« 이전계속 »
Shut out by Alpine hills from the rude world, Enter BEAUSEANT and GLAVIS from house, L.S.E.
Melnotte. No, I was not in my senses when I Pauline. My own dear love!
swore to thee to marry her! I was blind to all Melnotte. A palace lifting to eternal summer but her scorn !-deaf to all but my passion and Its marble walls, from out a glossy bower
my rage! Give me back my poverty and my Of coolest foliage musical with birds
honor. Whose songs should syllable thy name! At noon Beauseant. It is too late, you must marry We sit beneath the arching vines, and wonder her-and this day! I have a story already Why earth could be unhappy, while the Heavens coined, and sure to pass current. This Damas Still left us youth and love! We'd have no suspects thee,-he will set the police to work; friends
thou wilt be detected--Pauline will despise and That were not lovers; no ambition, save
execrate thee. Thou wilt be sent to the common To excel them all in love; we'd read no books
jail as a swindler. That were not tales of love-that we might smile Melnotte. Fiend ! To think how poorly eloquence of words
Beauseant. And in the heat of the girl's resentTranslates the poetry of hearts like ours !
ment (you know of what resentment is capable) And when night came, amidst the breathless and the parents' shame, she will be induced to Heavens
marry the first that offers—even, perhaps, your We'd guess what star should be our home when humble servant. love
Melnotte. You ! No! that were worse—for thou Becomes immortal; while the perfumed light
hast no mercy! I will marry her--I will keep Stole through the mists of alabaster lamps, my oath. Quick, then, with the damnable inrenAnd every air was heavy with the sighs
tion thou art hatching ;-quick, if thou wouldst Of orange groves and music from sweet lutes,
not have me strangle thee or myself. And murmurs of low fountains that gush forth
Glavis. What a tiger! Too fierce for a Prince ! l' the midst of roses !–Dost thou like the picture ? he ought to have been the Grand Turk. Pauline. Oh! as the bee upon the flower, I Beauseant. Enough-I will dispatch; be prehang
pared. [Exeunt BEAUSEANT and GLÁvis into Upon the honey of thy eloquent tongue !
house, L. S. E. Am I not blest? And if I love too wildly, Who would not love thee, like Pauline ?
Enter DAMAS, from the house, L. S. E., with two Melnotte (bitterly.) Oh, false one !
swords. It is the Prince thou lovest, not the man;
Damas. Now then, sir, the ladies are no longer If in the stead of luxury, pomp, and power, your excuse. I have brought you a couple of dicI had painted poverty, and toil, and care, tionaries : let us see if your highness can find out Thou hadst found no honey on my tongue ;- the Latin for bilbo. Pauline,
Melnotté. Away, sir! I am in no humor for That is pot love!
jesting. Pauline. Thou wrongst me, cruel Prince ! Damas. I see you understand something of the 'Tis true I might not at the first been won, grammar; you decline the noun substantive Save through the weakness of a flattered pride; small sword” with great ease; but that won't But now !--Oh! trust me,—couldst thou fall from do—you must take a lesson in parsing. power
Melnotte. Fool! And sink
Damas. Sir, a man who calls me a fool insults Melnotte. As low as that poor gardener's son, the lady who bore me; there's no escape for you Who dared to lift his eyes to thee Y
-fight you shall, orPauline. Even then,
Melnotte. (L.) 'Oh, enough, enough!-take your Methinks thou wouldst be only made more dear ground. [They fight; DAMAS is disarmed. By the sweet thought that I could prove how MELNOTTE takes up the sword and returns it to deep
DAMAs respectfully.) A just punishment to the Is woman's love! We are like the insects, caught brave soldier who robs the state of its best propBy the poor glittering of a garish flame!
erty—the sole right to his valor and his life! But oh, the wings once scorched,—the brightest Damas. (R.) Šir, you fence exceedingly well; star
you must be a man of honor–I don't care a jot Lures us no more; and by the fatal light
whether you are a Prince; but a man who has We cling till death!
carte and tierce at his fingers' ends must be a genMelnotte. Angel!
tleman. (Aside.] O conscience ! conscience !
Melnotte. [aside.] Gentleman! Ay, I was a
Damas. I did.
