The Duke Monologue from L'Aiglon

From L'Aiglon by Edmond Rostand

male · anguished · 1:09 min

The racking cough that wakes me in a sweat! (A VOICE: I cannot drag my leg! Oh, wrench it off!) The blood I spit! I know whose blood it is! (THE PLAIN: Ah!--Ah--!) And all the arms! And all the arms I see! The handless wrists! The hands with shattered fingers! The monstrous harvest which a mighty wind Bends me-ward with a curse! Oh! Mercy! Mercy! Old Cuirassier, groaning with outstretched hands-- Horrible agonized hands with bloody wrists!-- Mercy! Poor little Private of the Guards, Who slowly raise your livid face to mine! Look not upon me with those glazing eyes! Why do you creep upon me through the gloom? God! 'Tis as though you strove to utter cries! Why do you all suck in a mighty breath? Why do you open horror-sated lips? What will you cry?--What?--What?

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