Chapter II: Part 2

No, no, that's a little too short, young man! You might have said.... Well.... many things.... in different keys. For instance, listen: _Aggressive_: "I, Sir, had I such a nose, would at once have it amputated."--_Friendly_: "It must dip into your glass. To drink with comfort, you should have a hanap constructed!"--_Descriptive_: "It is a rock!... a peak!!.... a headland!!! More than a headland, a whole peninsula!"--_Inquisitive_: "What may this oblong thing be used for? A writing-desk or a tool-chest?"--_Pleasant_: "Do you love birds so much that you feel bound to offer them so comfortable a resting place?"--_Fierce_: "When you use tobacco, Sir, can you emit smoke from that nose without your neighbours' crying that there is a chimney on fire?"--_Thoughtful_: "Be careful; so much top-hamper might cause you to fall!"--_Affectionate_: "Have a parasol made for it; the sun might fade its colour!"--_Pedantic_: "For so much flesh on so much bone beneath the forehead, we must go back, Sir, to the animal Aristophanes calls Hippocampelephantocamelos!"--_Flippant_: "Why! man, is that the fashion for hooks? Certainly convenient for hanging up a hat!"--_Emphatic_: "Masterly nose, no wind can make you catch aught but a fractional cold! None but a northern hurricane!"--_Dramatic_: "When it bleeds, we have the Red Sea!"--_Admiringly_: "For a perfumer, what a sign!"--_Lyric_: "Is it a shell trumpet, and are you a triton?"--_Innocent_: "When is this monument open to visitors?"--_Respectful_: "This is really owning a mansion with a gable on it!"--_Countrylike_: "That be not a nose, but a big turnip, or a young melon!"--_Military_: "Point against cavalry!"--_Practical_: "Will you put it up in a lottery? It will surely be the largest prize!"--Finally, to parody the grief of Pyramus:

So here we have the nose that on its master came
To ruin harmony! The traitor's red for shame!

That is about what you might have said, dear boy, if you had a sprinkling of letters and a bit of humour. Of humour, though, lamentable being, you never had an atom; and, as to letters, you never had but the four that spell the word Fool!--Some invention is requisite for extravagant jests before such an audience, but, even if you had it, you could not have uttered a quarter of the half of the beginning of what I said; for I may be willing to serve such sport myself, but I allow nobody to serve it to _me_.

GUICHE (_endeavouring to lead away the Vicomte_).

Vicomte, pay no attention to him!

VICOMTE (_overwhelmed_).

Such arrogance! An insignificant little squire .... who .... who .... doesn't even wear gloves!....and who sallies forth without ribbons, bows or trimmings!

CYRANO.

'Tis morally I have my elegance,
I do not dress as does a fop, but I
Am better groomed than some more richly clad.
I'd not set forth with traces of neglect
About me, say: an insult left unwashed,
A conscience still confused and half asleep,
My honour soiled, or scruples out of shape.
When I proceed, I do so clean and bright,
With truthful independence for a plume.
'Tis not my form I lace to hold it up,
It is my soul I try to elevate!
The ribbons that I wear are only deeds;
I twist perhaps my wit like a mustache;
But then I cause, as I go through your groups,
Above the clash of spurs, the truth to ring!

VICOMTE.

But, Sir ....

CYRANO.

I have no gloves on?.... What matters it? I did have one left from a very old pair! One day I found it somewhat in the way .... and I left it on somebody's face.

VICOMTE.

Knave, puppy, flat-footed ridiculous bully!

CYRANO (_taking off his hat and bowing, as if the
Vicomte had just presented himself_).

Ah! delighted!.... and I: Cyrano, Savinian, Hercules de Bergerac.

(_Laughter around._)

VICOMTE (_exasperated_).

Buffoon!

CYRANO (_uttering a cry as if he had a cramp_).

Ay!....

VICOMTE (_who was leaving, returning_).

What is it now?

CYRANO (_grinning as if in pain_).

I must move it, for it is asleep.... What a mistake to let it remain inactive.... Ay!....

VICOMTE.

What ails you?

CYRANO.

It's my sword that's tingling!

VICOMTE (_drawing his sword_).

Be it so!

CYRANO.

I'll show you a neat little thrust.

VICOMTE (_disdainfully_).

Poet!

CYRANO.

Yes, Sir, a poet! So much so that, while we play swords here, I mean--hop!--on the spur of the moment, to improvise for you a ballade.

VICOMTE.

A ballade?

CYRANO.

Yes. I'll wager you do not know what is a ballade.

VICOMTE.

But....

CYRANO (_as if reciting a lesson_).

Well, then, a ballade is composed of three stanzas of eight lines each....

VICOMTE (_stamping impatiently_).

Oh!

CYRANO (_continuing_).

Plus an Envoy of four lines. Twenty-eight lines in all, with only three rimes....

VICOMTE.

You....

CYRANO.

I am going to compose one while fighting, and when I come to the last line, Sir, I'll touch you!

VICOMTE.

You'll not!

CYRANO.

Be sure, I shall!

(_Declaiming._)

Ballade of the Duel Between Monsieur de Bergerac and a Coxcomb.

VICOMTE.

What is that, if you please?

CYRANO.

That is the title.

THE AUDIENCE (_greatly excited_).

Make room there!.... Capital!.... Stand back!.... Be silent!....

(_Tableau.--Circle of lookers-on in the pit,--marquises and
officers, with the tradesmen and common people. Pages on each
others' shoulders for a better view. All the women standing in the
boxes. To the right, Guiche and his followers. To the left, Le
Bret, Ragueneau, Cuigy, etc._).

CYRANO (_closing his eyes for a moment_).

Wait....I'm selecting my rimes....There now, I'm ready!

(_He does as he says while speaking the verses._)

My hat with grace I cast aside;
Next, watch me, please, I slowly free
The cloak in which I'm wont to stride;
And then I draw my sword, you see.
A Celadon[9] you have in me,
A Scaramuccia very much;
But, pygmy, moderate your glee,
For, when I close th' Envoy, I'll touch!

'Twere better you had slept or died.
O goose, where shall I puncture thee?
Beneath the ribs? Above? Decide!
Or through the breast, where ribbons be?
The hilts are ringing. One, two, three!
My sword, beware! is not a crutch.
I'll strike according to decree,
For, when I close th' Envoy, I'll touch!

I seek in vain a rime in _ide_.
You back--and whiten--let's agree
Upon a word, say: trembling hide,
So, tac! I parry, just a wee,
Your vicious thrust. Now finish we!
I open--quart--or something such----
Hold well that spit, you dog, or flee,[10]
For, when I close th' Envoy, I'll touch!

(_He announces with solemnity_).

ENVOY.[11]

Now, Prince, may heaven hear your plea!
I follow, though you break and clutch.
I cut--I feint--Be ready--Hee! (_He lunges._)

(_Vicomte staggers; Cyrano bows._)

For now I close th' Envoy.... (_pointing to Vicomte_)

I touch!

(_Applause in boxes. Flowers and handkerchiefs are thrown. Officers
surround and congratulate Cyrano. Ragueneau dances for joy. Le Bret
seems both overjoyed and dejected. The Vicomte's friends support
him and bear him off._)

A MUSKETEER (_most cordially shaking Cyrano's hand_).

