Act 5 - Scene 1

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_ ACT V - SCENE I

ACT V.

Two years and a half from the date of Act IV.

SCENE I.

[The Streets of Lyons.]

[Enter First, Second, and Third Officers.]

First Officer. Well, here we are at Lyons, with gallant old Damas: it is his native place.

Second Officer. Yes; he has gained a step in the army since he was here last. The Lyonnese ought to be very proud of stout General Damas.

Third Officer. Promotion is quick in the French army. This mysterious Morier,--the hero of Lodi, and the favorite of the commander-in-chief,--has risen to a colonel's rank to two years and a half. Enter DAMAS, as a General.

Damas. Good morrow, gentlemen; I hope you will amuse yourselves during our short stay at Lyons. It is a fine city: improved since I left it. Ah! it is a pleasure to grow old, when the years that bring decay to ourselves do but ripen the prosperity of our country. You have not met with Morier?

First Officer. No: we were just speaking of him.

Second Officer. Pray, general, can you tell us who this Morier really is?

Damas. Is!--why a colonel in the French army.

Third Officer. True. But what was he at first?

Damas. At first? Why a baby in long clothes, I suppose.

First Officer. Ha, ha! Ever facetious, general.

Second Officer. [to Third]. The general is sore upon this point; you will only chafe him.--Any commands, general?

Damas. None. Good day to you. [Exeunt Second and Third Officers.

Damas. Our comrades are very inquisitive. Poor Morier is the subject of a vast deal of curiosity.

First Officer. Say interest, rather, general. His constant melancholy, the loneliness of his habits,--his daring valor, his brilliant rise in the profession,--your friendship, and the favors of the commander-in-chief,--all tend to make him as much the matter of gossip as of admiration. But where is he, general? I have missed him all the morning.

Damas. Why, captain, I'll let you into a secret. My young friend has come with me to Lyons in hopes of finding a miracle.

First Officer. A miracle!

Damas. Yes, a miracle! in other words,--a constant woman.

First Officer. Oh! an affair of love!

Damas. Exactly so. No sooner did he enter Lyons than he waved his hand to me, threw himself from his horse, and is now, I warrant, asking every one who can know anything about the matter, whether a certain lady is still true to a certain gentleman!

First Officer. Success to him! and of that success there can be no doubt. The gallant Colonel Morier, the hero of Lodi, might make his choice out of the proudest families in France.

Damas. Oh, if pride be a recommendation, the lady and her mother are most handsomely endowed. By the way, captain, if you should chance to meet with Morier, tell him he will find me at the hotel.

First Officer. I will, general.
[Exit.]

Damas. Now will I go to the Deschappelles, and make a report to my young Colonel. Ha! by Mars, Bacchus, Apollo, Virorum,--here comes Monsieur Beauseant!

[Enter BEAUSEANT.]

Good morrow, Monsieur Beauseant! How fares it with you?

Beau. [aside.] Damas! that is unfortunate;--if the Italian campaign should have filled his pockets, he may seek to baffle me in the moment of my victory. [Aloud]. Your servant, general,--for such, I think, is your new distinction! Just arrived in Lyons?

Damas. Not an hour ago. Well, how go on the Deschappelles? Have they forgiven you in that affair of young Melnotte? You had some hand in that notable device,--eh?

Beau. Why, less than you think for! The fellow imposed upon me. I have set it all right now. What has become of him? He could not have joined the army, after all. There is no such name in the books.

Damas. I know nothing about Melnotte. As you say, I never heard the name in the Grand Army.

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 nobility 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 sunshine--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 space 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. Hush!--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 sunshine,
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.
I am prepared; life has no further ills!
The cloud has broken in that stormy rain,
And on the waste I stand, alone with Heaven.

Damas. His very face is changed; a breaking heart
Does its work soon!--Come, Melnotte, rouse thyself:
One effort more. Again thou'lt see her.

Mel. See her!
There is a passion in that simple sentence
That shivers all the pride and power of reason
Into a chaos!

Damas. Time wanes; come, ere yet It be too late.

Mel. Terrible words--"Too late!" Lead on. One last look more, and then--

Damas. Forget her!

Mel. Forget her! yes--For death remembers not.

[Exeunt.] _

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