What madness! Here? I knew it well!

(smiling and sitting up) What now?

He has brought his death by coming, Madame.

God! Ah, then! that faintness of a moment since. . .?

Why, true! It interrupted the 'Gazette:' . . .Saturday, twenty-sixth, at dinner-time, Assassination of De Bergerac.

What says he? Cyrano!--His head all bound! Ah, what has chanced? How?--Who?. . .

'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.

Ah, Monsieur!. . .

(holding out his hand to him) Ragueneau, Weep not so bitterly!. . .What do you now, Old comrade?

(amid his tears) Trim the lights for Moliere's stage.

Moliere!

Yes; but I shall leave to-morrow. I cannot bear it!--Yesterday, they played 'Scapin'--I saw he'd thieved a scene from you!

What! a whole scene?

Oh, yes, indeed, Monsieur, The famous one, 'Que Diable allait-il faire?'

Moliere has stolen that?

Tut! He did well!. . . (to Ragueneau): How went the scene? It told--I think it told?

(sobbing) Ah! how they laughed!

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!

(rising and calling) Sister! Sister!

(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.

Live, for I love you!

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!

I have marred your life--I, I!

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.

(pointing to the moon, which is seen between the trees) Your other lady-love is come.

(smiling) I see.

I loved but once, yet twice I lose my love!

Hark you, Le Bret! I soon shall reach the moon. To-night, alone, with no projectile's aid!. . .

What are you saying?

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!

(rebelliously) No, no! It is too clumsy, too unjust! So great a heart! So great a poet! Die Like this? what, die. . .?

Hark to Le Bret, who scolds!

(weeping) Dear friend. . .

(starting up, his eyes wild) What ho! Cadets of Gascony! The elemental mass--ah yes! The hic. . .

His science still--he raves!

Copernicus Said. . .

Oh!

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.

I swear it you!. . .

(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!

Cyrano!

(half fainting) 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.

(bending and kissing his forehead) 'Tis?. . .

(opening his eyes, recognizing her, and smiling) My panache. Curtain.