, I never shall get over it. Our Claude is a +prince with a vengeance now. His carriage breaks down at my inn--ha--ha! + +Janet. And what airs the young lady gives herself! "Is this the best +room you have, young woman?" with such a toss of the head. + +Land. Well, get in, Janet: get in and see to the supper: the servants +must sup before they go back. [Exeunt. + +Enter BEAUSEANT and GLAVIS. + +Beau. You see our princess is lodged at last--one stage more, and +she'll be at her journey's end--the beautiful palace at the foot of the +Alps!--ha--ha! + +Gla. Faith, I pity the poor Pauline--especially if she's going to sup +at the Golden Lion [makes a wry face]. I shall never forget that cursed +ragout. + +Enter MELNOTTE from the Inn. + +Beau. Your servant, my prince; you reigned most worthily, I condole with +you on your abdication. I am afraid that your highness's retinue are not +very faithful servants. I think they will quit you in the moment of +your fall 'tis the fate of greatness. But you are welcome to your fine +clothes--also the diamond snuff-box, which Louis XIV. gave to your +great-great-grandmother. + +Gla. And the ring, with which your grandfather the Dodge of Venice +married the Adriatic. + +Mel. I have kept my oath, gentlemen--say, have I kept my oath? + +Beau. Most religiously. + +Mel. Then you have done with me and mine--away with you! + +Beau. How, knave? + +Mel. Look you, our bond is over. Proud conquerors that we are, we have +won the victory over a simple girl compromised her honor--embittered +her life--blasted, in their very blossoms, all the flowers of her youth. +This is your triumph,--it is my shame! [Turns to BEAUSEANT.] Enjoy thy +triumph, but not in my sight. I was her betrayer--I am her protector! +Cross but her path--one word of scorn, one look of insult--nay, but one +quiver of that mocking lip, and I will teach thee that bitter word thou +hast graven eternally in this heart--Repentance. + +Beau. His highness is most grandiloquent. + +Mel. Highness me no more! Beware! Remorse has made me a new being. Away +with you! There is danger in me. Away! + +Gla. [aside]. He's an awkward fellow to deal with: come away, Beauseant. + +Beau. I know the respect clue to rank. Adieu, my prince. Any commands at +Lyons? Yet hold--I promised you 200 Louis on your wedding-day; here they +are. + +Mel. [dashing the purse to the ground]. I gave you revenge, I did not +sell it. Take up your silver, Judas; take it. Ay, it is fit you should +learn to stoop. + +Beau. You will beg my pardon for this some clay. [Aside to GLAVIS.] Come +to my chateau--I shall return hither to morrow, to learn how Pauline +likes her new dignity. + +Mel. Are you not gone yet? + +Beau. Your highness's most obedient, most faithful + +Gla. And most humble servants. Ha! ha! [Exeunt BEAUSEANT and GLAVIS. + +Mel. Thank heaven I had no weapon, or I should have slain them. Wretch! +what can I say? Where turn? On all sides mockery--the very boors +within--[Laughter from the Inn].--'Sdeath, if even in this short absence +the exposure should have chanced. I will call her. We will go hence. I +have already sent one I can trust to my mother's house. There, at least, +none can insult her agony--gloat upon her shame! There alone must she +learn what a villain she has sworn to love. [As he turns to the door +enter PAULINE from the Inn. + +Pauline. Ah! my lord, what a place! I never saw such rude people. They +stare and wink so. I think the very sight of a prince, though he travels +incognito, turns their honest heads. What a pity the carriage should +break down in such a spot! You are not well--the drops stand on your +brow--your hand is feverish. + +Mel. Nay, it is but a passing spasm;--the air + +Pauline. Is not the soft air of your native south--How pale he +is!--indeed thou art not well. Where are our people? I will call them. + +Mel. Hold! I--I am well. + + Pauline. Thou art!--Ah! now I know it. + Thou fanciest, my kind lord--I know thou dost-- + Thou fanciest these rude walls, these rustic gossips, + Brick'd floors, sour wine, coarse viands, vex Pauline; + And so they might, but thou art by my side, + And I forget all else. + +Enter Landlord, the Servants peeping and laughing over his shoulder. + +Land. My lord--your highness--Will your most noble excellency choose-- + + Mel. Begone, sir! [Exit Landlord laughing. + + Pauline. How could they have learn'd thy rank? + One's servants are so vain!--nay, let it not + Chafe thee, sweet prince!--a few short days and we + Shall see thy palace by its lake of silver, + And--nay, nay, spendthrift, is thy wealth of smiles, + Already drain'd, or dost thou play the miser? + + Mel. Thine eyes would call up smiles in deserts, fair one. + Let us escape these rustics: close at hand + There is a cot, where I have bid prepare + Our evening lodgment--a rude, homely roof, + But honest, where our welcome will not be + Made torture by the vulgar eyes and tongues + That are as death to Love! A heavenly night! + The wooing air and the soft moon invite us. + Wilt walk? I pray thee, now,--I know the path, + Ay, every inch of it! + + Pauline. What, thou! Methought + Thou wert a stranger in these parts? Ah, truant, + Some village beauty lured thee;--thou art now + Grown constant? + +Mel. Trust me. + +Pauline. Princes are so changeful! + +Mel. Come, dearest, come. + +Pauline. Shall I not call our people To light us? + +Mel. Heaven will lend its stars for torches! It is not far. + +Pauline. The night breeze chills me. + +Mel. Nay, Let me thus mantle thee;--it is not cold. + +Pauline. Never beneath thy smile! + +Mel. [aside.] O Heaven! forgive me! [Exeunt + +SCENE II. + +MELNOTTE'S cottage--Widow bustling about--a table spread for supper. + +Widow. So, I think that looks very neat. He sent me a line, so blotted +that I can scarcely read it, to say he would be here almost immediately. +She must have loved him well indeed to have forgotten his birth; for +though he was introduced to her in disguise, he is too honorable not to +have revealed to her the artifice, which her love only could forgive. +Well, I do not wonder at it; for though my son is not a prince, he ought +to be one, and that's almost as good, [Knock at the door.] Ah! here they +are. + +Enter MELNOTTE and PAULINE. + +Widow. Oh, my boy--the pride of my heart!--welcome, welcome! I beg +pardon, ma'am, but I do love him so! + +Pauline. Good woman, I really--why prince, what is this?--does the old +lady know you? Oh, I guess, you have done her some service. Another +proof of your kind heart? is it not? + +Mel. Of my kind heart, ay! + +Pauline. So you know the prince? + +Widow. Know him, madam?--Ah, I begin to fear it is you who know him not! + +Pauline. Do you think she is mad? Can we stay here, my lord? I think +there's something very wild about her. + +Mel. Madam, I--no, I cannot tell her; my knees knock together: what a +coward is a man who has lost his honor! Speak to her--speak to her [to +his mother]--tell her that--O Heaven, that I were dead! + +Pauline. How confused he looks!--this strange place?--this woman--what +can it mean?--I half suspect--Who are you, madam!--who are you! can't +you speak? are you struck dumb? + +Widow. Claude, you have not deceived her?--Ah, shame upon you! I +thought that, before you went to the altar, she was to have known all. + +Pauline. All! what!--My blood freezes in my veins! + +Widow. Poor lady!--dare I tell her, Claude? [MELNOTTE makes a sign of +assent.] Know you not then, madam, that this young man is of poor though +honest parents? Know you not that you are wedded to my son, Claude +Melnotte? + +Pauline. Your son! hold--hold! do not speak to me.--[Approaches +MELNOTTE, and lays her hand on his arm.]--Is this a jest? is it? I know +it is, only speak--one word--one look one smile. I cannot believe--I +who loved thee so--I cannot believe that thou art such a--No, I will not +wrong thee by a harsh word--Speak! + +Mel. Leave us--have pity on her, on me: leave us. + +Widow. Oh, Claude, that I should live to see thee bowed by shame! thee +of whom I was so proud! [Exit by the staircase. + +Pauline. Her son--her son! + +Mel. Now, lady, hear me. + +Pauline. Hear thee! Ay, speak--her son! have fiends a parent? speak, +That thou mayst silence curses--speak! + +Mel. No, curse me: Thy curse would blast me less than thy forgiveness. + + Pauline [laughing wildly]. + "This is thy palace, where the perfumed light + Steals through the mist of alabaster lamps, + And every air is heavy with the sighs + Of orange-groves, and music from the sweet lutes, + And murmurs of low fountains, that gush forth + I' the midst of roses!" Dost thou like the picture? + This is my bridal home, and thou my bridegroom. + O fool--O dupe--O wretch!--I see it all + Thy by-word and the jeer of every tongue + In Lyons. Hast thou in thy heart one touch + Of human kindness? if thou hast, why, kill me, + And save thy wife from madness. No, it cannot + It cannot be: this is some horrid dream: + I shall wake soon.--[Touching him.] Art flesh art man? or but + The shadows seen in sleep? It is too real. + What have I done to thee? how sinn'd against thee, + That thou shouldst crush me thus? + + Mel. Pauline, by pride + Angels have fallen ere thy time: by pride + That sole alloy of thy most lovely mould + The evil spirit of a bitter love, + And a revengeful heart, had power upon thee. + From my first years my soul was fill'd with thee: + I saw thee midst the flow'rs the lowly boy + Tended, unmark'd by thee--a spirit of bloom, + And joy, and freshness, as if Spring itself + Were made a living thing, and wore thy shape! + I saw thee, and the passionate heart of man + Enter'd the breast of the wild-dreaming boy. + And from that hour I grew--what to the last + I shall be--thine adorer! Well, this love + Vain, frantic, guilty, if thou wilt, became + A fountain of ambition and bright hope; + I thought of tales that by the winter hearth + Old gossips tell--how maidens sprung from kings + Have stoop'd from their high sphere; how love, like death + Levels all ranks, and lays the shepherd's crook + Beside the sceptre. Thus I made my home + In the soft palace of a fairy Future! + My father died; and I, the peasant-born, + Was my own lord. Then did I seek to rise + Out of the prison of my mean estate; + And, with such jewels as the exploring mind + Brings from the caves of knowledge, buy my ransom + From those twin gaolers of the daring heart + Low birth and iron fortune. Thy bright image + Glass'd in my soul, took all the hues of glory, + And lured me on to those inspiring toils + By which man masters men! For thee I grew + A midnight student o'er the dreams of sages. + For thee I sought to borrow from each grace, + And every muse, such attributes as lend + Ideal charms to love. I thought of thee, + And passion taught me poesy--of thee, + And on the painter's canvas grew the life + Of beauty! Art became the shadow + Of the dear starlight of thy haunting eyes + Men call'd me vain--some mad--I heeded not; + But still toil'd on--hoped on--for it was sweet, + If not to win, to feel more worthy thee? + + Pauline. Has he a magic to exorcise hate! + + Mel. At last, in one mad hour, I dared to pour + The thoughts that burst their channels into song, + And sent them to thee--such a tribute, lady, + As beauty rarely scorns, even from the meanest. + The name--appended by the burning heart + That long'd to show its idol what bright things + It had created--yea, the enthusiast's name, + That should have been thy triumph, was thy scorn! + That very hour--when passion, turn'd to wrath, + Resembled hatred most--when thy disdain + Made my whole soul a chaos--in that hour + The tempters found me a revengeful tool + For their revenge! Thou hadst trampled on the worm + It turn'd and stung thee! + + Pauline. Love, sir, hath no sting. + What was the slight of a poor powerless girl + To the deep wrong of this most vile revenge? + Oh, how I loved this man!--a serf!--a slave! + + Mel. Hold, lady! No, not slave! Despair is free! + I will not tell thee of the throes--the struggles + The anguish--the remorse: No, let it pass! + And let me come to such most poor atonement + Yet in my power. Pauline! + + [Approaching her with great emotion, and about to take her hand. + + Pauline. No, touch me not! + I know my fate. You are, by law, my tyrant; + And I--O Heaven!--a peasant's wife! I'll work + Toil--drudge--do what thou wilt--but touch me not; + Let my wrongs make me sacred! + + Mel. Do not fear me. + Thou dost not know me, madam: at the altar + My vengeance ceased--my guilty oath expired! + Henceforth, no image of some marble saint, + Niched in cathedral aisles, is hallow'd more + From the rude hand of sacrilegious wrong. + I am thy husband--nay, thou need'st not shudder; + Here, at thy feet, I lay a husband's rights. + A marriage thus unholy--unfulfill'd-- + A bond of fraud--is, by the laws of France, + Made void and null. To-night sleep--sleep in peace. + To-morrow, pure and virgin as this morn + I bore thee, bathed in blushes, from the shrine, + Thy father's arms shall take thee to thy home. + The law shall do thee justice, and restore + Thy right to bless another with thy love. + And when thou art happy, and hast half forgot + Him who so loved--so wrong'd thee, think at least + Heaven left some remnant of the angel still + In that poor peasant's nature! + + Ho! my mother! [Enter Widow. + + Conduct this lady--(she is not my wife; + She is our guest,--our honor'd guest, my mother)-- + To the poor chamber, where the sleep of virtue, + Never, beneath my father's honest roof, + Ev'n villains dared to mar! Now, lady, now, + I think thou wilt believe me. Go, my mother! + +Widow. She is not thy wife! + +Mel. Hush, hush! for mercy's sake! Speak not, but go. + +[Widow ascends the stairs; PAULINE follows weeping--turns to look back. + +Mel. [sinking down]. All angels bless and guard her! + + + + +ACT IV.--SCENE I. + +The cottage as before--MELNOTTE seated before a table--writing +implements, etc.--(Day breaking.) + +Mel. Hush, hush!--she sleeps at last!--thank Heaven, for a while she +forgets even that I live! Her sobs, which have gone to my heart the +whole, long, desolate night, have ceased!--all calm--all still! I will +go now; I will send this letter to Pauline's father: when he arrives, +I will place in his hands my own consent to the divorce, and then, O +France! my country! accept among thy protectors, thy defenders--the +peasant's Son! Our country is less proud than custom, and does not +refuse the blood, the heart, the right hand of the poor man. + +Enter Widow. + +Widow. My son, thou hast acted ill; but sin brings its own punishment. +In the hour of thy remorse, it is not for a mother to reproach thee. + +Mel. What is past is past. There is a future left to all men, who have +the virtue to repent, and the energy to atone. Thou shalt be proud of +thy son yet. Meanwhile, remember this poor lady has been grievously +injured. For the sake of thy son's conscience, respect, honor, bear with +her. If she weep, console--if she chide, be silent. 'Tis but a little +while more--I shall send an express fast as horse can speed to her +father. Farewell! I shall return shortly. + +Widow. It is the only course left to thee--thou wert led astray, but +thou art not hardened. Thy heart is right still, as ever it was when, in +thy most ambitious hopes thou wert never ashamed of thy poor mother. + +Mel. Ashamed of thee; No, if I yet endure, yet live, yet hope,--it is +only because I would not die till I have redeemed the noble heritage I +have lost--the heritage I took unstained from thee and my dead father--a +proud conscience and an honest name. I shall win them back yet--heaven +bless you! [Exit. + +Widow. My dear Claude! How my heart bleeds for him. + +[PAULINE looks down from above, and after a pause descends + +Pauline. Not here!--he spares me that pain at least: so far he is +considerate--yet the place seems still more desolate without him. +Oh, that I could hate him--the gardener's son!--and yet how nobly +he--no--no--no I will not be so mean a thing as to forgive him! + +Widow. Good morning, madam; I would have waited on you if I had known +you were stirring. + +Pauline. It is no matter, ma'am--your son's wife ought to wait on +herself. + +Widow. My son's wife--let not that thought vex you, madam--he tells +me that you will have your divorce. And I hope I shall live to see him +smile again. There are maidens in this village, young and fair, madam, +who may yet console him. + +Pauline. I dare say--they are very welcome--and when the divorce is +got--he will marry again. I am sure I hope so. [Weeps. + +Widow. He could have married the richest girl in the province, if he +had pleased it; but his head was turned, poor child! he could think of +nothing but you. [Weeps. + +Pauline. Don't weep, mother. + +Widow. Ah, he has behaved very ill, I know, but love is so headstrong in +the young. Don't weep, madam. + +Pauline. So, as you were saying--go on. + +Widow. Oh, I cannot excuse him, ma'am--he was not in his right senses. + +Pauline. But he always--always [sobbing] loved--loved me then? + +Widow. He thought of nothing else. See here--he learnt to paint that +he might take your likeness [uncovers the picture]. But that's all over +now--I trust you have cured him of his folly;--but, dear heart, you have +had no breakfast! + +Pauline. I can't take anything--don't trouble yourself. + +Widow. Nay, madam, be persuaded; a little coffee will refresh you. Our +milk and eggs are excellent. I will get out Claude's coffee-cup--It +is of real Sevres; he saved up all his money to buy it three years ago, +because the name of Pauline was inscribed on it. + +Pauline. Three years ago! Poor Claude!--Thank you; I think I will have +some coffee. Oh! if he were but a poor gentleman, even a merchant: but a +gardener's son--and what a home!--Oh no,--it is too dreadful! + +They seat themselves at the table, BEAUSEANT opens the lattice and looks +in. + +Beau. So--so--the coast is clear! I saw Claude in the lane--I shall +have an excellent opportunity. [Shuts the lattice and knocks at the door. + +Pauline. [starting]. Can it be my father?--he has not sent for--him +yet? No, he cannot be in such a hurry to get rid of me. + +Widow. It is not time for your father to arrive yet; it must be some +neighbor. + +Pauline. Don't admit any one. + +[Widow opens the door, BEAUSEANT pushes her aside and enters. Ha! +Heavens! that hateful Beauseant! This is indeed bitter! + +Beau. Good morning, madam! O widow, your son begs you will have the +goodness to go to him in the village he wants to speak to you on +particular business; you'll find him at the inn, or the grocer's shop, +or the baker's, or at some other friend's of your family--make haste. + +Pauline. Don't leave me, mother!--don't leave me. + +Beau. [with great respect]. Be not alarmed, madam. Believe me your +friend--your servant. + +Pauline. Sir, I have no fear of you, even in this house! Go, madam, if +your son wishes it; I will not contradict his commands whilst, at least +he has still the right to be obeyed. + +Widow. I don't understand this; however, I sha'n't be long gone. [Exit. + +Pauline. Sir, I divine the object of your visit--you wish to exult +in the humiliation of one who humbled you. Be it so; I am prepared to +endure all--even your presence! + +Beau. You mistake me, madam--Pauline, you mistake me! I come to lay +my fortune at your feet. You must already be disenchanted with this +impostor; these walls are not worthy to be hallowed by your beauty! +Shall that form be clasped in the arms of a base-born peasant? Beloved, +beautiful Pauline! fly with me--my carriage waits without--I will bear +you to a home more meet for your reception. Wealth, luxury, station--all +shall yet be yours. I forget your past disdain--I remember only your +beauty and my unconquerable love! + +Pauline. Sir! leave this house--it is humble: but a husband's roof, +however lowly, is, in the eyes of God and man, the temple of a wife's +honor! Know that I would rather starve--yes--with him who has betrayed +me, than accept your lawful hand, even were you the prince whose name he +bore.--Go. + +Beau. What! is not your pride humbled yet? + +Pauline. Sir, what was pride in prosperity in affliction becomes virtue. + +Beau. Look round: these rugged floors--these homely walls--this +wretched struggle of poverty for comfort--think of this! and contrast +with such a picture the refinement, the luxury, the pomp, that the +wealthiest gentleman of Lyons offers to the loveliest lady. Ah, hear me! + +Pauline. Oh! my father!--why did I leave you?--why am I thus friendless? +Sir, you see before you a betrayed, injured, miserable woman!--respect +her anguish. + +[MELNOTTE opens the door silently, and pauses at the threshold. + +Beau. No! let me rather thus console it; let me snatch from those lips +one breath of that fragrance which never should be wasted on the low +churl thy husband. + +Pauline. Help! Claude!--Claude!--Have I no protector?' + +Beau. Be silent! [showing a pistol.] See, I do not come unprepared even +for violence. I will brave all things--thy husband and all his race-- +for thy sake. Thus, then, I clasp thee! + +Mel. [dashing him to the other end of the stage]. Pauline--look up, +Pauline! thou art safe. + +Beau. [levelling his pistol]. Dare you thus insult a man of my birth, +ruffian? + +Pauline. Oh, spare him--spare my husband!--Beauseant--Claude--no--no +[faints]. + +Mel. Miserable trickster! shame upon you! brave devices to terrify a +woman! Coward!--you tremble--you have outraged the laws--you know that +your weapon is harmless--you have the courage of the mountebank, not the +bravo!--Pauline, there is no danger. + +Beau. I wish thou wert a gentleman--as it is, thou art beneath me.-- +Good day, and a happy honeymoon.--[Aside.] I will not die till I am +avenged. [Exit. + + Mel. I hold her in these arms--the last embrace + Never, ah never more, shall this dear head + Be pillow'd on the heart that should have shelter'd + And has betray'd!--Soft--soft! one kiss--poor wretch! + No scorn on that pale lip forbids me now! + One kiss--so ends all record of my crime! + It is the seal upon the tomb of hope, + By which, like some lost, sorrowing angel, sits + Sad memory evermore; she breathes--she moves + She wakes to scorn, to hate, but not to shudder + Beneath the touch of my abhorred love. + Places her on a seat. There--we are strangers now! + + Pauline. All gone--all calm + Is every thing a dream? thou art safe, unhurt + I do not love thee;--but--but I am woman, + And--and--no blood is spilt? + +Mel. No, lady, no; My guilt hath not deserved so rich a blessing As even +danger in thy cause. + +Enter WIDOW. + +Widow. My son, I have been everywhere in search of you; why did you send +for me? + +Mel. I did not send for you. + +Widow. No! but I must tell you your express has returned. + +Mel. So soon! impossible! + +Widow. Yes, he met the lady's father and mother on the road; they were +going into the country on a visit. Your messenger says that Monsieur +Deschappelles turned almost white with anger when he read your letter. +They will be here almost immediately. Oh, Claude, Claude! what will they +do to you? How I tremble! Ah, madam! do not let them injure him--if you +knew how he doated on you. + +Pauline. Injure him! no, ma'am, be not afraid;--my father! how shall +I meet him? how go back to Lyons? the scoff of the whole city! +Cruel, cruel, Claude [in great agitation]. Sir, you have acted most +treacherously. + +Mel. I know it, madam. + +Pauline [aside.] If he would but ask me to forgive him!--I never can +forgive you, sir. + +Mel. I never dared to hope it. + +Pauline. But you are my husband now, and I have sworn to--to love you, +sir. + +Mel. That was under a false belief, madam; Heaven and the laws will +release you from your vow. + +Pauline. He will drive me mad! if he were but less proud--if he +would but ask me to remain--hark, hark--I hear the wheels of the +carriage--Sir--Claude, they are coming; have you no word to say ere it +is loo late? Quick speak. + +Mel. I can only congratulate you on your release. Behold your parents + +Enter MONSIEUR and MADAME DESCHAPPELLES and COLONEL DAMAS. + +M. Deschap. My child! my child! + +Mme. Deschap. Oh, my poor Pauline!--what a villanous hovel this is! Old +woman, get me a chair--I shall faint I certainly shall. What will the +world say? Child, you have been a fool. A mother's heart is easily +broken. + +Damas. Ha, ha! most noble Prince--I am sorry to see a man of your +quality in such a condition; I am afraid your highness will go to the +House of Correction. + +Mel. Taunt on, sir; I spared you when you were unarmed--I am unarmed +now. A man who has no excuse for crime is indeed defenceless! + +Damas. There's something fine in the rascal, after all! + +M. Deschap. Where is the impostor?--Are you thus shameless, traitor? Can +you brave the presence of that girl's father? + +Mel. Strike me, if it please you--you are her father. + +Pauline. Sir--sir, for my sake; whatever his guilt, he has acted nobly +in atonement. + +Mme. Deschap. Nobly! Are you mad, girl? I have no patience with you-- +to disgrace all your family thus! Nobly! Oh you abominable, hardened, +pitiful, mean, ugly villain! + +Damas. Ugly! Why he was beautiful yesterday! + +Pauline. Madame, this is his roof, and he is my husband. Respect your +daughter, or let blame fall alone on her. + +Mme. Deschap. You--you--Oh, I'm choking. + +M. Deschap. Sir, it were idle to waste reproach upon a conscience like +yours--you renounce all pretensions to the person of this lady? + +Mel. I do. [Gives a paper.] Here is my consent to a divorce--my full +confession of the fraud which annuls the marriage. Your daughter has +been foully wronged--I grant it, sir; but her own lips will tell you +that, from the hour in which she crossed this threshold, I returned +to my own station, and respected hers. Pure and inviolate, as when +yestermorn you laid your hand upon her head, and blessed her, I yield +her back to you. For myself--I deliver you for ever from my presence. +An outcast and a criminal, I seek some distant land, where I may mourn +my sin, and pray for your daughter's peace. Farewell--farewell to you +all, for ever! + +Willow. Claude, Claude, you will not leave your poor old mother? She +does not disown you in your sorrow no, not even in your guilt. No +divorce can separate a mother from her son. + +Pauline. This poor widow teaches me my duty. No, mother,--no, for you +are now my mother also!--nor should any law, human or divine, separate +the wife from her husband's sorrows. Claude--Claude--all is forgotten +forgiven--I am thine for ever! + +Mme. Deschap. What do I hear?--Come away, or never see my face again. + +M. Deschap. Pauline, we never betrayed you!--do you forsake us for him? + +Pauline. [going back to her father]. Oh no--but you will forgive him +too; we will live together--he shall be your son. + +M. Deschap. Never! Cling to him and forsake your parents! His home shall +be yours--his fortune yours--his fate yours: the wealth I have acquired +by honest industry shall never enrich the dishonest man. + +Pauline. And you would have a wife enjoy luxury while a husband toils! +Claude, take me; thou canst not give me wealth, titles, station--but +thou canst give me a true heart I will work for thee, tend thee, bear +with thee, and never, never shall these lips reproach thee for the past. + +Damas. I'll be hanged if I am not going to blubber! + +Mel. This is the heaviest blow of all!--What a heart I have wronged!-- +Do not fear me, sir; I am not all hardened--I will not rob her of a +holier love than mine. Pauline!--angel of love and mercy!--your memory +shall lead me back to virtue!--The husband of a being so beautiful in +her noble and sublime tenderness may be poor--may be low born;--(there +is no guilt in the decrees of providence!)--but he should be one who +can look thee in the face without a blush,--to whom thy love does not +bring remorse,--who can fold thee to his heart, and say,--"Here there is +no deceit!" I am not that man! + +Damas. [aside to MELNOTTE]. Thou art a noble fellow, notwithstanding; +and wouldst make an excellent soldier. Serve in my regiment. I have had +a letter from the Directory--our young general takes the command of the +army in Italy,--I am to join him at Marseilles, I will depart this day, +if thou wilt go with me. + +Mel. It is the favor I would have asked thee, if I dared. Place me +wherever a foe is most dreaded,--wherever France most needs a life! + +Damas. There shall not be a forlorn hope without thee! + +Mel. There is my hand!--mother, your blessing. I shall see you again,--a +better man than a prince,--a man who has bought the right to high +thoughts by brave deeds. And thou!--thou! so wildly worshipped, so +guiltily betrayed, all is not yet lost!--for thy memory, at least, +must be mine till death! If I live, the name of him thou hast once loved +shall not rest dishonored;--if I fall, amidst the carnage and the roar +of battle, my soul will fly back to thee, and love shall share with +death my last sigh!--More--more would I speak to thee!--to pray!--to +bless! But no; When I am less unworthy I will utter it to Heaven!--I +cannot trust myself to [turning to DESCHAPPELLES] Your pardon, sir; they +are my last words Farewell! [Exit. + +Damas. I will go after him.--France will thank me for this. + +Pauline [starting from her father's arms]. Claude!--Claude!--my husband! + +M. Deschap. You have a father still! + + + + +ACT V. + +Two years and a half from the date of Act IV. + +SCENE I. + +The Streets of Lyons. + +Enter First, Second, and Third Officers. + +First Officer. Well, here we are at Lyons, with gallant old Damas: it is +his native place. + +Second Officer. Yes; he has gained a step in the army since he was here +last. The Lyonnese ought to be very proud of stout General Damas. + +Third Officer. Promotion is quick in the French army. This +mysterious Morier,--the hero of Lodi, and the favorite of the +commander-in-chief,--has risen to a colonel's rank to two years and a +half. Enter DAMAS, as a General. + +Damas. Good morrow, gentlemen; I hope you will amuse yourselves during +our short stay at Lyons. It is a fine city: improved since I left it. +Ah! it is a pleasure to grow old, when the years that bring decay to +ourselves do but ripen the prosperity of our country. You have not met +with Morier? + +First Officer. No: we were just speaking of him. + +Second Officer. Pray, general, can you tell us who this Morier really +is? + +Damas. Is!--why a colonel in the French army. + +Third Officer. True. But what was he at first? + +Damas. At first? Why a baby in long clothes, I suppose. + +First Officer. Ha, ha! Ever facetious, general. + +Second Officer. [to Third]. The general is sore upon this point; you +will only chafe him.--Any commands, general? + +Damas. None. Good day to you. [Exeunt Second and Third Officers. + +Damas. Our comrades are very inquisitive. Poor Morier is the subject of +a vast deal of curiosity. + +First Officer. Say interest, rather, general. His constant melancholy, +the loneliness of his habits,--his daring valor, his brilliant rise +in the profession,--your friendship, and the favors of the +commander-in-chief,--all tend to make him as much the matter of gossip +as of admiration. But where is he, general? I have missed him all the +morning. + +Damas. Why, captain, I'll let you into a secret. My young friend has +come with me to Lyons in hopes of finding a miracle. + +First Officer. A miracle! + +Damas. Yes, a miracle! in other words,--a constant woman. + +First Officer. Oh! an affair of love! + +Damas. Exactly so. No sooner did he enter Lyons than he waved his hand +to me, threw himself from his horse, and is now, I warrant, asking every +one who can know anything about the matter, whether a certain lady is +still true to a certain gentleman! + +First Officer. Success to him! and of that success there can be no +doubt. The gallant Colonel Morier, the hero of Lodi, might make his +choice out of the proudest families in France. + +Damas. Oh, if pride be a recommendation, the lady and her mother are +most handsomely endowed. By the way, captain, if you should chance to +meet with Morier, tell him he will find me at the hotel. + +First Officer. I will, general. [Exit. + +Damas. Now will I go to the Deschappelles, and make a report to my young +Colonel. Ha! by Mars, Bacchus, Apollo, Virorum,--here comes Monsieur +Beauseant! + +Enter BEAUSEANT. + +Good morrow, Monsieur Beauseant! How fares it with you? + +Beau. [aside.] Damas! that is unfortunate;--if the Italian campaign +should have filled his pockets, he may seek to baffle me in the moment +of my victory. [Aloud]. Your servant, general,--for such, I think, is +your new distinction! Just arrived in Lyons? + +Damas. Not an hour ago. Well, how go on the Deschappelles? Have they +forgiven you in that affair of young Melnotte? You had some hand in that +notable device,--eh? + +Beau. Why, less than you think for! The fellow imposed upon me. I have +set it all right now. What has become of him? He could not have joined +the army, after all. There is no such name in the books. + +Damas. I know nothing about Melnotte. As you say, I never heard the name +in the Grand Army. + +Beau. Hem!--You are not married, general? + +Damas. Do I look like a married man, sir?--No, thank Heaven! My +profession is to make widows, not wives. + +Beau. You must have gained much booty in Italy! Pauline will be your +heiress--eh? + +Damas. Booty! Not I! Heiress to what? Two trunks and a portmanteau,-- +four horses,--three swords, two suits of regimentals, and six pair of +white leather inexpressibles! A pretty fortune for a young lady! + +Beau. [aside.] Then all is safe! [Aloud]. Ha! ha! Is that really all +your capital, General Damas? Why, I thought Italy had been a second +Mexico to you soldiers. + +Damas. All a toss-up, sir. I was not one of the lucky ones! My friend +Morier, indeed, saved something handsome. But our commander-in-chief +took care of him, and Morier is a thrifty, economical dog,--not like the +rest of us soldiers, who spend our money as carelessly as if it were our +blood. + +Beau. Well, it is no matter! I do not want fortune with Pauline. And you +must know, General Damas, that your fair cousin has at length consented +to reward my long and ardent attachment. + +Damas. You!--the devil! Why, she is already married! There is no +divorce! + +Beau. True; but this very day she is formally to authorize the necessary +proceedings, this very day she is to sign the contract that is to make +her mine within one week from the day on which her present illegal +marriage is annulled. + +Damas. You tell me wonders!--Wonders! No; I believe anything of women! + +Beau. I must wish you good morning. [As he is going, enter +DESCHAPPELLES. + +M. Deschap. Oh, Beauseant! well met. Let us come to the notary at once. + +Damas [to Deschap.]. Why, cousin! + +M. Deschap. Damas, welcome to Lyons. Pray call on us; my wife will be +delighted to see you. + +Damas. Your wife be-blessed for her condescension! But [taking him +aside] what do I hear? Is it possible that your daughter has consented +to a divorce?--that she will marry Monsieur Beauseant? + +M. Deschap. Certainly. What have you to say against it? A gentleman of +birth, fortune, character. We are not so proud as we were; even my wife +has had enough of nobility and princes! + +Damas. But Pauline loved that young man so tenderly! + +M. Deschap. [taking snuff]. That was two years and a half ago. + +Damas. Very true. Poor Melnotte! + +M. Deschap. But do not talk of that impostor; I hope he is dead or has +left the country. Nay, even were he in Lyons at this moment, he ought +to rejoice that, in an honorable and suitable alliance, my daughter may +forget her sufferings and his crime. + +Damas.--Nay, if it be all settled, I have no more to say. Monsieur +Beauseant informs me that the contract is to be signed this very day. + +M. Deschap, It is; at one o'clock precisely. Will you be one of the +witnesses? + +Damas. I?--No; that is to say--yes, certainly!--at one o'clock I will +wait on you. + +M. Deschap. Till then, adieu--come Beauseant. + +[Exeunt BEAUSEANT and DESCHAPELLES + + Damas. The man who sets his heart upon a woman + Is a chameleon, and doth feed on air; + From air he takes his colors--holds his life,-- + Changes with every wind,--grows lean or fat, + Rosy with hope, or green with jealousy, + Or pallid with despair--just as the gale + Varies from North to South--from heat to cold! + Oh, woman! woman! thou shouldst have few sins + Of thine own to answer for! Thou art the author + Of such a book of follies in a man, + That it would need the tears of all the angels + To blot the record out! + +[Enter MELNOTTE, pale and agitated. + +I need not tell thee! Thou hast heard-- + +Mel. The worst! I have! + +Damas. Be cheer'd; others are fair as she is! + + Mel. Others! The world is crumbled at my feet! + She was my world; fill'd up the whole of being-- + Smiled in the sunshine--walk'd the glorious earth-- + Sate in my heart--was the sweet life of life. + The Past was hers; I dreamt not of a Future + That did not wear her shape! Mem'ry and Hope + Alike are gone. Pauline is faithless! Henceforth + The universal space is desolate! + +Damas. Hope yet. + + Mel. Hope, yes!--one hope is left me still-- + A soldier's grave! Glory has died with love. + I look into my heart, and, where I saw + Pauline, see Death! + + [After a pause].--But am I not deceived? + I went but by the rumor of the town; + Rumor is false,--I was too hasty! Damas, + Whom hast thou seen? + +Damas. Thy rival and her father. Arm thyself for the truth.--He heeds +not. + +Mel. She. + + Will never know how deeply she was loved! + The charitable night, that wont to bring + Comfort to-day, in bright and eloquent dreams, + Is henceforth leagued with misery! Sleep, farewell, + Or else become eternal! Oh, the waking + From false oblivion, and to see the sun, + And know she is another's! + +Damas. Be a man! + + Mel. I am a man!--it is the sting of woe + Like mine that tells us we are men! + + Damas. The false one + Did not deserve thee. + + Mel. Hush!--No word against her! + Why should she keep, through years and silent absence, + The holy tablets of her virgin faith + True to a traitor's name! Oh, blame her not; + It were a sharper grief to think her worthless + Than to be what I am! To-day,--to-day! + They, said "To-day!" This day, so wildly welcomed-- + This clay, my soul had singled out of time + And mark'd for bliss! This day! oh, could I see her, + See her once more unknown; but hear her voice. + So that one echo of its music might + Make ruin less appalling in its silence. + + Damas. Easily done! Come with me to her house; + Your dress--your cloak--moustache--the bronzed hues + Of time and toil--the name you bear--belief + In your absence, all will ward away suspicion. + Keep in the shade. Ay, I would have you come + There may be hope? Pauline is yet so young, + They may have forced her to these second bridals + Out of mistaken love. + + Mel. No, bid me hope not! + Bid me not hope! I could not bear again + To fall from such a heaven! One gleam of sunshine, + And the ice breaks and I am lost! Oh, Damas, + There's no such thing as courage in a man; + The veriest slave that ever crawl'd from danger + Might spurn me now. When first I lost her, Damas, + I bore it, did I not? I still had hope, + And now I--I-- [Bursts into an agony of grief. + + Damas. What, comrade! all the women + That ever smiled destruction on brave hearts + Were not worth tears like these! + + Mel. 'Tis past--forget it. + I am prepared; life has no further ills! + The cloud has broken in that stormy rain, + And on the waste I stand, alone with Heaven. + + Damas. His very face is changed; a breaking heart + Does its work soon!--Come, Melnotte, rouse thyself: + One effort more. Again thou'lt see her. + + Mel. See her! + There is a passion in that simple sentence + That shivers all the pride and power of reason + Into a chaos! + +Damas. Time wanes; come, ere yet It be too late. + +Mel. Terrible words--"Too late!" Lead on. One last look more, and then-- + +Damas. Forget her! + +Mel. Forget her! yes--For death remembers not. [Exeunt. + +SCENE II. + +A room in the house of MONSIEUR DESCHAPPELLES; PAULINE seated in great +dejection. + + Pauline. It is so, then. I must be false to Love, + Or sacrifice a father! Oh, my Claude, + My lover, and my husband! Have I lived + To pray that thou mayest find some fairer boon + Than the deep faith of this devoted heart-- + Nourish'd till now--now broken? + +Enter MONSIEUR DESCHAPPELLES. + + M. Deschap. My dear child, + How shall I thank--how bless thee? Thou hast saved, + I will not say my fortune--I could bear + Reverse, and shrink not--but that prouder wealth + Which merchants value most--my name, my credit-- + The hard--won honors of a toilsome life:-- + These thou hast saved, my child! + + Pauline. Is there no hope? + No hope but this? + + M. Deschap. None. If, without the sum + Which Beauseant offers for thy hand, this day + Sinks to the west--to-morrow brings our ruin! + And hundreds, mingled in that ruin, curse + The bankrupt merchant! and the insolvent herd + We feasted and made merry cry in scorn, + "How pride has fallen!--Lo, the bankrupt merchant!" + My daughter, thou hast saved us! + +Pauline. And am lost! + +M. Deschap. Come, let me hope that Beauseant's love-- + + Pauline. His love! + Talk not of love. Love has no thought of self! + Love buys not with the ruthless usurer's gold + The loathsome prostitution of a hand + Without a heart? Love sacrifices all things + To bless the thing it loves! He knows not love. + Father, his love is hate--his hope revenge! + My tears, my anguish, my remorse for falsehood-- + These are the joys that he wrings from our despair! + + M. Deschap. If thou deem'st thus, reject him! Shame and ruin + Were better than thy misery;--think no more on't. + My sand is wellnigh run--what boots it when + The glass is broken? We'll annul the contract: + And if to-morrow in the prisoner's cell + These aged limbs are laid, why still, my child, + I'll think thou art spared; and wait the Liberal Hour + That lays the beggar by the side of kings! + + Pauline, No--no--forgive me! You, my honor'd father,-- + You, who so loved, so cherish'd me, whose lips + Never knew one harsh word! I'm not ungrateful; + I am but human!--hush! Now, call the bridegroom-- + You see I am prepared--no tears--all calm; + But, father, talk no more of love + + M. Deschap. My child, + Tis but one struggle; he is young, rich, noble; + Thy state will rank first 'mid the dames of Lyons; + And when this heart can shelter thee no more, + Thy youth will not be guardianless. + + Pauline. I have set + My foot upon the ploughshare--I will pass + The fiery ordeal. [Aside.] Merciful Heaven, support me; + And on the absent wanderer shed the light + Of happier stars--lost evermore to me! + +Enter MADAME DESCHAPPELLES, BEAUSEANT, GLAVIS, and Notary. + +Mme. Deschap. Why, Pauline, you are quite in deshabille--you ought to +be more alive to the importance of this joyful occasion. We had once +looked higher, it is true; but you see, after all, Monsieur Beauseant's +father was a Marquis, and that's a great comfort. Pedigree and +jointure!--you have them both in Monsieur Beauseant. A young lady +decorously brought up should only have two considerations in her choice +of a husband; first, is his birth honorable? secondly, will his death +be advantageous? All other trifling details should be left to parental +anxiety. + +Beau. [approaching and waving aside Madame]. Ah, Pauline! let me hope +that you are reconciled to an event which confers such rapture upon me. + +Pauline. I am reconciled to my doom. + +Beau. Doom is a harsh word, sweet lady. + +Pauline [aside.] This man must have some mercy--his heart cannot be +marble. [Aloud.] Oh, sir, be just--be generous! Seize a noble triumph--a +great revenge! Save the father, and spare the child. + +Beau. [aside.] joy--joy alike to my hatred and my passion! The haughty +Pauline is at last my suppliant. [Aloud.] You ask from me what I +have not the sublime virtue to grant--a virtue reserved only for +the gardener's son! I cannot forego my hopes in the moment of their +fulfilment! I adhere to the contract--your father's ruin or your hand. + +Pauline. Then all is over. Sir, I have decided. + +[The clock strikes one. + +Enter DAMAS and MELNOTTE. + +Damas. Your servant, cousin Deschappelles. Let me introduce Colonel +Morier. + +Mme. Deschap. [curtsying very low]. What, the celebrated hero? This is, +indeed, an honor! [MELNOTTE bows, and remains in the background. + +Damas [to Pauline]. My little cousin, I congratulate you. What, no +smile--no blush? You are going to be divorced from poor Melnotte, and +marry this rich gentleman. You ought to be excessively happy! + +Pauline. Happy! + +Damas. Why, how pale you are, child!--Poor Pauline! Hist--confide in me! +Do they force you to this? + +Pauline. No! + +Damas. You act with your own free consent? + +Pauline. My own consent--yes. + +Damas. Then you are the most--I will not say what you are. + +Pauline. You think ill of me--be it so--yet if you knew all-- + +Damas. There is some mystery--speak out, Pauline. + +Pauline [suddenly]. Oh, perhaps you can save me! you are our +relation--our friend. My father is on the verge of bankruptcy--this day +he requires a large sum to meet demands that cannot be denied; that sum +Beauseant will advance--this hand the condition of the barter. Save me +if you have the means--save me! You will be repaid above! + +Damas. aside. I recant--Women are not so bad after all! [Aloud.] Humph, +child! I cannot help you--I am too poor. + +Pauline. The last plank to which I clung is shivered. + +Damas. Hold--you see my friend Morier: Melnotte is his most intimate +friend--fought in the same fields--slept in the same tent. Have you any +message to send to Melnotte? any word to soften this blow? + +Pauline. He knows Melnotte--he will see him--he will bear to him my last +farewell--[approaches MELNOTTE] He has a stern air--he turns away from +me--he despises me!--Sir one word I beseech you. + +Mel. Her voice again! How the old time comes o'er me! + +Damas [to Madame.] Don't interrupt them.--He is going to tell her what a +rascal young Melnotte is; he knows him well, I promise you. + +Mme. Deschap. So considerate in you, cousin Damas! + +[DAMAS approaches DESCHAPPELLES; converses apart with hint in dumb +show--DESCHAPPELLES shows him a paper, which he inspects and takes. + + Pauline. Thrice have I sought to speak; my courage fails me.-- + Sir, is it true that you have known--nay, are + The friend of--Melnotte. + + Mel. Lady, yes!-- + Myself And misery know the man! + + Pauline. And you will see him, + And you will bear to him--ay--word for word, + All that this heart, which breaks in parting from him, + Would send, ere still for ever? + + Mel. He hath told me + You have the right to choose from out the world + A worthier bridegroom;--he forgoes all claim, + Even to murmur at his doom. Speak on! + + Pauline. Tell him, for years I never nursed a thought + That was not his;--that on his wandering way, + Daily and nightly, pour'd a mourner's prayers. + Tell him ev'n now that I would rather share + His lowliest lot,--walk by his side, an outcast-- + Work for him, beg with him,--live upon the light + Of one kind smile from him,--than wear the crown + The Bourbon lost! + + Mel. [aside.] Am I already mad? + And does delirium utter such sweet words + Into a dreamer's ear? [Aloud]. You love him thus, + And yet desert him? + + Pauline. Say, that, if his eye-- + Could read this heart,--its struggles, its temptations,-- + His love itself would pardon that desertion! + Look on that poor old man,--he is my father; + He stands upon the verge of an abyss!-- + He calls his child to save him! Shall I shrink + From him who gave me birth?--withhold my hand, + And see a parent perish? Tell him this, + And say--that we shall meet again in Heaven! + + Mel. Lady--I--I--what is this riddle?--what + The nature of this sacrifice? + + Pauline [pointing to DAMAS]. Go, ask him! + + Beau. [from the table]. The papers are prepared--we only need + Your hand and seal. + + Mel. Stay, lady--one word more. + Were but your duty with your faith united, + Would you still share the low-born peasant's lot? + + Pauline. Would I? Ah, better death with him I love + Than all the pomp--which is but as the flowers + That crown the victim!--[Turning away.] I am ready. + +[MELNOTTE rushes to DAMAS. + +Damas. There--This is the schedule--this the total. + + Beau. [to DESCHAPPELLES, showing notes]. These + Are yours the instant she has sign'd; you are + Still the great House of Lyons! + +[The Notary is about to hand the contract to PAULINE, when MELNOTTE +seizes it and tears it. + +Beau. Are you mad? + +M. Deschap. How, Sir! What means this insult? + + Mel. Peace, old man! + I have a prior claim. Before the face + Of man and Heaven I urge it; I outbid + Yon sordid huckster for your priceless jewel. [Giving a pocket-book. + There is the sum twice told! Blush not to take it: + There's not a coin that is not bought and hallow'd + In the cause of nations with a soldier's blood! + +Beau. Torments and death! + +Pauline. That voice! Thou art-- + +Mel. Thy husband! + +[PAULINE rushes into his arms. + + Look up! Look up, Pauline!--for I can bear + Thine eyes! The stain is blotted from my name. + I have redeem'd mine honor. I can call + On France to sanction thy divine forgiveness! + Oh, joy!--Oh, rapture! By the midnight watchfires + Thus have I seen thee! thus foretold this hour! + And 'midst the roar of battle, thus have heard + The beating of thy heart against my own! + + Beau. Fool'd, duped, and triumph'd over in the hour + Of mine own victory! Curses on ye both! + May thorns be planted in the marriage-bed! + And love grow sour'd and blacken'd into hate + Such as the hate that gnaws me! + + Damas. Curse away + And let me tell thee, Beauseant, a wise proverb + The Arabs have,--"Curses are like young chickens, + [Solemnly.] And still come home to roost!" + + Beau. Their happiness + Maddens my soul! I am powerless and revengeless! [To MADAME. + I wish you joy! Ha! ha! the gardener's son! [Exit. + + Damas [to GLAVIS]. Your friend intends to hang himself! Methinks + You ought to be his travelling companion! + +Gla. Sir, you are exceedingly obliging! [Exit. + + Pauline. Oh + My father, you are saved,--and by my husband! + Ah, blessed hour! + +Mel. Yet you weep still, Pauline. + +Pauline. But on thy breast!--these tears are sweet and holy! + + M. Deschap. You have won love and honor nobly, sir! + Take her;--be happy both! + + Mme. Deschap. I'm all astonish'd! + Who, then, is Colonel Morier? + +Damas. You behold him! + + Mel. Morier no more after this happy day! + I would not bear again my father's name + Till I could deem it spotless! The hour's come! + Heaven smiled on conscience! As the soldier rose + From rank to rank, how sacred was the fame + That cancell'd crime, and raised him nearer thee! + + Mme. Deschap. A Colonel and a hero! Well, that's something! + He's wondrously improved! I wish you joy, sir! + + Mel. Ah! the same love that tempts us into sin, + If it be true love, works out its redemption; + And he who seeks repentance for the Past + Should woo the Angel Virtue in the Future. + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The Lady of Lyons, by Edward Bulwer Lytton + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LADY OF LYONS *** + +***** This file should be named 2461-0.txt or 2461-0.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/4/6/2461/ + +Produced by Dianne Bean, and David Ceponis + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + http://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. diff --git a/2461-0.zip b/2461-0.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..cedce1b --- /dev/null +++ b/2461-0.zip diff --git a/2461-h.zip b/2461-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..c246452 --- /dev/null +++ b/2461-h.zip diff --git a/2461-h/2461-h.htm b/2461-h/2461-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..7accca6 --- /dev/null +++ b/2461-h/2461-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,3659 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <title> + The Lady of Lyons, by Edward Bulwer Lytton + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd7; text-align:justify} + P { margin-top: .75em; margin-bottom: .75em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Lady of Lyons, by Edward Bulwer Lytton + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Lady of Lyons + or Love and Pride + +Author: Edward Bulwer Lytton + +Release Date: December 23, 2008 [EBook #2461] +Last Updated: August 29, 2016 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LADY OF LYONS *** + + + + +Produced by Dianne Bean, David Ceponis, and David Widger + + + + + + +</pre> + + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h1> + THE LADY OF LYONS + </h1> + <h2> + or, LOVE AND PRIDE + </h2> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h2> + By Edward Bulwer Lytton + </h2> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + To the author of “Ion.” + + Whose genius and example have alike contributed + towards the regeneration of The National Drama, + + This play is inscribed. + </pre> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h3> + Contents + </h3> + <table summary=""> + <tr> + <td> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_PREF"> PREFACE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> DRAMATIS PERSONAE. </a> + </p> + <br /> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> <b>THE LADY OF LYONS</b> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0004"> ACT I. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0005"> ACT II. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0006"> ACT III. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0007"> ACT IV. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0008"> ACT V. </a> + </p> + </td> + </tr> + </table> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_PREF" id="link2H_PREF"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <h2> + PREFACE. + </h2> + <p> + An indistinct recollection of the very pretty little tale, called “The + Bellows-Mender,” suggested the plot of this Drama. The incidents are, + however, greatly altered from those in the tale, and the characters + entirely re-cast. + </p> + <p> + Having long had a wish to illustrate certain periods of the French + history, so, in the selection of the date in which the scenes of this play + are laid, I saw that the era of the Republic was that in which the + incidents were rendered most probable, in which the probationary career of + the hero could well be made sufficiently rapid for dramatic effect, and in + which the character of the time itself was depicted by the agencies + necessary to the conduct of the narrative. For during the early years of + the first and most brilliant successes of the French Republic, in the + general ferment of society, and the brief equalization of ranks, Claude’s + high-placed love; his ardent feelings, his unsettled principles (the + struggle between which makes the passion of this drama), his ambition, and + his career, were phenomena that characterized the age, and in which the + spirit of the nation went along with the extravagance of the individual. + </p> + <p> + The play itself was composed with a twofold object. In the first place, + sympathizing with the enterprise of Mr. Macready, as Manager of Covent + Garden, and believing that many of the higher interests of the Drama were + involved in the success or failure of an enterprise equally hazardous and + disinterested, I felt, if I may so presume to express myself, something of + the Brotherhood of Art; and it was only for Mr. Macready to think it + possible that I might serve him in order to induce me to make the attempt. + </p> + <p> + Secondly, in that attempt I was mainly anxious to see whether or not, + after the comparative failure on the stage of “The Duchess de la + Valliere,” certain critics had truly declared that it was not in my power + to attain the art of dramatic construction and theatrical effect. I felt, + indeed, that it was in this that a writer, accustomed to the narrative + class of composition, would have the most both to learn and unlearn. + Accordingly, it was to the development of the plot and the arrangement of + the incidents that I directed my chief attention;—and I sought to + throw whatever belongs to poetry less into the diction and the “felicity + of words” than into the construction of the story, the creation of the + characters, and the spirit of the pervading sentiment. + </p> + <p> + The authorship of the play was neither avowed nor suspected until the play + had established itself in public favor. The announcement of my name was + the signal for attacks, chiefly political, to which it is now needless to + refer. When a work has outlived for some time the earlier hostilities of + criticism, there comes a new race of critics to which a writer may, for + the most part, calmly trust for a fair consideration, whether of the + faults or the merits of his performance. