Roxane; the Duke de Grammont, formerly Count de Guiche. Then Le Bret and
Ragueneau.
THE DUKE:
And you stay here still—ever vainly fair,
Ever in weeds?
And you stay here still—ever vainly fair,
Ever in weeds?
ROXANE:
Ever.
Ever.
THE DUKE:
Still faithful?
Still faithful?
ROXANE:
Still.
Still.
THE DUKE (after a pause):
Am I forgiven?
Am I forgiven?
ROXANE:
Ay, since I am here.
Ay, since I am here.
(Another pause.)
THE DUKE:
His was a soul, you say?. . .
His was a soul, you say?. . .
ROXANE:
Ah!—when you knew him!
Ah!—when you knew him!
THE DUKE:
Ah, may be!. . .I, perchance, too little knew him!
. . .And his last letter, ever next your heart?
Ah, may be!. . .I, perchance, too little knew him!
. . .And his last letter, ever next your heart?
ROXANE:
Hung from this chain, a gentle scapulary.
Hung from this chain, a gentle scapulary.
THE DUKE:
And, dead, you love him still?
And, dead, you love him still?
ROXANE:
At times,—meseems
He is but partly dead—our hearts still speak,
As if his love, still living, wrapped me round!
At times,—meseems
He is but partly dead—our hearts still speak,
As if his love, still living, wrapped me round!
THE DUKE (after another pause):
Cyrano comes to see you?
Cyrano comes to see you?
ROXANE:
Often, ay.
Dear, kind old friend! We call him my ‘Gazette.’
He never fails to come: beneath this tree
They place his chair, if it be fine:—I wait,
I broider;—the clock strikes;—at the last stroke
I hear,—for now I never turn to look—
Too sure to hear his cane tap down the steps;
He seats himself:—with gentle raillery
He mocks my tapestry that’s never done;
He tells me all the gossip of the week. . .
(Le Bret appears on the steps):
Why, here’s Le Bret!
(Le Bret descends):
How goes it with our friend?
Often, ay.
Dear, kind old friend! We call him my ‘Gazette.’
He never fails to come: beneath this tree
They place his chair, if it be fine:—I wait,
I broider;—the clock strikes;—at the last stroke
I hear,—for now I never turn to look—
Too sure to hear his cane tap down the steps;
He seats himself:—with gentle raillery
He mocks my tapestry that’s never done;
He tells me all the gossip of the week. . .
(Le Bret appears on the steps):
Why, here’s Le Bret!
(Le Bret descends):
How goes it with our friend?
LE BRET:
Ill!—very ill.
Ill!—very ill.
THE DUKE:
How?
How?
ROXANE (to the Duke):
He exaggerates!
He exaggerates!
LE BRET:
All that I prophesied: desertion, want!. . .
His letters now make him fresh enemies!—
Attacking the sham nobles, sham devout,
Sham brave,—the thieving authors,—all the world!
All that I prophesied: desertion, want!. . .
His letters now make him fresh enemies!—
Attacking the sham nobles, sham devout,
Sham brave,—the thieving authors,—all the world!
ROXANE:
Ah! but his sword still holds them all in check;
None get the better of him.
Ah! but his sword still holds them all in check;
None get the better of him.
THE DUKE (shaking his head):
Time will show!
Time will show!
LE BRET:
Ah, but I fear for him—not man’s attack,—
Solitude—hunger—cold December days,
That wolf-like steal into his chamber drear:—
Lo! the assassins that I fear for him!
Each day he tightens by one hole his belt:
That poor nose—tinted like old ivory:
He has retained one shabby suit of serge.
Ah, but I fear for him—not man’s attack,—
Solitude—hunger—cold December days,
That wolf-like steal into his chamber drear:—
Lo! the assassins that I fear for him!
Each day he tightens by one hole his belt:
That poor nose—tinted like old ivory:
He has retained one shabby suit of serge.
THE DUKE:
Ay, there is one who has no prize of Fortune!—
Yet is not to be pitied!
Ay, there is one who has no prize of Fortune!—
Yet is not to be pitied!
LE BRET (with a bitter smile):
My Lord Marshal!. . .
