The Duke Monologue from L'Aiglon

From L'Aiglon by Edmond Rostand

male · anguished · 1:06 min

Why, truly, Madam, It's your prerogative to be mere woman. Go, be a woman in the Sala palace; But tell yourself, Ah! tell yourself--and this Shall be your sad atonement for his glory, Widow who cast aside her widow's weeds!-- Tell yourself this: Men only gaze upon you For the immortal fame he robed you in, And only whisper praises of your beauty Because of old he conquered all the world! (MARIA LOUISA: I'll hear no more! Bombelles, let us begone!) Return to Sala. I am saved. Thank God! (MARIA LOUISA: Farewell!) O hands, cold hands within the tomb, Sad hands because the Imperial ring slipped from you, Hands that have held her brow who years ago Shed bitter tears that I was not her son, Hands laid in blessing on my orphaned soul, Weeping I kiss you, hands of Josephine!

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