Just speak one word; put your sweet hands upon
My forehead. If your heart is full and you
Can't speak, please make a sign. I'm dying; you
Must comfort me.
[Marion places her hand on his forehead; he rises, embraces her tenderly, with a smile of celestial joy.
MARION (throws herself wildly between him and the Soldiers).
Oh, no! Stop! This is madness!
If you think you can behead him easily,
You have forgotten I am here. Spare us!
Oh, men! oh, soldiers, judge, people! Spare us!
How do you want me to ask you? Upon
My knees? Well, here I am! Now if
In you there's anything that quivers at
A woman's voice, if God has thrown no curse
On you—don't kill him!
[To the spectators.] Men and women—you!
When you go back into your homes to-night,
You'll find your mothers and your daughters; they
Will say to you, "It was a wicked crime.
You might have saved him, and you did not. Shame!"
Didier, they ought to know that I must follow
You! They will not kill you if they want
To keep me living!
DIDIER.
Let me die, Marie.
'Tis better, dear one, for my wound is deep;
It would have taken too much time to heal.
Better for me to go; but if, some time—
You see I'm weeping too—another comes,
A happier man, more fortunate than I,
Think of your old friend sleeping in the tomb.
MARION.
You shall not die! Are these men all inhuman?
You must live!
DIDIER.
Don't ask things impossible.
No; with your bright eyes, turn, illuminate
My grave for me. Embrace me. You will love
Me better, dead. I'll hold a sacred place
In your dear memory. But if I lived,
Lived near you with my lacerated soul—
I, who have loved no one but you—you see
It would be painful. I would make you weep.
I'd have a thousand thoughts I could not speak.
I'd seem to doubt you, watch you, worry you.
You would be most unhappy. Let me die!