# Cyrano de Bergerac/Act V

Layout 2
ACT V
Cyrano's Gazette.
SCENE I
Mother Marguerite, Sister Martha, Sister Claire, other Sisters.
Sister Martha
[to Mother Marguerite].
Sister Claire glanced in the mirror, once—nay, twice, To see if her coif suited.
Mother Marguerite
[to Sister Claire].
To see if her coif suited.'Tis not well.
Sister Claire.
But I saw Sister Martha take a plum Out of the tart.
Mother Marguerite
[to Sister Martha].
Out of the tart.That was ill done, my sister.
Sister Claire.
A little glance!
Sister Martha.
Mother Marguerite.
I shall tell this to Monsieur Cyrano.
Sister Claire.
Nay, prithee do not!—he will mock!
Sister Martha.
He'll say
We nuns are vain!
Sister Claire.
And greedy!
Mother Marguerite.
[smiling].
Ay, and kind!
Sister Claire.
Is it not true, pray, Mother Marguerite, That he has come, each week, on Saturday For ten years, to the convent!
Mother Marguerite.
Ay! and more!
Ever since—fourteen years ago—the day His cousin brought here, 'midst our woollen coifs, The worldly mourning of her widow's veil, Like a blackbird's wing among the convent doves.
Sister Martha.
He only has the skill to turn her mind From grief—unsoftened yet by Time—unhealed!
All the Sisters.
He is so droll! It's cheerful when he comes!— He teases us!—But we all like him well!—
Sister Martha.
But, he is not a faithful Catholic!
Sister Claire.
We will convert him!
The Sisters.
We will convert him!Yes! Yes!
Mother Marguerite.
I forbid,
My daughters, you attempt that subject. Nay, Weary him not he might less oft come here!
Sister Martha.
But… God…
Mother Marguerite.
Nay, never fear! God knows him well!
Sister Martha.
But—every Saturday, when he arrives, He tells me, 'Sister, I eat meat on Friday!'
Mother Marguerite.
Ah! says he so? Well, the last time he came Food had not passed his lips for two whole days!
Sister Martha.
Mother!
Mother Marguerite.
Mother!He's poor.
Sister Martha.
Who told you so, dear Mother?
Mother Marguerite.
Monsieur le Bret.
Sister Martha.
None help him?
Mother Marguerite.
He permits not.
'Tis time we go in; Madame Madeleine Walks in the garden with a visitor.
Sister Martha.
[to Sister Claire, in a low voice].
The Marshal of Grammont?
Sister Claire.
[looking at him].
'Tis he, I think.
Sister Martha.
Tis many months now since he came to see her.
The Sisters.
He is so busy!—The Court,—the camp!…
Sister Claire.
The world!
SCENE 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 in weeds?Ever.
The Duke.
Ever in weeds? Ever.Still faithful?
Roxane.
Still.
The Duke.
[after a pause].
Am I forgiven?
Roxane.
Am I forgiven?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.
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.
Cyrano comes to see you?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.
Ill!—very illHow?
Roxane.
[to the Duke].
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,
Le Bret.
[in the same tone].
My Lord!…
The Duke.
[haughtily].
True! I have all, and he has nought;…
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 towards the steps.]
The Duke.
[pausing, while she goes up.]
I go with you.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 Dukes' 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, your mourning robe Sweeps in its train the dying autumn leaves.
Roxane.
[ironically].
The Duke.
True! I am!
[As he it 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 towards 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.
Roxane.
Then actor…
Le Bret.
Beadle…
Roxane.
Beadle…Wig-maker…
Le Bret.
Teacher of the lute…
Roxane.
What will he be to-day, by chance?
Le Bret.
[entering hurriedly].
Ah! Madame!
[He sees Le Bret.]
Ah! you here, Sir!
Roxane.
[smiling].
Ah! you here, Sir!Tell all your miseries To him; I will return anon.
Ragueneau.
But, Madame…
[Roxane goes out with the Duke. He goes towards Le Bret.]
