"Tous les fleuves vont à la mer, et la mer n’est pas remplie"
dimanche 24 avril 2011
samedi 23 avril 2011
Letter from Fukushima: A Vietnamese-Japanese Police Officer’s Account
This letter, written by a Vietnamese immigrant working in Fukishima as a policeman to a friend in Vietnam, has been circulating on Facebook among the Vietnamese diaspora. It is an extraordinary testimony to the strength and dignity of the Japanese spirit, and an interesting slice of life near the epicenter of Japan’s current crisis, the Fukushima nuclear power plant. It was translated by NAM editor, Andrew Lam, author of East Eats West: Writing in Two Hemispheres. His first book, Perfume Dreams, Reflections on the Vietnamese DIaspora won a 2006 Pen Award.
Brother,
How are you and your family? These last few days, everything was in chaos. When I close my eyes, I see dead bodies. When I open my eyes, I also see dead bodies. Each one of us must work 20 hours a day, yet I wish there were 48 hours in the day, so that we could continue helping and rescuing folks.
We are without water and electricity, and food rations are near zero. We barely manage to move refugees before there are new orders to move them elsewhere.
I am currently in Fukushima, about 25 kilometers away from the nuclear power plant. I have so much to tell you that if I could write it all down, it would surely turn into a novel about human relationships and behaviors during times of crisis.
The other day I ran into a Vietnamese-American. His name is Toan. He is an engineer working at the Fukushima 1 nuclear plant, and he was wounded right at the beginning, when the earthquake struck. With the chaos that ensued, no one helped him communicate with his family. When I ran into him I contacted the US embassy, and I have to admit that I admire the Americans’ swift action: They sent a helicopter immediately to the hospital and took him to their military base.
But the foreign students from Vietnam are not so lucky. I still haven't received news of them. If there were exact names and addresses of where they work and so on, it would be easier to discover their fate. In Japan, the police do not keep accurate residential information the way they do in Vietnam, and privacy law here makes it even more difficult to find.
I met a Japanese woman who was working with seven Vietnamese women, all here as foreign students. Their work place is only 3 kilometers from the ocean and she said that they don’t really understand Japanese. When she fled, the students followed her, but when she checked back they were gone. Now she doesn't know if they managed to survive. She remembers one woman’s name: Nguyen thi Huyen (or Hien).
No representatives from the Vietnamese embassy have shown up, even though on the Vietnamese Internet news sites they claim to be very concerned about Vietnamese citizens in Japan - all of it a lie.
Even us policemen are going hungry and thirsty, so can you imagine what those Vietnamese foreign students are going through? The worst things here right now are the cold, the hunger and thirst, the lack of water and electricity.
People here remain calm - their sense of dignity and proper behavior are very good - so things aren’t as bad as they could be. But given another week, I can’t guarantee that things won't get to a point where we can no longer provide proper protection and order. They are humans after all, and when hunger and thirst override dignity, well, they will do whatever they have to do. The government is trying to provide air supply, bringing in food and medicine, but it’s like dropping a little salt into the ocean.
Brother, there are so many stories I want to tell you - so many, that I don’t know how to write them all. But there was a really moving incident. It involves a little Japanese boy who taught an adult like me a lesson on how to behave like a human being:
Last night, I was sent to a little grammar school to help a charity organization distribute food to the refugees. It was a long line that snaked this way and that and I saw a little boy around 9 years old. He was wearing a t-shirt and a pair of shorts.
It was getting very cold and the boy was at the very end of the line. I was worried that by the time his turn came there wouldn’t be any food left. So I spoke to him.
He said he was in the middle of PE at school when the earthquake happened. His father worked nearby and was driving to the school. The boy was on the third floor balcony when he saw the tsunami sweep his father’s car away. I asked him about his mother. He said his house is right by the beach and that his mother and little sister probably didn’t make it. He turned his head and wiped his tears when I asked about his relatives.
The boy was shivering so I took off my police jacket and put it on him. That’s when my bag of food ration fell out. I picked it up and gave it to him. “When it comes to your turn, they might run out of food. So here’s my portion. I already ate. Why don’t you eat it.”
The boy took my food and bowed. I thought he would eat it right away, but he didn't. He took the bag of food, went up to where the line ended and put it where all the food was waiting to be distributed. I was shocked. I asked him why he didn’t eat it and instead added it to the food pile …
He answered: “Because I see a lot more people hungrier than I am. If I put it there, then they will distribute the food equally.”
