The Lady of Lyons [2]
I will go and bury myself in my chateau, study philosophy, and turn woman-hater. Refused! they ought to be sent to a madhouse!-- Ladies, I have the honor to wish you a very good morning. [Exit.
Mme. Deschap. How forward these men are!--I think, child, we kept up our dignity. Any girl, however inexperienced, knows how to accept an offer, but it requires a vast deal of address to refuse one with proper condescension and disdain. I used to practise it at school with the dancing-master.
Enter DAMAS.
Damas. Good morning, cousin Deschappelles.--Well, Pauline, are you recovered from last night's ball?--So many triumphs must be very fatiguing. Even M. Glavis sighed most piteously when you departed; but that might be the effect of the supper.
Pauline. M. Glavis, indeed!
Mme. Deschap. M. Glavis?--as if my daughter would think of M. Glavis!
Damas. Hey-day!--why not?--His father left him a very pretty fortune, and his birth is higher than yours, cousin Deschappelles. But perhaps you are looking to M. Beauseant,--his father was a marquis before the Revolution.
Pauline. M. Beauseant!--Cousin, you delight in tormenting me!
Mme. Deschap. Don't mind him, Pauline!--Cousin Damas, you have no susceptibility of feeling,--there is a certain indelicacy in all your ideas.--M. Beauseant knows already that he is no match for my daughter!
Damas. Pooh! pooh! one would think you intended your daughter to marry a prince!
Mme. Deschap. Well, and if I did?--what then?--Many a foreign prince--
Damas [interrupting her]. Foreign prince!--foreign fiddlestick!-- you ought to be ashamed of such nonsense at your time of life.
Mme. Deschap. My time of life!--That is an expression never applied to any lady till she is sixty-nine and three-quarters;-- and only then by the clergyman of the parish.
Enter Servant.
Servant. Madame, the carriage is at the door. [Exit.
Mme. Deschap. Come, child, put on your bonnet--you really have a very thorough-bred air--not at all like your poor father.--[Fondly]. Ah, you little coquette! when a young lady is always making mischief, it is a sure sign that she takes after her mother!
Pauline. Good day, cousin Damas--and a better humor to you.--[Going back to the table and taking the flowers]. Who could have sent me these flowers? [Exeunt PAULINE and MADAME DESCHAPPELLES.
Damas. That would be an excellent girl if her head had not been turned. I fear she is now become incorrigible! Zounds, what a lucky fellow I am to be still a bachelor! They may talk of the devotion of the sex-- but the most faithful attachment in life is that of a woman in love-- with herself. [Exit.
SCENE II.
The exterior of a small Village Inn--sign, the Golden Lion--A few leagues from Lyons, which is seen at a distance.
Beau. [behind the scenes.] Yes, you may bait the horses; we shall rest here an hour.
Enter BEAUSEANT and GLAVIS.
Gla. Really, my dear Beauseant, consider that I have promised to spend a day or two with you at your chateau, that I am quite at your mercy for my entertainment,--and yet you are as silent and as gloomy as a mute at a funeral, or an Englishman at a party of pleasure.
Beau. Bear with me!--the fact is that I am miserable.
Gla. You--the richest and gayest bachelor in Lyons?
Beau. It is because I am a bachelor that I am miserable.--Thou knowest Pauline--the only daughter of the rich merchant, Mons. Deschappelles?
Gla. Know her?--who does not?--as pretty as Venus, and as proud as Juno.
Beau. Her taste is worse than her pride.--[Drawing himself up.] Know, Glavis, she has actually refused me!
Gla. [aside]. So she has me!--very consoling! In all cases of heart-ache, the application of another man's disappointment draws out the pain and allays the irritation.--[Aloud.] Refused you! and wherefore?
Beau. I know not, unless it be because the Revolution swept away my father's title of Marquis,--and she will not marry a commoner. Now, as we have no noblemen left in France,--as we are all citizens and equals, she can only hope that,
Mme. Deschap. How forward these men are!--I think, child, we kept up our dignity. Any girl, however inexperienced, knows how to accept an offer, but it requires a vast deal of address to refuse one with proper condescension and disdain. I used to practise it at school with the dancing-master.
Enter DAMAS.
Damas. Good morning, cousin Deschappelles.--Well, Pauline, are you recovered from last night's ball?--So many triumphs must be very fatiguing. Even M. Glavis sighed most piteously when you departed; but that might be the effect of the supper.
Pauline. M. Glavis, indeed!
Mme. Deschap. M. Glavis?--as if my daughter would think of M. Glavis!
Damas. Hey-day!--why not?--His father left him a very pretty fortune, and his birth is higher than yours, cousin Deschappelles. But perhaps you are looking to M. Beauseant,--his father was a marquis before the Revolution.
Pauline. M. Beauseant!--Cousin, you delight in tormenting me!
Mme. Deschap. Don't mind him, Pauline!--Cousin Damas, you have no susceptibility of feeling,--there is a certain indelicacy in all your ideas.--M. Beauseant knows already that he is no match for my daughter!
Damas. Pooh! pooh! one would think you intended your daughter to marry a prince!
Mme. Deschap. Well, and if I did?--what then?--Many a foreign prince--
Damas [interrupting her]. Foreign prince!--foreign fiddlestick!-- you ought to be ashamed of such nonsense at your time of life.
Mme. Deschap. My time of life!--That is an expression never applied to any lady till she is sixty-nine and three-quarters;-- and only then by the clergyman of the parish.
Enter Servant.
Servant. Madame, the carriage is at the door. [Exit.
Mme. Deschap. Come, child, put on your bonnet--you really have a very thorough-bred air--not at all like your poor father.--[Fondly]. Ah, you little coquette! when a young lady is always making mischief, it is a sure sign that she takes after her mother!
Pauline. Good day, cousin Damas--and a better humor to you.--[Going back to the table and taking the flowers]. Who could have sent me these flowers? [Exeunt PAULINE and MADAME DESCHAPPELLES.
Damas. That would be an excellent girl if her head had not been turned. I fear she is now become incorrigible! Zounds, what a lucky fellow I am to be still a bachelor! They may talk of the devotion of the sex-- but the most faithful attachment in life is that of a woman in love-- with herself. [Exit.
SCENE II.
The exterior of a small Village Inn--sign, the Golden Lion--A few leagues from Lyons, which is seen at a distance.
Beau. [behind the scenes.] Yes, you may bait the horses; we shall rest here an hour.
Enter BEAUSEANT and GLAVIS.
Gla. Really, my dear Beauseant, consider that I have promised to spend a day or two with you at your chateau, that I am quite at your mercy for my entertainment,--and yet you are as silent and as gloomy as a mute at a funeral, or an Englishman at a party of pleasure.
Beau. Bear with me!--the fact is that I am miserable.
Gla. You--the richest and gayest bachelor in Lyons?
Beau. It is because I am a bachelor that I am miserable.--Thou knowest Pauline--the only daughter of the rich merchant, Mons. Deschappelles?
Gla. Know her?--who does not?--as pretty as Venus, and as proud as Juno.
Beau. Her taste is worse than her pride.--[Drawing himself up.] Know, Glavis, she has actually refused me!
Gla. [aside]. So she has me!--very consoling! In all cases of heart-ache, the application of another man's disappointment draws out the pain and allays the irritation.--[Aloud.] Refused you! and wherefore?
Beau. I know not, unless it be because the Revolution swept away my father's title of Marquis,--and she will not marry a commoner. Now, as we have no noblemen left in France,--as we are all citizens and equals, she can only hope that,