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + DRAMATIS PERSONAE. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + BEAUSEANT, a rich gentleman of Lyons, in love with, + and refused by, Pauline Deschappelles MR. ELTON. + + GLAVIS, his friend, also a rejected suitor to Pauline MR. MEADOWS. + + COLONEL (afterwards General) DAMAS, cousin to Mme. Deschappelles, + and an officer in the French army MR. BARTLEY. + + MONSIEUR DESCHAPPELLES, a Lyonnese merchant father to Pauline + MR. STRICKLAND. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + GASPAR MR. DIDDEAR. + + CLAUDE MELNOTTE MR. MACREADY. + + FIRST OFFICER MR. HOWE. + + SECOND OFFICER MR. PRITCHARD. + + THIRD OFFICER MR. ROBERTS. + + Servants, Notary, etc. + + MADAME DESCHAPPELLES MRS. W. CLIFFORD. + + PAULINE, her daughter MISS HELEN FAUCIT. + + THE WIDOW MELNOTTE, mother to Claude MRS. GRIFFITH. + + JANET, the innkeeper’s daughter MRS. EAST. + + MARIAN, maid to Pauline MISS GARRICK. +</pre> + <p> + Scene—Lyons and the neighborhood. + </p> + <p> + Time—1795-1798 + </p> + <p> + First performed on Thursday, the 15th of February, 1838, at Covent Garden + Theatre. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h1> + THE LADY OF LYONS; + </h1> + <h3> + or, + </h3> + <h2> + LOVE AND PRIDE. + </h2> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0004" id="link2H_4_0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + ACT I.—SCENE I. + </h2> + <p> + A room in the house of M. DESCHAPPELLES, at Lyons. PAULINE reclining on a + sofa; MARIAN, her maid, fanning her—Flowers and notes on a table + beside the sofa—MADAME DESCHAPPELLES seated—The gardens are + seen from the open window. + </p> + <p> + Mme. Deschap. Marian, put that rose a little more to the left.—[MARIAN + alters the position of a rose in PAULINE’s hair.]—Ah, so!—that + improves the hair,—the tournure, the j’e ne sais quoi!—You are + certainly very handsome, child!—quite my style;—I don’t wonder + that you make such a sensation!—Old, young, rich, and poor, do + homage to the Beauty of Lyons!—Ah, we live again in our children,—especially + when they have our eyes and complexion! + </p> + <p> + Pauline [languidly]. Dear mother, you spoil your Pauline!—[Aside.] I + wish I knew who sent me these flowers! + </p> + <p> + Mme. Deschap. No, child!—If I praise you, it is only to inspire you + with a proper ambition.—You are born to make a great marriage.—Beauty + is valuable or worthless according as you invest the property to the best + advantage. Marian, go and order the carriage! [Exit MARIAN. + </p> + <p> + Pauline. Who can it be that sends me, every day, these beautiful flowers?—how + sweet they are! + </p> + <p> + Enter Servant. + </p> + <p> + Servant. Monsieur Beauseant, Madam. + </p> + <p> + Mme. Deschap. Let him enter. Pauline, this is another offer!—I know + it is!—Your father should engage an additional clerk to keep the + account-book of your conquests. + </p> + <p> + Enter BEAUSEANT. + </p> + <p> + Beau. Ah, ladies how fortunate I am to find you at home!—[Aside.] + How lovely she looks!—It is a great sacrifice I make in marrying + into a family in trade!—they will be eternally grateful!—[Aloud.] + Madam, you will permit me a word with your charming daughter.—[Approaches + PAULINE, who rises disdainfully.]—Mademoiselle, I have ventured to + wait upon you, in a hope that you must long since have divined. Last + night, when you outshone all the beauty of Lyons, you completed your + conquest over me! You know that my fortune is not exceeded by any estate + in the province,—you know that, but for the Revolution, which has + defrauded me of my titles, I should be noble. May I, then, trust that you + will not reject my alliance? I offer you my hand and heart. + </p> + <p> + Pauline [aside.] He has the air of a man who confers a favor!—[Aloud.] + Sir, you are very condescending—I thank you humbly; but, being duly + sensible of my own demerits, you must allow me to decline the honor you + propose. [Curtsies, and turns away. + </p> + <p> + Beau. Decline! Impossible!—you are not serious!—Madam, suffer + me to appeal to you. I am a suitor for your daughter’s hand—the + settlements shall be worthy of her beauty and my station. May I wait on M. + Deschappelles? + </p> + <p> + Mme. Deschap. M. Deschappelles never interferes in the domestic + arrangements,—you are very obliging. If you were still a marquis, or + if my daughter were intended to marry a commoner,—why, perhaps, we + might give you the preference. + </p> + <p> + Beau. A commoner!—we are all commoners in France now. + </p> + <p> + Mme. Deschap. In France, yes; but there is a nobility still left in the + other countries in Europe. We are quite aware of your good qualities, and + don’t doubt that you will find some lady more suitable to your + pretensions. We shall be always happy to see you as an acquaintance, M. + Beauseant!—My dear child, the carriage will be here presently. + </p> + <p> + Beau. Say no more, madam!—say no more!—[Aside.] Refused! and + by a merchant’s daughter!—refused! It will be all over Lyons before + sunset!—I will go and bury myself in my chateau, study philosophy, + and turn woman-hater. Refused! they ought to be sent to a madhouse!— + Ladies, I have the honor to wish you a very good morning. [Exit. + </p> + <p> + Mme. Deschap. How forward these men are!—I think, child, we kept up + our dignity. Any girl, however inexperienced, knows how to accept an + offer, but it requires a vast deal of address to refuse one with proper + condescension and disdain. I used to practise it at school with the + dancing-master. + </p> + <p> + Enter DAMAS. + </p> + <p> + Damas. Good morning, cousin Deschappelles.—Well, Pauline, are you + recovered from last night’s ball?—So many triumphs must be very + fatiguing. Even M. Glavis sighed most piteously when you departed; but + that might be the effect of the supper. + </p> + <p> + Pauline. M. Glavis, indeed! + </p> + <p> + Mme. Deschap. M. Glavis?—as if my daughter would think of M. Glavis! + </p> + <p> + Damas. Hey-day!—why not?—His father left him a very pretty + fortune, and his birth is higher than yours, cousin Deschappelles. But + perhaps you are looking to M. Beauseant,—his father was a marquis + before the Revolution. + </p> + <p> + Pauline. M. Beauseant!—Cousin, you delight in tormenting me! + </p> + <p> + Mme. Deschap. Don’t mind him, Pauline!—Cousin Damas, you have no + susceptibility of feeling,—there is a certain indelicacy in all your + ideas.—M. Beauseant knows already that he is no match for my + daughter! + </p> + <p> + Damas. Pooh! pooh! one would think you intended your daughter to marry a + prince! + </p> + <p> + Mme. Deschap. Well, and if I did?—what then?—Many a foreign + prince— + </p> + <p> + Damas [interrupting her]. Foreign prince!—foreign fiddlestick!—you + ought to be ashamed of such nonsense at your time of life. + </p> + <p> + Mme. Deschap. My time of life!—That is an expression never applied + to any lady till she is sixty-nine and three-quarters;—and only then + by the clergyman of the parish. + </p> + <p> + Enter Servant. + </p> + <p> + Servant. Madame, the carriage is at the door. [Exit. + </p> + <p> + Mme. Deschap. Come, child, put on your bonnet—you really have a very + thorough-bred air—not at all like your poor father.—[Fondly]. + Ah, you little coquette! when a young lady is always making mischief, it + is a sure sign that she takes after her mother! + </p> + <p> + Pauline. Good day, cousin Damas—and a better humor to you.—[Going + back to the table and taking the flowers]. Who could have sent me these + flowers? [Exeunt PAULINE and MADAME DESCHAPPELLES. + </p> + <p> + Damas. That would be an excellent girl if her head had not been turned. I + fear she is now become incorrigible! Zounds, what a lucky fellow I am to + be still a bachelor! They may talk of the devotion of the sex—but + the most faithful attachment in life is that of a woman in love—with + herself. [Exit. + </p> + <p> + SCENE II. + </p> + <p> + The exterior of a small Village Inn—sign, the Golden Lion—A + few leagues from Lyons, which is seen at a distance. + </p> + <p> + Beau. [behind the scenes.] Yes, you may bait the horses; we shall rest + here an hour. + </p> + <p> + Enter BEAUSEANT and GLAVIS. + </p> + <p> + Gla. Really, my dear Beauseant, consider that I have promised to spend a + day or two with you at your chateau, that I am quite at your mercy for my + entertainment,—and yet you are as silent and as gloomy as a mute at + a funeral, or an Englishman at a party of pleasure. + </p> + <p> + Beau. Bear with me!—the fact is that I am miserable. + </p> + <p> + Gla. You—the richest and gayest bachelor in Lyons? + </p> + <p> + Beau. It is because I am a bachelor that I am miserable.—Thou + knowest Pauline—the only daughter of the rich merchant, Mons. + Deschappelles? + </p> + <p> + Gla. Know her?—who does not?—as pretty as Venus, and as proud + as Juno. + </p> + <p> + Beau. Her taste is worse than her pride.—[Drawing himself up.] Know, + Glavis, she has actually refused me! + </p> + <p> + Gla. [aside]. So she has me!—very consoling! In all cases of + heart-ache, the application of another man’s disappointment draws out the + pain and allays the irritation.—[Aloud.] Refused you! and wherefore? + </p> + <p> + Beau. I know not, unless it be because the Revolution swept away my + father’s title of Marquis,—and she will not marry a commoner. Now, + as we have no noblemen left in France,—as we are all citizens and + equals, she can only hope that, in spite of the war, some English Milord + or German Count will risk his life, by coming to Lyons, that this fille du + Roturier may condescend to accept him. Refused me, and with scorn!—By + Heaven, I’ll not submit to it tamely:—I’m in a perfect fever of + mortification and rage.—Refuse me, indeed! + </p> + <p> + Gla. Be comforted, my dear fellow,—I will tell you a secret. For the + same reason she refused ME! + </p> + <p> + Beau. You!—that’s a very different matter! But give me your hand, + Glavis,—we’ll think of some plan to humble her. Mille diables! I + should like to see her married to a strolling player! + </p> + <p> + Enter Landlord and his Daughter from the Inn. + </p> + <p> + Land. Your servant, citizen Beauseant,—servant, Sir. Perhaps you + will take dinner before you proceed to your chateau; our larder is most + plentifully supplied. + </p> + <p> + Beau. I have no appetite. + </p> + <p> + Gla. Nor I. Still it is bad travelling on an empty stomach. What have you + got? [Takes and looks over the bill of fare.] + </p> + <p> + [Shout without.] “Long live the Prince!—Long live the Prince!” + </p> + <p> + Beau. The Prince!—what Prince is that? I thought we had no princes + left in France. + </p> + <p> + Land. Ha, ha! the lads always call him Prince. He has just won the prize + in the shooting-match, and they are taking him home in triumph. + </p> + <p> + Beau. Him! and who’s Mr. Him? + </p> + <p> + Land. Who should he be but the pride of the village, Claude Melnotte?—Of + course you have heard of Claude Melnotte? + </p> + <p> + Gla. [giving back the bill of fare.] Never had that honor. Soup—ragout + of hare—roast chicken, and, in short, all you have! + </p> + <p> + Beau. The son of old Alelnotte, the gardener? + </p> + <p> + Land. Exactly so—a wonderful young man. + </p> + <p> + Beau. How, wonderful?—Are his cabbages better than other people’s + </p> + <p> + Land. Nay, he don’t garden any more; his father left him well off. He’s + only a genus. + </p> + <p> + Gla. A what? + </p> + <p> + Land. A genus!—a man who can do everything in life except anything + that’s useful—that’s a genus. + </p> + <p> + Beau. You raise my curiosity;—proceed. + </p> + <p> + Land. Well, then, about four years ago, old Melnotte died, and left his + son well to do in the world. We then all observed that a great change came + over young Claude: he took to reading and Latin, and hired a professor + from Lyons, who had so much in his head that he was forced to wear a great + full-bottom wig to cover it. Then he took a fencing-master, and a + dancing-master, and a music-master; and then he learned to paint; and at + last it was said that young Claude was to go to Paris, and set up for a + painter. The lads laughed at him at first; but he is a stout fellow, is + Claude, and as brave as a lion, and soon taught them to laugh the wrong + side of their mouths; and now all the boys swear by him, and all the girls + pray for him. + </p> + <p> + Beau. A promising youth, certainly! And why do they call him Prince? + </p> + <p> + Land. Partly because he is at the head of them all, and partly because he + has such a proud way with him, and wears such fine clothes—and, in + short, looks like a prince. + </p> + <p> + Beau. And what could have turned the foolish fellow’s brain? The + Revolution, I suppose? + </p> + <p> + Land. Yes—the revolution that turns us all topsy-turvy—the + revolution of Love. + </p> + <p> + Beau. Romantic young Corydon! And with whom is he in love? + </p> + <p> + Land. Why—but it is a secret, gentlemen. + </p> + <p> + Beau. Oh! certainly. + </p> + <p> + Land. Why, then, I hear from his mother, good soul! that it is no less a + person than the Beauty of Lyons, Pauline Deschappelles. + </p> + <p> + Beau. and Glavis. Ha, ha!—Capital! + </p> + <p> + Land. You may laugh, but it is as true as I stand here. + </p> + <p> + Beau. And what does the Beauty of Lyons say to his suit? + </p> + <p> + Land. Lord, sir, she never even condescended to look at him, though when + he was a boy he worked in her father’s garden. + </p> + <p> + Beau. Are you sure of that? + </p> + <p> + Land. His mother says that Mademoiselle does not know him by sight. + </p> + <p> + Beau. [taking Glavis aside]. I have hit it,—I have it; here is our + revenge! Here is a prince for our haughty damsel. Do you take me? + </p> + <p> + Gla. Deuce take me if I do! + </p> + <p> + Beau. Blockhead!—it’s as clear as a map. What if we could make this + elegant clown pass himself off as a foreign prince?—lend him money, + clothes, equipage for the purpose?—make him propose to Pauline?—marry + Pauline? Would it not be delicious? + </p> + <p> + Gla. Ha, ha!—Excellent! But how shall we support the necessary + expenses of his highness? + </p> + <p> + Beau. Pshaw! Revenge is worth a much larger sacrifice than a few hundred + louis;—as for details, my valet is the trustiest fellow, in the + world, and shall have the appointment of his highness’s establishment. + Let’s go to him at once, and see if he be really this Admirable Crichton. + </p> + <p> + Gla. With all my heart;—but the dinner? + </p> + <p> + Beau. Always thinking of dinner! Hark ye, landlord; how far is it to young + Melnotte’s cottage? I should like to see such a prodigy. + </p> + <p> + Land. Turn down the lane,—then strike across the common,—and + you will see his mother’s cottage. + </p> + <p> + Beau. True, he lives with his mother.—[Aside.] We will not trust to + an old woman’s discretion; better send for him hither. I’ll just step in + and write a note. Come, Glavis. + </p> + <p> + Gla. Yes,—Beauseant, Glavis, and Co., manufacturers of princes, + wholesale and retail,—an uncommonly genteel line of business. But + why so grave? + </p> + <p> + Beau. You think only of the sport,—I of the revenge. [Exeunt within + the Inn. + </p> + <p> + SCENE III. + </p> + <p> + The interior of MELNOTTE’S cottage; flowers placed here and there; a + guitar on an oaken table, with a portfolio, etc.; a picture on an easel, + covered by a curtain; fencing foils crossed over the mantelpiece; an + attempt at refinement in site of the homeliness of the furniture, etc.; a + staircase to the right conducts to the upper story. + </p> + <p> + [Shout without]. “Long live Claude Melnotte!” “Long live the Prince!” + </p> + <p> + The Widow Mel. Hark!—there’s my dear son;—carried off the + prize, I’m sure; and now he’ll want to treat them all. + </p> + <p> + Claude Mel. [opening the door]. What! you will not come in, my friends! + Well, well, there’s a trifle to make merry elsewhere. Good day to you all,—good + day! + </p> + <p> + [Shout]. “Hurrah! Long live Prince Claude!” + </p> + <p> + Enter CLAUDE MELNOTTE, with a rifle in his hand. + </p> + <p> + Mel. Give me joy, dear mother!—I’ve won the prize!—never + missed one shot! Is it not handsome, this gun? + </p> + <p> + Widow. Humph!—Well, what is it worth, Claude? + </p> + <p> + Mel. Worth! What is a riband worth to a soldier? Worth! everything! Glory + is priceless! + </p> + <p> + Widow. Leave glory to great folks. Ah! Claude, Claude, castles in the air + cost a vast deal to keep up! How is all this to end? What good does it do + thee to learn Latin, and sing songs, and play on the guitar, and fence, + and dance, and paint pictures? All very fine; but what does it bring in? + </p> + <p> + Mel. Wealth! wealth, my mother! Wealth to the mind—wealth to the + heart—high thoughts—bright dreams—the hope of fame—the + ambition to be worthier to love Pauline. + </p> + <p> + Widow. My poor son!—The young lady will never think of thee. + </p> + <p> + Mel. Do the stars think of us? Yet if the prisoner see them shine into his + dungeon, wouldst thou bid him turn away from their lustre? Even so from + this low cell, poverty, I lift my eyes to Pauline and forget my chains.—[Goes + to the picture and draws aside the curtain.] + </p> + <p> + See, this is her image—painted from memory. Oh, how the canvas + wrongs her!—[Takes up the brush and throws it aside.] I shall never + be a painter! I can paint no likeness but one, and that is above all art. + I would turn soldier—France needs soldiers! But to leave the air + that Pauline breathes! What is the hour?—so late? I will tell thee a + secret, mother. Thou knowest that for the last six weeks I have sent every + day the rarest flowers to Pauline?—she wears them. I have seen them + on her breast. Ah, and then the whole universe seemed filled with odors! I + have now grown more bold—I have poured my worship into poetry—I + have sent the verses to Pauline—I have signed them with my own name. + My messenger ought to—be back by this time. I bade him wait for the + answer. + </p> + <p> + Widow. And what answer do you expect, Claude? + </p> + <p> + Mel. That which the Queen of Navarre sent to the poor troubadour:—“Let + me see the Oracle that can tell nations I am beautiful!” She will admit + me. I shall hear her speak—I shall meet her eyes—I shall read + upon her cheek the sweet thoughts that translate themselves into blushes. + Then—then, oh, then—she may forget that I am the peasant’s + son!. + </p> + <p> + Widow. Nay, if she will but hear thee talk, Claude? + </p> + <p> + Mel. I foresee it all. She will tell me that desert is the true rank. She + will give me a badge—a flower—a glove! Oh rapture! I shall + join the armies of the republic—I shall rise—I shall win a + name that beauty will not blush to hear. I shall return with the right to + say to her—“See, how love does not level the proud, but raise the—humble!” + Oh, how my heart swells within me!—Oh, what glorious prophets of the + future are youth and hope! + </p> + <p> + [Knock at the door.] + </p> + <p> + Widow. Come in. + </p> + <p> + Enter GASPAR. + </p> + <p> + Mel. Welcome, Gaspar, welcome. Where is the letter? Why do you turn away, + man? where is the letter? [GASPAR gives him one.] This! This is mine, the + one I intrusted to thee. Didst thou not leave it? + </p> + <p> + Gaspar. Yes, I left it. + </p> + <p> + Mel. My own verses returned to me. Nothing else! + </p> + <p> + Gaspar. Thou wilt be proud to hear how thy messenger was honored. For thy + sake, Melnotte, I have borne that which no Frenchman can bear without + disgrace. + </p> + <p> + Mel. Disgrace, Gaspar! Disgrace? + </p> + <p> + Gaspar. I gave thy letter to the porter, who passed it from lackey to + lackey till it reached the lady it was meant for. + </p> + <p> + Mel. It reached her, then; you are sure of that! It reached her,—well, + well! + </p> + <p> + Gaspar. It reached her, and was returned to me with blows. Dost hear, + Melnotte? with blows! Death! are we slaves still, that we are to be thus + dealt with, we peasants? + </p> + <p> + Mel. With blows? No, Gaspar, no; not blows! + </p> + <p> + Gaspar. I could show thee the marks if it were not so deep a shame to bear + them. The lackey who tossed thy letter into the mire swore that his lady + and her mother never were so insulted. What could thy letter contain, + Claude? + </p> + <p> + Mel. [looking over the letter]. Not a line that a serf might not have + written to an empress. No, not one. + </p> + <p> + Gaspar. They promise thee the same greeting they gave me, if thou wilt + pass that way. Shall we endure this, Claude? + </p> + <p> + Mel. [wringing GASPAR’s hand]. Forgive me, the fault was mine, I have + brought this on thee; I will not forget it; thou shalt be avenged! The + heartless insolence! + </p> + <p> + Gaspar. Thou art moved, Melnotte; think not of me; I would go through fire + and water to serve thee; but,—a blow! It is not the bruise that + galls,—it is the blush, Melnotte. + </p> + <p> + Mel. Say, what message?—How insulted!—Wherefore?—What + the offence? + </p> + <p> + Gaspar. Did you not write to Pauline Deschappelles, the daughter of the + rich merchant? + </p> + <p> + Mel. Well? + </p> + <p> + Gaspar. And are you not a peasant—a gardener’s son?—that was + the offence. Sleep on it, Melnotte. Blows to a French citizen, blows! + [Exit. + </p> + <p> + Widow. Now you are cured, Claude! + </p> + <p> + Mel. tearing the letter. So do I scatter her image to the winds—I + will stop her in the open streets—I will insult her—I will + beat her menial ruffians—I will—[Turns suddenly to Widow.] + Mother, am I humpbacked—deformed—hideous? Widow. You! + </p> + <p> + Mel. A coward—a thief—a liar? + </p> + <p> + Widow. You! + </p> + <p> + Mel. Or a dull fool—a vain, drivelling, brainless idiot? Widow. No, + no. Mel. What am I then—worse than all these? Why, I am a peasant! + What has a peasant to do with love? Vain revolutions, why lavish your + cruelty on the great? Oh that we—we, the hewers of wood and drawers + of water—had been swept away, so that the proud might learn what the + world would be without us! [Knock at the door. + </p> + <p> + Enter Servant from the Inn. + </p> + <p> + Servant. A letter for Citizen Melnotte. + </p> + <p> + Mel. A letter! from her perhaps—who sent thee? + </p> + <p> + Servant. Why, Monsieur—I mean Citizen—Beauseant, who stops to + dine at the Golden Lion, on his way to his chateau. + </p> + <p> + Mel. Beauseant!—[Reads]. + </p> + <p> + “Young man, I know thy secret—thou lovest above thy station: if thou + hast wit, courage, and discretion, I can secure to thee the realization of + thy most sanguine hopes; and the sole condition I ask in return is, that + thou shalt be steadfast to thine own ends. I shall demand from thee a + solemn oath to marry her whom thou lovest; to bear her to thine home on + thy wedding night. I am serious—if thou wouldst learn more, lose not + a moment, but follow the bearer of this letter to thy friend and patron,—CHARLES + BEAUSEANT.” + </p> + <p> + Mel. Can I believe my eyes? Are our own passions the sorcerers that raise + up for us spirits of good or evil? I will go instantly. + </p> + <p> + Widow. What is this, Claude? + </p> + <p> + Mel. “Marry her whom thou lovest,”—“bear her to thine own home.”— + Oh, revenge and love; which of you is the stronger?—[Gazing on the + picture.] Sweet face, thou smilest on me from the canvas: weak fool that I + am, do I then love her still? No, it is the vision of my own romance that + I have worshipped: it is the reality to which I bring scorn for scorn. + Adieu, mother: I will return anon. My brain reels—the earth swims + before me.—[Looks again at the letter.] No, it is not a mockery; I + do not dream! [Exit. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0005" id="link2H_4_0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + ACT II.—SCENE I. + </h2> + <p> + The Gardens of M. DESCHAPPELLEs’ house at Lyons—the house seen at + the back of the stage. + </p> + <p> + Enter BEAUSEANT and GLAVIS. + </p> + <p> + Beau. Well, what think you of my plot? Has it not succeeded to a miracle? + The instant that I introduced his Highness the Prince of Como to the + pompous mother and the scornful daughter, it was all over with them: he + came—he saw—he conquered: and, though it is not many days + since he arrived, they have already promised him the hand of Pauline. + </p> + <p> + Gla. It is lucky, though, that you told them his highness travelled + incognito, for fear the Directory (who are not very fond of princes) + should lay him by the heels; for he has a wonderful wish to keep up his + rank, and scatters our gold about with as much coolness as if he were + watering his own flower-pots. + </p> + <p> + Beau. True, he is damnably extravagant; I think the sly dog does it out of + malice. How ever, it must be owned that he reflects credit on his loyal + subjects, and makes a very pretty figure in his fine clothes, with my + diamond snuff-box. + </p> + <p> + Gla. And my diamond ring! But do you think he will be firm to the last? I + fancy I see symptoms of relenting: he will never keep up his rank, if he + once let out his conscience. + </p> + <p> + Beau. His oath binds him! he cannot retract without being foresworn, and + those low fellows are always superstitious! But, as it is, I tremble lest + he be discovered: that bluff Colonel Damas (Madame Deschappelles’ cousin) + evidently suspects him: we must make haste and conclude the farce: I have + thought of a plan to end it this very day. + </p> + <p> + Gla. This very day! Poor Pauline: her dream will be soon over. + </p> + <p> + Beau. Yes, this day they shall be married; this evening, according to his + oath, he shall carry his bride to the Golden Lion, and then pomp, + equipage, retinue, and title, all shall vanish at once; and her Highness + the Princess shall find that she has refused the son of a Marquis, to + marry the son of a gardener.—Oh, Pauline! once loved, now hated, yet + still not relinquished, thou shalt drain the cup to the dregs,—thou + shalt know what it is to be humbled! + </p> + <p> + Enter from the house, MELNOTTE, as the Prince of Como, leading in PAULINE; + MADAME + </p> + <p> + DESCHAPPELLES, fanning herself; and COLONEL DAMAS. + </p> + <p> + [BEAUSEANT and GLAVIS bow respectfully, fully. PAULINE and MELNOTTE walk + apart. + </p> + <p> + Mme. Deschap. Good morning, gentlemen; really I am so fatigued with + laughter; the dear Prince is so entertaining. What wit he has! Any one may + see that he has spent his whole life in courts. + </p> + <p> + Damas. And what the deuce do you know about courts, cousin Deschappelles? + You women regard men just as you buy books—you never care about what + is in them, but how they are bound and lettered. ‘Sdeath, I don’t think + you would even look at your Bible if it had not a title to it. + </p> + <p> + Mme. Deschap. How coarse you are, cousin Damas!—quite the manners of + a barrack—you don’t deserve to be one of our family; really we must + drop your acquaintance when Pauline marries. I cannot patronize any + relations that would discredit my future son-in-law, the Prince of Como. + </p> + <p> + Mel. [advancing]. These are beautiful gardens, madame, [BEAUSEANT and + GLAVIS retire]—who planned them? + </p> + <p> + Mme. Deschap. A gardener named Melnotte, your highness—an honest man + who knew his station. I can’t say as much for his son—a presuming + fellow, who,—ha! ha! actually wrote verses—such doggerel!—to + my daughter. + </p> + <p> + Pauline. Yes, how you would have laughed at them, Prince! you, who write + such beautiful verses! + </p> + <p> + Mel. This Melnotte must be a monstrous impudent person! + </p> + <p> + Damas. Is he good-looking? + </p> + <p> + Mme. Deschap. I never notice such canaille—an ugly, mean-looking + clown, if I remember right. + </p> + <p> + Damas. Yet I heard your porter say he was wonderfully like his highness. + </p> + <p> + Mel. [taking snuff]. You are complimentary. + </p> + <p> + Mme. Deschap. For shame, cousin Damas!—like the Prince, indeed! + </p> + <p> + Pauline. Like you! Ah, mother, like our beautiful prince! I’ll never speak + to you again, cousin Damas. + </p> + <p> + Mel. [aside]. Humph!—rank is a great beautifier! I never passed for + an Apollo while I was a peasant; if I am so handsome as a prince, what + should I be as an emperor! [Aloud.] Monsieur Beauseant, will you honor me? + [Offers snuff. + </p> + <p> + Beau. No, your highness; I have no small vices. + </p> + <p> + Mel. Nay, if it were a vice, you’d be sure to have it, Monsieur Beauseant. + </p> + <p> + Mme. Deschap. Ha! ha!—how very severe!—what wit! + </p> + <p> + Beau. [in a rage and aside]. Curse his impertinence! + </p> + <p> + Mme. Deschap. What a superb snuff-box! Pauline. And what a beautiful ring! + </p> + <p> + Mel. You like the box—a trifle—interesting perhaps from + associations— a present from Louis XIV. to my great-great + grandmother. Honor me by—accepting it. + </p> + <p> + Beau. plucking him by the sleeve. How!—what the devil! My box—are + you mad? It is worth five hundred louis. + </p> + <p> + Mel. [unheeding him, and turning to PAULINE]. And you like this ring? Ah, + it has, indeed a lustre since your eyes have shone on it placing it on her + finger. Henceforth hold me, sweet enchantress, the Slave of the Ring. + </p> + <p> + Gla. [pulling him]. Stay, stay—what are you about? My maiden aunt’s + legacy—a diamond of the first water. You shall be hanged for + swindling, sir. + </p> + <p> + Mel. [pretending not to hear]. It is curious, this ring; it is the one + with which my grandfather, the Doge of Venice, married the Adriatic! + </p> + <p> + (Madame and PAULINE examine the ring.) Mel. [to BEAUSEANT and GLAVIS]. + Fie, gentlemen! princes must be generous?—[Turns to DAMAS, who + watches them closely.] These kind friends have my interest so much at + heart, that they are as careful of my property as if it were their own! + </p> + <p> + Beau and Gla. [confusedly]. Ha! ha!—very good joke that! + </p> + <p> + [Appears to remonstrate with MELNOTTE in dumb show. + </p> + <p> + Damas. What’s all that whispering? I am sure there is some juggle here: + hang me, if I think he is an Italian after all. Gad, I’ll try him. + Servitore umillissimo, Eccellenza.* (* Your Excellency’s most humble + servant.) + </p> + <p> + Mel. Hum—what does he mean, I wonder? + </p> + <p> + Damas. Godo di vedervi in buona salute.* (* I am glad to see you in good + health.) + </p> + <p> + Mel. Hem—hem! + </p> + <p> + Damas. Fa bel tempo—the si dice di nuovo? * (* Fine weather. What + news is there?) + </p> + <p> + Mel. Well, sir, what’s all that gibberish? + </p> + <p> + Damas. Oh, oh!—only Italian, your highness!—The Prince of Como + does not understand his own language! + </p> + <p> + Mel. Not as you pronounce it; who the deuce could? + </p> + <p> + Mme. Deschap. Ha! ha! cousin Damas, never pretend to what you don’t know. + </p> + <p> + Pauline. Ha! ha! cousin Damas; you speak Italian, indeed! + </p> + <p> + [Makes a mocking gesture at him. + </p> + <p> + Beau. [to GLAVIS]. Clever dog!—how ready! + </p> + <p> + Gla. Ready, yes; with my diamond ring!—Damn his readiness! + </p> + <p> + Damas. Laugh at me!—laugh at a Colonel in the French army!—the + fellow’s an impostor; I know he is. I’ll see if he understands fighting as + well as he does Italian.—[Goes up to him, and aside.] Sir, you are a + jackanapes.—Can you construe that? + </p> + <p> + Mel. No, sir; I never construe affronts in the presence of ladies; + by-and-by I shall be happy to take a lesson—or give one. + </p> + <p> + Damas. I’ll find the occasion, never fear! + </p> + <p> + Mme. Deschap. Where are you going, cousin? + </p> + <p> + Damas. To correct my Italian. [Exit. + </p> + <p> + Beau. [to GLAVIS]. Let us after, and pacify him; he evidently suspects + something. + </p> + <p> + Gla. Yes!—but my diamond ring! + </p> + <p> + Beau. And my box!—We are over-taxed fellow-subjects!—we must + stop the supplies, and dethrone the prince. + </p> + <p> + Gla. Prince!—he ought to be heir-apparent to King Stork. + </p> + <p> + [Exeunt BEAUSEANT and GLAVIS. + </p> + <p> + Mme. Deschap. Dare I ask your highness to forgive my cousin’s insufferable + vulgarity? + </p> + <p> + Pauline. Oh yes!—you will forgive his manner for the sake of his + heart. + </p> + <p> + Mel. And the sake of his cousin.—Ah, madam, there is one comfort in + rank,—we are so sure of our position that we are not easily + affronted. Besides, M. Damas has bought the right of indulgence from his + friends, by never showing it to his enemies. + </p> + <p> + Pauline. Ah! he is, indeed, as brave in action as he is rude in speech. He + rose from the ranks to his present grade, and in two years! + </p> + <p> + Mel. In two years!—two years, did you say? + </p> + <p> + Mme. Deschap. [aside]. I don’t like leaving girls alone with their lovers; + but, with a prince, it would be so ill-bred to be prudish. [Exit. + </p> + <p> + Mel. You can be proud of your connection with one who owes his position to + merit—not birth. + </p> + <p> + Pauline. Why, yes; but still + </p> + <p> + Mel. Still what, Pauline! + </p> + <p> + Pauline. There is something glorious in the heritage of command. A man who + has ancestors is like a representative of the past. + </p> + <p> + Mel. True; but, like other representatives, nine times out of ten he is a + silent member. Ah, Pauline! not to the past, but to the future, looks true + nobility, and finds its blazon in posterity. + </p> + <p> + Pauline. You say this to please me, who have no ancestors; but you, + prince, must be proud of so illustrious a race! + </p> + <p> + Mel. No, no! I would not, were I fifty times a prince, be a pensioner on + the dead! I honor birth and ancestry when they are regarded as the + incentives to exertion, not the titledeeds to sloth! I honor the laurels + that overshadow the graves of our fathers; it is our fathers I emulate, + when I desire that beneath the evergreen I myself have planted, my own + ashes may repose! Dearest! couldst thou but see with my eyes! + </p> + <p> + Pauline. I cannot forego pride when I look on thee, and think that thou + lovest me. Sweet Prince, tell me again of thy palace by the Lake of Como; + it is so pleasant to hear of thy splendors since thou didst swear to me + that they would be desolate without Pauline; and when thou describest + them, it is with a mocking lip and a noble scorn, as if custom had made + thee disdain greatness. + </p> + <p> + Mel. Nay, dearest, nay, if thou wouldst have me paint The home to which, + could love fulfil its prayers, This hand would lead thee, listen!*— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + (* The reader will observe that Melnotte evades the request + of Pauline. He proceeds to describe a home, which he does + not say he possesses, but to which he would lead her, “could + Love fulfil its prayers.” This caution is intended as a + reply to a sagacious critic who censures the description, + because it is not an exact and prosaic inventory of the + characteristics of the Lake of Como!—When Melnotte, for + instance, talks of birds “that syllable the name of Pauline” + (by the way, a literal translation from an Italian poet), he + is not thinking of ornithology, but probably of the Arabian + Nights. He is venting the extravagant, but natural, + enthusiasm of the poet and the lover.) + + A deep vale + Shut out by Alphine hills from the rude world; + Near a clear lake, margin’d by fruits of gold + And whispering myrtles; glassing softest skies, + As cloudless, save with rare and roseate shadows, + As I would have thy fate! + + Pauline. My own dear love! + + Mel. A palace lifting to eternal summer + Its marble walls, from out a glossy bower + Of coolest foliage musical with birds, + Whose songs should syllable thy name! At noon + We’d sit beneath the arching vines, and wonder + Why Earth could be unhappy, while the Heavens + Still left us youth and love! We’d have no friends + That were not lovers; no ambition, save + To excel them all in love; we’d read no books + That were not tales of love—that we might smile + To think how poorly eloquence of words + Translates the poetry of hearts like ours! + And when night came, amidst the breathless Heavens + We’d guess what star should be our home when love + Becomes immortal; while the perfumed light + Stole through the mists of alabaster lamps, + And every air was heavy with the sighs + Of orange-groves and music from sweet lutes, + And murmurs of low fountains that gush forth + I’ the midst of roses!—Dost thou like the picture? + + Pauline. Oh, as the bee upon the flower, I hang + Upon the honey of thy eloquent tongue! + Am I not blest? And if I love too wildly, + Who would not love thee like Pauline? + + Mel. [bitterly.] Oh, false one! + It is the prince thou lovest, not the man + If in the stead of luxury, pomp, and power, + I had painted poverty, and toil, and care, + Thou hadst found no honey on my tongue;—Pauline, + That is not love! + + Pauline. Thou wrong’st me, cruel Prince! + At first, in truth, I might not have been won, + Save through the weakness of a flatter’d pride; + But now,—oh! trust me,—couldst thou fall from power + And sink— + + Mel. As low as that poor gardener’s son + Who dared to lift his eyes to thee?— + + Pauline. Even then, + Methinks thou wouldst be only made more dear + By the sweet thought that I could prove how deep + Is woman’s love! We are like the insects, caught + By the poor glittering of a garish flame; + But, oh, the wings once scorch’d, the brightest star + Lures us no more; and by the fatal light + We cling till death! + + Mel. Angel! [Aside.] O conscience! conscience! + It must not be; her love hath grown a torture + Worse than her hate. I will at once to Beauseant, + And—ha! he comes. Sweet love, one moment leave me. + I have business with these gentlemen—I—I + Will forwith join you. +</pre> + <p> + Pauline. Do not tarry long! [Exit. + </p> + <p> + Enter BEAUSEANT and GLAVIS. + </p> + <p> + Mel. Release me from my oath,—I will not marry her! + </p> + <p> + Beau Then thou art perjured. + </p> + <p> + Mel. No, I was not in my senses when I swore to thee to marry her! I was + blind to all but her scorn!—deaf to all but my passion and my rage! + Give me back my poverty and my honor! + </p> + <p> + Beau. It is too late,—you must marry her! and this day. I have a + story already coined, and sure to pass current. This Damas suspects thee,—he + will set the police to work!—thou wilt be detected—Pauline + will despise and execrate thee. Thou wilt be sent to the common gaol as a + swindler. + </p> + <p> + Mel. Fiend! + </p> + <p> + Beau. And in the heat of the girl’s resentment (you know of what + resentment is capable) and the parents’ shame, she will be induced to + marry the first that offers—even perhaps your humble servant. + </p> + <p> + Mel. You! No; that were worse—for thou hast no mercy! I will marry + her.—I will keep my oath. Quick, then, with the damnable invention + thou art hatching;—quick, if thou wouldst not have me strangle thee + or myself. + </p> + <p> + Gla. What a tiger! Too fierce for a prince; he ought to have been the + Grand Turk. + </p> + <p> + Beau. Enough—I will dispatch; be prepared. + </p> + <p> + [Exeunt BEAUSEANT and GLAVIS. + </p> + <p> + Enter DAMAS with two swords. + </p> + <p> + Damas. Now, then, sir, the ladies are no longer your excuse. I have + brought you a couple of dictionaries; let us see if your highness can find + out the Latin for bilbo. + </p> + <p> + Mel. Away, sir! I am in no humor for jesting. Damas. I see you understand + something of the grammar; you decline the non-substantive “small-swords” + with great ease; but that won’t do—you must take a lesson in + parsing. + </p> + <p> + Mel. Fool! Damas. Sir, as sons take after their mother, so the man who + calls me a fool insults the lady who bore me; there’s no escape for you—fight + you shall, or— + </p> + <p> + Mel. Oh, enough! enough!—take your ground. + </p> + <p> + They fight; DAMAS is disarmed. MELNOTTE takes up the sword and returns it + to DAMAS respectfully. A just punishment to the brave soldier who robs the + state of its best property—the sole right to his valor and his life. + </p> + <p> + Damas. Sir, you fence exceedingly well; you must be a man of honor—I + don’t care a jot whether you are a prince; but a man who has carte and + tierce at his fingers’ ends must be a gentleman. + </p> + <p> + Mel. [aside.] Gentleman! Ay, I was a gentleman before I turned + conspirator; for honest men are the gentlemen of Nature! Colonel, they + tell me you rose from the ranks. + </p> + <p> + Damas. I did. + </p> + <p> + Mel. And in two years! + </p> + <p> + Damas. It is true; that’s no wonder in our army at present. Why the oldest + general in the service is scarcely thirty, and we have some of + two-and-twenty. + </p> + <p> + Mel. Two-and-twenty! + </p> + <p> + Damas. Yes; in the French army, now a days, promotion is not a matter of + purchase. We are all heroes, because we may be all generals. We have no + fear of the cypress, because we may all hope for the laurel. + </p> + <p> + Mel. A general at two-and-twenty! [turning away]—Sir, I may ask you + a favor one of these days. + </p> + <p> + Damas. Sir, I shall be proud to grant it. It is astonishing how much I + like a man after I’ve fought with him. [Hides the swords. + </p> + <p> + Enter MADAME DESCHAPPELLES and BEAUSEANT. + </p> + <p> + Mme. Deschap. Oh, prince,—prince!—What do I hear? You must fly—you + must quit us! + </p> + <p> + Mel. I! + </p> + <p> + Beau. Yes, prince: read this letter, just received from my friend at + Paris, one of the Directory; they suspect you of designs against the + Republic: they are very suspicious of princes, and your family take part + with the Austrians. Knowing that I introduced your highness at Lyons, my + friend writes to me to say that you must quit the town immediately, or you + will be arrested,—thrown into prison, perhaps guillotined! Fly!—I + will order horses to your carriage instantly. Fly to Marsailles; there you + can take ship to Leghorn. + </p> + <p> + Mme. Deschap. And what’s to become of Pauline? Am I not to be mother to a + princess, after all? + </p> + <p> + Enter PAULINE and MONSIEUR DESCHAPPELLES. + </p> + <p> + Pauline [throwing herself into MELNOTTE’s arms.] You must leave us!—Leave + Pauline! + </p> + <p> + Beau. Not a moment is to be wasted. + </p> + <p> + M. Deschap. I will go to the magistrates and inquire— + </p> + <p> + Beau. Then he is lost; the magistrates, hearing he is suspected, will + order his arrest. + </p> + <p> + Mme. Deschap. And I shall not be a princess-dowager! + </p> + <p> + Beau. Why not? There is only one thing to be done:—send for the + priest—let the marriage take place at once, and the prince carry + home a bride? + </p> + <p> + Mel. Impossible!—[Aside.] Villain. + </p> + <p> + Mme. Deschap. What, lose my child? + </p> + <p> + Beau. And gain a princess! + </p> + <p> + Mme Deschap. Oh, Monsieur Beauseant, you are so very kind, it must be so,—we + ought not to be selfish, my daughter’s happiness at stake. She will go + away, too, in a carriage and six! + </p> + <p> + Pauline. Thou art here still,—I cannot part from my heart will + break. + </p> + <p> + Mel. But thou wilt not consent to this hasty union?—thou wilt not + wed an outcast—a fugitive? + </p> + <p> + Pauline. Ah! if thou art in danger, who should share it but Pauline? + </p> + <p> + Mel. [aside]. Distraction!—If the earth could swallow me! + </p> + <p> + M. Deschap. Gently! gently! The settlements—the contracts—my + daughter’s dowry! + </p> + <p> + Mel. The dowry!—I am not base enough for that; no, not one farthing! + </p> + <p> + Beau. [to MADAM]. Noble fellow!—Really your good husband is too + mercantile in these matters. Monsieur Deschappelles, you hear his + highness: we can arrange the settlements by proxy; ‘tis the way with + people of quality. + </p> + <p> + M. Deschap. But— + </p> + <p> + Mme. Deschap. Hold your tongue!—Don’t expose yourself! + </p> + <p> + Beau. I will bring the priest in a trice. Go in all of you and prepare; + the carriage shall be at the door before the ceremony is over. + </p> + <p> + Mme. Deschap. Be sure there are six horses, Beauseant! You are very good + to have forgiven us for refusing you; but you see—a prince! + </p> + <p> + Beau. And such a prince! Madam, I cannot blush at the success of so + illustrious a rival.—[Aside.] Now will I follow them to the village, + enjoy my triumph, and to-morrow, in the hour of thy shame and grief, I + think, proud girl, thou wilt prefer even these arms to those of the + gardener’s son. [Exit. + </p> + <p> + Mme. Deschap. Come, Monsieur Deschappelles, give your arm to her highness + that is to be. + </p> + <p> + M. Deschap. I don’t like doing business in such a hurry; ‘tis not the way + with the house of Deschappelles & Co. + </p> + <p> + Mme. Deschap. There, now, you fancy you are in the counting-house, don’t + you? + </p> + <p> + [Pushes him to PAULINE. + </p> + <p> + Mel. Stay, stay, Pauline—one word. Have you no scruple, no fear? + Speak—it is not yet too late. + </p> + <p> + Pauline. When I loved thee, thy fate became mine. Triumph or danger— + joy or sorrow—I am by thy side. + </p> + <p> + Damas. Well, well, prince, thou art a lucky man to be so loved. She is a + good little girl in spite of her foibles make her as happy as if she were + not to be a princess [slapping him on the shoulder]. Come, sir, I wish you + joy—young tender—lovely;—zounds, I envy you! + </p> + <p> + Mel. [who has stood apart in gloomy abstraction]. Do you?* + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + (* On the stage the following lines are added:—) + + “Do you? Wise judges are we of each other. + ‘Woo, wed, and bear her home! So runs the bond + To which I sold myself,—and then—what then? + Away?—I will not look beyond the hour. + Like children in the dark, I dare not face + The shades that gather sound me in the distance. + You envy me—I thank you—you may read + My joy upon my brow—I thank you, sir! + If hearts had audible language, you would hear + What mine would answer when you talk of ENVY!” + </pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0006" id="link2H_4_0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + ACT III.—SCENE I. + </h2> + <p> + The exterior of the Golden Leon—time, twilight. The moon rises + during the scene. + </p> + <p> + Enter Landlord and his Daughter from the Inn. + </p> + <p> + Land. Ha—ha—ha! Well, I never shall get over it. Our Claude is + a prince with a vengeance now. His carriage breaks down at my inn—ha—ha! + </p> + <p> + Janet. And what airs the young lady gives herself! “Is this the best room + you have, young woman?” with such a toss of the head. + </p> + <p> + Land. Well, get in, Janet: get in and see to the supper: the servants must + sup before they go back. [Exeunt. + </p> + <p> + Enter BEAUSEANT and GLAVIS. + </p> + <p> + Beau. You see our princess is lodged at last—one stage more, and + she’ll be at her journey’s end—the beautiful palace at the foot of + the Alps!—ha—ha! + </p> + <p> + Gla. Faith, I pity the poor Pauline—especially if she’s going to sup + at the Golden Lion [makes a wry face]. I shall never forget that cursed + ragout. + </p> + <p> + Enter MELNOTTE from the Inn. + </p> + <p> + Beau. Your servant, my prince; you reigned most worthily, I condole with + you on your abdication. I am afraid that your highness’s retinue are not + very faithful servants. I think they will quit you in the moment of your + fall ‘tis the fate of greatness. But you are welcome to your fine clothes—also + the diamond snuff-box, which Louis XIV. gave to your + great-great-grandmother. + </p> + <p> + Gla. And the ring, with which your grandfather the Dodge of Venice married + the Adriatic. + </p> + <p> + Mel. I have kept my oath, gentlemen—say, have I kept my oath? + </p> + <p> + Beau. Most religiously. + </p> + <p> + Mel. Then you have done with me and mine—away with you! + </p> + <p> + Beau. How, knave? + </p> + <p> + Mel. Look you, our bond is over. Proud conquerors that we are, we have won + the victory over a simple girl compromised her honor—embittered her + life—blasted, in their very blossoms, all the flowers of her youth. + This is your triumph,—it is my shame! [Turns to BEAUSEANT.] Enjoy + thy triumph, but not in my sight. I was her betrayer—I am her + protector! Cross but her path—one word of scorn, one look of insult—nay, + but one quiver of that mocking lip, and I will teach thee that bitter word + thou hast graven eternally in this heart—Repentance. + </p> + <p> + Beau. His highness is most grandiloquent. + </p> + <p> + Mel. Highness me no more! Beware! Remorse has made me a new being. Away + with you! There is danger in me. Away! + </p> + <p> + Gla. [aside]. He’s an awkward fellow to deal with: come away, Beauseant. + </p> + <p> + Beau. I know the respect clue to rank. Adieu, my prince. Any commands at + Lyons? Yet hold—I promised you 200 Louis on your wedding-day; here + they are. + </p> + <p> + Mel. [dashing the purse to the ground]. I gave you revenge, I did not sell + it. Take up your silver, Judas; take it. Ay, it is fit you should learn to + stoop. + </p> + <p> + Beau. You will beg my pardon for this some clay. [Aside to GLAVIS.] Come + to my chateau—I shall return hither to morrow, to learn how Pauline + likes her new dignity. + </p> + <p> + Mel. Are you not gone yet? + </p> + <p> + Beau. Your highness’s most obedient, most faithful + </p> + <p> + Gla. And most humble servants. Ha! ha! [Exeunt BEAUSEANT and GLAVIS. + </p> + <p> + Mel. Thank heaven I had no weapon, or I should have slain them. Wretch! + what can I say? Where turn? On all sides mockery—the very boors + within—[Laughter from the Inn].—‘Sdeath, if even in this short + absence the exposure should have chanced. I will call her. We will go + hence. I have already sent one I can trust to my mother’s house. There, at + least, none can insult her agony—gloat upon her shame! There alone + must she learn what a villain she has sworn to love. [As he turns to the + door enter PAULINE from the Inn. + </p> + <p> + Pauline. Ah! my lord, what a place! I never saw such rude people. They + stare and wink so. I think the very sight of a prince, though he travels + incognito, turns their honest heads. What a pity the carriage should break + down in such a spot! You are not well—the drops stand on your brow—your + hand is feverish. + </p> + <p> + Mel. Nay, it is but a passing spasm;—the air + </p> + <p> + Pauline. Is not the soft air of your native south—How pale he is!—indeed + thou art not well. Where are our people? I will call them. + </p> + <p> + Mel. Hold! I—I am well. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Pauline. Thou art!—Ah! now I know it. + Thou fanciest, my kind lord—I know thou dost— + Thou fanciest these rude walls, these rustic gossips, + Brick’d floors, sour wine, coarse viands, vex Pauline; + And so they might, but thou art by my side, + And I forget all else. +</pre> + <p> + Enter Landlord, the Servants peeping and laughing over his shoulder. + </p> + <p> + Land. My lord—your highness—Will your most noble excellency + choose— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Mel. Begone, sir! [Exit Landlord laughing. + + Pauline. How could they have learn’d thy rank? + One’s servants are so vain!—nay, let it not + Chafe thee, sweet prince!—a few short days and we + Shall see thy palace by its lake of silver, + And—nay, nay, spendthrift, is thy wealth of smiles, + Already drain’d, or dost thou play the miser? + + Mel. Thine eyes would call up smiles in deserts, fair one. + Let us escape these rustics: close at hand + There is a cot, where I have bid prepare + Our evening lodgment—a rude, homely roof, + But honest, where our welcome will not be + Made torture by the vulgar eyes and tongues + That are as death to Love! A heavenly night! + The wooing air and the soft moon invite us. + Wilt walk? I pray thee, now,—I know the path, + Ay, every inch of it! + + Pauline. What, thou! Methought + Thou wert a stranger in these parts? Ah, truant, + Some village beauty lured thee;—thou art now + Grown constant? +</pre> + <p> + Mel. Trust me. + </p> + <p> + Pauline. Princes are so changeful! + </p> + <p> + Mel. Come, dearest, come. + </p> + <p> + Pauline. Shall I not call our people To light us? + </p> + <p> + Mel. Heaven will lend its stars for torches! It is not far. + </p> + <p> + Pauline. The night breeze chills me. + </p> + <p> + Mel. Nay, Let me thus mantle thee;—it is not cold. + </p> + <p> + Pauline. Never beneath thy smile! + </p> + <p> + Mel. [aside.] O Heaven! forgive me! [Exeunt + </p> + <p> + SCENE II. + </p> + <p> + MELNOTTE’S cottage—Widow bustling about—a table spread for + supper. + </p> + <p> + Widow. So, I think that looks very neat. He sent me a line, so blotted + that I can scarcely read it, to say he would be here almost immediately. + She must have loved him well indeed to have forgotten his birth; for + though he was introduced to her in disguise, he is too honorable not to + have revealed to her the artifice, which her love only could forgive. + Well, I do not wonder at it; for though my son is not a prince, he ought + to be one, and that’s almost as good, [Knock at the door.] Ah! here they + are. + </p> + <p> + Enter MELNOTTE and PAULINE. + </p> + <p> + Widow. Oh, my boy—the pride of my heart!—welcome, welcome! I + beg pardon, ma’am, but I do love him so! + </p> + <p> + Pauline. Good woman, I really—why prince, what is this?—does + the old lady know you? Oh, I guess, you have done her some service. + Another proof of your kind heart? is it not? + </p> + <p> + Mel. Of my kind heart, ay! + </p> + <p> + Pauline. So you know the prince? + </p> + <p> + Widow. Know him, madam?—Ah, I begin to fear it is you who know him + not! + </p> + <p> + Pauline. Do you think she is mad? Can we stay here, my lord? I think + there’s something very wild about her. + </p> + <p> + Mel. Madam, I—no, I cannot tell her; my knees knock together: what a + coward is a man who has lost his honor! Speak to her—speak to her + [to his mother]—tell her that—O Heaven, that I were dead! + </p> + <p> + Pauline. How confused he looks!—this strange place?—this woman—what + can it mean?—I half suspect—Who are you, madam!—who are + you! can’t you speak? are you struck dumb? + </p> + <p> + Widow. Claude, you have not deceived her?—Ah, shame upon you! I + thought that, before you went to the altar, she was to have known all. + </p> + <p> + Pauline. All! what!—My blood freezes in my veins! + </p> + <p> + Widow. Poor lady!—dare I tell her, Claude? [MELNOTTE makes a sign of + assent.] Know you not then, madam, that this young man is of poor though + honest parents? Know you not that you are wedded to my son, Claude + Melnotte? + </p> + <p> + Pauline. Your son! hold—hold! do not speak to me.—[Approaches + MELNOTTE, and lays her hand on his arm.]—Is this a jest? is it? I + know it is, only speak—one word—one look one smile. I cannot + believe—I who loved thee so—I cannot believe that thou art + such a—No, I will not wrong thee by a harsh word—Speak! + </p> + <p> + Mel. Leave us—have pity on her, on me: leave us. + </p> + <p> + Widow. Oh, Claude, that I should live to see thee bowed by shame! thee of + whom I was so proud! [Exit by the staircase. + </p> + <p> + Pauline. Her son—her son! + </p> + <p> + Mel. Now, lady, hear me. + </p> + <p> + Pauline. Hear thee! Ay, speak—her son! have fiends a parent? speak, + That thou mayst silence curses—speak! + </p> + <p> + Mel. No, curse me: Thy curse would blast me less than thy forgiveness. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Pauline [laughing wildly]. + “This is thy palace, where the perfumed light + Steals through the mist of alabaster lamps, + And every air is heavy with the sighs + Of orange-groves, and music from the sweet lutes, + And murmurs of low fountains, that gush forth + I’ the midst of roses!” Dost thou like the picture? + This is my bridal home, and thou my bridegroom. + O fool—O dupe—O wretch!—I see it all + Thy by-word and the jeer of every tongue + In Lyons. Hast thou in thy heart one touch + Of human kindness? if thou hast, why, kill me, + And save thy wife from madness. No, it cannot + It cannot be: this is some horrid dream: + I shall wake soon.—[Touching him.] Art flesh art man? or but + The shadows seen in sleep? It is too real. + What have I done to thee? how sinn’d against thee, + That thou shouldst crush me thus? + + Mel. Pauline, by pride + Angels have fallen ere thy time: by pride + That sole alloy of thy most lovely mould + The evil spirit of a bitter love, + And a revengeful heart, had power upon thee. + From my first years my soul was fill’d with thee: + I saw thee midst the flow’rs the lowly boy + Tended, unmark’d by thee—a spirit of bloom, + And joy, and freshness, as if Spring itself + Were made a living thing, and wore thy shape! + I saw thee, and the passionate heart of man + Enter’d the breast of the wild-dreaming boy. + And from that hour I grew—what to the last + I shall be—thine adorer! Well, this love + Vain, frantic, guilty, if thou wilt, became + A fountain of ambition and bright hope; + I thought of tales that by the winter hearth + Old gossips tell—how maidens sprung from kings + Have stoop’d from their high sphere; how love, like death + Levels all ranks, and lays the shepherd’s crook + Beside the sceptre. Thus I made my home + In the soft palace of a fairy Future! + My father died; and I, the peasant-born, + Was my own lord. Then did I seek to rise + Out of the prison of my mean estate; + And, with such jewels as the exploring mind + Brings from the caves of knowledge, buy my ransom + From those twin gaolers of the daring heart + Low birth and iron fortune. Thy bright image + Glass’d in my soul, took all the hues of glory, + And lured me on to those inspiring toils + By which man masters men! For thee I grew + A midnight student o’er the dreams of sages. + For thee I sought to borrow from each grace, + And every muse, such attributes as lend + Ideal charms to love. I thought of thee, + And passion taught me poesy—of thee, + And on the painter’s canvas grew the life + Of beauty! Art became the shadow + Of the dear starlight of thy haunting eyes + Men call’d me vain—some mad—I heeded not; + But still toil’d on—hoped on—for it was sweet, + If not to win, to feel more worthy thee? + + Pauline. Has he a magic to exorcise hate! + + Mel. At last, in one mad hour, I dared to pour + The thoughts that burst their channels into song, + And sent them to thee—such a tribute, lady, + As beauty rarely scorns, even from the meanest. + The name—appended by the burning heart + That long’d to show its idol what bright things + It had created—yea, the enthusiast’s name, + That should have been thy triumph, was thy scorn! + That very hour—when passion, turn’d to wrath, + Resembled hatred most—when thy disdain + Made my whole soul a chaos—in that hour + The tempters found me a revengeful tool + For their revenge! Thou hadst trampled on the worm + It turn’d and stung thee! + + Pauline. Love, sir, hath no sting. + What was the slight of a poor powerless girl + To the deep wrong of this most vile revenge? + Oh, how I loved this man!—a serf!—a slave! + + Mel. Hold, lady! No, not slave! Despair is free! + I will not tell thee of the throes—the struggles + The anguish—the remorse: No, let it pass! + And let me come to such most poor atonement + Yet in my power. Pauline! + + [Approaching her with great emotion, and about to take her hand. + + Pauline. No, touch me not! + I know my fate. You are, by law, my tyrant; + And I—O Heaven!—a peasant’s wife! I’ll work + Toil—drudge—do what thou wilt—but touch me not; + Let my wrongs make me sacred! + + Mel. Do not fear me. + Thou dost not know me, madam: at the altar + My vengeance ceased—my guilty oath expired! + Henceforth, no image of some marble saint, + Niched in cathedral aisles, is hallow’d more + From the rude hand of sacrilegious wrong. + I am thy husband—nay, thou need’st not shudder; + Here, at thy feet, I lay a husband’s rights. + A marriage thus unholy—unfulfill’d— + A bond of fraud—is, by the laws of France, + Made void and null. To-night sleep—sleep in peace. + To-morrow, pure and virgin as this morn + I bore thee, bathed in blushes, from the shrine, + Thy father’s arms shall take thee to thy home. + The law shall do thee justice, and restore + Thy right to bless another with thy love. + And when thou art happy, and hast half forgot + Him who so loved—so wrong’d thee, think at least + Heaven left some remnant of the angel still + In that poor peasant’s nature! + + Ho! my mother! [Enter Widow. + + Conduct this lady—(she is not my wife; + She is our guest,—our honor’d guest, my mother)— + To the poor chamber, where the sleep of virtue, + Never, beneath my father’s honest roof, + Ev’n villains dared to mar! Now, lady, now, + I think thou wilt believe me. Go, my mother! +</pre> + <p> + Widow. She is not thy wife! + </p> + <p> + Mel. Hush, hush! for mercy’s sake! Speak not, but go. + </p> + <p> + [Widow ascends the stairs; PAULINE follows weeping—turns to look + back. + </p> + <p> + Mel. [sinking down]. All angels bless and guard her! + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0007" id="link2H_4_0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + ACT IV.—SCENE I. + </h2> + <p> + The cottage as before—MELNOTTE seated before a table—writing + implements, etc.—(Day breaking.) + </p> + <p> + Mel. Hush, hush!—she sleeps at last!—thank Heaven, for a while + she forgets even that I live! Her sobs, which have gone to my heart the + whole, long, desolate night, have ceased!—all calm—all still! + I will go now; I will send this letter to Pauline’s father: when he + arrives, I will place in his hands my own consent to the divorce, and + then, O France! my country! accept among thy protectors, thy defenders—the + peasant’s Son! Our country is less proud than custom, and does not refuse + the blood, the heart, the right hand of the poor man. + </p> + <p> + Enter Widow. + </p> + <p> + Widow. My son, thou hast acted ill; but sin brings its own punishment. In + the hour of thy remorse, it is not for a mother to reproach thee. + </p> + <p> + Mel. What is past is past. There is a future left to all men, who have the + virtue to repent, and the energy to atone. Thou shalt be proud of thy son + yet. Meanwhile, remember this poor lady has been grievously injured. For + the sake of thy son’s conscience, respect, honor, bear with her. If she + weep, console—if she chide, be silent. ‘Tis but a little while more—I + shall send an express fast as horse can speed to her father. Farewell! I + shall return shortly. + </p> + <p> + Widow. It is the only course left to thee—thou wert led astray, but + thou art not hardened. Thy heart is right still, as ever it was when, in + thy most ambitious hopes thou wert never ashamed of thy poor mother. + </p> + <p> + Mel. Ashamed of thee; No, if I yet endure, yet live, yet hope,—it is + only because I would not die till I have redeemed the noble heritage I + have lost—the heritage I took unstained from thee and my dead father—a + proud conscience and an honest name. I shall win them back yet—heaven + bless you! [Exit. + </p> + <p> + Widow. My dear Claude! How my heart bleeds for him. + </p> + <p> + [PAULINE looks down from above, and after a pause descends + </p> + <p> + Pauline. Not here!—he spares me that pain at least: so far he is + considerate—yet the place seems still more desolate without him. Oh, + that I could hate him—the gardener’s son!—and yet how nobly he—no—no—no + I will not be so mean a thing as to forgive him! + </p> + <p> + Widow. Good morning, madam; I would have waited on you if I had known you + were stirring. + </p> + <p> + Pauline. It is no matter, ma’am—your son’s wife ought to wait on + herself. + </p> + <p> + Widow. My son’s wife—let not that thought vex you, madam—he + tells me that you will have your divorce. And I hope I shall live to see + him smile again. There are maidens in this village, young and fair, madam, + who may yet console him. + </p> + <p> + Pauline. I dare say—they are very welcome—and when the divorce + is got—he will marry again. I am sure I hope so. [Weeps. + </p> + <p> + Widow. He could have married the richest girl in the province, if he had + pleased it; but his head was turned, poor child! he could think of nothing + but you. [Weeps. + </p> + <p> + Pauline. Don’t weep, mother. + </p> + <p> + Widow. Ah, he has behaved very ill, I know, but love is so headstrong in + the young. Don’t weep, madam. + </p> + <p> + Pauline. So, as you were saying—go on. + </p> + <p> + Widow. Oh, I cannot excuse him, ma’am—he was not in his right + senses. + </p> + <p> + Pauline. But he always—always [sobbing] loved—loved me then? + </p> + <p> + Widow. He thought of nothing else. See here—he learnt to paint that + he might take your likeness [uncovers the picture]. But that’s all over + now—I trust you have cured him of his folly;—but, dear heart, + you have had no breakfast! + </p> + <p> + Pauline. I can’t take anything—don’t trouble yourself. + </p> + <p> + Widow. Nay, madam, be persuaded; a little coffee will refresh you. Our + milk and eggs are excellent. I will get out Claude’s coffee-cup—It + is of real Sevres; he saved up all his money to buy it three years ago, + because the name of Pauline was inscribed on it. + </p> + <p> + Pauline. Three years ago! Poor Claude!—Thank you; I think I will + have some coffee. Oh! if he were but a poor gentleman, even a merchant: + but a gardener’s son—and what a home!—Oh no,—it is too + dreadful! + </p> + <p> + They seat themselves at the table, BEAUSEANT opens the lattice and looks + in. + </p> + <p> + Beau. So—so—the coast is clear! I saw Claude in the lane—I + shall have an excellent opportunity. [Shuts the lattice and knocks at the + door. + </p> + <p> + Pauline. [starting]. Can it be my father?—he has not sent for—him + yet? No, he cannot be in such a hurry to get rid of me. + </p> + <p> + Widow. It is not time for your father to arrive yet; it must be some + neighbor. + </p> + <p> + Pauline. Don’t admit any one. + </p> + <p> + [Widow opens the door, BEAUSEANT pushes her aside and enters. Ha! Heavens! + that hateful Beauseant! This is indeed bitter! + </p> + <p> + Beau. Good morning, madam! O widow, your son begs you will have the + goodness to go to him in the village he wants to speak to you on + particular business; you’ll find him at the inn, or the grocer’s shop, or + the baker’s, or at some other friend’s of your family—make haste. + </p> + <p> + Pauline. Don’t leave me, mother!—don’t leave me. + </p> + <p> + Beau. [with great respect]. Be not alarmed, madam. Believe me your friend—your + servant. + </p> + <p> + Pauline. Sir, I have no fear of you, even in this house! Go, madam, if + your son wishes it; I will not contradict his commands whilst, at least he + has still the right to be obeyed. + </p> + <p> + Widow. I don’t understand this; however, I sha’n’t be long gone. [Exit. + </p> + <p> + Pauline. Sir, I divine the object of your visit—you wish to exult in + the humiliation of one who humbled you. Be it so; I am prepared to endure + all—even your presence! + </p> + <p> + Beau. You mistake me, madam—Pauline, you mistake me! I come to lay + my fortune at your feet. You must already be disenchanted with this + impostor; these walls are not worthy to be hallowed by your beauty! Shall + that form be clasped in the arms of a base-born peasant? Beloved, + beautiful Pauline! fly with me—my carriage waits without—I + will bear you to a home more meet for your reception. Wealth, luxury, + station—all shall yet be yours. I forget your past disdain—I + remember only your beauty and my unconquerable love! + </p> + <p> + Pauline. Sir! leave this house—it is humble: but a husband’s roof, + however lowly, is, in the eyes of God and man, the temple of a wife’s + honor! Know that I would rather starve—yes—with him who has + betrayed me, than accept your lawful hand, even were you the prince whose + name he bore.—Go. + </p> + <p> + Beau. What! is not your pride humbled yet? + </p> + <p> + Pauline. Sir, what was pride in prosperity in affliction becomes virtue. + </p> + <p> + Beau. Look round: these rugged floors—these homely walls—this + wretched struggle of poverty for comfort—think of this! and contrast + with such a picture the refinement, the luxury, the pomp, that the + wealthiest gentleman of Lyons offers to the loveliest lady. Ah, hear me! + </p> + <p> + Pauline. Oh! my father!—why did I leave you?—why am I thus + friendless? Sir, you see before you a betrayed, injured, miserable woman!—respect + her anguish. + </p> + <p> + [MELNOTTE opens the door silently, and pauses at the threshold. + </p> + <p> + Beau. No! let me rather thus console it; let me snatch from those lips one + breath of that fragrance which never should be wasted on the low churl thy + husband. + </p> + <p> + Pauline. Help! Claude!—Claude!—Have I no protector?’ + </p> + <p> + Beau. Be silent! [showing a pistol.] See, I do not come unprepared even + for violence. I will brave all things—thy husband and all his race— + for thy sake. Thus, then, I clasp thee! + </p> + <p> + Mel. [dashing him to the other end of the stage]. Pauline—look up, + Pauline! thou art safe. + </p> + <p> + Beau. [levelling his pistol]. Dare you thus insult a man of my birth, + ruffian? + </p> + <p> + Pauline. Oh, spare him—spare my husband!—Beauseant—Claude—no—no + [faints]. + </p> + <p> + Mel. Miserable trickster! shame upon you! brave devices to terrify a + woman! Coward!—you tremble—you have outraged the laws—you + know that your weapon is harmless—you have the courage of the + mountebank, not the bravo!—Pauline, there is no danger. + </p> + <p> + Beau. I wish thou wert a gentleman—as it is, thou art beneath me.— + Good day, and a happy honeymoon.—[Aside.] I will not die till I am + avenged. [Exit. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Mel. I hold her in these arms—the last embrace + Never, ah never more, shall this dear head + Be pillow’d on the heart that should have shelter’d + And has betray’d!—Soft—soft! one kiss—poor wretch! + No scorn on that pale lip forbids me now! + One kiss—so ends all record of my crime! + It is the seal upon the tomb of hope, + By which, like some lost, sorrowing angel, sits + Sad memory evermore; she breathes—she moves + She wakes to scorn, to hate, but not to shudder + Beneath the touch of my abhorred love. + Places her on a seat. There—we are strangers now! + + Pauline. All gone—all calm + Is every thing a dream? thou art safe, unhurt + I do not love thee;—but—but I am woman, + And—and—no blood is spilt? +</pre> + <p> + Mel. No, lady, no; My guilt hath not deserved so rich a blessing As even + danger in thy cause. + </p> + <p> + Enter WIDOW. + </p> + <p> + Widow. My son, I have been everywhere in search of you; why did you send + for me? + </p> + <p> + Mel. I did not send for you. + </p> + <p> + Widow. No! but I must tell you your express has returned. + </p> + <p> + Mel. So soon! impossible! + </p> + <p> + Widow. Yes, he met the lady’s father and mother on the road; they were + going into the country on a visit. Your messenger says that Monsieur + Deschappelles turned almost white with anger when he read your letter. + They will be here almost immediately. Oh, Claude, Claude! what will they + do to you? How I tremble! Ah, madam! do not let them injure him—if + you knew how he doated on you. + </p> + <p> + Pauline. Injure him! no, ma’am, be not afraid;—my father! how shall + I meet him? how go back to Lyons? the scoff of the whole city! Cruel, + cruel, Claude [in great agitation]. Sir, you have acted most + treacherously. + </p> + <p> + Mel. I know it, madam. + </p> + <p> + Pauline [aside.] If he would but ask me to forgive him!—I never can + forgive you, sir. + </p> + <p> + Mel. I never dared to hope it. + </p> + <p> + Pauline. But you are my husband now, and I have sworn to—to love + you, sir. + </p> + <p> + Mel. That was under a false belief, madam; Heaven and the laws will + release you from your vow. + </p> + <p> + Pauline. He will drive me mad! if he were but less proud—if he would + but ask me to remain—hark, hark—I hear the wheels of the + carriage—Sir—Claude, they are coming; have you no word to say + ere it is loo late? Quick speak. + </p> + <p> + Mel. I can only congratulate you on your release. Behold your parents + </p> + <p> + Enter MONSIEUR and MADAME DESCHAPPELLES and COLONEL DAMAS. + </p> + <p> + M. Deschap. My child! my child! + </p> + <p> + Mme. Deschap. Oh, my poor Pauline!—what a villanous hovel this is! + Old woman, get me a chair—I shall faint I certainly shall. What will + the world say? Child, you have been a fool. A mother’s heart is easily + broken. + </p> + <p> + Damas. Ha, ha! most noble Prince—I am sorry to see a man of your + quality in such a condition; I am afraid your highness will go to the + House of Correction. + </p> + <p> + Mel. Taunt on, sir; I spared you when you were unarmed—I am unarmed + now. A man who has no excuse for crime is indeed defenceless! + </p> + <p> + Damas. There’s something fine in the rascal, after all! + </p> + <p> + M. Deschap. Where is the impostor?—Are you thus shameless, traitor? + Can you brave the presence of that girl’s father? + </p> + <p> + Mel. Strike me, if it please you—you are her father. + </p> + <p> + Pauline. Sir—sir, for my sake; whatever his guilt, he has acted + nobly in atonement. + </p> + <p> + Mme. Deschap. Nobly! Are you mad, girl? I have no patience with you— + to disgrace all your family thus! Nobly! Oh you abominable, hardened, + pitiful, mean, ugly villain! + </p> + <p> + Damas. Ugly! Why he was beautiful yesterday! + </p> + <p> + Pauline. Madame, this is his roof, and he is my husband. Respect your + daughter, or let blame fall alone on her. + </p> + <p> + Mme. Deschap. You—you—Oh, I’m choking. + </p> + <p> + M. Deschap. Sir, it were idle to waste reproach upon a conscience like + yours—you renounce all pretensions to the person of this lady? + </p> + <p> + Mel. I do. [Gives a paper.] Here is my consent to a divorce—my full + confession of the fraud which annuls the marriage. Your daughter has been + foully wronged—I grant it, sir; but her own lips will tell you that, + from the hour in which she crossed this threshold, I returned to my own + station, and respected hers. Pure and inviolate, as when yestermorn you + laid your hand upon her head, and blessed her, I yield her back to you. + For myself—I deliver you for ever from my presence. An outcast and a + criminal, I seek some distant land, where I may mourn my sin, and pray for + your daughter’s peace. Farewell—farewell to you all, for ever! + </p> + <p> + Willow. Claude, Claude, you will not leave your poor old mother? She does + not disown you in your sorrow no, not even in your guilt. No divorce can + separate a mother from her son. + </p> + <p> + Pauline. This poor widow teaches me my duty. No, mother,—no, for you + are now my mother also!—nor should any law, human or divine, + separate the wife from her husband’s sorrows. Claude—Claude—all + is forgotten forgiven—I am thine for ever! + </p> + <p> + Mme. Deschap. What do I hear?—Come away, or never see my face again. + </p> + <p> + M. Deschap. Pauline, we never betrayed you!—do you forsake us for + him? + </p> + <p> + Pauline. [going back to her father]. Oh no—but you will forgive him + too; we will live together—he shall be your son. + </p> + <p> + M. Deschap. Never! Cling to him and forsake your parents! His home shall + be yours—his fortune yours—his fate yours: the wealth I have + acquired by honest industry shall never enrich the dishonest man. + </p> + <p> + Pauline. And you would have a wife enjoy luxury while a husband toils! + Claude, take me; thou canst not give me wealth, titles, station—but + thou canst give me a true heart I will work for thee, tend thee, bear with + thee, and never, never shall these lips reproach thee for the past. + </p> + <p> + Damas. I’ll be hanged if I am not going to blubber! + </p> + <p> + Mel. This is the heaviest blow of all!—What a heart I have wronged!— + Do not fear me, sir; I am not all hardened—I will not rob her of a + holier love than mine. Pauline!—angel of love and mercy!—your + memory shall lead me back to virtue!—The husband of a being so + beautiful in her noble and sublime tenderness may be poor—may be low + born;—(there is no guilt in the decrees of providence!)—but he + should be one who can look thee in the face without a blush,—to whom + thy love does not bring remorse,—who can fold thee to his heart, and + say,—“Here there is no deceit!” I am not that man! + </p> + <p> + Damas. [aside to MELNOTTE]. Thou art a noble fellow, notwithstanding; and + wouldst make an excellent soldier. Serve in my regiment. I have had a + letter from the Directory—our young general takes the command of the + army in Italy,—I am to join him at Marseilles, I will depart this + day, if thou wilt go with me. + </p> + <p> + Mel. It is the favor I would have asked thee, if I dared. Place me + wherever a foe is most dreaded,—wherever France most needs a life! + </p> + <p> + Damas. There shall not be a forlorn hope without thee! + </p> + <p> + Mel. There is my hand!—mother, your blessing. I shall see you again,—a + better man than a prince,—a man who has bought the right to high + thoughts by brave deeds. And thou!—thou! so wildly worshipped, so + guiltily betrayed, all is not yet lost!—for thy memory, at least, + must be mine till death! If I live, the name of him thou hast once loved + shall not rest dishonored;—if I fall, amidst the carnage and the + roar of battle, my soul will fly back to thee, and love shall share with + death my last sigh!—More—more would I speak to thee!—to + pray!—to bless! But no; When I am less unworthy I will utter it to + Heaven!—I cannot trust myself to [turning to DESCHAPPELLES] Your + pardon, sir; they are my last words Farewell! [Exit. + </p> + <p> + Damas. I will go after him.—France will thank me for this. + </p> + <p> + Pauline [starting from her father’s arms]. Claude!—Claude!—my + husband! + </p> + <p> + M. Deschap. You have a father still! + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0008" id="link2H_4_0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + ACT V. + </h2> + <h3> + Two years and a half from the date of Act IV. + </h3> + <p> + SCENE I. + </p> + <p> + The Streets of Lyons. + </p> + <p> + Enter First, Second, and Third Officers. + </p> + <p> + First Officer. Well, here we are at Lyons, with gallant old Damas: it is + his native place. + </p> + <p> + Second Officer. Yes; he has gained a step in the army since he was here + last. The Lyonnese ought to be very proud of stout General Damas. + </p> + <p> + Third Officer. Promotion is quick in the French army. This mysterious + Morier,—the hero of Lodi, and the favorite of the + commander-in-chief,—has risen to a colonel’s rank to two years and a + half. Enter DAMAS, as a General. + </p> + <p> + Damas. Good morrow, gentlemen; I hope you will amuse yourselves during our + short stay at Lyons. It is a fine city: improved since I left it. Ah! it + is a pleasure to grow old, when the years that bring decay to ourselves do + but ripen the prosperity of our country. You have not met with Morier? + </p> + <p> + First Officer. No: we were just speaking of him. + </p> + <p> + Second Officer. Pray, general, can you tell us who this Morier really is? + </p> + <p> + Damas. Is!—why a colonel in the French army. + </p> + <p> + Third Officer. True. But what was he at first? + </p> + <p> + Damas. At first? Why a baby in long clothes, I suppose. + </p> + <p> + First Officer. Ha, ha! Ever facetious, general. + </p> + <p> + Second Officer. [to Third]. The general is sore upon this point; you will + only chafe him.—Any commands, general? + </p> + <p> + Damas. None. Good day to you. [Exeunt Second and Third Officers. + </p> + <p> + Damas. Our comrades are very inquisitive. Poor Morier is the subject of a + vast deal of curiosity. + </p> + <p> + First Officer. Say interest, rather, general. His constant melancholy, the + loneliness of his habits,—his daring valor, his brilliant rise in + the profession,—your friendship, and the favors of the + commander-in-chief,—all tend to make him as much the matter of + gossip as of admiration. But where is he, general? I have missed him all + the morning. + </p> + <p> + Damas. Why, captain, I’ll let you into a secret. My young friend has come + with me to Lyons in hopes of finding a miracle. + </p> + <p> + First Officer. A miracle! + </p> + <p> + Damas. Yes, a miracle! in other words,—a constant woman. + </p> + <p> + First Officer. Oh! an affair of love! + </p> + <p> + Damas. Exactly so. No sooner did he enter Lyons than he waved his hand to + me, threw himself from his horse, and is now, I warrant, asking every one + who can know anything about the matter, whether a certain lady is still + true to a certain gentleman! + </p> + <p> + First Officer. Success to him! and of that success there can be no doubt. + The gallant Colonel Morier, the hero of Lodi, might make his choice out of + the proudest families in France. + </p> + <p> + Damas. Oh, if pride be a recommendation, the lady and her mother are most + handsomely endowed. By the way, captain, if you should chance to meet with + Morier, tell him he will find me at the hotel. + </p> + <p> + First Officer. I will, general. [Exit. + </p> + <p> + Damas. Now will I go to the Deschappelles, and make a report to my young + Colonel. Ha! by Mars, Bacchus, Apollo, Virorum,—here comes Monsieur + Beauseant! + </p> + <p> + Enter BEAUSEANT. + </p> + <p> + Good morrow, Monsieur Beauseant! How fares it with you? + </p> + <p> + Beau. [aside.] Damas! that is unfortunate;—if the Italian campaign + should have filled his pockets, he may seek to baffle me in the moment of + my victory. [Aloud]. Your servant, general,—for such, I think, is + your new distinction! Just arrived in Lyons? + </p> + <p> + Damas. Not an hour ago. Well, how go on the Deschappelles? Have they + forgiven you in that affair of young Melnotte? You had some hand in that + notable device,—eh? + </p> + <p> + Beau. Why, less than you think for! The fellow imposed upon me. I have set + it all right now. What has become of him? He could not have joined the + army, after all. There is no such name in the books. + </p> + <p> + Damas. I know nothing about Melnotte. As you say, I never heard the name + in the Grand Army. + </p> + <p> + Beau. Hem!—You are not married, general? + </p> + <p> + Damas. Do I look like a married man, sir?—No, thank Heaven! My + profession is to make widows, not wives. + </p> + <p> + Beau. You must have gained much booty in Italy! Pauline will be your + heiress—eh? + </p> + <p> + Damas. Booty! Not I! Heiress to what? Two trunks and a portmanteau,— + four horses,—three swords, two suits of regimentals, and six pair of + white leather inexpressibles! A pretty fortune for a young lady! + </p> + <p> + Beau. [aside.] Then all is safe! [Aloud]. Ha! ha! Is that really all your + capital, General Damas? Why, I thought Italy had been a second Mexico to + you soldiers. + </p> + <p> + Damas. All a toss-up, sir. I was not one of the lucky ones! My friend + Morier, indeed, saved something handsome. But our commander-in-chief took + care of him, and Morier is a thrifty, economical dog,—not like the + rest of us soldiers, who spend our money as carelessly as if it were our + blood. + </p> + <p> + Beau. Well, it is no matter! I do not want fortune with Pauline. And you + must know, General Damas, that your fair cousin has at length consented to + reward my long and ardent attachment. + </p> + <p> + Damas. You!—the devil! Why, she is already married! There is no + divorce! + </p> + <p> + Beau. True; but this very day she is formally to authorize the necessary + proceedings, this very day she is to sign the contract that is to make her + mine within one week from the day on which her present illegal marriage is + annulled. + </p> + <p> + Damas. You tell me wonders!—Wonders! No; I believe anything of + women! + </p> + <p> + Beau. I must wish you good morning. [As he is going, enter DESCHAPPELLES. + </p> + <p> + M. Deschap. Oh, Beauseant! well met. Let us come to the notary at once. + </p> + <p> + Damas [to Deschap.]. Why, cousin! + </p> + <p> + M. Deschap. Damas, welcome to Lyons. Pray call on us; my wife will be + delighted to see you. + </p> + <p> + Damas. Your wife be-blessed for her condescension! But [taking him aside] + what do I hear? Is it possible that your daughter has consented to a + divorce?—that she will marry Monsieur Beauseant? + </p> + <p> + M. Deschap. Certainly. What have you to say against it? A gentleman of + birth, fortune, character. We are not so proud as we were; even my wife + has had enough of nobility and princes! + </p> + <p> + Damas. But Pauline loved that young man so tenderly! + </p> + <p> + M. Deschap. [taking snuff]. That was two years and a half ago. + </p> + <p> + Damas. Very true. Poor Melnotte! + </p> + <p> + M. Deschap. But do not talk of that impostor; I hope he is dead or has + left the country. Nay, even were he in Lyons at this moment, he ought to + rejoice that, in an honorable and suitable alliance, my daughter may + forget her sufferings and his crime. + </p> + <p> + Damas.—Nay, if it be all settled, I have no more to say. Monsieur + Beauseant informs me that the contract is to be signed this very day. + </p> + <p> + M. Deschap, It is; at one o’clock precisely. Will you be one of the + witnesses? + </p> + <p> + Damas. I?—No; that is to say—yes, certainly!—at one + o’clock I will wait on you. + </p> + <p> + M. Deschap. Till then, adieu—come Beauseant. + </p> + <p> + [Exeunt BEAUSEANT and DESCHAPELLES + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Damas. The man who sets his heart upon a woman + Is a chameleon, and doth feed on air; + From air he takes his colors—holds his life,— + Changes with every wind,—grows lean or fat, + Rosy with hope, or green with jealousy, + Or pallid with despair—just as the gale + Varies from North to South—from heat to cold! + Oh, woman! woman! thou shouldst have few sins + Of thine own to answer for! Thou art the author + Of such a book of follies in a man, + That it would need the tears of all the angels + To blot the record out! +</pre> + <p> + [Enter MELNOTTE, pale and agitated. + </p> + <p> + I need not tell thee! Thou hast heard— + </p> + <p> + Mel. The worst! I have! + </p> + <p> + Damas. Be cheer’d; others are fair as she is! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Mel. Others! The world is crumbled at my feet! + She was my world; fill’d up the whole of being— + Smiled in the sunshine—walk’d the glorious earth— + Sate in my heart—was the sweet life of life. + The Past was hers; I dreamt not of a Future + That did not wear her shape! Mem’ry and Hope + Alike are gone. Pauline is faithless! Henceforth + The universal space is desolate! +</pre> + <p> + Damas. Hope yet. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Mel. Hope, yes!—one hope is left me still— + A soldier’s grave! Glory has died with love. + I look into my heart, and, where I saw + Pauline, see Death! + + [After a pause].—But am I not deceived? + I went but by the rumor of the town; + Rumor is false,—I was too hasty! Damas, + Whom hast thou seen? +</pre> + <p> + Damas. Thy rival and her father. Arm thyself for the truth.—He heeds + not. + </p> + <p> + Mel. She. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Will never know how deeply she was loved! + The charitable night, that wont to bring + Comfort to-day, in bright and eloquent dreams, + Is henceforth leagued with misery! Sleep, farewell, + Or else become eternal! Oh, the waking + From false oblivion, and to see the sun, + And know she is another’s! +</pre> + <p> + Damas. Be a man! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Mel. I am a man!—it is the sting of woe + Like mine that tells us we are men! + + Damas. The false one + Did not deserve thee. + + Mel. Hush!—No word against her! + Why should she keep, through years and silent absence, + The holy tablets of her virgin faith + True to a traitor’s name! Oh, blame her not; + It were a sharper grief to think her worthless + Than to be what I am! To-day,—to-day! + They, said “To-day!” This day, so wildly welcomed— + This clay, my soul had singled out of time + And mark’d for bliss! This day! oh, could I see her, + See her once more unknown; but hear her voice. + So that one echo of its music might + Make ruin less appalling in its silence. + + Damas. Easily done! Come with me to her house; + Your dress—your cloak—moustache—the bronzed hues + Of time and toil—the name you bear—belief + In your absence, all will ward away suspicion. + Keep in the shade. Ay, I would have you come + There may be hope? Pauline is yet so young, + They may have forced her to these second bridals + Out of mistaken love. + + Mel. No, bid me hope not! + Bid me not hope! I could not bear again + To fall from such a heaven! One gleam of sunshine, + And the ice breaks and I am lost! Oh, Damas, + There’s no such thing as courage in a man; + The veriest slave that ever crawl’d from danger + Might spurn me now. When first I lost her, Damas, + I bore it, did I not? I still had hope, + And now I—I— [Bursts into an agony of grief. + + Damas. What, comrade! all the women + That ever smiled destruction on brave hearts + Were not worth tears like these! + + Mel. ‘Tis past—forget it. + I am prepared; life has no further ills! + The cloud has broken in that stormy rain, + And on the waste I stand, alone with Heaven. + + Damas. His very face is changed; a breaking heart + Does its work soon!—Come, Melnotte, rouse thyself: + One effort more. Again thou’lt see her. + + Mel. See her! + There is a passion in that simple sentence + That shivers all the pride and power of reason + Into a chaos! +</pre> + <p> + Damas. Time wanes; come, ere yet It be too late. + </p> + <p> + Mel. Terrible words—“Too late!” Lead on. One last look more, and + then— + </p> + <p> + Damas. Forget her! + </p> + <p> + Mel. Forget her! yes—For death remembers not. [Exeunt. + </p> + <p> + SCENE II. + </p> + <p> + A room in the house of MONSIEUR DESCHAPPELLES; PAULINE seated in great + dejection. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Pauline. It is so, then. I must be false to Love, + Or sacrifice a father! Oh, my Claude, + My lover, and my husband! Have I lived + To pray that thou mayest find some fairer boon + Than the deep faith of this devoted heart— + Nourish’d till now—now broken? +</pre> + <p> + Enter MONSIEUR DESCHAPPELLES. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + M. Deschap. My dear child, + How shall I thank—how bless thee? Thou hast saved, + I will not say my fortune—I could bear + Reverse, and shrink not—but that prouder wealth + Which merchants value most—my name, my credit— + The hard—won honors of a toilsome life:— + These thou hast saved, my child! + + Pauline. Is there no hope? + No hope but this? + + M. Deschap. None. If, without the sum + Which Beauseant offers for thy hand, this day + Sinks to the west—to-morrow brings our ruin! + And hundreds, mingled in that ruin, curse + The bankrupt merchant! and the insolvent herd + We feasted and made merry cry in scorn, + “How pride has fallen!—Lo, the bankrupt merchant!” + My daughter, thou hast saved us! +</pre> + <p> + Pauline. And am lost! + </p> + <p> + M. Deschap. Come, let me hope that Beauseant’s love— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Pauline. His love! + Talk not of love. Love has no thought of self! + Love buys not with the ruthless usurer’s gold + The loathsome prostitution of a hand + Without a heart? Love sacrifices all things + To bless the thing it loves! He knows not love. + Father, his love is hate—his hope revenge! + My tears, my anguish, my remorse for falsehood— + These are the joys that he wrings from our despair! + + M. Deschap. If thou deem’st thus, reject him! Shame and ruin + Were better than thy misery;—think no more on’t. + My sand is wellnigh run—what boots it when + The glass is broken? We’ll annul the contract: + And if to-morrow in the prisoner’s cell + These aged limbs are laid, why still, my child, + I’ll think thou art spared; and wait the Liberal Hour + That lays the beggar by the side of kings! + + Pauline, No—no—forgive me! You, my honor’d father,— + You, who so loved, so cherish’d me, whose lips + Never knew one harsh word! I’m not ungrateful; + I am but human!—hush! Now, call the bridegroom— + You see I am prepared—no tears—all calm; + But, father, talk no more of love + + M. Deschap. My child, + Tis but one struggle; he is young, rich, noble; + Thy state will rank first ‘mid the dames of Lyons; + And when this heart can shelter thee no more, + Thy youth will not be guardianless. + + Pauline. I have set + My foot upon the ploughshare—I will pass + The fiery ordeal. [Aside.] Merciful Heaven, support me; + And on the absent wanderer shed the light + Of happier stars—lost evermore to me! +</pre> + <p> + Enter MADAME DESCHAPPELLES, BEAUSEANT, GLAVIS, and Notary. + </p> + <p> + Mme. Deschap. Why, Pauline, you are quite in deshabille—you ought to + be more alive to the importance of this joyful occasion. We had once + looked higher, it is true; but you see, after all, Monsieur Beauseant’s + father was a Marquis, and that’s a great comfort. Pedigree and jointure!—you + have them both in Monsieur Beauseant. A young lady decorously brought up + should only have two considerations in her choice of a husband; first, is + his birth honorable? secondly, will his death be advantageous? All other + trifling details should be left to parental anxiety. + </p> + <p> + Beau. [approaching and waving aside Madame]. Ah, Pauline! let me hope that + you are reconciled to an event which confers such rapture upon me. + </p> + <p> + Pauline. I am reconciled to my doom. + </p> + <p> + Beau. Doom is a harsh word, sweet lady. + </p> + <p> + Pauline [aside.] This man must have some mercy—his heart cannot be + marble. [Aloud.] Oh, sir, be just—be generous! Seize a noble triumph—a + great revenge! Save the father, and spare the child. + </p> + <p> + Beau. [aside.] joy—joy alike to my hatred and my passion! The + haughty Pauline is at last my suppliant. [Aloud.] You ask from me what I + have not the sublime virtue to grant—a virtue reserved only for the + gardener’s son! I cannot forego my hopes in the moment of their + fulfilment! I adhere to the contract—your father’s ruin or your + hand. + </p> + <p> + Pauline. Then all is over. Sir, I have decided. + </p> + <p> + [The clock strikes one. + </p> + <p> + Enter DAMAS and MELNOTTE. + </p> + <p> + Damas. Your servant, cousin Deschappelles. Let me introduce Colonel + Morier. + </p> + <p> + Mme. Deschap. [curtsying very low]. What, the celebrated hero? This is, + indeed, an honor! [MELNOTTE bows, and remains in the background. + </p> + <p> + Damas [to Pauline]. My little cousin, I congratulate you. What, no smile—no + blush? You are going to be divorced from poor Melnotte, and marry this + rich gentleman. You ought to be excessively happy! + </p> + <p> + Pauline. Happy! + </p> + <p> + Damas. Why, how pale you are, child!—Poor Pauline! Hist—confide + in me! Do they force you to this? + </p> + <p> + Pauline. No! + </p> + <p> + Damas. You act with your own free consent? + </p> + <p> + Pauline. My own consent—yes. + </p> + <p> + Damas. Then you are the most—I will not say what you are. + </p> + <p> + Pauline. You think ill of me—be it so—yet if you knew all— + </p> + <p> + Damas. There is some mystery—speak out, Pauline. + </p> + <p> + Pauline [suddenly]. Oh, perhaps you can save me! you are our relation—our + friend. My father is on the verge of bankruptcy—this day he requires + a large sum to meet demands that cannot be denied; that sum Beauseant will + advance—this hand the condition of the barter. Save me if you have + the means—save me! You will be repaid above! + </p> + <p> + Damas. aside. I recant—Women are not so bad after all! [Aloud.] + Humph, child! I cannot help you—I am too poor. + </p> + <p> + Pauline. The last plank to which I clung is shivered. + </p> + <p> + Damas. Hold—you see my friend Morier: Melnotte is his most intimate + friend—fought in the same fields—slept in the same tent. Have + you any message to send to Melnotte? any word to soften this blow? + </p> + <p> + Pauline. He knows Melnotte—he will see him—he will bear to him + my last farewell—[approaches MELNOTTE] He has a stern air—he + turns away from me—he despises me!—Sir one word I beseech you. + </p> + <p> + Mel. Her voice again! How the old time comes o’er me! + </p> + <p> + Damas [to Madame.] Don’t interrupt them.—He is going to tell her + what a rascal young Melnotte is; he knows him well, I promise you. + </p> + <p> + Mme. Deschap. So considerate in you, cousin Damas! + </p> + <p> + [DAMAS approaches DESCHAPPELLES; converses apart with hint in dumb show—DESCHAPPELLES + shows him a paper, which he inspects and takes. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Pauline. Thrice have I sought to speak; my courage fails me.— + Sir, is it true that you have known—nay, are + The friend of—Melnotte. + + Mel. Lady, yes!— + Myself And misery know the man! + + Pauline. And you will see him, + And you will bear to him—ay—word for word, + All that this heart, which breaks in parting from him, + Would send, ere still for ever? + + Mel. He hath told me + You have the right to choose from out the world + A worthier bridegroom;—he forgoes all claim, + Even to murmur at his doom. Speak on! + + Pauline. Tell him, for years I never nursed a thought + That was not his;—that on his wandering way, + Daily and nightly, pour’d a mourner’s prayers. + Tell him ev’n now that I would rather share + His lowliest lot,—walk by his side, an outcast— + Work for him, beg with him,—live upon the light + Of one kind smile from him,—than wear the crown + The Bourbon lost! + + Mel. [aside.] Am I already mad? + And does delirium utter such sweet words + Into a dreamer’s ear? [Aloud]. You love him thus, + And yet desert him? + + Pauline. Say, that, if his eye— + Could read this heart,—its struggles, its temptations,— + His love itself would pardon that desertion! + Look on that poor old man,—he is my father; + He stands upon the verge of an abyss!— + He calls his child to save him! Shall I shrink + From him who gave me birth?—withhold my hand, + And see a parent perish? Tell him this, + And say—that we shall meet again in Heaven! + + Mel. Lady—I—I—what is this riddle?—what + The nature of this sacrifice? + + Pauline [pointing to DAMAS]. Go, ask him! + + Beau. [from the table]. The papers are prepared—we only need + Your hand and seal. + + Mel. Stay, lady—one word more. + Were but your duty with your faith united, + Would you still share the low-born peasant’s lot? + + Pauline. Would I? Ah, better death with him I love + Than all the pomp—which is but as the flowers + That crown the victim!—[Turning away.] I am ready. +</pre> + <p> + [MELNOTTE rushes to DAMAS. + </p> + <p> + Damas. There—This is the schedule—this the total. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Beau. [to DESCHAPPELLES, showing notes]. These + Are yours the instant she has sign’d; you are + Still the great House of Lyons! +</pre> + <p> + [The Notary is about to hand the contract to PAULINE, when MELNOTTE seizes + it and tears it. + </p> + <p> + Beau. Are you mad? + </p> + <p> + M. Deschap. How, Sir! What means this insult? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Mel. Peace, old man! + I have a prior claim. Before the face + Of man and Heaven I urge it; I outbid + Yon sordid huckster for your priceless jewel. [Giving a pocket-book. + There is the sum twice told! Blush not to take it: + There’s not a coin that is not bought and hallow’d + In the cause of nations with a soldier’s blood! +</pre> + <p> + Beau. Torments and death! + </p> + <p> + Pauline. That voice! Thou art— + </p> + <p> + Mel. Thy husband! + </p> + <p> + [PAULINE rushes into his arms. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Look up! Look up, Pauline!—for I can bear + Thine eyes! The stain is blotted from my name. + I have redeem’d mine honor. I can call + On France to sanction thy divine forgiveness! + Oh, joy!—Oh, rapture! By the midnight watchfires + Thus have I seen thee! thus foretold this hour! + And ‘midst the roar of battle, thus have heard + The beating of thy heart against my own! + + Beau. Fool’d, duped, and triumph’d over in the hour + Of mine own victory! Curses on ye both! + May thorns be planted in the marriage-bed! + And love grow sour’d and blacken’d into hate + Such as the hate that gnaws me! + + Damas. Curse away + And let me tell thee, Beauseant, a wise proverb + The Arabs have,—“Curses are like young chickens, + [Solemnly.] And still come home to roost!” + + Beau. Their happiness + Maddens my soul! I am powerless and revengeless! [To MADAME. + I wish you joy! Ha! ha! the gardener’s son! [Exit. + + Damas [to GLAVIS]. Your friend intends to hang himself! Methinks + You ought to be his travelling companion! +</pre> + <p> + Gla. Sir, you are exceedingly obliging! [Exit. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Pauline. Oh + My father, you are saved,—and by my husband! + Ah, blessed hour! +</pre> + <p> + Mel. Yet you weep still, Pauline. + </p> + <p> + Pauline. But on thy breast!—these tears are sweet and holy! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + M. Deschap. You have won love and honor nobly, sir! + Take her;—be happy both! + + Mme. Deschap. I’m all astonish’d! + Who, then, is Colonel Morier? +</pre> + <p> + Damas. You behold him! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Mel. Morier no more after this happy day! + I would not bear again my father’s name + Till I could deem it spotless! The hour’s come! + Heaven smiled on conscience! As the soldier rose + From rank to rank, how sacred was the fame + That cancell’d crime, and raised him nearer thee! + + Mme. Deschap. A Colonel and a hero! Well, that’s something! + He’s wondrously improved! I wish you joy, sir! + + Mel. Ah! the same love that tempts us into sin, + If it be true love, works out its redemption; + And he who seeks repentance for the Past + Should woo the Angel Virtue in the Future. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg’s The Lady of Lyons, by Edward Bulwer Lytton + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LADY OF LYONS *** + +***** This file should be named 2461-h.htm or 2461-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/4/6/2461/ + +Produced by Dianne Bean, David Ceponis, and David Widger + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Lady of Lyons + or Love and Pride + +Author: Edward Bulwer Lytton + +Posting Date: December 23, 2008 [EBook #2461] +Release Date: January, 2001 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LADY OF LYONS *** + + + + +Produced by Dianne Bean, and David Ceponis + + + + + +THE LADY OF LYONS + +or, LOVE AND PRIDE + + + +By Edward Bulwer Lytton + + + To the author of "Ion." + + Whose genius and example have alike contributed + towards the regeneration of The National Drama, + + This play is inscribed. + + + + +PREFACE. + +An indistinct recollection of the very pretty little tale, called "The +Bellows-Mender," suggested the plot of this Drama. The incidents are, +however, greatly altered from those in the tale, and the characters +entirely re-cast. + +Having long had a wish to illustrate certain periods of the French +history, so, in the selection of the date in which the scenes of this +play are laid, I saw that the era of the Republic was that in which the +incidents were rendered most probable, in which the probationary career +of the hero could well be made sufficiently rapid for dramatic effect, +and in which the character of the time itself was depicted by the +agencies necessary to the conduct of the narrative. For during the early +years of the first and most brilliant successes of the French Republic, +in the general ferment of society, and the brief equalization of ranks, +Claude's high-placed love; his ardent feelings, his unsettled principles +(the struggle between which makes the passion of this drama), his +ambition, and his career, were phenomena that characterized the age, and +in which the spirit of the nation went along with the extravagance of +the individual. + +The play itself was composed with a twofold object. In the first place, +sympathizing with the enterprise of Mr. Macready, as Manager of Covent +Garden, and believing that many of the higher interests of the Drama +were involved in the success or failure of an enterprise equally +hazardous and disinterested, I felt, if I may so presume to express +myself, something of the Brotherhood of Art; and it was only for Mr. +Macready to think it possible that I might serve him in order to induce +me to make the attempt. + +Secondly, in that attempt I was mainly anxious to see whether or +not, after the comparative failure on the stage of "The Duchess de la +Valliere," certain critics had truly declared that it was not in my +power to attain the art of dramatic construction and theatrical effect. +I felt, indeed, that it was in this that a writer, accustomed to the +narrative class of composition, would have the most both to learn and +unlearn. Accordingly, it was to the development of the plot and the +arrangement of the incidents that I directed my chief attention;--and I +sought to throw whatever belongs to poetry less into the diction and +the "felicity of words" than into the construction of the story, the +creation of the characters, and the spirit of the pervading sentiment. + +The authorship of the play was neither avowed nor suspected until the +play had established itself in public favor. The announcement of my +name was the signal for attacks, chiefly political, to which it is now +needless to refer. When a work has outlived for some time the earlier +hostilities of criticism, there comes a new race of critics to which a +writer may, for the most part, calmly trust for a fair consideration, +whether of the faults or the merits of his performance. + + + + +DRAMATIS PERSONAE. + + BEAUSEANT, a rich gentleman of Lyons, in love with, + and refused by, Pauline Deschappelles MR. ELTON. + + GLAVIS, his friend, also a rejected suitor to Pauline MR. MEADOWS. + + COLONEL (afterwards General) DAMAS, cousin to Mme. Deschappelles, + and an officer in the French army MR. BARTLEY. + + MONSIEUR DESCHAPPELLES, a Lyonnese merchant father to Pauline + MR. STRICKLAND. + + + GASPAR MR. DIDDEAR. + + CLAUDE MELNOTTE MR. MACREADY. + + FIRST OFFICER MR. HOWE. + + SECOND OFFICER MR. PRITCHARD. + + THIRD OFFICER MR. ROBERTS. + + Servants, Notary, etc. + + MADAME DESCHAPPELLES MRS. W. CLIFFORD. + + PAULINE, her daughter MISS HELEN FAUCIT. + + THE WIDOW MELNOTTE, mother to Claude MRS. GRIFFITH. + + JANET, the innkeeper's daughter MRS. EAST. + + MARIAN, maid to Pauline MISS GARRICK. + + +Scene--Lyons and the neighborhood. + +Time--1795-1798 + +First performed on Thursday, the 15th of February, 1838, at Covent +Garden Theatre. + + + + +THE LADY OF LYONS; + +or, + +LOVE AND PRIDE. + + + + +ACT I.--SCENE I. + +A room in the house of M. DESCHAPPELLES, at Lyons. PAULINE reclining +on a sofa; MARIAN, her maid, fanning her--Flowers and notes on a table +beside the sofa--MADAME DESCHAPPELLES seated--The gardens are seen from +the open window. + +Mme. Deschap. Marian, put that rose a little more to the left.--[MARIAN +alters the position of a rose in PAULINE's hair.]--Ah, so!--that +improves the hair,--the tournure, the j'e ne sais quoi!--You are +certainly very handsome, child!--quite my style;--I don't wonder that +you make such a sensation!--Old, young, rich, and poor, do homage to the +Beauty of Lyons!--Ah, we live again in our children,--especially when +they have our eyes and complexion! + +Pauline [languidly]. Dear mother, you spoil your Pauline!--[Aside.] I +wish I knew who sent me these flowers! + +Mme. Deschap. No, child!--If I praise you, it is only to inspire you +with a proper ambition.--You are born to make a great marriage.--Beauty +is valuable or worthless according as you invest the property to the +best advantage. Marian, go and order the carriage! [Exit MARIAN. + +Pauline. Who can it be that sends me, every day, these beautiful +flowers?--how sweet they are! + +Enter Servant. + +Servant. Monsieur Beauseant, Madam. + +Mme. Deschap. Let him enter. Pauline, this is another offer!--I know +it is!--Your father should engage an additional clerk to keep the +account-book of your conquests. + +Enter BEAUSEANT. + +Beau. Ah, ladies how fortunate I am to find you at home!--[Aside.] How +lovely she looks!--It is a great sacrifice I make in marrying into a +family in trade!--they will be eternally grateful!--[Aloud.] Madam, you +will permit me a word with your charming daughter.--[Approaches PAULINE, +who rises disdainfully.]--Mademoiselle, I have ventured to wait upon +you, in a hope that you must long since have divined. Last night, when +you outshone all the beauty of Lyons, you completed your conquest +over me! You know that my fortune is not exceeded by any estate in the +province,--you know that, but for the Revolution, which has defrauded +me of my titles, I should be noble. May I, then, trust that you will not +reject my alliance? I offer you my hand and heart. + +Pauline [aside.] He has the air of a man who confers a favor!--[Aloud.] +Sir, you are very condescending--I thank you humbly; but, being duly +sensible of my own demerits, you must allow me to decline the honor you +propose. [Curtsies, and turns away. + +Beau. Decline! Impossible!--you are not serious!--Madam, suffer me to +appeal to you. I am a suitor for your daughter's hand--the settlements +shall be worthy of her beauty and my station. May I wait on M. +Deschappelles? + +Mme. Deschap. M. Deschappelles never interferes in the domestic +arrangements,--you are very obliging. If you were still a marquis, or if +my daughter were intended to marry a commoner,--why, perhaps, we might +give you the preference. + +Beau. A commoner!--we are all commoners in France now. + +Mme. Deschap. In France, yes; but there is a nobility still left in the +other countries in Europe. We are quite aware of your good qualities, +and don't doubt that you will find some lady more suitable to your +pretensions. We shall be always happy to see you as an acquaintance, M. +Beauseant!--My dear child, the carriage will be here presently. + +Beau. Say no more, madam!--say no more!--[Aside.] Refused! and by +a merchant's daughter!--refused! It will be all over Lyons before +sunset!--I will go and bury myself in my chateau, study philosophy, +and turn woman-hater. Refused! they ought to be sent to a madhouse!-- +Ladies, I have the honor to wish you a very good morning. [Exit. + +Mme. Deschap. How forward these men are!--I think, child, we kept up our +dignity. Any girl, however inexperienced, knows how to accept an +offer, but it requires a vast deal of address to refuse one with proper +condescension and disdain. I used to practise it at school with the +dancing-master. + +Enter DAMAS. + +Damas. Good morning, cousin Deschappelles.--Well, Pauline, are you +recovered from last night's ball?--So many triumphs must be very +fatiguing. Even M. Glavis sighed most piteously when you departed; but +that might be the effect of the supper. + +Pauline. M. Glavis, indeed! + +Mme. Deschap. M. Glavis?--as if my daughter would think of M. Glavis! + +Damas. Hey-day!--why not?--His father left him a very pretty fortune, +and his birth is higher than yours, cousin Deschappelles. But perhaps +you are looking to M. Beauseant,--his father was a marquis before the +Revolution. + +Pauline. M. Beauseant!--Cousin, you delight in tormenting me! + +Mme. Deschap. Don't mind him, Pauline!--Cousin Damas, you have no +susceptibility of feeling,--there is a certain indelicacy in all your +ideas.--M. Beauseant knows already that he is no match for my daughter! + +Damas. Pooh! pooh! one would think you intended your daughter to marry a +prince! + +Mme. Deschap. Well, and if I did?