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diff --git a/2461.txt b/2461.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..a64414b --- /dev/null +++ b/2461.txt @@ -0,0 +1,2919 @@ +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 + +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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