Pauline [aside.] This man must have some mercy-his heart cannot be marble. [Aloud.] Oh, sir, be just-be generous!-Seize a noble triumph-a great revenge!-Save the father and spare the child! 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 reserved only for the gardener's son! I cannot forego my hopes in the moment of their fulfillment!-I adhere to the contract-your father's ruin or your hand! Pauline. Then all is over. Sir, I have decided. [The clock strikes one. Enter DAMAS and MELNOTTE, L. C. Damas. Your servant, cousin Deschappelles. -Let me introduce Colonel Morier. Madame Deschap. [courtesying very low.] low.] What, the celebrated hero? This is, indeed, an honor. [MELNOTTE bows and remains in the background. Damas [to PAULINE.] My little cousin, I congratulate you! What, no smile-no blush? You are going to be divorced from poor Melnotte, and marry this rich gentleman. You ought to be excessively happy! Pauline. Happy! Damas. Why, how pale you are, child!-Poor Pauline! Hist-confide in me! Do they force you to this? Damas. You act with your own free consent? Pauline. My own consent-yes. Damas. Then you are the most-I will not say what you are. Pauline. You think ill of me-be it so-yet if you knew all Damas. There is some mystery-speak out, Pauline. Pauline [suddenly.] Oh! perhaps you can save me! you are our relation—our friend. My father is on the verge of bankruptcy-this day he requires a large sum to meet demands that cannot be denied; that sum Beauseant will advance this hand the condition of the barter. Save me if you have the means-save me! You will be repaid above! Damas. I recant-women are not so bad after all!-[Aloud.] Humph, child! I cannot help you-I am too poor! Pauline. The last plank to which I clung is shivered. Damas. Hold-you see my friend Morier: Melnotte is his most intimate friend-fought in the same fields-slept in the same tent. Have you any message to send to Melnotte?-any word to soften this blow? Pauline. He knows Melnotte-he will see him -he will bear to him my last farewell—[Approaches MELNOTTE.-He has a stern air-he turns away from me--he despises me!-Sir, one word, I beseech you. Melnotte. Her voice again! How the old time comes o'er me! Damas [to MADAME.] Don't interrupt him. He is going to tell her what a rascal young Melnotte is; he knows him well, I promise you. Madame Deschap. So considerate in you, cousin Damas! con [DAMAS approaches DESCHAPPELLES; verses apart with him in dumb show.-DESCHAPPELLES shows him a paper, which he inspects, and takes. Pauline. Thrice have I sought to speak; my courage fails me. Sir, is it true that you have known-nay, are you 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-aye-word for word, All that this heart, which breaks in parting from him, Would send, ere still forever? Melnotte. He hath told me You have a right to choose from out the world A worthier bridegroom;—he foregoes all claim, Even to murmur at his doom. Speak on! Pauline. Tell him for years I never nursed a thought That was not his; that on his wandering way, Of one kind smile from him, than wear the crown Melnotte [aside.] Am I already mad? And does delirium utter such sweet words Into a dreamer's ear? [Aloud.] You love him thus, And yet desert him? Pauline. Say that, if his eye Could read this heart,-its struggles, its temptations His love itself would pardon that desertion! And see a parent perish? Tell him this, [Aloud.] Lady—I—I—what is this riddle? what The nature of this sacrifice? Pauline [pointing to DAMAS.] Go, ask him! Beauseant [from the table.] The papers are prepared-we only need Your 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's lot? Pauline. Would I? Ah, better death with him I love Than all the pomp-which is but as the flowers That crown the victim!-[Turning away.] I am ready. [MELNOTTE rushes to DAMAS. Damas. There This is the schedule-this the total. Beauseant [to DESCHAPPELLES, showing notes.] These are yours the instant she has signed; You are still the great House of Lyons! [The notary is about to hand the contract to PAULINE, when MELNOTTE seizes and tears it. Beauseant. Are you mad? Mons. Deschap. How, sir! What means this insult! In the cause of nations with a soldier's blood! Pauline. That voice! Thou art Melnotte. Thy husband! [PAULINE rushes into his arms. Melnotte. Look up! Look up, Pauline!—for I can bear Thine eyes! The stain is blotted from my name. Thus have I seen thee !