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.
SCENE II.
A room in the house of MONSIEUR DESCHAPPELLES; PAULINE seated in great dejection.
Pauline. It is so, then. I must be false to Love, Or sacrifice a father! Oh, my Claude, My lover, and my husband! Have I lived To pray that thou mayest find some fairer boon Than the deep faith of this devoted heart-- Nourish'd till now--now broken?
Enter MONSIEUR DESCHAPPELLES.
M. Deschap. My dear child, How shall I thank--how bless thee? Thou hast saved, I will not say my fortune--I could bear Reverse, and shrink not--but that prouder wealth Which merchants value most--my name, my credit-- The hard--won honors of a toilsome life:-- These thou hast saved, my child!
Pauline. Is there no hope? No hope but this?
M. Deschap. None. If, without the sum Which Beauseant offers for thy hand, this day Sinks to the west--to-morrow brings our ruin! And hundreds, mingled in that ruin, curse The bankrupt merchant! and the insolvent herd We feasted and made merry cry in scorn, "How pride has fallen!--Lo, the bankrupt merchant!" My daughter, thou hast saved us!
Pauline. And am lost!
M. Deschap. Come, let me hope that Beauseant's love--
Pauline. His love! Talk not of love. Love has no thought of self! Love buys not with the ruthless usurer's gold The loathsome prostitution of a hand Without a heart? Love sacrifices all things To bless the thing it loves! He knows not love. Father, his love is hate--his hope revenge! My tears, my anguish, my remorse for falsehood-- These are the joys that he wrings from our despair!
M. Deschap. If thou deem'st thus, reject him! Shame and ruin Were better than thy misery;--think no more on't. My sand is wellnigh run--what boots it when The glass is broken? We'll annul the contract: And if to-morrow in the prisoner's cell These aged limbs are laid, why still, my child, I'll think thou art spared; and wait the Liberal Hour That lays the beggar by the side of kings!
Pauline, No--no--forgive me! You, my honor'd father,-- You, who so loved, so cherish'd me, whose lips Never knew one harsh word! I'm not ungrateful; I am but human!--hush! Now, call the bridegroom-- You see I am prepared--no tears--all calm; But, father, talk no more of love
M. Deschap. My child, Tis but one struggle; he is young, rich, noble; Thy state will rank first 'mid the dames of Lyons; And when this heart can shelter thee no more, Thy youth will not be guardianless.
Pauline. I have set My foot upon the ploughshare--I will pass The fiery ordeal.