ÆäÀÌÁö À̹ÌÁö
PDF
ePub

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, madame.

Pauline. So, as you was 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, madame, 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 Sevre; he saved up all his money to buy it three years ago, because the name of Pauline was inscribed on it.

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!

Beauseant. What, is not your pride humbled yet?

Pauline. Sir, what was pride in prosperity, in affliction becomes virtue.

Beauseant. Look round: these rugged floorsthese 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? Pauline. Three years ago! Poor Claude! why am I thus friendless? Sir, you see before you Thank you, I think I will have some coffee. Oh, a betrayed, injured, miserable woman! respect if he were but a poor gentleman, even a merchant; her anguish! 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 F. 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 D. in F. 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 D. in F.

BEAUSEANT pushes her aside and enters. Ah! Heavens! that hateful Beauseant! This is indeed bitter.

MELNOTTE opens the D. in F., and silently pauses at the threshold.

Beauseant. 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! [showing a pistol.] See, I do not come unprepared, even for violence. Í will brave all things-thy husband and all his race -for thy sake. Thus, then, I clasp thee!

Melnotte [dashing him to the other end of the stage.] Pauline-look up, Pauline! thou art

safe.

Beauseant [leveling his pistol.] Dare you thus insult a man of my birth, ruffian?

Beauseant. Good morning, madame! Oh, Widow, your son begs you will have the goodness to Beauseant-Claude-no-no! 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

Pauline. Oh, spare him-spare my husband! [Faints.

me!

Beauseant [with great respect.]_ Be not alarmed, madame. Believe me your friend, your servant. Pauline. Sir, I have no fear of you, even in this house! Go, madame, 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 shan't be long gone. [Exit, D. in F.

Pauline. Sir, I divine the object of your visityou wish to exult in the humiliation of one who humbled you. Be it so; I am prepared to endure all-even your presence!

Beauseant. You mistake me, Madame 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

Melnotte. 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.

Beauseant. I wish thou wert a gentleman-as it is, thou art beneath me. Good day, and a happy honey-moon. [Aside.] I will not die till I am avenged. [Exit BEAUSEANT, D. in F. Melnotte. I hold her in these arms the last embrace!

Never, ah, never more shall this dear head Be pillowed 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 a woman,
And-and-no blood is spilt?
Melnotte. No, lady, no;

My guilt has not deserved so rich a blessing
As even danger in thy cause.

Enter WIDOW, from D. in v.

Widow. My son, I have been everywhere in search of you; 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 mother and father 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, madame! 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.

Melnotte. I know it, madame. Pauline. [aside.] If he would but ask me to forgive him!--I never can forgive you, sir!

Melnotte. I never dared to hope it. Pauline. But you are my husband now, and I have sworn to-to love you, sir.

Melnotte. That was under a false belief, madame; 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 too late-quick-speak! Melnotte. I can only congratulate you on your release. Behold your parents!

Enter MONSIEUR and MADAME DESCHAPPELLES and COLONEL DAMAS, D. in F.

Mons. Deschap. My child-my child! Madame Deschap. Oh, my poor Pauline !-what a villainous 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.

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 defenseless. Damas. There's something fine in the rascal, after all!

Mons. Deschap. Where is the impostor! Are you thus shameless, traitor? Can you brave the presence of that girl's father!

Melnotte. 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.

Madame Deschap. Nobly! Are you mad,

girl? I have no patience with you-to disgrace 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, and let blame fall alone on her.

Madame Deschap. You-you-oh, I'm choking. Mons. Deschap. Sir, it were idle to waste reproach upon a conscience like yours-you renounce all pretensions to the person of this lady?

Melnotte. I do. [Gives a paper.] Here is my consent to a divorce-my full confession of the fraud, which annuls 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 forever 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, forever!

Widow. Claude, Claude, you will not leave your poor 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 forever!

Madame Deschap. What do I hear?-Come away, or never see my face again.

Mons. Deschap. Pauline, we never betrayed you-will 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.

Mons. Deschap. Never! Cling to him and forsake your parents! His home shall be yourshis 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'm not going to blubber!

Melnotte. This is the heaviest blow of all!What a heart I have wronged! Do not fear me, sir; I am not at 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 poormay be low-born-(there is no guilt in the decrees of Providence!)-but he should be one who can cok 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.

Melnotte. It is the favor I would have asked thee, if I had dared. Place me wherever a foe is most dreaded,-wherever France most needs a life!

upon this point; you will only chafe him. Any commands, General?