-thus foretold this hour! Pauline. Oh! My father, you are saved, and by my husband! Melnotte. Yet you weep still, Pauline! Mons. Deschap. You have won love and honor Take her;-be happy both! Madame Deschap. I'm all astonished! Damas. You behold him! Melnotte. Morier no more after this happy day! I would not bear again my father's name Beauseant. Fool'd, duped, and triumph'd over Till I could deem it spotless! the hour's come! in the hour Heaven smiled on conscience! As the soldier rose He's wondrously improved! I wish you joy, sir! If it be true love, works out its redemption! COSTUMES. THE END. BEAUSEANT.—First dress: Frock coat trimmed with black | CLAUDE MELNOTTE.-First dress: Blue smocked frock, fur; black tight pants; Hessian boots. Second dress: Black frock coat; white vest; white tight pants; Hessian boots; modern hat. worked; blue tights. Second dress: Rich green shirt, spangled, large sleeves; white silk tights; and cap. Third dress: (Same as first.) Fourth dress: Dark blue frock coat, trimmed with light blue facings, and buttons; blue military pantaloons, light blue stripes on sides; chapeau and tri-colored cockade. OFFICERS -Dark blue coats, turned up with light blue and silver; epaulettes: white tights; military boots; chapeau and tri-colored cockades. SERVANT.-[To DESCHAPPELLES.] Handsome livery. MADAME DESCHAPPELLES.-Rich pink dress; straw hat and feathers. MONSIEUR DESCHAPPELLES.-Black velvet suit, square PAULINE.-First dress: Pink satin, neatly trimmed, and train. cut. LANDLORD.-Red coat; striped French vest and breeches. GASPAR-Blue smock frock; blue vest; breeches and gaiters. Second dress: Plain white silk dress. The failure of Mr. Bulwer's tragedy of the Duchess de la Valliere, his first dramatic production, instead of discouraging him from again venturing upon this perilous species of composition, seems to have inspired him with the determination of proving to the public that he could write a good acting drama, whatever the critics might say to the contrary. He tried again, and produced the "Lady of Lyons." This beautiful play is founded on a well-known French tale, entitled, "The Bellows-Mender," in which the main incidents of the plot may be found. Bulwer seems to have been less indebted, however, to this source for his materials, than Shakespeare was to the nouvelettes of his day, for many of his noblest tragedies. The "Lady of Lyons" was produced anonymously at Covent Garden Theatre, the early part of February, 1838that establishment being then under the management of Mr. Macready. "The studious concealment of the author's name," says a journal of the day, “was doubtless intended to obviate the influence of the personal prejudice that Mr. Bulwer and his friends assigned as the motive of the opposition to his first dramatic production-the now forgotten Duchess de la Valliere." The intention of the author, in producing the play anonymously, seems rather to have been to entrap the critics, who had assailed him as incompetent to write for the stage, into praising his new work. If this was his plan, it eminently succeeded. Those writers who had most vehemently condemned the unfortunate Duchess," were loudest in praise of the "Lady of Lyons" and its unknown author. But we are far from thinking that their sincerity ought to be impugned on this account. The "Duchess" failed as decidedly upon the American stage as at Covent Garden. The "Lady of Lyons" deservedly met with a far different fate both in England and the United States. In London, a portion of its great success was attributed to the masterly acting of Macready in the character of the hero; but its repeated production, under less auspicious circumstances, has proved that it contains within itself the qualities which must always render it popular in the representation. THE NEW YORK DRAMA TRAGEDIES, A CHOICE COLLECTION OF COMEDIES, WITH FARCES, ETC., CASTS OF CHARACTERS, STAGE BUSINESS, COSTUMES, RELATIVE POSITIONS, &c., ADAPTED TO THE HOME CIRCLE, PRIVATE THEATRICALS, AND THE AMERICAN STAGE. NO. 1. Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1873, by GEORGE W. WHEAT, in the Office of the VOL. 1. she hasn't caught any cold. [Looks off at door, TO OBLIGE BENSON: 13 Eh!-here she comes!-no, confound it! E. L. E.] it's Benson! Enter BENSON, L. D. 3 E. Benson. Ah! Meredith, my boy! What good wind blows you here, all the way from the Temple? [Goes to R. of fire-place. Mer. Eh? I-I-saw my uncle yesterday. [L. of fire-place. Ben. What! the captain?