THE LADY OF LYONS; OR, LOVE AN-D PRIDE. A PLAY IN FIVE ACTS. BY LORD LYTTON, AUTHOR OF ~'Money," "Richelieu." "Rightful Heir," &c., &c. NEW YORK LONDON SAMUEL FRENCH SAMUEL FRENCH, LTDIPUBLISHER 26 SOUTHAMPTON STREET, 28-30 WEST 38TH STREET STRAND [7Thi Play is accurately marked a originally product4,endwe the maanagement of W. 0. Macready.] DRAMATIS PERSONA, WITH THE ORIGINAL CAST. THEATRB ROYAL, COVENT GARDEN, 1838 Claude Melnotte..... MI. MAOREADI Colonel Damas..... MR. BARTLEY Beauseant...... Ma. ELTON Glavis....... MR. MEADOWS Mons0. Deschappelles........ MR. STRICKLAD Landlord.. MR.. YARNOLD Gaspar............ 1MR. DIDDEAB Captain Gervais (First Officer)j........ MR. HowE Captain Dupont (Second do.)...... MR. PRITCHARD Major i)emoulins (Th/ird do.).,.... M. M ROBERTS Notary.............. MR. HARRIS ervaLt............. M. BENDER Pauline........ Miss HELEN FAUCIS Madame I)eschappelles... MRS. CLIFFORD Widow Melnotte........ MRS. GRIFFITH Janet ~. MMR. EAST Mari'an,.... Miss GARwIOX nnen-lyons and the Nelghbourhoo& Time-1795-1798. Costumem-ivil and Militaly of the period; the latter of the army of Italy. AI tho oharaoters should ohange their dresse for the Fifth Aos. P EF AC. AN hidistinct recollection of the very pretty little tale, called "The Bellows-Mender," suggested the plot of this Diama. The incidents are, however, greatly altered from those in the tale, and the characters entirely re-cast. Having long had a wish to illustrate certain periods of the French history, so, in the selection of the date in which the scenes of this play are laid, I saw that the era of the Republic was that in which the inllients were rendered most probable, in which the probationary career of the hero could well be made sufficiently rapid for dramatic effect, and in which the character of the time itself was depicted by the agenlcies necessary to tlhe conduct of the narrative. For during the early years of the first and most brilliant successes of the French Republic, in the general ferment of,ociety, and the brief equalisation of ranks, Claude's high-placedl love, his ardent feelings, his unsettled principles (the struggle between which makes the passion of this drama), his ambition, and his career, were phenomena that ebaracterised the age, and in wliich the spi:it of the nation went along with the extravagance of the individlual. The play itself was composed with a twofold object. In the first place, sympI;tilising with the enterprise of Mr. Macready, as Manager of Covent/Garden, and believing that many of the highel interests of the Dramna were involved in the success or failure of at entertprise equally hazardous and disinterested, I felt, if I may so presume to expiess myself, something of the Brotherhood of Art, and it was only for Mr. Mlacready to think it possible that I might serve him in order to induce me to make the attempt. Secondly, in that attempt I was mainly anxious to see whether oi ot, after the oomnparative failure on the stage of "The Duchess do Ia Vall^re,b" ^^rtain critics had truly dolacdd igbs1 it w, aio ins ny power to ttain the art of dramatic cn s'tcuctiini unl tlieatLicaJ etfeo. I felt, indeed, that it was in this &hmc a writer accustomed to the aarratve elass of eomposition, wadld bwiv. cbi most both to learn and unlearn Accordingly, it was to the de7eIopment; of the plot and the arrangement of the incidents that 7 directed my chief attention;and I gought to throw whatvcirl belo gs to poetry less into the diction and the "felicity of woadgs',han into the construction of the story, the creatiso of the ha,-rmter and the spirit of the pervading eentiment. The anthorship of the p^y wam neither avowed nor suspected antil the play had established itself in public favour. The announce ment of my name was the signal for attacks, chiefly political, to which it is now needless to refer, When a work has outlived for some time the earlier hostilities of criticism, there comes a new race of critics to which a writer may, for the mnos part, calmly true for a fair consideraUeo whether of the faults os the meritsa 4 tAG IaSTRUaTo ONgS.-. means Right I L. TAe a. D. Right Doon. D. Left Door; a. a. Second Entrance; U. a Upper Entraise; i. D. Middle Door. -LATrVn PosmTwoI.-a1. means Right; L, Le ft, P (> atre; wo. Right of Cen1tre:.n. o. Left of Oentr^, The tawo mre suppcosW d ing the audisnne TIIE LADY OF LYONS; OR, LOVE AND PDIDE. AOT L BNB 1. —A room in the house of M. DESCrIAPPEtLIJS, ad Lyons. PAULINE reclining on a sofa, R.; MARIAN, her maid, fanning her, R. Flowers and notes on a table beside the sofa. MADAMS DESCHAPPELLES seated at a table, L. o. The gardens are seen from the open windows. MMi. DESCHAP. Marian, put that rose a little more to the left-(MARIAN alters the position of a rose in PAULINE'B hair)-Ah, so!-that improves the hair,-the tournure, the je ne saisquoi! 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 i Ah, we live again in our children,-especially when they have our eyes and complexion! PAULINE. (languidly) Dear mother, you spoil your Pauline I (aside) I wish I knew who sent me thesa flowers! MME. DESCHAP. No child! If I praise you, it is only to inspira 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, L. o.) PAtrnI s. Who can it be that sends me, every day, these beautiful flowers?-how sweet they are I Enter SERVANT,. 0. BERVANT. Monsieur Beauseant, madam. lMBE. DESOHAP. Let him enter. Pauline, this ~~* THE LADY OF LTONB; offer!- know it is!-Your father should engage an additional clerk to keep the account-book of your ranquests. nter BEAUSBANT L. a BEA.. Ah, la ies, how fortunate I am to find yo at home! (aside) flow lovely she looks — It is a great sacrifce I make in marrying into a family in trade!they will be eternally gratefua'l! (aloud) Madam, you will permit me a word with your charming daughter. (approaehs PAULINE, who rides disdain fully) Mademoiselle, I have ventured to wait upon you, in a hope that you must long since have divined. Last night, when you outshone all the beauty of Lyons, you conpleted your conquest over me! You know that my fortune is not exceeded by any estate in the province,-yoa know that, but for the Revolution, which has defrauded me of my titles. I should be noble. May I, then, t ast that you may not reject my alliance? I offer you ny hand and heart. PAULINE. (aside) iHe has the air of a man who confers a favour! (aloud) Sir, you are very condescending-LIthank you humbly; but, being duly sensible of my own demerits, you must allow me to decline the hoLour you propose. (curtsies, and turns away) BEAU. (o.) Decline! impossible!-you are not serious! Madame, suffer me to appeal 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. DEsoHAP. M. Deschappelles never inteiferes 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 preference. BAU. A commoner!-we are all commoners in France now. MMe. DrscHAT. In France, yes; but there is a nobility still left in the other countries in Europe. We a e quite aware of your good qualities, and don't doubt that you will find some lady more suitable to your pretensions. We shdJ1 be always happy to see you as an acquaintance o, LOTV AMD PRRiD' M. Beauseant! My dear child, the carriage will be here presently. ( goea to PAUINE) IRAU. ano more, madam!-say no more d(.idds e!fus.t and by a merchant's daughter!-reused! iC will be all over Lyons before sunset! I will go and bury myself in my chateau, study philosophy, and turn woman-hater. Refused! they ought to be sent to a madhousej Ladies, I have the honour to wish you a very goo morning. (Exit, L.O.) MME. DESCHAP. Howforward 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 v. st deal of adress to refuse one with proper condescension and disdain. I used to practise it at school with the dancing-master. lnter DAMAS, La. DAMAs. (c.) Gcod morning, cousin Deschappelles. Well, Pauline, are you recovered from last night's ball? So many triumphs must be vary fatiguing. Even M. Glavis sighed most piteously when you departed; but that might be the effect of the supper. PAULINE. M. Glavis, indeed! MME. DESCHAP. M. Glavis?- as if my daughter would think of M. Glavis! DAMAJs.fiey-day!t-why not? His father 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! M ME. I)DSCHAP. Don't mind him, Pauline! Cousin Dalmas, 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! DAM.AS. Pooh, pooh! one would think you intended your daughter to marry a prince! MME. DESCHAP. Well, and if I did?-what then I Many a foreign princeDama&. (itterrpting her) Foreign prince l —foreigb 8 TTHE LADY OF LYONS; fiddlestiek! You ought to be ashamed of such nolns-eon at your time of life. (crosses, R.) MME. DESGCIAP. My time of life!-That is ain exsl,,: sion never applied to any lady till she is sixty-nlilr tii1 three quarters;-and only then by the clorgymauI (o) l it parish. Enter SERVANT, L.o. SZBVANT. Madam, the carriage is at the door. (Exit, L.O.) 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 I When a young lady is always making mischief it is a sure sign that she takes after her mother! PAuLINB. Good-day, cousin Damas —and a better humour to you. (going back to the table and taking the fowers) Who could have sent me these flowers? (Exeunt PAuLmN and MADAME DESCHAPrELLES, L.O.) 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, L.O.) CENBE 2. —Th exterior oJ a small Village Inn; sign, the Golden Lion, a few Leagues from Lyons, which is seen at a distane. BEAU. (behind the scenes, R.) Yes, you may bait the horses; we shall rest here an hour. Enter BEAUSEANT and GLAVIS, B. GLa. Really, my dear Beauseant, consider that I have promised to spend a day or two with you at your chateau,-that I am quite at your mercy for my entertainment,-and yet you are as silent and as gloomy as a mute at a funeral, or an Englishman at a party of pleasure. I BaJLu. Bear with me!-the fact is that I am miserable o0, LOVE AND PRIDE. 9 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 a Venus, and as proud as Juno. BEAur. Her taste is worse than her pride. (drawing &imself up) Know, Glavis, she has actually refused GOA. (aside) So she has me!-very consoling!In I cases of heart-ache, the application of another man's disappointment draws out the pain and allays the irritation.{ (aloud) Refused you! and wherefore?.Ait. I know not, unless it be because the Revolution swept away my father's title of Marquis,-and she will not marry a commoner. oTw, as we have no noblemen left in France,-as we are all citizens and equals, she can only hope that, in spite of the war, some English Milord or German Count will risk his life, by coming to Lyons, that this fille du Roturier may condescend to accept hi. Refused me, and with scorn!By Heaven, I'l ubmit to it tamely:-I'm in a perfect fever of mortification and rage. Refuse me, indeed! (cro0ses, B.) OLA. Be comforted, my dear fellow,-I will tell you a secret. For the same reason she refused ME! BEAu.m4ou — that's a very different matter! But give me your hand Glavis,-we'll think of some plan to humble her. f'iile diables I should like to see her married to a strolling player (croses, L.) Enter LANDLORD from the Inn, L. D. in r. LAND. Your servant, Citizen Beausant,-servant, sir. Perhaps you will take dinner before you proceed to your chateau; 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 the bill of'amr fom the LANDLORD who has crossed o.) (Shout without) "Long live the Prince — Long live the Prince I " io Gus LADIY O LYONS' BEAU. The Prince!