When I heard that I turned away so that people wouldn't see me cry. It was so moving -- a powerful lesson on sacrifice and giving. Who knew a 9-year-old in third grade could teach me a lesson on how to be a human being at a time of such great suffering? A society that can produce a 9- year-old who understands the concept of sacrifice for the greater good must be a great society, a great people.
It reminds me of a phrase that I once learned in school, a capitalist theory from the old man, Fuwa [Tetsuzo], chairman of the Japanese Communist Party: “If Marx comes back to life, he will have to add a phrase to his book, Capital, and that ‘Communist ideology is only successful in Japan.’”
Well, a few lines to send you and your family my warm wishes. The hours of my shift have begun again.
- Ha Minh Thanh
Brother,
How are you and your family? These last few days, everything was in chaos. When I close my eyes, I see dead bodies. When I open my eyes, I also see dead bodies. Each one of us must work 20 hours a day, yet I wish there were 48 hours in the day, so that we could continue helping and rescuing folks.
We are without water and electricity, and food rations are near zero. We barely manage to move refugees before there are new orders to move them elsewhere.
I am currently in Fukushima, about 25 kilometers away from the nuclear power plant. I have so much to tell you that if I could write it all down, it would surely turn into a novel about human relationships and behaviors during times of crisis.
The other day I ran into a Vietnamese-American. His name is Toan. He is an engineer working at the Fukushima 1 nuclear plant, and he was wounded right at the beginning, when the earthquake struck. With the chaos that ensued, no one helped him communicate with his family. When I ran into him I contacted the US embassy, and I have to admit that I admire the Americans’ swift action: They sent a helicopter immediately to the hospital and took him to their military base.
But the foreign students from Vietnam are not so lucky. I still haven't received news of them. If there were exact names and addresses of where they work and so on, it would be easier to discover their fate. In Japan, the police do not keep accurate residential information the way they do in Vietnam, and privacy law here makes it even more difficult to find.
I met a Japanese woman who was working with seven Vietnamese women, all here as foreign students. Their work place is only 3 kilometers from the ocean and she said that they don’t really understand Japanese. When she fled, the students followed her, but when she checked back they were gone. Now she doesn't know if they managed to survive. She remembers one woman’s name: Nguyen thi Huyen (or Hien).
No representatives from the Vietnamese embassy have shown up, even though on the Vietnamese Internet news sites they claim to be very concerned about Vietnamese citizens in Japan - all of it a lie.
Even us policemen are going hungry and thirsty, so can you imagine what those Vietnamese foreign students are going through? The worst things here right now are the cold, the hunger and thirst, the lack of water and electricity.
People here remain calm - their sense of dignity and proper behavior are very good - so things aren’t as bad as they could be. But given another week, I can’t guarantee that things won't get to a point where we can no longer provide proper protection and order. They are humans after all, and when hunger and thirst override dignity, well, they will do whatever they have to do. The government is trying to provide air supply, bringing in food and medicine, but it’s like dropping a little salt into the ocean.
Brother, there are so many stories I want to tell you - so many, that I don’t know how to write them all. But there was a really moving incident. It involves a little Japanese boy who taught an adult like me a lesson on how to behave like a human being:
Last night, I was sent to a little grammar school to help a charity organization distribute food to the refugees. It was a long line that snaked this way and that and I saw a little boy around 9 years old. He was wearing a t-shirt and a pair of shorts.
It was getting very cold and the boy was at the very end of the line. I was worried that by the time his turn came there wouldn’t be any food left. So I spoke to him.
He said he was in the middle of PE at school when the earthquake happened. His father worked nearby and was driving to the school. The boy was on the third floor balcony when he saw the tsunami sweep his father’s car away. I asked him about his mother. He said his house is right by the beach and that his mother and little sister probably didn’t make it. He turned his head and wiped his tears when I asked about his relatives.
The boy was shivering so I took off my police jacket and put it on him. That’s when my bag of food ration fell out. I picked it up and gave it to him. “When it comes to your turn, they might run out of food. So here’s my portion. I already ate. Why don’t you eat it.”
The boy took my food and bowed. I thought he would eat it right away, but he didn't. He took the bag of food, went up to where the line ended and put it where all the food was waiting to be distributed. I was shocked. I asked him why he didn’t eat it and instead added it to the food pile …
He answered: “Because I see a lot more people hungrier than I am. If I put it there, then they will distribute the food equally.”