Allow an expert to congratulate you, Sir, most heartily.

(_He leaves._)

CYRANO (_to Cuigy_).

Who is this gentleman?

CUIGY.

D'Artagnan!

LE BRET (_passing his arm through Cyrano's_).

Now let us talk!....

CYRANO.

Wait till the crowd has left. (_to Bellerose_). May we stay a while?

BELLEROSE (_to Cyrano_).

Certainly, Sir.

(_giving orders to Janitor_).

Close the house, but do not put out the lights. We'll return after dinner for a rehearsal.

(_Jodelet and Bellerose bow to Cyrano, then exeunt._)

JANITOR (_to Cyrano_).

You are not going to dinner, Sir?

CYRANO.

I?.... No.

(_Exit Janitor._)

LE BRET (_to Cyrano_).

Why not?

CYRANO (_proudly_).

Because....

(_changing his tone, when he sees that the Janitor has gone_).

Because I have no money!....

LE BRET (_as if throwing a purse_).

How about that bag of coin?

CYRANO.

Monthly allowance, thou wert short lived! One day!

LE BRET.

For a whole month, then....

CYRANO.

I have nothing left.

LE BRET.

To throw away thus your purse, what folly!

CYRANO.

Yes, but what a gesture!

THE WAITING-GIRL (_behind the counter_).

Hum!

(_Cyrano and Le Bret turn around. She advances timidly._)

Sir .... I cannot bear.... to see you fast.... (_Showing the buffet_). I have here several things.... Take some!

CYRANO (_taking off his hat_).

My dear child, Gascon pride forbids my accepting from you the smallest of your delicacies. But, on the other hand, I would not for the whole world offend you, as my refusal might do. So I will with pleasure accept....

(_Goes up to the buffet and chooses._)

Oh! the smallest thing!.... ah! one grape from this bunch.

(_She tries to make him take the bunch, but he picks out a single
grape._)

Only one.... a glass of water....

(_She tries to pour some wine, but he prevents her._)

Pure water!.... and half a maccaroon.

(_He breaks a maccaroon in two, and returns one of the pieces._)

LE BRET.

What nonsense!

WAITING-GIRL.

Do have something more!

CYRANO.

Yes, your hand to kiss.

(_He kisses her hand as if she were a princess._)

WAITING-GIRL.

Thank you, Sir!

(_Curtsies._)

A very good evening!

(_Exit waiting-girl._)

[9] Note.--One of the translations that have appeared in the New York
daily press renders "Céladon" by reference to Lord Chesterfield!
The time of action (first four acts) of "Cyrano de Bergerac" is
1640, and Lord Chesterfield was _born_ only 54 years _later_.

[10] Note.--In the original, Cyrano calls his opponent "Laridon." This
is the name of a degenerate _dog_. See fables of La Fontaine
("L'Education").

[11] Note.--"L'Envoi," as often written, supposedly in French, is
incorrect. It is, in French, when heading the last four lines of
a ballade, "Envoi," without the article, l' (le).

_SCENE V._

CYRANO, LE BRET, _later_ JANITOR.

CYRANO (_to Le Bret_).

Now, I'll listen to you.

(_He goes to the buffet, on which he places the half maccaroon._)

Dinner!

(_Then the glass of water._)

Drink!

(_And the one grape from the bunch._)

Dessert!

(_Takes a seat by the buffet._)

Now for the feast! My dear friend, I feel very hungry.... (_Eating_) Well? You were saying?....

LE BRET.

That all these bellicose doings and the admiration they elicit will warp your judgment. Go ask people of sense what they think of this last prank of yours, of its effect.

CYRANO (_finishing his half maccaroon_).

Enormous!....

LE BRET.

The Cardinal!....

CYRANO (_beaming with delight_).

He was there? The Cardinal?

LE BRET.

Yes, and he must have found you....

CYRANO.

Anything but commonplace.

LE BRET.

Nevertheless....

CYRANO.

He's an author. And he must have enjoyed seeing another's play crushed.

LE BRET.

You are, really, making too many enemies!

CYRANO (_munching his one grape_).

How many do you estimate I have made to-day?

LE BRET.

Forty-eight, without counting the women.

CYRANO.

Enumerate them.

LE BRET.

Montfleury, the tradesman, Guiche, the Vicomte, Baro, the Academy....

CYRANO.

You give me infinite joy!

LE BRET.

What will all this lead you to? What system is yours?

CYRANO.

I was really meandering, and I found so many conclusions to adopt, through so many complications, that I came to this decision....

LE BRET.

Which is?....

CYRANO.

Oh! the simplest of all, by far. I decided to show myself admirable in all, and for all!

LE BRET (_shrugging his shoulders_).

So be it!.... But come now, tell me, tell _me_, the true reason of your hatred for Montfleury.

CYRANO (_rising_).

This Silenus, with a stomach like a hogshead, still believes himself a danger to womankind. See him, while he stammers on the stage, ogling like a carp, with his frog's eyes! I hate him since he dared, once, to set those eyes of his upon her.... Oh! I felt as if I saw a long slug crawling over a flower!

LE BRET (_astounded_).

What, is it possible?....

CYRANO (_with a bitter laugh_).

That I love?

(_changing to a solemn tone_).

I do love.

LE BRET.

Whom? May I enquire? You never told me.

CYRANO.

Whom I love? Come now, reflect. The dream of being loved, even by a homely girl, is one forbidden me. Forbidden by this nose of mine that precedes me everywhere by fifteen minutes. So, then, I love .... Whom? Why! it is most natural! I love .... it could not be otherwise, the loveliest of the lovely!

LE BRET.

The loveliest?....

CYRANO.

Exactly .... in the world! The most brilliant, the most exquisite, (_crushed_) the blondest!

LE BRET.

This woman is?....

CYRANO.

A deadly danger, though
She knows it not; a snare that Nature made
Unconscious, like a sweetly budding rose
Whose leaves conceal,--in ambush lurking, love.
Who sees her smile knows what perfection is:
Her slightest touch engenders loveliness;
She moves as if all heaven's grace were hers,
And Venus ne'er embarked in any shell,
Nor did Diana tread the sylvan paths
As my adored can step into a chair!

LE BRET.

I understand! Quite clear.

CYRANO.

Transparent, say.

LE BRET.

It's Magdeleine, your cousin?

CYRANO.

Yes, Roxane.

LE BRET.

Well, where's the harm? You love her? Tell her so!
She witnessed here just now your valiant deed!

CYRANO.

Why! Look at me, good friend, and say what hope
There can be with .... such a protuberance!
I clearly see the truth. But, then, of course,
My heart will beat, perchance, at eventide,
If, with this nose, I scent the breath of spring.
Or else, I see, along some moonlit path,
A whisp'ring pair of lovers slowly move;
And then I think what rapture would be mine
If on my arm a gentle creature leaned.
I dream: but suddenly, I'm brought to sense.
By what? Alas! My profile on the wall!

LE BRET.

Dear friend!....

CYRANO.

Yes, friend, it's hard indeed to feel
So homely and forlorn at times....

