? <> pt ^ > > L S & m ^ u^ 6 o SANTA BAfiBARA O O V8V98V9 VIN ? o 5 oe O o O o AllS»3AINn 3Hi o , vavflavg vinvs o 9 m c& . O VINilOJI1V3 JO CO » VIN80JI1V3 40 * o OF CAIIFORNIA o U 3^ .^» viHsojiiva io « o ;ill$il3MNn 3M1 « « iO ABVSgn 3Hi « o fHE llBRARY OF « THE UNIVERSITY o o Of CAllfORMA o on m iW- e) s •o AiisaafliNn 3hi. " W 3^ svagn 3Hi <> • SANTA BARBARA " C. IL OGDEN THE LADY OF LYONS: OR, LOVE AND PRIDE. ^ flag, IN FIVE ACTS. AS PERFORMED AT THE THEATRE ROYAL, COVENT GARDEN. Br THE AH THOU OF « EUGENE ARAM," "THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII," "EIENZI," ETC. LONDON: CHAPMAN AND HALL, 193 PICCADILLY. 1853. UNIVERSITY 01'' CAi '! UK^. SANTA BARBARA PR M (855 TO TPIE AUTHOR OF "ION," WHOSE GENIUS AND EXAMPLE HAVE ALIKE CONTRIBUTED TOWARDS THE REGENERATION ^\ft i^ational Brama, THIS PLAY IS INSCRIBED. PREFACE. AN indistinct recollection of the verj 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 time of the Re- public was the one 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 suc- cesses 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 sti'uggle between which makes the passion of this drama, • — his ambition, and his career, were phenomena that cha- racterized the age, and in which the spirit of the nation went along with the extravagance of the individual. In some re- spects, Claude Melnotte is a type of that restless, brilliant. Vlll PREFACE. and evanescent generation that sprung up from the ashes the terrible Revolution, — men born to be agents of the genius of Napoleon, to accomplish the most marvellous exploits, and to leave but little of permanent triumph and solid advan- tage to the succeeding race. In the selection of this period I can honestly say, how- ever, that I endeavoured, as much as possible, to avoid every political allusion applicable to our own time and land, — our own party prejudices and passions. How difficult a task this was, a reference to any drama in which the characters are supposed to live under Republican institutions will prove ! There is scarcely a single play, the scene of which is laid in Rome, in Greece, in Switzerland, wherein political allusions and political declamations are not carefully elabo- rated as the most striking and telling parts of the per- formance.* The principal fault of this Play, as characteristic of the time, is, perhaps, indeed, the too cautious avoidance of all those references to liberty and equality in which, no doubt, every man living at that day would have hourly indulged. The old and classical sentiment, that vii-tue is nobility, con- tains the pith of the political creed announced by Claude Melnotte ; and that sentiment is the founder, and often the motto, of aristocracy itself. In fact, the enthusiasm of Claude is far more that of a soldier than a citizen jf and it • The noble tragedy of " Ion" has for its very plot, its very catastrophe, almost its very moral, the abolition of royalty and the establishment of a Re- public ; — yet no one would suspect Serjeant Talfourd of designing the overthrc m of the British Constitution. t The allusion to the rapidity of promotion in the French army -was absolutely necessary to the conduct of the story ; and, after all, it is expressed in language hoirowed and adapted from that very Jacobinical authority, Horatio Viscoun-t PREFACE. ix is not the reasoner nor the politician, but the man, with his feelings and his struggles, with whom the audience sympa- thize when he exults in the redemption of his name. It is perfectly clear that neither the English author nor the Eng- lish audience can recognise much in harmony with their own sentiments, when Claude declares that the gold he has won in the campaign in Italy " is hallowed in the cause of nations !" The question for us to consider is, not whether an Englislnnan or a philosopher would think that there was any sanctity in the principles of that brilliant war, but whether an enthusiastic soldier under Napoleon would not have be- lieved it. Our national prepossessions and prejudices, — our closeness to an age, the false glitter of wliich we can so well detect, — alike, I hope, guard us against all political infection from a play cast in a time when the coming shadow of a military despotism was already darkening the prospects of an unwise and weak Republic : and if there be any where the antipodes to the French Jacobin of the last century, it is the English Reformer of the present. For my own part, I never met with any one, however warm a lover of abstract liberty, who had a sympathy with the principles of the Du-ectory and the Government of M. Barras. But enough in contra- diction of a charge which the whole English public have ridiculed and scouted, and which has sought to introduce into the free domains of art all the miserable calumnies and wretched spleen of party hostilities. Nelson. Nor is it easy to conceive how the sentiment — that merit, not money, should purchase promotion in the army — can he called a Republican doctrine ; since, though it certainly did pervade the French Republican army, it inculcates a principle far more common in despotic countries than under free institutions. We must look to the annals of the East for the most frequent examples of the rise of fortunate soldiers. PREFACE The faults of the Play itself I do not seek to defend : such faults are the fair and just materials for criticism and cavil. I am perfectly aware that it is a very slight and trivial per- formance, and, being written solely for the stage, may pos- sess but a feeble interest in the closet. It 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 to induce me to make the attempt. Secondly, in that attempt I was mainly anxious to see whether or not 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 to wjdearn. Accord- ingly, it was to the development of the j^lot and the arrange- ment 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 con- struction