/\\WA V\W\^AA\\CW\ © By Mary Dale Clarke Walter Hampden As Cyrano de Bergerac EDMOND ROSTAND ^ 1 * CYRANO DE BERGERAC AN HEROIC COMEDY IN FIVE ACTS A NEW VERSION IN ENGLISH VERSE BY BRIAN HOOKER PREPARED FOR WALTER HAMPDEN WITH A PREFATORY GESTURE BY CLAYTON HAMILTON NEW YORK HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY Copyright, 1923, by HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY First Printing, October, 192S Second Printing, December, 192S Third Printing, January, 192U Fourth Printing, January, 192U Fifth Printing, February, 192U Sixth Printing, March, 192U Seventh Printing, July, 1921* Eighth Printing, September, 192U Ninth- Printing, October, 192U Tenth Printing, November, l'J2U Eleventh Printing, January, 1925 Twelfth Printing, July, 1925 Thirteenth Printing, December, 1925 Fourteenth Printing, February, 1926 Fifteenth Printing, February, 1926 Sixteenth Printing, April, 1926 Seventeenth Printing, October, 1926 Eighteenth Printing, July, 1927 Nineteenth Printing, January, 1928 Twentieth Printing, September, 1998 Twenty-first Printing, January, 1929 Twenty-second Printing, March, 1929 pbinted in THE united states of AMERICA the vail-ballou press BINQHAMTON AND NEW VORIt It was to the soul of CYRANO that I intended to dedicate this poem. But since that soul has been reborn in you, COQUELIN, it is to you that I dedicate it. E. R. THE PERSONS Cyrano de Bergerac Christian de Neuvillette comte de guiche Ragueneau Le Bret Carbon de Castel-Jaloux The Cadets Ligniere vicomte de valvert A Marquis Second Marquis Third Marquis Montfleury Bcllcrose Jodelet CuiGY Brissaille A Meddler A Musk etc ey Another Musketeer A Spanish Officer A Cavalier The Porter A Citizen f His /Son A Cut-Purse A Spectator A Sentry Bertrandou the Fifer A Capuchin Two Musicians The Poets The Pastrycooks The Pages Roxane Her Duenna Lise The Orange-Girl Mother Marguerite de Jesus Sister Marthe Sister Claire An Actress A Soubrette The Flower-Girl The Crowd, Citizens, Marquis, Musketeers, Thieves, Pas¬ trycooks, Poets, Cadets of Gascoyne, Actors, Violins, Pages, Children, Spanish Soldiers, Spectators, Intellectuals, Acade¬ micians, Nuns, etc. (The first four Acts in 1640; the fifth in 1655.) FIRST ACT: A Performance at the Hotel de Bour- gogne. SECOND ACT: The Bakery of the Poets. THIRD ACT: Roxane's Kiss. FOURTH ACT: The Cadets of Gascoyne. FIFTH ACT : Cyrano's Gazette. PREFACE "VOICI LES CADETS DE GASCOGNE!" . . . (A Prefatory Gesture) Many years ago, the late Augustin Daly tnade a brief revival in New York of Love's Labor's. Lost, the earliest and in most respects the poorest of the plays of Shakespeare. There had been no public demand for the piece; there was no popular approval of the presentation: but, when a friend asked Mr. Daly why he had spent his money in such an undertaking, the manager replied, "My brother, the Judge, had never seen the play and asked me for an opportunity to have a look at it." I had this anecdote in mind when, after enduring two decades of unremitted theatre-going made dreary by the absence from our stage of the most intoxicating play of modern times, I asked Walter Hampden to let me have another look at Cyrano de Bergerac. This request called for the raising of many thousands of dollars, the renting of a theatre in New York, the selection and long training of a company educated to speak verse and skilled in the rendition of romantic drama, the preparation of an elaborate production, and the study and composition of one of the most exacting parts in the entire history of the stage; but I had an altruistic argument to support an appeal that had been, in the first place, merely personal. "Cyrano," I said, "has not been shown in New York for nearly a quarter of a century, except at one or two negligible matinees. This means, though it is hard for us to realize the fact, that all our theatre-goers under thirty years of age have been robbed of an experience that we ourselves ix X PREFACE remember as one of the most tingling of our 'teens. I want to see Cyrano again; but I am thinking also of the thousands of younger people who have never seen it at all. Won't you give them a chance?" Not wishing me to carry my grey hairs in sorrow to an early grave, Mr. Hampden generously said, "I'll do the play for you if you will find me a translation. I have never read one." "Neither have I," I answered; for both of us had been bilingual since boyhood and our enthusiasm for Rostand had been derived entirely from our early habit of chanting his bravura passages in the French original. But if Mr. Hampden was not to be daunted by the difficulties of production, I was not to be put off by the problem of an English text. "Study the part in French," I said, "and ask Claude Bragdon to design the scenery. Meanwhile, I'll j It you a translation." After a visit to a bookstore, I read, for the first t lie in my life, half a dozen translations into English of Cyrano de Bergerac; and I hope that I shall never again experience so miserable a sense of disillusion¬ ment. One or two of them were so bad that they were not worth the paper they had been printed on. Two were more than tolerable; but, though fairly faithful to the letter of the French original, they seemed to me to miss entirely its spirit. The zest, the fire, the sponta¬ neity, the brilliancy, the