READ STUDY GUIDE: Act V, scenes i-vi |
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Act V, 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.) |
| 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? |
| 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! |
| 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. |
| 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 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 |
| 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, 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.) |
| ROXANE (bending and kissing his forehead): |
| 'Tis?. . . |
| CYRANO (opening his eyes, recognizing her, and smiling): |
| MY PANACHE. |
| Curtain.: |
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