When I heard that I turned away so that people wouldn't see me cry. It was so moving -- a powerful lesson on sacrifice and giving. Who knew a 9-year-old in third grade could teach me a lesson on how to be a human being at a time of such great suffering? A society that can produce a 9- year-old who understands the concept of sacrifice for the greater good must be a great society, a great people.
It reminds me of a phrase that I once learned in school, a capitalist theory from the old man, Fuwa [Tetsuzo], chairman of the Japanese Communist Party: “If Marx comes back to life, he will have to add a phrase to his book, Capital, and that ‘Communist ideology is only successful in Japan.’”
Well, a few lines to send you and your family my warm wishes. The hours of my shift have begun again.
- Ha Minh Thanh
lundi 18 avril 2011
On the Mindless Menace of Violence - City Club of Cleveland, Cleveland, Ohio April 5, 1968 - R.F.Kennedy
This is a time of shame and sorrow. It is not a day for politics. I have saved this one opportunity, my only event of today, to speak briefly to you about the mindless menace of violence in America which again stains our land and every one of our lives.
It is not the concern of any one race. The victims of the violence are black and white, rich and poor, young and old, famous and unknown. They are, most important of all, human beings whom other human beings loved and needed. No one - no matter where he lives or what he does - can be certain who will suffer from some senseless act of bloodshed. And yet it goes on and on and on in this country of ours.
Why? What has violence ever accomplished? What has it ever created? No martyr's cause has ever been stilled by an assassin's bullet.
No wrongs have ever been righted by riots and civil disorders. A sniper is only a coward, not a hero; and an uncontrolled, uncontrollable mob is only the voice of madness, not the voice of reason.
Whenever any American's life is taken by another American unnecessarily - whether it is done in the name of the law or in the defiance of the law, by one man or a gang, in cold blood or in passion, in an attack of violence or in response to violence - whenever we tear at the fabric of the life which another man has painfully and clumsily woven for himself and his children, the whole nation is degraded.
"Among free men," said Abraham Lincoln, "there can be no successful appeal from the ballot to the bullet; and those who take such appeal are sure to lose their cause and pay the costs."
Yet we seemingly tolerate a rising level of violence that ignores our common humanity and our claims to civilization alike. We calmly accept newspaper reports of civilian slaughter in far-off lands. We glorify killing on movie and television screens and call it entertainment. We make it easy for men of all shades of sanity to acquire whatever weapons and ammunition they desire.
Too often we honor swagger and bluster and wielders of force; too often we excuse those who are willing to build their own lives on the shattered dreams of others. Some Americans who preach non-violence abroad fail to practice it here at home. Some who accuse others of inciting riots have by their own conduct invited them.
Some look for scapegoats, others look for conspiracies, but this much is clear: violence breeds violence, repression brings retaliation, and only a cleansing of our whole society can remove this sickness from our soul.
For there is another kind of violence, slower but just as deadly destructive as the shot or the bomb in the night. This is the violence of institutions; indifference and inaction and slow decay. This is the violence that afflicts the poor, that poisons relations between men because their skin has different colors. This is the slow destruction of a child by hunger, and schools without books and homes without heat in the winter.
This is the breaking of a man's spirit by denying him the chance to stand as a father and as a man among other men. And this too afflicts us all.
I have not come here to propose a set of specific remedies nor is there a single set. For a broad and adequate outline we know what must be done. When you teach a man to hate and fear his brother, when you teach that he is a lesser man because of his color or his beliefs or the policies he pursues, when you teach that those who differ from you threaten your freedom or your job or your family, then you also learn to confront others not as fellow citizens but as enemies, to be met not with cooperation but with conquest; to be subjugated and mastered.
We learn, at the last, to look at our brothers as aliens, men with whom we share a city, but not a community; men bound to us in common dwelling, but not in common effort. We learn to share only a common fear, only a common desire to retreat from each other, only a common impulse to meet disagreement with force. For all this, there are no final answers.
Yet we know what we must do. It is to achieve true justice among our fellow citizens. The question is not what programs we should seek to enact. The question is whether we can find in our own midst and in our own hearts that leadership of humane purpose that will recognize the terrible truths of our existence.
We must admit the vanity of our false distinctions among men and learn to find our own advancement in the search for the advancement of others. We must admit in ourselves that our own children's future cannot be built on the misfortunes of others. We must recognize that this short life can neither be ennobled or enriched by hatred or revenge.