lyric rapture of Rostand were lacking. I felt as annoyed as a musician condemned to listen to the murder of a composition of Mozart's by a child at the piano, continually striking sharp or flat; and, by no effort of my inward ear, could I imagine Mr. Hampden, accustomed as he was to the lines of Hamlet and Othello, speaking such pedestrian and un¬ inspired English in a poetic part that had been written by Rostand for the incomparable voice of Coquelin. But if Walter Hampden was willing to let me have a look at the play, it seemed only fair for me to ask PREFACE xi another of my friends to make a translation which Mr. Hampden should be able to speak and I should be able to read. I went to Brian Hooker. I asked him abruptly if he had ever read a translation of Cyrano de Bergerac; and, on receiving the expected negative response, I assured him that his estate was the more gracious. I then informed him that it was his duty to drop whatever he was doing, retire to the country for a couple of months, and translate Cyrano for Walter Hampden. Thus, in this practical age, are poets pestered by their friends. Since that is the way in which this new version of Cyrano de Bergcrac happened to be undertaken, the translator and the actor-manager have asked me to introduce the text to the reading public with a prefa¬ tory gesture. I am happy indeed to do so; for what¬ ever may be the fate of the revival with the theatre- going public [this preface being written necessarily in advance of the event] I know already that Brian Hooker has succeeded in a literary task of extraor¬ dinary difficulty, that he has written a text which is both speakable and readable, and that he has made the vivid spirit of Edmond Rostand accessible, for the first time in a quarter of a century, to English-reading lovers of belles-lettres who are not able to read French. Mr. Hooker has asked me to explain the principles he had in mind in undertaking this new version. In the first place, since he was making it directly for pro¬ duction on the stage and only incidentally for publi¬ cation, he wrote it by the ear and for the ear. While preserving the metres and the rhyme-schemes of the incidental lyrics, he chose blank verse as the medium for the dialogue, because, of course, the Alexandrine couplet would have sounded too outlandish to our theatre-going public. His verse is brisk, succinct, and crystal clear: it is easy for the actors to speak, and it is easy for the audience to understand without a xii PREFACE moment's hesitance. It was far from Mr. Hooker's purpose to write a literal translation,—the sort of rendering which, plodding faithfully from word to word, might be used as a "trot" by high-school stu¬ dents cramming for an examination in the French original. Not a line has been omitted from Rostand's text, and not a line has been added to it. It is not to be thought for a moment that either Mr. Hooker or Mr. Hampden would have presumed to alter the play in any detail, even though such sacrilege has often been committed under the camouflage of "adaptation"; but, in rendering many lines and speeches, the American poet has paraphrased the French original, instead of translating it verbatim. He has allowed himself this liberty in order to convey more clearly to Mr. Hamp¬ den's audience the theatrical thrust or the poetical point intended by Rostand. For instance, in the Bal¬ lade of the Duel, there is a line which reads, in the original, "Elegant comme Celadon"; but, knowing that nobody in an American audience could be expected to have heard of Celadon, Mr. Hooker has substituted an allusion to Sir Launcelot, a hero whom Cyrano himself might have mentioned just as naturally as a symbol of the chivalrous and courtly. Only to pedants who know nothing of the necessities of the theatre will such a process seem unscholarly; but there may be, in our universities, a few undramatic critics for whom it will be necessary to explain that Mr. Hampden, while fighting a duel and improvising a ballade, cannot pause to step down to the footlights and issue a literary footnote to the audience. And those members of the American audience who are scholarly enough to recog¬ nize, in Cyrano's bravura speech about his nose, a delightful phrase from Marlowe's Dr. Faustus, will know that this has been substituted for a French quotation which was equally familiar to the Parisian audience. On the one hand, it is not unlikely that the PREFACE xiii actual Cyrano, who was both a playwright and a scholar, was familiar with Marlowe's address to Helen; and, on the other hand, the American auditor would have received no kick from a literal translation of the French quotation used in the original. To sum the matter up, Mr. Hooker was commis¬ sioned, not to write a text-book or a "trot," but to write a play and a poem. His thought, like that of Rostand before him, was always of the theatre, always of the actor, always of the audience; and that, I be¬ lieve, is the reason why the English text has turned alive under his hands and kindled itself into a veritable poem. It conveys from one language to another the briskness, the brilliance, the eloquence, the spontaneity, the rapture of the original. To me it affords a pleasure that, until this year, I had never hoped to experience,— the pleasure of reading an