-what Prince is that? I t hought we had no prince left in France. LAND. Ha, ha the lads always call him Prince. He has just won the prize in the shooting match, aud they are taking him home in triumph. BEAU. Him! and who's Mr. Him? IAND. Who should he be but the pride of the village, Claude Melnotte? Of course you have heard of Claude Melnotte? QGL. (giving back the bil1 of fare) Never had that honour. Soup-ragout of hare-roast chicken, and, in short, all you'have-. BEAu. The son of old Melnotte, the gardener LABD. Exactly so-a wonderful young man. BrAu. How, wonderful? Are his cabbages better than other people's? LAim. Nay, he don't garden any more; his father left him well off. He's only a genus. GOi. A what?.AIx. A genus!-a man who can do everything IB life except anything that's useful;-that's a genus. BElA. You raise my curiosity;-proceed. Lam. 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 full-bottom wig to cover it.; Then he took a fencing-master, and a dancingmaster, 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 sweaw by him, and all the girls pray for him. BEAU. A promising youth, certainly, And why do they call him Prince? LA&x. 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 shoi t looks like F"MBp~ OIL, LOTV AND PRIDB. 1 BEAU. And what could have turned the foolish fellow's brain? The revolution, I suppose? LAND. Yes-the Revolution that turns us all topsyturvy —terevolution of1ov.. BEAU. tomantic young Corydon And with whom is We in love? LAhND. Why —but it is a secret, gentlemen. BEAU. Oh! certainly. LAND. Why, then, I hear from his mother, good soul that it is no less a person than the Beauty of Lyons, Pauline Deschappelles. BEAu. and QGLA. Ha, ha!-Capital! (BEAUSEANT crosses to GLAVIS) LiND. You may laugh, but it is as true as I stand here. BEAU. And what does the Beauty of Lyons say to his suit? LAND. Lord, sir, she never even condescended to look at him, though when he was a boy he worked in her father's garden. BEAU. Are you sure of that? LAND. His mother says that Mademoiselle does not know him by sight. BEAU. (taking GLAVIs aside) I have hit it, — have it;-here is our revenge! Here is a prince for our damsel. Do you take me? GLA. Deuce take me if I do! BEAU Blockhead! —It's as clear as a map. What if we could make this elegant clown pass himself off as a foreign prince?-lend him money, clothes, equipage for the purpose?-make him propose to Pauline?-marry Pauline? Would it not be delicious? GLA. Ha, ha!-Excellent! But how shall we support the necessary expenses of his Highness? BEAU. Pshaw! Revenge is worth a much larger sacrifice than a few hundred louis;-as for details, my valet is the trustiest fellow in the world, and shall have the appointment of his Highness's establishment. Let's go to him at once, and see if he be really this Admirable Orichton. GLA. With all my heart; —but the dinner? BwtA. Always thinking of dinner I Hark ye, land, 12 THR LADY OF LYONS; lord; how far is it to young Molnotte's cottage? I should like to see such a prodigy. LAND. Turn down the lane, then strike across the common, and you will see his mother's cottage. (Exit, D. V.) BEAU. True, he lives with his mother. (aside) We will not trust to an old woman's discretion; better send for him hither. I'll just step in and write him a note. Come, Glavis. (L&a. Yes,-Beauseant, Glavis, and Co., manufacturers of princes, wholesale and retail,-an uncommonly genteel line of business. But why so grave? BErAU. You think only of the sport,-I of the revenge. (Exeunt within the Inn, D. in F.) 8aEN 3. —Th interior of MELNOTTE'S cottage; flowers placed here and there; a guitar on an oaken table, with a portfolio, ico., a picture on an easel, covered by a curtain; fenoing-foils cross d over the mantelpiece; an attempt at refinement in spite of the homeliess of the furniture, 4e.; a staircase to.the right conducts to the upper story. The WmDow descends the stairs during the shouts. (Shout without, distant L. U. E.) " Long live Claude Melnotte! " "Long live the Prince! " WIDOW. Hark! there's my dear son; carried off the prize, I'm sure; and now he'll want to treat them all. (shouts nearer, " Long live the Prince!") MEL. (without, L.) What! you will not come in, my friends! Well, well,-there's a trifle to make merry elsewhere. Good day to you all,-good day! (shout) " Hurrah! Long live Prince Claude! " Enter M]LNOTTE, L. D. in P., with a rif l in Ais hand. He goes to the WIDOW, and kisses her. MxL. Give me joy, dear mother!-I've won the prize, - -never missed one shot! Is it not handsome, this gan? Wwow. Humph! Well, what is it worth, Claude Mu.v. Worth! What is a riband worth to a soldier t ra; r wrerything I Glory is priceless! Oa, LOVE AND PRIDE. 13 Wmow. Leave glory to great folks. Ah! Claude, Claude, castles in the air cost a vast deal to keep up I How is all this to end? What good does it do thee to learn Latin, and sing songs, and play on the guitar, and fence, and dance, and paint pictures? All very fine; but what does it bring in? MIL. W ealth! wealth, my mother! Wealth to the mind-wealth to the heart-high thoughts-bright dreams-the hope of fame-the ambition to be worthier, to love Pauline. WInow. My poor son! The young lady will never think of thee. MEL. Do the stars think of us? Yet if the prisoner see them shine into his dungeon, would'st thou bid him turn away from their lustre? Even so from this low cell, poverty, I lift my eyes to Pauline and forget my chains. (puts down his gun and cap near the staircase, L. I. E.; the WIDOW takes a chair and sits, R. o. Goes to the picture and draws aside the curtain) See, this is her imagepainted from memory. Oh, how the canvass wrongs er! (takes up the brush and throws it aside) I shall never be a painter! I can paint no likeness but one, and thaNtis above all art. I would turn soldierFrance needs soldiers! But to leave the air that Pauline breathes! What is the hour?-so late? (takes a chair and sits, L.C.) I will tell thee a secret, mother. Thou knowest that for the last -"six weeks I have sent every day the rarest flowers to Pauline?-she wears them. I have seen them on her breast. Ah, and then the whole universe seemed filled with odours! I have now grown more bold-I have poured worship into poetry-I have sent the verses to Pauline-I have signea them with my own name. My messenger ought to be back by this time I bade him wait for the answ er. WIDOW. And what answer do you expect, Claude? MEL. (rises) That which the Queen of Navarre sent to the poor troubadour: —" Let me see the Oracle that can tell nations I am beautiful!" She will admit me. I shall hear her speak-I shall meet her eyes-I shall read upon her cheek the sweet thoughts that translate themselves into blushes. Then-then, oh, then-she may forget that I am the peasant's son I foeroe to a.) 14 Tno LADY Of LYONS; WIDow Nay, if she will but hear thee talk, Claude. MEL. I foresee it all. She will tell me that desert is the true rank. She will give me a badge-a flower-a glove! Oh, rapture! (crosses, L.) I shall join the armies of the Republic-I shall rise-I shall win a name that beauty will not blush to hear. I shall return with the right to say to her —" See, how love does not level the proud, but raise the humble!" Oh, how my heart swells within me! Oh, what glorious prophets of the future are youth and hope! (knock at the D. in I.) MErL Who's there? GASPAR. (without) Gaspar. MEL. Come in. (the WIDow opns8 the door) Enter GASPAR, D. in P. MEL. Welcome, Gaspar, welcome. Where is the letter? Why do you turn away, man? Where is the letter? (GASPAR gives him one) This! This is mine, the one I intrusted to thee. Didst thou not leave it? GASPAR. Yes, 1 left it. MEL. My own verses returned to me. Nothing elsel GASPAR. Thou wilt be proud to hear how thy messenger was honoured. For thy sake, Melnotte, I have borne that which no Frenchman can bear without disgrace. MEL. Disgrace, Gaspar! Disgrace? GASPAR. I gave thy letter to the porter, who passed it from lackey to lackey till it reached the lady it was meant for. MEL. It reached her, then; you are sure of that! It reached her-well, well! GASPAR. It reached her, and was ret lrned to me with blows. Dost hear, Melnotte? with blows! I)teath! are we slaves still that we are to be thus dealt wilh, we peasants? MEL. With blows? No, Gaspar, no; not bows! GASPAR. I could shew thee the mavrll if it. were net so deep a shame to bear them. The lai. 1ey h o teo-sed thy letter into the mire swore that his 1:(1dy a:n<, mother never were so insulted. What could tiy t:.tt.l:., ontain, Claude i< OR, LOVS AKD PRIDE. 15 MxL. (looking over the letter) Not a line that a serf might not have written to an empress. No, not one. GASPAR. They promise thee the same greeting they gave me, if you wilt pass that way. Shall we endure this, Claude? MEL. (wringing GASPAR's hand) Forgive me, the fault was mine; I have brought this on thee; I will not forget it; thou shalt be avenged! The heartless insolence. GASPAR. Thou art moved, Melnotte; think not of me; I would go through fire and water to serve thee; but,-a blow! It is not the bruise that galls, —it is the blush, Meluotte. (going) MEL. Say, what message? —How insulted?-Wherefore? — What the offence? GASPAR Did you not write to Pauline Deschappelles, the daughter of the rich merchant? MEL. Well? — GASPAR. And are you not a peasant-a gardener's son?-that was the offence. Sleep on it, Melnotte. Blows to a French citizen, blows! (Exit, n. in P.) WIDow. Now you are cured, Claude! MEL. (tearing the letter) So do I scatter her image to the winds-I will stop her in the open streets-T will insult her-I will beat her menial ruffians-I will — (turns suddenly to WIDow) Mother, am I humpbackeddeformed-hideous? Wmrow. You! MEL. A coward a thief-a liar? TIDOW. You! MEL. Or a dull fool-a vain, drivelling, brainlesm idiot? Wmow. No. no. MEL. What am I then-worse than all these I Why, I am a peasant! What has a peasant to do with love? Vain revolutions, why lavish your cruelty on the great? Oh, that we-we, the hewers of wood and drawers of water-had been swept away, so that the proud might learn what the world would be without us! (paces the Gew 4oifed04 (;knock 4 Uw D, 0 F.) 16 THE LADY OF LYONS; Eniw SERVANT from the Inn, D. Bi 1. SERVANT. A letter for Citizen Melnotte. MEL. A letter! from her perhaps-who sent thee? SERVANT. (B.) Why, Monsieur-I mean Citizen — Beauseant, who stops to dine at the Golden Lion, on his way to his chateau. M-EL. Beauseant! (reads) " Young man, I know thy secret-thou lovest above thy station; if thou hast wit, courage, and discretion, I can secure to thee the realisation of thy most sanguine hopes; and the sole condition I ask in return is, that thou shalt he steadfast in thine own ends. I shall demand from thee a solemn oath to marry her whom thou lovest; to bear her tothine home on thy wedding night. I am serious-if thou wouldst learn more, lose not a moment, but follow the bearer of this letter to thy friend and patron,-CIrA LES BEAUSEANT." MEL. Can I believe my eyes? Are our own passions the sorcerers that raise up for us spirits of good or evil? I will go instantly. (Exit SERVANT, D. in ~.) WIDOW. What is this, Claude? MEL. " Marry her whom thou lovest "-" bear her to thine own home."