The Shop of Ragueneau, Baker and Pastrycook: a spacious affair at the corner of the Rue St.-Honoré and the Rue de l'Arbre Sec. The street, seen vaguely through the glass panes in the door at the back, is gray in the first light of dawn.
In the foreground, at the Left, a Counter is surmounted by a Canopy of wrought iron from which are hanging ducks, geese, and white peacocks. Great crockery jars hold bouquets of common flowers, yellow sunflowers in particular. On the same side farther back, a huge fireplace; in front of it, between great andirons, of which each one supports a little saucepan, roast fowls revolve and weep into their dripping-pans. To the Right at the First Entrance, a door. Beyond it, Second Entrance, a staircase leads up to a little dining-room under the eaves, its interior visible through open shutters. A table is set there and a tiny Flemish candlestick is lighted; there one may retire to eat and drink in private. A wooden gallery, extending from the head of the stairway, seems to lead to other little dining-rooms.
In the centre of the shop, an iron ring hangs by a rope over a pulley so that it can be raised or lowered; adorned with game of various kinds hung from it by hooks, it has the appearance of a sort of gastronomic chandelier.
In the shadow under the staircase, ovens are glowing. The spits revolve; the copper pots and pans gleam ruddily. Pastries in pyramids. Hams hanging from the rafters. The morning baking is in progress: a bustle of tall cooks and timid scullions and scurrying apprentices; a blossoming of white caps adorned with cock's, feathers or the wings of guinea fowl. On wicker trays or on great metal platters they bring in rows of pastries and fancy dishes of various kinds.
Tables are covered with trays of cakes and rolls; others with chairs placed about them are set for guests.
One little table in a corner disappears under a heap of papers. At the Curtain Rise Ragueneau is seated there. He is writing poetry.
A Pastrycook
(Brings in a dish.)
Fruits en gelée!
Second Pastrycook
(Brings dish.)
Custard!
Third Pastrycook
(Brings roast peacock ornamented with feathers.)
Peacock rôti!
Fourth Pastrycook
(Brings tray of cakes.)
Cakes and confections!
Fifth Pastrycook
(Brings earthen dish.)
Beef en casserole!
Ragueneau
(Raises his head; returns to mere earth.)
Over the coppers of my kitchen flows
The frosted-silver dawn. Silence awhile
The god who sings within thee, Ragueneau!
Lay down the lute—the oven calls for thee!
(Rises; goes to one of the cooks.)
Here's a hiatus in your sauce; fill up
The measure.
The Cook
How much?
Ragueneau
(Measures on his finger.)
One more dactyl.
The Cook
Huh? ...
First Pastrycook
Rolls!
Second Pastrycook
Roulades!
Ragueneau
(Before the fireplace)
Veil, O Muse, thy virgin eyes
From the lewd gleam of these terrestrial fires!
(To First Pastrycook)
Your rolls lack balance. Here's the proper form—
An equal hemistich on either side,
And the caesura in between.
(To another, pointing out an unfinished pie)
Your house
Of crust should have a roof upon it.
(To another, who is seated on the hearth, placing poultry on a spit)
And you—
Along the interminable spit, arrange
The modest pullet and the lordly Turk
Alternately, my son—as great Malherbe
Alternates male and female rimes. Remember,
A couplet, or a roast, should be well turned.
An Apprentice
(Advances with a dish covered by a napkin.)
Master, I thought of you when I designed
This, hoping it might please you.
Ragueneau
Ah! A lyre—
The Apprentice
In puff-paste—
Ragueneau
And the jewels—candied fruit!
The Apprentice
And the strings, barley-sugar!
Ragueneau
(Gives him money.)
Go and drink
My health.
(Lise enters.)
St!—My wife— Circulate, and hide
That money!
(Shows the lyre to Lise, with a languid air.)
Graceful—yes?
Lise
Ridiculous!
(She places on the counter a pile of paper bags.)
Ragueneau
Paper bags? Thank you ...
(He looks at them.)
Ciel! My manuscripts!
The sacred verses of my poets—rent
Asunder, limb from limb—butchered to make
Base packages of pastry! Ah, you are one
Of those insane Bacchantes who destroyed
Orpheus!
Lise
Your dirty poets left them here
To pay for eating half our stock-in-trade:
We ought to make some profit out of them!
Ragueneau
Ant! Would you blame the locust for his song?
Lise
I blame the locust for his appetite!
There used to be a time—before you had
Your hungry friends—you never called me Ants—
No, nor Bacchantes!
Ragueneau
What a way to use
Poetry!
Lise
Well, what is the use of it?
Ragueneau
But, my dear girl, what would you do with prose?
(Two children enter.)
Ragueneau
Well, dears?
A Child
Three little patties.
Ragueneau
(Serves them.)
There we are!
All hot and brown,
The Child
Would you mind wrapping them?
Ragueneau
One of my paper bags!...
Oh, certainly.
(Reads from the bag, as he is about to wrap the patties in it.)
"Ulysses, when he left Penelope"—
Not that one!
(Takes another bag; reads.)
"Phoebus, golden-crowned"—
Not that one.
Lise
Well? They are waiting!
Ragueneau
Very well, very well!—
The Sonnet to Phyllis ...
Yet—it does seem hard ...
Lise
Made up your mind—at last! Mph!—Jack-o'-Dreams!
Ragueneau
(As her back is turned, calls back the children, who are already at the door.)
