The Lady of Lyons Part 12

Beau. Hem!--You are not married, general?

Damas. Do I look like a married man, sir?--No, thank Heaven! My profession is to make widows, not wives.

Beau. You 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 pair of white leather inexpressibles! A pretty fortune for a young lady!

Beau. [aside.] Then all is safe! [Aloud]. Ha! ha! Is that really all your capital, General Damas? Why, I thought Italy had 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 thrifty, 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 Damas, that your fair cousin has at length consented to reward my long and ardent attachment.

Damas. You!--the devil! Why, she is already married! There is no divorce!

Beau. True; but this very day she is formally to authorize 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.

Damas. You tell me wonders!--Wonders! No; I believe anything of women!

Beau. I must wish you good morning. [As he is going, enter DESCHAPPELLES.

M. Deschap. Oh, Beauseant! well met. Let us come to the notary at once.

Damas [to Deschap.]. Why, cousin!

M. Deschap. Damas, welcome to Lyons. Pray call on us; my wife will be delighted to see you.

Damas. Your wife be-blessed for her condescension! But [taking him aside] what do I hear? Is it possible that your daughter has consented to a divorce?--that she will marry Monsieur Beauseant?

M. Deschap. 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 n.o.bility and princes!

Damas. But Pauline loved that young man so tenderly!

M. Deschap. [taking snuff]. That was two years and a half ago.

Damas. Very true. Poor Melnotte!

M. Deschap. But do not talk of that impostor; I 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 honorable and suitable alliance, my daughter may forget her sufferings and his crime.

Damas.--Nay, if it be all settled, I have no more to say. Monsieur Beauseant informs me that the contract is to be signed this very day.

M. Deschap, It is; at one o'clock precisely. Will you be one of the witnesses?

Damas. I?--No; that is to say--yes, certainly!--at one o'clock I will wait on you.

M. Deschap. Till then, adieu--come Beauseant.

[Exeunt BEAUSEANT and DESCHAPELLES

Damas. The man who sets his heart upon a woman Is a chameleon, and doth feed on air; From air he takes his colors--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!

Oh, woman! woman! thou shouldst have few sins Of thine own to answer for! Thou art the author Of such a book of follies in a man, That it would need the tears of all the angels To blot the record out!

[Enter MELNOTTE, pale and agitated.

I need not tell thee! Thou hast heard--

Mel. The worst! I have!

Damas. Be cheer'd; others are fair as she is!

Mel. Others! The world is crumbled at my feet!

She was my world; fill'd up the whole of being-- Smiled in the suns.h.i.+ne--walk'd the glorious earth-- Sate 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! Henceforth The universal s.p.a.ce is desolate!

Damas. Hope yet.

Mel. Hope, yes!--one hope is left me still-- A soldier's grave! Glory has died with love.

I look into my heart, and, where I saw Pauline, see Death!

[After a pause].--But am I not deceived?

I went but by the rumor of the town; Rumor is false,--I was too hasty! Damas, Whom hast thou seen?

Damas. Thy rival and her father. Arm thyself for the truth.--He heeds not.

Mel. She.

Will never know how deeply she was loved!

The charitable night, that wont to bring Comfort to-day, in bright and eloquent dreams, Is henceforth leagued with misery! Sleep, farewell, Or else become eternal! Oh, the waking From false oblivion, and to see the sun, And know she is another's!

Damas. Be a man!

Mel. 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.

Mel. Hus.h.!.+--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 clay, my soul had singled out of time And mark'd for bliss! This day! oh, could I see her, See her once more unknown; but hear her voice.

So that one echo of its music might Make ruin less appalling in its silence.

Damas. Easily done! Come with me to her house; Your dress--your 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 come There may be hope? Pauline is yet so young, They may have forced her to these second bridals Out of mistaken love.

Mel. No, bid me hope not!

Bid me not hope! I could not bear again To fall from such a heaven! One gleam of suns.h.i.+ne, And the ice breaks and I am lost! Oh, Damas, There's no such thing as courage in a man; The veriest slave that ever crawl'd 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 grief.

Damas. What, comrade! all the women That ever smiled destruction on brave hearts Were not worth tears like these!

Mel. 'Tis past--forget it.