SCENE III
Le Bret, Ragueneau.
Ragueneau.
Since you are here, 'tis best she should not know! I was going to your friend just now—was but ​A few steps from the house, when I saw him Go out. I hurried to him. Saw him turn The corner… suddenly, from out a window Where he was passing—was it chance?… may be! A lackey let fall a large piece of wood.
Le Bret.
Cowards! O Cyrano!
Ragueneau.
Cowards! O Cyrano!I ran—I saw…
Le Bret.
'Tis hideous!
Ragueneau.
Saw our poet, Sir—our friend—
Struck to the ground,–a large wound in his head!
Le Bret.
He's dead?
Ragueneau.
No–but–I bore him to his room…
Ah! his room! What a thing to see!—that garret!
Le Bret.
He suffers?
Ragueneau.
No, his consciousness has flown.
Le Bret.
Ragueneau.
One was kind—he came.
Le Bret.
My poor Cyrano!—We must not tell this To Roxane suddenly.—What said this leech?—
Ragueneau.
Said,—what, I know not—fever, meningitis!— Ah! could you see him—all his head bound up!— But let us haste!—There's no one by his bed!— And if he try to rise, Sir, he might die!
Ragueneau.
[dragging him towards the right].
Come! Through the chapel! 'Tis the quickest way.
Roxane.
Monsieur le Bret!
[Le Bret and Ragueneau disappear without answering].
Le Bret goes—when I call!
'Tis some new trouble of good Ragueneau's.
[She descends the steps.]
SCENE IV
Roxane alone. Two Sisters, for a moment.
Roxane.
Ah! what a beauty in September's close! My sorrow's eased. April's joy dazzled it, But autumn wins it with her dying calm.
There comes the famous arm-chair, where he sits, Dear faithful friend!
Sister Martha.
It is the parlour's best!
Roxane.
Thanks, sister.
[The Sisters go.]
He'll be here now.
[She seats herself. A clock strikes.]
The hour strikes.
—My silks?—Why, now, the hour's struck! How strange To be behind his time, at last, to-day! Perhaps the portress—where's my thimble?—Here! —Is preaching to him.
[A pause.]
Yes, she must be preaching!
Surely he must come soon!—Ah! a dead leaf!—
[She brushes off the leaf from her work.]
Nothing, besides, could—scissors?—In my bag!
A Sister
[coming to the steps].
Monsieur de Bergerac.
SCENE V
Roxane
[without turning round].
What was I saying?…
Time has dimmed the tints…
How harmonise them now?
[To Cyrano, with playful reproach.]
For the first time
Late!—For the first time, all these fourteen years!
Cyrano
Ay! It is villainous! I raged—was stayed…
Roxane.
Cyrano.
By a bold, unwelcome visitor.
Roxane.
[absently, working].
Some creditor?
Cyrano.
Some creditor?Ay, cousin,—the last creditor Who has a debt to claim from me.
Roxane.
And you
Have paid it?
Cyrano.
Have paid it?No, not yet! I put it off; —Said, 'Cry you mercy; this is Saturday, When I have got a standing rendezvous That nought defers. Call in an hour's time!'
Roxane.
[carelessly].
Oh, well, a creditor can always wait! I shall not let you go ere twilight falls.
Cyrano.
Haply perforce I quit you ere it falls!
Roxane.
[to Cyrano].
Cyrano
[hastily opening his eyes].
True!
[In a comically loud voice.]
Sister! come here!
[The Sister glides up to him.]
Ha-ha! What? Those bright eyes
Bent ever on the ground?
Sister Martha
[who makes a movement of astonishment on seeing his face].
Bent ever on the ground?Oh!
Cyrano
[in a whisper, pointing to Roxane].
Hush! 'tis nought!—
[Loudly, in a blustering voice.]
I broke fast yesterday!
Sister Martha
[aside].
I know, I know!
That's how he is so pale! Come presently To the refectory, I'll make you drink A famous bowl of soup… You'll come?
Cyrano.
Ay, ay!
Sister Martha.