Pst!—Children— Give me back the bag. Instead
Of three patties, you shall have six of them!
(Makes the exchange. The children go out. He reads from the bag, as he smooths it out tenderly.)
"Phyllis"—
A spot of butter on her name!— "Phyllis"—
Cyrano
(Enters hurriedly.)
What is the time?
Ragueneau
Six o'clock.
Cyrano
One
Hour more ...
Ragueneau
Felicitations!
Cyrano
And for what?
Ragueneau
Your victory! I saw it all—
Cyrano
Which one?
Ragueneau
At the Hôtel de Bourgogne.
Cyrano
Oh—the duel!
Ragueneau
The duel in Rime!
Lise
He talks of nothing else.
Cyrano
Nonsense!
Ragueneau
(Fencing and foining with a spit, which he snatches up from the hearth.)
"Then, as I end the refrain, thrust home!"
"Then, as I end the refrain"—
Gods! What a line!
"Then, as I end"—
Cyrano
What time now, Ragueneau?
Ragueneau
(Petrified at the full extent of a lunge, while he looks at the clock.)
Five after six—
(Recovers)
"—thrust home!"
A Ballade, too!
Lise
(To Cyrano, who in passing has mechanically shaken hands with her)
Your hand—what have you done?
Cyrano
Oh, my hand?—Nothing.
Ragueneau
What danger now—
Cyrano
No danger.
Lise
I believe
He is lying.
Cyrano
Why? Was I looking down my nose?
That must have been a devil of a lie!
(Changing his tone; to Ragueneau)
I expect someone. Leave us here alone,
When the times comes.
Ragueneau
How can I? In a moment,
My poets will be here.
Lise
To break their ... fast!
Cyrano
Take them away, then, when I give the sign.
—What time?
Ragueneau
Ten minutes after.
Cyrano
Have you a pen?
Ragueneau
(Offers him a pen.)
An eagle's feather!
A Musketeer
(Enters, and speaks to Lise in a stentorian voice.)
Greeting!
Cyrano
(To Ragueneau)
Who is this?
Ragueneau
My wife's friend. A terrific warrior,
So he says.
Cyrano
Ah— I see.
(Takes up the pen; waves Ragueneau away.)
Only to write—
To fold— To give it to her—and to go ...
(Throws down the pen.)
Coward! And yet—the Devil take my soul
If I dare speak one word to her ...
(To Ragueneau)
What time now?
Ragueneau
A quarter after six.
Cyrano
(Striking his breast)
—One little word
Of all the many thousand I have here!
Whereas in writing ...
(Takes up the pen.)
Come, I'll write to her
That letter I have written on my heart.
Torn up, and written over many times—
So many times ... that all I have to do
Is to remember, and to write it down.
(He writes. Through the glass of the door appear vague and hesitating shadows. The Poets enter, clothed in rusty black and spotted with mud.)
Lise
(To Ragueneau)
Here come your scarecrows!
First Poet
Comrade!
Second Poet
(Takes both Ragueneau's hands.)
My dear brother!
Third Poet
(Sniffing)
O Lord of Roasts, how sweet thy dwellings are!
Fourth Poet
Phoebus Apollo of the Silver Spoon!
Fifth Poet
Cupid of Cookery!
Ragueneau
(Surrounded, embraced, beaten on the back.)
These geniuses,
They put one at one's ease!
First Poet
We were delayed
By the crowd at the Porte de Nesle.
Second Poet
Dead men
All scarred and gory, scattered on the stones,
Villainous-looking scoundrels—eight of them.
Cyrano
(Looks up an instant.)
Eight? I thought only seven—
Ragueneau
Do you know
The hero of this hecatomb?
Cyrano
I? ... No.
Lise
(To the Musketeer)
Do you?
The Musketeer
Hmm—perhaps!
First Poet
They say one man alone
Put to flight all this crowd.
Second Poet
Everywhere lay
Swords, daggers, pikes, bludgeons—
Cyrano
(Writing)
"Your eyes ..."
Third Poet
As far
As the Quai des Orfevres, hats and cloaks—
First Poet
Why, that man must have been the devil!
Cyrano
"Your lips .. "
First Poet
Some savage monster might have done this thing!
Cyrano
"Looking upon you, I grow faint with fear ..."
Second Poet
What have you written lately, Ragueneau?
Cyrano
"Your Friend— Who loves you ..."
So. No signature;
I'll give it to her myself.
Ragueneau
A Recipe
In Rime.
Third Poet
Read us your rimes!
Fourth Poet
Here's a brioche
Cocking its hat at me.
(He bites off the top of it.)
First Poet
Look how those buns
Follow the hungry poet with their eyes—
Those almond eyes!
Second Poet
We are listening—
Third Poet
See this cream-puff—
Fat little baby, drooling while it smiles!
Second Poet
(Nibbling at the pastry lyre.)
For the first time, the lyre is my support.
Ragueneau
(Coughs, adjusts his cap, strikes an attitude.)
A Recipe in Rime—
Second Poet
(Gives First Poet a dig with his elbow.)
Your breakfast?
First Poet
Dinner!
Ragueneau
(Declaims)
A Recipe for Making Almond Tarts
Beat your eggs, the yolk and white
Very light;
Mingle with their creamy fluff
Drops of lime-juice, cool and green;
Then pour in
Milk of Almonds, just enough.Dainty patty-pans, embraced
In puff-paste—
Have these ready within reach;
With your thumb and finger, pinch
Half an inch
Up around the edge of each—Into these, a score or more,
Slowly pour
All your store of custard; so
Take them, bake them golden-brown—
Now sit down! ...
