EDWARD BULWER-LYTTON THE LADY OF LYONS, OR, LOVE AND PRIDE Edward Bulwer-Lytton, first Baron Lytton (1803-1873), of aristocratic birth, passed a youth of romantic emotion, precocious literary work, wide desultory study, and fashionable gaiety. Interested in political reform, he was in the House of Commons from 1831 most of the time till 1866, when he became a peer; and also held cabinet offices. His activity and versatility were great. His best-known literary works are his novels; his plays, notably The Lady of Lyons and Richelieu, have been among the most often acted of the century. Bulwer-Lytton was rather a popular than a great writer, a man of much talent but not of genius. He seems to have taken to writing as a result of his ambition and desire for popularity and prominence, and of a mind which was restless and active rather than fine, penetrating, or imaginative. His earlier novels followed the prevalent romantic taste, being especially under the influence of Byron. Later, like Dickens, he combined realism with the spirit of reform; he also wrote some of the most popular of historical novels. In his style there is a grandiloquence, a flowery wordiness, that often seems insincere, and was made fun of by Thackeray among his Burlesques. From the first, the critics have had no very high praise for his novels, but their popular success was universal; which was due in large measure to active elaborate plots, and a profusion of "strong" dramatic situations. And much the same must be said of his plays. They follow instead of leading contemporary taste; their style is sometimes meretricious. Yet their popularity was and has continued to be great. It shows how relatively low has been the literary quality of nineteenth-century acting drama that they are among the most favorable specimens of dramatic taste in the earlier Victorian period. Bulwer-Lytton was the only man, except perhaps Goldsmith, from Dryden to the present day, who was prominent in other literary work and greatly succeeded in the drama. The Lady of Lyons was written in 1838, in little over two weeks. The author states in his Preface that the plot was suggested by a vague memory of a very pretty little tale,, called The Bellows-Mender ""; also that the play was written to help Macready in his newly assumed management of the Covent Garden theater, and to retrieve "the comparative failure on the stage of The Duchess de la Vallière," a play of his own which had appeared in 1836. When produced, The Lady of Lyons made an immediate success, and has held the stage intermittently till almost the present day. It was put on in elaborate and expensive style by so eminent an actor as Henry Irving in 1879, when it was already old and hackneyed, and played by him fortyfive times, at a period when he was acting in such plays as Faust and The Bells. Irving used also to read it aloud publicly. For half a century, therefore, it was a representative play and pleased the best tastes. A play like The Lady of Lyons, with its abundant action, its superficiality, its sensationalism, its emotionality, is properly to be classed as a melodrama; but it shows curiously a heritage from both sentimentalism and romanticism. It ends with a couple of maxims of the sort affected by the former, and such are to be found elsewhere in the play. Mme. Deschappelles is of a type of crudely worldly, designing woman often opposed to the celestial innocence of the eighteenth century heroine. The resemblance to sentimental drama is perhaps most important in the attempt to combine realism and humor with an all-pervading but shallow emotionality, and with an elaborate and not over-probable plot. A romantic element was inevitable in any play by Bulwer and written in the 30's. The lovers belong rather to romance than to sentimentalism. The eighteenth century liked to see a young man raise slighted and unfortunate merit to the honor of associating with county-families; what could give better opportunity for the mood of moral approbation in which sentimental drama basked? Sentimentalism was after all conventionality and worldliness on its good behavior; while romance hardly ac cepted the bonds even of possibility. Romance liked to hitch its wagon to a star, and eagerly granted a suspension of its disbelief to the gardener's son who learned painting, fencing, and deportment that he might woo the haughtiest beauty of Lyons. The romance was felt as the more delightful because the scene was in a neighboring country and the time within the memory of middleaged people; those with an appetite for the strange and alluring were gratified at finding it so near their own lives. The setting had another advantage. A concession to common-sense was made by placing the action, as the author remarks in his Preface, at a time when the strata of society had just been