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.)





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