Almond tartlets, Ragueneau!
The Poets
Delicious! Melting!
A Poet
(Chokes)
Humph!
Cyrano
(To Ragueneau)
Do you not see
Those fellows fattening themselves?—
Ragueneau
I know.
I would not look—it might embarrass them—
You see, I love a friendly audience.
Besides—another vanity—I am pleased
When they enjoy my cooking.
Cyrano
(Slaps him on the back,)
Be off with you!—
(Ragueneau goes upstage.)
Good little soul!
(Calls to Lise)
Madame!—
(She leaves the Musketeer and comes down to him.)
This musketeer—
He is making love to you?
Lise
(Haughtily)
If any man
Offends my virtue—all I have to do
Is look at him—once!
Cyrano
(Looks at her gravely; she drops her eyes.)
I do not find
Those eyes of yours unconquerable.
Lise
(Panting)
—Ah!
Cyrano
(Raising his voice a little.)
Now listen— I am fond of Ragueneau;
I allow no one—do you understand?—
To ... take his name in vain!
Lise
You think—
Cyrano
(Ironic emphasis)
I think
I interrupt you.
(He salutes the Musketeer, who has heard without daring to resent the warning. Lise goes to the Musketeer as he returns Cyrano's salute.)
Lise
You—you swallow that?—
You ought to have pulled his nose!
The Musketeer
His nose?—His nose! ...
(He goes out hurriedly. Roxane and the Duenna appear outside the door.)
Cyrano
(Nods to Ragueneau.)
Pst!—
Ragueneau
(To the Poets)
Come inside—
Cyrano
(Impatient)
Pst! ... Pst! ...
Ragueneau
We shall be more
Comfortable ...
(He leads the Poets into inner room.)
First Poet
The cakes!
Second Poet
Bring them along!
(They go out.)
Cyrano
If I can see the faintest spark of hope,
Then—
(Throws door open — bows.)
Welcome!
(Roxane enters, followed by the Duenna, whom Cyrano detains.)
Pardon me—one word—
The Duenna
Take two.
Cyrano
Have you a good digestion?
The Duenna
Wonderful!
Cyrano
Good. Here are two sonnets, by Benserade—
The Duenna
Euh?
Cyrano
Which I fill for you with eclairs.
The Duenna
Ooo!
Cyrano
Do you like cream-puffs?
The Duenna
Only with whipped cream,
Cyrano
Here are three ... six—embosomed in a poem
By Saint-Amant. This ode of Chapelin
Looks deep enough to hold—a jelly roll.
—Do you love Nature?
The Duenna
Mad about it.
Cyrano
Then
Go out and eat these in the street. Do not
Return—
The Duenna
Oh, but—
Cyrano
Until you finish them.
(Down to Roxane)
Blessed above all others be the hour
When you remembered to remember me,
And came to tell me ... what?
Roxane
(Takes off her mask.)
First let me thank you
Because ... That man ... that creature, whom your sword
Made sport of yesterday— His patron, one—
Cyrano
De Guiche?—
Roxane
—who thinks himself in love with me
Would have forced that man upon me for— a husband—
Cyrano
I understand—so much the better then!
I fought, not for my nose, but your bright eyes.
Roxane
And then, to tell you—but before I can
Tell you— Are you, I wonder, still the same
Big brother—almost—that you used to be
When we were children, playing by the pond
In the old garden down there—
Cyrano
I remember—
Every summer you came to Bergerac! ...
Roxane
You used to make swords out of bulrushes—
Cyrano
Your dandelion-dolls with golden hair—
Roxane
And those green plums—
Cyrano
And those black mulberries—
Roxane
In those days, you did everything I wished!
Cyrano
Roxane, in short skirts, was called Madeleine.
Roxane
Was I pretty?
Cyrano
Oh—not too plain!
Roxane
Sometimes
When you had hurt your hand you used to come
Running to me—and I would be your mother,
And say— Oh, in a very grown-up voice:
(She takes his hand.)
"Now, what have you been doing to yourself?
Let me see—"
(She sees the hand — starts.)
Oh!—
Wait— I said, "Let me see!"
Still—at your age! How did you do that?
Cyrano
Playing
With the big boys, down by the Porte de Nesle.
Roxane
(Sits at a table and wets her handkerchief in a glass of water.)
Come here to me.
Cyrano
—Such a wise little mother!
Roxane
And tell me, while I wash this blood away,
How many you—played with?
Cyrano
Oh, about a hundred.
Roxane
Tell me.
Cyrano
No. Let me go. Tell me what you
Were going to tell me—if you dared?
Roxane
(Still holding his hand)
I think
I do dare—now. It seems like long ago
When I could tell you things. Yes—I dare ...
Listen:
I ... love someone.
Cyrano
Ah! ...
Roxane
Someone who does not know.
Ah!
Roxane
At least—not yet
Cyrano
Ah!...
Roxane
But he will know
Some day.
Cyrano
Ah! ...
Roxane
A big boy who loves me too,
And is afraid of me, and keeps away,
And never says one word.
Cyrano
Ah! ...
Roxane
Let me have
Your hand a moment—why how hot it is!—
I know. I see him trying ...
Cyrano
Ah! ...
Roxane
There now!
