Part 10

_Fifteen years later, in 1655. The garden of the Convent of the Ladies of the Cross, in Paris._

_Beautiful shade trees. To the left, the house. Wide porch on which several doors open. In the centre of the stage, an enormous overspreading tree standing alone in a sort of open circle. To the right, first entrance, backed by high box-wood bushes, a semi-circular stone bench._

_In the rear an avenue of chestnut trees leading up to fourth entrance, right, where the door of the Chapel can be seen through the branches. Beyond the avenue, lawns, other rows of trees, shrubbery and the sky._

_The Chapel has a small side door, from which starts, running down to the right, first entrance, behind the box-wood bushes, a sort of colonnade entwined with creepers rich in hues of gold and red._

_It is Autumn. The russet leaves of the trees are in bright contrast with the green lawns, except the box-wood and yew-trees that form dark spots here and there. Yellow leaves beneath the trees; fallen leaves everywhere on the ground, on the porch and on the benches._

_Between the stone bench to the right and the tree in the centre, a tapestry frame, and in front of it a chair. Baskets full of worsted skeins and balls. On the frame, a piece of tapestry-work, unfinished._

_As the curtain rises, sisters are going and coming through the garden; some are seated on the bench, on either side of an elderly sister. Leaves are falling._

_SCENE I._

MOTHER MARGARET, SISTER MARTHA, SISTER CLAIRE, _other_ SISTERS.

SISTER MARTHA (_to Mother Margaret_).

Sister Claire looked at herself twice in the mirror.

MOTHER MARGARET (_to Sister Claire_).

That was very wrong!

SISTER CLAIRE.

But Sister Martha pulled a plum out of the pie this morning; I saw her do it.

MOTHER MARGARET (_to Sister Martha_).

Very wrong, indeed, Sister Martha!

SISTER CLAIRE.

A little bit of a look!

SISTER MARTHA.

A little bit of a plum!

MOTHER MARGARET.

I'll have to tell Mr. Cyrano.

SISTER CLAIRE (_frightened_).

Oh! please, do not, he would tease us!....

SISTER MARTHA.

.... Say that we are vain!....

SISTER CLAIRE.

.... Or great gluttons!....

MOTHER MARGARET (_smiling_).

But full of goodness.

SISTER CLAIRE.

Is it not true, Mother, that he has been coming here, every Saturday, for the last ten years?

MOTHER MARGARET.

And more. Ever since his cousin, fourteen years ago, saddened the whiteness of our caps with the darkness of her widow's veil, as would a bird of sombre hue alighting 'mid a flight of brighter birds.

SISTER MARTHA.

And he alone can relieve with a ray of light the grief that she persists in feeding.

THE OTHER SISTERS.

He is so entertaining!--It is fun when he comes!--He teases us!--He is so kind!--We love him so!--And we make sweets for him!

SISTER MARTHA.

But he is not a very good Catholic!

SISTER CLAIRE.

We'll convert him!

THE OTHER SISTERS.

Assuredly, we will!

MOTHER MARGARET.

I forbid your tormenting him on that score, children. He might come here less often?

SISTER MARTHA.

But.... dear Mother.... God....

MOTHER MARGARET.

Have no fear.... God knows him!

SISTER MARTHA.

But, every Saturday, as he enters, he says proudly: "Sister, like a bad Catholic, I ate meat yesterday!"

MOTHER MARGARET.

Is that what he says? Well, the last time he came he had eaten nothing whatever for two days.

SISTER MARTHA.

Mother!

MOTHER MARGARET.

He is very poor. Mr. Le Bret told me so.

SISTER MARTHA.

And no one assists him!

MOTHER MARGARET.

He is proud and would not accept assistance.

(_Roxane is seen in the rear; she is in black, wearing the long veil of a widow. Guiche, grown older, but magnificently clad, accompanies her. They walk slowly, Mother Margaret rises._)

Come, it is time to get in.--Here is Madam Madeleine, with a visitor.

SISTER MARTHA (_aside to Sister Claire_).

It is the Marshall--Duke de Grammont.

SISTER CLAIRE.

Yes, I think it is.