Roxane
[who hears them whispering].
The Sister would convert you?
Roxane.
Nay, not I!
Cyrano.
Hold! but it's true! You preach to me no more, You, once so glib with holy words! I am Astonished!…
[With burlesque fury.]
Stay, I will surprise you too!
Hark! I permit you…
[He pretends to be seeking for something to tease her with, and to have found it].
…It is something new!—
To—pray for me, to-night, at chapel-time!
Roxane.
Oh! oh!
Cyrano
[laughing].
Good Sister Martha is struck dumb!
Sister Martha
[gently].
I did not wait your leave to pray for you.
[She goes out.]
Cyrano
[turning to Roxane, who is still bending over her work].
That tapestry! Beshrew me if my eyes
Roxane.
Will ever see it finished!I was sure To hear that well-known jest!
[A light breeze causes the leaves to fall.]
Cyrano.
The autumn leaves!
Roxane
[lifting her head, and looking down the distant alley].
Soft golden brown, like a Venetian's hair. —See how they fall!
Cyrano.
Ay, see how brave they fall,
In their last journey downward from the bough, To rot within the clay; yet, lovely still, Hiding the horror of the last decay, With all the wayward grace of careless flight!
Roxane.
What, melancholy—you?
Cyrano
[collecting himself].
Nay, nay, Roxane!
Roxane.
Then let the dead leaves fall the way they will… And chat. What, have you nothing new to tell, My Court Gazette?
Cyrano.
My Court Gazette?Listen.
Roxane.
Cyrano
[growing whiter and whiter].
Saturday
The nineteenth: having eaten to excess Of pear-conserve, the King felt feverish; The lancet quelled this treasonable revolt, And the august pulse beats at normal pace. At the Queen's ball on Sunday thirty score Of best white waxen tapers were consumed. Our troops, they say, have chased the Austrians. Four sorcerers were hanged. The little dog Of Madame d'Athis took a dose…
Roxane.
I bid
You hold your tongue, Monsieur de Bergerac!
Cyrano.
Monday—not much—Claire changed protector.
Roxane.
Oh!
Cyrano
[whose face changes more and more].
Tuesday, the Court repaired to Fontainebleau. Wednesday, the Montglat said to Comte de Fiesque… No! Thursday—Mancini, Queen of France! (almost!) Friday, the Montglat to Count Fiesque said—'Yes!' And Saturday the twenty-sixth…
[He closes his eyes. His head falls forward. Silence.]
Roxane
[surprised at his voice ceasing, turns round, looks at him, and rising, terrified].
He swoons!
[She runs towards him crying.]
Cyrano!
Cyrano
[opening his eyes, in an unconcerned voice].
Cyrano!What is this?
Cyrano! What is this?Nay, on my word 'Tis nothing! Let me be!
Roxane.
’Tis nothing! Let me be!But…
Cyrano.
That old wound
Of Arras, sometimes,—as you know…
Roxane.
Dear friend!
Cyrano.
'Tis nothing, 'twill pass soon;
[He smiles with an effort.]
See! it has passed!
Roxane.
Each of us has his wound; ay, I have mine,— Never healed up—not healed yet, my old wound!
[She puts her hand on her breast.]
All stained with tear-drops, and still stained with blood.
[Twilight begins to fall.]
Cyrano.
His letter! Ah! you promised me one day That I should read it.
Roxane.
What would you?—His letter?
Cyrano.
Yes, I would fain,—to-day…
Roxane
[giving the bag hung at her neck].
See! here it it!
Cyrano
[taking it].
Hare I your leave to open?
Roxane.
Open—read!
[She comes back to her tapestry frame, folds it up, sorts her wools.]
Cyrano
[reading].
'Roxane, adieu! I soon must die! This very night, beloved; and I Feel my soul heavy with love untold. I die! No more, as in days of old, My loving, longing eyes will feast On your least gesture—ay, the least!
I mind me the way you touch your cheek With your finger, softly, as you speak! Ah me! I know that gesture well! My heart cries out!—I cry "Farewell!"'