Is that better?—
(She finishes bandaging the hand with her handkerchief.)
Besides—only to think—
(This is a secret.) He is a soldier too,
In your own regiment—
Cyrano
Ah! ...
Roxane
Yes, in the Guards,
Your company too.
Cyrano
Ah! ...
Roxane
And such a man!—
He is proud—noble—young—brave—beautiful—
Cyrano
(Turns pale; rises.)
Beautiful!—
Roxane
What's the matter?
Cyrano
(Smiling)
Nothing—this—
My sore hand!
Roxane
Well, I love him. That is all.
Oh—and I never saw him anywhere
Except the Comedie.
Cyrano
You have never spoken?—
Roxane
Only our eyes ...
Cyrano
Why, then— How do you know?—
Roxane
People talk about people; and I hear
Things ... and I know.
Cyrano
You say he is in the Guards:
His name?
Roxane
Baron Christian de Neuvillette.
Cyrano
He is not in the Guards.
Roxane
Yes. Since this morning.
Captain Carbon de Castel-Jaloux.
Cyrano
So soon!
So soon we lose our hearts!—
But, my dear child,—
The Duenna
(Opens the door.)
I have eaten the cakes, Monsieur de Bergerac!
Cyrano
Good! Now go out and read the poetry!
(The Duenna disappears.)
—But, my dear child! You, who love only words,
Wit, the grand manner— Why, for all you know,
The man may be a savage, or a fool.
Roxane
His curls are like a hero from D'Urfé.
Cyrano
His mind may be as curly as his hair.
Roxane
Not with such eyes. I read his soul in them.
Cyrano
Yes, all our souls are written in our eyes!
But—if he be a bungler?
Roxane
Then I shall die—
There!
Cyrano
(After a pause)
And you brought me here to tell me this?
I do not yet quite understand, Madame,
The reason for your confidence.
Roxane
They say
That in your company— It frightens me—
You are all Gascons ...
Cyrano
And we pick a quarrel
With any flat-foot who intrudes himself
Whose blood is not pure Gascon like our own?
Is this what you have heard?
Roxane
I am so afraid
For him!
Cyrano
(Between his teeth)
Not without reason!—
Roxane
And I thought
You ... You were so brave, so invincible
Yesterday, against all those brutes!—If you,
Whom they all fear—
Cyrano
Oh well— I will defend
Your little Baron.
Roxane
Will you? Just for me?
Because I have always been—your friend!
Cyrano
Of course ...
Roxane
Will you be his friend?
Cyrano
I will be his friend.
Roxane
And never let him fight a duel?
Cyrano
No—never.
Roxane
Oh, but you are a darling!—I must go—
You never told me about last night— Why,
You must have been a hero! Have him write
And tell me all about it—will you?
Cyrano
Of course...
Roxane
(Kisses her hand.)
I always did love you!— A hundred men
Against one— Well.... Adieu. We are great friends,
Are we not?
Cyrano
Of course ...
Roxane
He must write to me—
A hundred— You shall tell me the whole story
Some day, when I have time. A hundred men—
What courage—
Cyrano
(Salutes as she goes out.)
Oh ... I have done better since!
(The door closes after her. Cyrano remains motionless, his eyes on the ground. Pause. The other door opens; Ragueneau puts in his head.)
Ragueneau
May I come in?
Cyrano
(Without moving)
Yes ...
(Ragueneau and his friends re-enter. At the same time, Carbon de Castel-Jaloux appears at the street door in uniform as Captain of the Guards; recognizes Cyrano with a sweeping gesture.)
Carbon
Here he is!—Our hero!
Cyrano
(Raises his head and salutes.)
Our Captain!
Carbon
We know! All our company
Are here—
Cyrano
(Recoils)
No—
Carbon
Come! They are waiting for you.
Cyrano
No!
Carbon
(Tries to lead him out.)
Only across the street— Come!
Cyrano
Please—
Carbon
(Goes to the door and shouts in a voice of thunder.)
Our champion
Refuses! He is not feeling well to-day!
A Voice Outside
Ah! Sandious!
(Noise outside of swords and trampling feet approaching.)
Carbon
Here they come now!
The Cadets
(Entering the shop)
Mille dious!—
Mordious!—Capdedious!—Pocapdedious!
Ragueneau
(In astonishment)
Gentlemen—
You are all Gascons?
The Cadets
All!
First Cadet
(To Cyrano)
Bravo!
Cyrano
Baron!
Another Cadet
(Takes both his hands.)
Vivat!
Cyrano
Baron!
Third Cadet
Come to my arms!
Cyrano
Baron!
Others
To mine!—To mine!.
Cyrano
Baron ... Baron ... Have mercy—
Ragueneau
You are all Barons too?
The Cadets
Are we?
Ragueneau
Are they?
First Cadet
Our coronets would star the midnight sky!
Le Bret
(Enters: Hurries to Cyrano.)
The whole town's looking for you! Raving mad—
A triumph! Those who saw the fight—
Cyrano
I hope
You have not told them where I—
Le Bret
(Rubbing his hands)
Certainly
I told them!
Citizen
(Enters, followed by a group.)
Listen! Shut the door!—Here comes
All Paris!
(The street outside fills with a shouting crowd. Chairs and carriages stop at the door.)
Le Bret
(Aside to Cyrano, smiling)
And Roxane?
Cyrano
(Quickly)
Hush!
The Crowd Outside
Cyrano!