Damas. It is true; that's no wonder in our Pauline. Do not tarry long.
army at present. Why, the oldest General in the [Exit into house, L. S. E. service is scarcely thirty, and we have some of poet), he is not thinking of ornithology, but probably of the Arabian two-and-twenty. Sights. He is venting the extravagant, but natural enthusiasm of the poet and the lover.
Melnotte. Two-and-twenty !
Damas. Yes; in the French army, now-a-days, your good husband is too mercantile in these matpromotion is not a matter of purchase. We are ters. Monsieur Deschappelles, you hear his highall heroes because we may be all Generals. We ness; we can arrange the settlements by proxy,– have no fear of the cypress, because we may all 'tis the way with people of quality. hope for the laurel.
Mons. Deschap. ButMelnotte. A General at two-and-twenty! [Turn- Madame Deschap. Hold your tongue! Don't ing away]-Sir, I may ask you a favor one of these 'expose yourself! days.
Beauseant. I will bring the priest in a trice. Damas. Sir, I shall be proud to grant it. It Go in, all of you, and prepare; the carriage shall is astonishing how much I like a man after I've be at the door before the ceremony is over. fought with him.
[Hides the swords, R. Madame Deschap. Be sure there are six horses, Enter MADAME and BEAUSEANT from house, us for refusing you ; but, you see-a Prince!
Beauseant! You are very good to have forgiven L. S. E.
Beauseant. And such a Prince! Madame, I Madame Deschap. Oh, Prince !-Prince ! cannot blush at the success of so illustrious a rival. What do I hear? You must fly,-you must quit -[Aside.] Now will I follow them to the village us!
-enjoy my triumph, and to-morrow-in the hour Melnotte. I ?
of thy shame and grief, I think, proud girl, thou Beauseant. Yes, Prince; read this letter, just wilt prefer even these arms to those of the garreceived from my friend at Paris, one of the Di-, dener's son.
[Exit BEAUSEANT. rectory; they are very suspicious of Princes, and Madame Deschap. Come, Monsieur Deschapyour family take part with the Austrians. Know- pelles--give your arm to her highness that is to ing that I introduced your highness at Lyons, be. my friend writes to me to say that you must quit Mons. Deschap. I don't like doing business in the town immediately or you will be arrested, such a hurry --'tis not the way with the house of thrown into prison,--perhaps guillotined ! Fly! Deschappelles & Co. I will order horses to your carriage instantly. Fly: Madame Deschap. There now-you fancy you to Marseilles; there you can take ship to Leg- are in the counting-house--don't you? horn.
[Pushes him to PAULINE. Madame Deschap. And what's to become of Melnotte. Stay,-stay, Pauline-one word. Pauline? Am I not to be a mother to a Princess, Have you no scruple—no fear? Speak—it is not after all ?
yet too late. Enter PAULINE and M. DESCHAPPELLES from 'mine. Triumph or danger–joy or sorrow-I am
Pauline. When I loved thee, thy fate became house, L. S. E.
by thy side. Pauline [throwing herself into MELNOTTE'S Damas. Well, well, Prince, thou art a lucky arms.] You must leave us !-Leave Pauline ! man to be so loved. She is a good little girl in
Beauseant. Not a moment is to be wasted. spite of her foibles—make her as happy as if she
Mons. Deschap. I will go to the magistrates, were not to be a Princess. [Slapping him on the and inquire
shoulder.] Come, sir, I wish you joy-youngBeauseant. Then he is lost; the magistrates, tender-lovely; zounds, I envy you ! hearing he is suspected, will order his arrest. Melnotte. [who has stood apart in gloomy ab
Madame Deschap. And shall I not be Princess straction.] DO YOU ?* Dowager?
Beauseant. Why not? There is only one thing to be done :-send for the priest-let the mar
ACT III. riage take place at once, and the Prince carry home a bride!
SCENE I.-The Exterior of the Golden Lion—Time, Melnotte. Impossible! (Aside.] Villain! I know not what I say.
twilight. The moon rises during the scene. Madame Deschap. What, lose my child ? Enter LANDLORD and his DAUGHTER from the Beauseant. And gain a Princess.
inn, L. D. F. Madame Deschap. Oh, Monsieur Beauseant, i Landlord. Ha! ha! ha! Well, I never shall you are so very kind, -it must be so,---we ought get over it. Our Claude is a Prince with a vennot to be selfish,-my daughter's happiness is at geance now. His carriage breaks down at my stake. She will go away, too, in a coach and inn-ha! ha! six!