shaken up by the Revolutionary earthquake, and an excess of mawkishness was avoided by treating Mme. Deschappelles (and her daughter at first) with satiric humor. The dramatist forgot his romance also in act IV, where, after being grossly tricked by him, Pauline betrays and finally confesses her continued desire for Claude. Such a strain on our credulity can be justified only by a physical passion such as crude realism may portray, a dash of cynicism, and the dramatist's desire to prepare for the happy outcome. Romance flourishes chiefly in the figure of Claude in act V, during most of which he is judiciously kept rather in the background, lest the beautifying glamour of fresh romance which now covers him should be dissipated. "This mysterious Morier," especially favored by Napoleon "his constant melancholy, the loneliness of his habits-his daring valor, his brilliant rise in the profession, all tend to make him as much the matter of gossip as of admiration." This is a perfect description of the Byronic hero," gloomy and piquing, who began his admired course in such poems as The Giaour and Manfred, and enthralled the world, not young ladies only, for a gener ation. Bulwer himself in his youth had been nicknamed "Childe Harold" by an Englishwoman in Paris. Claude Melnotte is a combination of romance and sheer improbability. In his Preface the author pleads the general ferment of the time as the excuse for Melnotte's "unsettled principles (the struggle between which makes the passion of this drama) "; but the most romantic spectator could hardly find here an excuse for his unmanly treachery. His ideal figure at the close was needed to restore him to the good graces of the audience. It must be remembered that in fiction of this type the barest minimum of psychological truth was all that was felt to be needed in the persons who acted out an interesting plot. Other traits characteristic of the age appear in the literary style, the composite style of the romanticists - not the language of life, but somewhat artificial, and ornate and stilted, yet unlike the artificiality of the eighteenth century. With Shakespeare's example as a precedent, Bulwer puts the more high-emotional passages of this prose play into blank-verse. In this play as in the romantic novel, such as Scott's, some solid mundane element was needed to hold the romance down from floating away into the palaces of the sunset clouds. Two of the characters especially fulfil this office, the two "character parts." Damas is the typical blunt soldier, affecting cynicism about women, but generous, good-hearted, and ready to blubber" at an affecting scene. The other is Mme. Deschappelles, transparently silly and vain. This combination of the improbable-pleasing with the exaggerated-real may be regarded as inherited from sentimentalism, and makes a strong link between Bulwer-Lytton and Dickens. In life they were good friends, and both were equally interested in the novel and the drama, which have long been the most intimately connected of literary forms. The success of the play was due first and foremost, no doubt, to its well-constructed plot, full of suspense, surprise, and variety. To it the author tells us he gave his chief attention. As in The Alchemist, Venice Preserved and The Cenci, the last act stands apart from the rest of the play; the main action being concluded, it seems as if all were over, yet a new interest is created as keen as the old, an admirable device. Bulwer himself attributed his success to the art "of creating agreeable emotions"; this amounts to saying that it was adapted to contemporary taste, which the author shared, but which, being somewhat crudely ambitious, he also studied. To us the play seems a somewhat unhappy combination of the romantic, the sentimental, the satiric, and the realistic. It seems to us lacking whether we compare it with the stalwart imagination of the Elizabethans, or the austere reality of Ibsen and his followers. It seems to us more old-fashioned, because it was more temporary, than the plays of Sheridan or Jonson. It is only the highest excellence that is timeless. But the qualities which won admiration for The Lady of Lyons in its day gain it tolerance now, and its suggestiveness as to early Victorian taste gives it considerable historical interest. THE LADY OF LYONS, OR, LOVE AND PRIDE SCENE 1. A room in the house of M. Deschappelles, at Lyons. Pauline reclining on a sofa; Marian, her maid fanning her.-Flowers and notes on a table beside the sofa.-Madame Deschappelles seated. The gardens are seen from the open window. Mme. Deschap. Marian, put that rose a little more to the left.-(Marian alters the position of a rose in Pauline's hair.) -Ah, so!-that improves the air,-the tournure, the je ne sais quoi! 1-You are certainly very handsome, child!