(A mob bursts into the shop. Shouts, acclamations, general disturbance.)
Ragueneau
(Standing on a table.)
My shop invaded— They'll break everything—
Glorious!
Several Men
(Crowding about Cyrano)
My friend! ... My friend! ...
Cyrano
Why, yesterday
I did not have so many friends!
Le Bret
Success
At last!
A Marquis
(Runs to Cyrano, with outstretched hands)
My dear—really!—
Cyrano
(Coldly)
So? And how long
Have I been dear to you?
Another Marquis
One moment—pray!
I have two ladies in my carriage here;
Let me present you—
Cyrano
Certainly! And first,
Who will present you, sir,—to me?
Le Bret
(Astounded)
Why, what
The devil?—
Cyrano
Hush!
A Man of Letters
(With a portfolio)
May I have the details? ...
Cyrano
You may not.
Le Bret
(Plucking Cyrano's sleeve)
Theophraste Renaudot!—Editor
Of the Gazette—your reputation! ...
Cyrano
No!
A Poet
(Advances)
Monsieur—
Cyrano
Well?
The Poet
Your full name? I will compose
A pentacrostic—
Another
Monsieur—
Cyrano
That will do!
(Movement. The crowd arranges itself. De Guiche appears, escorted by Cuigy, Brissaille, and the other officers who were with Cyrano at the close of the First Act.)
Cuigy
(Goes to Cyrano.)
Monsieur de Guiche!—
(Murmur. Everyone moves.)
A message from the Marshal
De Gassion—
de Guiche
(Saluting Cyrano)
Who wishes to express
Through me his admiration. He has heard
Of your affair—
The Crowd
Bravo!
Cyrano
(Bowing)
The Marshal speaks
As an authority.
de Guiche
He said just now
The story would have been incredible
Were it not for the witness—
Cuigy
Of our eyes!
Le Bret
(Aside to Cyrano)
What is it?
Cyrano
Hush!—
Le Bret
Something is wrong with you;
Are you in pain?
Cyrano
(Recovering himself)
In pain? Before this crowd?
(His moustache bristles. He throws out his chest.)
I? In pain? You shall see!
de Guiche
(To whom Cuigy has been whispering.)
Your name is known
Already as a soldier. You are one
Of those wild Gascons, are you not?
Cyrano
The Guards,
Yes. A Cadet.
A Cadet
(In a voice of thunder)
One of ourselves!
de Guiche
Ah! So—
Then all these gentlemen with the haughty air,
These are the famous—
Carbon
Cyrano!
Cyrano
Captain?
Carbon
Our troop being all present, be so kind
As to present them to the Comte de Guiche!
Cyrano
(With a gesture presenting the Cadets to De Guiche, declaims:)
The Cadets of Gascoyne—the defenders
of Carbon de Castel-Jaloux:
Free fighters, free lovers, free spenders—
The Cadets of Gascoyne—the defenders
Of old homes, old names, and old splendors—
A proud and a pestilent crew!
The Cadets of Gascoyne, the defenders
Of Carbon de Castel-Jaloux.Hawk-eyed, they stare down all contenders—
The wolf bares his fangs as they do—
Make way there, you fat money-lenders!
(Hawk-eyed, they stare down all contenders)
Old boots that have been to the menders,
Old cloaks that are worn through and through—
Hawk-eyed, they stare down all contenders—
The wolf bares his fangs as they do!Skull-breakers they are, and sword-benders;
Red blood is their favorite brew;
Hot haters and loyal befrienders,
Skull-breakers they are, and sword-benders.
Wherever a quarrel engenders,
They're ready and waiting for you!
Skull-breakers they are, and sword-benders;
Red blood is their favorite brew!Behold them, our Gascon defenders
Who win every woman they woo!
There's never a dame but surrenders—
Behold them, our Gascon defenders!
Young wives who are clever pretenders—
Old husbands who house the cuckoo—
Behold them—our Gascon defenders
Who win every woman they woo!
de Guiche
(Languidly, sitting in a chair)
Poets are fashionable nowadays
To have about one. Would you care to join
My following?
Cyrano
No, sir. I do not follow.
de Guiche
Your duel yesterday amused my uncle
The Cardinal. I might help you there.
Le Bret
Grand Dieu!
de Guiche
I suppose you have written a tragedy—
They all have.
Le Bret
(Aside to Cyrano)
Now at last you'll have it played—
Your "Agrippine"!
de Guiche
Why not? Take it to him.
Cyrano
(Tempted)
Really—
de Guiche
He is himself a dramatist;
Let him rewrite a few lines here and there,
And he'll approve the rest.
Cyrano
(His face falls again.)
Impossible.
My blood curdles to think of altering
One comma.
de Guiche
Ah, but when he likes a thing
He pays well.
Cyrano
Yes—but not so well as I—
When I have made a line that sings itself
So that I love the sound of it—I pay
Myself a hundred times.
de Guiche
You are proud, my friend.
Cyrano
You have observed that?
A Cadet
(Enters with a drawn sword, along the whole blade of which is transfixed a collection of disreputable hats, their plumes draggled, their crowns cut and torn.)
Cyrano! See here—
Look what we found this morning in the street—
The plumes dropped in their flight by those fine birds
Who showed the white feather!
Carbon
Spoils of the hunt—
Well mounted!
The Crowd
Ha-ha-ha!
Cuigy
Whoever hired
Those rascals, he must be an angry man
To-day!