Janet. And what airs the young lady gives Pauline. Thou art here still—I cannot part herself! “Is this the best room you have, young from thee,-my heart will break.
woman ?" with such a toss of the head! Melnotte. But thou wilt not consent to this
Landlord. Well, get in, Janet, get in and see hasty union,-thou wilt not wed an outcast,a to the supper; the servants must sup before they fugitive.
go back. (Exeunt LANDLORD and JĀNET, L. D. F. Pauline. Ah! If thou art in danger, who should share it but Pauline !
*On the stage the following lines are added: Melnotte [aside.] Distraction !-If the earth "Do you? Wise judges are we of each other. could swallow me!
Woo, wed, and bear her home ! so runs the bond
To which I sold myself-and then-what then ? Mons. Deschap. Gently !-gently! The set- Away !- I will not look beyond the hour. tloments—the contracts—my daughter's dowry !
Like children in the dark, I dare not face
The shades that gather round me in the distance. Melnotte. The dowry! I am not base enough You envy me--I thank you-you may read for that; no, not one farthing!
My joy upon my broer-I thank you, sir !
If hearts had audible language, you would hear Beauseant (to MADAME.] Noble fellow ! Really, Hov mine would answer when you talk of EXTY."
Enter BEAUSEANT and GLAVIS, R. my mother's house ; there, at least, none can inBeauseant. You see our Princess is lodged at sult her agony--gloat upon her shame! There last-one stage mere, and she'll be at her jour-alone must she learn what a villain she has sworn ney's end-the beautiful palace at the foot of the to love. [As he turns to the door, Alps ha! ha!
Enter PAULINE from the inn, L. D. F. Glavis. Faith, I pity the poor Pauline-especially if she's going to sup at the Golden Lion.
Pauline. Ah, my Lord, what a place ! I never (Makes a wry face.) I shall never forget that saw such rude people. They stare and wink so. cursed ragout.
I think the very sight of a Prince, though he
travels incognito, turns their honest heads. What Enter MELNOTTE from the inn, L. D. F.
a pity the carriage should break down in such a Bcauseant. Your servant, my Prince; you spot !—you are not well—the drops stand on your reigned most worthily. I condolo with you on brow—your hand is severish. your abdication. I am afraid that your highness' Melnotte. Nay, it is but a passing spasm; the retinue are not very faithful servants. I think airthey will quit you at the moment of your fall—'tis Pauline. Is not the soft air of your native souththe fate of greatness; but you are welcome to
[Pause. your fine clothes-also the diamond snuff-box, How pale he is—indeed thou art not weīl. which Louis the XIV gave to your great-great- Where are our people? I will call them. grandmother.
Melnotte. Hold? I-I am well! Glavis. And the ring with which your grand- Pauline. Thou art !-Ah! now I know it. father, the Doge of Venice, married the Adriatic. Thou fanciest, my kind Lord—I know thou dost
Melnotte. Have I kept my oath, gentlemen ? Thou fanciest these rude walls, these rustic gosSay-have I kept my oath ?
sips, Beauseant. Most religiously.
Brick'd floors, sour wine, coarse viands, vex PaulMelnotte. Then you have done with me and ine; mine-away with you!
And so they might; but thou art by my side, Beauseant. How, knave?
And I forget all else! Melnotte. Look you, our bond is over. Proud conquerors that we are, we have won the victory Enter LANDLORD from D. F., the servants peeping over a simple girl-compromised her honor-em
and laughing over his shoulder. bittered her life-blasted, in their very blossoms, Landlord. My Lord-your highnessall the flowers of her youth. This is your tri- Will your most noble excellency chooseumph,-it is my shame! [Turns to BEAUSEANT.] Melnotte. Begone, sir ! Enjoy that triumph, but not in my sight. I was
[Exit LANDLORD, laughing. her betrayer-I am her protector! Cross but her Pauline. How could they have learn'd thy path-one word of scorn, one look of insult—nay, rank? but one quiver of that mocking lip, and I will One's servants are so vain !_nay, let it not teach thee that bitter word thou hast graven eter- Chafe thee, sweet Prince !-a few short days, and nally in this heart-Repentance !
