Act IV, Scene viii
| Roxane, Christian. In the distance cadets coming and going. Carbon and De |
| Guiche give orders. |
| ROXANE (running up to Christian): |
 Ah, Christian, at last!. . . |
| CHRISTIAN (taking her hands): |
| Now tell me why— |
| Why, by these fearful paths so perilous— |
| Across these ranks of ribald soldiery, |
| You have come? |
| ROXANE: |
| Love, your letters brought me here! |
| CHRISTIAN: |
| What say you? |
| ROXANE: |
| 'Tis your fault if I ran risks! |
| Your letters turned my head! Ah! all this month, |
| How many!—and the last one ever bettered |
| The one that went before! |
| CHRISTIAN: |
| What!—for a few |
| Inconsequent love-letters! |
| ROXANE: |
| Hold your peace! |
| Ah! you cannot conceive it! Ever since |
| That night, when, in a voice all new to me, |
| Under my window you revealed your soul— |
| Ah! ever since I have adored you! Now |
| Your letters all this whole month long!—meseemed |
| As if I heard that voice so tender, true, |
| Sheltering, close! Thy fault, I say! It drew me, |
| The voice o' th' night! Oh! wise Penelope |
| Would ne'er have stayed to broider on her hearthstone, |
| If her Ulysses could have writ such letters! |
| But would have cast away her silken bobbins, |
| And fled to join him, mad for love as Helen! |
| CHRISTIAN: |
| But. . . |
| ROXANE: |
| I read, read again—grew faint for love; |
| I was thine utterly. Each separate page |
| Was like a fluttering flower-petal, loosed |
| From your own soul, and wafted thus to mine. |
| Imprinted in each burning word was love |
| Sincere, all-powerful. . . |
| CHRISTIAN: |
| A love sincere! |
| Can that be felt, Roxane! |
| ROXANE: |
| Ay, that it can! |
| CHRISTIAN: |
| You come. . .? |
| ROXANE: |
| O, Christian, my true lord, I come— |
| (Were I to throw myself, here, at your knees, |
| You would raise me—but 'tis my soul I lay |
| At your feet—you can raise it nevermore!) |
| —I come to crave your pardon. (Ay, 'tis time |
| To sue for pardon, now that death may come!) |
| For the insult done to you when, frivolous, |
| At first I loved you only for your face! |
| CHRISTIAN (horror-stricken): |
| Roxane! |
| ROXANE: |
| And later, love—less frivolous— |
| Like a bird that spreads its wings, but can not fly— |
| Arrested by your beauty, by your soul |
| Drawn close—I loved for both at once! |
| CHRISTIAN: |
| And now? |
| ROXANE: |
| Ah! you yourself have triumphed o'er yourself, |
| And now, I love you only for your soul! |
| CHRISTIAN (stepping backward): |
| Roxane! |
| ROXANE: |
| Be happy. To be loved for beauty— |
| A poor disguise that time so soon wears threadbare— |
| Must be to noble souls—to souls aspiring— |
| A torture. Your dear thoughts have now effaced |
| That beauty that so won me at the outset. |
| Now I see clearer—and I no more see it! |
| CHRISTIAN: |
| Oh!. . . |
| ROXANE: |
| You are doubtful of such victory? |
| CHRISTIAN (pained): |
| Roxane! |
| ROXANE: |
| I see you cannot yet believe it. |
| Such love. . .? |
| CHRISTIAN: |
| I do not ask such love as that! |
| I would be loved more simply; for. . . |
| ROXANE: |
| For that |
| Which they have all in turns loved in thee?— |
| Shame! |
| Oh! be loved henceforth in a better way! |
| CHRISTIAN: |
| No! the first love was best! |
| ROXANE: |
| Ah! how you err! |
| 'Tis now that I love best—love well! 'Tis that |
| Which is thy true self, see!—that I adore! |
| Were your brilliance dimmed. . . |
| CHRISTIAN: |
| Hush! |
| ROXANE: |
| I should love still! |
| Ay, if your beauty should to-day depart. . . |
| CHRISTIAN: |
| Say not so! |
| ROXANE: |
| Ay, I say it! |
| CHRISTIAN: |
| Ugly? How? |
| ROXANE: |
| Ugly! I swear I'd love you still! |
| CHRISTIAN: |
| My God! |
| ROXANE: |
| Are you content at last? |
| CHRISTIAN (in a choked voice): |
| Ay!. . . |
| ROXANE: |
| What is wrong? |
| CHRISTIAN (gently pushing her away): |
| Nothing. . .I have two words to say:—one second. . . |
| ROXANE: |
| But?. . . |
| CHRISTIAN (pointing to the cadets): |
| Those poor fellows, shortly doomed to death,— |
| My love deprives them of the sight of you: |
| Go,—speak to them—smile on them ere they die! |
| ROXANE (deeply affected): |
| Dear Christian!. . . |
| (She goes up to the cadets, who respectfully crowd round her.) |
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