SISTER MARTHA.

He has not come to see her for months!

SISTER CLAIRE.

The court--the army--the world--keep him away, I suppose.

(_Exeunt Sisters. Guiche and Roxane come down in silence, and stop near the tapestry frame. A pause._)

_SCENE II._

ROXANE, DUKE DE GRAMMONT (_formerly Count de Guiche_); _later_ LE BRET _and_ RAGUENEAU.

DUKE.

And so you persist in remaining in this seclusion, uselessly lovely, forever in mourning?

ROXANE.

Forever!

DUKE.

Ever true to his memory?

ROXANE.

Ever!

DUKE.

You have forgiven me?

ROXANE.

Yes! Since I am here.

(_A pause._)

DUKE.

And he was truly so?....

ROXANE.

You never really knew him!

DUKE.

Probably!.... And his last letter lies on your heart always?

ROXANE.

Like a blessèd talisman it hangs on this ribbon.

DUKE.

You love him even dead?

ROXANE.

At times it seems as if he'd left me not, As if our hearts still beat as one, as if His love still coiled around me, strong, alive!

(_Another pause._)

DUKE.

Does Cyrano ever come to see you?

ROXANE.

Yes, often. He is a very dear old friend, and he brings me all the news. He comes regularly, every Saturday. As the hour strikes, while I am at work on my tapestry, I know, without even turning around to see, that he is here, for I can hear his stick on the stone steps. If the weather is fine, he sits under this tree, where his chair awaits him. He laughs at what he calls my eternal work, relates to me the events of the week, and....

(_Le Bret appears on the porch._)

Why! here is Le Bret!

(_to Le Bret, who has come down_).

And how is our friend?

LE BRET.

Not at all well.

DUKE.

Oh! I'm sorry.

ROXANE (_to Duke_).

Le Bret exaggerates!

LE BRET.

All as I predicted: desertion and poverty!.... His epistles have made him new enemies! He denounces mock nobility, mock piety, mock bravery, plagiarism,--in fact everybody!

ROXANE.

But the fear of his wonderful sword holds them all in respect. They'll never reach him.

DUKE (_shaking his head_).

Who knows?

LE BRET.

What I fear for him is not an assault; it is solitude, hunger, winter stealthily entering his poor abode. These are the enemies that may lay him low.--Each morning he buckles his belt a little tighter. His nose has now the sallowness of old ivory. His wardrobe is reduced to one suit of black.

DUKE.

Ah! he at least is not a parvenu. So, do not pity him too much. He has lived free from obligations and humiliating restraint.

LE BRET (_smiling sadly_).

Duke, Duke!....

DUKE.

Yes, I know: I have everything, and he has nothing.... But I should very much like to shake his hand.

(_bowing to Roxane_). Farewell.

ROXANE.

I'll see you to the gate.

(_The Duke bows to Le Bret, and goes, with Roxane, towards the house._)

DUKE (_stopping a moment_).

I envy him at times. You see, Roxane, When we have had too much success in life, Although we've done no very wicked act-- We feel within a thousand sickly stings Of self-reproach; their total is too small To constitute remorse, but large enough To keep us in a dull uneasiness. Thus ducal mantles sweep, as we ascend The steps of greatness, with their fringe of furs A rustling heap of withered sentiments, As now your sombre train, upon the porch, Draws in its folds a bunch of autumn leaves.

ROXANE (_ironically_).

You are in a very sentimental mood.

THE DUKE.

Alas! yes.

(_as he is about to go out, abruptly_).

Monsieur Le Bret!

(_to Roxane_).

By your permission, one word.

(_to Le Bret in a low tone_).

It is true; no one would dare to attack your friend. But there are many who hate him, and somebody said to me, yesterday, at the Queen's reception: "This Cyrano is not unlikely to meet some day with an accident." Tell him not to be about too much. To be prudent.

LE BRET (_throwing up his arms_).

Prudent, he! But he is coming here to-day, and I must warn him, though I doubt if that will do much good.

ROXANE (_who has remained on the porch, to a sister coming up to her_).

What is it?

THE SISTER.

Ragueneau wishes to see you, Madam.