LE BRET (_taking his hand_).

You weep!

CYRANO.

Weep? Never! Oh! a sorry sight, indeed,
If down this nose a tear should take its course!
I will not have, so long as I command,
The saintliness of tears polluted by
This homeliness of mine. Remember, friend,
That nothing's more sublime than flowing tears.
So would I not allow a single one
To cause a laugh, or seem ridiculous!

LE BRET.

Come, come, do not be sad. In love there is hazard, remember.

CYRANO (_shaking his hand_).

No! I love Cleopatra: do I resemble a Cæsar? I adore Berenice: do I look like a Titus?

LE BRET.

But, friend, your bravery, intelligence and wit!.... Take that girl there who just now offered you your dinner. Did her eyes seem to detest you?

CYRANO (_struck_).

It's a fact.

LE BRET.

Well, then, hope!.... Why! Roxane was pale and trembling, ghastly pale, while she followed your duel here!....

CYRANO.

Ghastly pale?

LE BRET.

Her heart and mind were certainly struck. Pick up courage and speak to her, so that....

CYRANO.

So that she bursts out laughing into my face .... under my very nose? No, no!.... That is the only thing in the world that I fear!

THE JANITOR (_bringing in the duenna, to Cyrano_).

Somebody for you, Sir.

CYRANO (_seeing the duenna_).

Great heavens! Her duenna!

_SCENE VI._

CYRANO, LE BRET, THE DUENNA.

THE DUENNA (_with a long curtsy_).

A fair cousin would like to know where a valiant cousin can be seen, in private.

CYRANO (_greatly disturbed_).

I be seen, in private?

DUENNA (_with another curtsy_).

Yes, be seen. There are things to be said.

CYRANO.

There are things....

DUENNA (_another curtsy_).

To be said.

CYRANO (_staggering_).

Heavens!

DUENNA.

We'll hear to-morrow early mass, at the church of Saint-Roch.

CYRANO (_leaning on Le Bret_).

Heavens!

DUENNA.

As we go out, we can chat a bit, I fancy.

CYRANO (_bewildered_).

Where?.... I .... But .... Heavens!

DUENNA.

Decide.

CYRANO.

I'm thinking....

DUENNA.

Where?....

CYRANO.

At.... at.... Ragueneau's.... the pastry-cook's....

DUENNA.

Where's that?....

CYRANO.

Rue.... Rue.... Heavens! Rue St.-Honoré!

DUENNA (_leaving_).

We'll be there by seven sharp. Be punctual.

CYRANO.

I shall!

(_Exit Duenna._)

_SCENE VII._

CYRANO, LE BRET, THE COMEDIANS _and_ COMEDIENNES, CUIGY, BRISSAILLE,
LIGNIÈRE, THE JANITOR, THE VIOLINS.

CYRANO (_falling into the arms of Le Bret_).

I!.... She.... An appointment!....

LE BRET.

So, now your sadness is no more?

CYRANO.

No! for, whatever the reason, she knows that I exist!

LE BRET.

And now you will be cool?

CYRANO (_beside himself_).

No, I'll be frantic and invincible! I would I had an army to defeat! I have ten hearts and twenty arms. What are dwarfs to me?.... (_He shouts._) I must have giants to vanquish!

(_For the last few minutes, on the stage, in the rear, actors and
actresses have been going and coming: a rehearsal is on. The
violins have taken their seats._)

A VOICE (_from the stage_).

Silence there, please! We're rehearsing.

CYRANO (_laughing_).

Very well. We're leaving.

(_As Cyrano is about going, enter, by the wide door in the rear,
Cuigy, Brissaille, and several officers, supporting Lignière, who
is completely intoxicated._)

CUIGY.

Cyrano!

CYRANO.

What is it?

CUIGY.

A friend of yours.

CYRANO (_recognising Lignière_).

Lignière!.... Why! what is the matter?

CUIGY.

He was looking for you.

BRISSAILLE.

He cannot get home.

CYRANO.

Why not?

LIGNIÈRE (_thick-tongued, showing a note soiled
and torn_).

This note warns me .... a hundred men are posted .... on account of a song .... I'll be murdered .... at the Porte de Nesle .... there I must pass .... to get home .... Offer me shelter .... under your roof!

CYRANO.

One hundred men, you say? You'll sleep under your own roof.

LIGNIÈRE (_terrified_).

But how can I?....

CYRANO (_in fierce tones, showing him the lighted
lantern held by the Janitor, who has been listening_).

Take that lantern!

(_Lignière seizes the lantern._)

And walk on boldly. I swear to you that I to-night will make your bed for you. (_To the officers._) You, gentlemen, be good enough to follow .... at a distance. You'll be witnesses.

CUIGY.

Yes, but one hundred men!....

CYRANO.

To-night I would not have them fewer by a single man!

(_The comedians and comediennes, who have, in their costumes, come
down from the stage into the pit, crowd around Cyrano._)

LE BRET.

But why protect this....

CYRANO.

There's Le Bret grumbling again!

LE BRET.

This commonplace drunkard?....

CYRANO (_playfully striking Lignière on the
shoulder_).

Because this drunkard, this cask of Muscatel, this barrel of Rossoli, once did something exceedingly handsome: his lady-love, as she was leaving church, after mass, having properly dipped her dainty finger into the holy water near the door, he, though he has a horror for water, ran up to the stoup, leaned over it and drank it dry!

COMEDIENNE (_in soubrette's dress_).

A pretty deed, I think.

CYRANO.

Was it not, soubrette?

COMEDIENNE (_to the others_).

But why a hundred men against a poor poet?

CYRANO.

Let us on!.... (_to the officers_) .... and you, gentlemen, when you see me charge, please do not follow; simply look on, whatever danger I may be in!

COMEDIENNE.

But we wish to see too!

CYRANO.

Come along, then!

COMEDIENNE (_to the troop_).

Let us all go?

CYRANO.

Come, all of you, the Doctor, Isabella, Leander, all! Come as a bevy pleasant and frolicsome! Come, and let the fantasy of Italian farce tinkle through the rumble of to-night's Spanish drama, surrounding it with jingles like a tambourine!

THE WOMEN (_jumping for joy_).

Bravo! Quick, a wrap! a hood!....

JODELET.

Let us proceed!

CYRANO (_to the violins_).

Will the violins supply the music?

(_The violins join the formation. Candles are taken from the
footlights and distributed; and thus a torch-light procession is
prepared._)

CYRANO.

Bravo! Officers, gentlemen and women in fancy dress! Now, ten steps ahead .... (_he places himself as he speaks_) I, alone, beneath the plume that glory itself stuck into this hat .... proud as a Scipion thrice Nasica!.... Understood?.... All assistance to me is forbidden! Ready?.... Open the door!

(_Janitor opens the door, through which can be seen a bit of old
Paris, picturesque in the moonlight._)

Ah! Paris in the dimness of the night,
With moonlight trickling down the bluish roofs.
For coming deed how exquisite the frame!
'Neath mist as light as gauze, behold! the Seine,
As if it were a magic mirror there,
Is trembling .... and you'll see what you shall see!

ALL.

To the Porte de Nesle!

CYRANO (_on the threshold_).