-Oh, revenge and love; which of you is the stronger? (gazing on the picture) Sweet face, thou smilest on me from the canvass; weak fool that I am,do I then love her still? No, it is the vision of my own romance that I have worshipped; it is the reality to which I bring scorn for scorn. Adieu, mother! I will return anon. (exit WIDOW up the staircase) My brain reels-the earth swims before me. (looks again at the ltter) " Marry her whom thou lovest." No, it is not a mockery I do t4 dream! (Exit, D. in r.) MIaD 01 ACL6 OR, LOYV AND PRlD1R, 17 ACT I. SENS 1.-lhe yfardens of M. DESOnAPPELLEaS' AwM t Lyons; the house seen at the back of the stage. Enter BeAUSEAxr and GLAVIS from the house, L. 8. BEAu. Well, what think you of my plot? Has it not succeeded to a miracle? The instant that I introduced his Highness the Prince of Como to the pompous mother and the scornful daughter,it was all over with them: he came-he saw —he conquered: and, though it is not many days since he arrived, they have already promised him the hand of Pauline. GLA. It is lucky,though, that you told them his Highness travelled incognito, for fear the Directory (who are not very fond of princes) should lay him by the heels; for he has a wonderful wish to keep up his rank, and scatters our gold about with as much coolness as if he were watering his own flower-pots. BBAn. True, he is damnably extravagant; I think the sly dog does it out of malice. However, it must be owned that te reflects credit on his loyal subjects, and makes a very pretty figure in his fine clothes, with my diamond snuff-box. i GLA. And my diamond ring! But do you think he will be firm to the last? I fancy I see symptoms of relenting: he will never keep up his rank, if he once let out his conscience. BE&u. His oath binds him! he cannot retract without being forsworn, and those low fellows are always superstitious! But, as it is, I tremble lest he be discovered: that bluff Colonel Damas (Madame Deschappelles' cousin) evidently suspects him; we must make haste and conclude the farce: I have thought of a plan to end it this very day. GLA. This very day I Poor Pauline: her dream will soon be over. BEAu. Yes, this day they shall be married this evening, according to his oath, he shall carry ais bride to the Golden Lion, and then pomp, equipage, retinue, and title, all shall vanish at once; and her Highness the Princess shall find that she has refused the sop 4 a I I maq the son of a gardene. Oh Pa.e line n one loed, now hated, yet still not relinquishe hou ialt drain the cup to the dregs,-thou shalt know what is to be humbled (they go, L.) eiter from t)k housO, L., m, MELNo'rr, as t PrM of Como, lading in uAu% x; iMADAm DEscHAB S, f8 fnnfing rself; d CLoxm DAAsBEAus x 4 nd (gvis bow respectfully. PAMm. DseB e Good m uorninSg, gentlemen; really I am so atigued th laughter; the dear Prince is entertraiing. What wit he has! Any one may at he has spet h hole hlife courts. D". (it) Anud what the deuce do you know about ours, cousia Deachappelles? You women regard men just as you by books, —you never care about what is mi thom, but how they are bound and lettered.'Sdath I don t think ou would even l ]ook at yio Bible if had aot a title to it x. DEsom (B ao) How coars yon are, ousIk Damnas quite h manneor of a barrack-you do desere to be one of our family; eall we must op your acquaintaUee when Pa1ine marieso I cannoe patronis any relations that woud disor my fut n-in- law, Prince of Como r ((oe advin) hTh e beauti gade madam. IEL. They are laid out in he best tate; who plan t them? (Bmura T us d no_ retire) MMBE. DL)ESOa. gardener named melnotte, you ighness -an honest man who knew his station. I can't ay as much for his son, a presuinag fellow, who -ha ht actu y rote vrse —suoh doggerel! —t my daughter, PAULINE. Yes, ho y wo ld have laughed at them Ince you, who writg such beautiful verses I MEl. Thi M[ enotte must be a mon u pud D 7mA& In he gd-looking? o% LOVE DAN Frm.IRM _ 3BmDEsOAe. I n:ver notice euch ean BdaiU..-an ugly, meanlooking clown, if I remember right. DA1as. Yet I heard your poter say he was wonder. fully like his Hlighnesso MEL. (taking mnuf ) You are complimentary M-mo DESCHerm For shame, cousin Damas! l ik th~a Prince, indeed I PAuTLno, Like you Ah, mother, like our beautifti Nince! Ill never speak t you agRain, cousi. Damras. PAtLI,,MME. DESOHIAPPELLES, and' DAMAS eti're,. BEAUSEAr r and GLAVIs advance,, L MEL. (aside) Hlumph-rank is a great beautifier t X never passed for an Apollo while I was a peasa.nt; if I am so handsome as a prince, what should I be s an emperor! (aloud) Monsien r Beauseant, will you honour me? offers snnuf) BEAu. (L.) No, your Highness; ha e no smallvices, MEm. Nay, if it were a, vic e you'd be sure to hale;t, Monsieur Beauseast. (MM[E. DESOcALPPViLEaS C dPAULINm advance, R. C.) MMn, DEsoHAPo Ha! ha! how -erv severe0 wht wit BEAU. (in a rage and aside) CLrse his impertinence I MMaE. DESCHAP. (c.) WThat a superb snilt-box 1 PAxULNTE. (. o.) And what a beautifu1 ringr! MEL. You like the box-a trifle-interestitg perhaprl from associations-a present from Louis XiV. to my great-great-grandmother. ionour me b~y acceptinlg it. BEAJ. (plucking him by the sleeve) How! —what;t1he devil my box-are you mad? It i worth dive hundred louis. (MnT. IM c80A rg LLE SA' 81e boxd b t D.AS) Mis (unheeding him, and turin'g to PAULINE) And you like this ring? Ah, il hala, indeed, alustre since your eyes have shone on it. (plaing it on her finger) Henceforth hold me, sweet enchantress, the Slave of the Ring. GLA. (pulling him) Stay, stay-what are you about My maiden aunt's legacy-a diamond of the firs water. You shall be hanged for swindling, sir. MIL (Paft g o M ^ k ) It i;Wn t inI 20 THR LADY OF LTONS; it is the one with wkhh my grandfaaw, the Doge d Venice, mazried the A diatic! (MMB. DESC7 AT Pt.L.ES and PAm:. A v nmtineM th rin, and retire;, ) MEL. (to BA-IPEAINT and GLAVTYS)', gentlemen I plinces must bQ generous! (turns to (/ s.kxs, who is R.., and ^oo watches them closely) These Jr;' d friends have my int^cest so much at heart, that thFe are as careful of my prouerty as if it were their own! riEAU. and GLA. (confusedly) ts.,' ha!-very good joke that! (apFear to remonstrate wi.4rxrELNOTTE in dumb show) DAMAS. What's all that T/fJ,hrpcring? I am sure there Is some juggle here: hang rte, ii I think he is an Italian after all. Gad, I'll try hkm. Servitore umillissimo, Eccellenza. (MELOg t'orA 5o0 at BEAUSEANT for information) MEL. Hum-whlat does he mean, I wonder? DAMAS. Gtoo di vedervi in buona salute.t MEL. He1P, hem! (MELNOTTE Cr088O,.) DAMAS. a9 oel tempo-che si dice di nuovo?I MEL. WV/iJ) sir, what's all that gibberish? DAMAa. Oh, oh! only Italian, your Highness!-the Prince of Como does not understand his own language l MEL. Not as you pronounce it; who the deuce could? (goe8 up, o.) MME. DESCHAP. Ha! ha! cousin Damas, never pretend to what you don't know. (goes to MELNOTTB) PAULINE. Ha! ha! cousin Damas; you speak Italian, iu deed! (makes a mocking gesture at him, and joins MELNOTTI and MADAME DESCHAPPELLES) BEAU. (to GLAVIS) Clever dog! how ready! GLA. (L.) Ready, yes with my diamond ring! Dams his readiness (they retire a few pae) Your Excellency's most humble servant + I am glad to see you in good health. t Fine weathem What news istheret 04 LOev hAN PRXIDS 21 DM s. Laugh at me! laugh at a colonel in the French army! the fellow's an impostor; I know he is. I'll see if he understands fighting as well as he does Italian. (goes up to him, and touches him upon the shoulder; MELNOTT b ows to the LADIES and comes forward) Sir, you are a jackanapes I Can you construe that? MEL. No, sir; I never construe affronts in the presence of ladies; by-andbye I shal be happy to take a lesson, or give one. DAtMA. I'll find the occasion, never fear I MMB. DESOAr. Where are you going, cousin? DA3ms. To correct my Italian. (Exit into house, L s. s..) BEAU. (to GLAVIS) Let us after, and pacify him; he evidently suspects something, (goisn) GLA. Yes t-but my diamond ring BEAU. And my box I We are over-taxed, fellow-subiects we must stop the supplies, and dethrone the Prince. GLA. Prince I he ought to be heir-apparent to King Stork. (Exeunt BEAUsxAT and GL&vXs into hom, x. ) w LADIs and MELNo adva nee. MME. DESOHAp. (B.) Dare I ask your Highness t forgive my cousin's insufferable vulgarity? PAULIJE (L.) Oh yes! you wll forgive his manua tor the sake of his heart. MEL. (o.) And the sake of his cousin. Ah, madam, there is one comfort in rank-we are so sure of our position that we are not easily affronted. Besides,. Damas has bought the right of indulgence from his riends, by never shewing it to his enemies PAULBI. Ah he is indeed as brave in action as he i rude in speech. He rose from the ranks to his present grade, and in two years MEL. In two years — two years, did you ay? MME. DESCHA. (aside) I don't like leaving grls alone with their lovers but, with a prine, it would be so ill bred to be prudish. (exit into houae, L.s.B.) MEL. You can be proud of your connection with oa who owes his position to merit, not bir PA^Gmm Why, yes but still — 3 THUr LADY OF LYONS; MeL. Still what, Pauline? PAUTINE. There is something glorious in the heritagw of command. A man who has ancestors is like a representative of the past. MEL. True; but, like other representatives, nine times out of ten he is a silent member. Ah, Pauline! not to the past, but to the future, looks true nobility, and finds its blazon in posterity. PAULLM. You say this to please me, who have no ancestors; but you, Prince, must be proud of so illustrious a race! MEL. No, no! I would not, were I fifty times a prince, be a pensioner on the dead! I honour birth and ancestry when they are regarded as the incentives to exertion, not the title-deeds to sloth! I honour the laurels that overshadow the graves of our fathers; it is our fathers I emulate, when I desire that beneath the evergreen I myself have planted my own ashes may repose! Dearest, couldst thou but see with my eyes! PAtLNBE. I cannot forego pride when I look on thee, and think that thou lovest me. Sweet Prince, tell nie again of thy palace by the Lake of Como; it is so pleasant to hear of thy splendours since thou didst swear to me that they would be desolate without Pauline; and when thou describest them it is with a mocking lip and a noble scorn, as if custom had made thee disdain greatness. MIEL. Nay, dearest, nay, if thou wouldst have me paint The home to which, could Love fulfil its prayers, This hand would lead thee, listen! *-A deep vale Shut out by Alpine hills from the rude world; Near a clear lake, margin'd by fruits of gold And whispering myrtles; glassing softest skies, * The reader will observe that Melnotte evades the request JA Pauline. He proceeds to describe a home, which he does not say he possesses, but to which he would lead her, "could Love fufil its prayers." This caution is intended as a reply to a sagacious eritia who censures the description, because it is not an exact and prosaic inventory of the characteristics of the Lake of Como! When Melnotte for instance, talks of birds "that syllable the name of Pauline," (by the way, a literal translation from an