Damas. None. Good day to you.

[Exeunt Second and Third Officers, R. 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 Damas. There shall not be a forlorn hope habits,—his daring valor,—his brilliant rise in the without thee! profession,-your friendship and the favors of the Melnotte. There is my hand! Mother! your Commander-in-Chief,-all tend to make him as blessing. I shall see you again,-a better man much the matter of gossip as of admiration. But than a Prince, a man who has bought the right where is he, General? I have missed him all the to high thoughts by brave deeds. And thou! morning. thou! so wildly worshiped, 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, D. in F.

Damas. I will go after him,--France thank me for this. [Exit, D. in F. Pauline [starting from her father's arms.] Claude, Claude!-my husband!

Mons. Deschap. You have a father still!

TABLEAU.

ACT V.

SCENE I.

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!

will-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.

The Streets of Lyons. [Two years and a half from the date of Act IV.] Enter First, Second and Third OFFICERS, L. 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-inchief, has risen to a Colonel's rank in two years

and a half.

[blocks in formation]

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.

[blocks in formation]

it with you?
Good morrow, Monsieur Beauseant! How fares

Beauseant [aside.] Damas! that is unfortunate; if the Italian campaign should have filled his pockets, he may seek to baffle me in the moGeneral, for such, I think, is your new distinction. ment of my victory. [Aloud.] Your servant, 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?

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. 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.

Beauseant. You must have gained much booty in Italy! Pauline will be your heiress-eh ?

Booty! Not I!

Damas. Heiress to what? Damas. The man who sets his heart upon a Two trunks and a portmanteau,-four horses,— woman three swords,-two suits of regimentals and six Is a chameleon, and doth feed on air: pair of white leather inexpressibles! A pretty From air he takes his colors, holds his life,— fortune for a young lady! Changes with every wind,-grows lean or fat; Beauseant [aside.] Then all is safe! [Aloud.] Rosy with hope, or green with jealousy, Ha ha! Is that really all your capital, General Or pallid with despair-just as the gale 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-inChief took care of him, and Morier is a thrifty, economical dog,-not like the rest of us soldiers, who spend our money carelessly, as if it were our blood.

Beauseant. 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 attach

ment.

Damas. You! the devil! 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 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! Beauseant. I must wish you good morning. [As he is going, L.,

Enter DESCHAPPELLES, R. Mons. Deschap. 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 Mon

sieur Beauseant?

Mons. 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.

Mons. Deschap. [taking snuff.] That was two years and a half ago!

Damas. Very true. Poor Melnotte!

Mons. 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 suffering 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, Beau

seant.

[Exeunt BEAUSEANT and DESChappelles, L.

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, R.
I need not tell thee! Thou hast heard-
Melnotte. The worst!

I have!

Damas. Be cheered; others are as fair as she is!

Melnotte. Others!-the world is crumbled at my feet

She was my world: filled up the whole of beingSmiled 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! Memory and Hope
Alike are gone.
Pauline is faithless! Hence-

forth

The universal space is desolate !
Damas. Hope yet.

Melnotte. 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-
Melnotte. 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, fare-
well,

Or else become eternal! Oh, the waking
From false oblivion, and to see the sun,
And know she is another's!—

[blocks in formation]

Damas. house. Your dress—your cloak-moustache-the bronzed hues

Easily done! Come with me to her

Of time and toil-the name you bear-belief
In your absence, all will ward away suspicion.
Keep in the shade. Aye, 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.

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 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!

Melnotte. "Tis past-forget it.

I am prepared; life has no farther 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.

[blocks in formation]

It is so, then. I must be false to

Or sacrifice a father! Oh, my Claude,
My lover and my husband! have I lived
To pray that thou mayst find some fairer boon
Than the deep faith of this devoted heart,
Nourish'd till now-now broken!

Enter MONS. DESCHAPPELLes, l.
My dear child,

Mons. Deschap.

And hundreds, mingled in that ruin, curse The bankrupt merchant! and the insolent 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!

Mons. 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 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-morrow in the prisoner's cell
These aged limbs are laid, why still, my child,
I'll think that 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 ungrate

ful:

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.-[Åside.] 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, L. C.

Madame 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,

How shall I thank-how bless thee? Thou hast and that's a great comfort! Pedigree and joinsaved

[blocks in formation]

ture! 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!

Beauscant [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.

Beauseant. Doom is a harsh word, sweet lady.

« ÀÌÀü°è¼Ó »