To the Porte de Nesle!

(_Turning, before going out, to the soubrette_).

Did you not ask, Madamoiselle, why against this one rimester a hundred men were sent?

(_He draws his sword and continues very quietly._)

Because he is known to be a friend of mine!

(_Exit Cyrano. The procession--Lignière with unsteady head--the
comediennes hanging upon the arms of the officers, then the
comedians dancing and capering--moves out into the night, with the
violins for music, and with candles for light._)

_CURTAIN._

_ACT II._

THE POET'S COOK-SHOP.

_The shop of Ragueneau, poulterer and pastry-cook, a large establishment in Paris, on the corner of the Rue St.-Honoré and the Rue de l'Arbre-Sec. In the rear, through the wide glazed door, the streets are plainly seen, grey in the light of dawn._

_To the left, first entrance, a counter, above which is an iron frame, from hooks on which are suspended geese, ducks and white peacocks. Large crockery vases containing ordinary plants, principally sunflowers. On the same side, second entrance, a wide fireplace, before which, between two monumental andirons, on each of which a pot is hung, several roasts, the fat of which is dripping into pans._

_To the right, first entrance, a door. Second entrance, a staircase leading up to a small inside room, the interior of which is visible through its open blinds; a table is there, with cover set, lighted by a Flemish chandelier. A wooden gallery at the top of the staircase leads seemingly to other rooms of the same sort._

_In the centre of the shop, an iron ring is hung: it can be lowered by means of a pulley, and on it are large pieces of game, meat, hams, etc. It forms a peculiar sort of chandelier._

_Under the staircase, the glow of several ovens. Copper saucepans shine. Spits are turning. Morning activity. Cook-boys run in and out. Fat chefs are seen now and then. Loads of cakes and meat-pies are brought in on willow trays._

_Tables are garnished with cakes and eatables. Other tables, with chairs around, are prepared for customers. A small table in a corner is covered with papers. Before it is seated Ragueneau, who is writing, as the curtain rises._

_SCENE I._

RAGUENEAU, PASTRY-COOKS, _then_ LISE. RAGUENEAU _is
writing and counts on his fingers_.

FIRST PASTRY-COOK (_bearing a dish_).

Candied fruits!

SECOND PASTRY-COOK (_with another dish_).

Pie!

THIRD PASTRY-COOK (_with a roast_).

Peacock!

FOURTH PASTRY-COOK (_with a tray_).

Cakes!

FIFTH PASTRY-COOK (_with an earthen bowl_).

Stewed beef!

RAGUENEAU (_stops writing and looks up_).

The copper's yellow sheen is silvered by the dawn[12]
Now smother, Ragueneau, the godly notes you love!
Sweet poesy must wait--just now is cooking time!

(_He rises. To one of the cooks_).

Look here! Your sauce is thick, and you must lengthen it.

COOK.

How much?

RAGUENEAU.

Three feet.

(_Passes on._)

O Muse, keep thou aloof, or else your pleading eyes
Will suffer from the glare of vulgar fires here!

(_to one of the pastry-cooks_).

These loaves are badly set, the split should not be thus,
Cesuras should be placed between the hemstitches.

(_to another, pointing to an unfinished meat-pie_).

This palace made of crust is fine, but needs a roof.

(_to an apprentice boy who, seated on the floor, is running a fowl
on a spit_).

The spit is long enough for chickens, turkeys, all,
But alternate, my boy, and imitate Malherbe:
His lines the longest were relieved by shorter ones.
Do you the same, prepare real stanzas on the spit!

ANOTHER APPRENTICE (_carrying a tray over
which is a large napkin_).

Dear Master, this for you was in the oven cooked.
We wish to please you, Sir!

RAGUENEAU.

A lyre!

THE APPRENTICE.

Made of paste!

RAGUENEAU (_moved_).

Of candied fruits besides! And strings of sugar, too!

THE APPRENTICE.

To give a sweeter tone!

RAGUENEAU (_handing him some money_).

It's fine; go drink my health

(_seeing Lise, as she enters_).

My wife! Be silent--skip!

(_to Lise, showing her the lyre_).

Fine work!

LISE.

Ridiculous!

(_She lays on the counter a bundle of paper bags._)

RAGUENEAU.

Some bags; I thank you, dear.

(_Looks at the bags._)

The manuscripts I love!
The verses of my friends! All mutilated! Torn!
To serve as wrappers for .... such prosy things as cakes!
It's Orpheus once again pursued by the Bacchantes!

LISE (_harshly_).

I use the only thing your friends in payment give;
Your sorry scribblers bent on not completing lines!

RAGUENEAU.

The ant should not insult the magic cricket's song!

LISE.

Before these crickets thus possessed you wholly, dear,
You never said to me: bacchante, or even: ant!

RAGUENEAU.

Treat verses thus!

LISE.

Why not?

RAGUENEAU.

What would you do with prose?

[12] Note.--Alexandrines were adopted, instead of pentameter, here and
further on, with the poets, for the reason that they seem more
pompous and better in keeping with the affectation shown by the
personages.

_SCENE II._

_The same_, TWO CHILDREN _come in to buy cakes_.

RAGUENEAU.

What is it, little ones?

FIRST CHILD.

We want three patties, please.

RAGUENEAU (_serving them_).

Here they are, well-browned, just out of the oven.

SECOND CHILD.

Please wrap them up for us.

RAGUENEAU (_aside_).

Alas! my bags!

(_to the children_). Oh! wrap them up, hey?....

(_takes one of the bags to use it, but first reads from it_).

"As was Ulysses when he left Penelope...." Not this one!....

(_puts the bag aside, and takes up another, from which also he
reads_).

"Blond Phoebus...." Not this one!

(_Sets the bag aside._)

LISE (_out of patience_).

Well, what are you waiting for?

RAGUENEAU.

Coming! Coming!

(_takes up a third bag and then with resignation_).

The sonnet to Philis!.... pretty hard too!

LISE.

You were long enough about it!

(_shrugging her shoulders_).

Goose!

(_She climbs upon a chair to arrange dishes and plates on a
shelf._)

RAGUENEAU (_taking advantage of the fact that
her back is turned, calls back the children
who were just passing out_).

Pst!.... Little ones!.... Return me the bag and instead of three patties I'll give you six.

(_The children give him the bag, take the cakes and leave.
Ragueneau smoothes the paper and reads_).

"Philis!" .... On this sweet name, a grease spot!.... "Philis!"

(_Cyrano enters abruptly._)

_SCENE III._

RAGUENEAU, LISE, CYRANO, _then_ A MUSKETEER.

CYRANO.

What time is it?

RAGUENEAU (_bowing low to him_).

Six o'clock.

CYRANO (_excited_).

In one hour!

(_Walks to and fro through the shop._)

RAGUENEAU (_following him_).

Bravo! I witnessed....

CYRANO.

What?

RAGUENEAU.

Your fight.

CYRANO.

Which one?

RAGUENEAU.

The one at the Hôtel de Bourgogne.

CYRANO (_disdainfully_).

Oh!.... that duel!....

RAGUENEAU (_admiringly_).

Yes, your duel in verse.

LISE (_aside_).

In verse!.... His mouth seems to him too small for the words!