English version of Cyrano de Bergcrac which could really remind me of the keen delight with which I first read the French original a quarter of a century ago. Since I have had no part in this undertaking, except to persuade one of my friends to revive the play and another of my friends to translate the text, I might—were I so minded—say, with Cyrano,— "Pendant que je restais en bas, dans I'ombre noire, D'autres montaient cueillir le baiser de la gloire!" But the only "kiss of glory" that any of the three of us desires is the hope of suggesting to a new genera¬ tion of American play-goers and American readers a little of that rapture which we ourselves, now men of forty, derived from seeing and from reading Cyrano de Bergcrac in the brave days of Richard Mansfield and Constant Coquelin, when we were in our 'teens. Lucky were the lads who were growing up to man¬ hood when Cyrano was written; for those were brave xiv PREFACE days indeed and the world was not yet out of joint. Tt was the time of the Spanish-American War, a knightly contest for a noble cause, in which we were fighting against gentlemen, not Germans; and the customs of mankind had not become so sullied as to make a chivalrous gesture seem, in that quaint phrase of Sir Thomas Browne's, "a vanity out of date and superannuated piece of folly." The year was all a-kindle with great gestures. An American officer, self-reliant and alone, attained immortal anonymity by carrying his message to Garcia. Dewey, in the early morning, steamed past anchored mines into the harbor of Manila, curved away from the Spanish fleet in order to give his seamen time for breakfast, circled back again, and with the quiet phrase, "You may lire when you are ready, Gridley," raised the United States from a provincial nation to one of the great powers of the world. Hobson made his gallant at¬ tempt to bottle up the hostile fleet at Santiago; and when, subsequently, the Spanish ships escaped and were beached and shattered in a running fight, our seamen cried, "Don't cheer, boys; the poor fellows are dying," and rushed to the rescue of the enemies they had disarmed. There is only one word for occur¬ rences like that. It is the word of Cyrano,—"Quel geste!" It was in those stirring days that Cyrano de Bergerac was first produced in Paris, at the Theatre de la Porte Saint-Martin, on the night of December .28, 1897, and swiftly took the theatre of the world by storm. No other play in history, before or since, has ever attained a popular success so instantaneous and so enormous. Though I was only sixteen years old at the time, I can still remember clearly the noise of that first news—heard all around the rolling globe —that a young Frenchman, only twenty-nine years of age, whose name, outside of Paris, nobody had ever PREFACE xy heard before, had written the most entrancing and contagious play that had ever yet been shown at any time on any stage. In one of my books, I have mentioned what this meant to me; and, since my own experience must tally with that of many other people who are not too young to remember nor so old as to forget, it may not be inappropriate to repeat it in this place. While travelers returning overseas whetted our appetite with ecstatic accounts of Cyrano, we who waited in Amer¬ ica were stimulated to a feverish excitement. I put in an order at Brentano's for the text and bothered the bookstore for days and days and weeks and weeks until the first copies came to us across the ocean. I remember vaguely that there was a rather long delay, due doubtless to some accident of printing; and I can recollect my consequent delight at securing one of the first copies that were delivered in this country. In those days, there was a shabby little nook in Sixth Avenue—on the east side, just south of Twenty-Eighth Street—that was known as the Cafe de Bordeaux. It was a dingy place, frequented by im¬ poverished Frenchmen who played backgammon on decaying boards or ancient gambling games with dirty decks of cards. Thither—at that moment, a quarter of a century ago—I made my way, with my virgin copy of Cyrano de Bergerac protruding from my pocket. I was set upon at once, and made to open up the book, and forced to read aloud what every one was waiting for : Je jette avec grace mon feutre, Je fais lentement I'abandon Du grand manteau qui me falfeutre, Et je tire mon espadon . . . In a moment or two the games of backgammon ceased and the whispering of falling cards was Xvi PREFACE quenched in silence. I was soon enthroned upon a table and reading—in my rhetorical schoolboyish man¬ ner—the sonorous series of triolets beginning: Ce sont les cadets de Gascogne, Dc Carbon dc Castcl-Jaloux! . . . At the end of the first stanza, that helter-skelter company of Frenchmen far from home broke spon¬ taneously into cheers. I enjoyed my first and only triumph as an actor. That day within that place men played no more. . . . Thereafter, evening after evening, Walter Hampden and I used to squander the after-midnight gas, read¬ ing and rereading the magic text of this entrancing play; and it is pleasant now to think that innumerable other boys whom we have never met were rendered sleepless at the same time by the same romantic stimu¬ lus. We were not critical in those days. We did not bother to compare Rostand with Shakespeare