Italian poet), he is not thinking of orvlithology, but probably of the " Arabian Nights." He is venting the extravagant, but natural, eathuim of tie pot and t ilovi 0o, LOVE AND RIBDE. As cloudlss, save with rare and roseate shadows. As I would have thy fate! PAULINE. My own dear love MELNOTTE and PAULrE pace the stage during speech, and at the end, MELNOTTE stands L. MEL. A palace lifting to eternal summer Its marble walls, from out a glossy bower Of coolest foliage musical with birds, Whose songs should syllable thy name! At noon We'd sit beneath the arching vines, and wonder Why Earth could be unhappy, while the Heavens Still left us youth and love! We'd have no friends That were not lovers; no ambition, save To excel them all in love; we'd read no books That were not tales of love-that we might siile To think how poorly eloquence of words Translates the poetry of hearts like ours! And when night came, amidst the breathless Heavem We'd guess what star should be our home when love Bee omes immortal; while the profound light Stole through the mists of alabaster lamps, And every air was heavy with the sighs Of orange-groves and music from sweet lutes, And murmurs of low fountains that gush forth' the midst of roses! —Dost thou like the picture f PAULINE. Oh, as the bee upon the flower, I hang Upon the honey of thy eloquent tongue! Am I not blest? And if I love too wildly, Who would not love thee like Pauline? MEL. (bitterly) Oh, false on It is the prince thou lovest, not the man: If in the stead of luxury, pomp, and power, [ had painted poverty, and toil, and care, Thou hadst found no honey on my tongue;-Paulinq That is not love! (crosses, R.) PAULINE. Thou wrong'st me, cruel Prince I It first, in truth, I might not have been won, lave through the weakness of a flatter'd pride; 8ut now,-oh r trust me, couldst thou fall from poww And sink 24 frB LADY OF LYONS; Mir. As low as that poor gardener's lo Who dared to lift his eyes to thee?PAULINE. Even then, Methinks thou wouldst be only made more dear By the sweet thought that I could prove how deep Is woman's love! We are like the insects, caught By the poor glittering of a garish flame; But, oh, the wings once scorch'd; the brightest star Lures us no more; and by the fatal light We cling till death. (embrae MEL. Angel! (aide) 0 conscience! conscienceI It must not be; her love hath grown a torture Worse than her hate. I will at once to Beauseant, And-ha! he comes. Sweet love, one moment leave me I have business with these gentlemen-I-I Will forthwith join you. Enter B.EusraN and GLAVIS; they bow to PAuvmns, ae remain up the stage. PAtmIB. Do not tarry long. (Exit into hoUw, L. a. a.) BEAUSEALsN and GLAVIS advance. MIL. (c.) Release me from my oath; I will not marry her! I.Au. (R.) Then thou art perjured. (GLAVIS stands, L.) MEL. No, I was not in my senses when I swcre to thee to marry her. I was blind to all hut her scorn!deaf to all but my ptrssion and my rage I Give me back Mny lovertand nimy JloIi.Oui! BEAU. It is too late; you must marry her! and this day. I have a story already coined, and sure to pass current. This Damas s8uslects thee, he will set the police to work; thou wilt be detected, Pauline will despise and execrate tlhce. Thou wilt be sent to the Tot.mmon,gaol as a swindler. MEL. Fielnd I (ero8ses to a.) BEAU. Alnd in the heat ofthe rirl's resentnrnt (you tnow of whllt resentlent is ciatable), and thle parlents' shame, she w ill he inldul(lfd to marry the first that offers, oven perhaps your huimble servant. OR, LOVB AND TRIDB. 2 MKu You! No; that were worse, for thou hast no mercy. I will marry her, I will keep my oath! Quick, then, with the damnable invention thou art hatching; quick if thou wouldst not have me strangle thee or myself. (retires, R. ) GL.. What a tiger' Too fierce for a prince; he ought to have been the Grand Turk. BE]Au. Enough! I will despatch; be prepared. (Exeunt BEAUSEANT and GLAFvi into house, L. a. a.; 2IELNOTTE advances, a.) Enter DArAs,from the honse, L.S.B., with two swords. GYAAs. Now, then, sir, the ladies are no longer your excuse. I have brought you a couple of dictionaries: let us see if your Highness can find out the Latin for MiUeo. MEL. Away, sir! I am in no humour for jesting. DAMAS. I see you understand something of the grammar; you decline the noun-substantive "smallsword" with great ease; but that won't do, you must take a lesson in parsing. MEL. Fool! (eros8, L) -DAMAS. Sir, as sons take after their mother so the man who calls me a fool insults the lady who bore me; there's no escape for you-fight you shall, orMEL. (L.) Oh, enough! enou h! take your ground. (they fight; DAMAs is disarmed. MELNOTTE takes up the sword and returns it to DAMAS respectfully) A just punishment to the brave soldier who robs the State of its best property-the sole right to his valour and his life. DAMAS. (R.) Sir, you fence exceedingly well; you mus be a man of honour-I don't care a jot whether you are t prince; but a man who has carte and tierce at his angers ends must be a gentleman. MEL. (aside) Gentleman! Ay, I was a gentlenan before I turned conspirator; for honest men are the gentlemen of Nature! Colonel, they tell me you rose, from the ranks. DAMAS. I did. MEL. And in two years! Danas. It is true; that's no wonder in our army at 26 THE LADY OF LYONS; present. Why, the oldest general in the service is scarcely thirty, and we have some of two-and-twenty. MEL. Two and-twenty! DAMAS. Yes; in the French army, now-a-days, promotion is not a matter of purchase. We are all heroes, because we may be all generals. (We have no fear of the cypress, because we may all hope for the laurel) MEL. A general of two-and-twenty! (turning to DAxAs) Sir, I may ask you a favour one of these days. DAMAs. Sir, I shall be proud io grant it. (MELNOTTE retires) It is astonishing how much I like a man after I have fought with him. (hides the swords, i.) Enter MADAME DESCHAPPELLES and BEAUSEANT, from house, L.S.E. BEAUSEANT crosses behind to R. MME. DESCHAP. Oh, Prince, Prince! What do I Hear you must fly-you must quit us! MEL. I! BEAU. Yes, Prince: read this letter, just received from my friend at Paris, one of the Directory; they suspect you of designs against the Republic; they are very suspicious of princes, and your family takes part with the Austrians. Knowing that I introduced your Highness at Lyons, my friend writes to me to say that you must quit the town immediately, or you will be arrested -thrown into prison, perhaps guillotined! Fly! I will order horses to your carriage instantly. Fly to Mar. seilles: there you can take ship to Leghorn. MME. DESCHAP. And what's to become of Pauline? Am I not to be mother to a princess, after all? EntrT PATnLmE,nd MONSIEua DESOHAPPELLES, from house, L.S.E. PAULINE. (throwing herself into MELNOTTE'S arms) You moust leave us! Leave Pauline!'BEAU. Not a momcnt is to be wasted. M. DESCHAP. (o.) I will go the magistrates, and inquireBEAU. Then he is lost; the magistrates, hearing he is suspected, wi2 order his arrest. MME. DEscHaP. And I shall not be a princessdowager I OL, LOYV AND PRIDS. 2 BEAU. Why not? There is only one thing to be ione: send for the priest-let the marriage t,.ae place at once, and the Prince carry home a bride! (oresses to L.) MEL. Impossible! (aside) Villain! MIME. DPESCrHA. What, lose my child? BEAU. And gain a princess! MME. DESCHAP. Oh, Monsieur Beauseant, you are so very kind, it must be so-we ought not to be selfish, ran daughter's h.appiness at stake. She will go away, too, in a carriage and six! PAUMLIN. Thou art here still-I cannot part from thee, my heart will break. MEL. But you will not consent to this hasty union thou wilt not wed an outca-st-a fugitive? PAULINE. Ah! if thou art in danger, who should share it but Pauline? MEL. (aside) DistractionI If the earth coild swallow me! M. DESCHAP. Gently! gently! The settlementa —the contracts-my daughter's dowry! MEL. The dowry! I am not base enough for that. no, not one farthing! BEAU. (to MADAME) Noble fellow! Really your good husband is too mercantile in these matters. Monsieur Deschappelles, you hear his Highness: we can arra ge the settlements by proxy;'tie the way with people of quality. MI. D)ESCHAP. But — MME. )ESCuArP. Hold your tongue! Don't expose yourself! E aIU. I will bring the priest in a trice. Go in, all of you, and prepare; the carriage shall be at the door before the ceremony is over. MME. DESCHAP. Be sure there are six horses, Beauseant! You are very good to have forgiven us for refusing you! but you see-a prince! BEAU. And such a princt! Madame, I cannot blush at the success of so illustrious a rival. (aside) Now will I follow them to the village, enjoy my triumph, and to-morrow, in the hour of thy shame and grief, I think, ^8 ATHZ LADT OF LYONIS proud girl, thou wilt prefer even these arms to those of the gardener's son. (Exit, L. 8. B.) MMhA. DEscHAP. Come, Monsieur Deschappelles, give your arm to her Highness that is to be, M. DESCHUP. I don't like doing business in such a hurry;'tis not the way with the house of Deschappelles and Co. MMu. DESCHAP. There, now, you fancy you are in the counting-house, don't you? (pushes him to PAULINE) MEL. Stay, stay, Pauline, one word. Have you no scruple, no fear? Speak, it is not yet too late. PAULINE. When I loved thee, thy fate became mine. Triumph or danger, joy or sorrow, I am by thy side. DAMAS. Well, well, Prince, thou art a lucky man to be so loved. She is a good little girl in spite of her foibles; make her as happy as if she were not to be a princess. Come, sir, I wish you joy-young, tender, [ovely! zounds, I envy you! (slapping him on t'o ihoulder) MEL. (who has stood apart in gloomy abstraction) Do you? Wise judges are we of each other. "Woo, wed, and bear her home?" So runs the bond To which I sold myself; and then-what then? Away! I will not look beyond the hour. You envy me-I thank you; you may read My joy upon my brow-I thank you, sir! If hearts had audible language you would hear What mine would answer when you talk of envy I (fxeunt into house, L. A. a.) I" oF AUSt 9l aO, LOVE AND PRIDE. 2 ACT III. iBcz 1 -Tihe exterior of the Golden Lion; time, twiighAt The moon riee during the scene. Enter LAnDLoD and his DAaHTER from the Inn, L. D. LAND. Ha, ha, ha! Well, I never shall get over it Our Claude is a prince with a vengeance now. His carriage breaks down at my inn, ha, ha! JAET. And what airs the young lady gives herself "Is this the best room you have, young woman?" with such a toss of the head. LAND. Well, get in, Janet: get in and see to the supper: the servants must sup before they go back. (Exeunt, Lt. D.) Enter BEAUSEANT and GILsAVI, B. Bum&. You see, our Princess is lodged at last; one stage more, and she'll be at her journey's end, the beautiful palace at the foot of the Alps! ha! ha! GLA. Faith, I pity the poor Pauline, especially if she's going to sup at the Golden Lion. (make s wry fae) I hall never forget that cursed ragout. Enter MELNOTTE from the Inn, L.D.P. BEAU. Your servant, my Prince; you reigned most worthily. I condole with you on your abdication. I am afraid that your Highness's retinue are not very faithful servants. I think they will quit you in the moment of your fall-'tis the fate of greatness. But you are welcome to your fine clothes, also the diamond snuff-box, which Louis XIV. gave to your great-greatgrandmother. GLA. And the ring, with which your grandfather, the Doge of Venice, married the Adriatic. MEL. I have kept my oath, gentlemen-say, have I kept my oath? BEAU. Most religiously. MIL. Then you have done with me and mine. Away with you! Bxzu. How, knave? 