Brissaille
Who was it? Do you know?
de Guiche
Myself!—
(The laughter ceases.)
I hired them to do the sort of work
We do not soil our hands with—punishing
A drunken poet ...
(Uncomfortable silence)
The Cadet
(To Cyrano)
What shall we do with them?
They ought to be preserved before they spoil—
Cyrano
(Takes the sword, and in the gesture of saluting De Guiche with it, makes all the hats slide off at his feet.)
Sir, will you not return these to your friends?
de Guiche
My chair—my porters here—immediately!
(To Cyrano violently)
—As for you, sir!—
A Voice
(In the street)
The chair of Monseigneur
Le Comte de Guiche!—
de Guiche
(Who has recovered his self-control; smiling)
Have you read Don Quixote?
Cyrano
I have—and found myself the hero.
A Porter
(Appears at the door.)
Chair
Ready!
de Guiche
Be so good as to read once more
The chapter of the windmills.
Cyrano
(Gravely)
Chapter Thirteen.
de Guiche
Windmills, remember, if you fight with them—
Cyrano
My enemies change, then, with every wind?
de Guiche
—May swing round their huge arms and cast you down
Into the mire.
Cyrano
Or up—among the stars!
(De Guiche goes out. We see him get into the chair. The Officers follow murmuring among themselves. Le Bret goes up with them. The crowd goes out.)
(Saluting with burlesque politeness, those who go out without daring to take leave of him.)
Gentlemen.... Gentlemen....
Le Bret
(As the door closes, comes down, shaking his clenched hands to heaven.)
You have done it now—
You have made your fortune!
Cyrano
There you go again,
Growling!—
Le Bret
At least this latest pose of yours—
Ruining every chance that comes your way—
Becomes exaggerated—
Cyrano
Very well,
Then I exaggerate!
Le Bret
(Triumphantly)
Oh, you do!
Cyrano
Yes;
On principle. There are things in this world
A man does well to carry to extremes.
Le Bret
Stop trying to be Three Musketeers in one!
Fortune and glory—
Cyrano
What would you have me do?
Seek for the patronage of some great man,
And like a creeping vine on a tall tree
Crawl upward, where I cannot stand alone?
No thank you! Dedicate, as others do,
Poems to pawnbrokers? Be a buffoon
In the vile hope of teasing out a smile
On some cold face? No thank you! Eat a toad
For breakfast every morning? Make my knees
Callous, and cultivate a supple spine,—
Wear out my belly grovelling in the dust?
No thank you! Scratch the back of any swine
That roots up gold for me? Tickle the horns
Of Mammon with my left hand, while my right
Too proud to know his partner's business,
Takes in the fee? No thank you! Use the fire
God gave me to burn incense all day long
Under the nose of wood and stone? No thank you!
Shall I go leaping into ladies' laps
And licking fingers?—or—to change the form—
Navigating with madrigals for oars,
My sails full of the sighs of dowagers?
No thank you! Publish verses at my own
Expense? No thank you! Be the patron saint
Of a small group of literary souls
Who dine together every Tuesday? No
I thank you! Shall I labor night and day
To build a reputation on one song,
And never write another? Shall I find
True genius only among Geniuses,
Palpitate over little paragraphs,
And struggle to insinuate my name
In the columns of the Mercury?
No thank you! Calculate, scheme, be afraid,
Love more to make a visit than a poem,
Seek introductions, favors, influences?—
No thank you! No, I thank you! And again
I thank you!—But...
To sing, to laugh, to dream,
To walk in my own way and be alone,
Free, with an eye to see things as they are,
A voice that means manhood—to cock my hat
Where I choose— At a word, a Yes, a No,
To fight—or write. To travel any road
Under the sun, under the stars, nor doubt
If fame or fortune lie beyond the bourne—
Never to make a line I have not heard
In my own heart; yet, with all modesty
To say: "My soul, be satisfied with flowers,
With fruit, with weeds even; but gather them
In the one garden you may call your own."
So, when I win some triumph, by some chance,
Render no share to Caesar—in a word,
I am too proud to be a parasite,
And if my nature wants the germ that grows
Towering to heaven like the mountain pine,
Or like the oak, sheltering multitudes—
I stand, not high it may be—but alone!
Le Bret
Alone, yes!—But why stand against the world?
What devil has possessed you now, to go
Everywhere making yourself enemies?
Cyrano
Watching you other people making friends
Everywhere—as a dog makes friends! I mark
The manner of these canine courtesies
And think: "My friends are of a cleaner breed;
Here comes—thank God!—another enemy!"
Le Bret
But this is madness!
Cyrano
Method, let us say.
It is my pleasure to displease. I love
Hatred. Imagine how it feels to face
The volley of a thousand angry eyes—
The bile of envy and the froth of fear
Spattering little drops about me— You—
Good nature all around you, soft and warm—
You are like those Italians, in great cowls
Comfortable and loose— Your chin sinks down
Into the folds, your shoulders droop. But I—
The Spanish ruff I wear around my throat
Is like a ring of enemies; hard, proud,
Each point another pride, another thorn—
So that I hold myself erect perforce
Wearing the hatred of the common herd
Haughtily, the harsh collar of Old Spain,
At once a fetter and—a halo!
Le Bret
Yes...
(After a silence, draws Cyrano's arm through his own.)
Tell this to all the world— And then to me
Say very softly that ... She loves you not.
Cyrano
(Quickly)
Hush!