My Lord Marshal!. . .
THE DUKE:
Pity him not! He has lived out his vows,
Free in his thoughts, as in his actions free!
Pity him not! He has lived out his vows,
Free in his thoughts, as in his actions free!
LE BRET (in the same tone):
My Lord!. . .
My Lord!. . .
THE DUKE (haughtily):
True! I have all, and he has naught;. . .
Yet I were proud to take his hand!
(Bowing to Roxane):
Adieu!
True! I have all, and he has naught;. . .
Yet I were proud to take his hand!
(Bowing to Roxane):
Adieu!
ROXANE:
I go with you.
I go with you.
(The Duke bows to Le Bret, and goes with Roxane toward the steps.)
THE DUKE (pausing, while she goes up):
Ay, true,—I envy him.
Look you, when life is brimful of success
—Though the past hold no action foul—one feels
A thousand self-disgusts, of which the sum
Is not remorse, but a dim, vague unrest;
And, as one mounts the steps of worldly fame,
The Duke’s furred mantles trail within their folds
A sound of dead illusions, vain regrets,
A rustle—scarce a whisper—like as when,
Mounting the terrace steps, by your mourning robe
Sweeps in its train the dying autumn leaves.
Ay, true,—I envy him.
Look you, when life is brimful of success
—Though the past hold no action foul—one feels
A thousand self-disgusts, of which the sum
Is not remorse, but a dim, vague unrest;
And, as one mounts the steps of worldly fame,
The Duke’s furred mantles trail within their folds
A sound of dead illusions, vain regrets,
A rustle—scarce a whisper—like as when,
Mounting the terrace steps, by your mourning robe
Sweeps in its train the dying autumn leaves.
ROXANE (ironically):
You are pensive?
You are pensive?
THE DUKE:
True! I am!
(As he is going out, suddenly):
Monsieur Le Bret!
(To Roxane):
A word, with your permission?
(He goes to Le Bret, and in a low voice):
True, that none
Dare to attack your friend;—but many hate him;
Yesterday, at the Queen’s card-play, ’twas said
‘That Cyrano may die—by accident!’
Let him stay in—be prudent!
True! I am!
(As he is going out, suddenly):
Monsieur Le Bret!
(To Roxane):
A word, with your permission?
(He goes to Le Bret, and in a low voice):
True, that none
Dare to attack your friend;—but many hate him;
Yesterday, at the Queen’s card-play, ’twas said
‘That Cyrano may die—by accident!’
Let him stay in—be prudent!
LE BRET (raising his arms to heaven):
Prudent! He!. . .
He’s coming here. I’ll warn him—but!. . .
Prudent! He!. . .
He’s coming here. I’ll warn him—but!. . .
ROXANE (who has stayed on the steps, to a sister who comes toward her):
What is it?
What is it?
THE SISTER:
Ragueneau would see you, Madame.
Ragueneau would see you, Madame.
ROXANE:
Let him come.
(To the Duke and Le Bret):
He comes to tell his troubles. Having been
An author (save the mark!)—poor fellow—now
By turns he’s singer. . .
Let him come.
(To the Duke and Le Bret):
He comes to tell his troubles. Having been
An author (save the mark!)—poor fellow—now
By turns he’s singer. . .
LE BRET:
Bathing-man. . .
Bathing-man. . .
ROXANE:
Then actor. . .
Then actor. . .
LE BRET:
Beadle. . .
Beadle. . .
ROXANE:
Wig-maker. . .
Wig-maker. . .
LE BRET:
Teacher of the lute. . .
Teacher of the lute. . .
ROXANE:
What will he be to-day, by chance?
What will he be to-day, by chance?
RAGUENEAU (entering hurriedly):
Ah! Madame!
(He sees Le Bret):
Ah! you here, Sir!
Ah! Madame!
(He sees Le Bret):
Ah! you here, Sir!
ROXANE (smiling):
Tell all your miseries
To him; I will return anon.
Tell all your miseries
To him; I will return anon.
RAGUENEAU:
But, Madame. . .
But, Madame. . .
(Roxane goes out with the Duke. Ragueneau goes toward Le Bret.)