-old Trueblue, eh? Mer. Yes; and he will be delighted to let you have his cottage at Ventnor for the long vacation. Ben. Capital!-and the figure? Mer. What you offered-fifty guineas for the three months. Ben. Bravo!-Carry will be delighted with Ventnor-the cottage is delightfully situated, isn't it? Mer. Delightfully. You can catch your own lobsters out of the dining-room windows. SCENE.-A Drawing-room-Door in flat, C., backed by another chamber door, R. 2 E. Window (practicable) with curtains, R. 3 E. Door, L. 3 Practicable fire-place, with fire, fender, fireBen. I don't know that that will be any reirons, hearth-rug, &c., L. 2 E. Chimney-piece, commendation-to her, I mean. But, remember, with glass, china ornaments, vases, and French not a hint to Mrs. Benson that I pay for the place clock. Round table R. H., with books, knick--she fancies it a delicate attention of yours-and knacks, blotting-book, three sheets of letter-paper, she's so afraid of our spending too much money. three pens, and ink. Chair near table. Chairs Mer. You may depend on my keeping the about stage. Table at back, (against flat) L. H. secret. A chair (to break) near it. Easy chair by fireplace; carpet down; an ottoman in c. of stage. Enter MEREDITH, L. C. Ben. And what are you going to do with yourself this long vacation? Mer. I hardly know. I shall probably be in the Isle of Wight part of the time. Ben. Look us up, look us up. Carry will be delighted to see you-you are a bit of a favorite with Carry, I can tell you. Mer. [aside.] I hope so. Ben. Here she is! [Crosses to R.] Not a word of the money for the cottage. Enter MRS. BENSON, R. D. 2 E. Mrs. B. Good morning, Mr. Meredith. [R. Mer. [L.] Good morning. I hope you caught no cold at Bushey, yesterday? Meredith. Not here! I am sorry for thatno, I am not-I'm glad; it will give me time to collect myself before I face her. I am overwhelmed with anxiety until I know the result of my letter. She can't be offended at it-yet, if she should, the consequences may be awful. It's wrong!-of course, I know it's wrong. I didn't pay Benson a hundred guineas for leave to fall in love with his wife-his adorable wife-whom her parchment-faced husband leaves all day by herself, while he's rummaging Reports in Chambers, or retailing them in the Queen's Bench. To see an angel like that neglected in this way is enough of itself to set an inflammable fellow in a blazeand I am inflammable-I glory in it. She certainly is not annoyed at my attentions, or she'd never have written me this dear letter [takes it out], the answer to which I slipped into her glove so cleverly at the pic-nic in Bushey Park, yesterday. I shall hear what she says to it this morn- green trees and white blossoms. Law calf's the ing. Of course I was bound to inquire whether color-eh, Meredith? But what do you think, Mrs. B. Oh, no! What a charming day we had!-I enjoyed it so much. Mer. [aside.] Bravo!-she's not offended. I Ben. Ah! Meredith's like me-no taste for Carry? Here's Meredith offers us that pretty doux. Isn't it a good notion, Meredith! Ha! cottage of the captain's-his uncle's, you know- ha! ha! at Ventnor, for the long vacation. Mrs. B. I don't see anything to laugh at, Mr. Mrs. B. Oh, how very kind of Mr. Meredith! Benson. such a lovely spot! Ben. And not content with that, he's brought you a box for the opera to-morrow night. Mrs. B. Oh, Mr. Meredith! Ben. [aside to MEREDITH.] You twig! one at Mitchell's. Hush! Take [Passes his purse to him slyly. Mrs. B. But, my dear, we are trespassing on Mr. Meredith's kindness. Ben. Not a bit of it. He knows you adore the opera, and he can always get boxes given him. Can't you, Meredith? Mer. Oh, yes. I've some friends connected with the press. It's only asking them. Mrs. Southdown [without, L. C.] In the drawing-room! Oh, very well. Ben. It's Mrs. Southdown, Carry. Enter MRS. SOUTHDOWN, C. D. MEREDITH retires up to fire-place. Ah! Mrs. Southdown! Mrs. S. [c.] Good morning, Mr. Benson. [Shaking hands with him, L. C. He goes up, C., and comes down again, R. H.] Well, Carry! [Kissing MRS. B. Mrs. B. How well you are looking, dear. Mrs. S. I've come to restore stolen goods, Carry. Only think, I carried off your gloves from Bushey, yesterday; picked 'em off the grass when you went for a stroll, and put 'em on instead of my own. Here they are. [Gives gloves. Mer. She had her gloves! Mrs. B. Thank you. I couldn't imagine what had become of them. And you enjoyed your pic-nic? Mrs. S. Oh, enormously! [Sees MEREDITH, aside.] There he is. But only conceive, Carry. I've made a conquest. Ben. 