30 THE LADY or LYONS; MEL. Look you, our bond is over. Proud conquerors that we are, we have won the victory over a simple girl, compromised her honour-emtittered her life-blasted, in their veryblossoms, all the flowers of her youth. This is your triumph-it is my shame! (turns to BEAUSEANT) Enjoy thy triumph, but not in my sight. I was her betrayer —I am her protectorI Cross but her path — one word of scorn, one look of insult-nay, but one quiver of that mocking lip, and I will teach thee that bitter word thou hast graven eternally in this heartRepentance! BEAU. His Highness is most grandiloquent. MEL. Highness me no more! Beware! Remorse has made me a new being. Away with you There is danger in me! Away I GLA. (aside) He's an awkward fellow to deal with; come away, Beauseant. BEAU. I know the respect due to rank. Adieu, my Prince. Any commands at Lyons? Yet bold-I promised you 200 louis on your wedding-day; here they are. MEL. (dashing the pur8s to the ground) I gave you revenge, I did not sell it. Take up your silver, Judas; take it. Aye, it is fit you should learn to stoop. BEAU. You will beg my pardon for this some day. (aside to GLAVIS) Come to my chateau-I shall return hither to-morrow to learn how Pauline likes her new dignity. MEL. Are you not gone yet? BEAU. Your Highness's most obedient, most faithful-~ GIA. And most humble servants. Ha, ha 1 (exeunt BEAUSEANT and GLAVIS, a.) MdKx Thank Heaven I had no weapon, or I should have slain them. Wretch! what can I say? Where turn? On all sides mockery; the very boors within(laughter from the Inn)-'Sdeath, if even in this short absence the exposure should have chanced. I will call her. We will go hence. I have already sent one I can trust t my mother's house. There, at least, none can insult OR LOVE AND PRIDEI 81 her agony; gloat upon her shame! There alone must she learn what a villain she has sworn to love. (As he turns to the door enter PAULINE from the Inn, L. D. F.) PAULINE. Ah! my lord, what a place! I never saw unch rude people. I think the very sight of a prince, though he travels incognito, turns their honest heads. What a pity the carriage should break down in such a spot! You are not well; the drops stand on your brow; your hand is feverish. MEL. Nay, it is but a passing spasm; the airPAULINE. Is not the soft air of your native south; (pause) How pale he is! indeed thou art not well. Where are our people? I will call them. (going) MEL. Hold I — I am well. PAULINE. Thou art!-Ah! now I know it. Thou fanciest, my kind lord-I know thou dostThou fanciest these rude walls, these rustic gossips, Brick'd floors, sour wine, coarse viands, vex Pauline; And so they might, but thou art by my side, And I forget all else. (Enter LANDLORD, from D.F., SERANTrS pMepinf and laughing over his shoulder) LAD. My lord-your HighnessWill your most noble excellency chooseMEL. Begone, sir! (Exit LANDLORD laughing) PAULINE. -How could they have learn'd thy rank F One's servants are so vain, nay, let it not Chafe thee, sweet Prince! a few short days and we Shall see thy palace by its lake of silver, And-nay, nay, spendthrift, is thy wealth of smiles Already drain'd, or dost thou play the miser? MEL. (R.O.) Thine eyes would call up smiles in deserts, fair one. Let us escape these rustics; close at hand There is a cot, where I have bid prepare Our evening lodgment-a rude homely roof, But honest, where our welcome will not be Made torture by the vulgar eyes and tongues 32 TTLR LADY OF LtON3; That are as l1ath to L,,wvo! A he.:venly nigiit! The wooing air and tle soft moon invite us. Wilt w 1lk1? I pray thee, now; I know the path, Ay, every inch of it! PAULINE. What, thou! meohought Thou wert a stranger in these parts? Ah, truant, Some village beauty lured thee; thou art now Grown constant? MEL. Trust me. PALrNBE. Princes are so changeful I MEL. Come, dearest, come. PAULINE. Shall I not call our people To light us? MEL. Heaven will lend its stars for torches I It is not far. PALtUB. The night breeze chills me. MEL. Nay, Let me thus mantle thee-(throw8 his cloak over her)-it is not cold. PAULINE. Never beneath thy smile! MEL. (aside) 0 Heaven! forgive me. (Exeunt, R.) Bosn 2.-~MLN[LOTTE'ms ottage; WrDow bstling about; a table spreadfor stpper. WIow. So, I think that looks very neat. IHe sent me a line, so biteThat I can scarcely read it, to say he would be here almost immediately. She must have loved him well indeed to have forgotten hiis birth; for though he was introduced to her in disguise, he is too honourable not to have revealed to her the artitice, which her love only could forgive. Well, I do not won. der at it; for though my son is not a prince, he ought to be one, and that's almost as good. (knack at the door in i.) Ah here they are. Jt^r MEIwOTTrE and PAUtLMu from DI in B.; he placs his cloak and hat on a eh.ir. Wirow. Oh, my boy; the pride of my heart! weleome, welcome I beg pardon, ma'am, but I do love him so I (MENOTTB comes down, L.) OR, LOVE AND PRIDE. 83 PAULINa. (R.) Good woman, I really-why, Prince, what is this? Does the old lady know you? Oh, I guess, you have done her some service. Another proof of your kind heart, is it not? MEL. (L.) Of my kind heart, ay! PAITiNE. So you know the Prince t WIDOW. Know him, madam? Ah, I begin to fear it i you who know him not! PAULINE. (crosses to MELNOTTE) Can we stay here, my lord I think there's something very wild about her. (MELNOTTE passes her round to L.) MEL. Madam, I-no, I cannot tell her;what a coward is a man who has lost his honour. Speak to her-speak to her (to his mother)-tell Her that-O Heaven, that I were dead! (eore8ss, L.) PAuLINA. How confused he looks!-thistsrange place! -this woman-what can it mean? F alf suspectj Who are you, madam! —who are you? can't you speaare you struck dumb? WIDow (c.) Claude, you have not deceived her? —Ah, shame upon you! I thought that, before you went to the altar, she was to have known all. PAUTIN. All I what!Myblood freezes in my vein_ WIDow. Poor lady!-dare I tell her, Claude? (MELxOTTrE makes a sign of assent) Know you not, then, madam, that this young man is of poor though honest parents? Know you not that you are wedded to my son, Claude Melnotte? PAULINE. Your son! hold-hold! do not speak tome. (approaches MELNOTTE and lays her hand on his arm) Is this a jest? is it? I know it is, only speak-one word-one look-one smile. I cannot believe-I who loved thee so-I cannot believe that thce art such aNo, I will not wrong thee by a harsh word-Speak! MEL. Leave us —(rosses to the WrDow and sinki into a chair)-have pity on her, on me: leave us, WIDOW. Oh, Claude, that I should live to see thee bowed by shame I thee of whom I was so proud I (Exit by thTe taroass, t. v. L46 PAvuBI Her son —her son I 34 THSl LAtY 01 LtYOiA MELNOTrr rise, bringi forward the chair, metion PAULINE to be sated; she proudly declines. MEL. Now, lady, hear me PAULINE. Hear thee I Ay, speak-her son! have fiends a parent? speak, That thou mayst silence curses-speak! MEL. No, curse me; Thy curse would blast me less than thy forgiveness. PAULINE. (laughing wildly) "This is thy palace, where the perfumed light Steals through the mist of alabaster lamps, And every air is heavy with the sighs Of orange groves, and music from sweet lutes, And murmurs of low fountains, that gush forth I' the midst of roses " Dost thou like the picture? (crosses, L.) his is my bridal home, and thou my bridegroom. 0 fool-O dupe-O wretch!-I see it allThe by-word and the jeer of every tongue In Lyons. Hast thou in thy heart one touch Of human kindness? if thou hast, why, kill me, And save thy wife from madness. (cros ses, R.) No, it canno — It cannot be: this is some horrid dream. I shall wake soon. (touching him) Art flesh? art man? or but The shadows seen in sleep? It is too real.l What have I done to thee? how sinn'd against thee, That thou shouldst crush me thus? MEL. Pauline, by pride Angels have fallen ere thy time: by pride-,That sole alloy of thy most lovely mouldThe evil spirit of a bitter love,,/. And a revengeful heart, had power upon thee.?rom my first years my soul was fill'd with thee i saw thee midst the flow'rs the lowly boy Tended, unmark'd by thee-a spirit of bloom, And joy, and freshness, as if Spring itself Were made a living thing, and wore thy shape! I saw thee, and the passionate heart of man Enter'd the breast of the wild-dreaming boy. And from that hour I grew-what to the last OR, LOVE AND PRIDE. 36 I Shall be-thine adorer! Well, this lo'e, Vails, frantic, guilty, if thou wilt, beca-me A foultain of ambition and bright hope; I thought of tales that by the winter hearth Old gossips tell-how maidens sprung from kings HEave stoop'd from their high sphere; how love, likedeath, Levels all ranks, and lays the shepherd's crook Beside the sceptre. B e —My father ded; and I, the peasant born, W'as my ownied. I hen did I seek to rise Out of the prison of my mean estate; Al d, with such jewels as the exploring mind Ilin s from the caves of knowledge, buy my ransom Fromi those twin gaolers of the daring heartLow birth and iron fortune. For thee I grew A midnight student o'er the dreams of sages. For thee I sought to borrow from each grace, And every muse, such attributes as lend Ideal charms to love. I thought of thee And passion taught me poesy-of thee, And on the painter's canvass grew the life Of beauty! Art became the shadow Of the dear starlight of thy haunting eyes! Mlen call'd me vain-some mad-I heeded not; But still toil'd on-hoped on-for it was sweet, If not to win, to feel more worthy thee? PAULINE. Why do I cease to hate him? MEL. At last, in one mad hour, I dared to pour The thoughts that burst their channels into song, And sent them to thee-such a tribute, lady, As beauty rarely scorns, even from the meanest. The name-appended by the burning heart That long'd to shew its idol what bright things It had created-yea, the enthusiast's name, That should have been thy triumph, was thy seorn; That very hour-when passion, turn'd to wrath, Resembled hatred most w.en thy disdain Made my whole soul a chaos-in that hour The tempters found me a revengeful tool For their revenge! Thou hadst trampled on the worm It turn'd and stung thee! (throw Aimsinf into tt ehair, L. o,) 6 THB LADY O0 LoONS; PAuLrIm. Love, sir, hath no sting. What was the slight of a poor powerless girl To the deep wrong of this most vile revenge Oh, how I lovedthis man! a serf, a slave! MF.L. Hold, lady! (starts up) No, not a amvel Despair is free! I will not tell thee of the throes-the strugglesThe anguish-the remorse: No, let it pass! And let me come to such most poor atonement Yet in my power.-Paul;ne! —(approaching her with great emotion and about te ot her hand) PAULI1N. No, touch me not I I know my fate. You are, by law, my tyrant; And I-0 Heaven!