Beauseant. His highness is most grandilo- Shall see-thy palace by its lake of silver, quent.
And—nay, nay, spendthrift, is thy wealth of Melnotte. Highness me no more! Beware! smiles Remorse has made me a new being. Away with Already drained, or dost thou play the miser ? you! There is danger in me-away!
Melnotte. Thine eyes would call up smiles in Glavis [aside.] He's an awkward fellow to deserts, fair one! deal with; come away, Beauseant.
Let us escape these rustics. Close at hand Beauscánt. I know the respect due to rank. There is a cot, where I have bid prepare Adieu, my Prince. Any commands at Lyons ! Our evening lodgment—a rude, homely roof, Yet hold—I promised you 200 louis on your wed- But honest-where our welcome will not be ding-day; here they are.
Made torture by the vulgar eyes and tongues Melnotte (dashing the purse to the ground.] I That are as death to Love! A heavenly night! gave you revenge, I did not sell it. Take up your The wooing air and the soft moon invito us. silver, Judas; take it. Aye, it is fit you should Wilt walk? I pray thee, now-I know the path, learn to stoop.
Aye, every inch of it! Beauseant. You will beg my pardon for this Pauline. What, thou ! methought some day. [Aside to GLAVIS.] Come to my Thou wert a stranger in these parts. Ah! truant, chateau—I shall return hither to-morrow to learn Some village beauty lured thee ;-thou art now how Pauline likes her new dignity.
Grown constant. Melnotte. Are you not gone yet?
Melnotte. Trust me. Beauseant. Your highness' most obedient, Pauline. Princes are so changeful ! most faithful
Melnotte. Come, dearest, come. Glavis. And most humble servants. Ha! ha! Pauline. Shall I not call our people to light us?
[Exeunt BEAUSEANT and GLAVIS, R. Melnotte. Heaven will lend its stars for torches ! Melnotte. Thank heaven I had no weapon, or It is not far. I should have slain them. Wretch! what can I Pauline. The night breeze chills me. say? where turn? On all sides mockery-the Melnotte. Nay, very boors within-[Laughter from the inn.] Let me thus mantle thee; it is not cold. S’death, if even in this short absence the exposure Pauline. Never, beneath thy smile. should have chanced! I will call her. We will Melnotte [aside.] Oh, Heaven! forgive me ! go hence. I have already sent one I can trust to
SCENE II.—MELNOTTE's Cottage. Widow bustling Steals through the mists of alabaster lamps,
about. A table spread for supper. And every air is heavy with the sighs Widow. So, I think that looks very neat. He Of orange groves, and music from sweet lutes, sent me a line so blotted that I can scarcely read And murmurs of low fountains, that gush forth it, to say he would be here almost immediately. She I’ the midst of roses! Dost thou like the picmust have loved him well indeed, to have forgotten
ture ?" his birth; for though he was introduced to her in This is my bridal home, and thou my bridegroom! disguise, he is too honorable not to have revealed O fool! O dupe! O wretch! I see it all — to her the artifice which her love only could for- The bye-word and the jeer of every tongue give. Well, I do not wonder at it; for though In Lyons ! Hast thou in thy heart one touch my son is not a Prince, he ought to be one, and of human kindness? If thou hast, why, kill me that's almost as good. [Knock at the D. in F. And save thy wife from madness. No, it cannot, Ah! here they are.
It cannot be! this is some horrid dream:
I shall wake soon. [Touching him.] Art flesh ? Enter MELNOTTE and PAULINE from D. in F. art man? or but
Widow. Oh, my boy, the pride of my heart !- The shadows seen in sleep? It is too real. welcome, welcome! I beg pardon, ma'am, but I'What have I done to thee? how sinn'd against do love him so!
thee, Pauline. Good woman, I really-Why, Prince, That thou shouldst crush me thus ? what is this ?-does the old woman know you? Melnotte. Pauline! by pride, Oh! I guess you have done her some service; Angels have fallen ere thy time; by pride another proof of your kind heart, is it not? That sole alloy of thy most lovely mouldMelnotte. Of my kind heart, aye.
The evil spirit of a bitter love Pauline. So, you know the Prince ?
And a revengeful heart had power upon thee; Widno. Know him, madame ?-ah, I begin to From my first years, my soul was fill'd with thee; fear it is you who know him not!