of the story, the creation of the characters, and the spirit of the pervading sentiment. With this acknowledg- ment, may I hazard a doubt whether any more ornate or more elevated style of language would be so appropriate to the rank of the characters introduced, or would leave so clear and uninterrupted an effect to the strength and pro- gress of that domestic interest which (since I do not an-ogate PREFACE. XI the entire credit of its invention) I may perhaps be allowed to call the chief attraction of the Play ? Having, on presenting this drama to the theatre, confided the secret of its authorship to the Manager alone, — having, therefore, induced no party — no single friend or favourer of my own — to attend the early performances which decided its success, — I hope that on my side " The Lady of Lyons" has been fairly left to the verdict of the public ; — let me now also hope an equal fairness from those who may be tempted to condemn the politician in the author. Do not let the lovers of the Drama discourage other men, immeasurably more fitted than myself to adorn it, solely because in a free country they may, like the Author of this Play, have ventured elsewhere to express political opinions. London, February 26, 1838. DRAMATIS PERSON.^. AS FIRST PERFORMED AT THE THEATRE ROYAL, COVENT GARDEN. Beauseant {a rich gentleman of Lyons, in Iove\ -n^ Fit m with, and refused by, Pauline Deschappelles) J Glavis [his friend, also a rejected suitor to\ ^«^ Tvii7Ar.owo Pauline) j Colonel, afterwards General, Damas {cousin to^ Madame Deschappelles, and an officer in the r Mr. Bartley. French army) ) Monsieur Deschappelles (a Lyonnese merchant, \ »,, Stricki and father to Paulitie) J Landlord of the Golden Lion Mr. Yarnold. Caspar Mr. Diddear. Claude Melnotte Mr. Macreauy. First Officer Second O^cer VMessrs. Howe, Pritchard, and Roberts. Third Officer Servants, Notary, ^c. Madame Deschappelles Mrs. Clifford. Pauline (Jier daughter) Miss Helen Faucit. The widow Melnotte {mother to Claude)... Mrs. Griffith. ^&nei (the innkeeper' s daughter) .... Mrs. East. Marian {maid to Pauline) Miss Garrick. Scene — Lyons and the neighbourhood. Tme— 1795— 1798. THE LADY OF LYONS OR, LOVE AND PRIDE. ACT I. SCENE 1. A room in the lionse of M.Deschappelles, at Lyons. Pauline reclhiing on a sofa ,v* 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. MADAME 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 air, — the tournure, — the je ne sais quoil — 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 ! MADAME DESCHAP. No, child 1 — if I praise you, it is only to inspire you with a proper ambition. — You are born to make a gre?.t marriage. — Beauty is valuable or worthless according as you invest the property to the best advantage. — Marian, go and order ^ , the carriage ! [Exit Marian.^. J i PAULINE. Who can it be that sends me, every day, these beautiful flowers ? — how sweet they are ! %'X I 14 THE LADY OF LYONS ; [act i. Enter Servant. ^ t-^-CZ-, SERVANT. r~ .,r> y /(Jf Monsieur Beauseant, Madam. J^' rM^-^< MAD AME^E SCHAP.^^ Let him enter. /^^aulme, this is another offer ! — I know it is ! — Your father ^ould engage an additional clerk to keep the account-Look of your conquests. Enter Beauseant. Z^ ^^ £z1 BEAUSEANT. 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) Madame, you will permit me a word '/?t*£^_with your charming daughter. {Approaches Pauline, who ^ rises disdainfulltf))r Mademoiselle, I have ventured to wait upon you, in a nope 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 for- tune 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 favour ! — {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 honour you propose. [Curtsies^ and turns away. BEAUSEANT. Decline ! impossible ! — you are not serious ! — Madame, suffer me to appeal to you. I am a suitor for your daugh- ter's hand — the settlements shall be worthy her beauty and my station. May I wait on M. Deschappelles ? MADAME DESCHAP. M. Deschappelles never interferes in the domestic arrange- ments, — 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. BEAUSEANT. C A commoner ! — we are all commoners in France now. MADAME DESCHAP. /_ O In France, yes ; but there is a nobility still left in the other countries in Europe. We are quite aware of your good qua- SCENE I.] OR, LOVE AND PRIDE. 15 lities, and don't doubt that you will find some lady more suitalDle 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. C,1/rJ^-c^ /o A^ ^z-t^^ 'Z^y<^ BEAUSEANT. Say no more, Madame ! — 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 honour to wish you a very good morning. [£^xit. /L U MADAME 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 I EnUr Damas. ^ U £1 DAMAS. Good morning, cousin Deschappelles. — Well, Pauline, are you recovered from last night's ball 1 — 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. A M. Glavis, indeed ! / a MADAME DESCHAP. M. Glavis .? — as if my daughter would think of M. Glavis ! DAMAS. C^ Hey-day ! — why not ? — His father left him a very pretty fortune, and his birth is higher than yours, cousin Deschap- pelles. But pei'haps you are looking to M. Beauseant, — his father was a marquis before the Revolution, PAULINE. M. Beauseant ! — Cousin, you delight in tormenting me \ /^^-o C^ MADAME DESCHAP. ^^^ t. /^ U < o 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 many a prince ! W THE LADY OF LYONS ; [act i. MADAME 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 MADAME DESCHAP. My time of life ! — That is an expression never applied to any lady till she is sixty-nine and three-quarters j — and only then by the clergyman of the parish. Enter Servant. ^ U h. SEPvVANT. Madame, the carriage is at the door. MADAME DESCHAP. i* ^-^-Ij c"^^ Come, child, put on your baBaet^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 humour to you. — ^y^ct' ( Going back to the table and taking the flowers) Who could .^^ have sent me these flowers ? ^^ '"' r^A'?