-quite my style;-I don't wonder that you make such a sensation!-Old, young, rich, and poor, do homage to the Beauty of Lyons!-Ah, we live again in our children, especially when they have our eyes and complexion! Pauline. (Languidly.) Dear mother, you spoil your Pauline!-(Aside.) I wish I knew who sent me these flowers! Mme. Deschap. No, child!-If I praise you, it is only to inspire you with a proper ambition.-You are born to make a great marriage.-Beauty is valuable or worthless according as you invest the property to the best advantage.-Marian, go and order the carriage! (Exit Marian.) Pauline. Who can it be that sends me, every day, these beautiful flowers?-how sweet they are! (Enter Servant.) CLAUDE MELNOTTE. FIRST OFFICER, SECOND OFFICER, THIRD OF FICER. Servants, Notary, &c. THE WIDOW MELNOTTE, mother to Claude SCENE-Lyons and the neighborhood. Servant. Monsieur Beauseant, madam. Mme. Deschap. Let him enter. Pauline, this is another offer!-I know it is!Your father should engage an additional clerk to keep the account-book of your conquests. (Enter Beauseant.) Last Beau. Ah, ladies, how fortunate I am to find you at home!-(Aside.) How lovely she looks!-It is a great sacrifice I make in marrying into a family in trade! they will be eternally grateful! -(Aloud.) Madame, you will permit me a word with your charming daughter. -(Approaches Pauline, who rises disdainfully.)-Mademoiselle, I have ventured to wait upon you, in a hope that you must long since have divined. night, when you outshone all the beauty of Lyons, you completed your conquest over me! You know that my fortune is not exceeded by any estate in the province, you know that, but for the Revo lution, which has defrauded me of my titles, I should be noble. May I, then, trust that you will not reject my alliance? I offer you my hand and heart. Pauline. (Aside.) He has the air of a man who confers a favor!—(Aloud.) Sir, you are very condescending-I thank you humbly; but, being duly sensible of my own demerits, you must allow me to decline the honor you propose. (Curtsies, and turns away.) Beau. Decline! impossible!—you are not serious!-Madame, suffer me to appeal 1 The general effect, the inexpressible something. to you. I am a suitor for your daughter's hand-the settlements shall be worthy her beauty and my station. May I wait on M. Deschappelles? Mme. Deschap. M. Deschappelles never interferes in the domestic arrangements, -you are very obliging. If you were still a marquis, or if my daughter were intended to marry a commoner,-why, perhaps, we might give you the pref erence. Beau. A commoner!-we are all commoners in France now. Mme. Deschap. In France, yes; but there is a nobility still left in the other countries in Europe. We are quite aware of your good qualities, and don't doubt that you will find some lady more suitable to your pretensions. We shall be always happy to see you as an acquaintance, M. Beauseant!-My dear child, the carriage will be here presently. Beau. Say no more, 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 château, study philosophy, and turn woman-hater. Refused! they ought to be sent to a madhouse!-Ladies, I have the honor to wish you a very good morning. (Exit.) Mme. Deschap. How forward these men are!-I think, child, we kept up our dignity. Any girl, however inexperienced, knows how to accept an offer, but it requires a vast deal of address to refuse one with proper condescension and disdain. I used to practise it at school with the dancing-master. (Enter Damas.) Damas. Good morning, cousin Deschappelles.-Well, Pauline, are you recovered from last night's ball?-So many triumphs must be very fatiguing. Even M. Glavis sighed most piteously when you departed; but that might be the effect of the supper. Pauline. M. Glavis, indeed! left him a very pretty fortune, and his birth is higher than yours, cousin Deschappelles. But perhaps you are looking to M. Beauseant,-his father was a marquis before the Revolution. Pauline. M. Beauseant!-Cousin, you delight in tormenting me! Mme. Deschap. Don't mind him, Pauline! -Cousin Damas, you have no susceptibility of feeling, there is a certain indelicacy in all your ideas.-M. Beauseant knows already that he is no match for my daughter! Damas. Pooh! pooh! one would think you intended your daughter to marry a prince! Mme. Deschap. Well, and if I did?what then?-Many a foreign princeDamas. (Interrupting her.) Foreign prince!-foreign fiddlestick!-you ought to be ashamed of such nonsense at your time of life. Mme. Deschap. My time of life!-That is an expression never applied to any lady till she is sixty-nine and threequarters; and only then by the clergyman of the parish. Servant. door. (Enter Servant.) Madame, the carriage is at the (Exit.) Mme. Deschap. Come, child, put on your bonnet you really have a very thorough-bred air-not at all like your poor father. (Fondly.) Ah, you little coquette! when a young lady is always making mischief, it is a sure sign that she takes after her mother! Pauline. Good day, cousin Damas-and a better humor to you.