CYRANO (_to Ragueneau_).

Ah!.... So much the better!

RAGUENEAU (_lunging with the spit he has seized_).

"For, when I close th' Envoy, I'll touch!...."
"For, when I close th' Envoy, I'll touch!...."
How beautiful!.... (_with growing enthusiasm_).
"For, when I close th' Envoy,...."

CYRANO.

Ragueneau, what time is it?

RAGUENEAU (_remaining with arm and leg outstretched,
simply turning his head to look at the clock_).

Five minutes after six!....
"I touch!"

(_He rises._)

Oh! to write a ballade!

LISE (_to Cyrano, who, on passing near her, has
absent-mindedly shaken hands with her_).

Why! what is the matter with your hand?

CYRANO.

Oh! nothing! A scratch.

RAGUENEAU.

Were you exposed to any peril?

CYRANO.

No peril!

LISE (_threatening him with her finger_).

I fear you are not telling the truth!

CYRANO.

What! Did my nose move? What an enormous lie that would indicate! (_becoming serious_). I expect somebody here. If that somebody comes--you never can tell,--please leave us here alone.

RAGUENEAU.

That is hardly possible; my rimesters[13] are coming....

LISE (_ironical_).

For their first meal.

CYRANO.

You will have to take them away when I make a sign to you.... What time is it?

RAGUENEAU.

Ten minutes after six.

CYRANO (_sitting down nervously at Ragueneau's
table, and taking some paper_).

A pen, please!....

RAGUENEAU (_offering him the one that he has
behind his ear_).

A swan quill.

A MUSKETEER (_with an enormous mustache and
stentorian voice_) _enters_.

Good morning!

(_Lise goes rapidly up to him._)

CYRANO (_turning around_).

Who is this?

RAGUENEAU.

A friend of my wife's. A terrible warrior,--at least so he says!....

CYRANO (_taking up the pen and motioning
away Ragueneau_).

Silence!.... write--fold,--(_to himself_) hand it to her,--and run away....

(_throwing away the pen_). Coward!....But may I die if I dare speak
to her, even a single word....

(_to Ragueneau_). What time is it?

RAGUENEAU.

A quarter past six!....

CYRANO (_striking his breast_).

But I have plenty of words here, and by writing....

(_Takes up the pen._)

So be it then! I'll write.--This letter fraught
With love, I've thought it out a hundred times;
It's ready, and, to close it, I have but
To read my soul, and copy what I read.

(_He writes. Behind the glazed door, a movement of lean and
hesitating forms._)

[13] Note.--The spelling _rime_ seems preferable to _rhyme_, since
rime and rhythm are two very distinct things.

_SCENE IV._

RAGUENEAU, LISE, THE MUSKETEER, CYRANO, _by the table,
writing_, THE POETS, _clad in black, bedraggled_.

LISE (_entering, to Ragueneau_).

Here are your bedraggled friends!

FIRST POET (_entering, to Ragueneau_).

Brother-poet!....

SECOND POET (_shaking Ragueneau by the hand_).

Dear brother-poet!

THIRD POET.

Eagle of pastry-cooks!

(_sniffing_) It smells good in your nest.

FOURTH POET.

O Phoebus-Caterer! Apollo master-cook!....

RAGUENEAU (_somewhat bewildered_).

How soon one feels at ease with them!

FIRST POET.

We were delayed a bit by something of a crowd,
Close by the Porte de Nesle!....

SECOND POET.

By sword both slashed and pierced,
Eight cut-throats bleeding fast illustrated the street.

CYRANO (_looking up_).

Eight?.... I thought seven.

(_continues writing._)

RAGUENEAU (_to Cyrano_).

Who fought so bravely? Do you know?

CYRANO (_treating the matter lightly_).

I?.... No!

LISE (_to the Musketeer_).

Do you?

MUSKETEER (_curling his mustache_).

Perhaps.

CYRANO (_writing--mutters a word now and then, aside_).

I love you....

FIRST POET.

A single man, they say, put all the band to flight!....

CYRANO (_writing_).

Your eyes!....

SECOND POET.

Why! Spears and hats were found a hundred yards away!

CYRANO (_writing_).

Your lips!....

FIRST POET.

Quite fearless must be he who fought so many thus.

CYRANO (_writing_).

And I am like to faint, outdone, when you appear.

SECOND POET (_helping himself to a cake_).

What new rimes can you give us, Ragueneau?

CYRANO (_writing_).

Who loves you!....

(_He stops just as he was going to sign, rises, folds the letter
and puts it into his doublet._)

Signature unnecessary. I'll hand her the letter myself.

RAGUENEAU (_to Second Poet_).

I have put a recipe into verse.

THIRD POET (_settling near a tray of tarts_).

Oh! let us hear the lines.

FOURTH POET.

This cake is crooked. Make it straight.

(_Eats it._)

SECOND POET.

We are listening.

THIRD POET.

This tart will lose its cream. We'll save it.

(_Eats the tart._)

SECOND POET (_breaking off and eating a piece of
the candied lyre_).

The only time perhaps a lyre's fed its man.

RAGUENEAU (_who has been preparing to recite,
coughing, settling his cap and striking an
attitude_).

A recipe in verse....

SECOND POET (_to First Poet_).

Why! you are breakfasting!

FIRST POET (_to Second Poet_).

And you are dining, friend!

RAGUENEAU.

HOW TO MAKE ALMOND TARTS.

Beat up to foam, discarding dregs,
Your choice of eggs.
Add carefully into the foam
Some citron juice that's new and stout;
Then lengthen out
With milk of almonds made at home.

Next, coat with dough, both fresh and sound,
Below, around,
Such moulds as pastry-cooks prepare.
Add sweetening to suit your taste
Into the paste.
Then pour quite slowly and with care

Your foam into each well[14], so well
That ev'ry well,
When it is baked to blondness, starts
To seek the walks that pleasure sings.
These seemly things
Are rightly christened: almond tarts.

THE POETS (_mouths full_).

Most exquisite! Divine!

ONE OF THE POETS (_choking_).

Humph!

(_They go to the rear, still eating. Cyrano, who has been watching
them, goes up to Ragueneau._)

CYRANO.

They seem to drink your verse, my friend; but see you not
How they assimilate your stock of eatables?

RAGUENEAU (_in low tone, smiling_).

I see, but notice not, for fear I'd trouble them;
And reading so my lines affords me double joy,
Since thus I satisfy a weakness that I own,
And feed the while poor souls whose pressing need is food!

CYRANO (_striking him on the shoulder_).

I like you, Ragueneau!....

(_Ragueneau joins his friends, the poets. Cyrano looks at him for a
while, then suddenly says:_)

Tell me there, Lise!

(_Lise, who seems to be engaged in a very animated flirtation with
the Musketeer, starts and comes down to Cyrano._)

This captain.... seems to be besieging you?

LISE (_offended_).

Oh! my eyes have a look haughty enough to vanquish all who attack my virtue.

CYRANO (_very firmly_).

I like Ragueneau very much. For this reason, Mistress Lise, I forbid that anybody should make him ridiculous.[15]

LISE.

But you mistake....