-a peasant's wife! I'll work Toil-drudge-do what thou milt-but touch me not; Let my wrongs make me sacred I MEL. Do not fear me. Thou dost not know me, madam; at the altar My vengeance ceased-my guilty oath expired! Henceforth no image of some marble saint Niched in cathedral aisles is hallowed more From the rude hand *f sacrilegious wrong. I am thy husband-nay, thou needs't not shudder; Here at thy feet I lay a husband's rights. A marriage thus unholy-unfulfill'dA bond of fraud-is, by the laws of France, Made void and null. To-night sleep-sleep in peaoc To-morrow, pure and virgin as this morn I bore thee, bathed in blushes, from the shrine Thy father's arms shall take thee to thy home. The law shall do thee justice, and restore Thy right to bless another with thy love. And when thou art happy, and hast half forgot Him who so loved-so wrong'd thee, think at least Heaven left some remnant of the angel still la that poor peasant's nature I (joe. to the stair foot and ealk) Ho I my motha I 6fo bWrbow,. Iv. Oondluet thi lady-she is not my wie; She is our guest-our honour'd guest, my mothe To the poor chamber, where the sleep of v e Never, beneath my father's honest roof, Ev'n villains dared to marI Now, lady, now, I think thou wilt believe me. (takds her hand and d ead s to the WIDOW) Go, my mother WIDOW. She is not thy wile! (on M f ai MEL. Hush, hush I for mey's ak Speak not, but go (Wmow asdcen tho hain, Bi.Uf. bynrs. f weeping; turne bto ok back) MEL. throw. him8elf upon hi. kne gte #ii AU Mielm bl agi her I ai S Am 98 THB LADY OF LIONS; ACT IV. IENi 1. —Th Cottage as before; MELNOTTE seated before table; writing implements, pc. Day breaking; h rie and goes to the foot of the staircase, and listetS. MEL. Hush, hush!-she sleeps at last! -thank Heaven for a while she forgets even that I live! Her sobs, which have gone to my heart the whole long, desolate night, have ceased! all calm-all still. (sits and writes) 1 will go now; I will send this letter to Pauline's father: when he airives, I will place in his hands my own consent to the divorce, and then, (0 France! my country! accept among thy protectors, thy defenders, the Peaant's Son! Our couitry is less proud than custom, and does not refuse the blood, the heart, the right hand of heo poor man. Enter WIDOW, down e t taircase, L. U., WIDOW. My son, thou hast acted ill; but sin brings its own punishment. In the hour of thy remorse, it is not for a mother to reproach thee. MEL. What is past is past. There is a future left to all men who have the virtue to repent, and the en ergy to atone. Thou shalt be proud of thy son yet. Meanwhile, remember this poor lady has been grievously injured. For the sake of thy son's cotscien1ce, espeet, honour, bear with her. If she weep, console —if she chi(le, be silent.'Tis but a little while more, I shall seird an express fast as horse can speed to hur father. Farewell! I shall return shortly. WIDow. It is the only course leftfto thee-thou wert led astray, bat thou art not hardened. Thy heart i? right still, as ever it was when, in thy most ambitious hopes, thou wert never ashamed of thy poor mother. MEL. Ashamed of thee I No, if I yet en(t are, yet live, yet hope, it is only becauso I would not die till I have oX, LOVE AND PRIDR.'9 redeemed the noble horitage I have lost-the herit, fe I took unstained from thee and my dead father-a prvolId conscience and an honest name. I shall win them 1ba(.k yet. Heaven bless you! (Exit, D. in.) WIDOW. My dear Claude! How my heart bleeds fox him. (the WIDow draws back the window-curtains, srmoes the candle from the table, and goes off, R. u. E.) (PAULINE looks down from above, and after a. paus descends) PAuTLNE. Not here!-ho spares me that pain at least: so far he is considerate —yet the place seems still more desolate without him. Oh, that I could hate him —thi gardener's son! and yet how nobly he-no, no, no, I will not be so mean a thing as to forgive him I Re-enter WIDOW, R. U. B. WIDow. Good morning, madam; I would have waited on you if I had known you were stirring. PAULTINE. It is no matter, madam; your son's wife ought to wait on herself. WIDow. My son's wife-let not that thought vei you, madam; he tolls me that you will have your divorce. And I hope I shall live to see him smile again, There are maidens in this village, young and fair, madam, who may yet console him. PAULINE. I daresay, they are very welcome; and when the divorce is got-he will marry again. I am sure I hope so. (weeps) WIDow. He could have married the richest girl in the province, if he had pleased it; but his head was turned, poor child! he could think of nothing but you. (weeps) PAULINE. Don't weep, mother. WIDow. Ah, he has behaved very ill, I know, but love is headstrong in the young. PAULINE. So, as you were saying; go on. WIDow. Oh, I cannot excuse him, ma'am — he was no$ in his right senses. PAVL1NE. But he always-always (sobbiny) lovedloved me then? 40 THE LADY OF LYONS; WIDOW. He thought of nothing else. See here, he learnt to paint that he might take your likeness. (unee,,rs 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 t'ouble yourself. Oh! if he were but a poor gentlel van, even a merchant; but a gardener's son —and what a home I Oh, no, it is too dreadful! (PAULINE sits L. of table) BEAUSEANT open the lattice and looks in, r. BEAU. 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.) PAULNTE. (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. WrDow. It is not time for your father to arrive yet; it must be some neighbour. PAULINE. Don't admit any one. (WIDOW opens the D. in F., BEAUSEANT pushes her aside and enters) Ha! Heavens! That hateful Beauseant! This is indeed bitter. BEAU. Good morning, madam! 0 widow, your son begs you will have the goodness to 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! PAULUNE. Don't leave me, mother!-don't leave me. BEAU. (with great respect) Be not alarmed, madam. Believe me your friend-your servant. PAULINE. Sir, I have no fear of you, even in this house! Go, madam, 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. i F.) PArTnm. Sir, I divine the object of your visit-you OX, LOVE AND PRIDB. 4] wish to exult in the humiliation of one who humbled you. Be it so; I am prepared to endure all —even youi presence! BEAu. You mistake me, madam-Pauline, you mistake me! I come to lay my fortune at your feet. You must already be disenchanted with this impostor; these walls are not worthy to be hallowed by your beauty Shall that form be clasped in the arms of a base-born peasant? Beloved, beautiful Pauline! fly with memy carriage waits without-I will bear you to a home more meet for your reception. WNealth, luxury, station -all shall yet be yours. I forget your past disdainI remember only your. beauty, and my unconquerable love PAuLIm. Sir! leave this house. It is humble; but a husband's roof, however lowly, is, in the eyes of God and man, the temple of a wife's honour! Know that 1 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. BEAU. What! is not your pride humbled yet? PAnuIE. Sir, what was pride in prosperity in affiction becomes virtue. BEAU. Look around-these tugged floors, these homely walls-this wretched struggle of poverty fox 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, bear me! PAULiBE. Oh, my father! why did I leave yon?why am I thus friendless? Sir, you see before you a betrayed, injured, miserable woman!-respoct her anguish! BEAU. 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? BERA. Be silent! (MELNOTTE appears at the D. P. &#ng BEAUSEANT hA pauses at the threshold; shewint ptod) See, I do not come unprepared even for violence 42S THE LADY OF LYONS; I will brave all things-thy husband and all his racefor thy sake. Thus, then, I clasp thee! (MELNOTTE rushe8 forward) MEI, (dashing hmn to the other end of the stage) Pauline, look up, Pauline! thou art safe. BEAU. Dare you thus insult aman of my birth, ruffian? (levelling his pistol) PAULINE. Oh, spare him-spare my husband! Beauseant-Claude —no-no — (faint) MiEL. Miserable trickster! shame upon you! brave devices to terrify a woman! Coward! —you trembleyou have outraged the laws-you know that your weapon Is harmless-you have the courage of the mountebank, not the brave!-Pauline, there is no danger. BEAU. I wish thou wert a gentleman; as it is, thou art beneath me. Good day, and a happy honeymoon (aside) I will not die till I am avenged. (Exit, D. i 1.) MiL. I hold her in these arms-the last embrace I Never, ah never more, shall this dear head Be pillow'd on the heart that should have shelter'd And has betray'd!I-Soft-soft! one kiss-poor wretch! No scorn on that pale lip forbids me now I Dne kiss-so ends all record of my crime I It is the seal upon the tomb of hope, By which, like some lost, sorrowing angel, sits Sad.memory evermore -she breathes-she movesShe wakes to scorn, to Hate, but not to shudder Beneath the touch of my abhoired love. (places her in a chair) There, we are strangers now! PAULINE. All gone, all calm; Is every thing a dream? thou art safe, unhurt, I do not love thee; but —but I am woman, And-and-no blood is spilt? MEL. (R.) No, lady, no; My guilt bath not deserved so rich a blessing As ev'u danger in thy cause O, LOVE AND PRIDE. 43 Enter WDow from D. in.; comes down, 0. WIDow. My son, I have been everywhere in search of you; why did you send for me? MEL. I did not send for you. WIDow. No! but I must tell you that your exprea has returned. MEL. So soon! impossible I WIDOW. Yes, he met the lady's father and mother on the road; they were going into the country on a visit. Your messenger says that Monsieur Deschappelies 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, madam! do not let them.injure him. I! you knew how he doated on you! PAULINE. Injure him! No, madam, be not afraid. (the Wmow goes up to the window) 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. MEL. I know it, madam. PAULINE. (aside) If he would but ask me to forgive him! I never can forgive you, sir. MEL. I never dared to hope it. PAuINrE. But you are my husband now, and I have sworn to-to love you, sir. MEL. That was under a false belief, madam. Heaven and the laws will release you from your vow. PAULINE. Re 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 wcrd to say ere it is too late? Quick-speak! MEL. I can only congratulate you on your release. Behold your parents I Enter MoNsIEUR and MADAM DESOHAPPELL.ES and COLONEL DAMAS, D. in i. M. DESOHAP. My child! my child! (goes to PAULINE) MMuIu Dazsoe. Oh my poor Pauline what a vi 44 THE LADY OF LYONS; lainous 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. (sits, L.c.) A mother's heart is easily broken. DAmAs. (x.) 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 ol Correction. MEL. (L.O.) Taunt on, sir; I spared you when you were unarmed-I am unarmed now. A man who has ao excuse for crime is indeed defenceless! DAMAs. There's something fine in the rascal, after all! (retires and crosses behind to L.) M. DESCHAP. (L.c.) Where is the impostor?-Are you this shameless traitor? Can you brave the presence of that girl's father? MEL. 