--what then?--Many a foreign prince-- + +Damas [interrupting her]. Foreign prince!--foreign fiddlestick!--you +ought to be ashamed of such nonsense at your time of life. + +Mme. Deschap. My time of life!--That is an expression never applied to +any lady till she is sixty-nine and three-quarters;--and only then by +the clergyman of the parish. + +Enter Servant. + +Servant. Madame, the carriage is at the door. [Exit. + +Mme. Deschap. Come, child, put on your bonnet--you really have a very +thorough-bred air--not at all like your poor father.--[Fondly]. Ah, you +little coquette! when a young lady is always making mischief, it is a +sure sign that she takes after her mother! + +Pauline. Good day, cousin Damas--and a better humor to you.--[Going +back to the table and taking the flowers]. Who could have sent me these +flowers? [Exeunt PAULINE and MADAME DESCHAPPELLES. + +Damas. That would be an excellent girl if her head had not been turned. +I fear she is now become incorrigible! Zounds, what a lucky fellow I am +to be still a bachelor! They may talk of the devotion of the sex--but +the most faithful attachment in life is that of a woman in love--with +herself. [Exit. + +SCENE II. + +The exterior of a small Village Inn--sign, the Golden Lion--A few +leagues from Lyons, which is seen at a distance. + +Beau. [behind the scenes.] Yes, you may bait the horses; we shall rest +here an hour. + +Enter BEAUSEANT and GLAVIS. + +Gla. Really, my dear Beauseant, consider that I have promised to spend +a day or two with you at your chateau, that I am quite at your mercy for +my entertainment,--and yet you are as silent and as gloomy as a mute at +a funeral, or an Englishman at a party of pleasure. + +Beau. Bear with me!--the fact is that I am miserable. + +Gla. You--the richest and gayest bachelor in Lyons? + +Beau. It is because I am a bachelor that I am miserable.--Thou knowest +Pauline--the only daughter of the rich merchant, Mons. Deschappelles? + +Gla. Know her?--who does not?--as pretty as Venus, and as proud as Juno. + +Beau. Her taste is worse than her pride.--[Drawing himself up.] Know, +Glavis, she has actually refused me! + +Gla. [aside]. So she has me!--very consoling! In all cases of +heart-ache, the application of another man's disappointment draws +out the pain and allays the irritation.--[Aloud.] Refused you! and +wherefore? + +Beau. I know not, unless it be because the Revolution swept away my +father's title of Marquis,--and she will not marry a commoner. Now, as +we have no noblemen left in France,--as we are all citizens and equals, +she can only hope that, in spite of the war, some English Milord or +German Count will risk his life, by coming to Lyons, that this fille du +Roturier may condescend to accept him. Refused me, and with scorn!--By +Heaven, I'll not submit to it tamely:--I'm in a perfect fever of +mortification and rage.--Refuse me, indeed! + +Gla. Be comforted, my dear fellow,--I will tell you a secret. For the +same reason she refused ME! + +Beau. You!--that's a very different matter! But give me your hand, +Glavis,--we'll think of some plan to humble her. Mille diables! I should +like to see her married to a strolling player! + +Enter Landlord and his Daughter from the Inn. + +Land. Your servant, citizen Beauseant,--servant, Sir. Perhaps you will +take dinner before you proceed to your chateau; our larder is most +plentifully supplied. + +Beau. I have no appetite. + +Gla. Nor I. Still it is bad travelling on an empty stomach. What have +you got? [Takes and looks over the bill of fare.] + +[Shout without.] "Long live the Prince!--Long live the Prince!" + +Beau. The Prince!--what Prince is that? I thought we had no princes left +in France. + +Land. Ha, ha! the lads always call him Prince. He has just won the prize +in the shooting-match, and they are taking him home in triumph. + +Beau. Him! and who's Mr. Him? + +Land. Who should he be but the pride of the village, Claude +Melnotte?--Of course you have heard of Claude Melnotte? + +Gla. [giving back the bill of fare.] Never had that honor. Soup--ragout +of hare--roast chicken, and, in short, all you have! + +Beau. The son of old Alelnotte, the gardener? + +Land. Exactly so--a wonderful young man. + +Beau. How, wonderful?--Are his cabbages better than other people's + +Land. Nay, he don't garden any more; his father left him well off. He's +only a genus. + +Gla. A what? + +Land. A genus!--a man who can do everything in life except anything +that's useful--that's a genus. + +Beau. You raise my curiosity;--proceed. + +Land. Well, then, about four years ago, old Melnotte died, and left his +son well to do in the world. We then all observed that a great change +came over young Claude: he took to reading and Latin, and hired a +professor from Lyons, who had so much in his head that he was forced to +wear a great full-bottom wig to cover it. Then he took a fencing-master, +and a dancing-master, and a music-master; and then he learned to paint; +and at last it was said that young Claude was to go to Paris, and set +up for a painter. The lads laughed at him at first; but he is a stout +fellow, is Claude, and as brave as a lion, and soon taught them to laugh +the wrong side of their mouths; and now all the boys swear by him, and +all the girls pray for him. + +Beau. A promising youth, certainly! And why do they call him Prince? + +Land. Partly because he is at the head of them all, and partly because +he has such a proud way with him, and wears such fine clothes--and, in +short, looks like a prince. + +Beau. And what could have turned the foolish fellow's brain? The +Revolution, I suppose? + +Land. Yes--the revolution that turns us all topsy-turvy--the revolution +of Love. + +Beau. Romantic young Corydon! And with whom is he in love? + +Land. Why--but it is a secret, gentlemen. + +Beau. Oh! certainly. + +Land. Why, then, I hear from his mother, good soul! that it is no less a +person than the Beauty of Lyons, Pauline Deschappelles. + +Beau. and Glavis. Ha, ha!--Capital! + +Land. You may laugh, but it is as true as I stand here. + +Beau. And what does the Beauty of Lyons say to his suit? + +Land. Lord, sir, she never even condescended to look at him, though when +he was a boy he worked in her father's garden. + +Beau. Are you sure of that? + +Land. His mother says that Mademoiselle does not know him by sight. + +Beau. [taking Glavis aside]. I have hit it,--I have it; here is our +revenge! Here is a prince for our haughty damsel. Do you take me? + +Gla. Deuce take me if I do! + +Beau. Blockhead!--it's as clear as a map. What if we could make this +elegant clown pass himself off as a foreign prince?--lend him money, +clothes, equipage for the purpose?--make him propose to Pauline?--marry +Pauline? Would it not be delicious? + +Gla. Ha, ha!--Excellent! But how shall we support the necessary expenses +of his highness? + +Beau. Pshaw! Revenge is worth a much larger sacrifice than a few hundred +louis;--as for details, my valet is the trustiest fellow, in the world, +and shall have the appointment of his highness's establishment. Let's go +to him at once, and see if he be really this Admirable Crichton. + +Gla. With all my heart;--but the dinner? + +Beau. Always thinking of dinner! Hark ye, landlord; how far is it to +young Melnotte's cottage? I should like to see such a prodigy. + +Land. Turn down the lane,--then strike across the common,--and you will +see his mother's cottage. + +Beau. True, he lives with his mother.--[Aside.] We will not trust to an +old woman's discretion; better send for him hither. I'll just step in +and write a note. Come, Glavis. + +Gla. Yes,--Beauseant, Glavis, and Co., manufacturers of princes, +wholesale and retail,--an uncommonly genteel line of business. But why +so grave? + +Beau. You think only of the sport,--I of the revenge. [Exeunt within the +Inn. + +SCENE III. + +The interior of MELNOTTE'S cottage; flowers placed here and there; a +guitar on an oaken table, with a portfolio, etc.; a picture on an easel, +covered by a curtain; fencing foils crossed over the mantelpiece; an +attempt at refinement in site of the homeliness of the furniture, etc.; +a staircase to the right conducts to the upper story. + +[Shout without]. "Long live Claude Melnotte!" "Long live the Prince!" + +The Widow Mel. Hark!--there's my dear son;--carried off the prize, I'm +sure; and now he'll want to treat them all. + +Claude Mel. [opening the door]. What! you will not come in, my friends! +Well, well, there's a trifle to make merry elsewhere. Good day to you +all,--good day! + +[Shout]. "Hurrah! Long live Prince Claude!" + +Enter CLAUDE MELNOTTE, with a rifle in his hand. + +Mel. Give me joy, dear mother!--I've won the prize!--never missed one +shot! Is it not handsome, this gun? + +Widow. Humph!--Well, what is it worth, Claude? + +Mel. Worth! What is a riband worth to a soldier? Worth! everything! +Glory is priceless! + +Widow. Leave glory to great folks. Ah! Claude, Claude, castles in the +air cost a vast deal to keep up! How is all this to end? What good does +it do thee to learn Latin, and sing songs, and play on the guitar, and +fence, and dance, and paint pictures? All very fine; but what does it +bring in? + +Mel. Wealth! wealth, my mother! Wealth to the mind--wealth to the +heart--high thoughts--bright dreams--the hope of fame--the ambition to +be worthier to love Pauline. + +Widow. My poor son!--The young lady will never think of thee. + +Mel. Do the stars think of us? Yet if the prisoner see them shine into +his dungeon, wouldst thou bid him turn away from their lustre? Even so +from this low cell, poverty, I lift my eyes to Pauline and forget my +chains.--[Goes to the picture and draws aside the curtain.] + +See, this is her image--painted from memory. Oh, how the canvas wrongs +her!--[Takes up the brush and throws it aside.] I shall never be a +painter! I can paint no likeness but one, and that is above all art. +I would turn soldier--France needs soldiers! But to leave the air +that Pauline breathes! What is the hour?--so late? I will tell thee +a secret, mother. Thou knowest that for the last six weeks I have sent +every day the rarest flowers to Pauline?--she wears them. I have seen +them on her breast. Ah, and then the whole universe seemed filled +with odors! I have now grown more bold--I have poured my worship into +poetry--I have sent the verses to Pauline--I have signed them with my +own name. My messenger ought to--be back by this time. I bade him wait +for the answer. + +Widow. And what answer do you expect, Claude? + +Mel. That which the Queen of Navarre sent to the poor troubadour:--"Let +me see the Oracle that can tell nations I am beautiful!" She will admit +me. I shall hear her speak--I shall meet her eyes--I shall read upon +her cheek the sweet thoughts that translate themselves into blushes. +Then--then, oh, then--she may forget that I am the peasant's son!. + +Widow. Nay, if she will but hear thee talk, Claude? + +Mel. I foresee it all. She will tell me that desert is the true rank. +She will give me a badge--a flower--a glove! Oh rapture! I shall join +the armies of the republic--I shall rise--I shall win a name that +beauty will not blush to hear. I shall return with the right to say to +her--"See, how love does not level the proud, but raise the--humble!" +Oh, how my heart swells within me!--Oh, what glorious prophets of the +future are youth and hope! + +[Knock at the door.] + +Widow. Come in. + +Enter GASPAR. + +Mel. Welcome, Gaspar, welcome. Where is the letter? Why do you turn +away, man? where is the letter? [GASPAR gives him one.] This! This is +mine, the one I intrusted to thee. Didst thou not leave it? + +Gaspar. Yes, I left it. + +Mel. My own verses returned to me. Nothing else! + +Gaspar. Thou wilt be proud to hear how thy messenger was honored. +For thy sake, Melnotte, I have borne that which no Frenchman can bear +without disgrace. + +Mel. Disgrace, Gaspar! Disgrace? + +Gaspar. I gave thy letter to the porter, who passed it from lackey to +lackey till it reached the lady it was meant for. + +Mel. It reached her, then; you are sure of that! It reached her,--well, +well! + +Gaspar. It reached her, and was returned to me with blows. Dost hear, +Melnotte? with blows! Death! are we slaves still, that we are to be thus +dealt with, we peasants? + +Mel. With blows? No, Gaspar, no; not blows! + +Gaspar. I could show thee the marks if it were not so deep a shame to +bear them. The lackey who tossed thy letter into the mire swore that +his lady and her mother never were so insulted. What could thy letter +contain, Claude? + +Mel. [looking over the letter]. Not a line that a serf might not have +written to an empress. No, not one. + +Gaspar. They promise thee the same greeting they gave me, if thou wilt +pass that way. Shall we endure this, Claude? + +Mel. [wringing GASPAR's hand]. Forgive me, the fault was mine, I have +brought this on thee; I will not forget it; thou shalt be avenged! The +heartless insolence! + +Gaspar. Thou art moved, Melnotte; think not of me; I would go through +fire and water to serve thee; but,--a blow! It is not the bruise that +galls,--it is the blush, Melnotte. + +Mel. Say, what message?--How insulted!--Wherefore?--What the offence? + +Gaspar. Did you not write to Pauline Deschappelles, the daughter of the +rich merchant? + +Mel. Well? + +Gaspar. And are you not a peasant--a gardener's son?--that was the +offence. Sleep on it, Melnotte. Blows to a French citizen, blows! [Exit. + +Widow. Now you are cured, Claude! + +Mel. tearing the letter. So do I scatter her image to the winds--I will +stop her in the open streets--I will insult her--I will beat her +menial ruffians--I will--[Turns suddenly to Widow.] Mother, am I +humpbacked--deformed--hideous? Widow. You! + +Mel. A coward--a thief--a liar? + +Widow. You! + +Mel. Or a dull fool--a vain, drivelling, brainless idiot? Widow. No, no. +Mel. What am I then--worse than all these? Why, I am a peasant! What has +a peasant to do with love? Vain revolutions, why lavish your cruelty on +the great? Oh that we--we, the hewers of wood and drawers of water--had +been swept away, so that the proud might learn what the world would be +without us! [Knock at the door. + +Enter Servant from the Inn. + +Servant. A letter for Citizen Melnotte. + +Mel. A letter! from her perhaps--who sent thee? + +Servant. Why, Monsieur--I mean Citizen--Beauseant, who stops to dine at +the Golden Lion, on his way to his chateau. + +Mel. Beauseant!--[Reads]. + +"Young man, I know thy secret--thou lovest above thy station: if thou +hast wit, courage, and discretion, I can secure to thee the realization +of thy most sanguine hopes; and the sole condition I ask in return is, +that thou shalt be steadfast to thine own ends. I shall demand from thee +a solemn oath to marry her whom thou lovest; to bear her to thine home +on thy wedding night. I am serious--if thou wouldst learn more, lose +not a moment, but follow the bearer of this letter to thy friend and +patron,--CHARLES BEAUSEANT." + +Mel. Can I believe my eyes? Are our own passions the sorcerers that +raise up for us spirits of good or evil? I will go instantly. + +Widow. What is this, Claude? + +Mel. "Marry her whom thou lovest,"--"bear her to thine own home."-- +Oh, revenge and love; which of you is the stronger?--[Gazing on the +picture.] Sweet face, thou smilest on me from the canvas: weak fool that +I am, do I then love her still? No, it is the vision of my own romance +that I have worshipped: it is the reality to which I bring scorn for +scorn. Adieu, mother: I will return anon. My brain reels--the earth +swims before me.--[Looks again at the letter.] No, it is not a mockery; +I do not dream! [Exit. + + + + +ACT II.--SCENE I. + +The Gardens of M. DESCHAPPELLEs' house at Lyons--the house seen at the +back of the stage. + +Enter BEAUSEANT and GLAVIS. + +Beau. Well, what think you of my plot? Has it not succeeded to a +miracle? The instant that I introduced his Highness the Prince of Como +to the pompous mother and the scornful daughter, it was all over with +them: he came--he saw--he conquered: and, though it is not many days +since he arrived, they have already promised him the hand of Pauline. + +Gla. It is lucky, though, that you told them his highness travelled +incognito, for fear the Directory (who are not very fond of princes) +should lay him by the heels; for he has a wonderful wish to keep up his +rank, and scatters our gold about with as much coolness as if he were +watering his own flower-pots. + +Beau. True, he is damnably extravagant; I think the sly dog does it out +of malice. How ever, it must be owned that he reflects credit on his +loyal subjects, and makes a very pretty figure in his fine clothes, with +my diamond snuff-box. + +Gla. And my diamond ring! But do you think he will be firm to the last? +I fancy I see symptoms of relenting: he will never keep up his rank, if +he once let out his conscience. + +Beau. His oath binds him! he cannot retract without being foresworn, +and those low fellows are always superstitious! But, as it is, I tremble +lest he be discovered: that bluff Colonel Damas (Madame Deschappelles' +cousin) evidently suspects him: we must make haste and conclude the +farce: I have thought of a plan to end it this very day. + +Gla. This very day! Poor Pauline: her dream will be soon over. + +Beau. Yes, this day they shall be married; this evening, according to +his oath, he shall carry his bride to the Golden Lion, and then pomp, +equipage, retinue, and title, all shall vanish at once; and her Highness +the Princess shall find that she has refused the son of a Marquis, to +marry the son of a gardener.--Oh, Pauline! once loved, now hated, yet +still not relinquished, thou shalt drain the cup to the dregs,--thou +shalt know what it is to be humbled! + +Enter from the house, MELNOTTE, as the Prince of Como, leading in +PAULINE; MADAME + +DESCHAPPELLES, fanning herself; and COLONEL DAMAS. + +[BEAUSEANT and GLAVIS bow respectfully, fully. PAULINE and MELNOTTE walk +apart. + +Mme. Deschap. Good morning, gentlemen; really I am so fatigued with +laughter; the dear Prince is so entertaining. What wit he has! Any one +may see that he has spent his whole life in courts. + +Damas. And what the deuce do you know about courts, cousin +Deschappelles? You women regard men just as you buy books--you never +care about what is in them, but how they are bound and lettered. +'Sdeath, I don't think you would even look at your Bible if it had not a +title to it. + +Mme. Deschap. How coarse you are, cousin Damas!--quite the manners of a +barrack--you don't deserve to be one of our family; really we must drop +your acquaintance when Pauline marries. I cannot patronize any relations +that would discredit my future son-in-law, the Prince of Como. + +Mel. [advancing]. These are beautiful gardens, madame, [BEAUSEANT and +GLAVIS retire]--who planned them? + +Mme. Deschap. A gardener named Melnotte, your highness--an honest man +who knew his station. I can't say as much for his son--a presuming +fellow, who,--ha! ha! actually wrote verses--such doggerel!--to my +daughter. + +Pauline. Yes, how you would have laughed at them, Prince! you, who write +such beautiful verses! + +Mel. This Melnotte must be a monstrous impudent person! + +Damas. Is he good-looking? + +Mme. Deschap. I never notice such canaille--an ugly, mean-looking clown, +if I remember right. + +Damas. Yet I heard your porter say he was wonderfully like his highness. + +Mel. [taking snuff]. You are complimentary. + +Mme. Deschap. For shame, cousin Damas!--like the Prince, indeed! + +Pauline. Like you! Ah, mother, like our beautiful prince! I'll never +speak to you again, cousin Damas. + +Mel. [aside]. Humph!--rank is a great beautifier! I never passed for +an Apollo while I was a peasant; if I am so handsome as a prince, what +should I be as an emperor! [Aloud.] Monsieur Beauseant, will you honor +me? [Offers snuff. + +Beau. No, your highness; I have no small vices. + +Mel. Nay, if it were a vice, you'd be sure to have it, Monsieur +Beauseant. + +Mme. Deschap. Ha! ha!--how very severe!--what wit! + +Beau. [in a rage and aside]. Curse his impertinence! + +Mme. Deschap. What a superb snuff-box! Pauline. And what a beautiful +ring! + +Mel. You like the box--a trifle--interesting perhaps from associations-- +a present from Louis XIV. to my great-great grandmother. Honor me +by--accepting it. + +Beau. plucking him by the sleeve. How!--what the devil! My box--are you +mad? It is worth five hundred louis. + +Mel. [unheeding him, and turning to PAULINE]. And you like this ring? +Ah, it has, indeed a lustre since your eyes have shone on it placing it +on her finger. Henceforth hold me, sweet enchantress, the Slave of the +Ring. + +Gla. [pulling him]. Stay, stay--what are you about? My maiden aunt's +legacy--a diamond of the first water. You shall be hanged for swindling, +sir. + +Mel. [pretending not to hear]. It is curious, this ring; it is the one +with which my grandfather, the Doge of Venice, married the Adriatic! + +(Madame and PAULINE examine the ring.) Mel. [to BEAUSEANT and GLAVIS]. +Fie, gentlemen! princes must be generous?--[Turns to DAMAS, who watches +them closely.] These kind friends have my interest so much at heart, +that they are as careful of my property as if it were their own! + +Beau and Gla. [confusedly]. Ha! ha!--very good joke that! + +[Appears to remonstrate with MELNOTTE in dumb show. + +Damas. What's all that whispering? I am sure there is some juggle here: +hang me, if I think he is an Italian after all. Gad, I'll try him. +Servitore umillissimo, Eccellenza.* (* Your Excellency's most humble +servant.) + +Mel. Hum--what does he mean, I wonder? + +Damas. Godo di vedervi in buona salute.* (* I am glad to see you in good +health.) + +Mel. Hem--hem! + +Damas. Fa bel tempo--the si dice di nuovo? * (* Fine weather. What news +is there?) + +Mel. Well, sir, what's all that gibberish? + +Damas. Oh, oh!--only Italian, your highness!--The Prince of Como does +not understand his own language! + +Mel. Not as you pronounce it; who the deuce could? + +Mme. Deschap. Ha! ha! cousin Damas, never pretend to what you don't +know. + +Pauline. Ha! ha! cousin Damas; you speak Italian, indeed! + +[Makes a mocking gesture at him. + +Beau. [to GLAVIS]. Clever dog!--how ready! + +Gla. Ready, yes; with my diamond ring!--Damn his readiness! + +Damas. Laugh at me!--laugh at a Colonel in the French army!--the +fellow's an impostor; I know he is. I'll see if he understands fighting +as well as he does Italian.--[Goes up to him, and aside.] Sir, you are a +jackanapes.--Can you construe that? + +Mel. No, sir; I never construe affronts in the presence of ladies; +by-and-by I shall be happy to take a lesson--or give one. + +Damas. I'll find the occasion, never fear! + +Mme. Deschap. Where are you going, cousin? + +Damas. To correct my Italian. [Exit. + +Beau. [to GLAVIS]. Let us after, and pacify him; he evidently suspects +something. + +Gla. Yes!--but my diamond ring! + +Beau. And my box!--We are over-taxed fellow-subjects!--we must stop the +supplies, and dethrone the prince. + +Gla. Prince!--he ought to be heir-apparent to King Stork. + +[Exeunt BEAUSEANT and GLAVIS. + +Mme. Deschap. Dare I ask your highness to forgive my cousin's +insufferable vulgarity? + +Pauline. Oh yes!--you will forgive his manner for the sake of his heart. + +Mel. And the sake of his cousin.--Ah, madam, there is one comfort in +rank,--we are so sure of our position that we are not easily affronted. +Besides, M. Damas has bought the right of indulgence from his friends, +by never showing it to his enemies. + +Pauline. Ah! he is, indeed, as brave in action as he is rude in speech. +He rose from the ranks to his present grade, and in two years! + +Mel. In two years!--two years, did you say? + +Mme. Deschap. [aside]. I don't like leaving girls alone with their +lovers; but, with a prince, it would be so ill-bred to be prudish. +[Exit. + +Mel. You can be proud of your connection with one who owes his position +to merit--not birth. + +Pauline. Why, yes; but still + +Mel. Still what, Pauline! + +Pauline. There is something glorious in the heritage of command. A man +who has ancestors is like a representative of the past. + +Mel. True; but, like other representatives, nine times out of ten he is +a silent member. Ah, Pauline! not to the past, but to the future, looks +true nobility, and finds its blazon in posterity. + +Pauline. You say this to please me, who have no ancestors; but you, +prince, must be proud of so illustrious a race! + +Mel. No, no! I would not, were I fifty times a prince, be a pensioner +on the dead! I honor birth and ancestry when they are regarded as the +incentives to exertion, not the titledeeds to sloth! I honor the laurels +that overshadow the graves of our fathers; it is our fathers I emulate, +when I desire that beneath the evergreen I myself have planted, my own +ashes may repose! Dearest! couldst thou but see with my eyes! + +Pauline. I cannot forego pride when I look on thee, and think that thou +lovest me. Sweet Prince, tell me again of thy palace by the Lake of +Como; it is so pleasant to hear of thy splendors since thou didst +swear to me that they would be desolate without Pauline; and when thou +describest them, it is with a mocking lip and a noble scorn, as if +custom had made thee disdain greatness. + +Mel. Nay, dearest, nay, if thou wouldst have me paint The home to which, +could love fulfil its prayers, This hand would lead thee, listen!*-- + + (* The reader will observe that Melnotte evades the request + of Pauline. He proceeds to describe a home, which he does + not say he possesses, but to which he would lead her, "could + Love fulfil its prayers." This caution is intended as a + reply to a sagacious critic who censures the description, + because it is not an exact and prosaic inventory of the + characteristics of the Lake of Como!--When Melnotte, for + instance, talks of birds "that syllable the name of Pauline" + (by the way, a literal translation from an Italian poet), he + is not thinking of ornithology, but probably of the Arabian + Nights. He is venting the extravagant, but natural, + enthusiasm of the poet and the lover.) + + A deep vale + Shut out by Alphine hills from the rude world; + Near a clear lake, margin'd by fruits of gold + And whispering myrtles; glassing softest skies, + As cloudless, save with rare and roseate shadows, + As I would have thy fate! + + Pauline. My own dear love! + + Mel. A palace lifting to eternal summer + Its marble walls, from out a glossy bower + Of coolest foliage musical with birds, + Whose songs should syllable thy name! At noon + We'd sit beneath the arching vines, and wonder + Why Earth could be unhappy, while the Heavens + Still left us youth and love! We'd have no friends + That were not lovers; no ambition, save + To excel them all in love; we'd read no books + That were not tales of love--that we might smile + To think how poorly eloquence of words + Translates the poetry of hearts like ours! + And when night came, amidst the breathless Heavens + We'd guess what star should be our home when love + Becomes immortal; while the perfumed light + Stole through the mists of alabaster lamps, + And every air was heavy with the sighs + Of orange-groves and music from sweet lutes, + And murmurs of low fountains that gush forth + I' the midst of roses!--Dost thou like the picture? + + Pauline. Oh, as the bee upon the flower, I hang + Upon the honey of thy eloquent tongue! + Am I not blest? And if I love too wildly, + Who would not love thee like Pauline? + + Mel. [bitterly.] Oh, false one! + It is the prince thou lovest, not the man + If in the stead of luxury, pomp, and power, + I had painted poverty, and toil, and care, + Thou hadst found no honey on my tongue;--Pauline, + That is not love! + + Pauline. Thou wrong'st me, cruel Prince! + At first, in truth, I might not have been won, + Save through the weakness of a flatter'd pride; + But now,--oh! trust me,--couldst thou fall from power + And sink-- + + Mel. As low as that poor gardener's son + Who dared to lift his eyes to thee?-- + + Pauline. Even then, + Methinks thou wouldst be only made more dear + By the sweet thought that I could prove how deep + Is woman's love! We are like the insects, caught + By the poor glittering of a garish flame; + But, oh, the wings once scorch'd, the brightest star + Lures us no more; and by the fatal light + We cling till death! + + Mel. Angel! [Aside.] O conscience! conscience! + It must not be; her love hath grown a torture + Worse than her hate. I will at once to Beauseant, + And--ha! he comes. Sweet love, one moment leave me. + I have business with these gentlemen--I--I + Will forwith join you. + +Pauline. Do not tarry long! [Exit. + +Enter BEAUSEANT and GLAVIS. + +Mel. Release me from my oath,--I will not marry her! + +Beau Then thou art perjured. + +Mel. No, I was not in my senses when I swore to thee to marry her! I +was blind to all but her scorn!--deaf to all but my passion and my rage! +Give me back my poverty and my honor! + +Beau. It is too late,--you must marry her! and this day. I have a story +already coined, and sure to pass current. This Damas suspects thee,--he +will set the police to work!--thou wilt be detected--Pauline will +despise and execrate thee. Thou wilt be sent to the common gaol as a +swindler. + +Mel. Fiend! + +Beau. And in the heat of the girl's resentment (you know of what +resentment is capable) and the parents' shame, she will be induced to +marry the first that offers--even perhaps your humble servant. + +Mel. You! No; that were worse--for thou hast no mercy! I will marry +her.--I will keep my oath. Quick, then, with the damnable invention +thou art hatching;--quick, if thou wouldst not have me strangle thee or +myself. + +Gla. What a tiger! Too fierce for a prince; he ought to have been the +Grand Turk. + +Beau. Enough--I will dispatch; be prepared. + +[Exeunt BEAUSEANT and GLAVIS. + +Enter DAMAS with two swords. + +Damas. Now, then, sir, the ladies are no longer your excuse. I have +brought you a couple of dictionaries; let us see if your highness can +find out the Latin for bilbo. + +Mel. Away, sir! I am in no humor for jesting. Damas. I see you +understand something of the grammar; you decline the non-substantive +"small-swords" with great ease; but that won't do--you must take a +lesson in parsing. + +Mel. Fool! Damas. Sir, as sons take after their mother, so the man who +calls me a fool insults the lady who bore me; there's no escape for +you--fight you shall, or-- + +Mel. Oh, enough! enough!--take your ground. + +They fight; DAMAS is disarmed. MELNOTTE takes up the sword and returns +it to DAMAS respectfully. A just punishment to the brave soldier who +robs the state of its best property--the sole right to his valor and his +life. + +Damas. Sir, you fence exceedingly well; you must be a man of honor--I +don't care a jot whether you are a prince; but a man who has carte and +tierce at his fingers' ends must be a gentleman. + +Mel. [aside.] Gentleman! Ay, I was a gentleman before I turned +conspirator; for honest men are the gentlemen of Nature! Colonel, they +tell me you rose from the ranks. + +Damas. I did. + +Mel. And in two years! + +Damas. It is true; that's no wonder in our army at present. Why the +oldest general in the service is scarcely thirty, and we have some of +two-and-twenty. + +Mel. Two-and-twenty! + +Damas. Yes; in the French army, now a days, promotion is not a matter of +purchase. We are all heroes, because we may be all generals. We have no +fear of the cypress, because we may all hope for the laurel. + +Mel. A general at two-and-twenty! [turning away]--Sir, I may ask you a +favor one of these days. + +Damas. Sir, I shall be proud to grant it. It is astonishing how much I +like a man after I've fought with him. [Hides the swords. + +Enter MADAME DESCHAPPELLES and BEAUSEANT. + +Mme. Deschap. Oh, prince,--prince!--What do I hear? You must fly--you +must quit us! + +Mel. I! + +Beau. Yes, prince: read this letter, just received from my friend at +Paris, one of the Directory; they suspect you of designs against the +Republic: they are very suspicious of princes, and your family take part +with the Austrians. Knowing that I introduced your highness at Lyons, my +friend writes to me to say that you must quit the town immediately, or +you will be arrested,--thrown into prison, perhaps guillotined! Fly!--I +will order horses to your carriage instantly. Fly to Marsailles; there +you can take ship to Leghorn. + +Mme. Deschap. And what's to become of Pauline? Am I not to be mother to +a princess, after all? + +Enter PAULINE and MONSIEUR DESCHAPPELLES. + +Pauline [throwing herself into MELNOTTE's arms.] You must leave +us!--Leave Pauline! + +Beau. Not a moment is to be wasted. + +M. Deschap. I will go to the magistrates and inquire-- + +Beau. Then he is lost; the magistrates, hearing he is suspected, will +order his arrest. + +Mme. Deschap. And I shall not be a princess-dowager! + +Beau. Why not? There is only one thing to be done:--send for the +priest--let the marriage take place at once, and the prince carry home +a bride? + +Mel. Impossible!--[Aside.] Villain. + +Mme. Deschap. What, lose my child? + +Beau. And gain a princess! + +Mme Deschap. Oh, Monsieur Beauseant, you are so very kind, it must be +so,--we ought not to be selfish, my daughter's happiness at stake. She +will go away, too, in a carriage and six! + +Pauline. Thou art here still,--I cannot part from my heart will break. + +Mel. But thou wilt not consent to this hasty union?--thou wilt not wed +an outcast--a fugitive? + +Pauline. Ah! if thou art in danger, who should share it but Pauline? + +Mel. [aside]. Distraction!--If the earth could swallow me! + +M. Deschap. Gently! gently! The settlements--the contracts--my +daughter's dowry! + +Mel. The dowry!--I am not base enough for that; no, not one farthing! + +Beau. [to MADAM]. Noble fellow!--Really your good husband is too +mercantile in these matters. Monsieur Deschappelles, you hear his +highness: we can arrange the settlements by proxy; 'tis the way with +people of quality. + +M. Deschap. But-- + +Mme. Deschap. Hold your tongue!--Don't expose yourself! + +Beau. I will bring the priest in a trice. Go in all of you and prepare; +the carriage shall be at the door before the ceremony is over. + +Mme. Deschap. Be sure there are six horses, Beauseant! You are very good +to have forgiven us for refusing you; but you see--a prince! + +Beau. And such a prince! Madam, I cannot blush at the success of so +illustrious a rival.--[Aside.] Now will I follow them to the village, +enjoy my triumph, and to-morrow, in the hour of thy shame and grief, +I think, proud girl, thou wilt prefer even these arms to those of the +gardener's son. [Exit. + +Mme. Deschap. Come, Monsieur Deschappelles, give your arm to her +highness that is to be. + +M. Deschap. I don't like doing business in such a hurry; 'tis not the +way with the house of Deschappelles & Co. + +Mme. Deschap. There, now, you fancy you are in the counting-house, don't +you? + +[Pushes him to PAULINE. + +Mel. Stay, stay, Pauline--one word. Have you no scruple, no fear? +Speak--it is not yet too late. + +Pauline. When I loved thee, thy fate became mine. Triumph or danger-- +joy or sorrow--I am by thy side. + +Damas. Well, well, prince, thou art a lucky man to be so loved. She is +a good little girl in spite of her foibles make her as happy as if she +were not to be a princess [slapping him on the shoulder]. Come, sir, I +wish you joy--young tender--lovely;--zounds, I envy you! + +Mel. [who has stood apart in gloomy abstraction]. Do you?* + + (* On the stage the following lines are added:--) + + "Do you? Wise judges are we of each other. + 'Woo, wed, and bear her home! So runs the bond + To which I sold myself,--and then--what then? + Away?--I will not look beyond the hour. + Like children in the dark, I dare not face + The shades that gather sound me in the distance. + You envy me--I thank you--you may read + My joy upon my brow--I thank you, sir! + If hearts had audible language, you would hear + What mine would answer when you talk of ENVY!" + + + + +ACT III.--SCENE I. + +The exterior of the Golden Leon--time, twilight. The moon rises during +the scene. + +Enter Landlord and his Daughter from the Inn. + +Land. Ha--ha--ha! Well, I never shall get over it. Our Claude is a +prince with a vengeance now. His carriage breaks down at my inn--ha--ha! + +Janet. And what airs the young lady gives herself! "Is this the best +room you have, young woman?" with such a toss of the head. + +Land. Well, get in, Janet: get in and see to the supper: the servants +must sup before they go back. [Exeunt. + +Enter BEAUSEANT and GLAVIS. + +Beau. You see our princess is lodged at last--one stage more, and +she'll be at her journey's end--the beautiful palace at the foot of the +Alps!--ha--ha! + +Gla. Faith, I pity the poor Pauline--especially if she's going to sup +at the Golden Lion [makes a wry face]. I shall never forget that cursed +ragout. + +Enter MELNOTTE from the Inn. + +Beau. Your servant, my prince; you reigned most worthily, I condole with +you on your abdication. I am afraid that your highness's retinue are not +very faithful servants. I think they will quit you in the moment of +your fall 'tis the fate of greatness. But you are welcome to your fine +clothes--also the diamond snuff-box, which Louis XIV. gave to your +great-great-grandmother. + +Gla. And the ring, with which your grandfather the Dodge of Venice +married the Adriatic. + +Mel. I have kept my oath, gentlemen--say, have I kept my oath? + +Beau. Most religiously. + +Mel. Then you have done with me and mine--away with you! + +Beau. How, knave? + +Mel. Look you, our bond is over. Proud conquerors that we are, we have +won the victory over a simple girl compromised her honor--embittered +her life--blasted, in their very blossoms, all the flowers of her youth. +This is your triumph,--it is my shame! [Turns to BEAUSEANT.] Enjoy thy +triumph, but not in my sight. I was her betrayer--I am her protector! +Cross but her path--one word of scorn, one look of insult--nay, but one +quiver of that mocking lip, and I will teach thee that bitter word thou +hast graven eternally in this heart--Repentance. + +Beau. His highness is most grandiloquent. + +Mel. Highness me no more! Beware! Remorse has made me a new being. Away +with you! There is danger in me. Away! + +Gla. [aside]. He's an awkward fellow to deal with: come away, Beauseant. + +Beau. I know the respect clue to rank. Adieu, my prince. Any commands at +Lyons? Yet hold--I promised you 200 Louis on your wedding-day; here they +are. + +Mel. [dashing the purse to the ground]. I gave you revenge, I did not +sell it. Take up your silver, Judas; take it. Ay, it is fit you should +learn to stoop. + +Beau. You will beg my pardon for this some clay. [Aside to GLAVIS.] Come +to my chateau--I shall return hither to morrow, to learn how Pauline +likes her new dignity. + +Mel. Are you not gone yet? + +Beau. Your highness's most obedient, most faithful + +Gla. And most humble servants. Ha! ha! [Exeunt BEAUSEANT and GLAVIS. + +Mel. Thank heaven I had no weapon, or I should have slain them. Wretch! +what can I say? Where turn? On all sides mockery--the very boors +within--[Laughter from the Inn].--'Sdeath, if even in this short absence +the exposure should have chanced. I will call her. We will go hence. I +have already sent one I can trust to my mother's house. There, at least, +none can insult her agony--gloat upon her shame! There alone must she +learn what a villain she has sworn to love. [As he turns to the door +enter PAULINE from the Inn. + +Pauline. Ah! my lord, what a place! I never saw such rude people. They +stare and wink so. I think the very sight of a prince, though he travels +incognito, turns their honest heads. What a pity the carriage should +break down in such a spot! You are not well--the drops stand on your +brow--your hand is feverish. + +Mel. Nay, it is but a passing spasm;--the air + +Pauline. Is not the soft air of your native south--How pale he +is!--indeed thou art not well. Where are our people? I will call them. + +Mel. Hold! I--I am well. + + Pauline. Thou art!--Ah! now I know it. + Thou fanciest, my kind lord--I know thou dost-- + Thou fanciest these rude walls, these rustic gossips, + Brick'd floors, sour wine, coarse viands, vex Pauline; + And so they might, but thou art by my side, + And I forget all else. + +Enter Landlord, the Servants peeping and laughing over his shoulder. + +Land. My lord--your highness--Will your most noble excellency choose-- + + Mel. Begone, sir! [Exit Landlord laughing. + + Pauline. How could they have learn'd thy rank? + One's servants are so vain!--nay, let it not + Chafe thee, sweet prince!--a few short days and we + Shall see thy palace by its lake of silver, + And--nay, nay, spendthrift, is thy wealth of smiles, + Already drain'd, or dost thou play the miser? + + Mel. Thine eyes would call up smiles in deserts, fair one. + Let us escape these rustics: close at hand + There is a cot, where I have bid prepare + Our evening lodgment--a rude, homely roof, + But honest, where our welcome will not be + Made torture by the vulgar eyes and tongues + That are as death to Love! A heavenly night! + The wooing air and the soft moon invite us. + Wilt walk? I pray thee, now,--I know the path, + Ay, every inch of it! + + Pauline. What, thou! Methought + Thou wert a stranger in these parts? Ah, truant, + Some village beauty lured thee;--thou art now + Grown constant? + +Mel. Trust me. + +Pauline. Princes are so changeful! + +Mel. Come, dearest, come. + +Pauline. Shall I not call our people To light us? + +Mel. Heaven will lend its stars for torches! It is not far. + +Pauline. The night breeze chills me. + +Mel. Nay, Let me thus mantle thee;--it is not cold. + +Pauline. Never beneath thy smile! + +Mel. [aside.] O Heaven! forgive me! [Exeunt + +SCENE II. + +MELNOTTE'S cottage--Widow bustling about--a table spread for supper. + +Widow. So, I think that looks very neat. He sent me a line, so blotted +that I can scarcely read it, to say he would be here almost immediately. +She must have loved him well indeed to have forgotten his birth; for +though he was introduced to her in disguise, he is too honorable not to +have revealed to her the artifice, which her love only could forgive. +Well, I do not wonder at it; for though my son is not a prince, he ought +to be one, and that's almost as good, [Knock at the door.] Ah! here they +are. + +Enter MELNOTTE and PAULINE. + +Widow. Oh, my boy--the pride of my heart!--welcome, welcome! I beg +pardon, ma'am, but I do love him so! + +Pauline. Good woman, I really--why prince, what is this?--does the old +lady know you? Oh, I guess, you have done her some service. Another +proof of your kind heart? is it not? + +Mel. Of my kind heart, ay! + +Pauline. So you know the prince? + +Widow. Know him, madam?--Ah, I begin to fear it is you who know him not! + +Pauline. Do you think she is mad? Can we stay here, my lord? I think +there's something very wild about her. + +Mel. Madam, I--no, I cannot tell her; my knees knock together: what a +coward is a man who has lost his honor! Speak to her--speak to her [to +his mother]--tell her that--O Heaven, that I were dead! + +Pauline. How confused he looks!--this strange place?--this woman--what +can it mean?--I half suspect--Who are you, madam!--who are you! can't +you speak? are you struck dumb? + +Widow. Claude, you have not deceived her?--Ah, shame upon you! I +thought that, before you went to the altar, she was to have known all. + +Pauline. All! what!--My blood freezes in my veins! + +Widow. Poor lady!--dare I tell her, Claude? [MELNOTTE makes a sign of +assent.] Know you not then, madam, that this young man is of poor though +honest parents? Know you not that you are wedded to my son, Claude +Melnotte? + +Pauline. Your son! hold--hold! do not speak to me.--[Approaches +MELNOTTE, and lays her hand on his arm.]--Is this a jest? is it? I know +it is, only speak--one word--one look one smile. I cannot believe--I +who loved thee so--I cannot believe that thou art such a--No, I will not +wrong thee by a harsh word--Speak! + +Mel. Leave us--have pity on her, on me: leave us. + +Widow. Oh, Claude, that I should live to see thee bowed by shame! thee +of whom I was so proud! [Exit by the staircase. + +Pauline. Her son--her son! + +Mel. Now, lady, hear me. + +Pauline. Hear thee! Ay, speak--her son! have fiends a parent? speak, +That thou mayst silence curses--speak! + +Mel. No, curse me: Thy curse would blast me less than thy forgiveness. + + Pauline [laughing wildly]. + "This is thy palace, where the perfumed light + Steals through the mist of alabaster lamps, + And every air is heavy with the sighs + Of orange-groves, and music from the sweet lutes, + And murmurs of low fountains, that gush forth + I' the midst of roses!" Dost thou like the picture? + This is my bridal home, and thou my bridegroom. + O fool--O dupe--O wretch!--I see it all + Thy by-word and the jeer of every tongue + In Lyons. Hast thou in thy heart one touch + Of human kindness? if thou hast, why, kill me, + And save thy wife from madness. No, it cannot + It cannot be: this is some horrid dream: + I shall wake soon.--[Touching him.] Art flesh art man? or but + The shadows seen in sleep? It is too real. + What have I done to thee? how sinn'd against thee, + That thou shouldst crush me thus? + + Mel. Pauline, by pride + Angels have fallen ere thy time: by pride + That sole alloy of thy most lovely mould + The evil spirit of a bitter love, + And a revengeful heart, had power upon thee. + From my first years my soul was fill'd with thee: + I saw thee midst the flow'rs the lowly boy + Tended, unmark'd by thee--a spirit of bloom, + And joy, and freshness, as if Spring itself + Were made a living thing, and wore thy shape! + I saw thee, and the passionate heart of man + Enter'd the breast of the wild-dreaming boy. + And from that hour I grew--what to the last + I shall be--thine adorer! Well, this love + Vain, frantic, guilty, if thou wilt, became + A fountain of ambition and bright hope; + I thought of tales that by the winter hearth + Old gossips tell--how maidens sprung from kings + Have stoop'd from their high sphere; how love, like death + Levels all ranks, and lays the shepherd's crook + Beside the sceptre. Thus I made my home + In the soft palace of a fairy Future! + My father died; and I, the peasant-born, + Was my own lord. Then did I seek to rise + Out of the prison of my mean estate; + And, with such jewels as the exploring mind + Brings from the caves of knowledge, buy my ransom + From those twin gaolers of the daring heart + Low birth and iron fortune. Thy bright image + Glass'd in my soul, took all the hues of glory, + And lured me on to those inspiring toils + By which man masters men! For thee I grew + A midnight student o'er the dreams of sages. + For thee I sought to borrow from each grace, + And every muse, such attributes as lend + Ideal charms to love. I thought of thee, + And passion taught me poesy--of thee, + And on the painter's canvas grew the life + Of beauty! Art became the shadow + Of the dear starlight of thy haunting eyes + Men call'd me vain--some mad--I heeded not; + But still toil'd on--hoped on--for it was sweet, + If not to win, to feel more worthy thee? + + Pauline. Has he a magic to exorcise hate! + + Mel. At last, in one mad hour, I dared to pour + The thoughts that burst their channels into song, + And sent them to thee--such a tribute, lady, + As beauty rarely scorns, even from the meanest. + The name--appended by the burning heart + That long'd to show its idol what bright things + It had created--yea, the enthusiast's name, + That should have been thy triumph, was thy scorn! + That very hour--when passion, turn'd to wrath, + Resembled hatred most--when thy disdain + Made my whole soul a chaos--in that hour + The tempters found me a revengeful tool + For their revenge! Thou hadst trampled on the worm + It turn'd and stung thee! + + Pauline. Love, sir, hath no sting. + What was the slight of a poor powerless girl + To the deep wrong of this most vile revenge? + Oh, how I loved this man!--a serf!--a slave! + + Mel. Hold, lady! No, not slave! Despair is free! + I will not tell thee of the throes--the struggles + The anguish--the remorse: No, let it pass! + And let me come to such most poor atonement + Yet in my power. Pauline! + + [Approaching her with great emotion, and about to take her hand. + + Pauline. No, touch me not! + I know my fate. You are, by law, my tyrant; + And I--O Heaven!--a peasant's wife! I'll work + Toil--drudge--do what thou wilt--but touch me not; + Let my wrongs make me sacred! + + Mel. Do not fear me. + Thou dost not know me, madam: at the altar + My vengeance ceased--my guilty oath expired! + Henceforth, no image of some marble saint, + Niched in cathedral aisles, is hallow'd more + From the rude hand of sacrilegious wrong. + I am thy husband--nay, thou need'st not shudder; + Here, at thy feet, I lay a husband's rights. + A marriage thus unholy--unfulfill'd-- + A bond of fraud--is, by the laws of France, + Made void and null. To-night sleep--sleep in peace. + To-morrow, pure and virgin as this morn + I bore thee, bathed in blushes, from the shrine, + Thy father's arms shall take thee to thy home. + The law shall do thee justice, and restore + Thy right to bless another with thy love. + And when thou art happy, and hast half forgot + Him who so loved--so wrong'd thee, think at least + Heaven left some remnant of the angel still + In that poor peasant's nature! + + Ho! my mother! [Enter Widow. + + Conduct this lady--(she is not my wife; + She is our guest,--our honor'd guest, my mother)-- + To the poor chamber, where the sleep of virtue, + Never, beneath my father's honest roof, + Ev'n villains dared to mar! Now, lady, now, + I think thou wilt believe me. Go, my mother! + +Widow. She is not thy wife! + +Mel. Hush, hush! for mercy's sake! Speak not, but go. + +[Widow ascends the stairs; PAULINE follows weeping--turns to look back. + +Mel. [sinking down]. All angels bless and guard her! + + + + +ACT IV.--SCENE I. + +The cottage as before--MELNOTTE seated before a table--writing +implements, etc.--(Day breaking.) + +Mel. Hush, hush!--she sleeps at last!--thank Heaven, for a while she +forgets even that I live! Her sobs, which have gone to my heart the +whole, long, desolate night, have ceased!--all calm--all still! I will +go now; I will send this letter to Pauline's father: when he arrives, +I will place in his hands my own consent to the divorce, and then, O +France! my country! accept among thy protectors, thy defenders--the +peasant's Son! Our country is less proud than custom, and does not +refuse the blood, the heart, the right hand of the poor man. + +Enter Widow. + +Widow. My son, thou hast acted ill; but sin brings its own punishment. +In the hour of thy remorse, it is not for a mother to reproach thee. + +Mel. What is past is past. There is a future left to all men, who have +the virtue to repent, and the energy to atone. Thou shalt be proud of +thy son yet. Meanwhile, remember this poor lady has been grievously +injured. For the sake of thy son's conscience, respect, honor, bear with +her. If she weep, console--if she chide, be silent. 'Tis but a little +while more--I shall send an express fast as horse can speed to her +father. Farewell! I shall return shortly. + +Widow. It is the only course left to thee--thou wert led astray, but +thou art not hardened. Thy heart is right still, as ever it was when, in +thy most ambitious hopes thou wert never ashamed of thy poor mother. + +Mel. Ashamed of thee; No, if I yet endure, yet live, yet hope,--it is +only because I would not die till I have redeemed the noble heritage I +have lost--the heritage I took unstained from thee and my dead father--a +proud conscience and an honest name. I shall win them back yet--heaven +bless you! [Exit. + +Widow. My dear Claude! How my heart bleeds for him. + +[PAULINE looks down from above, and after a pause descends + +Pauline. Not here!--he spares me that pain at least: so far he is +considerate--yet the place seems still more desolate without him. +Oh, that I could hate him--the gardener's son!--and yet how nobly +he--no--no--no I will not be so mean a thing as to forgive him! + +Widow. Good morning, madam; I would have waited on you if I had known +you were stirring. + +Pauline. It is no matter, ma'am--your son's wife ought to wait on +herself. + +Widow. My son's wife--let not that thought vex you, madam--he tells +me that you will have your divorce. And I hope I shall live to see him +smile again. There are maidens in this village, young and fair, madam, +who may yet console him. + +Pauline. I dare say--they are very welcome--and when the divorce is +got--he will marry again. I am sure I hope so. [Weeps. + +Widow. He could have married the richest girl in the province, if he +had pleased it; but his head was turned, poor child! he could think of +nothing but you. [Weeps. + +Pauline. Don't weep, mother. + +Widow. Ah, he has behaved very ill, I know, but love is so headstrong in +the young. Don't weep, madam. + +Pauline. So, as you were saying--go on. + +Widow. Oh, I cannot excuse him, ma'am--he was not in his right senses. + +Pauline. But he always--always [sobbing] loved--loved me then? + +Widow. He thought of nothing else. See here--he learnt to paint that +he might take your likeness [uncovers the picture]. But that's all over +now--I trust you have cured him of his folly;--but, dear heart, you have +had no breakfast! + +Pauline. I can't take anything--don't trouble yourself. + +Widow. Nay, madam, be persuaded; a little coffee will refresh you. Our +milk and eggs are excellent. I will get out Claude's coffee-cup--It +is of real Sevres; he saved up all his money to buy it three years ago, +because the name of Pauline was inscribed on it. + +Pauline. Three years ago! Poor Claude!--Thank you; I think I will have +some coffee. Oh! if he were but a poor gentleman, even a merchant: but a +gardener's son--and what a home!--Oh no,--it is too dreadful! + +They seat themselves at the table, BEAUSEANT opens the lattice and looks +in. + +Beau. So--so--the coast is clear! I saw Claude in the lane--I shall +have an excellent opportunity. [Shuts the lattice and knocks at the door. + +Pauline. [starting]. Can it be my father?--he has not sent for--him +yet? No, he cannot be in such a hurry to get rid of me. + +Widow. It is not time for your father to arrive yet; it must be some +neighbor. + +Pauline. Don't admit any one. + +[Widow opens the door, BEAUSEANT pushes her aside and enters. Ha! +Heavens! that hateful Beauseant! This is indeed bitter! + +Beau. Good morning, madam! O widow, your son begs you will have the +goodness to go to him in the village he wants to speak to you on +particular business; you'll find him at the inn, or the grocer's shop, +or the baker's, or at some other friend's of your family--make haste. + +Pauline. Don't leave me, mother!--don't leave me. + +Beau. [with great respect]. Be not alarmed, madam. Believe me your +friend--your servant. + +Pauline. Sir, I have no fear of you, even in this house! Go, madam, if +your son wishes it; I will not contradict his commands whilst, at least +he has still the right to be obeyed. + +Widow. I don't understand this; however, I sha'n't be long gone. [Exit. + +Pauline. Sir, I divine the object of your visit--you wish to exult +in the humiliation of one who humbled you. Be it so; I am prepared to +endure all--even your presence! + +Beau. You mistake me, madam--Pauline, you mistake me! I come to lay +my fortune at your feet. You must already be disenchanted with this +impostor; these walls are not worthy to be hallowed by your beauty! +Shall that form be clasped in the arms of a base-born peasant? Beloved, +beautiful Pauline! fly with me--my carriage waits without--I will bear +you to a home more meet for your reception. Wealth, luxury, station--all +shall yet be yours. I forget your past disdain--I remember only your +beauty and my unconquerable love! + +Pauline. Sir! leave this house--it is humble: but a husband's roof, +however lowly, is, in the eyes of God and man, the temple of a wife's +honor! Know that I would rather starve--yes--with him who has betrayed +me, than accept your lawful hand, even were you the prince whose name he +bore.