The Lady of Lyons | Page 8

could thy letter
contain, Claude?
Mel. [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 thou 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, Melnotte.
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.
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--I will insult her--I will beat her menial
ruffians--I will--[Turns suddenly to Widow.] Mother, am I
humpbacked--deformed--hideous? Widow. You!
Mel. A coward--a thief--a liar?
Widow. You!
Mel. Or a dull fool--a vain, drivelling, brainless idiot? Widow. No, no.
Mel. What am I then--worse than all these? 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! [Knock at the door.
Enter Servant from the Inn.
Servant. A letter for Citizen Melnotte.
Mel. A letter! from her perhaps--who sent thee?
Servant. Why, Monsieur--I mean Citizen--Beauseant, who stops to dine
at the Golden Lion, on his way to his chateau.
Mel. 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 realization of
thy most sanguine hopes; and the sole condition I ask in return is, that

thou shalt be steadfast to thine own ends. I shall demand from thee a
solemn oath to marry. her whom thou lovest; to bear her to thine 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,--CHARLES 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.
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 canvas: 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. My brain reels--the earth
swims before me.--[Looks again at the letter.] No, it is not a mockery; I
do not dream! [Exit.
ACT II.--SCENE I.
The Gardens of M. DESCHAPPELLEs' house at Lyons--the house seen
at the back of the stage.
Enter BEAUSEANT and GLAVIS.
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.

Beau. True, he is damnably extravagant; I think the sly dog does it out
of malice. How ever, it must be owned that he reflects credit on his
loyal subjects, and makes a very pretty figure in his fine clothes, with
my diamond snuff-box.
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.
Beau. His oath binds him! he cannot retract without being foresworn,
and those low fellows are always superstitious! But, as it is, I tremble
lest he be discovered: that bluff Colonel Damas (Madame
Deschappelles' cousin)