«#tt^ Pauline «*»«?mlADAME Deschappelles. DAMAS. A^ C 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 attach- ment in life is that of a woman in love — with herself ! {Exit. ^ ^ C-. SCENE IL The exterior of a small Village Inn — sign, the Golden Lion — a few leagues from Lyons, which is seen at a distance. /P BEAUSEANT {behind the scenes). \ 2- ^ Yes, you may bait the horses, we shall rest here an hour. Enter Beauseant and Glavis. ^ 2 F^ GLAVIS. 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 SCENE II.] OR, LOVE AND PRIDE. 17 as silent and as gloomy as a mute at a funeral, or an Eng- lishman at a party of pleasure. BEAUSEANT. Bear with me ! — the fact is, that I am miserable. GLAVIS. You — the richest and gayest bachelor in Lyons ' BEAUSEANT. It is because I am a bachelor that I am miserable. — Thou knowest Pauline — the only daughter of the rich merchant, Mons. Deschappelles ? GLAVIS. Know her! — who does not? — as pretty as Venus, and as proud as Juno. BEAUSEANT. /- C Her taste is worse than her pride. — {Drawing himself up.) j Know, Glavis, she has actually refused met Ci r ^^ c"^* ■ "^'- ^ GLAVIS {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.) Refiised you ! and wherefore ? BEAUSEANT. 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^//e du Rotu- rier may condescend to accept him. Refused me, and with scorn ! — By heaven, I'll not submit to it tainely : — I'm in a perfect fever of moi*tification and rage. — Refuse me, indeed ! C^<^'^ < GLAVIS. Be comforted, my dear fellow, — I will tell you a secret. For the same reason she refused me ! BEAUSEANT. 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 //wn the Inn. /^ LANDLORD. Youl servant, citizen Beauseant, — servant, sir. Perhaps B ^^ 18 THE LADY OF LYONS ; [act i. you will take dinner before you proceed to your chateau ; our larder is most plentifully supplied. BEAUSEANT. I have no appetite. GLAVIS. 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 I — Long live the Prince !" BEAUSEANT. The Prince ! — vs^hat Prince is that ? I thought we had no princes left in France. _ - /^ • rJi / LANDLORD, i^,^ ^ '^'^ ^ )1 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. BEAUSEANT. Him ! and who's Mr. Him ? LANDLORD. Who should he be but the pride of the village, Claude Melnotte ? — Of course you have heard of Claude Melnotte ? GLAVIS {giving hack the hill of fare), tf ?u^i^cX l^ Never had that honour. Soup — ragout of hare — roast chicken, and, in short, all you have ! /^v t ^ 'i^<-«^t ^ BEAUSEANT. fL The son of old Melnotte, the gardener ? LANDLORD.;^ Exactly so — a wonderful young man. BEAUSEANT. How wondeiful ? — Are his cabbages better than other people's ? LANDLORD. Nay, he don't garden any more ; his father left him well off. He's only a genus. GLAVIS. A what ? LANDLORD. A genus ! — a man who can do every thing in life except any thing that's useful ; — that's a genus. BEAUSEANT. You raise my curiosity ; — proceed. SCENE II.] OR, LOVE AND PRIDE. 19 LANDLORD. 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 liarL dmr) , /tCA <^'''2. ^ <.^^e^^ ^^ v-t^^i^^ ^^ WIDOW. i5-tnr^^^ ^ What is this, Claude ? ^ie^'^cy /^y ^i^ ^j^^/t .v. ,;,^ MELNOTTE. " Marry her whom thou lovest" — " bear "her to thine own home." — O, revenge and love ; which of you is the stronger ? — {Gazing on the picture) Sweet face, thou smilest on me fi-om the canvass : 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 j I do not di-eam I [Exit. ^t> r> ^ END OF ACT I, ^^ L c Cl^ / y/^ i^/. 26 THE LADY OF LYONS ; [act n. ACT IL SCENE L^^,^^,^^^,^/ /^ TJie Gardens of M. Deschappelles House at Lyons — the House seen at the back of the stage. /—, Enter Beauseant and Glavis. /^ / /^ BEAUSEANT. X. 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 him : 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. GLAVIS. 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. BEAUSEANT True, he is damnably extravagant ; I think the sly dog does it out of malice. However, 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 snufi'-box — GLAVIS. And my diamond ring I 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. BEAUSEANT. His oath binds him ; he cannot retract without being for- sworn, 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. GLAVIS. This very day : Poor Pauline : her dream will be soon over. BEAUSEANT. Yes, this day they shall be married ; this evening, according SCENE I.] OR, LOVE AND PRIDE. 27 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. ^4/^^/ — Oh, Pauline ! once loved, now hated, yet still not relin- '^ /<*«^ quished, thou shalt drain the cup to the dregs, — thou slialt , know what it is to be humbled ! '^r-cj cv^ /i^ei Cj /r^<^y ^*^rur^ Enter from the House, Melnotte «5 the Prince of Coma, leading in Pauxine ; Madame TDeschappelles, fanning herself; and Colonex Damas. Z^ 'z £: (Beauseant a7ul Glavis bow respectfully. Pauline and Melnotte walk apart.) /'y^^^rr^^/^ A^^ MADAME 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 1 You women regard men just as you buy books — you never care about what is in them, but how they are bound and lettered. -^'^^Pfitbj T f1"n't tbink ynu Ti'mdrl . . .