The name- appended by the burning heart That long'd to show its idol what bright things That should have been thy triumph, was thy scorn! That very hour-when passion, turned to wrath, 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 Hold, lady! MELNOTTE. a slave! No, not slave! Despair is free! I will not tell thee of the throes the struggles The anguish the remorse: No let it pass! 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 - oh Heaven! a peasant's wife! I'll work Toil - drudge do what thou wilt- but touch me not; - Let my wrongs make me sacred! MELNOTTE. Do not fear me. Thou dost not know me, Madam: at the altar From the rude hand of sacrilegious wrong. A bond of fraudis, by the laws of France, sleep in peace. To-morrow, pure and virgin as this morn I bore thee, bathed in blushes, from the shrine, 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! Conduct this lady She is our guest, Ho! my mother! (Enter Widow.) (she is not my wife; our honour'd guest, my mother!) To the poor chamber, where the sleep of virtue, Never, beneath my father's honest roof, Ev'n villains dared to mar! Now, lady, now, (Widow ascends the stairs; Pauline follows, weeping turns to look back.) MELNOTTE (sinking down.) All angels bless and guard her! END OF ACT III. she sleeps at last! thank Heaven, - for awhile, she forgets even that I live! Her sobs, which have gone to my heart the whole, long, desolate night, have ceased! all calm all still! I will go now; I will send this letter to Pauline's father when he arrives, I will place in his hands my own consent to the divorce, and then, O France, my country! accept among thy protectors, thy defenders the Peasant's Son! Our country is less proud than Custom, and does not refuse the blood, the heart, the right hand of the poor man! (Enter Widow.) My son, thou hast acted ill, but sin brings its own punishment. In the hour of thy remorse, it is not for a mother to reproach thee! MELNOTTE. What is past is past. There is a future left to all men, who have the virtue to repent and the energy to atone. Thou shalt be proud of thy son, yet. Meanwhile, remember this poor lady has been grievously injured. For the sake of thy son's conscience, respect, honour, bear with her. If she weep, console if she chide, be silent! 'T is but a little while more I shall send an express fast - as horse can speed to her father. Farewell! turn shortly. WIDOW. - I shall re It is the only course left to thee thou wert led astray, but thou art not hardened. Thy heart is right still, as ever it was, when in thy most ambitious hopes, thou wert never ashamed of thy poor mother! Ashamed of thee! MELNOTTE. No, if I yet endure, yet live, yet hope it is only because I would not die till I have re deemed the noble heritage I have lost the heritage I a proud took unstained from thee and my dead father conscience and an honest name. I shall win them back yet Heaven bless you! [Exit. |