Our lives on this planet are too short and the work to be done too great to let this spirit flourish any longer in our land. Of course we cannot vanquish it with a program, nor with a resolution.
But we can perhaps remember, if only for a time, that those who live with us are our brothers, that they share with us the same short moment of life; that they seek, as do we, nothing but the chance to live out their lives in purpose and in happiness, winning what satisfaction and fulfillment they can.
Surely, this bond of common faith, this bond of common goal, can begin to teach us something. Surely, we can learn, at least, to look at those around us as fellow men, and surely we can begin to work a little harder to bind up the wounds among us and to become in our own hearts brothers and countrymen once again.
Paroles et traduction : The Partisan / Leonard Cohen
When they poured across the border
(Quand ils eurent traversé en masse la rivière)
I was cautioned to surrender,
(Ils me demandèrent de capituler,)
This I could not do ;
(Mais je ne pouvais pas faire ça;)
I took my gun and vanished.
(J'ai pris mon arme et j'ai disparu.)
I have changed my name so often,
(J'ai changé si souvent de nom,)
I've lost my wife and children
(J'ai perdu ma femme et mes enfants)
But I have many friends,
(Mais j'ai beaucoup d'amis,)
And some of them are with me.
(Et certains sont avec moi.)
An old woman gave us shelter,
(Une vieille femme nous a hébergé,)
Kept us hidden in the garret,
(Nous gardant caché sous la mansarde,)
Then the soldiers came ;
(Puis les soldats vinrent ;)
She died without a whisper.
(Elle mourut sans un murmure.)
There were three of us this morning
(Nous étions trois ce matin)
I'm the only one this evening
(Il n'y a plus que moi ce soir)
But I must go on ;
(Mais je dois continuer ;)
The frontiers are my prison.
(Les frontières sont ma prison.)
Oh, the wind, the wind is blowing,
(Oh, le vent, le vent souffle,)
Through the graves the wind is blowing,
(A travers les tombes, le vent souffle,)
Freedom soon will come ;
(La liberté viendra bientôt ;)
Then we'll come from the shadows.
(Puis nous sortirons de l'ombre.)
Les allemands étaient chez moi,
Ils m'ont dit : "résigne-toi",
Mais je n'ai pas peur ;
J'ai repris mon âme.
J'ai changé cent fois de nom,
J'ai perdu femme et enfants
Mais j'ai tant d'amis ;
J'ai la france entière.
Un vieil homme dans un grenier
Pour la nuit nous a caché,
Les allemands l'ont pris ;
Il est mort sans surprise.
Oh, the wind, the wind is blowing,
(Oh, le vent, le vent souffle,)
Through the graves the wind is blowing,
(A travers les tombes, le vent souffle,)
Freedom soon will come ;
(La liberté viendra bientôt ;)
Then we'll come from the shadows.
(Puis nous sortirons de l'ombre.)
(Quand ils eurent traversé en masse la rivière)
I was cautioned to surrender,
(Ils me demandèrent de capituler,)
This I could not do ;
(Mais je ne pouvais pas faire ça;)
I took my gun and vanished.
(J'ai pris mon arme et j'ai disparu.)
I have changed my name so often,
(J'ai changé si souvent de nom,)
I've lost my wife and children
(J'ai perdu ma femme et mes enfants)
But I have many friends,
(Mais j'ai beaucoup d'amis,)
And some of them are with me.
(Et certains sont avec moi.)
An old woman gave us shelter,
(Une vieille femme nous a hébergé,)
Kept us hidden in the garret,
(Nous gardant caché sous la mansarde,)
Then the soldiers came ;
(Puis les soldats vinrent ;)
She died without a whisper.
(Elle mourut sans un murmure.)
There were three of us this morning
(Nous étions trois ce matin)
I'm the only one this evening
(Il n'y a plus que moi ce soir)
But I must go on ;
(Mais je dois continuer ;)
The frontiers are my prison.
(Les frontières sont ma prison.)
Oh, the wind, the wind is blowing,
(Oh, le vent, le vent souffle,)
Through the graves the wind is blowing,
(A travers les tombes, le vent souffle,)
Freedom soon will come ;
(La liberté viendra bientôt ;)
Then we'll come from the shadows.
(Puis nous sortirons de l'ombre.)