or Euripides or Moliere. We knew only that his heroic comedy was thrillingly theatrical and that his verse was dazzling and exquisitely lyrical. That was enough for us; and that, I believe, will be enough for the younger people of the present generation when they are brought face to face with Cyrano. When the news of the incomparable success of the new piece at the Porte Saint-Martin had been authen¬ ticated, Richard Mansfield, the foremost American actor of the time, closed his season, slipped quietly across the ocean, and sat night after night watching from the front the performance of Constant Coquelin. Mansfield was the first actor that I saw in the part. I attended his opening at the Garden Theatre in New York, on October 3, 1898, and saw him subsequently several times during the course of that season and the next. Coquelin I did not see until the autumn of 1900, when he appeared in New York, at the same Garden PREFACE xvii Theatre, with Sarah Bernhardt as Roxane; but I made up for my delay by attending every performance in the first week of the engagement. I am able to testify that Mansfield's Cyrano was not, by any means, an imitation of Coquelin's. It was, indeed, deliberately different; and, in many tech¬ nical respects, it was more obviously meritorious. Mansfield's performance was more clever, more in¬ genious, more astonishing. But despite the cleverness of Mansfield, I preferred the performance of Coque- lin. I am sure, now, that Coquelin was greater, for the simple reason that I find it more difficult, after more than twenty years, to remember what Coquelin did at any questionable moment than to remember what Mansfield did. Mansfield acted the part admir¬ ably ; but Coquelin walked on, and was Cyrano, and that was the only fact to be regarded. We cannot call back Coquelin and Mansfield and Rostand from their graves; but this gallant play is still as thrillingly alive as it was in 1898. Rostand was like Shakespeare in one respect at least; for he wrote "not of an age but for all time." It is only the realists, who write about contemporary manners and contemporary morals, who grow speedily old- fashioned : the romantics, who escape from their own period, remain forever young and ever new. And it does seem to be a great pity that, because of the faulty organization of our theatre, such a play as Cyrano de Bergerac should be banished from our stage for decades at a time. It is to be hoped that Mr. Hampden will keep this piece in his repertory for many years to come. Meanwhile, his revival of Cyrano has at least inspired Mr. Hooker to write an English version which all lovers of belles-lettres will accept with gratitude. CLAYTON HAMILTON NEW YORK CITY: OCTOBER, I923. THE FIRST ACT A PERFORMANCE AT THE HOTEL DE BOURGOGNE CYRANO DE BERGERAC The Hall of the Hotel de Bourgogne in 1640. A sort of Tennis Court, arranged, and, decorated for Theatrical productions. The Hall is a long rectangle; we see it diagonally, in such a way that one side of it forms the back scene, which begins at the First Entrance on the Right and runs up to the Last Entrance on the Left, where it makes a right angle with the Stage which is seen obliquely. This Stage is provided on either hand with benches placed along the wings. The curtain is formed by two lengths of Tapestry which can be drawn apart. Above a Harlequin cloak, the Royal Arms. Broad steps lead from the Stage down to the floor of the Hall. On either side of these steps, a place for the Musicians. A row of candles serving as footlights. Two tiers of Galleries along the side of the Hall; the upper one divided into boxes. There are no seats upon the Floor, which is the ac¬ tual stage of our theatre; but toward the back of the Hall, on the right, a few benches are arranged; and underneath a stairway on the extreme right, which leads up to the galleries, and of which only the lower portion is visible, there is a sort of Sideboard, deco¬ rated with little tapers, vases of flowers, bottles and glasses, plates of cake, et cetera. Farther along, toward the centre of our stage is the Entrance to the Hall: a great double door which opens only slightly to admit the Audience. On one of the panels of this door, as also in other places about the Hall, and in particular just over the Sideboard, are Playbills in red, upon which we may read the title La Clorise1. 3 4 CYRANO DE BERGERAC As the Curtain Rises, the Hall is dimly lighted and still empty. The Chandeliers are lowered to the floor, in the middle of the Hall, ready for lighting. (Sound of voices outside the door. Then a Cavalier enters abruptly.) the porter (Follows him) Halloa there !—Fifteen sols ! the cavalier I enter free. the porter Why? the cavalier Soldier of the Household of the King! the porter {Turns to another Cavalier who has just en¬ tered)i You? second cavalier I pay nothing. the porter Why not? second cavalier Musketeer! first cavalier {To the Second) The play begins at two. Plenty of time— And here's the whole floor empty. Shall we try Our exercise? {They fence with the foils which they have brought) a lackey {Enters) —Pst! . . . Flanquin! . . . another (Already on stage) What, Champagne? CYRANO DE BERGERAC 5 FIRST LACKEY (Showing games which he takes out of his doublet) Cards. Dice. Come on. (Sits on the floor) SECOND LACKEY (Same action) Come on, old cock! FIRST LACKEY (Takes from his pocket a bit of candle, lights it, sets it on the floor) I have stolen A little of my master's fire. A GUARDSMAN (To a flower girl who comes forward) How sweet Of you, to come before they light the hall! (Puts his arm around her) FIRST CAVALIER (Receives a thrust of the foil) A hit! SECOND LACKEY A club! THE GUARDSMAN (Pursuing the girl) A kiss! THE FLOWER GIRL (Pushing away from him) They'll see us !