The Duke Monologue from L'Aiglon

From L'Aiglon by Edmond Rostand

male · anguished · 1:03 min

(Looking at METTERNICH.) Ah, my Lord Chancellor, I die Too soon for you; and you should weep. (METTERNICH: My Lord--!) I was your weapon and my death disarms you! Europe, which never dared to say you nay, When you were he who could unchain the Eaglet, Listening to-morrow, will take heart, and say "I do not hear it stirring in its cage!" (METTERNICH: My Lord! My Lord!) The cradle Paris gave me! My splendid cradle, Prudhon's masterpiece! Amidst its gold and mother-o'-pearl I slept, A babe, whose christening was a coronation. Place it beside this little bed, whereon My Father slept when victory fanned his slumbers. Closer! until its laces graze the sheets. Alas! how near my cradle to my death-bed! (He points to the gap between the cradle and the bed.) And all my life lies in that narrow space!

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