--Go. + +Beau. What! is not your pride humbled yet? + +Pauline. Sir, what was pride in prosperity in affliction becomes virtue. + +Beau. Look round: these rugged floors--these homely walls--this +wretched struggle of poverty for comfort--think of this! and contrast +with such a picture the refinement, the luxury, the pomp, that the +wealthiest gentleman of Lyons offers to the loveliest lady. Ah, hear me! + +Pauline. Oh! my father!--why did I leave you?--why am I thus friendless? +Sir, you see before you a betrayed, injured, miserable woman!--respect +her anguish. + +[MELNOTTE opens the door silently, and pauses at the threshold. + +Beau. No! let me rather thus console it; let me snatch from those lips +one breath of that fragrance which never should be wasted on the low +churl thy husband. + +Pauline. Help! Claude!--Claude!--Have I no protector?' + +Beau. Be silent! [showing a pistol.] See, I do not come unprepared even +for violence. I will brave all things--thy husband and all his race-- +for thy sake. Thus, then, I clasp thee! + +Mel. [dashing him to the other end of the stage]. Pauline--look up, +Pauline! thou art safe. + +Beau. [levelling his pistol]. Dare you thus insult a man of my birth, +ruffian? + +Pauline. Oh, spare him--spare my husband!--Beauseant--Claude--no--no +[faints]. + +Mel. Miserable trickster! shame upon you! brave devices to terrify a +woman! Coward!--you tremble--you have outraged the laws--you know that +your weapon is harmless--you have the courage of the mountebank, not the +bravo!--Pauline, there is no danger. + +Beau. I wish thou wert a gentleman--as it is, thou art beneath me.-- +Good day, and a happy honeymoon.--[Aside.] I will not die till I am +avenged. [Exit. + + Mel. I hold her in these arms--the last embrace + Never, ah never more, shall this dear head + Be pillow'd on the heart that should have shelter'd + And has betray'd!--Soft--soft! one kiss--poor wretch! + No scorn on that pale lip forbids me now! + One kiss--so ends all record of my crime! + It is the seal upon the tomb of hope, + By which, like some lost, sorrowing angel, sits + Sad memory evermore; she breathes--she moves + She wakes to scorn, to hate, but not to shudder + Beneath the touch of my abhorred love. + Places her on a seat. There--we are strangers now! + + Pauline. All gone--all calm + Is every thing a dream? thou art safe, unhurt + I do not love thee;--but--but I am woman, + And--and--no blood is spilt? + +Mel. No, lady, no; My guilt hath not deserved so rich a blessing As even +danger in thy cause. + +Enter WIDOW. + +Widow. My son, I have been everywhere in search of you; why did you send +for me? + +Mel. I did not send for you. + +Widow. No! but I must tell you your express has returned. + +Mel. So soon! impossible! + +Widow. Yes, he met the lady's father and mother on the road; they were +going into the country on a visit. Your messenger says that Monsieur +Deschappelles turned almost white with anger when he read your letter. +They will be here almost immediately. Oh, Claude, Claude! what will they +do to you? How I tremble! Ah, madam! do not let them injure him--if you +knew how he doated on you. + +Pauline. Injure him! no, ma'am, be not afraid;--my father! how shall +I meet him? how go back to Lyons? the scoff of the whole city! +Cruel, cruel, Claude [in great agitation]. Sir, you have acted most +treacherously. + +Mel. I know it, madam. + +Pauline [aside.] If he would but ask me to forgive him!--I never can +forgive you, sir. + +Mel. I never dared to hope it. + +Pauline. But you are my husband now, and I have sworn to--to love you, +sir. + +Mel. That was under a false belief, madam; Heaven and the laws will +release you from your vow. + +Pauline. He will drive me mad! if he were but less proud--if he +would but ask me to remain--hark, hark--I hear the wheels of the +carriage--Sir--Claude, they are coming; have you no word to say ere it +is loo late? Quick speak. + +Mel. I can only congratulate you on your release. Behold your parents + +Enter MONSIEUR and MADAME DESCHAPPELLES and COLONEL DAMAS. + +M. Deschap. My child! my child! + +Mme. Deschap. Oh, my poor Pauline!--what a villanous hovel this is! Old +woman, get me a chair--I shall faint I certainly shall. What will the +world say? Child, you have been a fool. A mother's heart is easily +broken. + +Damas. Ha, ha! most noble Prince--I am sorry to see a man of your +quality in such a condition; I am afraid your highness will go to the +House of Correction. + +Mel. Taunt on, sir; I spared you when you were unarmed--I am unarmed +now. A man who has no excuse for crime is indeed defenceless! + +Damas. There's something fine in the rascal, after all! + +M. Deschap. Where is the impostor?--Are you thus shameless, traitor? Can +you brave the presence of that girl's father? + +Mel. Strike me, if it please you--you are her father. + +Pauline. Sir--sir, for my sake; whatever his guilt, he has acted nobly +in atonement. + +Mme. Deschap. Nobly! Are you mad, girl? I have no patience with you-- +to disgrace all your family thus! Nobly! Oh you abominable, hardened, +pitiful, mean, ugly villain! + +Damas. Ugly! Why he was beautiful yesterday! + +Pauline. Madame, this is his roof, and he is my husband. Respect your +daughter, or let blame fall alone on her. + +Mme. Deschap. You--you--Oh, I'm choking. + +M. Deschap. Sir, it were idle to waste reproach upon a conscience like +yours--you renounce all pretensions to the person of this lady? + +Mel. I do. [Gives a paper.] Here is my consent to a divorce--my full +confession of the fraud which annuls the marriage. Your daughter has +been foully wronged--I grant it, sir; but her own lips will tell you +that, from the hour in which she crossed this threshold, I returned +to my own station, and respected hers. Pure and inviolate, as when +yestermorn you laid your hand upon her head, and blessed her, I yield +her back to you. For myself--I deliver you for ever from my presence. +An outcast and a criminal, I seek some distant land, where I may mourn +my sin, and pray for your daughter's peace. Farewell--farewell to you +all, for ever! + +Willow. Claude, Claude, you will not leave your poor old mother? She +does not disown you in your sorrow no, not even in your guilt. No +divorce can separate a mother from her son. + +Pauline. This poor widow teaches me my duty. No, mother,--no, for you +are now my mother also!--nor should any law, human or divine, separate +the wife from her husband's sorrows. Claude--Claude--all is forgotten +forgiven--I am thine for ever! + +Mme. Deschap. What do I hear?--Come away, or never see my face again. + +M. Deschap. Pauline, we never betrayed you!--do you forsake us for him? + +Pauline. [going back to her father]. Oh no--but you will forgive him +too; we will live together--he shall be your son. + +M. Deschap. Never! Cling to him and forsake your parents! His home shall +be yours--his fortune yours--his fate yours: the wealth I have acquired +by honest industry shall never enrich the dishonest man. + +Pauline. And you would have a wife enjoy luxury while a husband toils! +Claude, take me; thou canst not give me wealth, titles, station--but +thou canst give me a true heart I will work for thee, tend thee, bear +with thee, and never, never shall these lips reproach thee for the past. + +Damas. I'll be hanged if I am not going to blubber! + +Mel. This is the heaviest blow of all!--What a heart I have wronged!-- +Do not fear me, sir; I am not all hardened--I will not rob her of a +holier love than mine. Pauline!--angel of love and mercy!--your memory +shall lead me back to virtue!--The husband of a being so beautiful in +her noble and sublime tenderness may be poor--may be low born;--(there +is no guilt in the decrees of providence!)--but he should be one who +can look thee in the face without a blush,--to whom thy love does not +bring remorse,--who can fold thee to his heart, and say,--"Here there is +no deceit!" I am not that man! + +Damas. [aside to MELNOTTE]. Thou art a noble fellow, notwithstanding; +and wouldst make an excellent soldier. Serve in my regiment. I have had +a letter from the Directory--our young general takes the command of the +army in Italy,--I am to join him at Marseilles, I will depart this day, +if thou wilt go with me. + +Mel. It is the favor I would have asked thee, if I dared. Place me +wherever a foe is most dreaded,--wherever France most needs a life! + +Damas. There shall not be a forlorn hope without thee! + +Mel. There is my hand!--mother, your blessing. I shall see you again,--a +better man than a prince,--a man who has bought the right to high +thoughts by brave deeds. And thou!--thou! so wildly worshipped, so +guiltily betrayed, all is not yet lost!--for thy memory, at least, +must be mine till death! If I live, the name of him thou hast once loved +shall not rest dishonored;--if I fall, amidst the carnage and the roar +of battle, my soul will fly back to thee, and love shall share with +death my last sigh!--More--more would I speak to thee!--to pray!--to +bless! But no; When I am less unworthy I will utter it to Heaven!--I +cannot trust myself to [turning to DESCHAPPELLES] Your pardon, sir; they +are my last words Farewell! [Exit. + +Damas. I will go after him.--France will thank me for this. + +Pauline [starting from her father's arms]. Claude!--Claude!--my husband! + +M. Deschap. You have a father still! + + + + +ACT V. + +Two years and a half from the date of Act IV. + +SCENE I. + +The Streets of Lyons. + +Enter First, Second, and Third Officers. + +First Officer. Well, here we are at Lyons, with gallant old Damas: it is +his native place. + +Second Officer. Yes; he has gained a step in the army since he was here +last. The Lyonnese ought to be very proud of stout General Damas. + +Third Officer. Promotion is quick in the French army. This +mysterious Morier,--the hero of Lodi, and the favorite of the +commander-in-chief,--has risen to a colonel's rank to two years and a +half. Enter DAMAS, as a General. + +Damas. Good morrow, gentlemen; I hope you will amuse yourselves during +our short stay at Lyons. It is a fine city: improved since I left it. +Ah! it is a pleasure to grow old, when the years that bring decay to +ourselves do but ripen the prosperity of our country. You have not met +with Morier? + +First Officer. No: we were just speaking of him. + +Second Officer. Pray, general, can you tell us who this Morier really +is? + +Damas. Is!--why a colonel in the French army. + +Third Officer. True. But what was he at first? + +Damas. At first? Why a baby in long clothes, I suppose. + +First Officer. Ha, ha! Ever facetious, general. + +Second Officer. [to Third]. The general is sore upon this point; you +will only chafe him.--Any commands, general? + +Damas. None. Good day to you. [Exeunt Second and Third Officers. + +Damas. Our comrades are very inquisitive. Poor Morier is the subject of +a vast deal of curiosity. + +First Officer. Say interest, rather, general. His constant melancholy, +the loneliness of his habits,--his daring valor, his brilliant rise +in the profession,--your friendship, and the favors of the +commander-in-chief,--all tend to make him as much the matter of gossip +as of admiration. But where is he, general? I have missed him all the +morning. + +Damas. Why, captain, I'll let you into a secret. My young friend has +come with me to Lyons in hopes of finding a miracle. + +First Officer. A miracle! + +Damas. Yes, a miracle! in other words,--a constant woman. + +First Officer. Oh! an affair of love! + +Damas. Exactly so. No sooner did he enter Lyons than he waved his hand +to me, threw himself from his horse, and is now, I warrant, asking every +one who can know anything about the matter, whether a certain lady is +still true to a certain gentleman! + +First Officer. Success to him! and of that success there can be no +doubt. The gallant Colonel Morier, the hero of Lodi, might make his +choice out of the proudest families in France. + +Damas. Oh, if pride be a recommendation, the lady and her mother are +most handsomely endowed. By the way, captain, if you should chance to +meet with Morier, tell him he will find me at the hotel. + +First Officer. I will, general. [Exit. + +Damas. Now will I go to the Deschappelles, and make a report to my young +Colonel. Ha! by Mars, Bacchus, Apollo, Virorum,--here comes Monsieur +Beauseant! + +Enter BEAUSEANT. + +Good morrow, Monsieur Beauseant! How fares it with you? + +Beau. [aside.] Damas! that is unfortunate;--if the Italian campaign +should have filled his pockets, he may seek to baffle me in the moment +of my victory. [Aloud]. Your servant, general,--for such, I think, is +your new distinction! Just arrived in Lyons? + +Damas. Not an hour ago. Well, how go on the Deschappelles? Have they +forgiven you in that affair of young Melnotte? You had some hand in that +notable device,--eh? + +Beau. Why, less than you think for! The fellow imposed upon me. I have +set it all right now. What has become of him? He could not have joined +the army, after all. There is no such name in the books. + +Damas. I know nothing about Melnotte. As you say, I never heard the name +in the Grand Army. + +Beau. Hem!--You are not married, general? + +Damas. Do I look like a married man, sir?--No, thank Heaven! My +profession is to make widows, not wives. + +Beau. You must have gained much booty in Italy! Pauline will be your +heiress--eh? + +Damas. Booty! Not I! Heiress to what? Two trunks and a portmanteau,-- +four horses,--three swords, two suits of regimentals, and six pair of +white leather inexpressibles! A pretty fortune for a young lady! + +Beau. [aside.] Then all is safe! [Aloud]. Ha! ha! Is that really all +your capital, General Damas? Why, I thought Italy had been a second +Mexico to you soldiers. + +Damas. All a toss-up, sir. I was not one of the lucky ones! My friend +Morier, indeed, saved something handsome. But our commander-in-chief +took care of him, and Morier is a thrifty, economical dog,--not like the +rest of us soldiers, who spend our money as carelessly as if it were our +blood. + +Beau. Well, it is no matter! I do not want fortune with Pauline. And you +must know, General Damas, that your fair cousin has at length consented +to reward my long and ardent attachment. + +Damas. You!--the devil! Why, she is already married! There is no +divorce! + +Beau. True; but this very day she is formally to authorize the necessary +proceedings, this very day she is to sign the contract that is to make +her mine within one week from the day on which her present illegal +marriage is annulled. + +Damas. You tell me wonders!--Wonders! No; I believe anything of women! + +Beau. I must wish you good morning. [As he is going, enter +DESCHAPPELLES. + +M. Deschap. Oh, Beauseant! well met. Let us come to the notary at once. + +Damas [to Deschap.]. Why, cousin! + +M. Deschap. Damas, welcome to Lyons. Pray call on us; my wife will be +delighted to see you. + +Damas. Your wife be-blessed for her condescension! But [taking him +aside] what do I hear? Is it possible that your daughter has consented +to a divorce?--that she will marry Monsieur Beauseant? + +M. Deschap. Certainly. What have you to say against it? A gentleman of +birth, fortune, character. We are not so proud as we were; even my wife +has had enough of nobility and princes! + +Damas. But Pauline loved that young man so tenderly! + +M. Deschap. [taking snuff]. That was two years and a half ago. + +Damas. Very true. Poor Melnotte! + +M. Deschap. But do not talk of that impostor; I hope he is dead or has +left the country. Nay, even were he in Lyons at this moment, he ought +to rejoice that, in an honorable and suitable alliance, my daughter may +forget her sufferings and his crime. + +Damas.--Nay, if it be all settled, I have no more to say. Monsieur +Beauseant informs me that the contract is to be signed this very day. + +M. Deschap, It is; at one o'clock precisely. Will you be one of the +witnesses? + +Damas. I?--No; that is to say--yes, certainly!--at one o'clock I will +wait on you. + +M. Deschap. Till then, adieu--come Beauseant. + +[Exeunt BEAUSEANT and DESCHAPELLES + + Damas. The man who sets his heart upon a woman + Is a chameleon, and doth feed on air; + From air he takes his colors--holds his life,-- + Changes with every wind,--grows lean or fat, + Rosy with hope, or green with jealousy, + Or pallid with despair--just as the gale + Varies from North to South--from heat to cold! + Oh, woman! woman! thou shouldst have few sins + Of thine own to answer for! Thou art the author + Of such a book of follies in a man, + That it would need the tears of all the angels + To blot the record out! + +[Enter MELNOTTE, pale and agitated. + +I need not tell thee! Thou hast heard-- + +Mel. The worst! I have! + +Damas. Be cheer'd; others are fair as she is! + + Mel. Others! The world is crumbled at my feet! + She was my world; fill'd up the whole of being-- + Smiled in the sunshine--walk'd the glorious earth-- + Sate in my heart--was the sweet life of life. + The Past was hers; I dreamt not of a Future + That did not wear her shape! Mem'ry and Hope + Alike are gone. Pauline is faithless! Henceforth + The universal space is desolate! + +Damas. Hope yet. + + Mel. Hope, yes!--one hope is left me still-- + A soldier's grave! Glory has died with love. + I look into my heart, and, where I saw + Pauline, see Death! + + [After a pause].--But am I not deceived? + I went but by the rumor of the town; + Rumor is false,--I was too hasty! Damas, + Whom hast thou seen? + +Damas. Thy rival and her father. Arm thyself for the truth.--He heeds +not. + +Mel. She. + + Will never know how deeply she was loved! + The charitable night, that wont to bring + Comfort to-day, in bright and eloquent dreams, + Is henceforth leagued with misery! Sleep, farewell, + Or else become eternal! Oh, the waking + From false oblivion, and to see the sun, + And know she is another's! + +Damas. Be a man! + + Mel. I am a man!--it is the sting of woe + Like mine that tells us we are men! + + Damas. The false one + Did not deserve thee. + + Mel. Hush!--No word against her! + Why should she keep, through years and silent absence, + The holy tablets of her virgin faith + True to a traitor's name! Oh, blame her not; + It were a sharper grief to think her worthless + Than to be what I am! To-day,--to-day! + They, said "To-day!" This day, so wildly welcomed-- + This clay, my soul had singled out of time + And mark'd for bliss! This day! oh, could I see her, + See her once more unknown; but hear her voice. + So that one echo of its music might + Make ruin less appalling in its silence. + + Damas. Easily done! Come with me to her house; + Your dress--your cloak--moustache--the bronzed hues + Of time and toil--the name you bear--belief + In your absence, all will ward away suspicion. + Keep in the shade. Ay, I would have you come + There may be hope? Pauline is yet so young, + They may have forced her to these second bridals + Out of mistaken love. + + Mel. No, bid me hope not! + Bid me not hope! I could not bear again + To fall from such a heaven! One gleam of sunshine, + And the ice breaks and I am lost! Oh, Damas, + There's no such thing as courage in a man; + The veriest slave that ever crawl'd from danger + Might spurn me now. When first I lost her, Damas, + I bore it, did I not? I still had hope, + And now I--I-- [Bursts into an agony of grief. + + Damas. What, comrade! all the women + That ever smiled destruction on brave hearts + Were not worth tears like these! + + Mel. 'Tis past--forget it. + I am prepared; life has no further ills! + The cloud has broken in that stormy rain, + And on the waste I stand, alone with Heaven. + + Damas. His very face is changed; a breaking heart + Does its work soon!--Come, Melnotte, rouse thyself: + One effort more. Again thou'lt see her. + + Mel. See her! + There is a passion in that simple sentence + That shivers all the pride and power of reason + Into a chaos! + +Damas. Time wanes; come, ere yet It be too late. + +Mel. Terrible words--"Too late!" Lead on. One last look more, and then-- + +Damas. Forget her! + +Mel. Forget her! yes--For death remembers not. [Exeunt. + +SCENE II. + +A room in the house of MONSIEUR DESCHAPPELLES; PAULINE seated in great +dejection. + + Pauline. It is so, then. I must be false to Love, + Or sacrifice a father! Oh, my Claude, + My lover, and my husband! Have I lived + To pray that thou mayest find some fairer boon + Than the deep faith of this devoted heart-- + Nourish'd till now--now broken? + +Enter MONSIEUR DESCHAPPELLES. + + M. Deschap. My dear child, + How shall I thank--how bless thee? Thou hast saved, + I will not say my fortune--I could bear + Reverse, and shrink not--but that prouder wealth + Which merchants value most--my name, my credit-- + The hard--won honors of a toilsome life:-- + These thou hast saved, my child! + + Pauline. Is there no hope? + No hope but this? + + M. Deschap. None. If, without the sum + Which Beauseant offers for thy hand, this day + Sinks to the west--to-morrow brings our ruin! + And hundreds, mingled in that ruin, curse + The bankrupt merchant! and the insolvent herd + We feasted and made merry cry in scorn, + "How pride has fallen!--Lo, the bankrupt merchant!" + My daughter, thou hast saved us! + +Pauline. And am lost! + +M. Deschap. Come, let me hope that Beauseant's love-- + + Pauline. His love! + Talk not of love. Love has no thought of self! + Love buys not with the ruthless usurer's gold + The loathsome prostitution of a hand + Without a heart? Love sacrifices all things + To bless the thing it loves! He knows not love. + Father, his love is hate--his hope revenge! + My tears, my anguish, my remorse for falsehood-- + These are the joys that he wrings from our despair! + + M. Deschap. If thou deem'st thus, reject him! Shame and ruin + Were better than thy misery;--think no more on't. + My sand is wellnigh run--what boots it when + The glass is broken? We'll annul the contract: + And if to-morrow in the prisoner's cell + These aged limbs are laid, why still, my child, + I'll think thou art spared; and wait the Liberal Hour + That lays the beggar by the side of kings! + + Pauline, No--no--forgive me! You, my honor'd father,-- + You, who so loved, so cherish'd me, whose lips + Never knew one harsh word! I'm not ungrateful; + I am but human!--hush! Now, call the bridegroom-- + You see I am prepared--no tears--all calm; + But, father, talk no more of love + + M. Deschap. My child, + Tis but one struggle; he is young, rich, noble; + Thy state will rank first 'mid the dames of Lyons; + And when this heart can shelter thee no more, + Thy youth will not be guardianless. + + Pauline. I have set + My foot upon the ploughshare--I will pass + The fiery ordeal. [Aside.] Merciful Heaven, support me; + And on the absent wanderer shed the light + Of happier stars--lost evermore to me! + +Enter MADAME DESCHAPPELLES, BEAUSEANT, GLAVIS, and Notary. + +Mme. Deschap. Why, Pauline, you are quite in deshabille--you ought to +be more alive to the importance of this joyful occasion. We had once +looked higher, it is true; but you see, after all, Monsieur Beauseant's +father was a Marquis, and that's a great comfort. Pedigree and +jointure!--you have them both in Monsieur Beauseant. A young lady +decorously brought up should only have two considerations in her choice +of a husband; first, is his birth honorable? secondly, will his death +be advantageous? All other trifling details should be left to parental +anxiety. + +Beau. [approaching and waving aside Madame]. Ah, Pauline! let me hope +that you are reconciled to an event which confers such rapture upon me. + +Pauline. I am reconciled to my doom. + +Beau. Doom is a harsh word, sweet lady. + +Pauline [aside.] This man must have some mercy--his heart cannot be +marble. [Aloud.] Oh, sir, be just--be generous! Seize a noble triumph--a +great revenge! Save the father, and spare the child. + +Beau. [aside.] joy--joy alike to my hatred and my passion! The haughty +Pauline is at last my suppliant. [Aloud.] You ask from me what I +have not the sublime virtue to grant--a virtue reserved only for +the gardener's son! I cannot forego my hopes in the moment of their +fulfilment! I adhere to the contract--your father's ruin or your hand. + +Pauline. Then all is over. Sir, I have decided. + +[The clock strikes one. + +Enter DAMAS and MELNOTTE. + +Damas. Your servant, cousin Deschappelles. Let me introduce Colonel +Morier. + +Mme. Deschap. [curtsying very low]. What, the celebrated hero? This is, +indeed, an honor! [MELNOTTE bows, and remains in the background. + +Damas [to Pauline]. My little cousin, I congratulate you. What, no +smile--no blush? You are going to be divorced from poor Melnotte, and +marry this rich gentleman. You ought to be excessively happy! + +Pauline. Happy! + +Damas. Why, how pale you are, child!--Poor Pauline! Hist--confide in me! +Do they force you to this? + +Pauline. No! + +Damas. You act with your own free consent? + +Pauline. My own consent--yes. + +Damas. Then you are the most--I will not say what you are. + +Pauline. You think ill of me--be it so--yet if you knew all-- + +Damas. There is some mystery--speak out, Pauline. + +Pauline [suddenly]. Oh, perhaps you can save me! you are our +relation--our friend. My father is on the verge of bankruptcy--this day +he requires a large sum to meet demands that cannot be denied; that sum +Beauseant will advance--this hand the condition of the barter. Save me +if you have the means--save me! You will be repaid above! + +Damas. aside. I recant--Women are not so bad after all! [Aloud.] Humph, +child! I cannot help you--I am too poor. + +Pauline. The last plank to which I clung is shivered. + +Damas. Hold--you see my friend Morier: Melnotte is his most intimate +friend--fought in the same fields--slept in the same tent. Have you any +message to send to Melnotte? any word to soften this blow? + +Pauline. He knows Melnotte--he will see him--he will bear to him my last +farewell--[approaches MELNOTTE] He has a stern air--he turns away from +me--he despises me!--Sir one word I beseech you. + +Mel. Her voice again! How the old time comes o'er me! + +Damas [to Madame.] Don't interrupt them.--He is going to tell her what a +rascal young Melnotte is; he knows him well, I promise you. + +Mme. Deschap. So considerate in you, cousin Damas! + +[DAMAS approaches DESCHAPPELLES; converses apart with hint in dumb +show--DESCHAPPELLES shows him a paper, which he inspects and takes. + + Pauline. Thrice have I sought to speak; my courage fails me.-- + Sir, is it true that you have known--nay, are + The friend of--Melnotte. + + Mel. Lady, yes!-- + Myself And misery know the man! + + Pauline. And you will see him, + And you will bear to him--ay--word for word, + All that this heart, which breaks in parting from him, + Would send, ere still for ever? + + Mel. He hath told me + You have the right to choose from out the world + A worthier bridegroom;--he forgoes all claim, + Even to murmur at his doom. Speak on! + + Pauline. Tell him, for years I never nursed a thought + That was not his;--that on his wandering way, + Daily and nightly, pour'd a mourner's prayers. + Tell him ev'n now that I would rather share + His lowliest lot,--walk by his side, an outcast-- + Work for him, beg with him,--live upon the light + Of one kind smile from him,--than wear the crown + The Bourbon lost! + + Mel. [aside.] Am I already mad? + And does delirium utter such sweet words + Into a dreamer's ear? [Aloud]. You love him thus, + And yet desert him? + + Pauline. Say, that, if his eye-- + Could read this heart,--its struggles, its temptations,-- + His love itself would pardon that desertion! + Look on that poor old man,--he is my father; + He stands upon the verge of an abyss!-- + He calls his child to save him! Shall I shrink + From him who gave me birth?--withhold my hand, + And see a parent perish? Tell him this, + And say--that we shall meet again in Heaven! + + Mel. Lady--I--I--what is this riddle?--what + The nature of this sacrifice? + + Pauline [pointing to DAMAS]. Go, ask him! + + Beau. [from the table]. The papers are prepared--we only need + Your hand and seal. + + Mel. Stay, lady--one word more. + Were but your duty with your faith united, + Would you still share the low-born peasant's lot? + + Pauline. Would I? Ah, better death with him I love + Than all the pomp--which is but as the flowers + That crown the victim!--[Turning away.] I am ready. + +[MELNOTTE rushes to DAMAS. + +Damas. There--This is the schedule--this the total. + + Beau. [to DESCHAPPELLES, showing notes]. These + Are yours the instant she has sign'd; you are + Still the great House of Lyons! + +[The Notary is about to hand the contract to PAULINE, when MELNOTTE +seizes it and tears it. + +Beau. Are you mad? + +M. Deschap. How, Sir! What means this insult? + + Mel. Peace, old man! + I have a prior claim. Before the face + Of man and Heaven I urge it; I outbid + Yon sordid huckster for your priceless jewel. [Giving a pocket-book. + There is the sum twice told! Blush not to take it: + There's not a coin that is not bought and hallow'd + In the cause of nations with a soldier's blood! + +Beau. Torments and death! + +Pauline. That voice! Thou art-- + +Mel. Thy husband! + +[PAULINE rushes into his arms. + + Look up! Look up, Pauline!--for I can bear + Thine eyes! The stain is blotted from my name. + I have redeem'd mine honor. I can call + On France to sanction thy divine forgiveness! + Oh, joy!--Oh, rapture! By the midnight watchfires + Thus have I seen thee! thus foretold this hour! + And 'midst the roar of battle, thus have heard + The beating of thy heart against my own! + + Beau. Fool'd, duped, and triumph'd over in the hour + Of mine own victory! Curses on ye both! + May thorns be planted in the marriage-bed! + And love grow sour'd and blacken'd into hate + Such as the hate that gnaws me! + + Damas. Curse away + And let me tell thee, Beauseant, a wise proverb + The Arabs have,--"Curses are like young chickens, + [Solemnly.] And still come home to roost!" + + Beau. Their happiness + Maddens my soul! I am powerless and revengeless! [To MADAME. + I wish you joy! Ha! ha! the gardener's son! [Exit. + + Damas [to GLAVIS]. Your friend intends to hang himself! Methinks + You ought to be his travelling companion! + +Gla. Sir, you are exceedingly obliging! [Exit. + + Pauline. Oh + My father, you are saved,--and by my husband! + Ah, blessed hour! + +Mel. Yet you weep still, Pauline. + +Pauline. But on thy breast!--these tears are sweet and holy! + + M. Deschap. You have won love and honor nobly, sir! + Take her;--be happy both! + + Mme. Deschap. I'm all astonish'd! + Who, then, is Colonel Morier? + +Damas. You behold him! + + Mel. Morier no more after this happy day! + I would not bear again my father's name + Till I could deem it spotless! The hour's come! + Heaven smiled on conscience! As the soldier rose + From rank to rank, how sacred was the fame + That cancell'd crime, and raised him nearer thee! + + Mme. Deschap. A Colonel and a hero! Well, that's something! + He's wondrously improved! I wish you joy, sir! + + Mel. Ah! the same love that tempts us into sin, + If it be true love, works out its redemption; + And he who seeks repentance for the Past + Should woo the Angel Virtue in the Future. + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The Lady of Lyons, by Edward Bulwer Lytton + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LADY OF LYONS *** + +***** This file should be named 2461.txt or 2461.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/4/6/2461/ + +Produced by Dianne Bean, and David Ceponis + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS*Ver.04.29.93*END* + + + + + +Scanned by Dianne Bean +Proofread by David Ceponis + + + + + +The Lady of Lyons; + +Or, + +Love and Pride. + + + +by Edward Bulwer Lytton + + + + +To the author of "Ion." + +Whose genius and example have alike contributed towards the regeneration of +The National Drama, + +This play is inscribed. + +PREFACE. + +An indistinct recollection of the very pretty little tale, called "The Bellows- +Mender," suggested the plot of this Drama. The incidents are, however, greatly +altered from those in the tale, and the characters entirely re-cast. + +Having long had a wish to illustrate certain periods of the French history, so, +in the selection of the date in which the scenes of this play are laid, I saw +that the era of the Republic was that in which the incidents were rendered most +probable, in which the probationary career of the hero could well be made +sufficiently rapid for dramatic effect, and in which the character of the time +itself was depicted by the agencies necessary to the conduct of the narrative. +For during the early years of the first and most brilliant successes of the +French Republic, in the general ferment of society, and the brief equalization +of ranks, Claude's high-placed love; his ardent feelings, his unsettled +principles (the struggle between which makes the passion of this drama), his +ambition, and his career, were phenomena that characterized the age, and in +which the spirit of the nation went along with the extravagance of the +individual. + +The play itself was composed with a twofold object. In the first place, +sympathizing with the enterprise of Mr. Macready, as Manager of Covent Garden, +and believing that many of the higher interests of the Drama were involved in +the success or failure of an enterprise equally hazardous and disinterested, I +felt, if I may so presume to express myself, something of the Brotherhood of +Art; and it was only for Mr. Macready to think it possible that I might serve +him in order to induce me to make the attempt. + +Secondly, in that attempt I was mainly anxious to see whether or not, after the +comparative failure on the stage of "The Duchess de la Valliere," certain +critics had truly declared that it was not in my power to attain the art of +dramatic construction and theatrical effect. I felt, indeed, that it was in this +that a writer, accustomed to the narrative class of composition, would have the +most both to learn and unlearn. Accordingly, it was to the development of the +plot and the arrangement of the incidents that I directed my chief attention;-- +and I sought to throw whatever belongs to poetry less into the diction and the +"felicity of words" than into the construction of the story, the creation of the +characters, and the spirit of the pervading sentiment. + +The authorship of the play was neither avowed nor suspected until the play had +established itself in public favor. The announcement of my name was the signal +for attacks, chiefly political, to which it is now needless to refer. When a +work has outlived for some time the earlier hostilities of criticism, there +comes a new race of critics to which a writer may, for the most part, calmly +trust for a fair consideration, whether of the faults or the merits of his +performance. + +DRAMATIS PERSONAE. + +BEAUSEANT, a rich gentleman of Lyons, in love with, +and refused by, Pauline Deschappelles MR. ELTON. + +GLAVIS, his friend, also a rejected suitor to Pauline MR. MEADOWS. + +COLONEL (afterwards General) DAMAS, cousin to Mme. Deschappelles, +and an officer in the French army MR. BARTLEY. + +MONSIEUR DESCHAPPELLES, a Lyonnese merchant father to Pauline MR. STRICKLAND. + +GASPAR MR. DIDDEAR. + +CLAUDE MELNOTTE MR. MACREADY. + +FIRST OFFICER MR. HOWE. + +SECOND OFFICER MR. PRITCHARD. + +THIRD OFFICER MR. ROBERTS. + +Servants, Notary, etc. + +MADAME DESCHAPPELLES MRS. W. CLIFFORD. + +PAULINE, her daughter MISS HELEN FAUCIT. + +THE WIDOW MELNOTTE, mother to Claude MRS. GRIFFITH. + +JANET, the innkeeper's daughter MRS. EAST. + +MARIAN, maid to Pauline MISS GARRICK. + + + +Scene--Lyons and the neighborhood. + +Time--1795-1798 + +First performed on Thursday, the 15th of February, 1838, +at Covent Garden Theatre. + + + +THE LADY OF LYONS; + +or, + +LOVE AND PRIDE. + +ACT I.--SCENE I. + +A room in the house of M. DESCHAPPELLES, at Lyons. PAULINE reclining on a sofa; +MARIAN, her maid, fanning her--Flowers and notes on a table beside the sofa-- +MADAME DESCHAPPELLES seated--The gardens are seen from the open window. + +Mme. Deschap. Marian, put that rose a little more to the left.--[MARIAN alters +the position of a rose in PAULINE's hair.]--Ah, so!--that improves the hair,-- +the tournure, the j'e ne sais quoi!--You are certainly very handsome, child!-- +quite my style;--I don't wonder that you make such a sensation!--Old, young, +rich, and poor, do homage to the Beauty of Lyons!--Ah, we live again in our +children,--especially when they have our eyes and complexion! + +Pauline [languidly]. Dear mother, you spoil your Pauline!--[Aside.] I wish I +knew who sent me these flowers! + +Mme. Deschap. No, child!--If I praise you, it is only to inspire you with a +proper ambition.--You are born to make a great marriage.--Beauty is valuable or +worthless according as you invest the property to the best advantage. Marian, go +and order the carriage! [Exit MARIAN. + +Pauline. Who can it be that sends me, every day, these beautiful flowers?--how +sweet they are! + +Enter Servant. + +Servant. Monsieur Beauseant, Madam. + +Mme. Deschap. Let him enter. Pauline, this is another offer!--I know it is!-- +Your father should engage an additional clerk to keep the account-book of your +conquests. + +Enter BEAUSEANT. + +Beau. Ah, ladies how fortunate I am to find you at home!--[Aside.] How lovely +she looks!--It is a great sacrifice I make in marrying into a family in trade!-- +they will be eternally grateful!--[Aloud.] Madam, you will permit me a word with +your charming daughter.--[Approaches PAULINE, who rises disdainfully.]-- +Mademoiselle, I have ventured to wait upon you, in a hope that you must long +since have divined. Last night, when you outshone all the beauty of Lyons, you +completed your conquest over me! You know that my fortune is not exceeded by any +estate in the province,--you know that, but for the Revolution, which has +defrauded me of my titles, I should be noble. May I, then, trust that you will +not reject my alliance? I offer you my hand and heart. + +Pauline [aside.] He has the air of a man who confers a favor!--[Aloud.] Sir, you +are very condescending--I thank you humbly; but, being duly sensible of my own +demerits, you must allow me to decline the honor you propose. [Curtsies, and +turns away. + +Beau. Decline! Impossible!--you are not serious!--Madam, suffer me to appeal to +you. I am a suitor for your daughter's hand--the settlements shall be worthy of +her beauty and my station. May I wait on M. Deschappelles? + +Mme. Deschap. M. Deschappelles never interferes in the domestic arrangements,-- +you are very obliging. If you were still a marquis, or if my daughter were +intended to marry a commoner,--why, perhaps, we might give you the preference. + +Beau. A commoner!--we are all commoners in France now. + +Mme. Deschap. In France, yes; but there is a nobility still left in the other +countries in Europe. We are quite aware of your good qualities, and don't doubt +that you will find some lady more suitable to your pretensions. We shall be +always happy to see you as an acquaintance, M. Beauseant!--My dear child, the +carriage will be here presently. + +Beau. Say no more, madam!--say no more!--[Aside.] Refused! and by a merchant's +daughter!--refused! It will be all over Lyons before sunset!--I will go and bury +myself in my chateau, study philosophy, and turn woman-hater. Refused! they +ought to be sent to a madhouse!--Ladies, I have the honor to wish you a very +good morning. [Exit. + +Mme. Deschap. How forward these men are!--I think, child, we kept up our +dignity. Any girl, however inexperienced, knows how to accept an offer, but it +requires a vast deal of address to refuse one with proper condescension and +disdain. I used to practise it at school with the dancing-master. + +Enter DAMAS. + +Damas. Good morning, cousin Deschappelles.--Well, Pauline, are you recovered +from last night's ball?--So many triumphs must be very fatiguing. Even M. Glavis +sighed most piteously when you departed; but that might be the effect of the +supper. + +Pauline. M. Glavis, indeed! + +Mme. Deschap. M. Glavis?--as if my daughter would think of M. Glavis! + +Damas. Hey-day!--why not?--His father left him a very pretty fortune, and his +birth is higher than yours, cousin Deschappelles. But perhaps you are looking to +M. Beauseant,--his father was a marquis before the Revolution. + +Pauline. M. Beauseant!--Cousin, you delight in tormenting me! + +Mme. Deschap. Don't mind him, Pauline!--Cousin Damas, you have no susceptibility +of feeling,--there is a certain indelicacy in all your ideas.--M. Beauseant +knows already that he is no match for my daughter! + +Damas. Pooh! pooh! one would think you intended your daughter to marry a prince! + +Mme. Deschap. Well, and if I did?--what then?--Many a foreign prince-- + +Damas [interrupting her]. Foreign prince!--foreign fiddlestick!--you ought to be +ashamed of such nonsense at your time of life. + +Mme. Deschap. My time of life!--That is an expression never applied to any lady +till she is sixty-nine and three-quarters;--and only then by the clergyman of +the parish. + +Enter Servant. + +Servant. Madame, the carriage is at the door. [Exit. + +Mme. Deschap. Come, child, put on your bonnet--you really have a very thorough- +bred air--not at all like your poor father.--[Fondly]. Ah, you little coquette! +when a young lady is always making mischief, it is a sure sign that she takes +after her mother! + +Pauline. Good day, cousin Damas--and a better humor to you.--[Going back to the +table and taking the flowers]. Who could have sent me these flowers? [Exeunt +PAULINE and MADAME DESCHAPPELLES. + +Damas. That would be an excellent girl if her head had not been turned. I fear +she is now become incorrigible! Zounds, what a lucky fellow I am to be still a +bachelor! They may talk of the devotion of the sex--but the most faithful +attachment in life is that of a woman in love--with herself. [Exit. + +SCENE II. + +The exterior of a small Village Inn--sign, the Golden Lion--A few leagues from +Lyons, which is seen at a distance. + +Beau. [behind the scenes.] Yes, you may bait the horses; we shall rest here an +hour. + +Enter BEAUSEANT and GLAVIS. + +Gla. Really, my dear Beauseant, consider that I have promised to spend a day or +two with you at your chateau, that I am quite at your mercy for my +entertainment,--and yet you are as silent and as gloomy as a mute at a funeral, +or an Englishman at a party of pleasure. + +Beau. Bear with me!--the fact is that I am miserable. + +Gla. You--the richest and gayest bachelor in Lyons? + +Beau. It is because I am a bachelor that I am miserable.--Thou knowest Pauline-- +the only daughter of the rich merchant, Mons. Deschappelles? + +Gla. Know her?--who does not?--as pretty as Venus, and as proud as Juno. + +Beau. Her taste is worse than her pride.--[Drawing himself up.] Know, Glavis, +she has actually refused me! + +Gla. [aside]. So she has me!--very consoling! In all cases of heart-ache, the +application of another man's disappointment draws out the pain and allays the +irritation.--[Aloud.] Refused you! and wherefore? + +Beau. I know not, unless it be because the Revolution swept away my father's +title of Marquis,--and she will not marry a commoner. Now, as we have no +noblemen left in France,--as we are all citizens and equals, she can only hope +that, in spite of the war, some English Milord or German Count will risk his +life, by coming to Lyons, that this fille du Roturier may condescend to accept +him. Refused me, and with scorn!--By Heaven, I'll not submit to it tamely:--I'm +in a perfect fever of mortification and rage.--Refuse me, indeed! + +Gla. Be comforted, my dear fellow,--I will tell you a secret. For the same +reason she refused ME! + +Beau. You!--that's a very different matter! But give me your hand, Glavis,-- +we'll think of some plan to humble her. Mille diables! I should like to see her +married to a strolling player! + +Enter Landlord and his Daughter from the Inn. + +Land. Your servant, citizen Beauseant,--servant, Sir. Perhaps you will take +dinner before you proceed to your chateau; our larder is most plentifully +supplied. + +Beau. I have no appetite. + +Gla. Nor I. Still it is bad travelling on an empty stomach. What have you got? +[Takes and looks over the bill of fare.] + +[Shout without.] "Long live the Prince!--Long live the Prince!" + +Beau. The Prince!--what Prince is that? I thought we had no princes left in +France. + +Land. Ha, ha! the lads always call him Prince. He has just won the prize in the +shooting-match, and they are taking him home in triumph. + +Beau. Him! and who's Mr. Him? + +Land. Who should he be but the pride of the village, Claude Melnotte?--Of course +you have heard of Claude Melnotte? + +Gla. [giving back the bill of fare.] Never had that honor. Soup--ragout of hare- +-roast chicken, and, in short, all you have! + +Beau. The son of old Alelnotte, the gardener? + +Land. Exactly so--a wonderful young man. + +Beau. How, wonderful?--Are his cabbages better than other people's + +Land. Nay, he don't garden any more; his father left him well off. He's only a +genus. + +Gla. A what? + +Land. A genus!--a man who can do everything in life except anything that's +useful--that's a genus. + +Beau. You raise my curiosity;--proceed. + +Land. Well, then, about four years ago, old Melnotte died, and left his son well +to do in the world. We then all observed that a great change came over young +Claude: he took to reading and Latin, and hired a professor from Lyons, who had +so much in his head that he was forced to wear a great full-bottom wig to cover +it. Then he took a fencing-master, and a dancing-master, and a music-master; and +then he learned to paint; and at last it was said that young Claude was to go to +Paris, and set up for a painter. The lads laughed at him at first; but he is a +stout fellow, is Claude, and as brave as a lion, and soon taught them to laugh +the wrong side of their mouths; and now all the boys swear by him, and all the +girls pray for him. + +Beau. A promising youth, certainly! And why do they call him Prince? + +Land. Partly because he is at the head of them all, and partly because he has +such a proud way with him, and wears such fine clothes--and, in short, looks +like a prince. + +Beau. And what could have turned the foolish fellow's brain? The Revolution, I +suppose? + +Land. Yes--the revolution that turns us all topsy-turvy--the revolution of Love. + +Beau. Romantic young Corydon! And with whom is he in love? + +Land. Why--but it is a secret, gentlemen. + +Beau. Oh! certainly. + +Land. Why, then, I hear from his mother, good soul! that it is no less a person +than the Beauty of Lyons, Pauline Deschappelles. + +Beau. and Glavis. Ha, ha!--Capital! + +Land. You may laugh, but it is as true as I stand here. + +Beau. And what does the Beauty of Lyons say to his suit? + +Land. Lord, sir, she never even condescended to look at him, though when he was +a boy he worked in her father's garden. + +Beau. Are you sure of that? + +Land. His mother says that Mademoiselle does not know him by sight. + +Beau. [taking Glavis aside]. I have hit it,--I have it; here is our revenge! +Here is a prince for our haughty damsel. Do you take me? + +Gla. Deuce take me if I do! + +Beau. Blockhead!--it's as clear as a map. What if we could make this elegant +clown pass himself off as a foreign prince?--lend him money, clothes, equipage +for the purpose?--make him propose to Pauline?--marry Pauline? Would it not be +delicious? + +Gla. Ha, ha!--Excellent! But how shall we support the necessary expenses of his +highness? + +Beau. Pshaw! Revenge is worth a much larger sacrifice than a few hundred louis;- +-as for details, my valet is the trustiest fellow, in the world, and shall have +the appointment of his highness's establishment. Let's go to him at once, and +see if he be really this Admirable Crichton. + +Gla. With all my heart;--but the dinner? + +Beau. Always thinking of dinner! Hark ye, landlord; how far is it to young +Melnotte's cottage? I should like to see such a prodigy. + +Land. Turn down the lane,--then strike across the common,--and you will see his +mother's cottage. + +Beau. True, he lives with his mother.--[Aside.] We will not trust to an old +woman's discretion; better send for him hither. I'll just step in and write a +note. Come, Glavis. + +Gla. Yes,--Beauseant, Glavis, and Co., manufacturers of princes, wholesale and +retail,--an uncommonly genteel line of business. But why so grave? + +Beau. You think only of the sport,--I of the revenge. [Exeunt within the Inn. + +SCENE III. + +The interior of MELNOTTE'S cottage; flowers placed here and there; a guitar on +an oaken table, with a portfolio, etc.; a picture on an easel, covered by a +curtain; fencing foils crossed over the mantelpiece; an attempt at refinement in +site of the homeliness of the furniture, etc.; a staircase to the right conducts +to the upper story. + +[Shout without]. "Long live Claude Melnotte!" "Long live the Prince!" + +The Widow Mel. Hark!--there's my dear son;--carried off the prize, I'm sure; and +now he'll want to treat them all. + +Claude Mel. [opening the door]. What! you will not come in, my friends! Well, +well,there's a trifle to make merry elsewhere. Good day to you all,--good day! + +[Shout]. "Hurrah! Long live Prince Claude!" + +Enter CLAUDE MELNOTTE, with a rifle in his hand. + +Mel. Give me joy, dear mother!--I've won the prize!--never missed one shot! Is +it not handsome, this gun? + +Widow. Humph!--Well, what is it worth, Claude? + +Mel. Worth! What is a riband worth to a soldier? Worth! everything! Glory is +priceless! + +Widow. Leave glory to great folks. Ah! Claude, Claude, castles in the air cost a +vast deal to keep up! How is all this to end? What good does it do thee to learn +Latin, and sing songs, and play on the guitar, and fence, and dance, and paint +pictures? All very fine; but what does it bring in? + +Mel. Wealth! wealth, my mother! Wealth to the mind--wealth to the heart--high +thoughts--bright dreams--the hope of fame--the ambition to be worthier to love +Pauline. + +Widow. My poor son!--The young lady will never think of thee. + +Mel. Do the stars think of us? Yet if the prisoner see them shine into his +dungeon, wouldst thou bid him turn away from their lustre? Even so from this low +cell, poverty, I lift my eyes to Pauline and forget my chains.--[Goes to the +picture and draws aside the curtain.] + +See, this is her image--painted from memory. Oh, how the canvas wrongs her!-- +[Takes up the brush and throws it aside.] I shall never be a painter! I can +paint no likeness but one, and that is above all art. I would turn soldier-- +France needs soldiers! But to leave the air that Pauline breathes! What is the +hour?--so late? I will tell thee a secret, mother. Thou knowest that for the +last six weeks I have sent every day the rarest flowers to Pauline?--she wears +them. I have seen them on her breast. Ah, and then the whole universe seemed +filled with odors! I have now grown more bold--I have poured my worship into +poetry--I have sent the verses to Pauline--I have signed them with my own name. +My messenger ought to--be back by this time. I bade him wait for the answer. + +Widow. And what answer do you expect, Claude? + +Mel. That which the Queen of Navarre sent to the poor troubadour:--"Let me see +the Oracle that can tell nations I am beautiful!" She will admit me. I shall +hear her speak--I shall meet her eyes--I shall read upon her cheek the sweet +thoughts that translate themselves into blushes. Then--then, oh, then--she may +forget that I am the peasant's son!. + +Widow. Nay, if she will but hear thee talk, Claude? + +Mel. I foresee it all. She will tell me that desert is the true rank. She will +give me a badge--a flower--a glove! Oh rapture! I shall join the armies of the +republic--I shall rise--I shall win a name that beauty will not blush to hear. I +shall return with the right to say to her--"See, how love does not level the +proud, but raise the--humble!" Oh, how my heart swells within me!--Oh, what +glorious prophets of the future are youth and hope! + +[Knock at the door.] + +Widow. Come in. + +Enter GASPAR. + +Mel. Welcome, Gaspar, welcome. Where is the letter? Why do you turn away, man? +where is the letter? [GASPAR gives him one.] This! This is mine, the one I +intrusted to thee. Didst thou not leave it? + +Gaspar. Yes, I left it. + +Mel. My own verses returned to me. Nothing else! + +Gaspar. Thou wilt be proud to hear how thy messenger was honored. For thy sake, +Melnotte, I have borne that which no Frenchman can bear without disgrace. + +Mel. Disgrace, Gaspar! Disgrace? + +Gaspar. I gave thy letter to the porter, who passed it from lackey to lackey +till it reached the lady it was meant for. + +Mel. It reached her, then; you are sure of that! It reached her,--well, well! + +Gaspar. It reached her, and was returned to me with blows. Dost hear, Melnotte? +with blows! Death! are we slaves still, that we are to be thus dealt with, we +peasants? + +Mel. With blows? No, Gaspar, no; not blows! + +Gaspar. I could show thee the marks if it were not so deep a shame to bear them. +The lackey who tossed thy letter into the mire swore that his lady and her +mother never were so insulted. What could thy letter contain, Claude? + +Mel. [looking over the letter]. Not a line that a serf might not have written to +an empress. No, not one. + +Gaspar. They promise thee the same greeting they gave me, if thou wilt pass that +way. Shall we endure this, Claude? + +Mel. [wringing GASPAR's hand]. Forgive me, the fault was mine, I have brought +this on thee; I will not forget it; thou shalt be avenged! The heartless +insolence! + +Gaspar. Thou art moved, Melnotte; think not of me; I would go through fire and +water to serve thee; but,--a blow! It is not the bruise that galls,--it is the +blush, Melnotte. + +Mel. Say, what message?--How insulted!--Wherefore?--What the offence? + +Gaspar. Did you not write to Pauline Deschappelles, the daughter of the rich +merchant? + +Mel. Well? + +Gaspar. And are you not a peasant--a gardener's son?--that was the offence. +Sleep on it, Melnotte. Blows to a French citizen, blows! [Exit. + +Widow. Now you are cured, Claude! + +Mel. tearing the letter. So do I scatter her image to the winds--I will stop her +in the open streets--I will insult her--I will beat her menial ruffians--I will- +-[Turns suddenly to Widow.] Mother, am I humpbacked--deformed--hideous? Widow. +You! + +Mel. A coward--a thief--a liar? + +Widow. You! + +Mel. Or a dull fool--a vain, drivelling, brainless idiot? Widow. No, no. Mel. +What am I then--worse than all these? Why, I am a peasant! What has a peasant to +do with love? Vain revolutions, why lavish your cruelty on the great? Oh that +we--we, the hewers of wood and drawers of water--had been swept away, so that +the proud might learn what the world would be without us! [Knock at the door. + +Enter Servant from the Inn. + +Servant. A letter for Citizen Melnotte. + +Mel. A letter! from her perhaps--who sent thee? + +Servant. Why, Monsieur--I mean Citizen--Beauseant, who stops to dine at the +Golden Lion, on his way to his chateau. + +Mel. Beauseant!--[Reads]. + +"Young man, I know thy secret--thou lovest above thy station: if thou hast wit, +courage, and discretion, I can secure to thee the realization of thy most +sanguine hopes; and the sole condition I ask in return is, that thou shalt be +steadfast to thine own ends. I shall demand from thee a solemn oath to marry. +her whom thou lovest; to bear her to thine home on thy wedding night. I am +serious--if thou wouldst learn more, lose not a moment, but follow the bearer of +this letter to thy friend and patron,--CHARLES BEAUSEANT." + +Mel. Can I believe my eyes? Are our own passions the sorcerers that raise up for +us spirits of good or evil? I will go instantly. + +Widow. What is this, Claude? + +Mel. "Marry her whom thou lovest"--"bear her to thine own home."--Oh, revenge +and love; which of you is the stronger?--[Gazing on the picture.] Sweet face, +thou smilest on me from the canvas: weak fool that I am, do I then love her +still? No, it is the vision of my own romance that I have worshipped: it is the +reality to which I bring scorn for scorn. Adieu, mother: I will return anon. My +brain reels--the earth swims before me.