I saw thee, midst the flowers the lowly boy Paulinë. Do you think she is mad? Can we Tended, unmarked by thee, a spirit of bloom, stay here, my Lord? I think thero is something And joy, and freshness, as if Spring itself very wild about her.
Were made a living thing, and wore thy shape! Melnotte. Madame, 1—no, I cannot tell her! I saw thee! and the passionate heart of man My knees knock together: what a coward is a Enter'd the breast of the wild-dreaming boy; man who has lost his honor! Speak to her- And from that hour I grew-what to the last speak to her-[to his mother]—tell her thatoh, I shall be—thine adorer! Well! this love, Heaven, that I were dead!
Vain, frantic, guilty if thou wilt, became Pauline. How confused he looks !—this strange A fountain of ambition and bright hope; place—this woman—what can it mean? I half I thought of tales that by the winter hearth suspect—Who are you, madame ?—who are you? Old gossips tell—how maidens, sprung from can't you speak ? are you struck dumb ?
kings, Widow. Claude, you have not deceived her Have stoop'd from their high sphere! how Love, -ah, shame upon you! I thought that, before like Death, you went to the altar she was to have known all ? Levels all ranks, and lays the shepherd's crook
Pauline. All! what? My blood freezes in my Beside the sceptre. Thus I made my home veins !
In the soft palace of a fairy Future ! Widow.—Poor lady!—dare I tell her, Claude? My father died; and I, the peasant-born, (MELNOTTE makes a sign of assent.] Know you Was my own lord. Then did I seek to rise not then, madame, that this young man is of poor Out of the prison of my mean estate; though honest parents? Know you not that you And, with such jewels as the exploring mind are wedded to my son, Claude Melnotte?
Brings from the caves of knowledge, buy my Pauline. Your son! hold! hold! do not speak to me. (Approaches MELNOTTE, and lays her hand From those twin jailers of a daring hearton his arm.] Is this a jest ? Is it? I know it is : Low Birth and iron Fortune. Thy bright image, only speak-one word-one look-one smile. I Glass'd in my soul, took all the hues of glory, cannot believe-I who loved thee so—I cannot be- And lured me on to those inspiring toils lieve that thou art such a- -No, I will not By which man masters men! wrong thee by a harsh word; speak!
A midnight student o'er the dreams of sag(8, Melnotte. Leave us; have pity on her, on me; For thee I sought to borrow from each Giace, leave us.
And every Muse, such attributes as lend Widow. Oh, Claude! that I should live to see Ideal charms to Love. I thought of thce, thee bowed by shame! thee of whom I was so And Passion taught me poesy—of thee? proud! [Exit Widow, by the staircase, R. U. E. And on the painter's canvas grew the life Pauline. Her son! her son !
Of beauty-Art became the shadow Melnotte. Now, lady, hear me.
Of the dear starlight of thy haunting eyes ! Pauline. Hear thee!
Men called me vain, some mad—I heeded not, Aye, speak. Her son! have fiends a parent? But still toild on, hoped on, for it was sweet, Speak,
If not to win, to feel more worthy thee! That thou 'may'st silence curses. Speak!
Pauline. Has he a magic to exorcise hate ? Melnotte. No, curse me:
Melnotte. At last, in one mad hour, I dared to Thy curse would blast me less than thy forgive- pour
The thoughts that burst their channels into song, Pauline (laughing wildly.) “This is thy palace And sent them to thee—such a tribute, lady, whence the perfumed light
As beauty rarely scorns, even from the meanest.
The name-appended by the burning heart
ACT I V.
SCENE I.- The Cottage as before — MELNOTTE That should have been thy triumph, was thy
seated before a table—writing implements, etc. scorn!
