THE LADY OF LYONS

ROBERT BULWER LYTTON

ACT II, SCENE I

CHARACTERS: Pauline Deschappelles, the beautiful daughter and heiress of an aspiring merchant of Lyons, France; Claude Melnotte, the gardener's son, madly in love with Pauline.

Pauline aspires to an alliance with some prince or nobleman. Melnotte in the hope of winning her uses his small inheritance in educating himself and becomes an accomplished scholar, a skillful musician, a poet, and an artist. He pours forth his worship in a poem, but his suit is rejected and he is subjected to violent insult. Stung to remorse he enters into a plot to personate a prince, woo her in that guise, and take her as a bride to his mother's cottage on their wedding night. And, in the faint hope of winning her as a prince and keeping her love as an untitled man after he has revealed his identity, Melnotte enters into a binding compact.

SCENE: The garden of M. Deschappelles' house at Lyons.

Enter MELNOTTE as the Prince of Como, leading PAULINE MEL. You can be proud of your connection with one who owes his position to merit - not birth.

PAULINE. Why, yes; but still —

MEL. Still what, Pauline?

PAULINE. There is something glorious in the heritage 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.

PAULINE. 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 honor birth and ancestry when they are regarded as the incentives to exertion, not the title-deeds to sloth! I honor 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!

PAULINE. I cannot forego pride when I look on thee, and think that thou lovest me. Sweet Prince, tell me again of thy palace by the lake of Como; it is so pleasant to hear of thy splendors 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.

MEL. Nay, dearest, nay, if thou wouldst have me paint
The home to which, could love fulfill 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,
As cloudless, save with rare and roseate shadows,
As I would have thy fate!

My own dear love!

At noon

PAULINE.
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!
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 smile
To think how poorly eloquence of words

Translates the poetry of hearts like ours!

And when night came, amidst the breathless Heavens
We'd guess what star should be our home when love
Becomes immortal; while the perfumed light

Stole through the mist 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 I' the midst of roses! Dost thou like the picture? PAULINE. Oh, as the bee upon the flower, I hang

MEL.

Upon the honey of thy eloquent tongue!

Am I not blest? And if I love too wildly,
Who would not love thee like Pauline?

Oh, false one!

It is the prince thou lovest, not the man;
If in the stead of luxury, pomp, and power,

I had painted poverty, and toil, and care,
Thou hadst found no honey on my tongue; Pauline,
That is not love.

PAULINE.

MEL.

Thou wrong'st me, cruel Prince! At first, in truth, I might not have been won, Save through the weakness of a flatter'd pride; But now -oh! trust me I couldst thou fall from power And sink

PAULINE.

As low as that poor gardener's son
Who dared to lift his eyes to thee?

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!

MEL. Angel! [Aside.] O conscience! conscience!

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.

PAULINE. I obey, sweet Prince.

ACT III, SCENE II

[Exit separately.

CHARACTERS: Pauline, Claude, and the Widow Melnotte, the mother of Claude.

SCENE: Melnotte's cottage, widow bustling about, a table spread for

supper.

WIDOW. So, I think that looks very neat. He sent me a line, so blotted that I can scarcely read it, to say he would be here almost immediately. She must have loved him well indeed to have forgotten his birth; for though he was introduced to her in disguise, he is too honorable not to have revealed to her the artifice; which her love only could forgive. Well, I do not wonder at it; for though my son is not a prince, he ought to be one, and that's almost as good. [Knock at door.] Ah! here they are.

Enter MELNOTTE and PAULINE

WIDOW. Oh, my boy - the pride of my heart! - welcome, welcome. I beg pardon, ma'am, but I do love him so!

PAULINE. 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. Of my kind heart, ay!

PAULINE. So you know the Prince?

WIDOW. Know him, madam? Ah, I begin to fear it is you who know him not!

PAULINE. Can we stay here, my lord? I think there's something very wild about her.

MEL. Madam, I — no, I cannot tell her; what a coward is

a man who has lost his honor! Speak to her

[to his mother] tell her that - O Heaven, that I were dead! PAULINE. How confused he looks! this strange place! I what can it mean? I half suspect

this woman you, madam?

struck dumb?

who are

who are you? can't you speak? are you

WIDOW. 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.

PAULINE. All! what!

WIDOW. Poor lady

My blood freezes in my veins! dare I tell her, Claude? 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 to me. [Approaches MELNOTTE.] 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 thou art such a no, I will not wrong thee by a harsh word! Speak.

MEL. Leave us. [To WIDOw.] Have pity on her, on me; leave us!

WIDOW. Oh, Claude, that I should live to see thee bowed by shame! thee of whom I was so proud!

PAULINE. Her son
MEL. Now, lady, hear me.

PAULINE.

MEL.

her son!

Hear thee!

[Exit.

Ay, speak her son! have fiends a parent? speak,
That thou mayst silence curses speak!

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,