--[Looks again at the letter.] No, it is +not a mockery; I do not dream! [Exit. + +ACT II.--SCENE I. + +The Gardens of M. DESCHAPPELLEs' house at Lyons--the house seen at the back of +the stage. + +Enter BEAUSEANT and GLAVIS. + +Beau. Well, what think you of my plot? Has it not succeeded to a miracle? The +instant that I introduced his Highness the Prince of Como to the pompous mother +and the scornful daughter, it was all over with them: he came--he saw--he +conquered: and, though it is not many days since he arrived, they have already +promised him the hand of Pauline. + +Gla. It is lucky, though, that you told them his highness travelled incognito, +for fear the Directory (who are not very fond of princes) should lay him by the +heels; for he has a wonderful wish to keep up his rank, and scatters our gold +about with as much coolness as if he were watering his own flower-pots. + +Beau. True, he is damnably extravagant; I think the sly dog does it out of +malice. How ever, it must be owned that he reflects credit on his loyal +subjects, and makes a very pretty figure in his fine clothes, with my diamond +snuff-box. + +Gla. And my diamond ring! But do you think he will be firm to the last? I fancy +I see symptoms of relenting: he will never keep up his rank, if he once let out +his conscience. + +Beau. His oath binds him! he cannot retract without being foresworn, and those +low fellows are always superstitious! But, as it is, I tremble lest he be +discovered: that bluff Colonel Damas (Madame Deschappelles' cousin) evidently +suspects him: we must make haste and conclude the farce: I have thought of a +plan to end it this very day. + +Gla. This very day! Poor Pauline: her dream will be soon over. + +Beau. Yes, this day they shall be married; this evening, according to his oath, +he shall carry his bride to the Golden Lion, and then pomp, equipage, retinue, +and title, all shall vanish at once; and her Highness the Princess shall find +that she has refused the son of a Marquis, to marry the son of a gardener.--Oh, +Pauline! once loved, now hated, yet still not relinquished, thou shalt drain the +cup to the dregs,--thou shalt know what it is to be humbled! + +Enter from the house, MELNOTTE, as the Prince of Como, Ieading in PAULINE; +MADAME + +DESCHAPPELLES, fanning herself; and COLONEL DAMAS. + +[BEAUSEANT and GLAVIS bow respectfully. fully. PAULINE and MELNOTTE walk apart. + +Mme. Deschap. Good morning, gentlemen; really I am so fatigued with laughter; +the dear Prince is so entertaining. What wit he has! Any one may see that he has +spent his whole life in courts. + +Damas. And what the deuce do you know about courts, cousin Deschappelles? You +women regard men just as you buy books--you never care about what is in them, +but how they are bound and lettered. 'Sdeath, I don't think you would even look +at your Bible if it had not a title to it. + +Mme. Deschap. How coarse you are, cousin Damas!--quite the manners of a barrack- +-you don't deserve to be one of our family; really we must drop your +acquaintance when Pauline marries. I cannot patronize any relations that would +discredit my future son-in-law, the Prince of Como. + +Mel. [advancing]. These are beautifui gardens, madame, (BEAUSEANT and GLAVIS +retire--who planned them + +Mme. Deschap. A gardener named Melnotte, your highness--an honest man who knew +his station. I can't say as much for his son--a presuming fellow, who,--ha! ha! +actually wrote verses--such doggerel!--to my daughter. + +Pauline. Yes, how you would have laughed at them, Prince! you, who write such +beautiful verses! + +Mel. This Melnotte must be a monstrous impudent person! + +Damas. Is he good-looking? + +Mme. Deschap. I never notice such canaille--an ugly, mean-looking clown, if I +remember right. + +Damas. Yet I heard your porter say he was wonderfully like his highness. + +Mel. [taking snuff]. You are complimentary. + +Mme. Deschap. For shame, cousin Damas!--like the Prince, indeed! + +Pauline. Like you! Ah, mother, like our beautiful prince! I'll never speak to +you again, cousin Damas. + +Mel. [aside]. Humph!--rank is a great beautifier! I never passed for an Apollo +while I was a peasant; if I am so handsome as a prince, what should I be as an +emperor! [Aloud.] Monsieur Beauseant, will you honor me? [Offers snuff. + +Beau. No, your highness; I have no small vices. + +Mel. Nay, if it were a vice, you'd be sure to have it, Monsieur Beauseant. + +Mme. Deschap. Ha! ha!--how very severe!--what wit! + +Beau. [in a rage and aside]. Curse his impertinence! + +Mme. Deschap. What a superb snuff-box! Pauline. And what a beautiful ring! + +Mel. You like the box--a trifle--interesting perhaps from associations--a +present from Louis XIV. to my great-great grandmother. Honor me by--accepting +it. + +Beau. plucking him by the sleeve. How!--what the devil! My box--are you mad? It +is worth five hundred louis. + +Mel. [unheeding him, and turning to PAULINE]. And you like this ring? Ah, it +has, indeed a lustre since your eyes have shone on it placing it on her finger. +Henceforth hold me, sweet enchantress, the Slave of the Ring. + +Gla. [pulling him]. Stay, stay--what are you about? My maiden aunt's legacy--a +diamond of the first water. You shall be hanged for swindling, sir. + +Mel. [pretending not to hear]. It is curious, this ring; it is the one with +which my grandfather, the Doge of Venice, married the Adriatic! + +(Madame and PAULINE examine the ring. Mel. [to BEAUSEANT and GLAVIS]. Fie, +gentlemen! princes must be generous?--[Turns to DAMAS, who watches them +closely.] These kind friends have my interest so much at heart, that they are as +careful of my property as if it were their own! + +Beau and Gla. [confusedly]. Ha! ha!--very good joke that! + +[Appears to remonstrate with MELNOTTE in dumb show. + +Damas. What's all that whispering? . I am sure there is some juggle here: hang +me, if I think he is an Italian after all. Gad, I'll try him. Servitore +umillissimo, Eccellenza.* +(* Your Excellency's most humble servant.) + +Mel. Hum--what does he mean, I wonder? + +Damas. Godo di vedervi in buona salute.* +(* I am glad to see you in good health.) + +Mel. Hem--hem! + +Damas. Fa bel tempo--the si dice di nuovo? * +(* Fine weather. What news is there?) + +Mel. Well, sir, what's all that gibberish? + +Damas. Oh, oh!--only Italian, your highness!--The Prince of Como does not +understand his own language! + +Mel. Not as you pronounce it; who the deuce could? + +Mme. Deschap. Ha! ha! cousin Damas, never pretend to what you don't know. + +Pauline. Ha! ha! cousin Damas; you speak Italian, indeed! + +[Makes a mocking gesture at him. + +Beau. [to GLAVIS]. Clever dog!--how ready! + +Gla. Ready, yes; with my diamond ring!--Damn his readiness! + +Damas. Laugh at me!--laugh at a Colonel in the French army!--the fellow's an +impostor; I know he is. I'll see if he understands fighting as well as he does +Italian.--[Goes up to him, and aside.] Sir, you are a jackanapes.--Can you +construe that? + +Mel. No, sir; I never construe affronts in the presence of ladies; by-and-by I +shall be happy to take a lesson--or give one. + +Damas. I'll find the occasion, never fear! + +Mme. Deschap. Where are you going, cousin? + +Damas. To correct my Italian. [Exit. + +Beau. [to GLAVIS]. Let us after, and pacify him; he evidently suspects +something. + +Gla. Yes!--but my diamond ring! + +Beau. And my box!--We are over-taxed fellow-subjects!--we must stop the +supplies, and dethrone the prince. + +Gla. Prince!--he ought to be heir-apparent to King Stork. + +[Exeunt BEAUSEANT and GLAVIS. + +Mme. Deschap. Dare I ask your highness to forgive my cousin's insufferable +vulgarity? + +Pauline. Oh yes!--you will forgive his manner for the sake of his heart. + +Mel. And the sake of his cousin.--Ah, madam, there is one comfort in rank,--we +are so sure of our position that we are not easily affronted. Besides, M. Damas +has bought the right of indulgence from his friends, by never showing it to his +enemies. + +Pauline. Ah! he is, indeed, as brave in action as he is rude in speech. He rose +from the ranks to his present grade, and in two years! + +Mel. In two years!--two years, did you say? + +Mme. Deschap. [aside]. I don't like leaving girls alone with their lovers; but, +with a prince, it would be so ill-bred to be prudish. (Exit. + +Mel. You can be proud of your connection with one who owes his position to +merit--not birth. + +Pauline. Why, yes; but still + +Mel. Still what, Pauline! + +Pauline. There is something glorious in the heritage of command. A man who has +ancestors is like a representative of the past. + +Mel. True; but, like other representatives, nine times out of ten he is a silent +member. Ah, Pauline! not to the past, but to the future, looks true nobility, +and finds its blazon in posterity. + +Pauline. You say this to please me, who have no ancestors; but you, prince, must +be proud of so illustrious a race! + +Mel. No, no! I would not, were I fifty times a prince, be a pensioner on the +dead! I honor birth and ancestry when they are regarded as the incentives to +exertion, not the titledeeds to sloth! I honor the laurels that overshadow the +graves of our fathers; it is our fathers I emulate, when I desire that beneath +the evergreen I myself have planted, my own ashes may repose! Dearest! couldst +thou but see with my eyes! + +Pauline. I cannot forego pride when I look on thee, and think that thou lovest +me. Sweet Prince, tell me again of thy palace by the Lake of Como; it is so +pleasant to hear of thy splendors since thou didst swear to me that they would +be desolate without Pauline; and when thou describest them, it is with a mocking +lip and a noble scorn, as if custom had made thee disdain greatness. + +Mel. Nay, dearest, nay, if thou wouldst have me paint +The home to which, could love fulfil its prayers, +This hand would lead thee, listen!*--A deep vale + +(* The reader will observe that Melnotte evades the request of Pauline. He +proceeds to describe a home, which be does not say he possesses, but to which he +would lead her, "could Love fulfil its prayers." This caution is intended as a +reply to a sagacious critic who censures the description, because it is not an +exact and prosaic inventory of the characteristics of the Lake of Como!--When +Melnotte, for instance, talks of birds "that syllable the name of Pauline" (by +the way, a literal translation from an Italian poet), he is not thinking of +ornithology, but probably of the Arabian Nights. He is venting the extravagant, +but natural, enthusiasm of the poet and the lover.) + +Shut out by Alphine hills from the rude world; +Near a clear lake, margin'd by fruits of gold +And whispering myrtles; glassing softest skies, +As cloudless, save with rare and roseate shadows, +As I would have thy fate! + +Pauline. My own dear love! + +Mel. A palace lifting to eternal summer +Its marble walls, from out a glossy bower +Of coolest foliage musical with birds, +Whose songs should syllable thy name! At noon +We'd sit beneath the arching vines, and wonder +Why Earth could be unhappy, while the Heavens +Still left us youth and love! We'd have no friends +That were not lovers; no ambition, save +To excel them all in love; we'd read no books +That were not tales of love--that we might smile +To think how poorly eloquence of words +Translates the poetry of hearts like ours! +And when night came, amidst the breathless Heavens +We'd guess what star should be our home when love +Becomes immortal; while the perfumed light +Stole through the mists of alabaster lamps, +And every air was heavy with the sighs +Of orange-groves and music from sweet lutes, +And murmurs of low fountains that gush forth +I' the midst of roses!--Dost thou like the picture? + +Pauline. Oh, as the bee upon the flower, I hang +Upon the honey of thy eloquent tongue! +Am I not blest? And if I love too wildly, +Who would not love thee like Pauline? + +Mel. [bitterly.] Oh, false one! +It is the prince thou lovest, not the man +If in the stead of luxury, pomp, and power, +I had painted poverty, and toil, and care, +Thou hadst found no honey on my tongue;--Pauline, +That is not love! + +Pauline. Thou wrong'st me, cruel Prince! +At first, in truth, I might not have been won, +Save through the weakness of a flatter'd pride; +But now,--oh! trust me,--couldst thou fall from power +And sink-- + +Mel. As low as that poor gardener's son +Who dared to lift his eyes to thee?-- + +Pauline. Even then, +Methinks thou wouldst be only made more dear +By the sweet thought that I could prove how deep +Is woman's love! We are like the insects, caught +By the poor glittering of a garish flame; +But, oh, the wings once scorch'd, the brightest star +Lures us no more; and by the fatal light +We cling till death! + +Mel. Angel! [Aside.] O conscience! conscience! +It must not be; her love hath grown a torture +Worse than her hate. I will at once to Beauseant, +And--ha! he comes. Sweet love, one moment leave me. +I have business with these gentlemen--I--I +Will forwith join you. + +Pauline. Do not tarry long! [Exit. + +Enter BEAUSEANT and GLAVIS. + +Mel. Release me from my oath,--I will not marry her! + +Beau Then thou art perjured. + +Mel. No, I was not in my senses when I swore to thee to marry her! I was blind +to all but her scorn!--deaf to all but my passion and my rage! Give me back my +poverty and my honor! + +Beau. It is too late,--you must marry her! and this day. I have a story already +coined, and sure to pass current. This Damas suspects thee,--he will set the +police to work!--thou wilt be detected--Pauline will despise and execrate thee. +Thou wilt be sent to the common gaol as a swindler. + +Mel. Fiend! + +Beau. And in the heat of the girl's resentment (you know of what resentment is +capable) and the parents' shame, she will be induced to marry the first that +offers--even perhaps your humble servant. + +Mel. You! No; that were worse--for thou hast no mercy! I will marry her.--I will +keep my oath. Quick, then, with the damnable invention thou art hatching;-- +quick, if thou wouldst not have me strangle thee or myself. + +Gla. What a tiger! Too fierce for a prince; he ought to have been the Grand +Turk. + +Beau. Enough--I will dispatch; be prepared. + +[Exeunt BEAUSEANT and GLAVIS. + +Enter DAMAS with two swords. + +Damas. Now, then, sir, the ladies are no longer your excuse. I have brought you +a couple of dictionaries; let us see if your highness can find out the Latin for +bilbo. + +Mel. Away, sir! I am in no humor for jesting. Damas. I see you understand +something of the grammar; you decline the non-substantive "small-swords" with +great ease; but that won't do--you must take a lesson in parsing. + +Mel. Fool! Damas. Sir, as sons take after their mother, so the man who calls me +a fool insults the lady who bore me; there's no escape for you--fight you shall, +or-- + +Mel. Oh, enough! enough!--take your ground. + +They fight; DAMAS is disarmed. MELNOTTE takes up the sword and returns it to +DAMAS respectfully. A just punishment to the brave soldier who robs the state of +its best property--the sole right to his valor and his life. + +Damas. Sir, you fence exceedingly well; you must be a man of honor--I don't care +a jot whether you are a prince; but a man who has carte and tierce at his +fingers' ends must be a gentleman. + +Mel. [aside.] Gentleman! Ay, I was a gentleman before I turned conspirator; for +honest men are the gentlemen of Nature! Colonel, they tell me you rose from the +ranks. + +Damas. I did. + +Mel. And in two years! + +Damas. It is true; that's no wonder in our army at present. Why the oldest +general in the service is scarcely thirty, and we have some of two-and-twenty. + +Mel. Two-and-twenty! + +Damas. Yes; in the French army, now a days, promotion is not a matter of +purchase. We are all heroes, because we may. be all generals. We have no fear of +the cypress, because we may all hope for the laurel. + +Mel. A general at two-and-twenty! [turning away]--Sir, I may ask you a favor one +of these days. + +Damas. Sir, I shall be proud to grant it. It is astonishing how much I like a +man after I've fought with him. [Hides the swords. + +Enter MADAME DESCHAPPELLES and BEAUSEANT. + +Mme. Deschap. Oh, prince,--prince!--What do I hear? You must fly--you must quit +us! + +Mel. I! + +Beau. Yes, prince: read this letter, just received from my friend at Paris, one +of the Directory; they suspect you of designs against the Republic: they are +very suspicious of princes, and your family take.part with the Austrians. +Knowing that I introduced your highness at Lyons, my friend writes to me to say +that you must quit the town immediately, or you will be arrested,--thrown into +prison, perhaps guillotined! Fly!--I will order horses to your carriage +instantly. Fly to Marsailles; there you can take ship to Leghorn. + +Mme. Deschap. And what's to become of Pauline? Am I not to be mother to a +princess, after all? + +Enter PAULINE and MONSIEUR DESCHAPPELLES. + +Pauline [throwing herself into MELNOTTE's arms.] You must leave us!--Leave +Pauline! + +Beau. Not a moment is to be wasted. + +M. Deschap. I will go to the magistrates and inquire-- + +Beau. Then he is lost; the magistrates, hearing he is suspected, will order his +arrest. + +Mme. Deschap. And I shall not be a princess-dowager! + +Beau. Why not? There is only one thing to be done:--send for the priest--let the +marriage take place at once, and the prince carry home a bride? + +Mel. Impossible!--[Aside.] Villain. + +Mme. Deschap. What, lose my child? + +Beau. And gain a princess! + +Mme Deschap. Oh, Monsieur Beauseant, you are so very kind, it must be so,--we +ought not to be selfish, my daughter's happiness at stake. She will go away, +too, in a carriage and six! + +Pauline. Thou art here still,--I cannot part from my heart will break. + +Mel. But thou wilt not consent to this hasty union?--thou wilt not wed an +outcast--a fugitive? + +Pauline. Ah! if thou art in danger, who should share it but Pauline? + +Mel. [aside]. Distraction!--If the earth could swallow me! + +M. Deschap. Gently! gently! The settlements--the contracts--my daughter's dowry! + +Mel. The dowry!--I am not base enough for that; no, not one farthing! + +Beau. [to MADAM]. Noble fellow!--Really your good husband is too mercantile in +these matters. Monsieur Deschappelles, you hear his highness: we can arrange the +settlements by proxy; 'tis the way with people of quality. + +M. Deschap. But-- + +Mme. Deschap. Hold your tongue!--Don't expose yourself! + +Beau. I will bring the priest in a trice. Go in all of you and prepare; the +carriage shall be at the door before the ceremony is over. + +Mme. Deschap. Be sure there are six horses, Beauseant! You are very good to have +forgiven us for refusing you; but you see--a prince! + +Beau. And such a prince! Madam, I cannot blush at the success of so illustrious +a rival.--[Aside.] Now will I follow them to the village, enjoy my triumph, and +to-morrow, in the hour of thy shame and grief, I think, proud girl, thou wilt +prefer even these arms to those of the gardener's son. (Exit. + +Mme. Deschap. Come, Monsieur Deschappelles, give your arm to her highness that +is to be. + +M. Deschap. I don't like doing business in such a hurry; 'tis not the way with +the house of Deschappelles & Co. + +Mme. Deschap. There, now, you fancy you are in the counting-house, don't you? + +[Pushes him to PAULINE. + +Mel. Stay, stay, Pauline--one word. Have you no scruple, no fear? Speak--it is +not yet too late. + +Pauline. When I loved thee, thy fate became mine. Triumph or danger--joy or +sorrow--I am by thy side. + +Damas. Well, well, prince, thou art a lucky man to be so loved. She is a good +little girl in spite of her foibles make her as happy as if she were not to be a +princess [slapping him on the shoulder]. Come, sir, I wish you joy--young-- +tender--lovely;--zounds, I envy you! + +Mel. [who has stood apart in gloomy abstraction]. Do you?* + +(* On the stage the following lines are added:-- + +"Do you? Wise judges are we of each other. +'Woo, wed, and bear her home! So runs the bond +To which I sold myself,--and then--what then? +Away?--I will not look beyond the hour. +Like children in the dark, I dare not face +The shades that gather sound me in the distance. +You envy me--I thank you--you may read +My joy upon my brow--I thank you, sir! +If hearts had audible language, you would hear +What mine would answer when you talk of ENVY!" + +ACT III.--SCENE I. + +The exterior of the Golden Leon--time, twilight. The moon rises during the +scene. + +Enter Landlord and his Daughter from the Inn. + +Land. Ha--ha--ha! Well, I never shall get over it. Our Claude is a prince with a +vengeance now. His carriage breaks down at my inn--ha--ha! + +Janet. And what airs the young lady gives herself! "Is this the best room you +have, young woman?" with such a toss of the head. + +Land. Well, get in, Janet: get in and see to the supper: the servants must sup +before they go back. [Exeunt. + +Enter BEAUSEANT and GLAVIS. + +Beau. You see our princess is lodged at last--one stage more, and she'll be at +her journey's end--the beautiful palace at the foot of the Alps!--ha--ha! + +Gla. Faith, I pity the poor Pauline--especially if she's going to sup at the +Golden Lion [makes a wry face]. I shall never forget that cursed ragout. + +Enter MELNOTTE from the Inn. + +Beau. Your servant, my prince; you reigned most worthily, I condole with you on +your abdication. I am afraid that your highness's retinue are not very faithful +servants. I think they will quit you in the moment of your fall 'tis the fate of +greatness. But you are welcome to your fine clothes--also the diamond snuff-box, +which Louis XIV. gave to your great-great-grandmother. + +Gla. And the ring, with which your grandfather the Dodge of Venice married the +Adriatic. + +Mel. I have kept my oath, gentlemen--say, have I kept my oath? + +Beau. Most religiously. + +Mel. Then you have done with me and mine--away with you! + +Beau. How, knave? + +Mel. Look you, our bond is over. Proud conquerors that we are, we have won the +victory over a simple girl compromised her honor--embittered her life--blasted, +in their very blossoms, all the flowers of her youth. This is your triumph,--it +is my shame! [Turns to BEAUSEANT.] Enjoy thy triumph, but not in my sight. I was +her betrayer--I am her protector! Cross but her path--one word of scorn, one +look of insult--nay, but one quiver of that mocking lip, and I will teach thee +that bitter word thou hast graven eternally in this heart--Repentance + +Beau. His highness is most grandiloquent. + +Mel. Highness me no more! Beware! Remorse has made me a new being. Away with +you! There is danger in me. Away! + +Gla. [aside]. He's an awkward fellow to deal with: come away, Beauseant. + +Beau. I know the respect clue to rank. Adieu, my prince. Any commands at Lyons? +Yet hold--I promised you 200 Louis on your wedding-day; here they are. + +Mel. [dashing the purse to the ground]. I gave you revenge, I did not sell it. +Take up your silver, Judas; take it. Ay, it is fit you should learn to stoop. + +Beau. You will beg my pardon for this some clay. [Aside to GLAVIS.] Come to my +chateau--I shall return hither to morrow, to learn how Pauline likes her new +dignity. + +Mel. Are you not gone yet? + +Beau. Your highness's most obedient, most faithful + +Gla. And most humble servants. Ha! ha! [Exeunt BEAUSEANT and GLAVIS. + +Mel. Thank heaven I had no weapon, or I should have slaln them. Wretch! what can +I say? Where turn? On all sides mockery--the very boors within--[Laughter from +the Inn].--'Sdeath, if even in this short absence the exposure should have +chanced. I will call her. We will go hence. I have already sent one I can trust +to my mother's house. There, at least, none can insult her agony--gloat upon her +shame! There alone must she learn what a villain she has sworn to love. [As he +turns to the door enter PAULINE from the Inn. + +Pauline. Ah! my lord, what a place! I never saw such rude people. They stare and +wink so. I think the very sight of a prince, though he travels incognito, turns +their honest heads. What a pity the carriage should break down in such a spot! +You are not well--the drops stand on your brow--your hand is feverish. + +Mel. Nay, it is but a passing spasm;--the air + +Pauline. Is not the soft air of your native south-- +How pale he is!--indeed thou art not well. +Where are our people? I will call them. + +Mel. Hold! I--I am well. + +Pauline. Thou art!--Ah! now I know it. +Thou fanciest, my kind lord--I know thou dost-- +Thou fanciest these rude walls, these rustic gossips, +Brick'd floors, sour wine, coarse viands, vex Pauline; +And so they might, but thou art by my side, +And I forget all else. + +Enter Landlord, the Servants peeping and laughing over his shoulder. + +Land. My lord--your highness--Will your most noble excellency choose-- + +Mel. Begone, sir! [Exit Landlord laughing. + +Pauline. How could they have learn'd thy rank? +One's servants are so vain!--nay, let it not +Chafe thee, sweet prince!--a few short days and we +Shall see thy palace by its lake of silver, +And--nay, nay, spendthrift, is thy wealth of smiles, +Already drain'd, or dost thou play the miser? + +Mel. Thine eyes would call up smiles in deserts, fair one. +Let us escape these rustics: close at hand +There is a cot, where I have bid prepare +Our evening lodgment--a rude, homely roof, +But honest, where our welcome will not be +Made torture by the vulgar eyes and tongues +That are as death to Love! A heavenly night! +The wooing air and the soft moon invite us. +Wilt walk? I pray thee, now,--I know the path, +Ay, every inch of it! + +Pauline. What, thou! Methought +Thou wert a stranger in these parts? Ah, truant, +Some village beauty lured thee;--thou art now +Grown constant? + +Mel. Trust me. + +Pauline. Princes are so changeful! + +Mel. Come, dearest, come. + +Pauline. Shall I not call our people To light us? + +Mel. Heaven will lend its stars for torches! It is not far. + +Pauline. The night breeze chills me. + +Mel. Nay, Let me thus mantle thee;--it is not cold. + +Pauline. Never beneath thy smile! + +Mel. [aside.] O Heaven! forgive me! [Exeunt + +SCENE II. + +MELNOTTE'S cottage--Widow bustling about--a table spread for supper. + +Widow. So, I think that looks very neat. He sent me a line, so blotted that I +can scarcely read it, to say he would be here almost immediately. She must have +loved him well indeed to have forgotten his birth; for though he was introduced +to her in disguise, he is too honorable not to have revealed to her the +artifice, which her love only could forgive. Well, I do not wonder at it; for +though my son is not a prince, he ought to be one, and that's almost as good, +[Knock at the door.] Ah! here they are. + +Enter MELNOTTE and PAULINE. + +Widow. Oh, my boy--the pride of my heart!--welcome, welcome! I beg pardon, +ma'am, but I do love him so! + +Pauline. Good woman, I really--why prince, what is this?--does the old lady know +you? Oh, I guess, you have done her some service. Another proof of your kind +heart? is it not? + +Mel. Of my kind heart, ay! + +Pauline. So you know the prince? + +Widow. Know him, madam?--Ah, I begin to fear it is you who know him not! + +Pauline. Do you think she is mad? Can we stay here, my lord? I think there's +something very wild about her. + +Mel. Madam, I--no, I cannot tell her; my knees knock together: what a coward is +a man who has lost his honor! Speak to her--speak to her [to his mother]--tell +her that--O Heaven, that I were dead! + +Pauline. How confused he looks!--this strange place?--this woman--what can it +mean?--I half suspect--Who are you, madam!--who are you! can't you speak? are +you struck dumb? + +Widow. Claude, you have not deceived her?--Ah, shame upon you 1 I thought that, +before you went to the altar, she was to have known all. + +Pauline. All! what!--My blood freezes in my veins! + +Widow. Poor lady!--dare I tell her, Claude? [MELNOTTE makes a sign of assent.] +Know you not then, madam, that this young man is of poor though honest parents? +Know you not that you are wedded to my son, Claude Melnotte? + +Pauline. Your son! hold--hold! do not speak to me.--[Approaches MELNOTTE, and +lays her hand on his arm.]--Is this a jest? is it? I know it is, only speak--one +word--one look one smile. I cannot believe--I who loved thee so--I cannot +believe that thou art such a--No, I will not wrong thee by a harsh word--Speak! + +Mel. Leave us--have pity on her, on me: leave us. + +Widow. Oh, Claude, that I should live to see thee bowed by shame! thee of whom I +was so proud!(Exit by the staircase. + +Pauline. Her son--her son! + +Mel. Now, lady, hear me. + +Pauline. Hear thee! +Ay, speak--her son! have fiends a parent? speak, +That thou mayst silence curses--speak! + +Mel. No, curse me: +Thy curse would blast me less than thy forgiveness. + +Pauline [laughing wildly]. "This is thy palace, where the perfumed light +Steals through the mist of alabaster lamps, +And every air is heavy with the sighs +Of orange-groves, and music from the sweet lutes, +And murmurs of low fountains, that gush forth +I' the midst of roses!" Dost thou like the picture? +This is my bridal home, and thou my bridegroom. +O fool--O dupe--O wretch!--I see it all +Thy by-word and the jeer of every tongue +In Lyons. Hast thou in thy heart one touch +Of human kindness? if thou hast, why, kill me, +And save thy wife from madness. No, it cannot +It cannot be: this is some horrid dream: +I shall wake soon.--[Touching him.] Art flesh art man? or but +The shadows seen in sleep? It is too real. +What have I done to thee? how sinn'd against thee, +That thou shouldst crush me thus? + +Mel. Pauline, by pride +Angels have fallen ere thy time: by pride +That sole alloy of thy most lovely mould +The evil spirit of a bitter love, +And a revengeful heart, had power upon thee. +From my first years my soul was fill'd with thee: +I saw thee midst the flow'rs the lowly boy +Tended, unmark'd by thee--a spirit of bloom, +And joy, and freshness, as if Spring itself +Were made a living thing, and wore thy shape! +I saw thee, and the passionate heart of man +Enter'd the breast of the wild-dreaming boy. +And from that hour I grew--what to the last +I shall be--thine adorer! Well, this love +Vain, frantic, guilty, if thou wilt, became +A fountain of ambition and bright hope; +I thought of tales that by the winter hearth +Old gossips tell--how maidens sprung from kings +Have stoop'd from their high sphere; how love, like death +Levels all ranks, and lays the shepherd's crook +Beside the sceptre. Thus I made my home +In the soft palace of a fairy Future! +My father died; and I, the peasant-born, +Was my own lord. Then did I seek to rise +Out of the prison of my mean estate; +And, with such jewels as the exploring mind +Brings from the caves of knowledge, buy my ransom +From those twin gaolers of the daring heart +Low birth and iron fortune. Thy bright image +Glass'd in my soul, took all the hues of glory, +And lured me on to those inspiring toils +By which man masters men! For thee I grew +A midnight student o'er the dreams of sages. +For thee I sought to borrow from each grace, +And every muse, such attributes as lend +Ideal charms to love. I thought of thee, +And passion taught me poesy--of thee, +And on the painter's canvas grew the life +Of beauty! Art became the shadow +Of the dear starlight of thy haunting eyes +Men call'd me vain--some mad--I heeded not; +But still toil'd on--hoped on--for it was sweet, +If not to win, to feel more worthy thee? + +Pauline. Has he a magic to exorcise hate! + +Mel. At last, in one mad hour, I dared to pour +The thoughts that burst their channels into song, +And sent them to thee--such a tribute, lady, +As beauty rarely scorns, even from the meanest. +The name--appended by the burning heart +That long'd to show its idol what bright things +It had created--yea, the enthusiast's name, +That should have been thy triumph, was thy scorn! +That very hour--when passion, turn'd to wrath, +Resembled hatred most--when thy disdain +Made my whole soul a chaos--in that hour +The tempters found me a revengeful tool +For their revenge! Thou hadst trampled on the worm +It turn'd and stung thee! + +Pauline. Love, sir, hath no sting. +What was the slight of a poor powerless girl +To the deep wrong of this most vile revenge? +Oh, how I loved this man!--a serf!--a slave! + +Mel. Hold, lady! No, not slave! Despair is free! +I will not tell thee of the throes--the struggles +The anguish--the remorse: No, let it pass! +And let me come to such most poor atonement +Yet in my power. Pauline! + +(Approaching her with great emotion, and about to take her hand. + +Pauline. No, touch me not! +I know my fate. You are, by law, my tyrant; +And I--O Heaven!--a peasant's wife! I'll work +Toil--drudge--do what thou wilt--but touch me not; +Let my wrongs make me sacred! + +Mel. Do not fear me. +Thou dost not know me, madam: at the altar +My vengeance ceased--my guilty oath expired! +Henceforth, no image of some marble saint, +Niched in cathedral aisles, is hallow'd more +From the rude hand of sacrilegious wrong. +I am thy husband--nay, thou need'st not shudder; +Here, at thy feet, I lay a husband's rights. +A marriage thus unholy--unfulfill'd-- +A bond of fraud--is, by the laws of France, +Made void and null. To-night sleep--sleep in peace. +To-morrow, pure and virgin as this morn +I bore thee, bathed in blushes, from the shrine, +Thy father's arms shall take thee to thy home. +The law shall do thee justice, and restore +Thy right to bless another with thy love. +And when thou art happy, and hast half forgot +Him who so loved--so wrong'd thee, think at least +Heaven left some remnant of the angel still +In that poor peasant's nature! + +Ho! my mother! [Enter Widow. + +Conduct this lady--(she is not my wife; +She is our guest,--our honor'd guest, my mother)-- +To the poor chamber, where the sleep of virtue, +Never, beneath my father's honest roof, +Ev'n villains dared to mar! Now, lady, now, +I think thou wilt believe me. Go, my mother! + +Widow. She is not thy wife! + +Mel. Hush, hush! for mercy's sake! +Speak not, but go. + +[Widow ascends the stairs; PAULINE follows weeping--turns to look back. + +Mel. [sinking down]. All angels bless and guard her! + +ACT IV.--SCENE I. + +The cottage as before--MELNOTTE seated before a table--writing implements, etc.- +-(Day breaking.) + +Mel. Hush, hush!--she sleeps at last!--thank Heaven, for a while she forgets +even that I live! Her sobs, which have gone to my heart the whole, long, +desolate night, have ceased!--all calm--all still! I will go now; I will send +this letter to Pauline's father: when he arrives, I will place in his hands my +own consent to the divorce, and then, O France! my country! accept among thy +protectors, thy defenders--the peasant's Son! Our country is less proud than +custom, and does not refuse the blood, the heart, the right hand of the poor +man. + +Enter Widow. + +Widow. My son, thou hast acted ill; but sin brings its own punishment. In the +hour of thy remorse, it is not for a mother to reproach thee. + +Mel. What is past is past. There is a future left to all men, who have the +virtue to repent, and the energy to atone. Thou shalt be proud of thy son yet. +Meanwhile, remember this poor lady has been grievously injured. For the sake of +thy son's conscience, respect, honor, bear with her. If she weep, console--if +she chide, be silent. 'Tis but a little while more--I shall send an express fast +as horse can speed to her father. Farewell! I shall return shortly. + +Widow. It is the only course left to thee--thou wert led astray, but thou art +not hardened. Thy heart is right still, as ever it was when, in thy most +ambitious hopes thou wert never ashamed of thy poor mother. + +Mel. Ashamed of thee; No, if I yet endure, yet live, yet hope,--it is only +because I would not die till I have redeemed the noble heritage I have lost--the +heritage I took unstained from thee and my dead father--a proud conscience and +an honest name. I shall win them back yet--heaven bless you! [Exit. + +Widow. My dear Claude! How my heart bleeds for him. + +[PAULINE looks down from above, and after a pause descends + +Pauline. Not here!--he spares me that pain at least: so far he is considerate-- +yet the place seems still more desolate without him. Oh, that I could hate him-- +the gardener's son!--and yet how nobly he--no--no--no I will not be so mean a +thing as to forgive him! + +Widow. Good morning, madam; I would have waited on you if I had known you were +stirring. + +Pauline. It is no matter, ma'am--your son's wife ought to wait on herself. + +Widow. My son's wife--let not that thought vex you, madam--he tells me that you +will have your divorce. And I hope I shall live to see him smile again. There +are maidens in this village, young and fair, madam, who may yet console him. + +Pauline. I dare say--they are very welcome--and when the divorce is got--he will +marry again. I am sure I hope so. [Weeps. + +Widow. He could have married the richest girl in the province, if he had pleased +it; but his head was turned, poor child! he could think of nothing but you. +[Weeps. + +Pauline. Don't weep, mother. + +Widow. Ah, he has behaved very ill, I know, but love is so headstrong in the +young. Don't weep, madam. + +Pauline. So, as you were saying--go on. + +Widow. Oh, I cannot excuse him, ma'am--he was not in his right senses. + +Pauline. But he always--always [sobbing] loved--loved me then? + +Widow. He thought of nothing else. See here--he learnt to paint that he might +take your likeness [uncovers the picture]. But that's all over now--I trust you +have cured him of his folly;--but, dear heart, you have had no breakfast! + +Pauline. I can't take anything--don't trouble yourself. + +Widow. Nay, madam, be persuaded; a little coffee will refresh you. Our milk and +eggs are excellent. I will get out Claude's coffee-cup--It is of real Sevres; he +saved up all his money to buy it three years ago, because the name of Pauline +was inscribed on it. + +Pauline. Three years ago! Poor Claude!--Thank you; I think I will have some +coffee. Oh! if he were but a poor gentleman, even a merchant: but a gardener's +son--and what a home!--Oh no,--it is too dreadful! + +They seat themselves at the table, BEAUSEANT opens the lattice and looks in. + +Beau. So--so--the coast is clear! I saw Claude in the lane--I shall have an +excellent opportunity.Shuts the lattice and knocks at the door. + +Pauline. [starting]. Can it be my father?--he has not sent for--him yet? No, he +cannot be in such a hurry to get rid of me. + +Widow. It is not time for your father to arrive yet; it must be some neighbor. + +Pauline. Don't admit any one. + +[Widow opens the door, BEAUSEANT pushes her aside and enters. Ha! Heavens! that +hateful Beauseant! This is indeed bitter! + +Beau. Good morning, madam! O widow, your son begs you will have the goodness to +go to him in the village he wants to speak to you on particular business; you'll +find him at the inn, or the grocer's shop, or the baker's, or at some other +friend's of your family--make haste. + +Pauline. Don't leave me, mother!--don't leave me. + +Beau. [with great respect]. Be not alarmed, madam. Believe me your friend--your +servant. + +Pauline. Sir, I have no fear of you, even in this house! Go, madam, if your son +wishes it; I will not contradict his commands whilst, at least he has still the +right to be obeyed. + +Widow. I don't understand this; however, I sha'n't be long gone. [Exit. + +Pauline. Sir, I divine the object of your visit--you wish to exult in the +humiliation of one who humbled you. Be it so; I am prepared to endure all--even +your presence! + +Beau. You mistake me, madam--Pauline, you mistake me! I come to lay my fortune +at your feet. You must already be disenchanted with this impostor; these walls +are not worthy to be hallowed by your beauty! Shall that form be clasped in the +arms of a base-born peasant? Beloved, beautiful Pauline! fly with me--my +carriage waits without--I will bear you to a home more meet for your reception. +Wealth, luxury, station--all shall yet be yours. I forget your past disdain--I +remember only your beauty and my unconquerable love! + +Pauline. Sir! leave this house--it is humble: but a husband's roof, however +lowly, is, in the eyes of God and man, the temple of a wife's honor! Know that I +would rather starve--yes--with him who has betrayed me, than accept your lawful +hand, even were you the prince whose name he bore.--Go. + +Beau. What! is not your pride humbled yet? + +Pauline. Sir, what was pride in prosperity in affliction becomes virtue. + +Beau. Look round: these rugged floors--these homely walls--this wretched +struggle of poverty for comfort--think of this! and contrast with such a picture +the refinement, the luxury, the pomp, that the wealthiest gentleman of Lyons +offers to the loveliest lady. Ah, hear me! + +Pauline. Oh! my father!--why did I leave you?--why am I thus friendless? Sir, +you see before you a betrayed, injured, miserable woman!--respect her anguish + +[MELNOTTE opens the door silently, and pauses at the threshold. + +Beau. No! let me rather thus console it; let me snatch from those lips one +breath of that fragrance which never should be wasted on the low churl thy +husband. + +Pauline. Help! Claude!--Claude!--Have I no protector?' + +Beau. Be silent! [showing a pistol.] See, I do not come unprepared even for +violence. I will brave all things--thy husband and all his race--for thy sake. +Thus, then, I clasp thee! + +Mel. [dashing him to the other end of the stage]. Pauline--look up, Pauline! +thou art safe. + +Beau. [levelling his pistol]. Dare you thus insult a man of my birth, ruffian? + +Pauline. Oh, spare him--spare my husband!--Beauseant--Claude--no--no [faints]. + +Mel. Miserable trickster! shame upon you! brave devices to terrify a woman! +Coward!--you tremble--you have outraged the laws--you know that your weapon is +harmless--you have the courage of the mountebank, not the bravo!--Pauline, there +is no danger. + +Beau. I wish thou wert a gentleman--as it is, thou art beneath me.--Good day, +and a happy honeymoon.--[Aside.] I will not die till I am avenged. [Exit. + +Mel. I hold her in these arms--the last embrace +Never, ah never more, shall this dear head +Be pillow'd on the heart that should have shelter'd +And has betray'd!--Soft--soft! one kiss--poor wretch! +No scorn on that pale lip forbids me now! +One kiss--so ends all record of my crime! +It is the seal upon the tomb of hope, +By which, like some lost, sorrowing angel, sits +Sad memory evermore; she breathes--she moves +She wakes to scorn, to hate, but not to shudder +Beneath the touch of my abhorred love. +Places her on a seat. There--we are strangers now! + +Pauline. All gone--all calm +Is every thing a dream? thou art safe, unhurt +I do not love thee;--but--but I am woman, +And--and--no blood is spilt? + +Mel. No, lady, no; My guilt hath not deserved so rich a blessing As even danger +in thy cause. + +Enter WIDOW. + +Widow. My son, I have been everywhere in search of you; why did you send for me? + +Mel. I did not send for you. + +Widow. No! but I must tell you your express has returned. + +Mel. So soon! impossible! + +Widow. Yes, he met the lady's father and mother on the road; they were going +into the country on a visit. Your messenger says that Monsieur Deschappelles +turned almost white with anger when he read your letter. They will be here +almost immediately. Oh, Claude, Claude! what will they do to you? How I tremble! +Ah, madam! do not let them injure him--if you knew how he doated on you. + +Pauline. Injure him! no, ma'am, be not afraid;--my father! how shall I meet him? +how go back to Lyons? the scoff of the whole city! Cruel, cruel, Claude [in +great agitation]. Sir, you have acted most treacherously. + +Mel. I know it, madam. + +Pauline [aside.] If he would but ask me to forgive him!--I never can forgive +you, sir. + +Mel. I never dared to hope it. + +Pauline. But you are my husband now, and I have sworn to--to love you, sir. + +Mel. That was under a false belief, madam; Heaven and the laws will release you +from your vow. + +Pauline. He will drive me mad! if he were but less proud--if he would but ask me +to remain--hark, hark--I hear the wheels of the carriage--Sir--Claude, they are +coming; have you no word to say ere it is loo late? Quick speak. + +Mel. I can only congratulate you on your release. Behold your parents + +Enter MONSIEUR and MADAME DESCHAPPELLES and COLONEL DAMAS. + +M. Deschap. My child! my child! + +Mme. Deschap. Oh, my poor Pauline!--what a villanous hovel this is! Old woman, +get me a chair--I shall faint I certainly shall. What will the world say? Child, +you have been a fool. A mother's heart is easily broken. + +Damas. Ha, ha! most noble Prince--I am sorry to see a man of your quality in +such a condition; I am afraid your highness will go to the House of Correction. + +Mel. Taunt on, sir; I spared you when you were unarmed--I am unarmed now. A man +who has no excuse for crime is indeed defenceless! + +Damas. There's something fine in the rascal, after all! + +M. Deschap. Where is the impostor?--Are you thus shameless, traitor? Can you +brave the presence of that girl's father? + +Mel. Strike me, if it please you--you are her father. + +Pauline. Sir--sir, for my sake; whatever his guilt, he has acted nobly in +atonement. + +Mme. Deschap. Nobly! Are you mad, girl? I have no patience with you--to disgrace +all your family thus! Nobly! Oh you abominable, hardened, pitiful, mean, ugly +villain! + +Damas. Ugly! Why he was beautiful yesterday! + +Pauline. Madame, this is his roof, and he is my husband. Respect your daughter, +or let blame fall alone on her. + +Mme. Deschap. You--you--Oh, I'm choking. + +M. Deschap. Sir, it were idle to waste reproach upon a conscience like yours-- +you renounce all pretensions to the person of this lady? + +Mel. I do. [Gives a paper.] Here is my consent to a divorce--my full confession +of the fraud which annuls the marriage. Your daughter has been foully wronged--I +grant it, sir; but her own lips will tell you that, from the hour in which she +crossed this threshold, I returned to my own station, and respected hers. Pure +and inviolate, as when yestermorn you laid your hand upon her head, and blessed +her, I yield her back to you. For myself--I deliver you for ever from my +presence. An outcast and a criminal, I seek some distant land, where I may mourn +my sin, and pray for your daughter's peace. Farewell--farewell to you all, for +ever! + +Willow. Claude, Claude, you will not leave your poor old mother? She does not +disown you in your sorrow no, not even in your guilt. No divorce can separate a +mother from her son. + +Pauline. This poor widow teaches me my duty. No, mother,--no, for you are now my +mother also!--nor should any law, human or divine, separate the wife from her +husband's sorrows. Claude--Claude--all is forgotten forgiven--I am. thine for +ever! + +Mme. Deschap. What do I hear?--Come away, or never see my face again. + +M. Deschap. Pauline, we never betrayed you!--do you forsake us for him? + +Pauline. [going back to her father]. Oh no--but you will forgive him too; we +will live together--he shall be your son. + +M. Deschap. Never! Cling to him and forsake your parents! His home shall be +yours--his fortune yours--his fate yours: the wealth I have acquired by honest +industry shall never enrich the dishonest man. + +Pauline. And you would have a wife enjoy luxury while a husband toils! Claude, +take me; thou canst not give me wealth, titles, station--but thou canst give me +a true heart I will work for thee, tend thee, bear with thee, and never, never +shall these lips reproach thee for the past. + +Damas. I'll be hanged if I am not going to blubber! + +Mel. This is the heaviest blow of all!--What a heart I have wronged!--Do not +fear me, sir; I am not all hardened--I will not rob her of a holier love than +mine. Pauline!--angel of love and mercy!--your memory shall lead me back to +virtue!--The husband of a being so beautiful in her noble and sublime tenderness +may be poor--may be low born;--(there is no guilt in the decrees of +providence!)--but he should be one who can look thee in the face without a +blush,--to whom thy love does not bring remorse,--who can fold thee to his +heart, and say,--"Here there is no deceit!" I am not that man! + +Damas. [aside to MELNOTTE]. Thou art a noble fellow, notwithstanding; and +wouldst make an excellent soldier. Serve in my regiment. I have had a letter +from the Directory--our young general takes the command of the army in Italy,--I +am to join him at Marseilles,I will depart this day, if thou wilt go with me. + +Mel. It is the favor I would have asked thee, if I dared. Place me wherever a +foe is most dreaded,--wherever France most needs a life! + +Damas. There shall not be a forlorn hope without thee! + +Mel. There is my hand!--mother, your blessing. I shall see you again,--a better +man than a prince,--a man who has bought the right to high thoughts by brave +deeds. And thou!--thou! so wildly worshipped, so guiltily betrayed, all is not +yet lost!--for thy memory, at least, must be mine till death! If I live, the +name of him thou hast once loved shall not rest dishonored;--if I fall, amidst +the carnage and the roar of battle, my soul will fly back to thee, and love +shall share with death my last sigh!--More--more would I speak to thee!--to +pray!--to bless! But no; When I am less unworthy I will utter it to Heaven!--I +cannot trust myself to [turning to DESCHAPPELLES] Your pardon, sir; they are my +last words Farewell! [Exit. + +Damas. I will go after him.--France will thank me for this. + +Pauline [starting from her father's arms]. Claude!--Claude!--my husband! + +M. Deschap. You have a father still! + +ACT V. + +Two years and a half from the date of Act IV. + +SCENE I. + +The Streets of Lyons. + +Enter First, Second, and Third Officers. + +First Officer. Well, here we are at Lyons, with gallant old Damas: it is his +native place. + +Second Officer. Yes; he has gained a step in the army since he was here last. +The Lyonnese ought to be very proud of stout General Damas. + +Third Officer. Promotion is quick in the French army. This mysterious Morier,-- +the hero of Lodi, and the favorite of the commander-in-chief,--has risen to a +colonel's rank to two years and a half. Enter DAMAS, as a General. + +Damas. Good morrow, gentlemen; I hope you will amuse yourselves during our short +stay at Lyons. It is a fine city: improved since I left it. Ah! it is a pleasure +to grow old,when the years that bring decay to ourselves do but ripen the +prosperity of our country. You have not met with Morier? + +First Officer. No: we were just speaking of him. + +Second Officer. Pray, general, can you tell us who this Morier really is? + +Damas. Is!--why a colonel in the French army. + +Third Officer. True. But what was he at first? + +Damas. At first? Why a baby in long clothes, I suppose. + +First Officer. Ha, ha! Ever facetious, general. + +Second Officer. [to Third]. The general is sore upon this point; you will only +chafe him.--Any commands, general? + +Damas. None. Good day to you. [Exeunt Second and Third Officers. + +Damas. Our comrades are very inquisitive. Poor Morier is the subject of a vast +deal of curiosity. + +First Officer. Say interest, rather, general. His constant melancholy, the +loneliness of his habits,--his daring valor, his brilliant rise in the +profession,--your friendship, and the favors of the commander-in-chief,--all +tend to make him as much the matter of gossip as of admiration. But where is he, +general? I have missed him all the morning. + +Damas. Why, captain, I'll let you into a secret. My young friend has come with +me to Lyons in hopes of finding a miracle. + +First Officer. A miracle! + +Damas. Yes, a miracle! in other words,--a constant woman. + +First Officer. Oh! an affair of love! + +Damas. Exactly so. No sooner did he enter Lyons than he waved his hand to me, +threw himself from his horse, and is now, I warrant, asking every one who can +know anything about the matter, whether a certain lady is still true to a +certain gentleman! + +First Officer. Success to him! and of that success there can be no doubt. The +gallant Colonel Morier, the hero of Lodi, might make his choice out of the +proudest families in France. + +Damas. Oh, if pride be a recommendation, the lady and her mother are most +handsomely endowed. By the way, captain, if you should chance to meet with +Morier, tell him he will find me at the hotel. + +First Officer. I will, general. [Exit. + +Damas. Now will I go to the Deschappelles, and make a report to my young +Colonel. Ha! by Mars, Bacchus, Apollo, Virorum,--here comes Monsieur Beauseant! + +Enter BEAUSEANT. + +Good morrow, Monsieur Beauseant! How fares it with you? + +Beau. [aside.] Damas! that is unfortunate;--if the Italian campaign should have +filled his pockets, he may seek to baffle me in the moment of my victory. +[Aloud]. Your servant, general,--for such, I think, is your new distinction! +Just arrived in Lyons? + +Damas. Not an hour ago. Well, how go on the Deschappelles? Have they forgiven +you in that affair of young Melnotte? You had some hand in that notable device,- +-eh? + +Beau. Why, less than you think for! The fellow imposed upon me. I have set it +all right now. What has become of him? He could not have joined the army, after +all. There is no such name in the books. + +Damas. I know nothing about Melnotte. As you say, I never heard the name in the +Grand Army. + +Beau. Hem!--You are not married, general? + +Damas. Do I look like a married man, sir?--No, thank Heaven! My profession is to +make widows, not wives. + +Beau. You must have gained much booty in Italy! Pauline will be your heiress-- +eh? + +Damas. Booty! Not I! Heiress to what? Two trunks and a portmanteau,--four +horses,--three swords, two suits of regimentals, and six pair of white leather +inexpressibles! A pretty fortune for a young lady! + +Beau. [aside.] Then all is safe! [Aloud]. Ha! ha! Is that really all your +capital, General Damas? Why, I thought Italy had been a second Mexico to you +soldiers. + +Damas. All a toss-up, sir. I was not one of the lucky ones! My friend Morier, +indeed, saved something handsome. But our commander-in-chief took care of him, +and Morier is a thrifty, economical dog,--not like the rest of us soldiers, who +spend our money as carelessly as if it were our blood. + +Beau. Well, it is no matter! I do not want fortune with Pauline. And you must +know, General Damas, that your fair cousin has at length consented to reward my +long and ardent attachment. + +Damas. You!--the devil! Why, she is already married! There is no divorce! + +Beau. True; but this very day she is formally to authorize the necessary +proceedings, this very day she is to sign the contract that is to make her mine +within one week from the day on which her present illegal marriage is annulled. + +Damas. You tell me wonders!--Wonders! No; I believe anything of women! + +Beau. I must wish you good morning. [As he is going, enter DESCHAPPELLES. + +M. Deschap. Oh, Beauseant! well met. Let us come to the notary at once. + +Damas [to Deschap.]. Why, cousin! + +M. Deschap. Damas, welcome to Lyons. Pray call on us; my wife will be delighted +to see you. + +Damas. Your wife be-blessed for her condescension! But [taking him aside] what +do I hear? Is it possible that your daughter has consented to a divorce?--that +she will marry Monsieur Beauseant? + +M. Deschap. Certainly. What have you to say against it? A gentleman of birth, +fortune, character. We are not so proud as we were; even my wife has had enough +of nobility and princes! + +Damas. But Pauline loved that young man so tenderly! + +M. Deschap. [taking snuff]. That was two years and a half ago. + +Damas. Very true. Poor Melnotte! + +M. Deschap. But do not talk of that impostor; I hope he is dead or has left the +country. Nay, even were he in Lyons at this moment, he ought to rejoice that, in +an honorable and suitable alliance, my daughter may forget her sufferings and +his crime. + +Damas.--Nay, if it be all settled, I have no more to say. Monsieur Beauseant +informs me that the contract is to be signed this very day. + +M. Deschap, It is; at one o'clock precisely. Will you be one of the witnesses? + +Damas. I?