CYRANO (_speaking loud, so as to be heard by
the Musketeer_).

A word to the wise....

(_He bows to the Musketeer, and, after looking at the clock, goes
to the door, where he stands looking out._)

LISE (_to the Musketeer, who simply returned
Cyrano's bow_).

Really, you surprise me!.... Why do you not answer?.... Speak of his nose....

THE MUSKETEER.

His nose.... his nose.... that is easily said....

(_Retires rapidly, Lise following._)

CYRANO (_from the door, signals to Ragueneau to
draw away the poets_).

Pst!....

RAGUENEAU (_pointing out to the Poets the door
to the right_).

We shall be much more comfortable in there....

CYRANO (_getting out of patience_).

Pst!.... Pst!....

RAGUENEAU (_pushing the Poets along_).

We'll read some more verses.

FIRST POET (_in despair, with his mouth full_).

But the cakes!....

SECOND POET.

Let us take them along.

(_They all go out, following Ragueneau, in a sort of procession,
after having loaded themselves with cakes._)

[14] Note.--The miserable pun on "puits" (well) was found possible to
reproduce. Needless to add that this is ambitious confectioner's
verse, intentionally nonsensical.

[15] Note.--_Ridicuckoldulous_ would be an exact translation.

_SCENE V._

CYRANO, ROXANE, THE DUENNA.

CYRANO.

I shall hand her my letter if I feel that there is any hope, however slight!....

(_Roxane, masked, and followed by the Duenna, appears behind the
glazed door, that Cyrano opens eagerly._)

Be pleased to enter!....

(_Walking up to the Duenna_). As to you, Duenna, one word!

DUENNA.

Four words, if you will, Sir.

CYRANO.

Are you fond of cake and such?

DUENNA.

To and beyond excess.[16]

CYRANO (_taking paper bags from the counter_).

Good! Here are two sonnets....

DUENNA.

Ugh!

CYRANO.

....That I fill with tartlets.

DUENNA (_looking pleasant_).

Ah!

CYRANO.

Are you fond of cream cakes?

DUENNA.

More than fond when they contain too much cream!

CYRANO.

Here are six for you, wrapped in a poem. Do you like all cakes?

DUENNA.

All, all, all.

CYRANO (_loading her with paper bags full of cakes_).

Here are a few. Go now and eat them.... outside.

DUENNA.

But I....

CYRANO (_pushing her out_).

And do not return until you have eaten them all.

(_He closes the door, comes down toward Roxane, takes off his hat,
and stops, respectfully, at a distance._)

[16] Note.--The Duenna, like Roxane, is a "précieuse," an euphuist.

_SCENE VI._

CYRANO, ROXANE, _and, a moment_, THE DUENNA.

CYRANO.

Among all moments be the present blessed,
Since, ceasing to forget that I exist,--
However humbly--you have come to say....
To say....

ROXANE (_who has unmasked_).

To say: I thank you heartily.
For, know you now, the fop, the brainless wretch
You vanquished yesterday in noble strife,
Was being forced upon me....

(_bashfully_)

....As a mate
For life, by one who says he loves me....

CYRANO.

Guiche!....
Who's good at scheming thus....

(_saluting_)

So then I fought,
Not for my nose, but for your smiling eyes.

ROXANE.

And then I wished.... but the admission needs
That I should find in you.... the brother that
You were of yore....when we were children both.

CYRANO.

When Bergerac was our summer ground....

ROXANE.

And reeds made up your goodly stock of swords....

CYRANO.

While waving corn gave flowing hair for dolls.

ROXANE.

What happy days! For you my will was law....

CYRANO.

You're now Roxane; you then were Madeleine.

ROXANE.

And pretty?

CYRANO.

You were not a sorry sight.

ROXANE.

How often, romping, you would get a hurt!
Then, motherly, I'd say, in sternest voice:
"Another frolic and another scratch!"....

(_She stops astonished._)

The same to-day! What's this?

(_Cyrano tries to withdraw his hand._)

No, let me see!
You're still a boy, it seems.--Say when and how!

CYRANO.

At play just now, around the Porte de Nesle.

ROXANE (_taking a seat at one of the tables, and
wetting her handkerchief in a glass of water_).

Your hand!

CYRANO (_taking a seat near her_).

How gently thoughtful you've remained!

ROXANE.

How many foes?

CYRANO.

Not quite a hundred.

ROXANE.

Oh!
Do tell me all!

CYRANO.

What for? It's better far
You tell me what you did not dare to say....

ROXANE.

But now I dare. The memories of yore
Assist me. I'm....in love with somebody.

CYRANO.

Indeed!

ROXANE.

Who knows it not....

CYRANO.

Indeed!

ROXANE.

.... Not yet.

CYRANO.

Indeed!

ROXANE.

But he shall know it soon.

CYRANO.

Indeed!

ROXANE.

Poor fellow, he has loved me timidly,
And from afar, and never dared to speak!

CYRANO.

Indeed!

ROXANE.

Your hand is feverish.... Oh! I easily could see the truth beneath his bashfulness!

CYRANO.

Indeed!....

ROXANE (_as she finished bandaging his hand_).

And see what a coincidence, dear cousin! He belongs to your regiment!

CYRANO.

Indeed!....

ROXANE (_laughing_).

Why, of course, he is a cadet in your Company!....

CYRANO.

Indeed!

ROXANE.

He bears on his brow the mark of intelligence, of genius! He is haughty, noble, young, intrepid, handsome,....

CYRANO (_rising, very pale_).

Handsome!

ROXANE.

Why! what is the matter?

CYRANO.

The matter? Nothing .... It is .... It is ....

(_Showing his hand and smiling_). This little scratch.

ROXANE.

Oh! Well, I really love him. I must say, however, that I have seen him only at the Theatre ....

CYRANO.

Then you have not spoken to each other?

ROXANE.

Our eyes alone have done the talking.

CYRANO.

Well, then, how do you know?

ROXANE.

Beneath the linden trees of the Place Royal there is some gossipping .... and information has reached me ....

CYRANO.

He is a cadet, you say?

ROXANE.

Yes, a cadet in the Guards.

CYRANO.

His name?

ROXANE.

Baron Christian de Neuvillette.

CYRANO.

How?.... There is nobody of that name among the cadets.

ROXANE.

Oh! yes, there is, since this morning. His Captain is Carbon of Haughty-Hall.

CYRANO.

And so, quick, quick, we throw away our little heart?.... But my poor child....

THE DUENNA (_looking in at the door_).

Monsieur de Bergerac, I have finished the cakes!

CYRANO.

Well, then, read the verses that you will find on the bags!

(_Duenna disappears._)

.... My poor child, for you who are accustomed to refined language, to subtle thoughts,--suppose he were thoroughly uninitiated, in fact, a savage!

ROXANE.

Oh! no, he has the hair of a hero!

CYRANO.

Suppose he were as poor in speech as rich in hair.

ROXANE.

No, all his words are choice; I can tell by seeing him.

CYRANO.

Of course, all words are choice when they come through a mustache that is well curled.--But suppose he were a dunce!....

ROXANE (_striking the floor with her foot, impatiently_).

Well, it would kill me! There!

CYRANO (_after a pause_).

