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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 cheap ghd straighteners 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 chapeltime! 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 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! CYRANO (growing whiter and whiter): Saturday The nineteenth: having eaten to excess Of pear-conserve, the King felt CYRANO DE BERGERAC 130 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 ghd hair 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.) 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): ‘Tis here, ghd ireland beneath cheap ghd straighteners uk 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. CYRANO DE BERGERAC 131 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 ghd hair straighteners of old, My loving, longing eyes will feast On your least gesture–ay, the least! 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. . ghd iv .’ 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 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! CYRANO DE BERGERAC 132 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! 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 ghd flat iron letter, which he never wrote, The tears were your tears? 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 ghd hair ireland 5.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, CYRANO DE BERGERAC 133 twenty-sixth, at dinner-time, Assassination of De Bergerac. (He takes off his hat; they see his head bandaged.) 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 ghd pure scene from you! LE BRET: What! a whole scene? 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 ghd ceramic iron 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! ROXANE (rising and calling): Sister! Sister! CYRANO DE BERGERAC 134 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. 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! 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 allaitCYRANO cheap ghd straighteners DE BERGERAC 135 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 ghd hair styler , 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 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! (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, CYRANO DE BERGERAC 136 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.) ghd straighteners ireland ROXANE (bending and kissing his forehead): ‘Tis?. . . CYRANO (opening his eyes, recognizing her, and smiling): MY PANACHE. Curtain. End of this Project Gutenberg Etext of Cyrano de Bergerac by Edmond Rostand in English

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