■■■1 ^-r^\r nt yr.nv T^i]^]^ j f jt had r | Pit 1 titlp t n it MADAME DESCHAP. A <^ How coarse you are, cousin Damas ! — quite the manners of a baiTack — you don't deserve to be one of our family ; really we must drop your acquaintance when Pauline mar- ries. I cannot patronise any relations that would discredit my futm*e son-in-law, the Prince of Como. MELNOTTE {advancing) . CZ These are beautifid gardens, Madame, (Beauseant and Glavis retire) — who planned them ? MADAME 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. ' ^y,:_ PAULINE. ^ '\ ' <-^^ <^ 'f ^^^? i '^i- /V PAULINE. Thou wiong'st me, cruel Prince ! At first, in tnith, I might not have been won, Save through the weakness of a flatter'd pride ; But noiv, — Oh ! trust me, — could'st thou fall from power And sink — MELNOTTE. As low as that poor gardener's son Who dared to lift his eyes to thee ? — PAULINE. Even then, Methinks thou would'st 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 ! ^ MELNOTTE, Angel! €t<<-<^'i^^'^'^y Ae ■,. (Aside.) O conscience ! conscience ! It must not be ; — ^her love Imth grown a torture Worse than her hate. I will at once to Beauseant, And ha ! he comes- tr Sweet love, one moment leave me, I have business with these gentlemen — I — I ^ j£— Ay, it is fit you should learn to stoop. BEAUSEANT. You will beg my pardon for this some day. {Aside to Glavis.) Come to my chateau — I shall return hither to- morrow to learn how Pauline likes her new dignity. MELNOTTE. L. Are you not gone yet } BEAUSEANT. Your Highness's most obedient, most faithful — SCENE r.] OR, LOVE AND PRIDE. 41 GLAVIS. And most humble servants. Ha ! ha ! [Exeunt Beauseant and Glavis. MELNOTTE. Thank Heaven, I had no weapon, or I should have slain them. Wretch ! what can I say ? Where tm^n ? 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 ^rom the inn.) t!—^ PAULINE. Ah ! my Lord, what a place ! I never saw such rude people. Th b}' st ' aiu a r nihvvmlrsu: 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. MELNOTTE. 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. MELNOTTE. 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. y^.^,/ ^,7 Enter Landlord, 4kr Servants peeping and laughing over his shoulder, tLi LANDLORD. My Lord — your Highness — Will your most noble Excellency choose — , MELNOTTE. A^A ^ 7^^ Begone, Sir! \Exit Landlord, Im t ghinp^ ^ 42 THE LADY OF LYONS ; [act hi PAULINE. How could they have leam'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, /u J Li « '- ^ And— nay, nay, Spendthrift, is thy wealth of smiles Already drained, or dost thou play the miser ? MELNOTTE. Thine eyes would call up smiles in deserts, fair one ; Let us escape these inistics. Close at hand There is a cot, where I have bid prepare Our evening lodgement — 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 I methought Thou wert a stranger in these parts ? Ah ! truant, Some village beauty lured thee ; — thou art no\r Grown constant? MELNOTTE. Trust me. PAULINE. Princes are so changeful '. MELNOTTE. Come, dearest, come. PAULINE, Shall I not call our people To light us ? MELNOTTE. Heaven will lend its stars for torches \ It is not far. PAULINE. The night breeze chills me. MELNOTTE, Nay, Let me thus mantle thee ; — it is not cold. PAULINE. Never beneath thy smile ! MELNOTTE (aside). Oh, Heaven ! forgive me ! {^Exeunt. SCENE II.] OR, LOVE AND PRIDE. 43 SCENE 11. /jq UC, kfj Melnotte's Cottage — Widow hustling about — A table spread fur supper. WIDOW. So, I thiuk 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 disgxiise, he is too honourable 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. -^/^^ /fA^^^ y fY-oiri^ Enter Melnotte and Fauline. WIDOW. Oh, my boy — the pride of my heai't ! — welcome, welcome ! I beg pardon, Ma'am, but I do love him so ! /a/-A. . i-i^ /va- c^c 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 ? melnotte. Z- C Of my kind heart, ay I PAULINE. C So you know the Prince ? WIDOW. A ^ 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. : ^'<«^ ^, ^^. /^ /^ MELNOTTE. L-d. Madam, I — no I cannot tell her, my Irnr"" Irnrflr t^rrthrr' what a coward is a man who has lost his honour ! Speak to her — speak to her {to his mother) — tell her that — Oh, Heaven, that I were dead! ^^^ irJoi< ] ^^ K 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? U THE LADY OF LYONS ; [act hi. 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 tlioiigL honest parents ? Know you not that you are wedded to my son, Claude Melnotte ? PAULINE. ^ ''c I'^J J^^ -^ A ' - ''( 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 ! MELNOTTE. i^i t^'^^^'^'> ^ Leave us — have pity on her, on me : leave us, WIDOW. Oh, Claude, that I should live to see thee bowed by shame ! — tliee of whom I was so proud ! \^Exit, by the staircase. PAULINE. /\i C Her son — her son ! MELNOTTE. C. Now, lady, hear me. PAULINE. Hear thee ! Ay, speak — her son ' have fiends a parent ? speak, That thou may'st silence curses — speak ! MELNOTTE. No, curse me : Thy curse would blast me less than thy forgiveness. PAULINE {laughing wildlj/). " This is thy palace, where the perftimed light " Steals through the mist of alabaster lamps, " And every air is heavy with the sighs " Of oiange-groves, and music from sweet lutes, " And murmurs of low fountains, that gush forth " r the midst of roses !" Dost thou like the picture ? This is my bridal home, and thou my bridegroom ! SCENE II.] OR, LOVE AND PRIDE. 46 fool — O dupe — O wretch ! — I see it all — • The bye-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 homd dream : 1 shall wake soon. — {Touching Mm.) 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 should'st crush me thus .? /- A' '^^^'^^ e^.^^-^ MELNOTTE. 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 fi'eshness, as if Spring itself Were made a living thing, and wore thy shape ! I saw thee, and the passionate heart of man EnterVl 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, fi-antic, 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 giew 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 46 THE LADY OF LYONS ; [act hi. Ideal charms to Love. I thought of thee, And Passion taught me poesy — of thee, And on the painter's canvass grew the life Of beauty ! — Art became the shadow Of the dear starlight of thy haunting eyes ! Men caird 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 I PAULINE. , ■'/ J ' ' / / Haa h^^ a magio to cgoroioQ hato ? . /i^/t^ ^o J.Ce.^i-^-^. o.c-^ ^/t- MELNOTTE. 