— THE GUARDSMAN (Draws her into a dark corner) No danger! A MAN (Sits on the floor, together with several others zvho have brought packages of food) When we come early, we have time to eat. 6 CYRANO DE BERGERAC A CITIZEN {Escorting his son, a boy of sixteen) Sit here, my son. FIRST LACKEY Mark the Ace! ANOTHER MAN {Draws a bottle from under his cloak and sits down with the others) Here's the spot For a jolly old sot to suck his Burgundy— (Drinks) Here—in the house of the Burgundians! THE CITIZEN (To his son) Would you not think you were in some den of vice? (.Points with his cane at the drunkard) Drunkards— {In stepping back, one of the cavaliers trips him up) Bullies!— {He falls between the lackeys) Gamblers!— THE GUARDSMAN (Behind him as he rises, still struggling with the Flower Girl) One kiss— THE CITIZEN Good God!— (Draws his son quickly away) Here!—And to think, my son, that in this hall They play Rotrou! THE BOY Yes father—and Corneille! THE PAGES (Dance in, holding hands and singing:) Tra-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-lere . . . CYRANO DE BERGERAC 7 THE PORTER You pages there—no nonsense ! FIRST PAGE (With wounded dignity) Oh, monsieur! Really! How could you ? (To the Second, the moment the Porter turns his back) Pst!—a bit of string? SECOND PAGE (Shows Ushline with hook) Yes—and a hook. FIRST PAGE Up in the gallery, And fish for wigs! A CUT-PURSE (Gathers around him several evil-looking young fellows) Now then, you picaroons, Perk up, and hear me mutter. Here's your bout— Bustle around some cull, and bite his bung . . . SECOND PAGE (Calls to other pages already in the gallery) Hey ! Brought your pea-shooters ? THIRD PAGE (From above) And our peas, too! (Blows, and showers them with peas) THE BOY What is the play this afternoon? THE CITIZEN Clorise. THE BOY Who wrote that? THE CITIZEN Balthasar Baro. What a play! . . . 8 CYRANO DE BERGERAC (He takes The Boy's arm and leads him up¬ stage ) THE CUT-PURSE (To his pupils) Lace now, on those long sleeves, you cut it off— (Gesture with thumb and finger, as if using scissors) A SPECTATOR (To another, pointing upward toward the gal¬ lery) Ah, Le Cid!—Yes, the first night, I sat there— THE CUT-PURSE Watches— (Gesture as of picking a pocket) THE CITIZEN {Coming down with his son) Great actors we shall see to-day— THE CUT-PURSE Handkerchiefs— (Gesture of holding the pocket with left hand, and drawing out handkerchief with right) THE CITIZEN Montfleury— A VOICE (In the gallery) Lights! Light the lights ! THE CITIZEN Bellerose, l'fipy, Beaupre, Jodelet— A PAGE (On the floor) Here comes the orange-girl. THE ORANGE GIRL Oranges, milk, Raspberry syrup, lemonade— (Noise at the door) CYRANO DE BERGERAC 9 a falsetto voice (Outside) Make way, Brutes! first lackey What, the Marquis—on the floor? (The Marquis enter in a little group.) second lackey Not long— Only a few moments; they'll go and sit On the stage presently. first marquis (Seeing the hall half empty) How now ! We enter Like tradespeople—no crowding, no disturbance!— No treading on the toes of *>tizens ? Oh fie ! Oh fie ! (He encounters two ^ntlemen who have al¬ ready arrived) Cuigy! Brissaille! (Great embracings) cuigy The faithful! (Looks around him.) We are here before the candles. first marquis Ah, be still! You put me in a temper. second marquis Console yourself, Marquis—The lamplighter ! the crowd (Applauding the appearance of the lamplighter) Ah! . . . (A group gathers around the chandelier while he lights it. A few people have already taken their place in the gallery. Ligniere io CYRANO DE BERGERAC enters the hall, arm in arm with Christian de Neuvillette. Ligniere is a slightly dis¬ heveled figure, dissipated and yet distin¬ guished looking. Christian, elegantly but rather unfashionably dressed, appears pre¬ occupied and keeps looking up at the boxes.) cuigy Ligniere!— brissaille {Laughing) Still sober—at this hour? ligniere (To Christian) May I present you? (Christian assents.) Baron Christian de Neuvillette. (They salute.) the crowd (Applauding as the lighted chandelier is hoisted into place) Ah!