'Gad, I don't wonder at it. Mrs. B. A conquest, dear? Mrs. S. "Veni, vidi, vici!" That's right, isn't it, Mr. Benson? Ben. Quite. It was a letter of Cæsar's to the Senate. It means, "I came, I saw, I conquered.” Mrs. S. Only think, dear, of my getting a regular declaration-popped so neatly-the gentleman thought I was a widow, I suppose. Mrs. B. But who was it? Do tell me. Mrs. S. Oh no, that wouldn't be fair. I hardly know him; and I don't want to make the poor man ridiculous. Mer. [aside.] A pretty mess I've made of it. Mrs. S. You never read anything like his letter. [Pretends to see MEREDITH.]-Ah, Mr. Meredith, good morning! I didn't see you. It was the silliest namby-pambiest stuff Ben. Ah! so they always are, these loveletters. I've had lots through my hands in actions for breach. They always amuse the jury amazingly. Mrs. B. But Mr. Southdown was there. If he had seen you receive such a letter Mrs. S. Oh, Trotter was asleep, under the horse-chestnuts. He always goes to sleep after dinner, you know. Ben. What a capital idea! Southdown peace | Ben. And where is Southdown this morning? Snoring still, I suppose. Mrs. S. He? Oh dear, no. He was off by eight o'clock this morning to his model farm, at Willesden. Ben. Farm! Now how a sensible man of business, like Southdown, can take any pleasure in farming! Mrs. S. Oh, it's his passion. We all have our passions, you know, Mr. Meredith. Always some little pet wickedness. Lucky where they're nothing worse than absurd. Mer. [aside.] Confound it! she's quizzing me. Mrs. S. He is to grow turnips as big as balloons, and feed oxen so fat they can't walk, and raise mangold-wurzel upon deal tables; and, in short, to make his fortune in the most wonderful way-in the long run. Only it's very expensive -in the meanwhile. Ben. Throwing his money away, and neglecting his wife for such humbug as that! I have no patience with him! I say, Meredith, I wish you would just come into my study-I've had the papers in Griggs and Griffin up from chambers. There's the prettiest point I want to show you. [Going up to door, R. 2 E. Mer. Very well. Aside to MRS. S., as he crosses behind to R. H.] I must have five minutes' conversation with you, ma'am. Mrs. S. [aside to him.] With all my heart. Ben. [to MRS. S.] I shall find you here in a quarter of an hour? Mrs. S. Yes, I've come to spend the morning with Carry. Ben. Come along, Meredith. We shall put Griggs out of court. He's made the most tremendous blunder in his declaration. Mer. [aside.] [Exit BENSON, R. D. 2 E. Confound it! So have I. [Exit MEREDITH, R. D. 2 E. Mrs. B. [sitting down, R.] Well, dear, here we are, nice and cosy. What shall we do? Mrs. S. [sitting down, c.] Talk seriously. Mrs. B. Very well. Were you at the opera on Tuesday? Mrs. S. about the pic-nic. Never mind the opera. Let's talk Mrs. B. And your love-letter, eh? Well, now, who was it? Let me guess. Was it a friend of Mr. Meredith's? Mrs. S. It was Mr. Meredith himself. Mrs. B. Mr. Meredith? Mrs. S. Yes, he slipped the letter into my glove-that is to say, into your glove, which I took by mistake. Mrs. B. No! How very droll! Mrs. S. Droll! you seem amused, Carry. That letter was intended for you, and from the language of it, it is clear that you have written to him. Mrs. B. Oh, well, suppose I had. Mrs. S. Suppose you had! My dear Carry, do you know you've done a very imprudent thing? Mrs. B. Mrs. S. But, Lucy, he was so very unhappy. Mrs. B. And then, I assure you, I've never ably snoring while his wife was receiving a billet- given him the least encouragement. Mrs. S. The letter Mrs. S. You don't call that letter encouragement, I suppose! South. [without, L. C.] Halloa, Toody! Where are you? Mer. Hush! Mrs. B. Well, but you know Benson's all day long in chambers, or in court, and one gets so moped. And Mr. Meredith is so attentivealways calling and sending one bouquets and him! prints, and getting autographs for one's album, and giving one opera boxes. Mrs. S. And what does that all amount to, that you should run the risk of making an excellent husband, like yours, unhappy? Mrs. B. Oh, yes, I admit there never was a worthier man or a kinder creature than Benson. Mrs. S. My dear Carry, I hate preaching, and I don't think it ever does any good. But really you are wrong to trifle in a matter of this