-Day breaking. That very hour-when passion, turned to wrath, Melnotte. Hush, hush !—she sleeps at last!Resembled hatred most; when thy disdain thank Heaven, for awhile she forgets even that I Made my whole soul a chaos--in that hour live! Her sobs, which have gone to my heart the The tempters found me a revengeful tool whole long desolate night, have ceased !-all calm For their revenge! Thou hadst trampled on the -all still! I will go now; I will send this letter worm,
to Pauline's father—when he arrives, I will place It turned and stung thee!
in his hands my own consent to the divorce, and Pauline Love, sir, hath no sting.
then, O France ! my country! accept among thy What was the slight of a poor, powerless girl, protectors, thy defenders the peasant's son ! To the deep wrong of this most vile revenge Our country is less proud than custom, and does Oh, how I loved this man! a serf! a slave! not refuse the blood, the heart, the right hand of Melnotte. Hold, lady! No, not slave! Despair the poor man!
is free! I will not tell thee of the throes, the struggles,
Widow comes down stairs, R. U. E. The anguish, the remorse! No, let it pass! Widow. My son, thou hast acted ill, but sin And let me come to such most poor atonement brings its own punishment. In the hour of thy Yet in my power. Pauline !
remorse, it is not for a mother to reproach thee.
Melnotte. [Approaching her with great emotion, and about
What is past is past. There is a to take her hand.]
future left to all men who have the virtue to rePauline. No, touch me not !
pent and the energy to atone. Thou shalt be I know my fate. You are, by law, my tyrant;
proud of thy son, yet; meanwhile remember this And I-oh, Heaven! á peasant's wife!
I'm poor lady has been grievously injured. For the work,
sake of thy son's conscience, respect, honor, bear Toil, drudge; do what thou wilt; but touch me with her. If she weep, console; if she chide, be
silent! 'Tis but a little while more; I shall send Let my wrongs make me sacred!
an express fast as horse can speed to her father. Melnotte. Do not fear me.
Farewell! I shall return shortly. Thou dost not know me, madame: at the altar
Widow. It is the only course left to thee; My vengeance ceased, my guilty oath expired.
thou wert led astray, but thou art not hardened. Henceforth no image of some marbled saint,
Thy heart is right still, as ever it was, when in Niched in cathedral's aisles, is hallowed more
thy most ambitious hopes, thou wert never From the rude hand of sacrilegious wrong.
ashamed of thy poor mother! I am thy husband; nay, thou needst not shud
Melnotte. Ashamed of thee! No, if I yet ender;
dure, yet live, yet hope, it is only because I Here, at thy feet, I lay a husband's rights.
would not die till I have redeemed the noble heriA marriage thus unholy-unfulfilled
tage I have lost—the heritage I took unstained A bond of fraud-is, by the laws of France,
from thee and my dead father—a proud conMade void and null. To-night, then, sleep-in science and an honest name. I shall win them back peace.
yet; Heaven bless you.
[Exit D. in F. To-morrow, pure and virgin as this morn
Widow. My dear Claude! how my heart bleeds
for him. I bore thee, bathed in blushes, from the altar, Thy father's arms shall take thee to thy home. PAULINE looks down from above, and, after a The law shall do thee justice, and restore
pause, descends. Thy right to bless another with thy love. And when thou art happy, and hast half forgot
Pauline. Not here! he spares me that pain at Him who so loved-so wrong'd thee, think at least! so far he is considerate-yet the place seems least
still more desolate without him. Oh that I could Heaven left some remnant of the angel still
hate him! the gardener's son! and yet how nobly In that poor peasant's nature!
he-no-no-no, I will not be so mean a thing as Hol my mother!
to forgive him!
Widow. Good morning, madame; I would have WIDOW comes down stairs, R. U. E. waited on you if I had known you were stirring. Conduct this lady-(she is not my wife,
Pauline. It is no matter, ma'am; your son's She is our guest, our honored guest, my mo- wife ought to wait on herself. ther)
Widow. My son's wife! Let not that thought To the poor chamber where the sleep of virtue vex you, madame-he tells me that you will have Never, beneath my father's honest roof,
your divorce. And I hope I shall live to see him E'en villains dared to mar! Now, lady, now, smile again. There are maidens in this village, I think thou wilt believe me. Go, my mother! young and fair, madame, who may yet console him. Widow. She is not thy wife!
Pauline. I dare say—they are very welcome; Melnotte. Hush ! hush! for mercy's sake and when the divorce is got, he will marry again. Speak not, but go.
I am sure I hope so.
Weeps. [Widow ascends the stairs, R. U. E. Widow. He could have married the richest Melnotte (sinking down.] All angels bless and girl in the province, if he had pleased it; but his guard her!
head was turned, poor child! he could think of TABLEAU. nothing but you.