Scene 5.VI.



The same.  Le Bret and Ragueneau.



LE BRET:

  What madness!  Here?  I knew it well!



CYRANO (smiling and sitting up):

  What now?



LE BRET:

  He has brought his death by coming, Madame.



ROXANE:

  God!

  Ah, then! that faintness of a moment since. . .?



CYRANO:

  Why, true!  It interrupted the 'Gazette:'

  . . .Saturday, twenty-sixth, at dinner-time,

  Assassination of De Bergerac.



(He takes off his hat; they see his head bandaged.)



ROXANE:

  What says he?  Cyrano!--His head all bound!

  Ah, what has chanced?  How?--Who?. . .



CYRANO:

  'To be struck down,

  Pierced by sword i' the heart, from a hero's hand!'

  That I had dreamed.  O mockery of Fate!

  --Killed, I! of all men--in an ambuscade!

  Struck from behind, and by a lackey's hand!

  'Tis very well.  I am foiled, foiled in all,

  Even in my death.



RAGUENEAU:

  Ah, Monsieur!. . .



CYRANO (holding out his hand to him):

  Ragueneau,

  Weep not so bitterly!. . .What do you now,

  Old comrade?



RAGUENEAU (amid his tears):

  Trim the lights for Moliere's stage.



CYRANO:

  Moliere!



RAGUENEAU:

  Yes; but I shall leave to-morrow.

  I cannot bear it!--Yesterday, they played

  'Scapin'--I saw he'd thieved a scene from you!



LE BRET:

  What! a whole scene?



RAGUENEAU:

  Oh, yes, indeed, Monsieur,

  The famous one, 'Que Diable allait-il faire?'



LE BRET:

  Moliere has stolen that?



CYRANO:

  Tut!  He did well!. . .

(to Ragueneau):

  How went the scene?  It told--I think it told?



RAGUENEAU (sobbing):

  Ah! how they laughed!



CYRANO:

  Look you, it was my life

  To be the prompter every one forgets!

(To Roxane):

  That night when 'neath your window Christian spoke

  --Under your balcony, you remember?  Well!

  There was the allegory of my whole life:

  I, in the shadow, at the ladder's foot,

  While others lightly mount to Love and Fame!

  Just! very just!  Here on the threshold drear

  Of death, I pay my tribute with the rest,

  To Moliere's genius,--Christian's fair face!

(The chapel-bell chimes.  The nuns are seen passing down the alley at the

back, to say their office):

  Let them go pray, go pray, when the bell rings!



ROXANE (rising and calling):

  Sister!  Sister!



CYRANO (holding her fast):

  Call no one.  Leave me not;

  When you come back, I should be gone for aye.

(The nuns have all entered the chapel.  The organ sounds):

  I was somewhat fain for music--hark! 'tis come.



ROXANE:

  Live, for I love you!



CYRANO:

  No, In fairy tales

  When to the ill-starred Prince the lady says

  'I love you!' all his ugliness fades fast--

  But I remain the same, up to the last!



ROXANE:

  I have marred your life--I, I!



CYRANO:

  You blessed my life!

  Never on me had rested woman's love.

  My mother even could not find me fair:

  I had no sister; and, when grown a man,

  I feared the mistress who would mock at me.

  But I have had your friendship--grace to you

  A woman's charm has passed across my path.



LE BRET (pointing to the moon, which is seen between the trees):

  Your other lady-love is come.



CYRANO (smiling):

  I see.



ROXANE:

  I loved but once, yet twice I lose my love!



CYRANO:

  Hark you, Le Bret!  I soon shall reach the moon.

  To-night, alone, with no projectile's aid!. . .



LE BRET:

  What are you saying?



CYRANO:

  I tell you, it is there,

  There, that they send me for my Paradise,

  There I shall find at last the souls I love,

  In exile,--Galileo--Socrates!



LE BRET (rebelliously):

  No, no!  It is too clumsy, too unjust!

  So great a heart!  So great a poet!  Die

  Like this? what, die. . .?



CYRANO:

  Hark to Le Bret, who scolds!



LE BRET (weeping):

  Dear friend. . .



CYRANO (starting up, his eyes wild):

  What ho!  Cadets of Gascony!

  The elemental mass--ah yes!  The hic. . .



LE BRET:

  His science still--he raves!



CYRANO:

  Copernicus

  Said. . .



ROXANE:

  Oh!



CYRANO:

  Mais que diable allait-il faire,

  Mais que diable allait-il faire dans cette galere?. . .

  Philosopher, metaphysician,

  Rhymer, brawler, and musician,

  Famed for his lunar expedition,

  And the unnumbered duels he fought,--

  And lover also,--by interposition!--

  Here lies Hercule Savinien

  De Cyrano de Bergerac,

  Who was everything, yet was naught.

  I cry you pardon, but I may not stay;

  See, the moon-ray that comes to call me hence!

(He has fallen back in his chair; the sobs of Roxane recall him to reality; he

looks long at her, and, touching her veil):

  I would not bid you mourn less faithfully

  That good, brave Christian:  I would only ask

  That when my body shall be cold in clay

  You wear those sable mourning weeds for two,

  And mourn awhile for me, in mourning him.



ROXANE:

  I swear it you!. . .



CYRANO (shivering violently, then suddenly rising):

  Not there! what, seated?--no!

(They spring toward him):

  Let no one hold me up--

(He props himself against the tree):

  Only the tree!

(Silence):

  It comes.  E'en now my feet have turned to stone,

  My hands are gloved with lead!

(He stands erect):

  But since Death comes,

  I meet him still afoot,

(He draws his sword):

  And sword in hand!



LE BRET:

  Cyrano!



ROXANE (half fainting):

  Cyrano!



(All shrink back in terror.)



CYRANO:

  Why, I well believe

  He dares to mock my nose?  Ho! insolent!

(He raises his sword):

  What say you?  It is useless?  Ay, I know

  But who fights ever hoping for success?

  I fought for lost cause, and for fruitless quest!

  You there, who are you!--You are thousands!

  Ah!

  I know you now, old enemies of mine!

  Falsehood!

(He strikes in air with his sword):

  Have at you!  Ha! and Compromise!

  Prejudice, Treachery!. . .

(He strikes):

  Surrender, I?

  Parley?  No, never!  You too, Folly,--you?

  I know that you will lay me low at last;

  Let be!  Yet I fall fighting, fighting still!

(He makes passes in the air, and stops, breathless):

  You strip from me the laurel and the rose!

  Take all!  Despite you there is yet one thing

  I hold against you all, and when, to-night,

  I enter Christ's fair courts, and, lowly bowed,

  Sweep with doffed casque the heavens' threshold blue,

  One thing is left, that, void of stain or smutch,

  I bear away despite you.



(He springs forward, his sword raised; it falls from his hand; he staggers,

falls back into the arms of Le Bret and Ragueneau.)



ROXANE (bending and kissing his forehead):

  'Tis?. . .



CYRANO (opening his eyes, recognizing her, and smiling):

  MY PANACHE.





Curtain.