— cuigy {Aside to Brissaille, looking at Christian) Rather A fine head, is it not? The profile . . . first marquis ( Who has overheard) Peuh! ligniere (.Presenting them to Christian) Messieurs de Cuigy . . . de Brissaille . . . christian {Bows) Enchanted! first marquis {To the second) He is not ill-looking; possibly a shade CYRANO DE BERGERAC n Behind the fashion. ligniere (To Cuigy) Monsieur is recently From the Touraine. christian Yes, I have been in Paris Two or three weeks only. I join the Guards To-morrow. first marquis (Watching the people who come into the boxes) Look—Madame la Presidente Aubry! the orange-girl Oranges, milk— the violins (Tuning up) La . . . la . . . cuigy (To Christian, calling his attention to the in¬ creasing crowd) We have An audience to-day! christian A brilliant one. first marquis Oh yes, all our own people—the gay world! (They name the ladies who enter the boxes elaborately dressed. Bows and smiles are exchanged.) second marquis Madame de Guemene . . . cuigy De Bois-Dauphin . . . first marquis Whom we adore— 12 CYRANO DE BERGERAC brissaille Madame de Chavigny . . . second marquis Who plays with all our hearts— ligniere Why, there's Corneille Returned from Rouen! the boy {To his father) Are the Academy All here? the citizen I see some of them . . . there's Boudu— Boissat—Cureau—Porcheres—Colomby— Bourzeys—Bourdon—Arbaut— Ah, those great names, Never to be forgotten! first marquis Look—at last! Our Intellectuals! Barthenoide, Urimedonte, Felixerie . . . second marquis (.Languishing) Sweet heaven! How exquisite their surnames are! Marquis, You know them all? first marouis I know them all, Marquis! ligniere {Draws Christian aside) My dear boy, I came here to serve you— Well, But where's the lady? I'll be going. christian Not yet— A little longer! She is always here. Please! I must find some way of meeting her. I am dying of love! And you—you know CYRANO DE BERGERAC 13 Everyone, the whole court and the whole town, And put them all into your songs—at least You can tell me her name! THE FIRST VIOLIN (Raps on his desk with his bow) Pst— Gentlemen! (Raises his bow) THE ORANGE-GIRL Maccaroons, lemonade— CHRISTIAN Then she may be One of those aesthetes . . . Intellectuals, You call them— How can I talk to a woman In that style? I have no wit. This fine manner Of speaking and of writing nowadays— Not for me! I am a soldier—and afraid. That's her box, on the right—the empty one. LIGNIERE (Starts for the door) I am going. CHRISTIAN {Restrains him) No—wait! LIGNIERE Not I. There's a tavern Not far away—and I am dying of thirst. THE ORANGE-GIRL (Passes with her tray) Orange juice? LIGNIERE No! THE ORANGE-GIRL Milk? LIGNIERE Pouah! THE ORANGE-GIRL Muscatel ? id CYRANO DE BERGERAC ligniere Here! Stop! (To Christian) I'll stay a little. (To the Girl) Let me see Your Muscatel. (He sits down by the sideboard. The Girl pours out wine for him.) voices (In the crowd about the door, upon the en¬ trance of a spruce little man, rather fat, with a beaming smile) Ragueneau! ligniere (To Christian) Ragueneau, Poet and pastry-cook—a character! ragueneau (Dressed like a confectioner in his Sunday clothes, advances quickly to Ligniere) Sir, have you seen Monsieur de Cyrano? ligniere (Presents him to Christian) Permit me . . . Ragueneau, confectioner, The chief support of modern poetry. ragueneau (Bridling) Oh—too much honor! ligniere Patron of the Arts— Maecenas! Yes, you are— ragueneau Undoubtedly, The poets gather round my hearth. ligniere On credit— CYRANO DE BERGERAC 15 Himself a poet— RAGUENEAU So they say— LIGNIERE Maintains The Muses. RAGUENEAU It is true that for an ode— LIGNIERE You give a tart— RAGUENEAU A tartlet— LIGNIERE Modesty! And for a triolet you give— RAGUENEAU Plain bread. LIGNIERE (Severely) Bread and milk! And you love the theatre? RAGUENEAU I adore it! LIGNIERE Well, pastry pays for all. Your place to-day now—Come, between ourselves, What did it cost you? RAGUENEAU Four pies; fourteen cakes. (Looking about) But— Cyrano not here? Astonishing! LIGNIERE Why so? RAGUENEAU Why— Montfleury plays! LIGNIERE Yes, I hear That hippopotamus assumes the role 16 CYRANO DE BERGERAC Of Phedon. What is that to Cyrano? ragueneau Have you not heard? Monsieur de Bergerac So hates Montfleury, he has forbidden him For three weeks to appear upon the stage. ligniere (Who is, by this time, at his fourth glass) Well? ragueneau Montfleury plays!— cuigy (Strolls over to them) Yes—what then? ragueneau Ah! That Is what I came to see. first marquis This Cyrano— Who is he? cuigy Oh, he is the lad with the long sword. second marquis Noble ? cuigy Sufficiently; he is in the Guards. {Points to a gentleman who comes and goes about the hall as though seeking for some¬ one) His friend Le Bret can tell you more. (Calls to him) Le Bret! (Le Bret comes down to them) Looking for Bergerac ? le bret Yes. And for trouble. cuigy Is he not an extraordinary man? CYRANO DE BERGERAC 17 LE BRET The best friend and the bravest soul alive! RAGUENEAU Poet— CUIGY Swordsman— LE BRET Musician— BRISSAILLE Philosopher— LIGNIERE Such a remarkable appearance, too! RAGUENEAU Truly, I should not look to find his portrait By the grave 'hand of Philippe de Champagne. He might have been a model for Callot— One of those wild swashbucklers in a masque— Hat with three plumes, and doublet with six points— His cloak behind him over his long sword Cocked, like the tail of strutting Chanticleer— Prouder than all the swaggering Tamburlaines Hatched out of Gascony. And to complete This Punchinello figure—such a nose !