(A moment since, Christian has entered and mingled with the Cadets, who do not offer to speak to him. Finally, he sits down alone at a small table, where he is served by Lise.)
A Cadet
(Rises from a table up stage, his glass in his hand.)
Cyrano!—Your story!
Cyrano
Presently ...
(He goes up, on the arm of Le Bret, talking to him. The Cadet comes down stage.)
The Cadet
The story of the combat! An example
For—
(He stops by the table where Christian is sitting.)
—this young tadpole here.
Christian
(Looks up)
Tadpole?
Another Cadet
Yes, you!—
You narrow-gutted Northerner!
Christian
Sir?
First Cadet
Hark ye,
Monsieur de Neuvillette: You are to know
There is a certain subject—I would say,
A certain object—never to be named
Among us: utterly unmentionable!
Christian
And that is?
Third Cadet
(In an awful voice)
Look at me! ...
(He strikes his nose three times with his finger, mysteriously.)
You understand?
Christian
Why, yes; the—
Fourth Cadet
Sh! ... We never speak that word—
(Indicating Cyrano by a gesture)
To breathe it is to have to do with HIM!
Fifth Cadet
(Speaks through his nose.)
He has exterminated several
Whose tone of voice suggested ...
Sixth Cadet
(In a hollow tone; rising from under the table on all fours.)
Would you die
Before your time? Just mention anything
Convex — or cartilaginous
Seventh Cadet
(His hand on Christian's shoulder)
One word—
One syllable—one gesture—nay, one sneeze—
Your handkerchief becomes your winding-sheet!
(Silence. In a circle around Christian, arms crossed, they regard him expectantly.)
Christian
(Rises and goes to Carbon, who is conversing with an officer, and pretending not to see what is taking place.)
Captain!
Carbon
(Turns, and looks him over.)
Sir?
Christian
What is the proper thing to do
When Gascons grow too boastful?
Carbon
Prove to them
That one may be a Norman, and have courage.
(Turns his back.)
Christian
I thank you.
First Cadet
(To Cyrano)
Come—the story!
All
The story!
Cyrano
(Come down.)
Oh,
My story? Well ...
(They all draw up their stools and group themselves around him, eagerly. Christian places himself astride of a chair, his arms on the back of it.)
I marched on, all alone
To meet those devils. Overhead, the moon
Hung like a gold watch at the fob of heaven,
Till suddenly some Angel rubbed a cloud,
As it might be his handkerchief, across
The shining crystal, and—the night came down.
No lamps in those back streets— It was so dark—
Mordious! You could not see beyond—
Christian
Your nose.
(Silence. Every man slowly rises to his feet. They look at Cyrano almost with terror. He has stopped short, utterly astonished. Pause.)
Cyrano
Who is that man there?
A Cadet
(In a low voice)
A recruit—arrived
This morning.
Cyrano
(Takes a step toward Christian.)
A recruit—
Carbon
(In a low voice)
His name is Christian
De Neuvil—
Cyrano
(Suddenly motionless)
Oh...
(He turns pale, flushes, makes a movement as if to throw himself upon Christian.)
I—
(Controls himself, and goes on in a choking voice.)
I see. Very well,
As I was saying—
(With a sudden burst of rage)
Mordious! ...
(He goes on in a natural tone.)
It grew dark,
You could not see your hand before your eyes.
I marched on, thinking how, all for the sake
Of one old souse
(They slowly sit down, watching him.)
who wrote a bawdy song
Whenever he took—
Christian
A noseful—
(Everyone rises. Christian balances himself on two legs of his chair.)
Cyrano
(Half strangled)
—Took a notion.
Whenever he took a notion— For his sake,
I might antagonize some dangerous man,
One powerful enough to make me pay—
Christian
Through the nose—
Cyrano
(Wipes the sweat front his forehead.)
—Pay the Piper. After all,
I thought, why am I putting in my—
Christian
Nose—
Cyrano
—My oar ... Why am I putting in my oar?
The quarrel's none of mine. However—now
I am here, I may as well go through with it.
Come Gascon—do your duty!—Suddenly
A sword flashed in the dark. I caught it fair—
Christian
On the nose—
Cyrano
On my blade. Before I knew it,
There I was—
Christian
Rubbing noses—
Cyrano
(Pale and smiling)
Crossing swords
With half a score at once. I handed one—
Christian
A nosegay—
Cyrano
(Leaping at him)
Ventre-Saint-Gris! ...
(The Gascons tumble over each other to get a good view. Arrived in front of Christian, who has not moved an inch, Cyrano masters himself again, and continues.)
He went down;
The rest gave way; I charged—
Christian
Nose in the air—
Cyrano
I skewered two of them—disarmed a third—
Another lunged— Paf! And I countered—
Christian
Pif!
Cyrano
(Bellowing)
TONNERRE! Out of here!—All of you!
(All the Cadets rush for the door.)
First Cadet
At last—
The old lion wakes!
Cyrano
All of you! Leave me here
Alone with that man!
(The lines following are heard brokenly in the confusion of getting through the door.)
Second Cadet
Bigre! He'll have the fellow
Chopped into sausage—
Ragueneau
Sausage?—
Third Cadet
Mince-meat, then—
One of your pies!—
Ragueneau
Am I pale? You look white
As a fresh napkin—
Carbon
(At the door)
Come!
