Cyrano De Bergerac by Edmond Rostand - HTML preview

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. 

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 V.1. 

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! 

 

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! 

 

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? 

 

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.) 

 

Scene V.2. 

 

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:<br>  beneath this tree

  They place his chair, if it be fine:<br>--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:<br>--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:<br>--

  Lo! the assassins that I fear for him!

  Each day he tightens by one hole his belt:<br>

  That poor nose--tinted like old ivory:<br>

  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.) 

 

Scene V.3. 

 

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:

  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? 

 

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.) 

 

Scene V.4. 

 

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. . . 

 

A SISTER (coming to the steps):

  Monsieur de Bergerac. 

 

Scene V.5. 

 

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?. . . 

 

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? 

 

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! 

 

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! 

 

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