— My lords, there is no such nose as that nose— You cannot look upon it without crying: "Oh no, Impossible! Exaggerated!" Then You smile, and say: "Of course— I might have known; Presently he will take it of?." But that Monsieur de Bergerac will never do. LIGNIERE (Grimly) He keeps it—and God help the man who smiles! RAGUENEAU His sword is one half of the shears of Fate! 18 CYRANO DE BERGERAC first marquis (Shrugs) He will not come. ragueneau Will he not? Sir, I'll lay you A pullet a la Ragueneau! first marquis {Laughing) Done! (Murmurs of admiration; Roxane has just ap¬ peared in her box. She sits at the front of the box, and her Duenna takes a seat toward the rear. Christian, busy paying the Orange Girl, does not see her at first. second marquis (With little excited cries) Ah! Oh ! Oh! Sweet sirs, look yonder! Is she not Frightfully ravishing? first marquis Bloom of the peach— Blush of the strawberry— second marquis So fresh—so cool, That our hearts, grown all warm with loving her, May catch their death of cold! christian (Looks up, sees Roxane, and seizes Ligniere by the arm.) There! Quick—up there— In the box! Look !— ligniere (Coolly) Herself ? christian Quickly— Her name ? CYRANO DE BERGERAC 19 ligniere (■Sipping his wine, and speaking between sips) Magdeleine Robin, called Roxane . . . refined . . . Intellectual . . . christian Ah!— ligniere Unmarried . . . christian Oh!— ligniere No title . . . rich enough ... an orphan . . „ cousin To Cyrano ... of whom we spoke just now . . . (At this point, a very distinguished looking gentleman, the Cordon Bleu around his neck, enters the box, and stands a moment talking with Roxane.) christian (Starts) And the man? . . . ligniere (Beginning to feel his wine a little; cocks his eye at them.) Oho! That man ? . . . Comte de Guiche . . . In love with her . . . married himself, however, To the niece of the Cardinal—Richelieu . . . Wishes Roxane, therefore, to marry one Monsieur de Valvert . . . Vicomte . . . friend of his . . . A somewhat melancholy gentleman . . . But . . . well, accommodating! . . . She says No . . . Nevertheless, de Guiche is powerful . . . Not above persecuting . . . (He rises, swaying a little, and very happy.) I have written CYRANO DE BERGERAC A little song about his little game . . . Good little song, too . . . Here, I'll sing it for you. . . Make de Guiche furious . . . naughty little song . . . Not so bad, either— Listen! . . . {He stands with his glass held aloft, ready to sing.) christian No. Adieu. ligniere Whither away? christian To Monsieur de Valvert! ligniere Careful! The man's a swordsman . . . (Nods toward Roxane, who is watching Chris¬ tian.) Wait! Someone Looking at you— christian Roxane! . . . {He forgets everything, and stands spellbound, gazing toward Roxane. The Cut-Purse and his crew, observing him transfixed, his eyes raised and his mouth half open, begin edging in his direction.) ligniere Oh! Very well, Then I'll be leaving you . . . Good day . . . Good day! . . . (Christian remains motionless.) Everywhere else, they like to hear me sing!— Also, I am thirsty. {He goes out, navigating carefully. Le Bret, having made the circuit of the hall, returns to Ragueneau, somewhat reassured.) le bret No sign anywhere CYRANO DE BERGERAC 21 Of Cyrano! ragueneau (Incredulous) Wait and see! le bret Humph! I hope He has not seen the bill. the crowd The play !—The play!— first marquis (Observing de Guiche, as he descends from Roxane's box and crosses the floor, followed by a knot of obsequious gentlemen, the Vi- comte de Valvert among them.) This man de Guiche—what ostentation! second marquis Bah!— Another Gascon! first marquis Gascon, yes—but cold And calculating—certain to succeed— My word for it. Come, shall we make our bow? We shall be none the worse, I promise you . . . {They go toward de Guiche.) second marouis Beautiful ribbons, Count! That color, now, What is it—Kiss-me-Dcar or Star'tled-Fawn? de guiche I call that shade The Dying Spaniard. first marquis Ha! And no false colors either—thanks to you And your brave troops, in Flanders before long The Spaniard will die daily. de guiche Shall we go And sit upon the stage? Come Valvert. 22 CYRANO DE BERGERAC CHRISTIAN (Starts at the name) Valvert!— The Vicomte— Ah, that scoundrel! Quick—my glove— I'll throw it in his face— (Reaching into his pocket for his glove, he catches the hand of the Cut-Purse) THE CUT-PURSE Oh!— CHRISTIAN (Holding fast to the man's wrist) Who are you? I was looking for a glove— THE CUT-PURSE (Cringing) You found a hand. {Hurriedly) Let me go—I can tell you something— CHRISTIAN (Still holdinq him) Well? THE CUT-PURSE Ligniere—that friend of yours— CHRISTIAN (Same business) Well? THE CUT-PURSE Good as dead— Understand? Ambuscaded. Wrote a song About—no matter. There's a hundred men Waiting for him to-night—I'm one of them. CHRISTIAN A hundred! Who arranged this ? THE CUT-PURSE Secret. CHRISTIAN Oh! CYRANO DE BERGERAC 23 the cut-purse (With dignity) Professional secret. christian Where are they to be ? THE CUT-PURSE Porte de Nesle. On his way home. Tell him so. Save his life. christian (Releases the man) Yes, but where am I to find him? the CUT-rURSE Go round the taverns. There's the Golden Grape, The Pineapple, The Bursting Belt, the Two Torches, The Three Funnels—in every one You leave a line of writing—understand? To warn him. christian (Starts for the door) I'll go! God, what swine—a hundred Against one man! . . . (Stops and looks longingly at Roxane) Leave her here!— (Savagely, turning toward Valvert) And leave him!