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 hoiu* — when passion, turned 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 ! MELNOTTE. Hold, lady ! — No, not slave ! Despair is free ! I will not tell thee of the throes — the sti-uggles — ■ 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 — oh Heaven ! — a peasant's wife ! I'll work — Toil — drudge— do what thou wilt — but touch me not ; Let my wrongs make me sacred ! SCENE ir.] OR, LOVE AND PRIDE. 47 MELNOTTE. Do not fear me. Thou dost not know me, Madam : at the altai- My vengeance ceased — my guilty oath expir'd ! Henceforth, no image of some marble saint, Nich'd in cathedral aisles, is hallow'd more From the rude hand of sacrilegious wrong. I am thy husband — nay, thou need'st not shudder j — 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 slu'ine, 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 I Ho ! my mother ! Enter Widow. /^/7J I'/i / Hush, hush! — she sleeps at last! — thank Heaven, for awhile 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 Avill 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 ' y ^ Enter Widow. J P i ^>'^- x/r^c.^ WIDOW. ^' ^' My son, thou hast acted ill ; but sin brings its own punish- ment. In the hour of thy remorse, it is not for a mother to reproach thee ! MELNOTTE. ^ 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, honour, bear with her. If she weep, console — if she chide, be silefit! 'Tis but a little while more — I shall send an express fast as horse can speed to her father. Farewell ! — I shall retm-n shortly WIDOW It is the only course left to thee — tliou 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 ! MELNOTTE. 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 fi'oin SCENE I.] OR, LOVE AND PRIDE. 4t» tl;ee and my dead lather — a proud conscience and an honest name. I shall win them back yet — Heaven bless you ! -, j— \Exit.M -r WIDOW, .y ^' '^ - - J ^^ ,,. T^^o , ^ My dear Claude ! — How my heart bleeds for nim ! (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 j^ardener'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 knowTi 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, IMadam — he tells me that you will have your divorce. And I hope I ohall Fvn tn nop him fimilr ngnin — Thovc are maiden a in thia vill^ a ' gc, ^ u un^ and fair, Madam, uho juay yot console him. — PAULINE. ' I dcTir aay — thoj'^ arc vorjr wulcomo and when the divorce is got, he will marry again. I am sure I hope so. ( Weeps.) WIDOW. He could have mamed 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 — T)ut love is so liead- strong in the young. Don't weep, ]\Iadnm, PAULIME . -fe o, afe you wer e s ajring gu cm. WIDOW'. Oh, I cannot excuse him. Ma'am — he was not in his right senses. PAULINE. But he always —always (sobbing) loved — loved me tl»eu? D 50 THE LADY OF LYONS ; [act iv. WIDOW. He thought of nothing else. See here — he leanit to paint that he might take your likeness [uncocers 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. Nny, Mn-ln^, '^■" pm-mnflnrl 3 n Uttlft onf^pp will rAfrpmh you r Our milk and ogga are e x^ollonti — I will got out . 'C k.ude''!s uufTut-'mp — it is of real Sevvo , he oarr rl up n il h] 9 mmifly to . buy it three years a g ^^, Ifen^n-o tVin -nnmn nf Tiiiiiine wao inooribcd on i t. PAULINE. Thr"" yQ?-'-'^ <^g" ' Vnur (]^auf\p.^ Thnnk y^n ; T think T ' j Yill hnyp r"m" ^^ffV" Oh ! if he were but a poor geuile- man, even a merchant : but a gardener's son — and what a home ! — Oh no, it is too dreadful ! {Tl ley seat themselves at the table, Beauseant opens the lattice and looks in.) beauseant. 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 yom' fat]jer to arrive yet ; it must be some neighbour, f tc i < > / /«. < <;^<^ f c» v PAULINE. Don't admit any one. f \Vlduu uyj u y<^ ik(. doo*.^ Beauseant pushes her aside and enters.) Ha ! Heavens ! that hateful Beauseant ! This is indeed bitter ! beauseant. a C^ Good morning, Madam ! Oh, Widow, your son begs you will have the goodness tc go to him in the village — he wants to speak to you on particular business ; you'll find him at die inn, or the grocer's shop, or the baker's, or at some other friend's of your family — make haste. SCENE I.] OR, LOVE AND PRIDE. 51 PAULINE. Don't leave me, mother ! — don't leave me BEAUSEANT {icitli cjrcat respect). Be not alarmed, Madam. Believe me your friend — your servant. PAULINE, Sir I have no fear of you, even in this house ! Go, Ma- dam, if your son wishes it ; I vpill not contradict his com- mands vfhilst, at least, he has still the right to be obeyed. WIDOW, ^c^t ^^c I ' /^ ^f^^^ I don't understand this ; however, I shan't be long gone \_Exit. l^J^ PAULINE. Sir, I divine the object of your visit — you wish to exult in the humiliation of one who humbled you. Be it so j I am prepared to endure all — even your presence ' BEAUSEANT. A ^ 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 canriage 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 unconquer- able 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 honour ! 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. BEAUSEANT. What ! is not your pride humbled yet ? PAULINE. - S ir, whQt> - was pr i de in proapcritjr in - gffliotion becomes virtit e> BEAUSEANT. 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 tlie loveliest lady. Ah, hear me ! Sjl^ D 2 62 THE LADY OF LYONS ; [act iv. PAULINE. Oh ! my father ! — why did I leave you ? — why am I thus friendless ? Sir, you see before you a betrayed, injured, miserable woman I — respect her anguish ! (Melnotte opens the door silently, and pauses at the threshold.) BEADSEANT. 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 ? BEAUSEANT. Be silent ! {shewing a pistol.) See, I do not come unpre- pared even for violence. 1 will brave all things — thy husband and all his race — for thy sake. Thus, then, 1 clasp thee ! MELNOTTE {dashing him to the other end of the stage), A^ Pauline — look up, Pauline ! thou art safe. BEAUSEANT {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) . MELNOTTE. d Miserable trickster ! shame upon you ! brave devices to terrify a woman ! Coward ! — you ti-emble — 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. BEAUSEANT. 