Les allemands étaient chez moi,
Ils m'ont dit : "résigne-toi",
Mais je n'ai pas peur ;
J'ai repris mon âme.
J'ai changé cent fois de nom,
J'ai perdu femme et enfants
Mais j'ai tant d'amis ;
J'ai la france entière.
Un vieil homme dans un grenier
Pour la nuit nous a caché,
Les allemands l'ont pris ;
Il est mort sans surprise.
Oh, the wind, the wind is blowing,
(Oh, le vent, le vent souffle,)
Through the graves the wind is blowing,
(A travers les tombes, le vent souffle,)
Freedom soon will come ;
(La liberté viendra bientôt ;)
Then we'll come from the shadows.
(Puis nous sortirons de l'ombre.)
jeudi 14 avril 2011
A lire.: Vanité des vanités,méditations au désert de Daniel Duigou
Albin Michel - Septembre 2010
Daniel Duigou est une personnalité atypique : journaliste, psychanalyste, puis ordonné prêtre à 50 ans passés, il élabore depuis quelques années une pensée chrétienne audacieuse et accessible à tous.
Retiré dans un ermitage du désert marocain, il vit cette "retraite" comme un rendez-vous avec lui même. Porté par le changement radical de vie et d'environnement.
D. Duigou aspire au dépouillement et à l'authenticité de chaque instant à vivre.
Dans ce livre, écrit comme un journal intime, il prend pour fil rouge le livre biblique "Qohélet" texte étonnant, parfois radical, qui invite chacun à orienter sa vie en sachant se délester de tout ce qui n'est qu'orgueil et vanité.
Nous livrant la simplicité de sa vie au désert, l'auteur fait résonner avec justesse les grands thèmes du livre de "Qohélet" Parfois sur le ton de la confidence, il parle des grands événements de sa vie, des rencontres fortes et inattendues, cherchant toujours à déceler le sens des choses et les clins d'oeil de Dieu. Un texte fort qui s'offre en miroir au lecteur.
Daniel Duigou est une personnalité atypique : journaliste, psychanalyste, puis ordonné prêtre à 50 ans passés, il élabore depuis quelques années une pensée chrétienne audacieuse et accessible à tous.
Retiré dans un ermitage du désert marocain, il vit cette "retraite" comme un rendez-vous avec lui même. Porté par le changement radical de vie et d'environnement.
D. Duigou aspire au dépouillement et à l'authenticité de chaque instant à vivre.
Dans ce livre, écrit comme un journal intime, il prend pour fil rouge le livre biblique "Qohélet" texte étonnant, parfois radical, qui invite chacun à orienter sa vie en sachant se délester de tout ce qui n'est qu'orgueil et vanité.
Nous livrant la simplicité de sa vie au désert, l'auteur fait résonner avec justesse les grands thèmes du livre de "Qohélet" Parfois sur le ton de la confidence, il parle des grands événements de sa vie, des rencontres fortes et inattendues, cherchant toujours à déceler le sens des choses et les clins d'oeil de Dieu. Un texte fort qui s'offre en miroir au lecteur.
lundi 11 avril 2011
The rose
Some say love it is a river
that drowns the tender reed
Some say love it is a razer
that leaves your soul to blead
Some say love it is a hunger
an endless aching need
I say love it is a flower
and you it's only seed
It's the heart afraid of breaking
that never learns to dance
It's the dream afraid of waking that never takes the chance
It's the one who won't be taken
who cannot seem to give
and the soul afraid of dying that never learns to live
When the night has been too lonely
and the road has been too long
and you think that love is only
for the lucky and the strong
Just remember in the winterfar beneath the bitter snows
lies the seed
that with the sun's love
in the spring
becomes the rose
dimanche 3 avril 2011
Martin Gray
« L’homme n’est pas qu’un corps. L’amour n’est pas qu’une rencontre de deux corps. Aimer c’est en même temps partager des mots, des regards, des espoirs et des craintes. Ceux qui mutilent l’amour l’ignoreront toujours. Il est, indestructiblement, fait de la joie des corps et de l’union des espérances. Indestructiblement liés, comme les branches d’un arbre qui n’existent que par ses racines. »
Martin Gray - Le livre de la vie.