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. MME. DESCHAP. Nobly! Are you mad, girl? I have no patience with you-to disgrace all your family thus 1 Nobly! Oh you abominable, hardened, pitiful, mean, ugly villain! crosses to AIELNOTTE, and back ayain to L.) — DAMAS. (L.) Ugly! Why, he was beautiful yesterday! PAULINE. Madame, this is his roof, and he is my husband. Respect your daughter, or let blame fall alone on her. MMB. D3SCHAP. You, you! Oh, I'm choking. (retire and sits, L. U. E.) M. DESCRHAP. Sir, it were idle to waste reproach upon a conscience like yours-you renounce all pretensions to the person of this lady? MEL. I do. (gives a paper) Here is my consent to a divorce-my full confession of the fraud which annuls the marriage. Your daughter has been foully wronged -I grant it, sir; but her own lips will tell you that, from the hour in which she crossed this threshold, I returned to my own station, and respected hers. Pure and inviolate, as when yestermorn you laid your hand upon her head and blessed her, I yield her back to you. For myself, I deliver you for ever from my presence. OR, LOVS AND PIDE. 45 An outcast and a criminal, I seek some distant la-n wilere I may mourn my sin, and pray for your daughter's peace. Farewell, farewell to you all, for ever! WIDOW. Claude, Claude, you would not leave your poor old mother! She does not disown you in your sorrow; no, not even in your guilt. No divorce can separate a mother from her son. (zrbraces MELNOTTE) 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 corrows. Claude. Claude, all is forgotten, forgiven, I am thine for ever (throws herself passionately into his arms) MME. DESCIIAP. What do I hear? Come away, or never see my face again. M. DESCoIAP. Pauline, we nevor betrayed you! do you Forsake us for him? PAULINE. (going back to her father) Oh, no, but you will forgive him, too; we will Lyve together, he slall be your son. M. DESCIIAP. Never! Cling to him and forsake your parents! His home shall be yours, his fortune yours, his fate yours; the wealth I have acquired by honest industry shall never enrich the 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 th u 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. (clasps her arms around him) MEL. This is the heaviest blow of all! What a heart I have wronged! Do not fear me, sir; I am not all hardened, I will not rob her of a holier love than mine. Pauline! angel of love and mercy! your memory shall lead me back to virtue! The husband of a being so beautiful in her noble and sublime tenderness may be poor-may be low-born;-(there is no guilt in the decrees of Providence!)-but he should be one who can look thee in the face without a blush,-to whom thy love does not bring remorse,-who can fold thee to his heart, and say, " Here there is no deceit I" I am not that manI (rtwrn AM to DfsaCIOAPTIELs) 46 THB LADY OF LYONS; DAMA.(WAOh0 as beeen watckhng MELN.iOTTE, comes down, r.) 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 Mai seilles, — will depart this day, if thou wilt go with me. MEL. It is the favour I would have asked thee, if I dared. Place where a foe is most dreaded, wherever France most needs a life. DAMAS. There shall not be a forlorn hope without thee! MEL. There is my hand! Mother, your blessing. (goes to the WIDOW, R.) I shall see you again,-a better man than a prince,-a man who has bought the right to high thoughts by brave deeds. And thou!-thou! so wildly worshipped, so guiltily betrayed,-all is not yet lost! for thy memory, at least, must be mine till death! If I live, the name of him thou hast once loved shall not rest dishonoured; —if I fall, amidst the carnage and the roar of battle, my soul will fly back to thee, and 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! (Exeunt MELNOTTE and DAMAS, D. in P.) PAumNE. (etarting from her father's arms) Claude! Claude! my husband!-(she falls. DESCHAPPELLES and MADAME raise her 7 he WIDOW stando at tes door watekhsi the deyarture of MRL.NOTTE.) IXD ON ACT IT o04 LOVE AND IRIDU. 47 ACT V. (Two years and a half from the date of Act IV) SCENE 1. —A street in Lyona. Enter OAPT. GOEVAIS, LrIeT. DUPONT, aFn, ILAJou DESMOULINS, L. OAPT. GIEumvA. This Lyons is a fine city! your birthplace, I think? Ln LrET. D. Yes; it is just two years and a half since I left it under the command of the brave General Damas; here we are retiiaoed, h3 A goaoral, I a lieaar, Laat. AMAJOR D. Ay, promotion is rapid in the French army. Now the war in Italy is over, I hope he will find employment for our regiment elsewhere. CAPT. (EViiSVs. Well, I hopo so, too. Hero comes the General. Enter GENERAL DAMAS, L. DAMAS. Good day, gentlemen, good day; so here we are in Lyons, improved since we left it. It is a pleasure to grow old when the years that bring decay to ourselves ripr,: n the prosperity of our country. CAPT. GCRVAIS. And cover our grey hairs with the laurel wreath, General. DAMAs. I hope you will amuse yourselves during our stay at Lyons. C(APT. GFhVAIs. I shall make the best use of my time, General; but I have little appetite for sight-seeing without Morier; his fine taste and extensive information qualify him for a professional cicerone; by the way, General, this is the anniversary of the glorious day in which the Colonel so distinguished himself. DAMAS. Ah, poor Morier! he deserves all his honours. LIEUT. D. That he does, indeed, General. Pray, can you tell us who this Morier really is? 48 THE LADY OP LIONS; DAMAS. Is! why a colonel in the French army. MAJOR 1). True. But what was he at first? DAMs. At first? Why a baby in long clothes, I sup pose. CAPT. GERVATr. Ha, ha! Ever facetious, General Who were his parents P Who where his ancestors? DAMAS. Brave deeds are the ancestors of brave men. LIEUT. D. The General is sore upon this point; you will only chafe him. Any commands, General? DamA. None. Good day to you. (Exeunt MJOR DESMOULINS and LIEUT. DUPONT, R.) DAMAS. Our comrades are very inquisitive. Poce Morier is the subject of a vast deal of curiosity. CAPT. GERVAIS. Say interest, rather, General. His constant melancholy, the loneliness of his habits, his daring valour, his brilliant rise in the profession, your friendship, and the favours of the commander-in-chief, -all tend to male him as much the matter of gossip as of admiration. But where is he, General? I have missed him all the morning. DAMAs. Why, Captain, I'll let you into a secret. My young friend has come with me to Lyons in hopes of finding a miracle. (CAPT. GERVAIS. A miracle! DAms. Yes, a miracle! In other words, a constant woman. CAPT. GERVAIS. Oh, an affair of love! DAMAS Exactly so. No sooner did he enter Lyons than he waived 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 gentlemnan! CAPr. GERVAIS. Success to him! and of that success there can be no doubt. The gallant Colonel Morier, the hero of Lodi, might make his choice out of the proudest families in France. DAMAs. Oh, if pride be a recommendation, the lady and her mother are most handsomely endowed. By the way, Captain, if you should chance to meet with Morier, tell him he will find me at the hotel. AIPT GERVAIS I will, General. (Exit, L) OR, LOVE AND PRID. 49 DAMAS. Now will I go to the Deschappelles, and make a report to my young Colonel. Ha! by Mars, Bacchus, A&ollo, Virorum-here comes Monsieur Beauseant (ter BEAUSEANT, B.) Good morrow, Monsieur Beauseent I How fares it with you? BEAU. (aside) Damas! that is unfortunate. Llf the Italian campaign should have filled his pockets, he may seek to baffle me in the moment of my victory.3 (aloud) Your servant, General-for such, I think, is your new distinction! Just arriv ed in Lyons? DAMAS. Not an hour ago. Well, how go on the Descb appelles? Have they forgiven you in that affair of young Melnotte? You had some hand in that notable device, eh? BEAU. 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. Theie 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. BEAU. HEm! You are pot married. General? DAMAS. Do I look ike a married man,sir? No,thank Heaven! My profess:on is to make widows, not wives. BEAU. Yea must have gained much booty in Italy! Pauline will be your heiress, eh? DAMAs. Booty! Not I. Heiress to what? Two trunks and a portmanteau, four horses, three swords, two suits of regimentals, and six pairs of white leather inexpressibles! A pretty fortune for P young lady! BEAU. (aside) Then all is safe (aloud) Ha! ha! Is that really all your capital, General Damas? Why, I thought Italy haa 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-in-chief took care of him, and Morier is a thrilty, economical dog, not like the rest of us soldiers, who spend our money as carelessly as if it were our blood. BEAU. Well, it is no matter! I do not want fortune with Pauline. And you must know, General Dama., 50 tim LAxrT o0 LTYONS that your fair cousin has at length consented to reward my long and ardent attachment. DAMAS. You!-the devil! Why, she im already married There is no divorce! BEAU. True; but this very day she is formally to authori e 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. DAAS. You tell me wonders I-Wonders I No; I believe anything of women! Baiu. I must wish you good morning I (as e is going,L., enter DBfOsHAPPLLES, BL) kM DScHAr. Oh, Beauseant! well met. Let us come to the notary at once. DAMAS. (to DEscOAPPELLES) Why, cousin? M. DESOHAP. Damas, welcome to Lyons! Pray eall om us; my wife will be delighted to see you. DAMAs. Your wife be-blessed for her condescensi onl But (taking him aside) what do I hear? Is it possible that your daughter bas consented to a divorce?-that she will marry Monsieur Beauseant? M. DESOHAP. 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 tena derly! M. Discay. (taking snuff) That was two years and a half ago! DAlAS. Very true. Poor Melnotte I M. DESCHAP. But do not talk of that impostor; 1 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 honourable and suitable alliance, my daughter may forget her sufferings and his crime, D)AMA. Nay, if it be all settled, I have no more to say Monsieur Beauseant informs me that the contract is to he signed this very day. M. DrBSCHAP,. It is; at one o'clock precisely. WIl eou be one of the witnesses? OIt LOVB AND iRIDL. DAMAS. I? No; that is to say, yes, certainly I at one'clock I will wait on you. M. DESCHAP. Till then adieu-come, Beauseant. (Exeunt BEAusEANr and DESCHAPPELLES, L.) DAMAs. The man who sets his heart upon a woman Is a chameleon, and doth feed on air; Prom air he takes his colours-holds his life,Changes with every wind,-grows lean or fat, Rosy with hope, or green with jealousy, Or pallid with despair-just as the gale Varies from north to south-from heat to cold! Oh1, woman! woman! thou shouldst have few sin Of thine own to answer for I Thou art the author i0 such a book of follies in a man, That it would need the tears of all the angels To blot the record out I Enter MELNOTTE, pale and agitate d,. I need not tell thee! Thou hast beard — MJEL The worst! I have! (crosses, L.) DAMAS. Be cheer'd; others are fair as she is! MEL. Others! The world is crumbled at my feet I She was my world; fill'd up the whole of being — Smiled in the sunshine-walk'd the glorious earthbSate in my heart-was the sweet life of life. The past was hers; I dreamt not of a Future That did not wear her shape! Mem'ry and Hope Alike are gone. Pauline is faithless I DAMAs. Hope yet. MEL. Hope, yes!-one hope is left me stillA soldier's grave! (after a pause)-But am I not deceived? went but by the rumour of the town; Rumour is false,-I was too hasty! Damas, Whom hast thou seen? DAMAs. Thy rival and her father. Arm thyself forthe truth. He heeds notMiL. Mb Will never know how deeply she was loved I 62 nTU LADY OP LYONS; DA MAs. Be a man I M EL. I am a man — it is the sting of woe Like mine that tells us we are men! DAMAs. The false one Did not deserve thee. Mrm. Hush!