  When Lord Lytton provided the conve IN THE LYONS DEN.Scene.—The drawing-room of Claude Melnotte’s house. Pauline is sitting by the fire, Claude leaning with his back against the mantelpiece. James, a man-servant in livery, enters with a card on a salver. Pauline. [Reading card.] Mrs. Smith! Not at home, James. Claude. [Who can never quite get out of his habit of speaking in blank verse.] Why are you not at home to Mrs. Smith? Pauline. My dear Claude, that woman! Mr. Smith kept a Claude. [In his most Byronic manner.] What is it makes a gentleman, Pauline? Is it to have a cousin in the Peerage—— Pauline. Partly that, dear. Claude. [Refusing to be interrupted.] Or is it to be honest, simple, kind—— Pauline. But I have no reason for believing Mr. Smith to have been more honest than the general run of army contractors. Claude. [Continuing.] Gentle in speech and action as in name? Oh, it is this that makes a gentleman! And Mr. Smith, although he kept a shop, May very properly be so described. Pauline. Yes, I know, dear. Everybody calls himself a gentleman nowadays, eve Claude. [Off again on his high horse.] What is Society? All noble men—— Pauline. [Objecting.] But Mr. Smith isn’t a nobleman, Claude. Claude. ... And women, in whatever station born, These, only these, make up “Society.” Pauline. [Patiently.] But that’s such a dreadful misuse of words, dear. When one talks of “Society,” one does not mean good people, or unselfish people, or high-minded people, but people who keep a carriage and give dinner parties. Those are the only things which really matter socially. Claude. Pauline, Pauline, what dreadful sentiments! They show a worldly and perverted mind. I grieve to think my wife should utter them! Pauline. [Very sweetly.] I wish, Claude, you’d try and give up talking in blank verse. It’s very bad form. And it’s very bad verse, too. Try and break yourself of it. Claude. [Off again.] All noble thoughts, Pauline—— Pauline. No, no, no, Claude. I really can’t have this ranting. Byronics are quite out of fashion. Claude. [Relapsing gloomily into prose.] You may laugh at me, Pauline, but you know I’m right. Pauline. Of course you’re right, dear. Much too right for this wicked world. That’s why I never can take your advice on any subject. You’re so unpractical. Claude. [Breaking out again.] The world, the world, oh, how I hate this world! Pauline. Now that’s silly of you, dear. There’s nothing like making the best of a bad thing. By the way, Claude, didn’t you say Mrs. Melnotte was coming to call this afternoon? Claude. Yes. Dear mother, how nice it will be to see her again! Pauline. It will be charming, of course.... I do hope no one else will call at the same time. Perhaps I’d better tell James we are not at home to anyone except Mrs. Melnotte. Claude. Oh, no, don’t do that. My mother will enjoy meeting our friends. Pauline. No doubt, dear. But will our friends enjoy meeting your mother? [Seeing him about to burst forth again.] Oh, yes, Claude, I know what you are going to say. But, after all, Lyons is a very purse-proud, vulgar place. You know, how my mother can behave on occasions! And if Mrs. Melnotte happens to be here when any other people call it may be very unpleasant. I really think I had better say we are not at home to anyone else. [Rises to ring the bell. Claude. Pauline, I forbid you! Sit down at once. If my family are not good enough for your friends, let them drop us and be hanged to them. Pauline. Claude, don’t storm. It’s so vulgar. And there’s not the least occasion for it either. I only thought it would be pleasanter for all our visitors—your dear mother among the number—if we avoided all chance of disagreeable scenes. But there, dear, you’ve no savoir faire, and I’m afraid we shall never get into Society. It’s very sad. Claude. [Touched by her patience.] I am sorry, my dear. I ought to have kept my temper. But I wish you weren’t so set upon getting into Society. Isn’t it a little snobbish? Pauline. [Wilfully misunderstanding him.] It’s dreadfully snobbish, dear; the most snobbish sort of Society I know. All provincial towns are like that. But it’s the only Society there is here, you know, and we must make the best of it. Claude. My poor Pauline. [Kissing her. Pauline. [Gently.] But you know, Claude, social distinctions do exist. Why not recognize them? And the late Mr. Melnotte was a gardener! Claude. He was—an excellent gardener. Pauline. One of the Lower Classes. Claude. In a Republic there are no Lower Classes. Pauline. [Correcting him.] In a Republic there are no Higher Classes. And class distinctions are more sharply drawn than ever in consequence. Claude. So much the worse for the Republic. Pauline. [Shocked.] Claude, I begin to think you are an anarchist. Claude. I? [Proudly.] I am a colonel in the French army. Pauline. But not a real colonel, Claude. Only a Republican colonel. Claude. [Sternly.] I rose from the ranks in two years by merit. Pauline. I know, dear. Real colonels only rise by interest. [Claude gasps. James. [Opening the door and showing in a wizened old lady in rusty black garments and a bonnet slightly awry.] Mrs. Melnotte. [Pauline goes forward to greet her. Mrs. Melnotte. [Not