« Aimer, ce n’est pas mutiler l’autre, le dominer, mais l’accompagner dans sa course, l’aider. L’amour vrai est le contraire de la volonté de puissance. »
Si c'est un homme - Primo Lévi
Vous qui vivez en toute quiétude
Bien au chaud dans vos maisons
Vous qui trouvez le soir en rentrant
La table mise et des visages amis,
Considérez si c'est un homme
Que celui qui peine dans la boue,
Qui ne connait pas de repos,
Qui se bat pour un quignon de pain
Qui meurt pour un oui ou pour un non.Considérez si c'est une femme
Que celle qui a perdu son nom et ses cheveux
Et jusqu'à la force de ses souvenir,
Les yeux vides et le sein froid
Comme une grenouille en hiver.
N'oubliez pas que cela fut,
Non ne l'oubliez pas:
Gravez ces mots dans votre coeur
Pensez-y chez vous, dans la rue,
En vous couchant, en vous levant:
Répétez-les à vos enfants.
Ou que votre maison s'écroule,
Que la maladie vous accable
Que vos enfants se détournent de vous.
L'Amour, La fantasia d'Assia Djebar
Sistre
Long silence, nuit chevauchées, spirales dans la gorge. Râles, ruisseaux de son précipices, sources d'échos entrecroisés, cataractes de murmures, chuchotements en taillis tressés, surgeons susurrant sous la langue, chuintements, et souque la voix courbe qui, dans la soute de sa mémoire, retrouve souffles souillés de soûlerie ancienne.
Râles de cymbale qui renâcle, cirse ou ciseaux de cette tessiture, tessons de soupirs naufragés [...] (p. 156)
Long silence, nuit chevauchées, spirales dans la gorge. Râles, ruisseaux de son précipices, sources d'échos entrecroisés, cataractes de murmures, chuchotements en taillis tressés, surgeons susurrant sous la langue, chuintements, et souque la voix courbe qui, dans la soute de sa mémoire, retrouve souffles souillés de soûlerie ancienne.
Râles de cymbale qui renâcle, cirse ou ciseaux de cette tessiture, tessons de soupirs naufragés [...] (p. 156)
samedi 2 avril 2011
Cyrano de Bergerac d'Edmond Rostand. Acte V, scène 6
CYRANO, [est secoué d'un grand frisson et se lève brusquement.]
Pas là ! non ! pas dans ce fauteuil !
[On veut s'élancer vers lui.]
Ne me soutenez pas ! Personne !
[Il va s'adosser à l'arbre.]
Rien que l'arbre !
[Silence.]
Elle vient. Je me sens déjà botté de marbre,
Ganté de plomb !
[Il se raidit.]
Oh ! mais !... puisqu'elle est en chemin,
Je l'attendrai debout,
[Il tire l'épée.]
et l'épée à la main !LE BRET
Cyrano !ROXANE, [défaillante]
Cyrano ![Tous reculent épouvantés.]
CYRANO
Je crois qu'elle regarde...
Qu'elle ose regarder mon nez, cette Camarde !
Il lève son épée.
Que dites-vous ?... C'est inutile ?... Je le sais !
Mais on ne se bat pas dans l'espoir du succès !
Non ! non, c'est bien plus beau lorsque c'est inutile !
Qu'est-ce que c'est que tous ceux-là !- Vous êtes mille ?
Ah ! je vous reconnais, tous mes vieux ennemis !
Le Mensonge ?
[Il frappe de son épée le vide.]
Tiens, tiens ! -Ha ! ha ! les Compromis,
Les Préjugés, les Lâchetés !...
[Il frappe.]
Que je pactise ?
Jamais, jamais ! -Ah ! te voilà, toi, la Sottise !
Je sais bien qu'à la fin vous me mettrez à bas ;
N'importe : Je me bats ! Je me bats ! Je me bats!
[Il fait des moulinets immenses et s'arrête haletant.]
Oui, vous m'arrachez tout, le laurier et la rose !
Arrachez ! Il y a malgré vous quelque chose
Que j'emporte, et ce soir, quand j'entrerai chez Dieu,
Mon salut balaiera largement le seuil bleu,
Quelque chose que sans un pli, sans une tache,
J'emporte malgré vous,
[Il s'élance l'épée haute.]
et c'est...
[L'épée s'échappe de ses mains, il chancelle, tombe dans les bras de Le Bret et de Ragueneau.]ROXANE, [se penchant sur lui et lui baisant le front]
C'est ?...CYRANO, [rouvre les yeux, la reconnaît et dit en souriant]
Mon panache !
RIDEAU
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