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. J)]^ MELNOTTE. 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 j — she breathes — she moves— SCENE I.] OR, LOVE AND PRIDE. 53 She wakes to scorn, to hate, but not to shudder Beneath the touch of my abhorred love. , tjy {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 ? MELNOTTE. No, lady, no ; My guilt hath not deserved so rich a blessing As even danger in thy cause. Enter Widow. Jy^ WIDOW, My son, I have been everywhere in search of you j why did you send for me ? MELNOTTE. /^ I did not send for you. WIDOW. ^ No ! but I must tell you your express has returned. MELNOTTE. 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 imme- diately. Oh, Claude, Claude I Avhat will they do to you ? How I tremble ! — Ah, Madam ! do not let them injure him — if you knew how he doted on you ! PAULINE. /L. 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, MELNOTTE. I know it. Madam. PAULINE. {Aside.) If he would but ask me to forgive him ! — I never can forgive you. Sir ! 54 THE LADY OF LYONS; [act tv. MELNOTTE. I never dared to hoj)e it. PAULINE. But you are my husband now, and I have sworn to— to love you, Sir. MELNOTTE. That was under a false belief, Madam ; Heaven and the laws will release you fiom your vow. PAULINE. He will drive me mad ! if he were but less proud — if ho Avould 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 too late ? Quick — speak. MELNOTTE. I can only congratulate you on your release. Behold your parents ! Enter Monsieur and Madame Deschappelles and Colonel Damas. ^^ ^^ ^[ ^ VV / MONS. DESCHAP. -) / . I My child !— my child ! / ^^ ^ ^ /e ^ad^^ ^ « < ^ MADAME DESCHAP. J Oh my poor Pauline ! — what a villanous hovel this is ! Old woman, get me a chair — I shall faint — 1 certainly shall. What will the world say .'' — Child, you have been a fool. A mother's heart is easily broken. ^«Zy«^j /u. i o /xa ' L~ C DAMAS. ^ C 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. MELNOTTE. /^ 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 ' MONS. DESCHAP. r Where is the impostor ? — Are you thus shameless, traitor? Can you brave the presence of that girl's father? MELNOTTE. A Strike me, if it please you — you are her father i SCENE I.] OR, LOVE AND PRIDE. 65 PAULINE. C Sir — sir, for my sake; — whatever his guilt, he has acted nobly in atonement. MADAME 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 1 DAMAS. li< /- <*^< t-'- c Ugly ! Why he was beautiful yesterday ! PAULINE. Madam, this is his roof, and he is my husband. Respect your daughter, or let blame fall alone on her. MADAIME DESCHAP. You — you — Oh, I'm choking. MONS. DESCHAP. Sir, it were idle to waste rej^roach upon a conscience lilce yours — you renounce all pretensions to the person of this lady .? MELNOTTE. A- CL 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, 1 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 moiu-n my sin, and pray for your daughter's peace Farewell — farewell to you all, for ever ! WIDOW. A 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 fi'om her son. PAULINE. This poor widow teaches me my duty. No, mother — i?c, for you are now vii/ mother also ! — nor should any law, hump.n or divine, separate the wife from her husband's sorrow^. Claude — Claude — all is forgotten — forgiven — I am thine forever! d.^UKtl , A/..^ /( C MADAME DESCHAP. A {* What do I hear ? — Come away, or never see my face again. MONS. DESCHAP. C Pauline, wc never betrayed you I — do you forsake us for him ? 56 THE LADY OF LYONS ; [act iv. PAULINE {going back to her father). Oh, no — but you will forgive him too j we will live together ■ — he shall be your son. MONS. 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 dis- honest 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 lijDS rej^roach thee for the past. TH "^^^ lTn...n.n,1 if T n.nn i-. r>t ^0111^ tfl llluhbor ' MELNOTTE. 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 !" 1 am not that DAMAS {aside to melnotte). w>Uj? ^^"^^^^ ,^/r^ /^ Thou art a noble fellow, notwithstanding ; and would' st make an excellent soldier. Serve in my regiment. I have had a letter from the Directory — our young General takes the com- mand of the army in Italy, — I am to join him at Marseilles, — I will depart this day, if thou wilt go with me. MELNOTTE. /^ ( ' It is the favour 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 ! MELNOTTE. There is my hand ! — Mother ! your blessing. I shall see you again, — a better man than a prince, — a man who has SCENE I.] OR, LOVE AND PRIDE. 67 bought the right to high thoughts by brave deeds. And thou i ■ — 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 dishonoured ; — if I fall, amidst the carnage and the roar of battle, my soul will fly back to thee, and liOve 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 ! \JsTTtt7 DAMAS. T ^jW\ ^r. o4Vor ^n^^m. — Frauoo wlll thault mo for thio. - PAULINE {starting from her father'' s arms), Claude! — Claude! — my husband ! ^\. / ; / / a WOBM i DEOOUAP/ / / ■ . o EN J) oy ACT ir. 58 THE LADY OF LYONS ; [act v, ACT V. SCENE L Two years and a half from the date of Act IV. The Streets of Lyons. Enter First, Second, mid Third Qfficorc ' ^ FIRST OFFICER. Well, here we are at Lyons, with gallant old Damas : it is liis 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. flni I yil T RP - OFFICER. Promotion is quick in the French army. This mysterious Morier, — the hero of Lodi, and the favourite of the Com- mander-in-Chief, — has risen to a colonel's rank in two years and a half. ^ Enter Damas, as a General. /C DAMAS. Good morrow, gentlemen ; I hope you will amuse your- selves during our short stay at Lyons. It is a fine city: improved since I left it. Ah ! it is a pleasure to grow old, — • wlien the years that bring decay to ourselves do but ripen the prosperity of our country. V ou 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, Jin H TMIIM] 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. SCENE I.] OR, LOVE AND PRTDE. , 50 SECOND OFFICER (^0 Tllild) ^^^^-^ / [ The General is sore upon this point j you will only chafe him, — Any commands, General ?