--No; that is to say--yes, certainly!--at one o'clock I will wait on +you. + +M. Deschap. Till then, adieu--come Beauseant. + +[Exeunt BEAUSEANT and DESCHAPELLES + +Damas. The man who sets his heart upon a woman +Is a chameleon, and doth feed on air; +From air he takes his colors--holds his life,-- +Changes with every wind,--grows lean or fat, +Rosy with hope, or green with jealousy, +Or pallid with despair--just as the gale +Varies from North to South--from heat to cold! +Oh, woman! woman! thou shouldst have few sins +Of thine own to answer for! Thou art the author +Of such a book of follies in a man, +That it would need the tears of all the angels +To blot the record out! + +[Enter MELNOTTE, pale and agitated. + +I need not tell thee! Thou hast heard-- + +Mel. The worst! +I have! + +Damas. Be cheer'd; others are fair as she is! + +Mel. Others! The world is crumbled at my feet! +She was my world; fill'd up the whole of being-- +Smiled in the sunshine--walk'd the glorious earth-- +Sate in my heart--was the sweet life of life. +The Past was hers; I dreamt not of a Future +That did not wear her shape! Mem'ry and Hope +Alike are gone. Pauline is faithless! Henceforth +The universal space is desolate! + +Damas. Hope yet. + +Mel. Hope, yes!--one hope is left me still-- +A soldier's grave! Glory has died with love. +I look into my heart, and, where I saw +Pauline, see Death! + +[After a pause].--But am I not deceived? +I went but by the rumor of the town; +Rumor is false,--I was too hasty! Damas, +Whom hast thou seen? + +Damas. Thy rival and her father. +Arm thyself for the truth.--He heeds not. + +Mel. She. + +Will never know how deeply she was loved! +The charitable night, that wont to bring +Comfort to-day, in bright and eloquent dreams, +Is henceforth leagued with misery! Sleep, farewell, +Or else become eternal! Oh, the waking +From false oblivion, and to see the sun, +And know she is another's! + +Damas. Be a man! + +Mel. I am a man!--it is the sting of woe +Like mine that tells us we are men!, + +Damas. The false one +Did not deserve thee. + +Mel. Hush!--No word against her! +Why should she keep, through years and silent absence, +The holy tablets of her virgin faith +True to a traitor's name! Oh, blame her not; +It were a sharper grief to think her worthless +Than to be what I am! To-day,--to-day! +They, said "To-day!" This day, so wildly welcomed-- +This clay, my soul had singled out of time +And mark'd for bliss! This day! oh, could I see her, +See her once more unknown; but hear her voice. +So that one echo of its music might +Make ruin less appalling in its silence. + +Damas. Easily done! Come with me to her house; +Your dress--your cloak--moustache--the bronzed hues +Of time and toil--the name you bear--belief +In your absence, all will ward away suspicion. +Keep in the shade. Ay, I would have you come +There may be hope? Pauline is yet so young, +They may have forced her to these second bridals +Out of mistaken love. + +Mel. No, bid me hope not! +Bid me not hope! I could not bear again +To fall from such a heaven! One gleam of sunshine, +And the ice breaks and I am lost! Oh, Damas, +There's no such thing as courage in a man; +The veriest slave that ever crawl'd from danger +Might spurn me now. When first I lost her, Damas, +I bore it, did I not? I still had hope, +And now I--I--(Bursts into an agony of grief. + +Damas. What, comrade! all the women +That ever smiled destruction on brave hearts +Were not worth tears like these! + +Mel. 'Tis past--forget it. +I am prepared; life has no further ills! +The cloud has broken in that stormy rain, +And on the waste I stand, alone with Heaven. + +Damas. His very face is changed; a breaking heart +Does its work soon!--Come, Melnotte, rouse thyself: +One effort more. Again thou'lt see her. + +Mel. See her! +There is a passion in that simple sentence +That shivers all the pride and power of reason +Into a chaos! + +Damas. Time wanes; come, ere yet It be too late. + +Mel. Terrible words--"Too late!" Lead on. One last look more, and then-- + +Damas. Forget her! + +Mel. Forget her! yes--For death remembers not. [Exeunt. + +SCENE II. + +A room in the house of MONSIEUR DESCHAPPELLES; PAULINE seated in great +dejection. + +Pauline. It is so, then. I must be false to Love, +Or sacrifice a father! Oh, my Claude, +My lover, and my husband! Have I lived +To pray that thou mayest find some fairer boon +Than the deep faith of this devoted heart-- +Nourish'd till now--now broken? + +Enter MONSIEUR DESCHAPPELLES. + +M. Deschap. My dear child, +How shall I thank--how bless thee? Thou hast saved, +I will not say my fortune--I could bear +Reverse, and shrink not--but that prouder wealth +Which merchants value most--my name, my credit-- +The hard--won honors of a toilsome life:-- +These thou hast saved, my child! + +Pauline. Is there no hope? +No hope but this? + +M. Deschap. None. If, without the sum +Which Beauseant offers for thy hand, this day +Sinks to the west--to-morrow brings our ruin! +And hundreds, mingled in that ruin, curse +The bankrupt merchant! and the insolvent herd +We feasted and made merry cry in scorn, +"How pride has fallen!--Lo, the bankrupt merchant!" +My daughter, thou hast saved us! + +Pauline. And am lost! + +M. Deschap. Come, let me hope that Beauseant's love-- + +Pauline. His love! +Talk not of love. Love has no thought of self! +Love buys not with the ruthless usurer's gold +The loathsome prostitution of a hand +Without a heart? Love sacrifices all things +To bless the thing it loves! He knows not love. +Father, his love is hate--his hope revenge! +My tears, my anguish, my remorse for falsehood-- +These are the joys that he wrings from our despair! + +M. Deschap. If thou deem'st thus, reject him! Shame and ruin +Were better than thy misery;--think no more on't. +My sand is wellnigh run--what boots it when +The glass is broken? We'll annul the contract: +And if to-morrow in the prisoner's cell +These aged limbs are laid, why still, my child, +I'll think thou art spared; and wait the Liberal Hour +That lays the beggar by the side of kings! + +Pauline, No--no--forgive me! You, my honor'd father,-- +You, who so loved, so cherish'd me, whose lips +Never knew one harsh word! I'm not ungrateful; +I am but human!--hush! Now, call the bridegroom-- +You see I am prepared--no tears--all calm; +But, father, talk no more of love + +M. Deschap. My child, +Tis but one struggle; he is young, rich, noble; +Thy state will rank first 'mid the dames of Lyons; +And when this heart can shelter thee no more, +Thy youth will not be guardianless. + +Pauline. I have set +My foot upon the ploughshare--I will pass +The fiery ordeal. [Aside.] Merciful Heaven, support me; +And on the absent wanderer shed the light +Of happier stars--lost evermore to me! + +Enter MADAME DESCHAPPELLES, BEAUSEANT, GLAVIS, and Notary. + +Mme. Deschap. Why, Pauline, you are quite in deshabille--you ought to be more +alive to the importance of this joyful occasion. We had once looked higher, it +is true; but you see, after all, Monsieur Beauseant's father was a Marquis, and +that's a great comfort. Pedigree and jointure!--you have them both in Monsieur +Beauseant. A young lady decorously brought up should only have two +considerations in her choice of a husband; first, is his birth honorable? +secondly, will his death be advantageous? All other trifling details should be +left to parental anxiety. + +Beau. [approaching and waving aside Madame]. Ah, Pauline! let me hope that you +are reconciled to an event which confers such rapture upon me. + +Pauline. I am reconciled to my doom. + +Beau. Doom is a harsh word, sweet lady. + +Pauline [aside.] This man must have some mercy--his heart cannot be marble. +[Aloud.] Oh, sir, be just--be generous! Seize a noble triumph--a great revenge! +Save the father, and spare the child. + +Beau. [aside.] joy--joy alike to my hatred and my passion! The haughty Pauline +is at last my suppliant. [Aloud.] You ask from me what I have not the sublime +virtue to grant--a virtue reserved only for the gardener's son! I cannot forego +my hopes in the moment of their fulfilment! I adhere to the contract--your +father's ruin or your hand. + +Pauline. Then all is over. Sir, I have decided. + +[The clock strikes one. + +Enter DAMAS and MELNOTTE. + +Damas. Your servant, cousin Deschappelles. Let me introduce Colonel Morier. + +Mme. Deschap. [curtsying very low]. What, the celebrated hero? This is, indeed, +an honor! [MELNOTTE bows, and remains in the background. + +Damas [to Pauline]. My little cousin, I congratulate you. What, no smile--no +blush? You are going to be divorced from poor Melnotte, and marry this rich +gentleman. You ought to be excessively happy! + +Pauline. Happy! + +Damas. Why, how pale you are, child!--Poor Pauline! Hist--confide in me! Do they +force you to this? + +Pauline. No! + +Damas. You act with your own free consent? + +Pauline. My own consent--yes. + +Damas. Then you are the most--I will not say what you are. + +Pauline. You think ill of me--be it so--yet if you knew all-- + +Damas. There is some mystery--speak out, Pauline. + +Pauline [suddenly]. Oh, perhaps you.can save me! you are our relation--our +friend. My father is on the verge of bankruptcy--this day he requires a large +sum to meet demands that cannot be denied; that sum Beauseant will advance--this +hand the condition of the barter. Save me if you have the means--save me! You +will be repaid above! + +Damas. aside. I recant--Women are not so bad after all! [Aloud.] Humph, child! I +cannot help you--I am too poor. + +Pauline. The last plank to which I clung is shivered. + +Damas. Hold--you see my friend Morier: Melnotte is his most intimate friend-- +fought in the same fields--slept in the same tent. Have you any message to send +to Melnotte? any word to soften this blow? + +Pauline. He knows Melnotte--he will see him--he will bear to him my last +farewell--[approaches MELNOTTE] He has a stern air--he turns away from me--he +despises me!--Sir one word I beseech you. + +Mel. Her voice again! How the old time comes o'er me! + +Damas [to Madame.] Don't interrupt them.--He is going to tell her what a rascal +young Melnotte is; he knows him well, I promise you. + +Mme. Deschap. So considerate in you, cousin Damas! + +[DAMAS approaches DESCHAPPELLES; converses apart with hint in dumb show-- +DESCHAPPELLES shows him a paper, which he inspects and takes. + +Pauline. Thrice have I sought to speak; my courage fails me.-- +Sir, is it true that you have known--nay, are +The friend of--Melnotte. + +Mel. Lady, yes!-- +Myself And misery know the man! + +Pauline. And you will see him, +And you will bear to him--ay--word for word, +All that this heart, which breaks in parting from him, +Would send, ere still for ever? + +Mel. He hath told me +You have the right to choose from out the world +A worthier bridegroom;--he forgoes all claim, +Even to murmur at his doom. Speak on! + +Pauline. Tell him, for years I never nursed a thought +That was not his;--that on his wandering way, +Daily and nightly, pour'd a mourner's prayers. +Tell him ev'n now that I would rather share +His lowliest lot,--walk by his side, an outcast-- +Work for him, beg with him,--live upon the light +Of one kind smile from him,--than wear the crown +The Bourbon lost! + +Mel. [aside.] Am I already mad? +And does delirium utter such sweet words +Into a dreamer's ear? [Aloud]. You love him thus, +And yet desert him? + +Pauline. Say, that, if his eye-- +Could read this heart,--its struggles, its temptations,-- +His love itself would pardon that desertion! +Look on that poor old man,--he is my father; +He stands upon the verge of an abyss!-- +He calls his child to save him! Shall I shrink +From him who gave me birth?--withhold my hand, +And see a parent perish? Tell him this, +And say--that we shall meet again in Heaven! + +Mel. Lady--I--I--what is this riddle?--what +The nature of this sacrifice? + +Pauline [pointing to DAMAS]. Go, ask him! + +Beau. [from the table]. The papers are prepared--we only need +Your hand and seal. + +Mel. Stay, lady--one word more. +Were but your duty with your faith united, +Would you still share the low-born peasant's lot? + +Pauline. Would I? Ah, better death with him I love +Than all the pomp--which is but as the flowers +That crown the victim!--[Turning away.] I am ready. + +[MELNOTTE rushes to DAMAS. + +Damas. There--This is the schedule--this the total. + +Beau. [to DESCHAPPELLES, showing notes]. These +Are yours the instant she has sign'd; you are +Still the great House of Lyons! + +[The Notary is about to hand the contract to PAULINE, when MELNOTTE seizes it +and tears it. + +Beau. Are you mad? + +M. Deschap. How, Sir! What means this insult? + +Mel. Peace, old man! +I have a prior claim. Before the face +Of man and Heaven I urge it; I outbid +Yon sordid huckster for your priceless jewel. [Giving a pocket-book. +There is the sum twice told! Blush not to take it: +There's not a coin that is not bought and hallow'd +In the cause of nations with a soldier's blood! + +Beau. Torments and death! + +Pauline. That voice! Thou art-- + +Mel. Thy husband! + +[PAULINE rushes into his arms. + +Look up! Look up, Pauline!--for I can bear +Thine eyes! The stain is blotted from my name. +I have redeem'd mine honor. I can call +On France to sanction thy divine forgiveness! +Oh, joy!--Oh, rapture! By the midnight watchfires +Thus have I seen thee! thus foretold this hour! +And 'midst the roar of battle, thus have heard +The beating of thy heart against my own! + +Beau. Fool'd, duped, and triumph'd over in the hour +Of mine own victory! Curses on ye both! +May thorns be planted in the marriage-bed! +And love grow sour'd and blacken'd into hate +Such as the hate that gnaws me! + +Damas. Curse away +And let me tell thee, Beauseant, a wise proverb +The Arabs have,--"Curses are like young chickens, +[Solemnly.] And still come home to roost!" + +Beau. Their happiness +Maddens my soul! I am powerless and revengeless! [To MADAME. +I wish you joy! Ha! ha! the gardener's son! [Exit. + +Damas [to GLAVIS]. Your friend intends to hang himself! Methinks +You ought to be his travelling companion! + +Gla. Sir, you are exceedingly obliging! [Exit. + +Pauline. Oh +My father, you are saved,--and by my husband! +Ah, blessed hour! + +Mel. Yet you weep still, Pauline. + +Pauline. But on thy breast!--these tears are sweet and holy! + +M. Deschap. You have won love and honor nobly, sir! +Take her;--be happy both! + +Mme. Deschap.I'm all astonish'd! +Who, then, is Colonel Morier? + +Damas.You behold him! + +Mel. Morier no more after this happy day! +I would not bear again my father's name +Till I could deem it spotless! The hour's come! +Heaven smiled on conscience! As the soldier rose +From rank to rank, how sacred was the fame +That cancell'd crime, and raised him nearer thee! + +Mme. Deschap. A Colonel and a hero! Well, that's something! +He's wondrously improved! I wish you joy, sir! + +Mel. Ah! the same love that tempts us into sin, +If it be true love, works out its redemption; +And he who seeks repentance for the Past +Should woo the Angel Virtue in the Future. + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg Etext The Lady of Lyons, Edward Bulwer Lytton + diff --git a/old/ladyl10.zip b/old/ladyl10.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..f15c3cb --- /dev/null +++ b/old/ladyl10.zip diff --git a/old/ladyl11.txt b/old/ladyl11.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..a881bd2 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/ladyl11.txt @@ -0,0 +1,2853 @@ +Project Gutenberg Etext The Lady of Lyons, Edward Bulwer Lytton +#6 in our series by Edward Bulwer Lytton + + +Copyright laws are changing all over the world, be sure to check +the copyright laws for your country before posting these files!! + +Please take a look at the important information in this header. +We encourage you to keep this file on your own disk, keeping an +electronic path open for the next readers. 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FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS*Ver.04.29.93*END* + + + + + +Scanned by Dianne Bean +Proofread by David Ceponis + + + + + +The Lady of Lyons; + +Or, + +Love and Pride. + + + +by Edward Bulwer Lytton + + + + +To the author of "Ion." + +Whose genius and example have alike contributed towards the regeneration +of The National Drama, + +This play is inscribed. + +PREFACE. + +An indistinct recollection of the very pretty little tale, +called "The Bellows-Mender," suggested the plot of this Drama. +The incidents are, however, greatly altered from those in the tale, +and the characters entirely re-cast. + +Having long had a wish to illustrate certain periods of the French +history, so, in the selection of the date in which the scenes of this +play are laid, I saw that the era of the Republic was that in which +the incidents were rendered most probable, in which the probationary +career of the hero could well be made sufficiently rapid for +dramatic effect, and in which the character of the time itself was +depicted by the agencies necessary to the conduct of the narrative. +For during the early years of the first and most brilliant successes +of the French Republic, in the general ferment of society, +and the brief equalization of ranks, Claude's high-placed love; +his ardent feelings, his unsettled principles (the struggle between +which makes the passion of this drama), his ambition, and his career, +were phenomena that characterized the age, and in which the spirit +of the nation went along with the extravagance of the individual. + +The play itself was composed with a twofold object. +In the first place, sympathizing with the enterprise of Mr. Macready, +as Manager of Covent Garden, and believing that many of the higher +interests of the Drama were involved in the success or failure +of an enterprise equally hazardous and disinterested, I felt, if I +may so presume to express myself, something of the Brotherhood of Art; +and it was only for Mr. Macready to think it possible that I might +serve him in order to induce me to make the attempt. + +Secondly, in that attempt I was mainly anxious to see whether +or not, after the comparative failure on the stage of "The Duchess +de la Valliere," certain critics had truly declared that it +was not in my power to attain the art of dramatic construction +and theatrical effect. I felt, indeed, that it was in this +that a writer, accustomed to the narrative class of composition, +would have the most both to learn and unlearn. Accordingly, it was +to the development of the plot and the arrangement of the incidents +that I directed my chief attention;--and I sought to throw whatever +belongs to poetry less into the diction and the "felicity of words" +than into the construction of the story, the creation of the characters, +and the spirit of the pervading sentiment. + +The authorship of the play was neither avowed nor suspected +until the play had established itself in public favor. +The announcement of my name was the signal for attacks, +chiefly political, to which it is now needless to refer. +When a work has outlived for some time the earlier hostilities +of criticism, there comes a new race of critics to which a writer may, +for the most part, calmly trust for a fair consideration, +whether of the faults or the merits of his performance. + +DRAMATIS PERSONAE. + +BEAUSEANT, a rich gentleman of Lyons, in love with, +and refused by, Pauline Deschappelles MR. ELTON. + +GLAVIS, his friend, also a rejected suitor to Pauline MR. MEADOWS. + +COLONEL (afterwards General) DAMAS, cousin to Mme. Deschappelles, +and an officer in the French army MR. BARTLEY. + +MONSIEUR DESCHAPPELLES, a Lyonnese merchant father to Pauline + MR. STRICKLAND. + + +GASPAR MR. DIDDEAR. + +CLAUDE MELNOTTE MR. MACREADY. + +FIRST OFFICER MR. HOWE. + +SECOND OFFICER MR. PRITCHARD. + +THIRD OFFICER MR. ROBERTS. + +Servants, Notary, etc. + +MADAME DESCHAPPELLES MRS. W. CLIFFORD. + +PAULINE, her daughter MISS HELEN FAUCIT. + +THE WIDOW MELNOTTE, mother to Claude MRS. GRIFFITH. + +JANET, the innkeeper's daughter MRS. EAST. + +MARIAN, maid to Pauline MISS GARRICK. + + + +Scene--Lyons and the neighborhood. + +Time--1795-1798 + +First performed on Thursday, the 15th of February, 1838, +at Covent Garden Theatre. + + + +THE LADY OF LYONS; + +or, + +LOVE AND PRIDE. + +ACT I.--SCENE I. + +A room in the house of M. DESCHAPPELLES, at Lyons. PAULINE reclining +on a sofa; MARIAN, her maid, fanning her--Flowers and notes on +a table beside the sofa--MADAME DESCHAPPELLES seated--The gardens +are seen from the open window. + +Mme. Deschap. Marian, put that rose a little more to the left.--[MARIAN +alters the position of a rose in PAULINE's hair.]--Ah, so!-- +that improves the hair,--the tournure, the j'e ne sais quoi!-- +You are certainly very handsome, child!--quite my style;--I don't +wonder that you make such a sensation!--Old, young, rich, and poor, +do homage to the Beauty of Lyons!--Ah, we live again in our children,-- +especially when they have our eyes and complexion! + +Pauline [languidly]. Dear mother, you spoil your Pauline!--[Aside.] I +wish I knew who sent me these flowers! + +Mme. Deschap. No, child!--If I praise you, it is only to inspire +you with a proper ambition.--You are born to make a great marriage.-- +Beauty is valuable or worthless according as you invest the property +to the best advantage. Marian, go and order the carriage! +[Exit MARIAN. + +Pauline. Who can it be that sends me, every day, these beautiful flowers?-- +how sweet they are! + +Enter Servant. + +Servant. Monsieur Beauseant, Madam. + +Mme. Deschap. Let him enter. Pauline, this is another offer!-- +I know it is!--Your father should engage an additional clerk to keep +the account-book of your conquests. + +Enter BEAUSEANT. + +Beau. Ah, ladies how fortunate I am to find you at home!--[Aside.] How +lovely she looks!--It is a great sacrifice I make in marrying into a +family in trade!--they will be eternally grateful!--[Aloud.] Madam, you +will permit me a word with your charming daughter.--[Approaches PAULINE, +who rises disdainfully.]--Mademoiselle, I have ventured to wait +upon you, in a hope that you must long since have divined. +Last night, when you outshone all the beauty of Lyons, you completed +your conquest over me! You know that my fortune is not exceeded +by any estate in the province,--you know that, but for the Revolution, +which has defrauded me of my titles, I should be noble. +May I, then, trust that you will not reject my alliance? +I offer you my hand and heart. + +Pauline [aside.] He has the air of a man who confers a +favor!--[Aloud.] Sir, you are very condescending--I thank you humbly; +but, being duly sensible of my own demerits, you must allow me +to decline the honor you propose. [Curtsies, and turns away. + +Beau. Decline! Impossible!--you are not serious!--Madam, suffer me +to appeal to you. I am a suitor for your daughter's hand-- +the settlements shall be worthy of her beauty and my station. +May I wait on M. Deschappelles? + +Mme. Deschap. M. Deschappelles never interferes in the domestic +arrangements,--you are very obliging. If you were still a marquis, +or if my daughter were intended to marry a commoner,--why, perhaps, +we might give you the preference. + +Beau. A commoner!--we are all commoners in France now. + +Mme. Deschap. In France, yes; but there is a nobility still left +in the other countries in Europe. We are quite aware of your +good qualities, and don't doubt that you will find some lady more +suitable to your pretensions. We shall be always happy to see you +as an acquaintance, M. Beauseant!--My dear child, the carriage +will be here presently. + +Beau. Say no more, madam!--say no more!--[Aside.] Refused! and by a +merchant's daughter!--refused! It will be all over Lyons before sunset!-- +I will go and bury myself in my chateau, study philosophy, +and turn woman-hater. Refused! they ought to be sent to a madhouse!-- +Ladies, I have the honor to wish you a very good morning. [Exit. + +Mme. Deschap. How forward these men are!--I think, child, +we kept up our dignity. Any girl, however inexperienced, +knows how to accept an offer, but it requires a vast deal +of address to refuse one with proper condescension and disdain. +I used to practise it at school with the dancing-master. + +Enter DAMAS. + +Damas. Good morning, cousin Deschappelles.--Well, Pauline, are you +recovered from last night's ball?--So many triumphs must be +very fatiguing. Even M. Glavis sighed most piteously when you departed; +but that might be the effect of the supper. + +Pauline. M. Glavis, indeed! + +Mme. Deschap. M. Glavis?--as if my daughter would think of M. Glavis! + +Damas. Hey-day!--why not?--His father left him a very pretty fortune, +and his birth is higher than yours, cousin Deschappelles. But perhaps +you are looking to M. Beauseant,--his father was a marquis +before the Revolution. + +Pauline. M. Beauseant!--Cousin, you delight in tormenting me! + +Mme. Deschap. Don't mind him, Pauline!--Cousin Damas, you have +no susceptibility of feeling,--there is a certain indelicacy +in all your ideas.--M. Beauseant knows already that he is no match +for my daughter! + +Damas. Pooh! pooh! one would think you intended your daughter +to marry a prince! + +Mme. Deschap. Well, and if I did?--what then?--Many a foreign prince-- + +Damas [interrupting her]. Foreign prince!--foreign fiddlestick!-- +you ought to be ashamed of such nonsense at your time of life. + +Mme. Deschap. My time of life!--That is an expression never +applied to any lady till she is sixty-nine and three-quarters;-- +and only then by the clergyman of the parish. + +Enter Servant. + +Servant. Madame, the carriage is at the door. [Exit. + +Mme. Deschap. Come, child, put on your bonnet--you really have a very +thorough-bred air--not at all like your poor father.--[Fondly]. Ah, +you little coquette! when a young lady is always making mischief, +it is a sure sign that she takes after her mother! + +Pauline. Good day, cousin Damas--and a better humor to you.--[Going +back to the table and taking the flowers]. Who could have sent me +these flowers? [Exeunt PAULINE and MADAME DESCHAPPELLES. + +Damas. That would be an excellent girl if her head had not been turned. +I fear she is now become incorrigible! Zounds, what a lucky fellow I +am to be still a bachelor! They may talk of the devotion of the sex-- +but the most faithful attachment in life is that of a woman in love-- +with herself. [Exit. + +SCENE II. + +The exterior of a small Village Inn--sign, the Golden Lion--A few +leagues from Lyons, which is seen at a distance. + +Beau. [behind the scenes.] Yes, you may bait the horses; we shall +rest here an hour. + +Enter BEAUSEANT and GLAVIS. + +Gla. Really, my dear Beauseant, consider that I have promised to spend +a day or two with you at your chateau, that I am quite at your mercy +for my entertainment,--and yet you are as silent and as gloomy +as a mute at a funeral, or an Englishman at a party of pleasure. + +Beau. Bear with me!--the fact is that I am miserable. + +Gla. You--the richest and gayest bachelor in Lyons? + +Beau. It is because I am a bachelor that I am miserable.--Thou knowest +Pauline--the only daughter of the rich merchant, Mons. Deschappelles? + +Gla. Know her?--who does not?--as pretty as Venus, and as proud as Juno. + +Beau. Her taste is worse than her pride.--[Drawing himself +up.] Know, Glavis, she has actually refused me! + +Gla. [aside]. So she has me!--very consoling! In all cases +of heart-ache, the application of another man's disappointment +draws out the pain and allays the irritation.--[Aloud.] Refused +you! and wherefore? + +Beau. I know not, unless it be because the Revolution swept away +my father's title of Marquis,--and she will not marry a commoner. +Now, as we have no noblemen left in France,--as we are all +citizens and equals, she can only hope that, in spite of the war, +some English Milord or German Count will risk his life, by coming +to Lyons, that this fille du Roturier may condescend to accept him. +Refused me, and with scorn!--By Heaven, I'll not submit to it tamely:-- +I'm in a perfect fever of mortification and rage.--Refuse me, indeed! + +Gla. Be comforted, my dear fellow,--I will tell you a secret. +For the same reason she refused ME! + +Beau. You!--that's a very different matter! But give me your hand, +Glavis,--we'll think of some plan to humble her. Mille diables! +I should like to see her married to a strolling player! + +Enter Landlord and his Daughter from the Inn. + +Land. Your servant, citizen Beauseant,--servant, Sir. Perhaps you +will take dinner before you proceed to your chateau; our larder +is most plentifully supplied. + +Beau. I have no appetite. + +Gla. Nor I. Still it is bad travelling on an empty stomach. +What have you got? [Takes and looks over the bill of fare.] + +[Shout without.] "Long live the Prince!--Long live the Prince!" + +Beau. The Prince!--what Prince is that? I thought we had no princes +left in France. + +Land. Ha, ha! the lads always call him Prince. He has just won the prize +in the shooting-match, and they are taking him home in triumph. + +Beau. Him! and who's Mr. Him? + +Land. Who should he be but the pride of the village, +Claude Melnotte?--Of course you have heard of Claude Melnotte? + +Gla. [giving back the bill of fare.] Never had that honor. +Soup--ragout of hare--roast chicken, and, in short, all you have! + +Beau. The son of old Alelnotte, the gardener? + +Land. Exactly so--a wonderful young man. + +Beau. How, wonderful?--Are his cabbages better than other people's + +Land. Nay, he don't garden any more; his father left him well off. +He's only a genus. + +Gla. A what? + +Land. A genus!--a man who can do everything in life except anything +that's useful--that's a genus. + +Beau. You raise my curiosity;--proceed. + +Land. Well, then, about four years ago, old Melnotte died, and left +his son well to do in the world. We then all observed that a great +change came over young Claude: he took to reading and Latin, +and hired a professor from Lyons, who had so much in his head +that he was forced to wear a great full-bottom wig to cover it. +Then he took a fencing-master, and a dancing-master, and a music-master; +and then he learned to paint; and at last it was said that +young Claude was to go to Paris, and set up for a painter. +The lads laughed at him at first; but he is a stout fellow, +is Claude, and as brave as a lion, and soon taught them to laugh +the wrong side of their mouths; and now all the boys swear by him, +and all the girls pray for him. + +Beau. A promising youth, certainly! And why do they call him Prince? + +Land. Partly because he is at the head of them all, and partly +because he has such a proud way with him, and wears such fine clothes-- +and, in short, looks like a prince. + +Beau. And what could have turned the foolish fellow's brain? +The Revolution, I suppose? + +Land. Yes--the revolution that turns us all topsy-turvy-- +the revolution of Love. + +Beau. Romantic young Corydon! And with whom is he in love? + +Land. Why--but it is a secret, gentlemen. + +Beau. Oh! certainly. + +Land. Why, then, I hear from his mother, good soul! that it is no +less a person than the Beauty of Lyons, Pauline Deschappelles. + +Beau. and Glavis. Ha, ha!--Capital! + +Land. You may laugh, but it is as true as I stand here. + +Beau. And what does the Beauty of Lyons say to his suit? + +Land. Lord, sir, she never even condescended to look at him, +though when he was a boy he worked in her father's garden. + +Beau. Are you sure of that? + +Land. His mother says that Mademoiselle does not know him by sight. + +Beau. [taking Glavis aside]. I have hit it,--I have it; +here is our revenge! Here is a prince for our haughty damsel. +Do you take me? + +Gla. Deuce take me if I do! + +Beau. Blockhead!--it's as clear as a map. What if we could +make this elegant clown pass himself off as a foreign prince?-- +lend him money, clothes, equipage for the purpose?--make him propose +to Pauline?--marry Pauline? Would it not be delicious? + +Gla. Ha, ha!--Excellent! But how shall we support the necessary +expenses of his highness? + +Beau. Pshaw! Revenge is worth a much larger sacrifice than a few hundred +louis;- -as for details, my valet is the trustiest fellow, in the world, +and shall have the appointment of his highness's establishment. +Let's go to him at once, and see if he be really this Admirable Crichton. + +Gla. With all my heart;--but the dinner? + +Beau. Always thinking of dinner! Hark ye, landlord; how far is it +to young Melnotte's cottage? I should like to see such a prodigy. + +Land. Turn down the lane,--then strike across the common,-- +and you will see his mother's cottage. + +Beau. True, he lives with his mother.--[Aside.] We will not trust +to an old woman's discretion; better send for him hither. +I'll just step in and write a note. Come, Glavis. + +Gla. Yes,--Beauseant, Glavis, and Co., manufacturers of princes, +wholesale and retail,--an uncommonly genteel line of business. +But why so grave? + +Beau. You think only of the sport,--I of the revenge. +[Exeunt within the Inn. + +SCENE III. + +The interior of MELNOTTE'S cottage; flowers placed here and there; +a guitar on an oaken table, with a portfolio, etc.; a picture on an easel, +covered by a curtain; fencing foils crossed over the mantelpiece; +an attempt at refinement in site of the homeliness of the furniture, etc.; +a staircase to the right conducts to the upper story. + +[Shout without]. "Long live Claude Melnotte!" "Long live the Prince!" + +The Widow Mel. Hark!--there's my dear son;--carried off the prize, +I'm sure; and now he'll want to treat them all. + +Claude Mel. [opening the door]. What! you will not come in, +my friends! Well, well,there's a trifle to make merry elsewhere. +Good day to you all,--good day! + +[Shout]. "Hurrah! Long live Prince Claude!" + +Enter CLAUDE MELNOTTE, with a rifle in his hand. + +Mel. Give me joy, dear mother!--I've won the prize!--never missed +one shot! Is it not handsome, this gun? + +Widow. Humph!--Well, what is it worth, Claude? + +Mel. Worth! What is a riband worth to a soldier? Worth! everything! +Glory is priceless! + +Widow. Leave glory to great folks. Ah! Claude, Claude, castles in +the air cost a vast deal to keep up! How is all this to end? +What good does it do thee to learn Latin, and sing songs, +and play on the guitar, and fence, and dance, and paint pictures? +All very fine; but what does it bring in? + +Mel. Wealth! wealth, my mother! Wealth to the mind--wealth to the heart-- +high thoughts--bright dreams--the hope of fame--the ambition to be +worthier to love Pauline. + +Widow. My poor son!--The young lady will never think of thee. + +Mel. Do the stars think of us? Yet if the prisoner see them shine +into his dungeon, wouldst thou bid him turn away from their lustre? +Even so from this low cell, poverty, I lift my eyes to Pauline and +forget my chains.--[Goes to the picture and draws aside the curtain.] + +See, this is her image--painted from memory. Oh, how the canvas +wrongs her!--[Takes up the brush and throws it aside.] I shall +never be a painter! I can paint no likeness but one, and that is +above all art. I would turn soldier--France needs soldiers! +But to leave the air that Pauline breathes! What is the hour?-- +so late? I will tell thee a secret, mother. Thou knowest that +for the last six weeks I have sent every day the rarest flowers +to Pauline?--she wears them. I have seen them on her breast. +Ah, and then the whole universe seemed filled with odors! +I have now grown more bold--I have poured my worship into poetry-- +I have sent the verses to Pauline--I have signed them with my own name. +My messenger ought to--be back by this time. I bade him wait +for the answer. + +Widow. And what answer do you expect, Claude? + +Mel. That which the Queen of Navarre sent to the poor troubadour:--"Let +me see the Oracle that can tell nations I am beautiful!" +She will admit me. I shall hear her speak--I shall meet her eyes-- +I shall read upon her cheek the sweet thoughts that translate +themselves into blushes. Then--then, oh, then--she may forget +that I am the peasant's son!. + +Widow. Nay, if she will but hear thee talk, Claude? + +Mel. I foresee it all. She will tell me that desert is the true rank. +She will give me a badge--a flower--a glove! Oh rapture! +I shall join the armies of the republic--I shall rise-- +I shall win a name that beauty will not blush to hear. +I shall return with the right to say to her--"See, how love does +not level the proud, but raise the--humble!" Oh, how my heart +swells within me!--Oh, what glorious prophets of the future are +youth and hope! + +[Knock at the door.] + +Widow. Come in. + +Enter GASPAR. + +Mel. Welcome, Gaspar, welcome. Where is the letter? +Why do you turn away, man? where is the letter? [GASPAR gives +him one.] This! This is mine, the one I intrusted to thee. +Didst thou not leave it? + +Gaspar. Yes, I left it. + +Mel. My own verses returned to me. Nothing else! + +Gaspar. Thou wilt be proud to hear how thy messenger was honored. +For thy sake, Melnotte, I have borne that which no Frenchman can +bear without disgrace. + +Mel. Disgrace, Gaspar! Disgrace? + +Gaspar. I gave thy letter to the porter, who passed it from lackey +to lackey till it reached the lady it was meant for. + +Mel. It reached her, then; you are sure of that! +It reached her,--well, well! + +Gaspar. It reached her, and was returned to me with blows. +Dost hear, Melnotte? with blows! Death! are we slaves still, +that we are to be thus dealt with, we peasants? + +Mel. With blows? No, Gaspar, no; not blows! + +Gaspar. I could show thee the marks if it were not so deep a shame +to bear them. The lackey who tossed thy letter into the mire +swore that his lady and her mother never were so insulted. +What could thy letter contain, Claude? + +Mel. [looking over the letter]. Not a line that a serf might not +have written to an empress. No, not one. + +Gaspar. They promise thee the same greeting they gave me, if thou +wilt pass that way. Shall we endure this, Claude? + +Mel. [wringing GASPAR's hand]. Forgive me, the fault was mine, I have +brought this on thee; I will not forget it; thou shalt be avenged! +The heartless insolence! + +Gaspar. Thou art moved, Melnotte; think not of me; I would +go through fire and water to serve thee; but,--a blow! +It is not the bruise that galls,--it is the blush, Melnotte. + +Mel. Say, what message?--How insulted!--Wherefore?--What the offence? + +Gaspar. Did you not write to Pauline Deschappelles, the daughter +of the rich merchant? + +Mel. Well? + +Gaspar. And are you not a peasant--a gardener's son?-- +that was the offence. Sleep on it, Melnotte. Blows to a French +citizen, blows! [Exit. + +Widow. Now you are cured, Claude! + +Mel. tearing the letter. So do I scatter her image to the winds-- +I will stop her in the open streets--I will insult her--I will beat +her menial ruffians--I will--[Turns suddenly to Widow.] Mother, +am I humpbacked--deformed--hideous? Widow. You! + +Mel. A coward--a thief--a liar? + +Widow. You! + +Mel. Or a dull fool--a vain, drivelling, brainless idiot? +Widow. No, no. Mel. What am I then--worse than all these? +Why, I am a peasant! What has a peasant to do with love? +Vain revolutions, why lavish your cruelty on the great? Oh that we-- +we, the hewers of wood and drawers of water--had been swept away, +so that the proud might learn what the world would be without us! +[Knock at the door. + +Enter Servant from the Inn. + +Servant. A letter for Citizen Melnotte. + +Mel. A letter! from her perhaps--who sent thee? + +Servant. Why, Monsieur--I mean Citizen--Beauseant, who stops to dine +at the Golden Lion, on his way to his chateau. + +Mel. Beauseant!--[Reads]. + +"Young man, I know thy secret--thou lovest above thy station: +if thou hast wit, courage, and discretion, I can secure to thee +the realization of thy most sanguine hopes; and the sole condition I +ask in return is, that thou shalt be steadfast to thine own ends. +I shall demand from thee a solemn oath to marry. her whom thou lovest; +to bear her to thine home on thy wedding night. I am serious-- +if thou wouldst learn more, lose not a moment, but follow the bearer +of this letter to thy friend and patron,--CHARLES BEAUSEANT." + +Mel. Can I believe my eyes? Are our own passions the sorcerers +that raise up for us spirits of good or evil? I will go instantly. + +Widow. What is this, Claude? + +Mel. "Marry her whom thou lovest"--"bear her to thine own home."-- +Oh, revenge and love; which of you is the stronger?--[Gazing +on the picture.] Sweet face, thou smilest on me from the canvas: +weak fool that I am, do I then love her still? No, it is the vision +of my own romance that I have worshipped: it is the reality to +which I bring scorn for scorn. Adieu, mother: I will return anon. +My brain reels--the earth swims before me.--[Looks again at +the letter.] No, it is not a mockery; I do not dream! [Exit. + +ACT II.--SCENE I. + +The Gardens of M. DESCHAPPELLEs' house at Lyons--the house seen +at the back of the stage. + +Enter BEAUSEANT and GLAVIS. + +Beau. Well, what think you of my plot? Has it not succeeded +to a miracle? The instant that I introduced his Highness +the Prince of Como to the pompous mother and the scornful daughter, +it was all over with them: he came--he saw--he conquered: +and, though it is not many days since he arrived, they have already +promised him the hand of Pauline. + +Gla. It is lucky, though, that you told them his highness travelled +incognito, for fear the Directory (who are not very fond of princes) +should lay him by the heels; for he has a wonderful wish to keep +up his rank, and scatters our gold about with as much coolness +as if he were watering his own flower-pots. + +Beau. True, he is damnably extravagant; I think the sly dog does it +out of malice. How ever, it must be owned that he reflects credit on +his loyal subjects, and makes a very pretty figure in his fine clothes, +with my diamond snuff-box. + +Gla. And my diamond ring! But do you think he will be firm to the last? +I fancy I see symptoms of relenting: he will never keep up his rank, +if he once let out his conscience. + +Beau. His oath binds him! he cannot retract without being +foresworn, and those low fellows are always superstitious! +But, as it is, I tremble lest he be discovered: that bluff +Colonel Damas (Madame Deschappelles' cousin) evidently suspects him: +we must make haste and conclude the farce: I have thought of a plan +to end it this very day. + +Gla. This very day! Poor Pauline: her dream will be soon over. + +Beau. Yes, this day they shall be married; this evening, +according to his oath, he shall carry his bride to the Golden Lion, +and then pomp, equipage, retinue, and title, all shall vanish at once; +and her Highness the Princess shall find that she has refused the son +of a Marquis, to marry the son of a gardener.--Oh, Pauline! once loved, +now hated, yet still not relinquished, thou shalt drain the cup +to the dregs,--thou shalt know what it is to be humbled! + +Enter from the house, MELNOTTE, as the Prince of Como, Ieading +in PAULINE; MADAME + +DESCHAPPELLES, fanning herself; and COLONEL DAMAS. + +[BEAUSEANT and GLAVIS bow respectfully. fully. PAULINE and +MELNOTTE walk apart. + +Mme. Deschap. Good morning, gentlemen; really I am so fatigued +with laughter; the dear Prince is so entertaining. What wit he has! +Any one may see that he has spent his whole life in courts. + +Damas. And what the deuce do you know about courts, +cousin Deschappelles? You women regard men just as you buy books-- +you never care about what is in them, but how they are bound +and lettered. 'Sdeath, I don't think you would even look at your +Bible if it had not a title to it. + +Mme. Deschap. How coarse you are, cousin Damas!--quite the manners +of a barrack--you don't deserve to be one of our family; +really we must drop your acquaintance when Pauline marries. +I cannot patronize any relations that would discredit my future +son-in-law, the Prince of Como. + +Mel. [advancing]. These are beautifui gardens, madame, (BEAUSEANT and +GLAVIS retire--who planned them + +Mme. Deschap. A gardener named Melnotte, your highness-- +an honest man who knew his station. I can't say as much for his son-- +a presuming fellow, who,--ha! ha! actually wrote verses--such doggerel!-- +to my daughter. + +Pauline. Yes, how you would have laughed at them, Prince! you, +who write such beautiful verses! + +Mel. This Melnotte must be a monstrous impudent person! + +Damas. Is he good-looking? + +Mme. Deschap. I never notice such canaille--an ugly, mean-looking clown, +if I remember right. + +Damas. Yet I heard your porter say he was wonderfully like his highness. + +Mel. [taking snuff]. You are complimentary. + +Mme. Deschap. For shame, cousin Damas!--like the Prince, indeed! + +Pauline. Like you! Ah, mother, like our beautiful prince! +I'll never speak to you again, cousin Damas. + +Mel. [aside]. Humph!--rank is a great beautifier! I never passed +for an Apollo while I was a peasant; if I am so handsome as a prince, +what should I be as an emperor! [Aloud.] Monsieur Beauseant, +will you honor me? [Offers snuff. + +Beau. No, your highness; I have no small vices. + +Mel. Nay, if it were a vice, you'd be sure to have it, Monsieur Beauseant. + +Mme. Deschap. Ha! ha!--how very severe!--what wit! + +Beau. [in a rage and aside]. Curse his impertinence! + +Mme. Deschap. What a superb snuff-box! Pauline. And what +a beautiful ring! + +Mel. You like the box--a trifle--interesting perhaps from associations-- +a present from Louis XIV. to my great-great grandmother. +Honor me by--accepting it. + +Beau. plucking him by the sleeve. How!--what the devil! +My box--are you mad? It is worth five hundred louis. + +Mel. [unheeding him, and turning to PAULINE]. And you like this ring? +Ah, it has, indeed a lustre since your eyes have shone on it +placing it on her finger. Henceforth hold me, sweet enchantress, +the Slave of the Ring. + +Gla. [pulling him]. Stay, stay--what are you about? +My maiden aunt's legacy--a diamond of the first water. +You shall be hanged for swindling, sir. + +Mel. [pretending not to hear]. It is curious, this ring; +it is the one with which my grandfather, the Doge of Venice, +married the Adriatic! + +(Madame and PAULINE examine the ring. Mel. [to BEAUSEANT and +GLAVIS]. Fie, gentlemen! princes must be generous?--[Turns to DAMAS, +who watches them closely.] These kind friends have my interest +so much at heart, that they are as careful of my property as if it +were their own! + +Beau and Gla. [confusedly]. Ha! ha!--very good joke that! + +[Appears to remonstrate with MELNOTTE in dumb show. + +Damas. What's all that whispering? I am sure there is some juggle here: +hang me, if I think he is an Italian after all. Gad, I'll try him. +Servitore umillissimo, Eccellenza.* +(* Your Excellency's most humble servant.) + +Mel. Hum--what does he mean, I wonder? + +Damas. Godo di vedervi in buona salute.* +(* I am glad to see you in good health.) + +Mel. Hem--hem! + +Damas. Fa bel tempo--the si dice di nuovo? * +(* Fine weather. What news is there?) + +Mel. Well, sir, what's all that gibberish? + +Damas. Oh, oh!--only Italian, your highness!--The Prince of Como +does not understand his own language! + +Mel. Not as you pronounce it; who the deuce could? + +Mme. Deschap. Ha! ha! cousin Damas, never pretend to what +you don't know. + +Pauline. Ha! ha! cousin Damas; you speak Italian, indeed! + +[Makes a mocking gesture at him. + +Beau. [to GLAVIS]. Clever dog!--how ready! + +Gla. Ready, yes; with my diamond ring!--Damn his readiness! + +Damas. Laugh at me!--laugh at a Colonel in the French army!-- +the fellow's an impostor; I know he is. I'll see if he understands +fighting as well as he does Italian.--[Goes up to him, and aside.] Sir, +you are a jackanapes.--Can you construe that? + +Mel. No, sir; I never construe affronts in the presence of ladies; +by-and-by I shall be happy to take a lesson--or give one. + +Damas. I'll find the occasion, never fear! + +Mme. Deschap. Where are you going, cousin? + +Damas. To correct my Italian. [Exit. + +Beau. [to GLAVIS]. Let us after, and pacify him; he evidently +suspects something. + +Gla. Yes!--but my diamond ring! + +Beau. And my box!--We are over-taxed fellow-subjects!--we must stop +the supplies, and dethrone the prince. + +Gla. Prince!--he ought to be heir-apparent to King Stork. + +[Exeunt BEAUSEANT and GLAVIS. + +Mme. Deschap. Dare I ask your highness to forgive my +cousin's insufferable vulgarity? + +Pauline. Oh yes!--you will forgive his manner for the sake +of his heart. + +Mel. And the sake of his cousin.--Ah, madam, there is one +comfort in rank,--we are so sure of our position that we are not +easily affronted. Besides, M. Damas has bought the right of indulgence +from his friends, by never showing it to his enemies. + +Pauline. Ah! he is, indeed, as brave in action as he is rude in speech. +He rose from the ranks to his present grade, and in two years! + +Mel. In two years!--two years, did you say? + +Mme. Deschap. [aside]. I don't like leaving girls alone with +their lovers; but, with a prince, it would be so ill-bred to be prudish. +(Exit. + +Mel. You can be proud of your connection with one who owes his +position to merit--not birth. + +Pauline. Why, yes; but still + +Mel. Still what, Pauline! + +Pauline. There is something glorious in the heritage of command. +A man who has ancestors is like a representative of the past. + +Mel. True; but, like other representatives, nine times out of ten +he is a silent member. Ah, Pauline! not to the past, but to the future, +looks true nobility, and finds its blazon in posterity. + +Pauline. You say this to please me, who have no ancestors; +but you, prince, must be proud of so illustrious a race! + +Mel. No, no! I would not, were I fifty times a prince, be a pensioner +on the dead! I honor birth and ancestry when they are regarded +as the incentives to exertion, not the titledeeds to sloth! +I honor the laurels that overshadow the graves of our fathers; +it is our fathers I emulate, when I desire that beneath +the evergreen I myself have planted, my own ashes may repose! +Dearest! couldst thou but see with my eyes! + +Pauline. I cannot forego pride when I look on thee, and think that thou +lovest me. Sweet Prince, tell me again of thy palace by the Lake +of Como; it is so pleasant to hear of thy splendors since thou +didst swear to me that they would be desolate without Pauline; +and when thou describest them, it is with a mocking lip and a noble scorn, +as if custom had made thee disdain greatness. + +Mel. Nay, dearest, nay, if thou wouldst have me paint The home to which, +could love fulfil its prayers, This hand would lead thee, listen!*-- +A deep vale + +(* The reader will observe that Melnotte evades the request of Pauline. +He proceeds to describe a home, which be does not say he possesses, +but to which he would lead her, "could Love fulfil its prayers." +This caution is intended as a reply to a sagacious critic who censures +the description, because it is not an exact and prosaic inventory +of the characteristics of the Lake of Como!--When Melnotte, +for instance, talks of birds "that syllable the name of Pauline" +(by the way, a literal translation from an Italian poet), he is not +thinking of ornithology, but probably of the Arabian Nights. He is +venting the extravagant, but natural, enthusiasm of the poet +and the lover.) + +Shut out by Alphine hills from the rude world; +Near a clear lake, margin'd by fruits of gold +And whispering myrtles; glassing softest skies, +As cloudless, save with rare and roseate shadows, +As I would have thy fate! + +Pauline. My own dear love! + +Mel. A palace lifting to eternal summer +Its marble walls, from out a glossy bower +Of coolest foliage musical with birds, +Whose songs should syllable thy name! At noon +We'd sit beneath the arching vines, and wonder +Why Earth could be unhappy, while the Heavens +Still left us youth and love! We'd have no friends +That were not lovers; no ambition, save +To excel them all in love; we'd read no books +That were not tales of love--that we might smile +To think how poorly eloquence of words +Translates the poetry of hearts like ours! +And when night came, amidst the breathless Heavens +We'd guess what star should be our home when love +Becomes immortal; while the perfumed light +Stole through the mists of alabaster lamps, +And every air was heavy with the sighs +Of orange-groves and music from sweet lutes, +And murmurs of low fountains that gush forth +I' the midst of roses!--Dost thou like the picture? + +Pauline. Oh, as the bee upon the flower, I hang +Upon the honey of thy eloquent tongue! +Am I not blest? And if I love too wildly, +Who would not love thee like Pauline? + +Mel. [bitterly.] Oh, false one! +It is the prince thou lovest, not the man +If in the stead of luxury, pomp, and power, +I had painted poverty, and toil, and care, +Thou hadst found no honey on my tongue;--Pauline, +That is not love! + +Pauline. Thou wrong'st me, cruel Prince! +At first, in truth, I might not have been won, +Save through the weakness of a flatter'd pride; +But now,--oh! trust me,--couldst thou fall from power +And sink-- + +Mel. As low as that poor gardener's son +Who dared to lift his eyes to thee?-- + +Pauline. Even then, +Methinks thou wouldst be only made more dear +By the sweet thought that I could prove how deep +Is woman's love! We are like the insects, caught +By the poor glittering of a garish flame; +But, oh, the wings once scorch'd, the brightest star +Lures us no more; and by the fatal light +We cling till death! + +Mel. Angel! [Aside.] O conscience! conscience! +It must not be; her love hath grown a torture +Worse than her hate. I will at once to Beauseant, +And--ha! he comes. Sweet love, one moment leave me. +I have business with these gentlemen--I--I +Will forwith join you. + +Pauline. Do not tarry long! [Exit. + +Enter BEAUSEANT and GLAVIS. + +Mel. Release me from my oath,--I will not marry her! + +Beau Then thou art perjured. + +Mel. No, I was not in my senses when I swore to thee to marry her! +I was blind to all but her scorn!--deaf to all but my passion +and my rage! Give me back my poverty and my honor! + +Beau. It is too late,--you must marry her! and this day. +I have a story already coined, and sure to pass current. +This Damas suspects thee,--he will set the police to work!-- +thou wilt be detected--Pauline will despise and execrate thee. +Thou wilt be sent to the common gaol as a swindler. + +Mel. Fiend! + +Beau. And in the heat of the girl's resentment (you know of what +resentment is capable) and the parents' shame, she will be induced +to marry the first that offers--even perhaps your humble servant. + +Mel. You! No; that were worse--for thou hast no mercy! +I will marry her.--I will keep my oath. Quick, then, with the damnable +invention thou art hatching;--quick, if thou wouldst not have me +strangle thee or myself. + +Gla. What a tiger! Too fierce for a prince; he ought to have been +the Grand Turk. + +Beau. Enough--I will dispatch; be prepared. + +[Exeunt BEAUSEANT and GLAVIS. + +Enter DAMAS with two swords. + +Damas. Now, then, sir, the ladies are no longer your excuse. +I have brought you a couple of dictionaries; let us see if your +highness can find out the Latin for bilbo. + +Mel. Away, sir! I am in no humor for jesting. Damas. I see you +understand something of the grammar; you decline the non-substantive +"small-swords" with great ease; but that won't do--you must take +a lesson in parsing. + +Mel. Fool! Damas. Sir, as sons take after their mother, +so the man who calls me a fool insults the lady who bore me; +there's no escape for you--fight you shall, or-- + +Mel. Oh, enough! enough!