Fourth Cadet
He'll never leave
Enough of him to—
Fifth Cadet
Why, it frightens me
To think of what will—
Sixth Cadet
(Closing the door)
Something horrible
Beyond imagination ...
(They are all gone: some through the street door, some by the inner doors to right and left. A few disappear up the staircase. Cyrano and Christian stand face to face a moment, and look at each other.)
Cyrano
To my arms!
Christian
Sir?
Cyrano
You have courage!
Christian
Oh, that! ...
Cyrano
You are brave—
That pleases me.
Christian
You mean? ...
Cyrano
Do you not know
I am her brother? Come!
Christian
Whose?—
Cyrano
Hers—Roxane!
Christian
Her ... brother? You?
(Hurries to him.)
Cyrano
Her cousin. Much the same.
Christian
And she has told you? ...
Cyrano
Everything.
Christian
She loves me?
Cyrano
Perhaps.
Christian
(Takes both his hands.)
My dear sir—more than I can say,
I am honored—
Cyrano
This is rather sudden.
Christian
Please
Forgive me—
Cyrano
(Holds him at arm's length, looking at him.)
Why, he is a handsome devil.
This fellow!
Christian
On my honor—if you knew
How much I have admired—
Cyrano
Yes, yes—and all
Those Noses which—
Christian
Please! I apologize.
Cyrano
(Change of tone)
Roxane expects a letter—
Christian
Not from me?—
Cyrano
Yes. Why not?
Christian
Once I write, that ruins all!
Cyrano
And why?
Christian
Because ... because I am a fool!
Stupid enough to hang myself!
Cyrano
But no—
You are no fool; you call yourself a fool,
There's proof enough in that. Besides, you did not
Attack me like a fool.
Christian
Bah! Any one
Can pick a quarrel. Yes, I have a sort
Of rough and ready soldier's tongue. I know
That. But with any woman—paralyzed,
Speechless, dumb. I can only look at them.
Yet sometimes, when I go away, their eyes ...
Cyrano
Why not their hearts, if you should wait and see?
Christian
No. I am one of those— I know—those men
Who never can make love.
Cyrano
Strange.... Now it seems
I, if I gave my mind to it, I might
Perhaps make love well.
Christian
Oh, if I had words
To say what I have here!
Cyrano
If I could be
A handsome little Musketeer with eyes!—
Christian
Besides—you know Roxane—how sensitive—
One rough word, and the sweet illusion—gone!
Cyrano
I wish you might be my interpreter.
Christian
I wish I had your wit—
Cyrano
Borrow it, then!—
Your beautiful young manhood—lend me that,
And we two make one hero of romance!
Christian
What?
Cyrano
Would you dare repeat to her the words
I gave you, day by day?
Christian
You mean?
Cyrano
I mean
Roxane shall have no disillusionment!
Come, shall we win her both together? Take
The soul within this learthern jack of mine,
And breathe it into you?
(Touches hint on the breast)
So—there's my heart
Under your velvet, now!
Christian
But— Cyrano!—
Cyrano
But— Christian, why not?
Christian
I am afraid—
Cyrano
I know—
Afraid that when you have her all alone,
You lose all. Have no fear. It is yourself
She loves—give her yourself put into words—
My words, upon your lips!
Christian
But... but your eyes! ...
They burn like—
Cyrano
Will you?... Will you?
Christian
Does it mean
So much to you?
Cyrano
(Beside himself)
It means—
(Recovers, changes tone.)
A Comedy,
A situation for a poet! Come.
Shall we collaborate? I'll be your cloak
Of darkness, your enchanted sword, your ring
To charm the fairy Princess!
Christian
But the letter— I cannot write—
Cyrano
Oh yes, the letter.
(He takes from his pocket the letter which he has written.)
Here.
Christian
What is this?
Cyrano
All there; all but the address.
Christian
I—
Cyrano
Oh, you may send it. It will serve.
Christian
But why
Have you done this?
Cyrano
I have amused myself
As we all do, we poets—writing vows
To Chloris, Phyllis—any pretty name—
You might have had a pocketful of them!
Take it, and turn to facts my fantasies—
I loosed these loves like doves into the air;
Give them a habitation and a home.
Here, take it— You will find me all the more
Eloquent, being insincere! Come!
Christian
First,
There must be a few changes here and there—
Written at random, can it fit Roxane?
Cyrano
Like her own glove.
Christian
No, but—
Cyrano
My son, have faith—
Faith in the love of women for themselves—
Roxane will know this letter for her own!
Christian
(Throws himself into the arms of Cyrano. They stand embraced.)
My friend!
(The door up stage opens a little. A Cadet steals in.)
The Cadet
Nothing. A silence like the tomb ...
I hardly dare look—
(He sees the two.)
Wha-at?
(The other Cadets crowd in behind him and see.)
The Cadets
No!—No!
Second Cadet
Mon dieu!
The Musketeer
(Slaps his knee.)
Well, well, well!
Carbon
Here's our devil ... Christianized!
Offend one nostril, and he turns the other.
The Musketeer
Now we are allowed to talk about his nose!
(Calls)
Hey, Lise! Come here—
(Affectedly)
Snf! What a horrid smell!
What is it? ...
(Plants himself in front of Cyrano, and looks at his nose in an impolite manner.)
You ought to know about such things;
What seems to have died around here?
Cyrano
(Knocks him backward over a bench.)
Cabbage-heads!
(Joy. The Cadets have found their old Cyrano again. General disturbance.)
(Curtain)