ROXANE.

Let him in.

(_Exit Sister._) (_to Duke and to Le Bret_).

He comes to tell his woes. He started to be an author, but became in turn a chanter....

LE BRET.

A bath-keeper....

ROXANE.

An actor....

LE BRET.

A beadle....

ROXANE.

A barber....

LE BRET.

An archlute-teacher....

ROXANE.

To-day what can he have become?

RAGUENEAU (_entering rapidly_).

Oh! Madam!

(_noticing Le Bret_). Oh! Sir!

ROXANE (_smiling_).

Tell your misfortunes to Le Bret. I shall be back presently.

(_Exit Roxane, with the Duke, without listening to Ragueneau, who comes down toward Le Bret._)

_SCENE III._

LE BRET, RAGUENEAU.

RAGUENEAU.

After all, since you are here, Sir, it is just as well that she should be kept in ignorance! I was on my way to see your friend, this afternoon, when, as I was nearing his door, I saw him coming out. As I was endeavouring to overtake him, and as he was turning the corner, a window above him opened, and,--was it through accident? perhaps! a lackey dropped upon him a heavy log of wood.

LE BRET.

Cowards!.... Abominable!

RAGUENEAU.

Our friend, Sir, our poet, lay there on the ground with a large hole in his head!

LE BRET.

Is he dead?

RAGUENEAU.

No! but in what a state! I carried him up to his room... his room! You should see what it is!

LE BRET.

He is in great pain?

RAGUENEAU.

No, Sir, he has not recovered his senses.

LE BRET.

You found a doctor?

RAGUENEAU.

Yes, one who was good enough to come.

LE BRET.

Unfortunate Cyrano!--We must break the news gently to Roxane.--And what said the doctor?

RAGUENEAU.

He spoke of fever.... meningitis. Oh! if you saw him.... with his poor head bandaged!.... Come quickly, Sir, there is nobody with him! It would be death to him if he left his bed!

LE BRET (_urging him toward the right_).

This way is shorter; through the Chapel!

ROXANE (_appearing on the porch, and seeing Le Bret and Ragueneau running up the colonnade to the Chapel!_)

Monsieur Le Bret!

(_Exeunt Le Bret and Ragueneau without answering._)

No doubt another of good Ragueneau's troubles.

_SCENE IV._

ROXANE _alone, two_ SISTERS _a moment_.

How beautiful these last September days! My sadness fain would smile. Spring's ardour oft Offends our grief, but Autumn chastens it.

(_She sits down before her work. Two sisters sally from the house carrying a large armchair that they place under the tree._)

Ah! here's the chair in which Cyrano sits.

(_Exeunt Sisters._)

The hour strikes.... he's coming.--Where are my skeins!--He's not here yet? The first time he is late.... My thimble.... Here it is. Some sister preaching to him, no doubt.

(_A pause._)

How thickly fall the leaves!....

(_She removes some dead leaves from her work._)

Moreover, what could prevent his coming?

A SISTER (_from the porch_).

Monsieur de Bergerac.

_SCENE V._

ROXANE, CYRANO, _and, one moment_, SISTER MARTHA.

ROXANE (_without turning around_).

Why did I worry so?

(_She works.--Enter Cyrano, very pale, with his hat well over his eyes. Exit sister who announced him. He descends the steps slowly, with a visible effort to remain erect, leaning heavily on his stick._)

For the first time in fourteen years, you are late!

CYRANO (_who has gained his chair and seated himself, speaks in a cheerful tone, in contrast with his looks_).

Yes, and, in truth, I boil with rage. I was delayed....

ROXANE.

By what, by whom?

CYRANO.

By an intruder.

ROXANE (_distraught_).

Some bore? But you got rid of him, or her.

CYRANO.

Yes. "Excuse me," said I, "but this is Saturday, and I have a weekly engagement that nothing can prevent me from keeping. Return an hour hence!"

ROXANE (_lightly_).

The person shall wait. I'll keep you here until evening.

CYRANO.

I may be compelled to leave you sooner.

