Scene 5.II.



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?



ROXANE:

  Ever.



THE DUKE:

  Still faithful?



ROXANE:

  Still.



THE DUKE (after a pause):

  Am I forgiven?



ROXANE:

  Ay, since I am here.



(Another pause.)



THE DUKE:

  His was a soul, you say?. . .



ROXANE:

  Ah!--when you knew him!



THE DUKE:

  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.



THE DUKE:

  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!



THE DUKE (after another pause):

  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?



LE BRET:

  Ill!--very ill.



THE DUKE:

  How?



ROXANE (to the Duke):

  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!



ROXANE:

  Ah! but his sword still holds them all in check;

  None get the better of him.



THE DUKE (shaking his head):

  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.



THE DUKE:

  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!. . .



THE DUKE:

  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!. . .



THE DUKE (haughtily):

  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.



(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.



ROXANE (ironically):

  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!



LE BRET (raising his arms to heaven):

  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?



THE SISTER:

  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. . .



LE BRET:

  Bathing-man. . .



ROXANE:

  Then actor. . .



LE BRET:

  Beadle. . .



ROXANE:

  Wig-maker. . .



LE BRET:

  Teacher of the lute. . .



ROXANE:

  What will he be to-day, by chance?



RAGUENEAU (entering hurriedly):

  Ah!  Madame!

(He sees Le Bret):

  Ah! you here, Sir!



ROXANE (smiling):

  Tell all your miseries

  To him; I will return anon.



RAGUENEAU:

  But, Madame. . .



(Roxane goes out with the Duke.  Ragueneau goes toward Le Bret.)