The Lady of Lyons Part 8

Pauline. Shall I not call our people To light us?

Mel. Heaven will lend its stars for torches! It is not far.

Pauline. The night breeze chills me.

Mel. Nay, Let me thus mantle thee;--it is not cold.

Pauline. Never beneath thy smile!

Mel. [aside.] O Heaven! forgive me! [Exeunt

SCENE II.

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 the 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. Do you think she is mad? Can we stay here, my lord? I think there's something very wild about her.

Mel. Madam, I--no, I cannot tell her; my knees knock together: what a coward is a man who has lost his honor! Speak to her--speak to her [to his mother]--tell her that--O Heaven, that I were dead!

Pauline. How confused he looks!--this strange place?--this woman--what can it mean?--I half suspect--Who are you, madam!--who are you! can't you speak? are you struck dumb?

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!--My blood freezes in my veins!

Widow. Poor lady!--dare I tell her, Claude? [MELNOTTE makes a sign of a.s.sent.] 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, 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 thou art such a--No, I will not wrong thee by a harsh word--Speak!

Mel. Leave us--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! [Exit by the staircase.

Pauline. Her son--her son!

Mel. Now, lady, hear me.

Pauline. Hear thee! 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 the sweet lutes, And murmurs of low fountains, that gush forth I' the midst of roses!" Dost thou like the picture?

This is my bridal home, and thou my bridegroom.

O fool--O dupe--O wretch!--I see it all Thy 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. No, it cannot 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.

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 mould The evil spirit of a bitter love, And a revengeful heart, had power upon thee.

From 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 pa.s.sionate heart of man Enter'd the breast of the wild-dreaming boy.

And from that hour I grew--what to the last I shall be--thine adorer! Well, this love Vain, frantic, guilty, if thou wilt, became A fountain of ambition and bright hope; I thought of tales that by the winter hearth Old gossips tell--how maidens sprung from kings Have stoop'd from their high sphere; how love, like death Levels all ranks, and lays the shepherd's crook Beside the sceptre. Thus I made my home In the soft palace of a fairy Future!

My father died; and I, the peasant-born, Was my own lord. Then did I seek to rise Out of the prison of my mean estate; And, with such jewels as the exploring mind Brings from the caves of knowledge, buy my ransom From those twin gaolers of the daring heart Low birth and iron fortune. Thy bright image Gla.s.s'd in my soul, took all the hues of glory, And lured me on to those inspiring toils By which man masters men! 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 pa.s.sion taught me poesy--of thee, And on the painter's canvas grew the life Of beauty! Art became the shadow Of the dear starlight of thy haunting eyes Men 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. Has he a magic to exorcise hate!

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 show its idol what bright things It had created--yea, the enthusiast's name, That should have been thy triumph, was thy scorn!

That very hour--when pa.s.sion, turn'd to wrath, Resembled hatred most--when 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!

Pauline. 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 loved this man!--a serf!--a slave!

Mel. Hold, lady! No, not slave! Despair is free!

I will not tell thee of the throes--the struggles The anguish--the remorse: No, let it pa.s.s!

And let me come to such most poor atonement Yet in my power. Pauline!

[Approaching her with great emotion, and about to take her hand.

Pauline. No, touch me not!

I know my fate. You are, by law, my tyrant; And I--O Heaven!--a peasant's wife! I'll work Toil--drudge--do what thou wilt--but touch me not; Let my wrongs make me sacred!

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 hallow'd more From the rude hand of sacrilegious wrong.

I am thy husband--nay, thou need'st not shudder; Here, at thy feet, I lay a husband's rights.

A marriage thus unholy--unfulfill'd-- A bond of fraud--is, by the laws of France, Made void and null. To-night sleep--sleep in peace.

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 In that poor peasant's nature!