seeing her.] Ah, my dear son [runs across the room to Claude before the eyes of the deeply scandalised James, and kisses him repeatedly], how glad I am to see you again! And your grand house! And your fine servants! In livery, too! [Pauline shudders, and so does James. The latter goes out. Claude. My dearest mother! [Kisses her. Mrs. Melnotte. [Beaming on Pauline.] How do you do, my dear? Let me give my Claude’s wife a kiss. [Does so in resounding fashion. E. J. Wheeler. “Let me give my Claude’s wife a kiss.” Pauline. [As soon as she has recovered from the warmth of this embrace.] How do you do, Mrs. Melnotte? Won’t you sit down? Mrs. Melnotte. Thank you kindly, my dear. I don’t mind if I do. [A ring is heard outside, followed by the sound of someone being admitted. Pauline looks anxiously towards the door. Pauline. [To herself.] A visitor! How unlucky! I wonder who it is? James. [Throwing open the door.] Mrs. Deschappelles. Pauline. Great Heavens, my mother! [Falls back, overwhelmed, into her chair. Mrs. Deschappelles. [In her most elaborate manner.] My dear child, you are unwell. My coming has been a shock to you. But there, a daughter’s affection, Claude—[shaking hands with him]—how wonderful it is! Pauline. Dear mother, we are delighted to see you. Mrs. Deschappelles. Of course I ought to have called before. I have been meaning to come ever since you returned from your honeymoon. But I have so many visits to pay; and you have only been back ten weeks! Pauline. I quite understand, mother dear. Mrs. Deschappelles. And, as I always say to your poor father, “When one is a leader of Society, one has so many engagements.” I am sure you find that. Pauline. I have hardly begun to receive visits yet. Mrs. Deschappelles. No, dear? But then it’s different with you. When you married Colonel Melnotte, of course you gave up all social ambitions. Mrs. Melnotte. I am sure no one could wish for a better, braver Mrs. Deschappelles. [Turning sharply round and observing Mrs. Melnotte for the first time.] I beg your pardon? [Icily. Mrs. Melnotte. [Bravely.] I said no one could have a better husband than Claude. Mrs. Deschappelles. [Dumbfounded, appealing to Pauline.] Who—who is this person? Pauline. [Nervously.] I think you have met before, mother. This is Mrs. Melnotte. Mrs. Deschappelles. [Insolently.] Oh! the gardener’s wife. Claude. [Melodramatic at once.] Yes. The gardener’s wife and my mother! Mrs. Deschappelles. [Impatiently.] Of course, I know the unfortunate relationship between you, Claude. You need not thrust it down my throat. You know how unpleasant it is to me. Pauline. [Shocked at this bad taste.] Mother! Mrs. Deschappelles. Oh, yes, it is. As I was saying to your poor father only yesterday. “Of course, Claude is all right. He is an officer now, and all officers are supposed to be gentlemen. But his relatives are impossible, quite impossible!” Claude. [Furiously.] This insolence is intolerable. Madame Deschappelles.... Mrs. Melnotte. [Intervening.] Claude, Claude, don’t be angry! Remember who she is. Claude. [Savagely.] I remember well enough. She is Madame Deschappelles, and her husband is a successful tradesman. He was an English shop-boy, and his proper name was Chapel. He came over to France, grew rich, put a “de” before his name, and now gives himself airs like the other parvenus. Mrs. Deschappelles. Monster! Pauline. My dear Claude, how wonderfully interesting! Mrs. Melnotte. [Rising.] My son, you must not forget your manners. Mrs. Deschappelles is Pauline’s mother. I will go away now, and leave you to make your apologies to her. [Claude tries to prevent her going.] No, no, I will go, really. Good-bye, my son; good-bye, dear Pauline. [Kisses her and goes out. Mrs. Deschappelles. If that woman imagines that I am going to stay here after being insulted by you as I have been, she is much mistaken. Please ring for my carriage. [Claude rings.] As for you, Pauline, I always told you what would happen if you insisted on marrying beneath you, and now you see I’m right. Pauline. [Quietly.] You seem to forget, mamma, that papa was practically a bankrupt when I married, and that Claude paid his debts. Mrs. Deschappelles. I forget nothing. And I do not see that it makes the smallest difference. I am not blaming your poor father for having his debts paid by Colonel Melnotte; I am blaming you for marrying him. Good-bye. [She sweeps out in a towering passion. Pauline. Sit down, Claude, and don’t glower at me like that. It’s not my fault if mamma does not know how to behave. Claude. [Struggling with his rage.] That’s true, that’s true. Pauline. Poor mamma, her want of breeding is terrible! I have always noticed it. But that story about Mr. Chapel explains it all. Why didn’t you tell it to me before? Claude. I thought it would pain you. Pauline. Pain me? I am delighted with it! Why, it explains everything. It explains me. It explains you, even. A Miss Chapel might marry anyone. Don’t frown, Claude; laugh. We shall never get into Society in Lyons, but, at least, we shall never have another visit from mamma. The worst has happened. We can now live happily ever afterw Curtain. |
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