(_He closes his eyes and remains silent a moment. Sister Martha appears in the rear going to the Chapel. Roxane sees her, and nods._)

ROXANE (_to Cyrano_).

How is it you do not tease Sister Martha to-day?

CYRANO (_rapidly, opening his eyes_).

Tease? Of course!

(_with affected severity_).

Sister Martha! Come here.

(_Sister Martha goes up to him._)

Ha! ha! Your eyes are too fine to remain thus forever down!

SISTER MARTHA (_smiling_).

But....

(_She notices his pale looks._)

Oh!

CYRANO (_aside, pointing to Roxane_)

Hush! It's nothing.

(_aloud, in boastful tone_).

I ate meat yesterday! Friday!

SISTER MARTHA.

Yes, I know.

(_aside_). That is the reason he looks so pale!

(_to Cyrano rapidly and in a low tone_). Come to the refectory by and by. I want to make you taste some broth..... Will you come?

CYRANO.

Yes, yes, yes.

SISTER MARTHA.

Oh! you are very reasonable to-day.

ROXANE (_who notices their whispering_).

Is she trying to convert you?

SISTER MARTHA.

Oh! nothing of the kind!

CYRANO.

It is a fact! You always have an abundance of saintly sermons, and to-day, Sister, you are not preaching to me.

(_with affected fury_).

Swords and muskets! I, too, shall astonish you! See here, I will permit you....

(_Affects to be thinking and to have found a good jest._)

Ah! this is something new.... to.... to pray for me, to-night, in the chapel.

ROXANE.

Oh! oh! this is serious.

CYRANO (_laughing_).

Sister Martha is dumfounded!

SISTER MARTHA (_gently_).

I did not wait for your permission.

(_Exit Sister Martha._)

CYRANO (_returning to Roxane, who is leaning over her work_).

I verily believe there never will be an end to this task of yours.

ROXANE.

I am getting accustomed to this remark.

(_Just then a few dead leaves fall on Roxane's work._)

CYRANO.

Oh! withered leaves!

ROXANE (_looking at the landscape_).

Poor blondes of Venice hue, How fast they fall!

CYRANO.

They fall, but see how well! Their race is short, and still they sweetly show How beauty e'er recoils from rottenness: For, as they drop, they do not in their grace Appear to fall, but rather to alight!

ROXANE.

Unusually sad thoughts for you!

CYRANO (_recovering his presence of mind_).

Sad? Not at all, Roxane!

ROXANE.

Come, let the dead leaves fall as they will....Better give me the news, be my weekly gazette.

CYRANO.

Agreed!

ROXANE.

I'm listening.

CYRANO (_getting paler and paler, as he struggles against pain_).

Saturday, the 19th, having over indulged in grape-jam from Cette, the King was taken with fever; his indisposition was sentenced, for high treason, to be twice lanced, and the royal pulse was relieved of febricity![25] At the Queen's ball, on Sunday, seven hundred and sixty-three candles of white wax were burned. Our troops have been victorious, it is said, over those of John the Austrian; four sorcerers have been hung! the little dog of Madam d'Athis was given....

ROXANE.

Monsieur de Bergerac, you may omit the details!

CYRANO.

Monday.... nothing. Oh! yes, Lygdamire took a new lover.

ROXANE.

Oh!

CYRANO (_whose suffering is evidently increasing_).

Tuesday, all the Court was at Fontainebleu. Wednesday, the beauty Montglat said to Count de Fiesque: No! Thursday, Mancini, Queen of France,--or almost! the 25th, Montglat said to Fiesque: Yes; and Saturday, 26th....

(_His eyes close. His head falls upon his shoulder. Silence._)

ROXANE (_surprised at hearing nothing more, turns around, looks at him, and rises very much frightened_).

Has he fainted?

(_Runs up to him._) Cyrano!

CYRANO (_opening his eyes and speaking somewhat indistinctly_).

What is it?.... Who?.... When?....

(_He sees Roxane leaning over him, and, quickly securing his hat on his head, backs up into his armchair._)

No! no! I assure you, it is nothing. I am quite myself again.

ROXANE.

But allow me....

CYRANO.

It is the old wound I received at Arras.... that.... sometimes.... you know....

