The Dramas of Victor Hugo: Mary Tudor, Marion de Lorme, Esmeralda Part 91

Didier, I swear by every hope divine It was to save you, tear you from this place; To melt the executioner--to save you-- Don't you hear?

DIDIER (_folding his arms_).

I thank you! To descend As low as that! To have no shame, no soul!

Oh, madame! can one be so infamous?

[_Crossing the court with a great cry of rage._

Who is this trader in disgrace and vice, Who puts a price like that upon my head?

Where is the jailer, where the judge, the man?-- That I may crush him as I crush this thing.

[_He is about to break the portrait in his hands, but he stops, and beside himself, continues._

The judge? Yes, gentlemen, make laws and judge!

What matters it to me if the false weight Which swings your vile scales to this side or that Be made of woman's honor or man's life?

[_To Marion._] Go to your lover!

MARION.

Do not treat me thus!

Another word of scorn and I fall dead Here at your feet. If ever love was true And strong and pure, mine was. If any man Was ever wors.h.i.+ped by a woman, you Have been by me.

DIDIER.

Hus.h.!.+ Do not speak! I might, For sorrow, have been born a woman too.

I might have been as infamous as you.

I might have sold myself, have given my breast To any pa.s.ser-by, as place for rest.

But if there came to me, in his frank way, An honest man, filled with the love of truth, If I had met a heart insane enough To keep its vain illusions all these years, Oh, sooner than not tell that honest man "I'm this," sooner than charm and dazzle him, Sooner than fail to warn him that my eyes So candid and my lips so pure were lies, Sooner than be perfidious and base like that, I'd want to dig my grave with my own hands.

MARION.

O G.o.d!

DIDIER.

How you would laugh if you could see The picture that my heart painted of you!

How wise you were to shatter it, madame!

There you were chaste and beautiful and pure!

What injury has this poor man done you, Who loved you on his bended knees?

[_Presenting portrait to her._

Perhaps This is a fitting time to give you back This pledge of love ardent and true.

MARION (_turning away with a cry_).

Oh, shame!

DIDIER.

Did you not have it painted just for me?

[_He laughs, and dashes the locket to the ground._

MARION.

Will some one, out of pity, kill me now?

THE JAILER.

Time's pa.s.sing.

MARION.

Yes, it flies; and we are lost.

Didier, I've not the right to say a single word.

I am a woman to whom naught is due.

You have rebuked and cursed me: you did well!

I merit still more hate and shame. You've been Too kind; my broken, bruised heart is grateful.

But the remorseless hour draws near. Away!

The headsman you forget, remembers you.

I've planned it all. You can escape. Now, listen-- My G.o.d! do not refuse. You know how much It costs me. Hate me, strike me, curse me, leave Me to my shame, disown me, walk upon My bleeding heart--but fly!

DIDIER.

Fly where? From whom?

There's naught but you to fly from in this world; And I escape you, for the grave is deep.

THE JAILER.

The hour is pa.s.sing.

MARION.

O my Didier, fly!

DIDIER.

I will not!

MARION.

Just for pity!

DIDIER.

Pity! why?