University of Virginia Library


261

ACT V.

Cyrano's Gazette.
Fifteen years later, in 1655. Park of the Sisters of the Holy Cross in Paris. Magnificent trees. On the left the house: broad steps on to which open several doors. An enormous plane tree in the middle of the stage, standing alone. On the right, among big boxwood trees, a semicircular stone bench.
The whole background of the stage is crossed by an alley of chestnut trees leading on the right hand to the door of a chapel seen through the branches. Through the double row of trees of this alley are seen lawns, other alleys, clusters of trees, winding of the park, the sky.
The chapel opens by a little side door on to a colonnade which is wreathed with autumn leaves, and is lost to view a little farther on in the right-hand foreground behind the boxwood.
It is autumn. All the foliage is red against the fresh green of the lawns. The green boxwood and yews stand out dark.
Under each tree a patch of yellow leaves.
The stage is strewn with dead leaves, which rustle under foot in the alleys, and half cover the steps and benches.
Between the benches on the right hand and the tree a large embroidery frame, in front of which a little chair has been set.

262

Baskets full of skeins and balls of wool. A tapestry begun.
At the rising of the curtains nuns are walking to and fro in the park; some are seated on the bench around an older Sister.
The leaves are falling.

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)

'Tis not well.


SISTER CLAIRE

But I saw Sister Martha take a plum Out of the tart.


MOTHER MARGUERITE
(to Sister Martha)

That was ill done, my sister.


SISTER CLAIRE

A little glance!


SISTER MARTHA

And such a little plum!



263

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 woolen 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!-- --We make him pasties of angelica!



264

SISTER MARTHA

But, he is not a faithful Catholic!


SISTER CLAIRE

We will convert him!


THE SISTERS

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

He's poor.


SISTER MARTHA

Who told you so, dear Mother?



265

MOTHER MARGUERITE

Monsieur Le Bret.


SISTER MARTHA

None help him?


MOTHER MARGUERITE

He permits not.

(In an alley at the back Roxane appears, dressed in black, with a widow's coif and veil. De Guiche, imposing-looking and visibly aged, walks by her side. They saunter slowly. Mother Marguerite rises)

'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!


(They go out. De Guiche and Roxane come forward in silence, and stop close to the embroidery frame.)

266

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.


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.



267

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!



268

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!



269

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?



270

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. . .



271

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.)

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


272

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

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

Saw you a doctor?



273

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!


LE BRET
(dragging him toward the right)

Come! Through the chapel! 'Tis the quickest way!


ROXANE
(appearing on the steps, and seeing Le Bret go away by the colonnade leading to the chapel door)

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.)

274

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. (She seats herself at the embroidery frame. Two sisters come out of the house, and bring a large armchair under the tree) There comes the famous armchair where he sits, Dear faithful friend!


SISTER MARTHA

It is the parlor'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! --Could hinder him. . .



275

A SISTER
(coming to the steps)

Monsieur de Bergerac.


Scene V.

Roxane, Cyrano and, for a moment, Sister Martha.
ROXANE
(without turning round)

What was I saying?. . .

(She embroiders. Cyrano, very pale, his hat pulled down over his eyes, appears. The sister who had announced him retires. He descends the steps slowly, with a visible difficulty in holding himself upright, bearing heavily on his cane. Roxane still works at her tapestry)

Time has dimmed the tints. . . How harmonize them now?

(To Cyrano, with playful reproach)

For the first time Late!--For the first time, all these fourteen years!


CYRANO
(who has succeeded in reaching the chair, and has seated himself--in a lively voice, which is in great contrast with his pale face)

Ay! It is villainous! I raged--was stayed. . .


ROXANE

By?. . .



276

CYRANO

By a bold, unwelcome visitor.


ROXANE
(absently, working)

Some creditor?


CYRANO

Ay, cousin,--the last creditor Who has a debt to claim from me.


ROXANE

And you Have paid it?


CYRANO

No, not yet! I put it off; --Said, 'Cry you mercy; this is Saturday, When I have get a standing rendezvous That naught 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!


(He shuts his eyes, and is silent for a moment. Sister Martha crosses the park from the chapel to the flight of steps. Roxane, seeing her, signs to her to approach.)
ROXANE
(to Cyrano)

How now? You have not teased the Sister?



277

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)

Oh!


CYRANO
(in a whisper, pointing to Roxane)

Hush! 'tis naught!--

(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

There, see! You are more reasonable to-day!



278

ROXANE
(who hears them whispering)

The Sister would convert you?


SISTER MARTHA

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 Will ever see it finished!



279

ROXANE

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

Listen.


ROXANE

Ah!



280

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 Monglat to Count Fiesque said--'Yes!' And Saturday the twenty-sixth. . .


(He closes his eyes. His head falls forward. Silence.)

281

ROXANE
(surprised at his voice ceasing, turns round, looks at him, and rising, terrified)

He swoons!

(She runs toward him crying)

Cyrano!


CYRANO
(opening his eyes, in an unconcerned voice)

What is this?

(He sees Roxane bending over him, and, hastily pressing his hat on his head, and shrinking back in his chair)

Nay, on my word 'Tis nothing! Let me be!


ROXANE

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)


282

'Tis here, beneath this letter brown with age, 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 is!


CYRANO
(taking it)

Have 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!


283

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!


(She comes nearer very softly, without his perceiving it, passes behind his chair, and, noiselessly leaning over him, looks at the letter. The darkness deepens.)
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!

(He starts, turns, sees her close to him. Suddenly alarmed, he holds his head down. Then in the dusk, which has now completely enfolded

284

them, she says, very slowly, with clasped hands)

And, fourteen years long, he has played this part Of the kind old friend who comes to laugh and chat.


CYRANO

Roxane!


ROXANE

'Twas you!


CYRANO

No, never; Roxane, no!


ROXANE

I should have guessed, each time he said my name!


CYRANO

No, it was not I!


ROXANE

It was you!


CYRANO

I swear!


ROXANE

I see through all the generous counterfeit-- The letters--you!


CYRANO

No.


ROXANE

The sweet, mad love-words! You!


CYRANO

No!



285

ROXANE

The voice that thrilled the night--you, you!


CYRANO

I swear you err.


ROXANE

The soul--it was your soul!


CYRANO

I loved you not.


ROXANE

You loved me not?


CYRANO

'Twas he!


ROXANE

You loved me!


CYRANO

No!


ROXANE

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, The tears were your tears?



286

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.)

287

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?



288

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!



289

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.



290

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!



291

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


292

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!



293

(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.)

294

ROXANE
(bending and kissing his forehead)

'Tis?. . .


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

MY PANACHE.


Curtain.