ROXANE.

Dearest friend!

CYRANO.

But, it is nothing serious. Soon over.

(_makes an effort to smile_).

Quite well again now.

ROXANE (_standing near him_).

We each of us have our wound: I, too, have one, ever smarting; I feel it here, old though it be,

(_placing her hand on her breast_)

right here, beneath the time-worn letter on which can still be seen the trace of tears and blood!

(_Dusk begins to come on._)

CYRANO.

His letter!.... Did you not say that some day, perhaps, you would allow me to read it?

ROXANE.

What! you wish?.... his letter?....

CYRANO.

Yes.... I wish.... to-day....

ROXANE.

(_handing him the sachet she carries suspended to her neck_).

Here it is!

CYRANO (_taking it_).

I may open?

ROXANE.

You may open and read!....

(_She returns to her work, folds it up and arranges her worsteds._)

CYRANO (_reading_).

"Roxane, farewell! The time...."

ROXANE (_stopping, astonished_).

You read aloud?

CYRANO (_reading_).

"Roxane, farewell! The time of death has come; This eve, I think, belovèd, is my last. My soul's still rich in unexpressèd love, And I must die! My dazzled eyes no more, My eyes for which you were...."

ROXANE.

Why! how you read His lines!....

CYRANO (_continuing_).

".... for which you were a thrilling feast, No more will drink your ev'ry motion, dear. There's one that I recall, so truly yours, To smooth your hair, and I would cry aloud...."

ROXANE.

How can you know?....

(_Darkness comes on by degrees._)

CYRANO (_continuing_).

"....And now I cry, indeed: Farewell!...."

ROXANE.

You read as if....

CYRANO (_continuing_).

".... My dearest dear, My treasure...."

ROXANE.

Oh! that voice!

CYRANO (_continuing_).

"My love!...."

ROXANE.

That voice! That voice.... I know I heard it once before!

(_She passes behind him, leans over the chair, without his noticing her, and looks over the letter. Darkness increases._)

CYRANO (_continuing_).

"My yearning heart has never left you once. And I am he, and Death will leave me he Who loved you, dear, beyond all measure, he...."

ROXANE (_placing her hand on his shoulder_).

But how is it you still can read? Night has come.

(_He shudders, turns, sees her near by, moves as if greatly alarmed, and hangs his head. Long silence. It is quite dark. She joins her hands, and speaks slowly:_)

And during fourteen years you have played this part of an old friend who comes to amuse!

CYRANO.

Roxane!

ROXANE.

It was you.

CYRANO.

No, no, Roxane, you mistake!

ROXANE.

I should have felt it each time you said my name!

CYRANO.

It was not I!

ROXANE.

It was!

CYRANO.

I swear to you....

ROXANE.

Swear not, for now I understand your generous deceit. The letters were yours....

CYRANO.

No!

ROXANE.

The dear and tender words were yours....

CYRANO.

No!

ROXANE.

That voice in the night was yours!

CYRANO.

I swear it was not!

ROXANE.

That soul was yours!

CYRANO.

I loved you not!

ROXANE.

You did!

CYRANO.

It was the other!

ROXANE.

You loved me!

CYRANO.

No!

ROXANE.

You did, for each of your denials is lower than the one before!

CYRANO.

No, no, my dearest, no, I loved you not!

ROXANE.

How many things are dead!.... how many born!.... --Oh! through these years why were you silent thus, Since on these lines, not his by word or thought, The tears were yours?

CYRANO.

Because the blood is his!

ROXANE.

Why then allow a silence that's sublime To break as now?

CYRANO.

Roxane, oh! why, indeed?

(_Le Bret and Ragueneau enter on a run._)

[25] Note.--Intentional affectation, like that of "his indisposition was sentenced, for high treason."

_SCENE VI._

_The same_, LE BRET _and_ RAGUENEAU.

LE BRET.

How imprudent! I was sure of it! He is here!

CYRANO (_smiling and straightening himself up_).

Of course, I'm here!

LE BRET.

It is suicide, Madam, for him to have left his bed!

ROXANE.