--take your ground. + +They fight; DAMAS is disarmed. MELNOTTE takes up the sword and returns +it to DAMAS respectfully. A just punishment to the brave soldier +who robs the state of its best property--the sole right to his valor +and his life. + +Damas. Sir, you fence exceedingly well; you must be a man of honor-- +I don't care a jot whether you are a prince; but a man who has +carte and tierce at his fingers' ends must be a gentleman. + +Mel. [aside.] Gentleman! Ay, I was a gentleman before I +turned conspirator; for honest men are the gentlemen +of Nature! Colonel, they tell me you rose from the ranks. + +Damas. I did. + +Mel. And in two years! + +Damas. It is true; that's no wonder in our army at present. +Why the oldest general in the service is scarcely thirty, and we +have some of two-and-twenty. + +Mel. Two-and-twenty! + +Damas. Yes; in the French army, now a days, promotion is not a matter +of purchase. We are all heroes, because we may. be all generals. +We have no fear of the cypress, because we may all hope for the laurel. + +Mel. A general at two-and-twenty! [turning away]--Sir, I may ask +you a favor one of these days. + +Damas. Sir, I shall be proud to grant it. It is astonishing how much +I like a man after I've fought with him. [Hides the swords. + +Enter MADAME DESCHAPPELLES and BEAUSEANT. + +Mme. Deschap. Oh, prince,--prince!--What do I hear? You must fly-- +you must quit us! + +Mel. I! + +Beau. Yes, prince: read this letter, just received from my friend +at Paris, one of the Directory; they suspect you of designs +against the Republic: they are very suspicious of princes, +and your family take.part with the Austrians. Knowing that I +introduced your highness at Lyons, my friend writes to me to say +that you must quit the town immediately, or you will be arrested,-- +thrown into prison, perhaps guillotined! Fly!--I will order horses +to your carriage instantly. Fly to Marsailles; there you can take +ship to Leghorn. + +Mme. Deschap. And what's to become of Pauline? Am I not to be +mother to a princess, after all? + +Enter PAULINE and MONSIEUR DESCHAPPELLES. + +Pauline [throwing herself into MELNOTTE's arms.] You must +leave us!--Leave Pauline! + +Beau. Not a moment is to be wasted. + +M. Deschap. I will go to the magistrates and inquire-- + +Beau. Then he is lost; the magistrates, hearing he is suspected, +will order his arrest. + +Mme. Deschap. And I shall not be a princess-dowager! + +Beau. Why not? There is only one thing to be done:--send for the priest-- +let the marriage take place at once, and the prince carry home a bride? + +Mel. Impossible!--[Aside.] Villain. + +Mme. Deschap. What, lose my child? + +Beau. And gain a princess! + +Mme Deschap. Oh, Monsieur Beauseant, you are so very kind, it must +be so,--we ought not to be selfish, my daughter's happiness at stake. +She will go away, too, in a carriage and six! + +Pauline. Thou art here still,--I cannot part from my heart will break. + +Mel. But thou wilt not consent to this hasty union?--thou wilt +not wed an outcast--a fugitive? + +Pauline. Ah! if thou art in danger, who should share it but Pauline? + +Mel. [aside]. Distraction!--If the earth could swallow me! + +M. Deschap. Gently! gently! The settlements--the contracts-- +my daughter's dowry! + +Mel. The dowry!--I am not base enough for that; no, not one farthing! + +Beau. [to MADAM]. Noble fellow!--Really your good husband +is too mercantile in these matters. Monsieur Deschappelles, +you hear his highness: we can arrange the settlements by proxy; +'tis the way with people of quality. + +M. Deschap. But-- + +Mme. Deschap. Hold your tongue!--Don't expose yourself! + +Beau. I will bring the priest in a trice. Go in all of you and prepare; +the carriage shall be at the door before the ceremony is over. + +Mme. Deschap. Be sure there are six horses, Beauseant! You are very +good to have forgiven us for refusing you; but you see--a prince! + +Beau. And such a prince! Madam, I cannot blush at the success of so +illustrious a rival.--[Aside.] Now will I follow them to the village, +enjoy my triumph, and to-morrow, in the hour of thy shame and grief, +I think, proud girl, thou wilt prefer even these arms to those of +the gardener's son. (Exit. + +Mme. Deschap. Come, Monsieur Deschappelles, give your arm to her +highness that is to be. + +M. Deschap. I don't like doing business in such a hurry; +'tis not the way with the house of Deschappelles & Co. + +Mme. Deschap. There, now, you fancy you are in the counting-house, +don't you? + +[Pushes him to PAULINE. + +Mel. Stay, stay, Pauline--one word. Have you no scruple, no fear? +Speak--it is not yet too late. + +Pauline. When I loved thee, thy fate became mine. Triumph or danger-- +joy or sorrow--I am by thy side. + +Damas. Well, well, prince, thou art a lucky man to be so loved. +She is a good little girl in spite of her foibles make her as happy +as if she were not to be a princess [slapping him on the shoulder]. Come, +sir, I wish you joy--young tender--lovely;--zounds, I envy you! + +Mel. [who has stood apart in gloomy abstraction]. Do you?* + +(* On the stage the following lines are added:-- + +"Do you? Wise judges are we of each other. +'Woo, wed, and bear her home! So runs the bond +To which I sold myself,--and then--what then? +Away?--I will not look beyond the hour. +Like children in the dark, I dare not face +The shades that gather sound me in the distance. +You envy me--I thank you--you may read +My joy upon my brow--I thank you, sir! +If hearts had audible language, you would hear +What mine would answer when you talk of ENVY!" + +ACT III.--SCENE I. + +The exterior of the Golden Leon--time, twilight. The moon rises +during the scene. + +Enter Landlord and his Daughter from the Inn. + +Land. Ha--ha--ha! Well, I never shall get over it. +Our Claude is a prince with a vengeance now. His carriage breaks +down at my inn--ha--ha! + +Janet. And what airs the young lady gives herself! "Is this the best +room you have, young woman?" with such a toss of the head. + +Land. Well, get in, Janet: get in and see to the supper: +the servants must sup before they go back. [Exeunt. + +Enter BEAUSEANT and GLAVIS. + +Beau. You see our princess is lodged at last--one stage more, +and she'll be at her journey's end--the beautiful palace at the foot +of the Alps!--ha--ha! + +Gla. Faith, I pity the poor Pauline--especially if she's going +to sup at the Golden Lion [makes a wry face]. I shall never forget +that cursed ragout. + +Enter MELNOTTE from the Inn. + +Beau. Your servant, my prince; you reigned most worthily, I condole +with you on your abdication. I am afraid that your highness's +retinue are not very faithful servants. I think they will quit +you in the moment of your fall 'tis the fate of greatness. +But you are welcome to your fine clothes--also the diamond snuff-box, +which Louis XIV. gave to your great-great-grandmother. + +Gla. And the ring, with which your grandfather the Dodge of Venice +married the Adriatic. + +Mel. I have kept my oath, gentlemen--say, have I kept my oath? + +Beau. Most religiously. + +Mel. Then you have done with me and mine--away with you! + +Beau. How, knave? + +Mel. Look you, our bond is over. Proud conquerors that we are, +we have won the victory over a simple girl compromised her honor-- +embittered her life--blasted, in their very blossoms, all the +flowers of her youth. This is your triumph,--it is my shame! +[Turns to BEAUSEANT.] Enjoy thy triumph, but not in my sight. +I was her betrayer--I am her protector! Cross but her path-- +one word of scorn, one look of insult--nay, but one quiver of that +mocking lip, and I will teach thee that bitter word thou hast graven +eternally in this heart--Repentance + +Beau. His highness is most grandiloquent. + +Mel. Highness me no more! Beware! Remorse has made me a new being. +Away with you! There is danger in me. Away! + +Gla. [aside]. He's an awkward fellow to deal with: +come away, Beauseant. + +Beau. I know the respect clue to rank. Adieu, my prince. +Any commands at Lyons? Yet hold--I promised you 200 Louis on +your wedding-day; here they are. + +Mel. [dashing the purse to the ground]. I gave you revenge, +I did not sell it. Take up your silver, Judas; take it. +Ay, it is fit you should learn to stoop. + +Beau. You will beg my pardon for this some clay. [Aside to +GLAVIS.] Come to my chateau--I shall return hither to morrow, +to learn how Pauline likes her new dignity. + +Mel. Are you not gone yet? + +Beau. Your highness's most obedient, most faithful + +Gla. And most humble servants. Ha! ha! [Exeunt BEAUSEANT and GLAVIS. + +Mel. Thank heaven I had no weapon, or I should have slaln them. +Wretch! what can I say? Where turn? On all sides mockery--the very boors +within--[Laughter from the Inn].--'Sdeath, if even in this short absence +the exposure should have chanced. I will call her. We will go hence. +I have already sent one I can trust to my mother's house. +There, at least, none can insult her agony--gloat upon her shame! +There alone must she learn what a villain she has sworn to love. +[As he turns to the door enter PAULINE from the Inn. + +Pauline. Ah! my lord, what a place! I never saw such rude people. +They stare and wink so. I think the very sight of a prince, +though he travels incognito, turns their honest heads. +What a pity the carriage should break down in such a spot! +You are not well--the drops stand on your brow--your hand is feverish. + +Mel. Nay, it is but a passing spasm;--the air + +Pauline. Is not the soft air of your native south-- +How pale he is!--indeed thou art not well. +Where are our people? I will call them. + +Mel. Hold! I--I am well. + +Pauline. Thou art!--Ah! now I know it. +Thou fanciest, my kind lord--I know thou dost-- +Thou fanciest these rude walls, these rustic gossips, +Brick'd floors, sour wine, coarse viands, vex Pauline; +And so they might, but thou art by my side, +And I forget all else. + +Enter Landlord, the Servants peeping and laughing over his shoulder. + +Land. My lord--your highness--Will your most noble excellency choose-- + +Mel. Begone, sir! [Exit Landlord laughing. + +Pauline. How could they have learn'd thy rank? +One's servants are so vain!--nay, let it not +Chafe thee, sweet prince!--a few short days and we +Shall see thy palace by its lake of silver, +And--nay, nay, spendthrift, is thy wealth of smiles, +Already drain'd, or dost thou play the miser? + +Mel. Thine eyes would call up smiles in deserts, fair one. +Let us escape these rustics: close at hand +There is a cot, where I have bid prepare +Our evening lodgment--a rude, homely roof, +But honest, where our welcome will not be +Made torture by the vulgar eyes and tongues +That are as death to Love! A heavenly night! +The wooing air and the soft moon invite us. +Wilt walk? I pray thee, now,--I know the path, +Ay, every inch of it! + +Pauline. What, thou! Methought +Thou wert a stranger in these parts? Ah, truant, +Some village beauty lured thee;--thou art now +Grown constant? + +Mel. Trust me. + +Pauline. Princes are so changeful! + +Mel. Come, dearest, come. + +Pauline. Shall I not call our people To light us? + +Mel. Heaven will lend its stars for torches! It is not far. + +Pauline. The night breeze chills me. + +Mel. Nay, Let me thus mantle thee;--it is not cold. + +Pauline. Never beneath thy smile! + +Mel. [aside.] O Heaven! forgive me! [Exeunt + +SCENE II. + +MELNOTTE'S cottage--Widow bustling about--a table spread for supper. + +Widow. So, I think that looks very neat. He sent me a line, +so blotted that I can scarcely read it, to say he would be here +almost immediately. She must have loved him well indeed to have +forgotten his birth; for though he was introduced to her in disguise, +he is too honorable not to have revealed to her the artifice, +which her love only could forgive. Well, I do not wonder at it; +for though my son is not a prince, he ought to be one, and that's +almost as good, [Knock at the door.] Ah! here they are. + +Enter MELNOTTE and PAULINE. + +Widow. Oh, my boy--the pride of my heart!--welcome, welcome! +I beg pardon, ma'am, but I do love him so! + +Pauline. Good woman, I really--why prince, what is this?--does the old +lady know you? Oh, I guess, you have done her some service. +Another proof of your kind heart? is it not? + +Mel. Of my kind heart, ay! + +Pauline. So you know the prince? + +Widow. Know him, madam?--Ah, I begin to fear it is you who know him not! + +Pauline. Do you think she is mad? Can we stay here, my lord? +I think there's something very wild about her. + +Mel. Madam, I--no, I cannot tell her; my knees knock together: +what a coward is a man who has lost his honor! Speak to her-- +speak to her [to his mother]--tell her that--O Heaven, that I were dead! + +Pauline. How confused he looks!--this strange place?--this woman-- +what can it mean?--I half suspect--Who are you, madam!--who are you! +can't you speak? are you struck dumb? + +Widow. Claude, you have not deceived her?--Ah, shame upon you 1 I +thought that, before you went to the altar, she was to have known all. + +Pauline. All! what!--My blood freezes in my veins! + +Widow. Poor lady!--dare I tell her, Claude? [MELNOTTE makes +a sign of assent.] Know you not then, madam, that this young man +is of poor though honest parents? Know you not that you are wedded +to my son, Claude Melnotte? + +Pauline. Your son! hold--hold! do not speak to me.--[Approaches MELNOTTE, +and lays her hand on his arm.]--Is this a jest? is it? +I know it is, only speak--one word--one look one smile. +I cannot believe--I who loved thee so--I cannot believe that thou +art such a--No, I will not wrong thee by a harsh word--Speak! + +Mel. Leave us--have pity on her, on me: leave us. + +Widow. Oh, Claude, that I should live to see thee bowed by shame! +thee of whom I was so proud!(Exit by the staircase. + +Pauline. Her son--her son! + +Mel. Now, lady, hear me. + +Pauline. Hear thee! +Ay, speak--her son! have fiends a parent? speak, +That thou mayst silence curses--speak! + +Mel. No, curse me: +Thy curse would blast me less than thy forgiveness. + +Pauline [laughing wildly]. "This is thy palace, where the perfumed light +Steals through the mist of alabaster lamps, +And every air is heavy with the sighs +Of orange-groves, and music from the sweet lutes, +And murmurs of low fountains, that gush forth +I' the midst of roses!" Dost thou like the picture? +This is my bridal home, and thou my bridegroom. +O fool--O dupe--O wretch!--I see it all +Thy by-word and the jeer of every tongue +In Lyons. Hast thou in thy heart one touch +Of human kindness? if thou hast, why, kill me, +And save thy wife from madness. No, it cannot +It cannot be: this is some horrid dream: +I shall wake soon.--[Touching him.] Art flesh art man? or but +The shadows seen in sleep? It is too real. +What have I done to thee? how sinn'd against thee, +That thou shouldst crush me thus? + +Mel. Pauline, by pride +Angels have fallen ere thy time: by pride +That sole alloy of thy most lovely mould +The evil spirit of a bitter love, +And a revengeful heart, had power upon thee. +From my first years my soul was fill'd with thee: +I saw thee midst the flow'rs the lowly boy +Tended, unmark'd by thee--a spirit of bloom, +And joy, and freshness, as if Spring itself +Were made a living thing, and wore thy shape! +I saw thee, and the passionate heart of man +Enter'd the breast of the wild-dreaming boy. +And from that hour I grew--what to the last +I shall be--thine adorer! Well, this love +Vain, frantic, guilty, if thou wilt, became +A fountain of ambition and bright hope; +I thought of tales that by the winter hearth +Old gossips tell--how maidens sprung from kings +Have stoop'd from their high sphere; how love, like death +Levels all ranks, and lays the shepherd's crook +Beside the sceptre. Thus I made my home +In the soft palace of a fairy Future! +My father died; and I, the peasant-born, +Was my own lord. Then did I seek to rise +Out of the prison of my mean estate; +And, with such jewels as the exploring mind +Brings from the caves of knowledge, buy my ransom +From those twin gaolers of the daring heart +Low birth and iron fortune. Thy bright image +Glass'd in my soul, took all the hues of glory, +And lured me on to those inspiring toils +By which man masters men! For thee I grew +A midnight student o'er the dreams of sages. +For thee I sought to borrow from each grace, +And every muse, such attributes as lend +Ideal charms to love. I thought of thee, +And passion taught me poesy--of thee, +And on the painter's canvas grew the life +Of beauty! Art became the shadow +Of the dear starlight of thy haunting eyes +Men call'd me vain--some mad--I heeded not; +But still toil'd on--hoped on--for it was sweet, +If not to win, to feel more worthy thee? + +Pauline. Has he a magic to exorcise hate! + +Mel. At last, in one mad hour, I dared to pour +The thoughts that burst their channels into song, +And sent them to thee--such a tribute, lady, +As beauty rarely scorns, even from the meanest. +The name--appended by the burning heart +That long'd to show its idol what bright things +It had created--yea, the enthusiast's name, +That should have been thy triumph, was thy scorn! +That very hour--when passion, turn'd to wrath, +Resembled hatred most--when thy disdain +Made my whole soul a chaos--in that hour +The tempters found me a revengeful tool +For their revenge! Thou hadst trampled on the worm +It turn'd and stung thee! + +Pauline. Love, sir, hath no sting. +What was the slight of a poor powerless girl +To the deep wrong of this most vile revenge? +Oh, how I loved this man!--a serf!--a slave! + +Mel. Hold, lady! No, not slave! Despair is free! +I will not tell thee of the throes--the struggles +The anguish--the remorse: No, let it pass! +And let me come to such most poor atonement +Yet in my power. Pauline! + +(Approaching her with great emotion, and about to take her hand. + +Pauline. No, touch me not! +I know my fate. You are, by law, my tyrant; +And I--O Heaven!--a peasant's wife! I'll work +Toil--drudge--do what thou wilt--but touch me not; +Let my wrongs make me sacred! + +Mel. Do not fear me. +Thou dost not know me, madam: at the altar +My vengeance ceased--my guilty oath expired! +Henceforth, no image of some marble saint, +Niched in cathedral aisles, is hallow'd more +From the rude hand of sacrilegious wrong. +I am thy husband--nay, thou need'st not shudder; +Here, at thy feet, I lay a husband's rights. +A marriage thus unholy--unfulfill'd-- +A bond of fraud--is, by the laws of France, +Made void and null. To-night sleep--sleep in peace. +To-morrow, pure and virgin as this morn +I bore thee, bathed in blushes, from the shrine, +Thy father's arms shall take thee to thy home. +The law shall do thee justice, and restore +Thy right to bless another with thy love. +And when thou art happy, and hast half forgot +Him who so loved--so wrong'd thee, think at least +Heaven left some remnant of the angel still +In that poor peasant's nature! + +Ho! my mother! [Enter Widow. + +Conduct this lady--(she is not my wife; +She is our guest,--our honor'd guest, my mother)-- +To the poor chamber, where the sleep of virtue, +Never, beneath my father's honest roof, +Ev'n villains dared to mar! Now, lady, now, +I think thou wilt believe me. Go, my mother! + +Widow. She is not thy wife! + +Mel. Hush, hush! for mercy's sake! +Speak not, but go. + +[Widow ascends the stairs; PAULINE follows weeping--turns to look back. + +Mel. [sinking down]. All angels bless and guard her! + +ACT IV.--SCENE I. + +The cottage as before--MELNOTTE seated before a table--writing implements, +etc.- -(Day breaking.) + +Mel. Hush, hush!--she sleeps at last!--thank Heaven, for a while she +forgets even that I live! Her sobs, which have gone to my heart +the whole, long, desolate night, have ceased!--all calm--all still! +I will go now; I will send this letter to Pauline's father: +when he arrives, I will place in his hands my own consent to the divorce, +and then, O France! my country! accept among thy protectors, +thy defenders--the peasant's Son! Our country is less proud +than custom, and does not refuse the blood, the heart, the right +hand of the poor man. + +Enter Widow. + +Widow. My son, thou hast acted ill; but sin brings its own punishment. +In the hour of thy remorse, it is not for a mother to reproach thee. + +Mel. What is past is past. There is a future left to all men, who have +the virtue to repent, and the energy to atone. Thou shalt be proud of thy +son yet. Meanwhile, remember this poor lady has been grievously injured. +For the sake of thy son's conscience, respect, honor, bear with her. +If she weep, console--if she chide, be silent. 'Tis but a little +while more--I shall send an express fast as horse can speed +to her father. Farewell! I shall return shortly. + +Widow. It is the only course left to thee--thou wert led astray, +but thou art not hardened. Thy heart is right still, as ever it +was when, in thy most ambitious hopes thou wert never ashamed +of thy poor mother. + +Mel. Ashamed of thee; No, if I yet endure, yet live, yet hope,-- +it is only because I would not die till I have redeemed the noble +heritage I have lost--the heritage I took unstained from thee +and my dead father--a proud conscience and an honest name. +I shall win them back yet--heaven bless you! [Exit. + +Widow. My dear Claude! How my heart bleeds for him. + +[PAULINE looks down from above, and after a pause descends + +Pauline. Not here!--he spares me that pain at least: +so far he is considerate--yet the place seems still more desolate +without him. Oh, that I could hate him--the gardener's son!-- +and yet how nobly he--no--no--no I will not be so mean a thing +as to forgive him! + +Widow. Good morning, madam; I would have waited on you if I had known +you were stirring. + +Pauline. It is no matter, ma'am--your son's wife ought to +wait on herself. + +Widow. My son's wife--let not that thought vex you, madam--he tells +me that you will have your divorce. And I hope I shall live +to see him smile again. There are maidens in this village, +young and fair, madam, who may yet console him. + +Pauline. I dare say--they are very welcome--and when the divorce is got-- +he will marry again. I am sure I hope so. [Weeps. + +Widow. He could have married the richest girl in the province, +if he had pleased it; but his head was turned, poor child! he could +think of nothing but you. [Weeps. + +Pauline. Don't weep, mother. + +Widow. Ah, he has behaved very ill, I know, but love is so headstrong +in the young. Don't weep, madam. + +Pauline. So, as you were saying--go on. + +Widow. Oh, I cannot excuse him, ma'am--he was not in his right senses. + +Pauline. But he always--always [sobbing] loved--loved me then? + +Widow. He thought of nothing else. See here--he learnt to paint +that he might take your likeness [uncovers the picture]. But that's +all over now--I trust you have cured him of his folly;--but, dear heart, +you have had no breakfast! + +Pauline. I can't take anything--don't trouble yourself. + +Widow. Nay, madam, be persuaded; a little coffee will refresh you. +Our milk and eggs are excellent. I will get out Claude's coffee-cup-- +It is of real Sevres; he saved up all his money to buy it three +years ago, because the name of Pauline was inscribed on it. + +Pauline. Three years ago! Poor Claude!--Thank you; I think I will have +some coffee. Oh! if he were but a poor gentleman, even a merchant: +but a gardener's son--and what a home!--Oh no,--it is too dreadful! + +They seat themselves at the table, BEAUSEANT opens the lattice +and looks in. + +Beau. So--so--the coast is clear! I saw Claude in the lane-- +I shall have an excellent opportunity.Shuts the lattice and knocks +at the door. + +Pauline. [starting]. Can it be my father?--he has not sent for-- +him yet? No, he cannot be in such a hurry to get rid of me. + +Widow. It is not time for your father to arrive yet; it must +be some neighbor. + +Pauline. Don't admit any one. + +[Widow opens the door, BEAUSEANT pushes her aside and enters. +Ha! Heavens! that hateful Beauseant! This is indeed bitter! + +Beau. Good morning, madam! O widow, your son begs you will have +the goodness to go to him in the village he wants to speak to you on +particular business; you'll find him at the inn, or the grocer's shop, +or the baker's, or at some other friend's of your family--make haste. + +Pauline. Don't leave me, mother!--don't leave me. + +Beau. [with great respect]. Be not alarmed, madam. Believe me +your friend--your servant. + +Pauline. Sir, I have no fear of you, even in this house! Go, madam, +if your son wishes it; I will not contradict his commands whilst, +at least he has still the right to be obeyed. + +Widow. I don't understand this; however, I sha'n't be long gone. +[Exit. + +Pauline. Sir, I divine the object of your visit--you wish +to exult in the humiliation of one who humbled you. Be it so; +I am prepared to endure all--even your presence! + +Beau. You mistake me, madam--Pauline, you mistake me! I come to lay +my fortune at your feet. You must already be disenchanted with +this impostor; these walls are not worthy to be hallowed by your beauty! +Shall that form be clasped in the arms of a base-born peasant? +Beloved, beautiful Pauline! fly with me--my carriage waits without-- +I will bear you to a home more meet for your reception. +Wealth, luxury, station--all shall yet be yours. I forget your +past disdain--I remember only your beauty and my unconquerable love! + +Pauline. Sir! leave this house--it is humble: but a husband's roof, +however lowly, is, in the eyes of God and man, the temple of a +wife's honor! Know that I would rather starve--yes--with him +who has betrayed me, than accept your lawful hand, even were you +the prince whose name he bore.--Go. + +Beau. What! is not your pride humbled yet? + +Pauline. Sir, what was pride in prosperity in affliction becomes virtue. + +Beau. Look round: these rugged floors--these homely walls-- +this wretched struggle of poverty for comfort--think of this! and +contrast with such a picture the refinement, the luxury, the pomp, +that the wealthiest gentleman of Lyons offers to the loveliest lady. +Ah, hear me! + +Pauline. Oh! my father!--why did I leave you?--why am I thus friendless? +Sir, you see before you a betrayed, injured, miserable woman!-- +respect her anguish + +[MELNOTTE opens the door silently, and pauses at the threshold. + +Beau. No! let me rather thus console it; let me snatch from those lips +one breath of that fragrance which never should be wasted on the low +churl thy husband. + +Pauline. Help! Claude!--Claude!--Have I no protector?' + +Beau. Be silent! [showing a pistol.] See, I do not come unprepared even +for violence. I will brave all things--thy husband and all his race-- +for thy sake. Thus, then, I clasp thee! + +Mel. [dashing him to the other end of the stage]. Pauline--look up, +Pauline! thou art safe. + +Beau. [levelling his pistol]. Dare you thus insult a man of +my birth, ruffian? + +Pauline. Oh, spare him--spare my husband!--Beauseant--Claude--no-- +no [faints]. + +Mel. Miserable trickster! shame upon you! brave devices to terrify +a woman! Coward!--you tremble--you have outraged the laws--you know +that your weapon is harmless--you have the courage of the mountebank, +not the bravo!--Pauline, there is no danger. + +Beau. I wish thou wert a gentleman--as it is, thou art beneath me.-- +Good day, and a happy honeymoon.--[Aside.] I will not die till I +am avenged. [Exit. + +Mel. I hold her in these arms--the last embrace +Never, ah never more, shall this dear head +Be pillow'd on the heart that should have shelter'd +And has betray'd!--Soft--soft! one kiss--poor wretch! +No scorn on that pale lip forbids me now! +One kiss--so ends all record of my crime! +It is the seal upon the tomb of hope, +By which, like some lost, sorrowing angel, sits +Sad memory evermore; she breathes--she moves +She wakes to scorn, to hate, but not to shudder +Beneath the touch of my abhorred love. +Places her on a seat. There--we are strangers now! + +Pauline. All gone--all calm +Is every thing a dream? thou art safe, unhurt +I do not love thee;--but--but I am woman, +And--and--no blood is spilt? + +Mel. No, lady, no; My guilt hath not deserved so rich a blessing +As even danger in thy cause. + +Enter WIDOW. + +Widow. My son, I have been everywhere in search of you; why did +you send for me? + +Mel. I did not send for you. + +Widow. No! but I must tell you your express has returned. + +Mel. So soon! impossible! + +Widow. Yes, he met the lady's father and mother on the road; +they were going into the country on a visit. Your messenger +says that Monsieur Deschappelles turned almost white with anger +when he read your letter. They will be here almost immediately. +Oh, Claude, Claude! what will they do to you? How I tremble! +Ah, madam! do not let them injure him--if you knew how he doated on you. + +Pauline. Injure him! no, ma'am, be not afraid;--my father! how shall +I meet him? how go back to Lyons? the scoff of the whole city! +Cruel, cruel, Claude [in great agitation]. Sir, you have +acted most treacherously. + +Mel. I know it, madam. + +Pauline [aside.] If he would but ask me to forgive him!-- +I never can forgive you, sir. + +Mel. I never dared to hope it. + +Pauline. But you are my husband now, and I have sworn to-- +to love you, sir. + +Mel. That was under a false belief, madam; Heaven and the laws +will release you from your vow. + +Pauline. He will drive me mad! if he were but less proud-- +if he would but ask me to remain--hark, hark--I hear the wheels +of the carriage--Sir--Claude, they are coming; have you no word +to say ere it is loo late? Quick speak. + +Mel. I can only congratulate you on your release. Behold your parents + +Enter MONSIEUR and MADAME DESCHAPPELLES and COLONEL DAMAS. + +M. Deschap. My child! my child! + +Mme. Deschap. Oh, my poor Pauline!--what a villanous hovel this is! +Old woman, get me a chair--I shall faint I certainly shall. +What will the world say? Child, you have been a fool. +A mother's heart is easily broken. + +Damas. Ha, ha! most noble Prince--I am sorry to see a man of your +quality in such a condition; I am afraid your highness will go +to the House of Correction. + +Mel. Taunt on, sir; I spared you when you were unarmed--I am unarmed now. +A man who has no excuse for crime is indeed defenceless! + +Damas. There's something fine in the rascal, after all! + +M. Deschap. Where is the impostor?--Are you thus shameless, traitor? +Can you brave the presence of that girl's father? + +Mel. Strike me, if it please you--you are her father. + +Pauline. Sir--sir, for my sake; whatever his guilt, he has acted +nobly in atonement. + +Mme. Deschap. Nobly! Are you mad, girl? I have no patience with you-- +to disgrace all your family thus! Nobly! Oh you abominable, +hardened, pitiful, mean, ugly villain! + +Damas. Ugly! Why he was beautiful yesterday! + +Pauline. Madame, this is his roof, and he is my husband. +Respect your daughter, or let blame fall alone on her. + +Mme. Deschap. You--you--Oh, I'm choking. + +M. Deschap. Sir, it were idle to waste reproach upon a conscience +like yours--you renounce all pretensions to the person of this lady? + +Mel. I do. [Gives a paper.] Here is my consent to a divorce-- +my full confession of the fraud which annuls the marriage. +Your daughter has been foully wronged--I grant it, sir; but her +own lips will tell you that, from the hour in which she crossed +this threshold, I returned to my own station, and respected hers. +Pure and inviolate, as when yestermorn you laid your hand upon +her head, and blessed her, I yield her back to you. For myself-- +I deliver you for ever from my presence. An outcast and a criminal, +I seek some distant land, where I may mourn my sin, and pray for +your daughter's peace. Farewell--farewell to you all, for ever! + +Willow. Claude, Claude, you will not leave your poor old mother? +She does not disown you in your sorrow no, not even in your guilt. +No divorce can separate a mother from her son. + +Pauline. This poor widow teaches me my duty. No, mother,--no, for you +are now my mother also!--nor should any law, human or divine, +separate the wife from her husband's sorrows. Claude--Claude--all is +forgotten forgiven--I am. thine for ever! + +Mme. Deschap. What do I hear?--Come away, or never see my face again. + +M. Deschap. Pauline, we never betrayed you!--do you forsake +us for him? + +Pauline. [going back to her father]. Oh no--but you will forgive him too; +we will live together--he shall be your son. + +M. Deschap. Never! Cling to him and forsake your parents! +His home shall be yours--his fortune yours--his fate yours: +the wealth I have acquired by honest industry shall never enrich +the dishonest man. + +Pauline. And you would have a wife enjoy luxury while a husband toils! +Claude, take me; thou canst not give me wealth, titles, station-- +but thou canst give me a true heart I will work for thee, tend thee, +bear with thee, and never, never shall these lips reproach thee +for the past. + +Damas. I'll be hanged if I am not going to blubber! + +Mel. This is the heaviest blow of all!--What a heart I have wronged!-- +Do not fear me, sir; I am not all hardened--I will not rob her +of a holier love than mine. Pauline!--angel of love and mercy!-- +your memory shall lead me back to virtue!--The husband of a being +so beautiful in her noble and sublime tenderness may be poor-- +may be low born;--(there is no guilt in the decrees of providence!)-- +but he should be one who can look thee in the face without +a blush,--to whom thy love does not bring remorse,--who can +fold thee to his heart, and say,--"Here there is no deceit!" +I am not that man! + +Damas. [aside to MELNOTTE]. Thou art a noble fellow, notwithstanding; +and wouldst make an excellent soldier. Serve in my regiment. +I have had a letter from the Directory--our young general takes +the command of the army in Italy,--I am to join him at Marseilles,I +will depart this day, if thou wilt go with me. + +Mel. It is the favor I would have asked thee, if I dared. +Place me wherever a foe is most dreaded,--wherever France most +needs a life! + +Damas. There shall not be a forlorn hope without thee! + +Mel. There is my hand!--mother, your blessing. I shall see +you again,--a better man than a prince,--a man who has bought +the right to high thoughts by brave deeds. And thou!--thou! so +wildly worshipped, so guiltily betrayed, all is not yet lost!-- +for thy memory, at least, must be mine till death! If I live, +the name of him thou hast once loved shall not rest dishonored;-- +if I fall, amidst the carnage and the roar of battle, my soul +will fly back to thee, and love shall share with death my +last sigh!--More--more would I speak to thee!--to pray!--to bless! +But no; When I am less unworthy I will utter it to Heaven!--I cannot +trust myself to [turning to DESCHAPPELLES] Your pardon, sir; they are +my last words Farewell! [Exit. + +Damas. I will go after him.--France will thank me for this. + +Pauline [starting from her father's arms]. Claude!--Claude!--my husband! + +M. Deschap. You have a father still! + +ACT V. + +Two years and a half from the date of Act IV. + +SCENE I. + +The Streets of Lyons. + +Enter First, Second, and Third Officers. + +First Officer. Well, here we are at Lyons, with gallant old Damas: +it is his native place. + +Second Officer. Yes; he has gained a step in the army since he was +here last. The Lyonnese ought to be very proud of stout General Damas. + +Third Officer. Promotion is quick in the French army. +This mysterious Morier,--the hero of Lodi, and the favorite of +the commander-in-chief,--has risen to a colonel's rank to two years +and a half. Enter DAMAS, as a General. + +Damas. Good morrow, gentlemen; I hope you will amuse yourselves during +our short stay at Lyons. It is a fine city: improved since I left it. +Ah! it is a pleasure to grow old,when the years that bring +decay to ourselves do but ripen the prosperity of our country. +You have not met with Morier? + +First Officer. No: we were just speaking of him. + +Second Officer. Pray, general, can you tell us who this +Morier really is? + +Damas. Is!--why a colonel in the French army. + +Third Officer. True. But what was he at first? + +Damas. At first? Why a baby in long clothes, I suppose. + +First Officer. Ha, ha! Ever facetious, general. + +Second Officer. [to Third]. The general is sore upon this point; +you will only chafe him.--Any commands, general? + +Damas. None. Good day to you. [Exeunt Second and Third Officers. + +Damas. Our comrades are very inquisitive. Poor Morier is the subject +of a vast deal of curiosity. + +First Officer. Say interest, rather, general. His constant melancholy, +the loneliness of his habits,--his daring valor, his brilliant +rise in the profession,--your friendship, and the favors of +the commander-in-chief,--all tend to make him as much the matter +of gossip as of admiration. But where is he, general? I have missed +him all the morning. + +Damas. Why, captain, I'll let you into a secret. My young friend +has come with me to Lyons in hopes of finding a miracle. + +First Officer. A miracle! + +Damas. Yes, a miracle! in other words,--a constant woman. + +First Officer. Oh! an affair of love! + +Damas. Exactly so. No sooner did he enter Lyons than he waved +his hand to me, threw himself from his horse, and is now, +I warrant, asking every one who can know anything about the matter, +whether a certain lady is still true to a certain gentleman! + +First Officer. Success to him! and of that success there can +be no doubt. The gallant Colonel Morier, the hero of Lodi, +might make his choice out of the proudest families in France. + +Damas. Oh, if pride be a recommendation, the lady and her mother +are most handsomely endowed. By the way, captain, if you should +chance to meet with Morier, tell him he will find me at the hotel. + +First Officer. I will, general. [Exit. + +Damas. Now will I go to the Deschappelles, and make a report +to my young Colonel. Ha! by Mars, Bacchus, Apollo, Virorum,-- +here comes Monsieur Beauseant! + +Enter BEAUSEANT. + +Good morrow, Monsieur Beauseant! How fares it with you? + +Beau. [aside.] Damas! that is unfortunate;--if the Italian campaign +should have filled his pockets, he may seek to baffle me in the moment +of my victory. [Aloud]. Your servant, general,--for such, I think, +is your new distinction! Just arrived in Lyons? + +Damas. Not an hour ago. Well, how go on the Deschappelles? Have they +forgiven you in that affair of young Melnotte? You had some hand +in that notable device,- -eh? + +Beau. Why, less than you think for! The fellow imposed upon me. +I have set it all right now. What has become of him? +He could not have joined the army, after all. There is no such name +in the books. + +Damas. I know nothing about Melnotte. As you say, I never heard +the name in the Grand Army. + +Beau. Hem!--You are not married, general? + +Damas. Do I look like a married man, sir?--No, thank Heaven! +My profession is to make widows, not wives. + +Beau. You must have gained much booty in Italy! Pauline will be +your heiress--eh? + +Damas. Booty! Not I! Heiress to what? Two trunks and a portmanteau,-- +four horses,--three swords, two suits of regimentals, and six pair +of white leather inexpressibles! A pretty fortune for a young lady! + +Beau. [aside.] Then all is safe! [Aloud]. Ha! ha! Is that really +all your capital, General Damas? Why, I thought Italy had been +a second Mexico to you soldiers. + +Damas. All a toss-up, sir. I was not one of the lucky ones! +My friend Morier, indeed, saved something handsome. +But our commander-in-chief took care of him, and Morier is a thrifty, +economical dog,--not like the rest of us soldiers, who spend our +money as carelessly as if it were our blood. + +Beau. Well, it is no matter! I do not want fortune with Pauline. And you +must know, General Damas, that your fair cousin has at length +consented to reward my long and ardent attachment. + +Damas. You!--the devil! Why, she is already married! +There is no divorce! + +Beau. True; but this very day she is formally to authorize +the necessary proceedings, this very day she is to sign the contract +that is to make her mine within one week from the day on which her +present illegal marriage is annulled. + +Damas. You tell me wonders!--Wonders! No; I believe anything of women! + +Beau. I must wish you good morning. [As he is going, enter DESCHAPPELLES. + +M. Deschap. Oh, Beauseant! well met. Let us come to the notary at once. + +Damas [to Deschap.]. Why, cousin! + +M. Deschap. Damas, welcome to Lyons. Pray call on us; my wife +will be delighted to see you. + +Damas. Your wife be-blessed for her condescension! But [taking +him aside] what do I hear? Is it possible that your daughter has +consented to a divorce?--that she will marry Monsieur Beauseant? + +M. Deschap. Certainly. What have you to say against it? +A gentleman of birth, fortune, character. We are not so proud as we were; +even my wife has had enough of nobility and princes! + +Damas. But Pauline loved that young man so tenderly! + +M. Deschap. [taking snuff]. That was two years and a half ago. + +Damas. Very true. Poor Melnotte! + +M. Deschap. But do not talk of that impostor; I hope he is dead +or has left the country. Nay, even were he in Lyons at this moment, +he ought to rejoice that, in an honorable and suitable alliance, +my daughter may forget her sufferings and his crime. + +Damas.--Nay, if it be all settled, I have no more to say. +Monsieur Beauseant informs me that the contract is to be signed +this very day. + +M. Deschap, It is; at one o'clock precisely. Will you be one +of the witnesses? + +Damas. I?--No; that is to say--yes, certainly!--at one o'clock I +will wait on you. + +M. Deschap. Till then, adieu--come Beauseant. + +[Exeunt BEAUSEANT and DESCHAPELLES + +Damas. The man who sets his heart upon a woman +Is a chameleon, and doth feed on air; +From air he takes his colors--holds his life,-- +Changes with every wind,--grows lean or fat, +Rosy with hope, or green with jealousy, +Or pallid with despair--just as the gale +Varies from North to South--from heat to cold! +Oh, woman! woman! thou shouldst have few sins +Of thine own to answer for! Thou art the author +Of such a book of follies in a man, +That it would need the tears of all the angels +To blot the record out! + +[Enter MELNOTTE, pale and agitated. + +I need not tell thee! Thou hast heard-- + +Mel. The worst! +I have! + +Damas. Be cheer'd; others are fair as she is! + +Mel. Others! The world is crumbled at my feet! +She was my world; fill'd up the whole of being-- +Smiled in the sunshine--walk'd the glorious earth-- +Sate in my heart--was the sweet life of life. +The Past was hers; I dreamt not of a Future +That did not wear her shape! Mem'ry and Hope +Alike are gone. Pauline is faithless! Henceforth +The universal space is desolate! + +Damas. Hope yet. + +Mel. Hope, yes!--one hope is left me still-- +A soldier's grave! Glory has died with love. +I look into my heart, and, where I saw +Pauline, see Death! + +[After a pause].--But am I not deceived? +I went but by the rumor of the town; +Rumor is false,--I was too hasty! Damas, +Whom hast thou seen? + +Damas. Thy rival and her father. +Arm thyself for the truth.--He heeds not. + +Mel. She. + +Will never know how deeply she was loved! +The charitable night, that wont to bring +Comfort to-day, in bright and eloquent dreams, +Is henceforth leagued with misery! Sleep, farewell, +Or else become eternal! Oh, the waking +From false oblivion, and to see the sun, +And know she is another's! + +Damas. Be a man! + +Mel. I am a man!--it is the sting of woe +Like mine that tells us we are men!, + +Damas. The false one +Did not deserve thee. + +Mel. Hush!--No word against her! +Why should she keep, through years and silent absence, +The holy tablets of her virgin faith +True to a traitor's name! Oh, blame her not; +It were a sharper grief to think her worthless +Than to be what I am! To-day,--to-day! +They, said "To-day!" This day, so wildly welcomed-- +This clay, my soul had singled out of time +And mark'd for bliss! This day! oh, could I see her, +See her once more unknown; but hear her voice. +So that one echo of its music might +Make ruin less appalling in its silence. + +Damas. Easily done! Come with me to her house; +Your dress--your cloak--moustache--the bronzed hues +Of time and toil--the name you bear--belief +In your absence, all will ward away suspicion. +Keep in the shade. Ay, I would have you come +There may be hope? Pauline is yet so young, +They may have forced her to these second bridals +Out of mistaken love. + +Mel. No, bid me hope not! +Bid me not hope! I could not bear again +To fall from such a heaven! One gleam of sunshine, +And the ice breaks and I am lost! Oh, Damas, +There's no such thing as courage in a man; +The veriest slave that ever crawl'd from danger +Might spurn me now. When first I lost her, Damas, +I bore it, did I not? I still had hope, +And now I--I--(Bursts into an agony of grief. + +Damas. What, comrade! all the women +That ever smiled destruction on brave hearts +Were not worth tears like these! + +Mel. 'Tis past--forget it. +I am prepared; life has no further ills! +The cloud has broken in that stormy rain, +And on the waste I stand, alone with Heaven. + +Damas. His very face is changed; a breaking heart +Does its work soon!--Come, Melnotte, rouse thyself: +One effort more. Again thou'lt see her. + +Mel. See her! +There is a passion in that simple sentence +That shivers all the pride and power of reason +Into a chaos! + +Damas. Time wanes; come, ere yet It be too late. + +Mel. Terrible words--"Too late!" Lead on. One last look more, and then-- + +Damas. Forget her! + +Mel. Forget her! yes--For death remembers not. [Exeunt. + +SCENE II. + +A room in the house of MONSIEUR DESCHAPPELLES; PAULINE seated in great +dejection. + +Pauline. It is so, then. I must be false to Love, +Or sacrifice a father! Oh, my Claude, +My lover, and my husband! Have I lived +To pray that thou mayest find some fairer boon +Than the deep faith of this devoted heart-- +Nourish'd till now--now broken? + +Enter MONSIEUR DESCHAPPELLES. + +M. Deschap. My dear child, +How shall I thank--how bless thee? Thou hast saved, +I will not say my fortune--I could bear +Reverse, and shrink not--but that prouder wealth +Which merchants value most--my name, my credit-- +The hard--won honors of a toilsome life:-- +These thou hast saved, my child! + +Pauline. Is there no hope? +No hope but this? + +M. Deschap. None. If, without the sum +Which Beauseant offers for thy hand, this day +Sinks to the west--to-morrow brings our ruin! +And hundreds, mingled in that ruin, curse +The bankrupt merchant! and the insolvent herd +We feasted and made merry cry in scorn, +"How pride has fallen!--Lo, the bankrupt merchant!" +My daughter, thou hast saved us! + +Pauline. And am lost! + +M. Deschap. Come, let me hope that Beauseant's love-- + +Pauline. His love! +Talk not of love. Love has no thought of self! +Love buys not with the ruthless usurer's gold +The loathsome prostitution of a hand +Without a heart? Love sacrifices all things +To bless the thing it loves! He knows not love. +Father, his love is hate--his hope revenge! +My tears, my anguish, my remorse for falsehood-- +These are the joys that he wrings from our despair! + +M. Deschap. If thou deem'st thus, reject him! Shame and ruin +Were better than thy misery;--think no more on't. +My sand is wellnigh run--what boots it when +The glass is broken? We'll annul the contract: +And if to-morrow in the prisoner's cell +These aged limbs are laid, why still, my child, +I'll think thou art spared; and wait the Liberal Hour +That lays the beggar by the side of kings! + +Pauline, No--no--forgive me! You, my honor'd father,-- +You, who so loved, so cherish'd me, whose lips +Never knew one harsh word! I'm not ungrateful; +I am but human!--hush! Now, call the bridegroom-- +You see I am prepared--no tears--all calm; +But, father, talk no more of love + +M. Deschap. My child, +Tis but one struggle; he is young, rich, noble; +Thy state will rank first 'mid the dames of Lyons; +And when this heart can shelter thee no more, +Thy youth will not be guardianless. + +Pauline. I have set +My foot upon the ploughshare--I will pass +The fiery ordeal. [Aside.] Merciful Heaven, support me; +And on the absent wanderer shed the light +Of happier stars--lost evermore to me! + +Enter MADAME DESCHAPPELLES, BEAUSEANT, GLAVIS, and Notary. + +Mme. Deschap. Why, Pauline, you are quite in deshabille-- +you ought to be more alive to the importance of this joyful occasion. +We had once looked higher, it is true; but you see, after all, +Monsieur Beauseant's father was a Marquis, and that's a great comfort. +Pedigree and jointure!--you have them both in Monsieur Beauseant. A young +lady decorously brought up should only have two considerations +in her choice of a husband; first, is his birth honorable? secondly, +will his death be advantageous? All other trifling details should +be left to parental anxiety. + +Beau. [approaching and waving aside Madame]. Ah, Pauline! let +me hope that you are reconciled to an event which confers such +rapture upon me. + +Pauline. I am reconciled to my doom. + +Beau. Doom is a harsh word, sweet lady. + +Pauline [aside.] This man must have some mercy--his heart +cannot be marble. [Aloud.] Oh, sir, be just--be generous! +Seize a noble triumph--a great revenge! Save the father, +and spare the child. + +Beau. [aside.] joy--joy alike to my hatred and my passion! +The haughty Pauline is at last my suppliant. [Aloud.] You ask +from me what I have not the sublime virtue to grant--a virtue +reserved only for the gardener's son! I cannot forego my hopes +in the moment of their fulfilment! I adhere to the contract-- +your father's ruin or your hand. + +Pauline. Then all is over. Sir, I have decided. + +[The clock strikes one. + +Enter DAMAS and MELNOTTE. + +Damas. Your servant, cousin Deschappelles. Let me introduce +Colonel Morier. + +Mme. Deschap. [curtsying very low]. What, the celebrated hero? +This is, indeed, an honor! [MELNOTTE bows, and remains in the background. + +Damas [to Pauline]. My little cousin, I congratulate you. What, no smile-- +no blush? You are going to be divorced from poor Melnotte, +and marry this rich gentleman. You ought to be excessively happy! + +Pauline. Happy! + +Damas. Why, how pale you are, child!--Poor Pauline! Hist--confide in me! +Do they force you to this? + +Pauline. No! + +Damas. You act with your own free consent? + +Pauline. My own consent--yes. + +Damas. Then you are the most--I will not say what you are. + +Pauline. You think ill of me--be it so--yet if you knew all-- + +Damas. There is some mystery--speak out, Pauline. + +Pauline [suddenly]. Oh, perhaps you.can save me! you are our relation-- +our friend. My father is on the verge of bankruptcy--this day +he requires a large sum to meet demands that cannot be denied; +that sum Beauseant will advance--this hand the condition of the barter. +Save me if you have the means--save me! You will be repaid above! + +Damas. aside. I recant--Women are not so bad after all! +[Aloud.] Humph, child! I cannot help you--I am too poor. + +Pauline. The last plank to which I clung is shivered. + +Damas. Hold--you see my friend Morier: Melnotte is his most +intimate friend--fought in the same fields--slept in the same tent. +Have you any message to send to Melnotte? any word to soften this blow? + +Pauline. He knows Melnotte--he will see him--he will bear to him +my last farewell--[approaches MELNOTTE] He has a stern air-- +he turns away from me--he despises me!--Sir one word I beseech you. + +Mel. Her voice again! How the old time comes o'er me! + +Damas [to Madame.] Don't interrupt them.--He is going to tell her +what a rascal young Melnotte is; he knows him well, I promise you. + +Mme. Deschap. So considerate in you, cousin Damas! + +[DAMAS approaches DESCHAPPELLES; converses apart with hint in dumb show-- +DESCHAPPELLES shows him a paper, which he inspects and takes. + +Pauline. Thrice have I sought to speak; my courage fails me.-- +Sir, is it true that you have known--nay, are +The friend of--Melnotte. + +Mel. Lady, yes!-- +Myself And misery know the man! + +Pauline. And you will see him, +And you will bear to him--ay--word for word, +All that this heart, which breaks in parting from him, +Would send, ere still for ever? + +Mel. He hath told me +You have the right to choose from out the world +A worthier bridegroom;--he forgoes all claim, +Even to murmur at his doom. Speak on! + +Pauline. Tell him, for years I never nursed a thought +That was not his;--that on his wandering way, +Daily and nightly, pour'd a mourner's prayers. +Tell him ev'n now that I would rather share +His lowliest lot,--walk by his side, an outcast-- +Work for him, beg with him,--live upon the light +Of one kind smile from him,--than wear the crown +The Bourbon lost! + +Mel. [aside.] Am I already mad? +And does delirium utter such sweet words +Into a dreamer's ear? [Aloud]. You love him thus, +And yet desert him? + +Pauline. Say, that, if his eye-- +Could read this heart,--its struggles, its temptations,-- +His love itself would pardon that desertion! +Look on that poor old man,--he is my father; +He stands upon the verge of an abyss!-- +He calls his child to save him! Shall I shrink +From him who gave me birth?--withhold my hand, +And see a parent perish? Tell him this, +And say--that we shall meet again in Heaven! + +Mel. Lady--I--I--what is this riddle?--what +The nature of this sacrifice? + +Pauline [pointing to DAMAS]. Go, ask him! + +Beau. [from the table]. The papers are prepared--we only need +Your hand and seal. + +Mel. Stay, lady--one word more. +Were but your duty with your faith united, +Would you still share the low-born peasant's lot? + +Pauline. Would I? Ah, better death with him I love +Than all the pomp--which is but as the flowers +That crown the victim!--[Turning away.] I am ready. + +[MELNOTTE rushes to DAMAS. + +Damas. There--This is the schedule--this the total. + +Beau. [to DESCHAPPELLES, showing notes]. These +Are yours the instant she has sign'd; you are +Still the great House of Lyons! + +[The Notary is about to hand the contract to PAULINE, when MELNOTTE +seizes it and tears it. + +Beau. Are you mad? + +M. Deschap. How, Sir! What means this insult? + +Mel. Peace, old man! +I have a prior claim. Before the face +Of man and Heaven I urge it; I outbid +Yon sordid huckster for your priceless jewel. [Giving a pocket-book. +There is the sum twice told! Blush not to take it: +There's not a coin that is not bought and hallow'd +In the cause of nations with a soldier's blood! + +Beau. Torments and death! + +Pauline. That voice! Thou art-- + +Mel. Thy husband! + +[PAULINE rushes into his arms. + +Look up! Look up, Pauline!--for I can bear +Thine eyes! The stain is blotted from my name. +I have redeem'd mine honor. I can call +On France to sanction thy divine forgiveness! +Oh, joy!--Oh, rapture! By the midnight watchfires +Thus have I seen thee! thus foretold this hour! +And 'midst the roar of battle, thus have heard +The beating of thy heart against my own! + +Beau. Fool'd, duped, and triumph'd over in the hour +Of mine own victory! Curses on ye both! +May thorns be planted in the marriage-bed! +And love grow sour'd and blacken'd into hate +Such as the hate that gnaws me! + +Damas. Curse away +And let me tell thee, Beauseant, a wise proverb +The Arabs have,--"Curses are like young chickens, +[Solemnly.] And still come home to roost!" + +Beau. Their happiness +Maddens my soul! I am powerless and revengeless! [To MADAME. +I wish you joy! Ha! ha! the gardener's son! [Exit. + +Damas [to GLAVIS]. Your friend intends to hang himself! Methinks +You ought to be his travelling companion! + +Gla. Sir, you are exceedingly obliging! [Exit. + +Pauline. Oh +My father, you are saved,--and by my husband! +Ah, blessed hour! + +Mel. Yet you weep still, Pauline. + +Pauline. But on thy breast!--these tears are sweet and holy! + +M. Deschap. You have won love and honor nobly, sir! +Take her;--be happy both! + +Mme. Deschap.I'm all astonish'd! +Who, then, is Colonel Morier? + +Damas.You behold him! + +Mel. Morier no more after this happy day! +I would not bear again my father's name +Till I could deem it spotless! The hour's come! +Heaven smiled on conscience! As the soldier rose +From rank to rank, how sacred was the fame +That cancell'd crime, and raised him nearer thee! + +Mme. Deschap. A Colonel and a hero! Well, that's something! +He's wondrously improved! I wish you joy, sir! + +Mel. Ah! the same love that tempts us into sin, +If it be true love, works out its redemption; +And he who seeks repentance for the Past +Should woo the Angel Virtue in the Future. + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg Etext The Lady of Lyons, Edward Bulwer Lytton + + diff --git a/old/ladyl11.zip b/old/ladyl11.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..e768174 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/ladyl11.zip |