And it is to tell me this that you asked me to meet you here? I fail to see the necessity of the appointment, Madam.

ROXANE.

The fact is that somebody frightened me yesterday by telling me that you are all Gascons in your Company....

CYRANO.

And that we challenge any beardless hero who, through influence, and not being really a Gascon, manages to get assigned to our Gascon Company? That is what you were told.

ROXANE.

And you imagine how I tremble for him?

CYRANO (_between his teeth_).

Not without good reason!

ROXANE.

But then I was reminded of you, and of your skill and courage, your great achievements; and I thought: if he, Cyrano, whom everyone respects, would....

CYRANO.

'Tis well. I'll answer for your little baron.

ROXANE.

Yes, defend him always, please. And many thanks! You know how fond of you I've always been?

CYRANO.

Oh! yes, I know.

ROXANE.

You'll be his friend?

CYRANO.

I will.

ROXANE.

And he shall have no duels to fight.

CYRANO.

None; you have my promise.

ROXANE.

Ah! you are my dearest friend.--But I must go.

(_She puts on her mask again, throws a lace scarf over her head,
and then, in an unconcerned way says:_)

But you did not relate to me your battle of last night. You must have been grand!.... Tell him to write me.

(_Sends him a kiss with her hand._)

Dear, dear friend!

CYRANO.

All is understood.

ROXANE.

One hundred men against one: you!--So, good bye!--We are the best of friends, are we not?

CYRANO.

Assuredly, we are!

ROXANE.

Tell him to write!.... One hundred men!.... You'll tell me all about it later. To-day I cannot listen. One hundred men! How brave!

CYRANO (_bowing_).

Oh! I have done better since.

(_Exit Roxane. Cyrano remains motionless, his eyes on the floor.
Silence. The door to the right opens, and Ragueneau passes in his
head._)

_SCENE VII._

CYRANO, RAGUENEAU, THE POETS, CARBON OF HAUGHTY-HALL,
THE CADETS, THE CROWD, _etc._, _later_ LE BRET,
_and then_ GUICHE.

RAGUENEAU.

The coast is clear?

CYRANO (_motionless_).

Yes.

(_Ragueneau makes a sign, and his friends come in. At the same
moment appears in the doorway Carbon of Haughty-Hall, in full
uniform of Captain of the Guards; he lifts his arms on discovering
Cyrano._)

CARBON.

Here he is at last!

CYRANO (_raising his eyes_).

Captain!....

CARBON (_rejoiced_).

Our hero! We heard it all. Thirty at least of the Cadets are here!....

CYRANO (_falling back_).

But, Captain....

CARBON (_trying to take him along_).

Come! They wish to see you!

CYRANO.

No, I cannot!

CARBON.

They are over the way, at the Inn of the Cross.

CYRANO.

I cannot.

CARBON (_going to the door and shouting outside_).

Our hero refuses. He is out of sorts!

A VOICE (_outside_).

Sandious![17]

(_Noise outside. Sound of swords and boots drawing near._)

CARBON (_rubbing his hands_).

They are crossing the street!....

THE CADETS (_invading the shop_).

Milledious!--Capededious!--Mordious!--Pocapdedious!

RAGUENEAU (_retreating in terror_).

Why, gentlemen, are you all from Gascony?

THE CADETS.

Everyone of us!

A CADET (_to Cyrano_).

Bravo!

CYRANO.

Baron, yours!....

ANOTHER CADET (_shaking Cyrano's hand_).

Bravo!

CYRANO.

Yours, baron!

THIRD CADET.

Allow me to embrace you!

CYRANO.

Baron, baron!

SEVERAL CADETS.

Let us all embrace him!

CYRANO.

Baron.... baron.... spare me!....

RAGUENEAU.

But, gentlemen, are you all barons?

THE CADETS.

All of us!

FIRST CADET.

With our coronets alone you could build a tower.

LE BRET (_enters and runs up to Cyrano_).

An enthusiastic crowd is looking for you!

CYRANO (_frightened_).

You didn't tell them where I am?

LE BRET (_rubbing his hands_).

Of course I did!

(_The street is crowded with pedestrians, chaises and coaches, all
stopping before the door._)

You saw Roxane?

CYRANO (_rapidly_).

Be silent!

THE CROWD (_outside_).

Cyrano! Cyrano!

(_They invade the shop, pushing each other, and shower Cyrano with
congratulations._)

RAGUENEAU (_standing on a table_).

My shop is taken by storm! and almost wrecked! Beautiful! Beautiful!

PEOPLE AROUND CYRANO.

Dear friend!.... Brave friend.... Heroic friend!....

CYRANO.

Yesterday I had nothing like as many friends!....

LE BRET (_delighted_).

Success, you see! Success!

A MARQUIS (_running up with extended hands_).

If you only knew, dear boy....

CYRANO.

Dear boy? Dear boy? On what field did we ever camp together?

MARQUIS.

I should be pleased to present you, Sir, to some ladies who are outside in my coach.

CYRANO.

But, first, you--who will present you to me?

LE BRET (_dumbfounded_).

Why! friend, what ails you?

CYRANO.

Be silent, please!

A MAN OF LETTERS (_with pen and tablets_).

May I not gather some details....

CYRANO.

You may not!

LE BRET (_aside to Cyrano_).

But this is Theophraste Renaudot, who invented the gazette!

CYRANO.

I care not!

LE BRET.

.... That sheet in which are found so many things of interest. The idea, it is said, has before it a great future.

A POET.

Dear Sir, I desire to build upon your name a pentacrostic.

ANOTHER POET.

I desire, dear Sir,....

CYRANO.

Enough! Enough!

(_Movement. The crowd becomes more orderly and opens. Guiche
appears, with an escort of officers: Cuigy, Brissaille, the
officers who accompanied Cyrano at the close of Act I._)

CUIGY (_running up to Cyrano_).

Here is Monsieur de Guiche! He is sent by Marshal de Gassion!

GUICHE (_bowing to Cyrano_).

.... Who desires to express to you, Sir, his admiration for the wonderful prowess that we have just heard of.

THE CROWD.

Bravo! Bravo!

CYRANO (_bowing_).

The Marshal is a connoisseur in deeds of valour.

GUICHE.

He never would have believed the feat possible, if these gentlemen had not sworn that they witnessed it.

CUIGY.

With our own good eyes!

LE BRET (_aside, to Cyrano, who seems lost in thought_).

My good friend....

CYRANO (_to Le Bret_).

Be silent!

LE BRET (_aside to Cyrano_).

You seem to suffer!

CYRANO (_awakening and drawing himself up_).

Before all these people!.... I .... Suffer!.... Watch, and you shall see.

GUICHE (_to whom Cuigy has whispered a few words_).

All know that you have accomplished wonders before this. You are serving the King with these hare-brained Gascons, are you not?

CYRANO.

Yes, with the cadets.

A CADET (_in stentorian tones_).

With us!

GUICHE (_looking at the Gascons, who have
aligned behind Cyrano_).

Ah! ah!.... So these haughty-looking gentlemen are the famous....

CARBON.

Cyrano!

CYRANO.

Captain?

CARBON.

Since my Company is all here, I believe, present it to the Count, if you please.