Great God! But just now, then....this weakness?.... this fainting?

CYRANO.

Oh! by the way, I did not finish my weekly chronicle: ....and Saturday, 26th, one hour before dinner, Monsieur de Bergerac was assassinated in the street.

(_He takes off his hat, and his head is seen wrapped in bandages._)

ROXANE.

What did he say?--Cyrano!--his poor head!.... What have they done to you?

CYRANO.

"And in my heart a sword's ennobling point!" --So said I once!.... What mockery in fate!.... And now I'm killed ignobly from behind, O'erpowered by a lackey with a log. I missed my life; my death's a failure too!

RAGUENEAU.

Oh! sir....Oh! sir....

CYRANO.

Good Ragueneau, grieve not so!....

(_Extends his hand to him._)

And what are you doing now, my brother poet?

RAGUENEAU (_through his tears_).

I am the one who.... who snuffs the candles at Molière's.[26]

CYRANO.

Molière!

RAGUENEAU.

But I shall leave him to-morrow. For I am indignant!.... Yesterday he gave _Scapin_, and I saw that he had taken from you a whole scene!

LE BRET.

Entire?

RAGUENEAU.

Yes, sir; the famous: "What the deuce was he doing?...."

LE BRET (_to Cyrano_).

Molière has robbed you!

CYRANO.

Hush! hush! he did well!....

(_to Ragueneau_).

The scene was very effective, was it not?

RAGUENEAU (_sobbing_).

Oh! sir, what a laugh! what a laugh! through the whole audience!

CYRANO.

My life, you see, is all in this: I've been The one who prompts--and ever is forgot!

(_to Roxane_).

Do you recall the night when Christian spoke His love for you--beneath your balcony? The words were mine, and mine the fondest thoughts; But I remained below, unknown, in darkness, while Another went aloft to gather light and love! 'Tis justice, and my dying breath approves; Molière has genius, Christian's beauty won.

(_The chapel bell sounds. Sisters pass in the rear, going to evening service._)

It's time for prayer; the bell that tolls is right!

ROXANE (_rising to call_).

Come, Sister!

CYRANO (_restraining her_).

Leave me not to call for help! On your return, you would not find me here.

(_The sisters have entered the chapel, and the organ begins to play._)

I yearned for harmony; and now it's come!

ROXANE.

I love you, live!

CYRANO.

In fairy tales alone Can love dispel the curse of homeliness. You'd soon discover that I cannot change.

ROXANE.

You've suffered....and through me!

CYRANO.

Through you? Not so! I never knew a woman's gentleness. My mother found me homely. Sister, none; And as to lady-loves, they would have laughed At me. Through you, at least, I had a friend; Through you I've known the spell a gown can bring!

LE BRET (_showing the moonlight through the trees_).

Another friend of yours is there!

CYRANO (_smiling to the moon_).

I see.

ROXANE.

I loved but one, and here I lose him twice!

CYRANO.

And now, Le Bret, I'll mount, and reach the moon, Although I've not completed that machine....

LE BRET.

Oh! speak not thus!

CYRANO.

Why not? 'Tis there, I say, That I'll be sent to seek for paradise. How many souls I love are there in bliss! Good Socrates and Galileo too!

LE BRET (_indignant_).

No! no! this is too stupid, too unjust! Such a poet! A heart so big and lofty! To die thus!.... To die!....

CYRANO.

There is Le Bret growling again!

LE BRET (_bursting into tears_).

My dearest friend!....

CYRANO (_rising, with wildness in his eyes_).

Fair Gascony's Cadets are they.... The elementary mass.... Why! yes!....--There is the rub....

LE BRET.

Alas! delirious!

CYRANO.

Copernicus said....

ROXANE.

Dreadful! dreadful!

CYRANO.

What the deuce was he doing, what the deuce was he doing in that galley?....

Philosopher and physicist, A rimester, swordsman and musician, A man who travelled in the air As prompt with parry as reply, A lover too--alas!--here lies Sir Hercules, Savinian De Cyrano de Bergerac, Who compassed all and still was naught.

But I must leave! I would not cause a wait. Your pardon. See! the moon sends down for me!