sort. [MRS. B. is about to speak.] I know-you've only committed an indiscretion, but indiscretions may easily grow into crimes, and Mrs. B. Oh, Lucy, you alarm me! I'll never do anything so foolish again. But what ought I to do, dear? Mrs. S. First of all, you more letters to Mr. Meredith. Mrs. B. Oh, never! mustn't write any Mrs. S. And then you must get back the one you have written. Mrs. B. But how? Mrs. S. I'll undertake to recover it. I'm to see him here directly. You had better go. Mrs. B. [crosses to L.] Oh, I'm so much obliged to you, you can't think. I had no notion I was acting so foolishly. But I assure you I've not given him the least encouragement. Mrs. S. Now, pray don't say that again, Carry. Mrs. B. I won't, then. I'll go to my own room directly, and if ever I do such a thing again, dear, it would serve me right to tell Mr. Benson. [Exit MRS. BENSON, L. D. 3 E. Mrs. S. It's lucky Benson is so blind to everything but his points of law, or there might have been mischief here already. Ah! here comes the inamorato-so now to get back the letter. Enter MEREDITH, R. D. 2 E. Mer. [R.] I trust, Mrs. Southdown, you will not betray the secret which you have discovered by a mistake. Mrs. S. [L.] I've a very good mind, sir, to betray it, except on one condition-that you give up your most unbecoming attentions to Mrs. Benson. Mer. Ask anything but that, ma'am. Mrs. S. I shall not ask anything but that, sir. Unless you will give me this promiseMer. But, Mrs. Southdown- Mrs. S. I will listen to no special pleading, sir. I am mistress of your secret, and it is for me to dictate the conditions on which I will consent to keep it. Mer. [aside.] She's as obstinate as one of her husband's own pigs. Well, madame, what are your conditions? Mrs. S. You will immediately leave London. Mrs. S. You will not come within a hundred miles of the Bensons all this summer. Mer. [aside.] Confound it! Well! Mrs. S. And before going you will give up to me the letter you have received from Mrs. Benson —at once—or I'll tell Mr. Benson everything. Good heavens! Mrs. Southdown! Mer. Mrs. S. It's only my husband, never mind Enter SOUTHDOWN, L. C. South. [L.] Oh! good morning, Toody. Mrs. S. [to MEREDITH.] The letter, sir, at once. South. Halloa! Toody won't even bid me good morning this morning-eh? I said good morning, Toody. Mrs. S. [carelessly.] Good morning, Trotter, good morning. South. What a duck it is! Ah, Meredith, I saw you at the pic-nic yesterday, my boy-didn't you pitch into the champagne, you rogue-and, didn't you pay attention to the ladies?-Ah, you dog! Well, and how are you-hearty—eh? Mer. Quite well, thank you, sir. Mrs. S. The letter-I must and will have it. Mer. I will give it back to Mrs. Benson. I haven't got it here. Mrs. S. Go and fetch it. Mrs. S. Mer. Mrs. S. Mer. What is he to go and fetch, Toody? Never you mind, Trotter. But surely Go at once, sir, or I will speak out. Very well, ma'am, then speak out. [Exit MEREDITH, angrily, and with determination, Mrs. S. [up C., looking after him, astonished.] But, sir L. C. South. [L.] Eh! "Speak out!" What are you up to, you two? What is the secret between you and Meredith? He looked uncommonly queer, and you're looking flabbergasted. Mrs. S. [to herself, coming down, R. H.] I hope things have not gone any further than Carry said, but this obstinate refusal to give up the letter, and her thoughtlessness— South. Well, but I say, Toody, you don't ask after the early reds. Would you believe it? I found three with the blight on 'em already-I've brought one to show you. Mrs. S. [to herself.] I begin to feel very anxious about them. South. So do I. Now's the ticklish time—just as they are beginning to swell. Look! [Takes a diseased potato from his pocket. Mrs. S. Their eyes must be opened! South. [staring at her.] Eh? my potatoes' eyes opened! Mrs. S. Oh, bother your potatoes! South. Bother my potatoes! On the contrary, my potatoes bother me. Mrs. S. Eh? yes, I've a plan to prevent the mischief going any further. South. No-have you though? Out with it! Mind, lime's been tried, and salt-they're no use. Is yours a new one? Mrs. S. A new one indeed! but I wasn't thinking about potatoes, Trotter. South. Weren't you, though? My head's full of them, day and night. Mrs. S. Now, Trotter, listen to me; you have a great regard for Benson, have you not? South. Regard for Benson? Immense regard -I'll do anything in the world to oblige him-except cut farming. |