-No word against her! Why should she keep, through years and silent absence, The holy tablets of her virgin faith True to a traitor's name! Oh, blame her not; It were a sharper grief to think her worthless Than to be what I am! To-day,-to-day! They said " To-day!" This day, so wildly welcomed — This day, my soul had singled out of time And mark'd for bliss I This day! oh, could I see her, See her once more unknown; but hear her voice. DAms. Easily done! Come with me to her house; Your dressy-our cloak-moustache-the bronzed hues Of time and toil-the name you bear-belief In your absence, all will ward away suspicion. Keep in the shade. Ay, I would have you coma. There may be hope! Pauline is yet so young, They may have forced her to these second bridals, Out of,iistaken love. MEL. No, bid me hope notl Bid me not hope! I could not bear again To fall from such a heaven! Oh, Damas, There's no such thing as courage in a man; The veriest slave that ever crawled 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 grif) DAMAs. What, comrade! all the women That ever smiled destruction on brave hearts Were not worth tears like these! MEL. (crossing to R.)'Tis past; forget i. I am prepared; life has no further ills! DAMAS. Come, Melnotte, rouse thyself One effort more. Again thou'lt see her. MEXe Bo her? 0, LOVE AND PRIDB. g0 DAAS. Time wanes; —come, ere yet it be too late. MEL. " Too late!" Lead on. One last look more and then I AMAs. Forget her! IMl. Forget her I yea.-For death remembers not. (Exeunt, i.) BOENB 2.-A r m in tJs house of MoNsIEUR DESAOHA BELLES; not o richly furnished as in the First Act PAULINE seated in great dejection at a table, R. PAULINE. It is so, then. I must be false to Lovw, Or sacrifice a father! Oh, my Claude, My lover, and my husband! Have I lived To pray that thou mayest find some fairer boon Than the deep faith of this devoted heart,Nourish'd til now —now broken? Enter MONSLIEU DESOHAPPELLES, X; M. IrBsoaA. My dear chi1d, How shall I thank-how bless thee? Thou hast saved I will not say my fortune-I could bear Reverse, and shrink not; but that prouder wealth Which merchants value most: my name, my creditThe hard-won honours of a toilsome life — These thou hast saved, my child! PARUINE; Is there no hope t No hope but this M. DESCHAP. None. If without the s'm Which Beauseant offers for thy hand, this day Sinks to the west, to-morrow brings our ruin I And hundreds, mingled in that ruin, curse The bankrupt merchant! and the insolvent herd We feasted and made merry cry in scorn, " How pride has fallen!-Lo, the bankrupt merehan Ky daughter, thou hast saved us. 54 THU LADY (,F LYONS, PAuIT.B. And am lost! M. DEscuar. Come, let me hope that Beauseaats' love —PAULINB. Hi love! Talk not of love. Love has no thought of selfl Love buys not with the ruthless usurer's gold The loathsome prostitution of a hand Without a heart! L(fve sacrifices all things To bless the thing it loves! He knows not lotv. Father, his love is hate-his hope revenge! My tears, my anguish, my remorse for falsehoodThese are the joys that he wrings from our despair! M. DEscHAP. If thou deem'st thus, reject him! Sham. 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 thou art spared; and wait the Liberal Hour That lays the beggar by the side of kings! PALINS. No, no, forgive me! You, my honours father,You, who so loved, so cherished me, whose lips Never knew one harsh word! I'm not ungrateful; [ am but human!-hush! N ow, call the bridegroom. You see I am prepared-no tears-all calm; But, father, talk no more of love I M. DESCErHA. 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 ploughshares-(M. DESOHaPrrBuam retres) —I will pass The fiery ordeal. (aside) Merciful Heaven, suppot me! Aud on the absent wanderer shed the light Of happier stars-lost evermore to me! OR, LOTv ALD FRIDE. M Enter, 0. L., MADAM I DEscrPPELLES, BEAIuSBA GLaVIs, and NOTARY, who confers witA M. DIESBaOAPPELLES, and then sits at table, a. MXE. DEscHAP. Why, Pauline, you are quite in dkshabille-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, and that's a great comfort. Pedigree and jointure;-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 honourable? secondly, will his death be advantageous? All other trifling details should be left to parental anxiety. BEAU. (L. o., approaching and waving aside MAD&ME) Ah, Pauline! let me hope that you are reconciled to an event which confers such rapture upon me. PAULNE. I am reconciled to my doom. BEAU. Doom is a harsh word, sweet lady. PAUNLNE. (aside) This man must have some mercyhis heart cannot be marble. (aloud) Oh, sir, be just, be generous! Seize a noble triumph, a great revenge I Save the father, and spare the child. BEAU. (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 havenot the sublime virtue to grant- a virtue reserved only for the gardeners son! I cannot forego my hopes in the moment of their fulfilment! 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; BEAUSEANT rstirU te L. of tdbi and sits exanmiing the papers) Enter DAMAS and MELNOTEm, o. L. DAMAS. Your servant, cousin Deschappelles. Let me introduce Colonel Morier. MME. DESCHAP. (curtseying very low) What, the celebrated hero? This is,indeed, an honour! (eke crosses; seems to onverse with MELNOTTB, wAs 56 TH LAD 01X LAONS; taWs as sh returns to the table,l.; MILLorrTT tArow himslf into a chair, L. U. E.) D)AMs. (to PA1mINVi) 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! Rist-confide in me Do they force you to this? PAUVLIE. No 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 allDAMAS. There is some mystery —speak cut, Pauline. PAULINE. (sruddenly) 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 t You will be repaid above. DAMAS. (aside) I recant, women are not so bad after all! (aloud) Humph, child! I cannot help you, I am too poor. PAJLTNm. The last plank to which I clung in shivered. DAMAS. Hold! you see my friend. lorier. Melnotte is his most intimate friend; fought in the same fields, slept in the same tent. Have you any message to send to Meniotte? any word to soften this blow? (she bows; DAMAS 0oes to MELNOTTE, Whoo "rs" nd comes forward, L. 0 ) PAULINE. ie knows Melnotte, he will see him, he will bear to him my last farewell. (approaches MELe NOTTE; he bows to her, and, overcome by his emotion, turns towards L.) He lhas a stern air-he turns away from me, he despises me! Sir, one word, I beseech you, Oa, LOvB AND PRIDX. 67 Mm. Her voice again! How the old time comes o'er me! DAma (to MADAME) Don't interrupt them. He is going to tell her what a rascal young Melnotte is; he knows him well, I promise you. MME. DEscaLP. So considerate in you, oousin Damias! DAMAS approaches DESOHAPPELLES; conerses apart with him in the dumb show. DESCHAPPELLES shewS him a paper wiijts he inspects and takes. PAXULNE. Thrice have I sought to speak; my courage fails me. Sir, is it true that you have known-nay, are The friend of Melnotte? MEL. Lady, yes — Myself And misery know the man I PArLINE. And you will see him, And you will bear to him-ay-word for word, All that this heart, which breaks in parting from him, Would send, ere still for ever? MEL. Lady, speak on! PAULINE. Tell him, for years I never nursed a thought That was not his; —that on his wandering way, Daily and nightly, pour'd a mourner's prayers; Tell him ev'n now that I would rather share His lowliest lot,-walk by his side, an outcast,Work for him, beg with him,-live upon the light Of one kind smile from him,-than wear the crown The Bourbon lost! MEL. (aside) Am I already mad? (aloud) You love him thus, And yet desert him PAULTE. Say, that if his eye Could read this heart,-its struggles, its temptationa,*. His love itself would pardon that desertion! Look on that poor old man,-he is my father; He stands upon the verge of an abyss! He calls his child to save him! Shall I shrink Fiom him who gave me birth? —withhold my hand, 58 THB LADY OF LYONS; And see a parent perish? Tell him this, And say that we shall meet again in Heaven! MEL. Night is past-joy cometh with the morrow!(goes to DAMA, who i8 L.) What is this riddle?-what The nature of this sacrifice? BEAT. (at the table) The papers are prepared-we only need Your hand and seal. MEL. 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 goes to DamAs, who hat got the paper Jro the table) DAmJUs. (shewing paper) ThereThis is the schedule-this the total. BEAU: (to DESOHAPPELLES, shewing notes) These Are yours the instant she has signed; you are Still the great House of Lyons! (the NOTARY is about to hand the contraot to PAiuINu, when MELNOTTE 8seise it and tears it) Bear. (going, L.) Are you mad? M. DESOHAP. (L.O.) How, sir? What means this insult? MEL. (O.) Peace, old man I have a prior claim. Before the face Of man and Heaven I urge it; I outbid Yon sordid huckster for your priceless jewel. (giving a pocket-book) There is the sum twice told! Blush not to take itThere is not a coin that is not bought and hallow'd In the cause of nations with a soldier's blood I BEAv. Torments and death! PAVJWI. That voice I Thou alrt Oa, LOTS AID raIDE. 59 LMm Thy husband I (PAULmT rushes into his armn) Look up! look up, Pauline!-for I can bear Thine eyes. The stain is blotted from my name. I have redeem'd mine honour. I can call On France to sanction thy divine forgiveness! Oh, joy! —oh, rapture! By the midnight watchfires Thus have I seen thee! thus foretold this hour I And'midst the roar of battle thus have heard The beating of thy heart against my own! (placeo PAULINE in chair; the NOTARY goes of o.L) BAiu. Fool'd, duped, and triumph'd over in the hour Of mine own victory! Curses on ye both! May thorns be planted in the marriage-bed I And love grow sour'd and blacken'd into hate — Such as the hate that gnaws me! DAMAs. Curse away I And let me tell thee, Beauseant, a wise proverb The Arabs have: " Curses are like young chickens, (solemnly) And still come home to roost!" BEAU. Their happiness Maddens my soul I am powerless and revengeless (to MADAME) I wish you joy I Ha, ha I the gardener's son I (Exit, L.O.) PAmULIN rises and comesforward, R.O. MBroLNOT grasps DAMAs' hand. PAULINB. Ohl My father, you are saved-and by my husband! Ah! blessed hour! (she embraces MELNOTTB) MEL. Yet you weep still, Pauline. PAULINE. But on thy breast!-these tears are sweet and holy! M. DESCHAeP ou have won love and honour nobly, sir Take h i be happy both I MM R DESCHAP. I'm all astonish'd I Who, then, is Colonel Morier? ftt LADT OP LYONL DAXsA. You behold him M.R Morier no more after this happy day! (cros8 s, L ) [ would not bear again my father's ni m1ill I could deem it spotless! The hour's come! HEeaven smiled on conscience! As the soldier ros From rank to rank, how sacred was the fame that cancell'd crime, and raised him nearer thee I Mm.e. DESCHAP. A colonel and a hero! Well, thate something! He's wondrously improved! (crosam0 t Aim) I wish yor joy, sir! MEL. Ah! the same love that tempts us into sil, If it be true love, works out its redemption I And he who seeks repentance for the Past Should woo the Angel Viitue in the future. MmI. DzsoB&PPwLA MELNOTra, PAULuW R.O. 06 L.G. K. Darax D-ap. I L CIWAI*