^!^ a -^ -^ ^ - - ^- ^^ DAMAS. None. — Good day to you ! ^^ [^jwrnf*- Second iuitl Tlilid O fficers^. 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 valour, his brilliant rise in the profession, — your fi'iendship, and the favours of the Commander-in-Chief, — all tend to make him as much the mutter 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. /I Oh ! — an affair of love ! DAMAS. /L- 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 cnn 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. •/ f FIRST OFFICER. ^^^ ^"^ ^ ^*y ^ A^ 1 will, General. \Exit. 60 THE LADY OF LYONS; [act v. DAM AS. Now will I go to the Deschappelles, and make a report to my young Colonel. Ha ! by Mars, Bacchus, Apollo, Vvo- rum, — here comes Monsieur Beauseant ! Enter Beauseant. X 2- ^ Good morrow, Monsieur Beauseant ! How fares it with you ? beauseant {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 anived 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 ? BEAUSEANT. 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. BEAUSEANT. tiem ! — 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. BEAUSEANTo 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 ! BEAUSEANT. {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 vou soldiers, SCENE I.] OR, LOVE AND PRIDE. 61 DAMAS. All a toss-up, Sir. I was not one of the lucky ones ! My friend, Morier, indeed, saved something handsome. But out Commander-in-Chief took care of him, and Morier is a thrifty, economical dog, — not like the rest of us soldiers, wVo spend our money as carelessly as if it were our blood. BEAUSEANT. A ^ Wer, 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. / C You ! — the devil 1 Why she is already married ! There is no divorce ! BEAUSEANT. True ; but this very day she is formally to authorize the necessary proceedings, — this very day she is to sign the con- tract 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 any- thing of women ! Cyi^-crj--^ l^^ ^ £> /v BEAUSEANT. I must wish you good morning, {As he is going, enter Deschappelles.)"^ MONS. DESCHAP. '^T^ Oh, Beauseant! well met. Let us come to the notary at once. DAMAS {to DESCHAPPELLES). Why, cousin ! MONS. 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 ? '. MONS. DESCHAP. Certainly I Wliat have you to say against it ! A gentle- man 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 ! 62 THE LADY OF LYONS ; [act v. MONS, DESCHAP. {taking snuff). That was two years and a half ago ! DAMAS. Very true. Poor Meluotte ! MONS. DESCHAP. But do not talk of that impostor ; I hope he is dead or ha < left the country. Nay, even were he in Lyons at this moment, he ought to rejoice that, in an honourable 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. MONS. 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. MONS. DESCHAP. Till then, adieu — come, Beauseant. / I C [J5'a;eM?i^ Beauseant and Deschappklles, ^ / ^ DAMAS. The man who sets his heart upon a woman Is a chameleon, and doth feed on air ; From air he takes his colours, — 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 I woman ! thou shouldst have few sins Of thine own to answer for ! Thou ait 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, ipale and agitated, X ' l^~. 1 need not tell thee ! Thou hast heard — MELNOTTE. The worst ! I have ! DAMAS. Be cheer'd j others are fair as she is I SCENE 1.] OR, LOVE AND PRIDE. 03 MELNOTTE. Others ! — The world is crumbled at ray feet ! 8he was ray 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! Hfurnforth Xli£-u~ai'^e ^'Dtd apace io doco l a t&I DAMAS. Hope yet. MELNOTTE. Plope, yes ! — one hope is left me still— A soldier's grave ! Glory has - died with Lot — I looli into ray heart; and^ whoro I caw — •Pi^iilino ^c^ "null 111 I {After a pause.) — But ara I not deceived ? I went but by the ruraour of the town ; Rumour 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 — MELNOTTE. She Will never know how deeply she was loved ! Thp rhfiritnMo nighty th?t w^^t t" ^■"^7^ C o uifuil Lu day; in bi'ight and eloquent dvrira'ij Ia4icnccforth loaguod with mioory 1 — Sloop, Or olco booomc eternal ! Oh, llit uaklii^i, ■- From faloo oblivion, and to 000 the oun, And k n ow oho io anotlicr'a ! DAMAS. Be a man I MELNOTTE. I am a man ! — it is the sting of woe Like mine that tells us we are raen ! DAMAS. The false one Did not deserve thee. MELNOTTE. 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 j 64 THE LADY OF LYONS ; [act v. 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 day, my soul had singled out of time And maVk'd for bliss ! This day ! oh, could I see her. See her once more unknown ; but hear her voice. S o that one ooho of . i ts mucio might Mako ruin less appalling in its - silenr'P . DAMAS. Easily done ! Come with me to her house ; Your dress — yom* 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 ! ^^"^irp ]r\ yrt. r,n ynrng, Thpy mny hnv^ fnrppd h"^ ^^ jTiqcq ef^nr,-nA ^^v\A'l'\s Out of mistaken lov^ MELNOTTE. 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 fi'om danger Might spurn me now. When fii'st 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 ! MELNOTTE. 'Tis past — forget it. I am proparod ; life-hag no fvuih f ?r ill n ' TVin nlnnrl ]i a t^ |^vnl-^ji in that gtnrmy rrn'rij Ami- on the waste I s tand, alone with Heaven - ^ DAMAS. His very face is changed ; a breaking heart Does its work soon ! — Come, Melnotte, rouse thyself: One effort more. Again thoult see her. MELNOTTE See lier \ Thnrr ii n pirrinn in thnt rimp"''^ cnntp^ipp Th ^it ohivm'o all the pride aad power o f reaso;* .! . I nto ft - chaoa ! SCENE II.] OR, LOVE AND PRIDE. 