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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