CYRANO (_taking two steps toward Guiche, and
pointing to the Cadets_).

Fair Gascony's cadets are they,
With Carbon--He of Haughty-Hall;[18]
They fight and lie without dismay,
Fair Gascony's cadets are they!
In heraldry they've all to say,
And pedigrees like theirs appall.
Fair Gascony's cadets are they,
With Carbon--He of Haughty-Hall!

With eagle eye, in crane's array,
With cat's mustache, and tooth for all,
Through rabble growling as they may,
With eagle eye, in crane's array,
They strut with hats in sad decay
Beneath their plumes so bright and tall!
With eagle eye, in crane's array,
With cat's mustache, and tooth for all!

Abdomen-Blade and Slash-Away
Are names to them of pleasant fall.
They thirst for glory night and day
Abdomen-Blade and Slash-Away!
In every battle brawl, or fray....
They congregate as for a ball....
Abdomen-Blade and Slash-Away
Are names to them of pleasant fall!

Fair Gascony's cadets are they
To husbands....writing on the wall!
O woman, wench of godly clay,
Fair Gascony's cadets are they!
Though jealous masters fume and bray,
Let trumpet sound! Let cuckoo call!
Fair Gascony's cadets are they,
To husbands, writing on the wall!

GUICHE (_comfortably seated in an armchair that
Ragueneau promptly brought in_).

A poet is one of our choice luxuries to-day. Will you be mine?

CYRANO.

No, Sir, nobody's!

GUICHE.

Your ready wit, yesterday, caused much amusement to my uncle Richelieu. I shall take pleasure in recommending you to him.

LE BRET (_dazzled_).

What a good fortune!

GUICHE.

You certainly must have rimed some five-act tragedy?

LE BRET (_whispering to Cyrano_).

Your "Agrippine!" You'll have it played!

GUICHE.

Yes, take your work to the Cardinal.

CYRANO (_delighted and tempted_).

But, really....

GUICHE.

He is quite an expert, but will not make too many corrections!

CYRANO (_whose face has immediately resumed
its severe look_).

Impossible, Sir! My blood curdles at the thought of my verse being improved by the displacement or the addition of a single comma.

GUICHE.

But, on the other hand, my dear fellow, when a line pleases him, he pays for it a large price.

CYRANO.

Not so large a one as I myself pay. When I have written a line and then I fall in love with it, I buy it from and sing it to myself.

GUICHE.

Your disposition is a proud one!

CYRANO.

Really, you noticed it?

A CADET (_enters with, strung on a sword, a number
of hats, crushed, pierced and very much dejected as
to plumes_).

Behold, Cyrano! This morning, on the quay, we found this sorry feathered game. The hats of those you put to flight!....

CARBON.

Spolia opima!

(_Everybody laughs ._)

CUIGY.

Whoever paid these cut-throats must to-day regret his bargain.

BRISSAILLE.

Does anyone know who it is?

GUICHE.

It is I!

(_Laughing stops short._)

I had hired them--a nobleman is above doing these things himself--to chastise--a drunkard rimester.

(_General embarrassment._)

THE CADET (_aside to Cyrano, pointing to the hats_).

What shall we do with them? They are greasy enough to make a stew.

CYRANO (_taking the sword on which the hats are
strung, and allowing them, as he salutes, to
slip off at the feet of Guiche_).

You may desire, Sir, to return them to your friends.

GUICHE (_rising and in sharp tones_).

My chair, immediately!

(_to Cyrano, angrily_).

As to you, Sir!....

A VOICE (_in the street_).

The chair of his lordship Count de Guiche.

GUICHE (_who has conquered his feelings and now smiles_).

No doubt you've read Don Quixote?

CYRANO.

Yes, and, when
I hear the name of this enthusiast,
I doff my hat.

GUICHE.

Then kindly meditate
The windmill chapter....

CYRANO (_bowing_).

Yes,--I know--thirteenth.

GUICHE.

When windmills are attacked it happens oft....

CYRANO.

Have I attacked some noble weather-vane?

GUICHE.

That, if their mighty arms revolve, a man
Is dashed to earth!....

CYRANO.

Or lifted to the stars!

(_Exit Guiche, who enters his chair. His friends, whispering. Crowd
withdraws._)

_SCENE VIII._

CYRANO, LE BRET, THE CADETS, _who have taken seats at the
tables, and are eating and drinking_.

CYRANO (_bowing out in an affectedly polite way
those who are leaving without taking any
further notice of him_).

Gentlemen--delighted--Delighted--gentlemen--

LE BRET (_lifting his arms in despair_).

A pretty mess you've made of it!

CYRANO.

Oh! of course! As usual, you must growl!

LE BRET.

Come, now, you must admit that this constant assassination--that is the word--of every passing opportunity is, to say the least, a gross exaggeration.

CYRANO.

Well, yes, I do exaggerate. There!

LE BRET (_triumphant_).

You see!

CYRANO.

But I do so as a matter of principle, for the sake of example. In my opinion, such exaggeration is good.

LE BRET.

Suppose you set aside, a while, your soul
Heroic and success....

CYRANO.

What should I do?....
Set out to find a power, influence,
A master, then? A lowly ivy be
That licks the trunk it uses for support?
Creep up by stealth, instead of rising strong?
I thank you, no!--Inscribe the verse I write
To money bags, and play the low buffoon,
To cause, on lips that I despise, a smile?
I thank you, no! For breakfast eat a toad?
Wear out, or soil, especially my knees?
Forever prove how pliant is a spine?
I thank you, no! Give--only to exact?
Have ready praise for all, and strive to be
A pygmy hero in a puny ring?
I thank you, no! Ask publishers to print
My verse--at my expense? I thank you, no!
Seek favour from the solemn councils held
By pompous fools in taverns and the like?
I thank you, no! Or try to build a name
Upon a single sonnet, sooner than
Write other sonnets? No. I thank you, no!
Be terrorized by journals vague and small,
And hope the while they'll not forget me? No,
I thank you! Ever weigh, observe and fear?
Place gossip far above poetic lines?
Solicit, beg, crave notoriety?
I thank you, no! I thank you, nay!.... But, oh!....
To sing, to dream, to laugh, to be alone
And free, with eyes that naught will cause to turn,
And with a voice that naught will cause to shake!
To cock your hat, if you feel so disposed:
For this, or that, to fight--or write a verse!
To plan, without a thought of gold or fame,
A novel trip, perhaps unto the moon!
To write but what is honestly your own,
And, diffident for once, reflect: my boy,
Be satisfied with flower, fruit.... or leaf,
If they have grown on soil that's strictly yours!
Then, if perchance a bit of fame is earned,
To feel that none of it to Cæsar's due!
The truth is there, and so is honesty:
Despise to ape the ivy-parasite,
And try to be an oak, or elm, to rise,
Not very high, perhaps, but rise alone!

LE BRET.

Alone, you're right! But not opposing all!
Why should you make so many enemies?

CYRANO.

Because I see you make so many friends,
And smile on them with mouths I'll not describe.[19]
I'm glad to pass with fewer greetings met,
And proud to think: another enemy!

LE BRET.

You are insane!

CYRANO.