Cyrano de Bergerac [48]
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 5.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.
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!
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
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 5.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.
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!
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