65 DAMAS. Time wanes ; — come, ere yet It be too late. MELNOTTE. Terrible words—" Too late!" Lead on. One last look more, and then DAMAS. Forget her ! MELNOTTE. Forget her, yes ! — For death remembers not. [Exeunt. /__ / t SCENE II. A room in the house of Monsieur Deschappelles ; Pauline seated in great dejection. X^c' 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 may'st find some fairer boon Than the deep faith of this devoted heart, — Nourished till now — now broken ? Enter Monsieur DESCHAPPELLES.y2t5 /=.«--- C* MONS. DESCHAP. ^ My dear child, How shall 1 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 honours of a toilsome life : — These thou hast saved, my child ! , PAULINE. /C ^ Is tliere no hope ? No hope but this? MONS. 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! E 66 THE LADY OF LYONS ; [act \ PAULINE. And am lost ! MONS. DESCHAP. Come, let me hope that Beauseant's love PAULINE. His loye I Talk not of love. Love has no thought of self! Love buys not with the nithless 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 ! MONS. DESCHAP, If thou deem'st thus, reject him ! Shame and ruin Were better than thy misery ; — think no more on't. My sand is well-nigh run — what boots it when The glass is broken ? We'll annul the contract. And if to-moiTow 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 honour'd father, — You, who so loved, so cherished 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 ! MONS, 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 1 And on the absent wanderer shed the light Of happier stars— lost evermore to me I SCENE II.] OR, LOVE AND PRIDE. 67 Enter Madame Deschappelles, Beauseant, Glavis, and Notary. MADAME DESCHAP. Why, Pauline, you are quite in dishabille — 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 xoas a Marquis, and that's a great comfort! Pedigree and jointure ! you have thorn both iii INIoujicm - BoauQoant. — A ^vuuilg ' lA,dy de^ OiOllisl}' biuugltl up should uiil^i b aYctu ' ocuubideialioiis h llier (jhd'ice of ahuijbund; — first, is TiiS~' liirth honourablot poeendly; will his death be advantageuus? All '^thf'r Hfl'"g f1ot|^ni.> olTonIrl 1->a loft t,i pnrn»l^1 iii.inily I BEAUSEANT {approacldnfj, and waving aside Madame). <^ C_. 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. "^c ^r/^'^ ^ *-^ BEAUSEANT .^/s 6 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 1 — Save the father, and spare the child! BEAUSEANT (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 re- served 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 rain 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. , , MADAME DESCHAP. (curtsying very loiv.) /i C What, the celebrated hero .? This is, indeed, an honour ! (Melnotte hoxcsy and remains in the hack-ground.) 63 THE LADY OF LYONS ; [act v. DAMAS {to PAULINE). C My little cousin, I congratulate you ! What, no smile — no blush? You are going to be divorced from poor Mel- notte, and marry this rich gentleman. You ought to be excessively happy I PAULINE. ': I'C' Happy ! DAMAS. AVhy, 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, rrf^^ ^ V V 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 I 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, /c (J The last plank to which I clung is shivered ! DAMAS. C 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 ? SCENE II.] OR, LOVE AND PRIDE. 69 PAULINE. (J7l He knows Melnotte — he will see him — he wjllhear_tW^^^ him my last farewell — {approaches Melnotte'P- He has a -^^ stern air — he turns away from me — he despises me ! — Sir, one word I beseech you. MELNOTTE. Her voice again ' How the old time comes o*er me ! DAMAS {to MADAME) ^' ^< ^ ^- ^^'^ \y f ^'^ Don't interrupt them. He is going to tell her what a rascal young Melnotte is 3 he knows him well, I promise you. MADAME DESCHAP So considerate in you, cousin Damas ! (Damas approaches Deschappelles converses apart with him in dumb shoio. — Deschappelles sheics him a papery which he inspects and takes.) PAULINE. Thrice have I sought to speak ; my courage fails me. — Sir, is it tiTie that you have known — nay, are The friend of— Melnotte ? MELNOTTE, 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 .^ ■M'LLiiJUi 1 ](,. - jle hath told- mc ^ You havo tho right t o cl ro onc from out the world A- worthier hrifilegromu ; — ha fuitguta all claim, Even to miirnuir at hi)- doomi — Speak on I— 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 Irim ev'n now that I would rather share His lowliest lot, — walk by his side, an outcast, — \Vork for him, beg with him, — live upon the light Of one kind smile from him, — than wear the crown The Bourbon lost ! 70 THE LADY OF LYONS ; [act v. MELNOTTE (^JtWu ^ Am I - tblroady mad -? ' An d doQO dolitlum uttor onoh Dwcct Tr ovdo Into a Droamor'c oar i — ( dJinid) Y'ou love him thus, And yet desert him ? PAULINE. Say, that, if his eye Could read this heart, — its straggles, 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 ! MELNOTTE. Lady — I — I — what is this riddle ? — what The nature of this sacrifice ? /t, ^ /^ f < <. a c^ PAm . ii>' r ^ {p oi nting ia damas) -? ■ Go, aok him ! BEAUSEAnt {from the table) . The papers are prepared — we only need Yom" hand and seal. MELNOTTE. Stay, lady — one word more. Were but your duty with your faith united, Would you still share the low-born peasant'^ lot ? PAULINE. Would I ? Ah, better death with bin I love Than all the pomp — which is but as the flowers That crown the victim ! — {Turning meat/) I am ready- (Melnotte rushes to Damas.) DAMAS. /^ f-^fL- There— This is the schedule — this the total. BEAUSEANT {to DESCHAPPELLES, shetoing notes). '1 liHse 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.) (^ BEAUSEANT. / 3 1205 00948 8998 001 424 393 / THE LIBRARY UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA Santa Barbara THIS BOOK IS DUE ON THE LAST DATE STAMPED BELOW. lOOM 11/86 Series 9482 O THE IIBKARY Of o