-(Going back to the table and taking the flowers.) Who could have sent me these flowers? (Exeunt Pauline and Madame Deschappelles.) Damas. That would be an excellent girl if her head had not been turned. I fear she is now become incorrigible! Zounds, what a lucky fellow I am to be still a bachelor! They may talk of the devotion of the sex-but the most faithful attachment in life is that of a woman in love with herself. (Exit.) SCENE 2. The exterior of a small Village Inn-sign, the Golden Lion-a few leagues from Lyons, which is seen at a distance. Beau. (Behind the scenes.) Yes, you may bait the horses; we shall rest here an hour. (Enter Beauseant and Glavis.) Gla. Really, my dear Beauseant, consider that I have promised to spend a day or two with you at your château,—that I am quite at your mercy for my entertainment, and yet you are as silent and as gloomy as a mute at a funeral, or an Englishman at a party of pleasure. Beau. Bear with me;-the fact is that I am miserable. Gla. You-the richest and gayest bachelor in Lyons? Beau. It is because I am a bachelor that I am miserable.-Thou knowest Pauline -the only daughter of the rich merchant, Mons. Deschappelles? Gla. Know her?-who does not?-as pretty as Venus, and as proud as Juno. Beau. Her taste is worse than her pride. -(Drawing himself up.) Know, Glavis, she has actually refused me! Gla. (Aside.) So she has me!-very consoling! In all cases of heart-ache, the application of another man's disappointment draws out the pain and allays the irritation.-(Aloud.) Refused you! and wherefore? Beau. I know not, unless it be because the Revolution swept away my father's title of Marquis,-and she will not marry a commoner. Now, as we have no noblemen left in France, as we are all citizens and equals, she can only hope that, in spite of the war, some English Milord or German Count will risk his life, by coming to Lyons and making her my Lady. Refused me, and with scorn!-By Heaven, I'll not submit to it tamely:I'm in a perfect fever of mortification and rage.-Refuse me, indeed! Gla. Be comforted, my dear fellow,-I will tell you a secret. For the same reason she refused ME! Beau. You!-that's a very different matter! But give me your hand, Glavis,we'll think of some plan to humble her. By Jove, I should like to see her married to a strolling player! (Enter Landlord and his Daughter from the Inn.) Land. Your servant, citizen Beauseant,servant, sir. Perhaps you will take dinner before you proceed to your château; our larder is most plentifully supplied. Beau. I have no appetite. Gla. Nor I. Still it is bad travelling on an empty stomach. What have you got? (Takes and looks over the bill of fare.) (Shout without.) "Long live the Prince! -Long live the Prince!" Beau. The Prince!-what Prince is that? I thought we had no princes left in France. Land. Ha, ha! the lads always call him Prince. He has just won the prize at the shooting-match, and they are taking him home in triumph. Beau. Him! and who's Mr. Him? Land. Who should he be but the pride of the village, Claude Melnotte?-Of course you have heard of Claude Melnotte? Gla. (Giving back the bill of fare.) Never had that honor. Soup-ragout of hare-roast chicken, and, in short, all you have! Beau. The son of old Melnotte, the gardener? Land. Exactly so-a wonderful young man. Beau. How, wonderful?-Are his cabbages better than other people's? Land. Nay, he don't garden any more; his father left him well off. He's only a genus. Gla. A what? Land. A genus!-a man who can do everything in life except anything that's useful;-that's a genus. Beau. You raise my curiosity;-proceed. Land. Well, then, about four years ago, old Melnotte died, and left his son well to do in the world. We then all observed that a great change came over young Claude: he took to reading and Latin, and hired a professor from Lyons, who had so much in his head that he was forced to wear a great fullbottom wig to cover it. Then he took a fencing-master, and a dancing-master, and a music-master; and then he learned to paint; and at last it was said that young Claude was to go to Paris, and set up for a painter. The lads laughed at him at first; but he is a stout fellow, is Claude, and as brave as a lion, and soon taught them to laugh the wrong side of their mouths; and now all the boys swear by him, and all the girls pray for him. Beau. A promising promising youth, certainly! And why do they call him Prince? Land. Partly because he is at the head of them all, and partly because he has such a proud way with him, and wears such fine clothes-and, in short, looks like a prince. Beau. And what could have turned the |