Roxane.
But how you read that letter! One would think…
Cyrano
[continuing to read].
'My life, my love, my jewel, my sweet, My heart has been yours in every beat!'
[The shades of evening fall imperceptibly.]
Roxane.
You read in such a voice—so strange—and yet— It is not the first time I hear that voice!
Cyrano.
'Here, dying, and there, in the land on high, I am he who loved, who loves you,—I…'
Roxane
[putting her hand on his shoulder].
How can you read? It is too dark to see!
And, fourteen years long, he has played this part Of the kind old friend who comes to laugh and chat!
Cyrano.
Roxane!
Roxane.
Roxane!'Twas you!
Cyrano.
Roxane! ’Twas you!No, never; Roxane, no!
Roxane.
I should have guessed, each time he said my name!
Cyrano.
No; it was not I!
Roxane.
No; it was not I!It was you!
Cyrano.
No; it was not I! It was you!I swear!
Roxane.
I see through all the generous counterfeit— The letters—you!
Cyrano.
The letters—you!No.
Roxane.
The sweet, mad, love-words!
You!
Cyrano.
Roxane.
The voice that thrilled the night—you, you!
Cyrano.
I swear you err.
Roxane.
I swear you err.The soul—it was your soul!
Cyrano.
I loved you not.
Roxane.
I loved you not.You loved me not?
Cyrano.
'Twas he!
Roxane.
You loved me!
Cyrano.
You loved me!No!
Roxane.
You loved me! No!See! how you falter now!
Cyrano.
No, my sweet love, I never loved you!
Roxane.
Ah!
Things dead, long dead, see! how they rise again! —Why, why keep silence all these fourteen years, When, on this letter, which he never wrote
Cyrano
[holding out the letter to her].
The bloodstains were his.
Roxane.
Why, then, that noble silence,—kept so long— Broken to-day for the first time—why?
Cyrano.
Why?…
[Le Bret and Ragueneau enter running.]
SCENE 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 a 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.
Even in my death.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 Molière's stage.
Cyrano.
Molière!
Ragueneau.
Molière!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.
Ragueneau.
Oh yes, indeed, Monsieur,
The famous one, 'Que Diable allait-il faire?'
Le Bret.
Molière 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 Molière's genius, Christian's fair face!
Roxane
[rising and calling].
Sister! Sister!
Cyrano
[holding her fast].
Sister! Sister!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.
Live, for I love you!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
Le Bret
[pointing to the moon, which is seen between the trees].
Your other lady-love is come.
Cyrano
[smiling].
Your other lady-love is come.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.
What are you saying!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].
Dear friend…What ho! Cadets of Gascony! The elemental mass—ah yes! the hic…
Le Bret.
His science—still he raves!
Cyrano.
His science—still he raves!Copernicus Said…
Roxane.
Said…Oh!
Cyrano.
Said… Oh!Mais que diable allait-il faire, Mais que diable allait-il faire dans cette galère?…
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 nought.
I cry you pardon, but I may not stay; See, the moon-ray that comes to call me hence!
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 a while for me, in mourning him.
Roxane.
I swear it you!…
Cyrano
[shivering violently, then suddenly rising].
Not there! what, seated?—no!
[They spring towards him.]
Let no one hold me up—
[He props himself against the tree.]
Let no one hold me up—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.]
I meet him still afoot,And sword in hand!
Le Bret.
Cyrano!
Roxane.
[half fainting.]
Cyrano!Cyrano!
[All shrink back in terror.]
Cyrano.
Cyrano! 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 the air with his sword.]
Falsehood!Have at you! Ha! and Compromise! Prejudice, Treachery!…
[He strikes.]
Prejudice, Treachery!…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.
Roxane
[bending over him and kissing his forehead].
I bear away despite you.'Tis?…
Cyrano
[opening his eyes, recognising her, and smiling].
I bear away despite you. ’Tis?…My panache.
Curtain.
Printed by T. and A. Constable, Printers to His Majesty at the Edinburgh University Press