—< (Decidedly) I must save Ligniere! ( Exit) (De Guiche, Valvert, and all the Marquis have disappeared through the curtains, to take their scats upon the stage. The floor is en¬ tirely filled; not a vacant seat remains in the gallery or in the boxes.) the crowd The play! The play! Begin the play! 24 CYRANO DE BERGERAC A CITIZEN (As his zvig is hoisted into the air on the end of a fishline, in the hands of a page in the gal¬ lery) My wig!! CRIES OF JOY He's bald! Bravo, You pages! Ha ha ha! THE CITIZEN (Furious, shakes his fist at the boy) Here, you young villain! CRIES AND LAUGHTER (Beginning very loud, then suddenly re¬ pressed) HA HA ! Ha Ha ! ha ha. . . . (Complete silence) LE BRET (Surprised) That sudden hush? . . . (.A Spectator whispers in his ear.) Yes? THE SPECTATOR I was told on good authority . . . MURMURS (Here and there) What? . . . Here? . . . No . . . Yes . . . Look—in the latticed box— The Cardinal! . . . The Cardinal! . . . A PAGE The Devil!— Now we shall all have to behave ourselves! (Three raps on the stage. The audience be¬ comes motionless. Silence) THE VOICE OF A MARQUIS (From the stage, behind the curtains) Snuff that candle! CYRANO DE BERGERAC 25 another marquis {Puts his head out through the curtains.) A chair! . . . (A chair is passed from hand to hand over the heads of the crowd. He takes it, and disap¬ pears behind the curtains, not without hav¬ ing blown a few kisses to the occupants of the boxes.) a spectator Silence! VOICES Hssh! . . . Hssh! . . . (Again the three raps on the stage. The cur¬ tains part. Tableau. The Marquis seated on their chairs to right and left of the stage, insolently posed. Back drop representing a pastoral scene, bluish in tone. Four little crystal chandeliers light up the stage. The violins play softly.) le bret (In a low tone, to '^~'V~eneau) Montfleury enters now? raguenbau (Nods) Opens the play. le bret (Much relieved) Then Cyrano is not here! ragueneau I lose . . . le bret Humph!— So much the better! (The melody of a Musette is heard. Mont¬ fleury appears upon the scene, a ponderous figure in the costume of a rustic shepherd, a 26 CYRANO DE BERGERAC hat garlanded with roses tilted over one ear, playing upon a bcribboned pastoral pipe) THE CROWD (Applauds) Montfleury! . . . Bravo! . . . MONTFLEURY (After bowing to the applause, begins the role of Plied on) "Thrice happy he who hides from pomp and power In sylvan shade or solitary bower; Where balmy zephyrs fan his burning cheeks—" A VOICE (From the midst of the hall) Wretch! Have I not forbade you these three weeks? (Sensation. Every one turns to look. Mur¬ murs) SEVERAL VOICES What? . . . Where? . . . Who is it? . . . CUIGY Cyrano! LE BRET (In alarm) Himself! THE VOICE King of clowns! Leave the stage—at once I THE CROWD Oh!— Now, MONTFLEURY Now, now— THE VOICE You disobey me? SEVERAL VOICES (From the floor, from the boxes) Hsh ! Go on— Quiet!—Go on, Montfleury!—Who's afraid?— CYRANO DE BERGERAC 27 MONTFLEURY {In a voice of no great assurance) "Thrice happy he who hides from . . THE VOICE (More menacingly) Well? Well? Well? . . . Monarch of mountebanks! Must I come and plant A forest on your shoulders? (A cane at the end of a long arm shakes above the heads of the crowd.) MONTFLEURY {In a voice increasingly feeble) "Thrice hap—" {The cane is violently agitated.) THE VOICE GO!!! THE CROWD Ah !. . . . CYRANO {Arises in the centre of the floor, erect upon a chair, his arms folded, his hat cocked fero¬ ciously, his moustache bristling, his nose ter¬ rible.) Presently I shall grow angry! {Sensation at'his appearance) MONTFLEURY {To the Marquis) Messieurs, If you protect me— A MARQUIS {Nonchalantly) Well—proceed! CYRANO Fat swine! If you dare breathe one balmy zephyr more, I'll fan your cheeks for you! 28 CYRANO DE BERGERAC THE MARQUIS Quiet down there! CYRANO Unless these gentlemen retain their seats, My cane may bite their ribbons! ALL THE MARQUIS {On their feet) That will do!— Montfleury— CYRANO Fly, goose! Shoo! Take to your wings, Before I pluck your plumes, and draw your gorge! A VOICE See here!— CYRANO Off stage!! ANOTHER VOICE One moment— CYRANO What—still there? (Turns back his cuffs deliberately.) Very good—then I enter—Left—with knife— To carve this large Italian sausage. MONTFLEURY (Desperately attempting dignity) Sir, When you insult me, you insult the Muse! CYRANO ( With great politeness) Sir, if the Muse, who never knew your name, Had the honor to meet you—then be sure That after one glance at that face of yours, That figure of a mortuary urn— She would apply her buskin—toward the rear! THE CROWD Montfleury! . . . Montfleury! . . . The play! The play! CYRANO DE BERGERAC 29 cyrano {To those who are shouting and crowding about him) Pray you, be gentle with my scabbard here— She'll put her tongue out at you presently!— (The circle enlarges.) the crowd (Recoiling) Keep back— cyrano {To Montfleury) Begone! the crowd {Pushing in closer, and growling.) Ahr! . . . ahr! . . . cyrano {Turns upon them.) Did someone speak? {They recoil again.) a voice {In the back of the hall, sings.) Monsieur de Cyrano Must be another Caesar— Let Brutus lay him low, And play us La Clorise! all the crowd {Singing) La Clorise! La Clorise! cyrano Let me hear one more word of that same song, And I destroy you all! a citizen Who might you be? Samson ?— cyrano Precisely. Would you kindly lend me Your jawbone? CYRANO DE BERGERAC A LADY (In one of the boxes) What an outrage! A NOBLE Scandalous! A CITIZEN Annoying! A PAGE What a garnet THE CROWD Kss! Montfleury! Cyrano! CYRANO Silence! THE CROWD {Delirious) Woof! Woof! Baaa! Cockadoo! CYRANO I— A PAGE Meow! CYRANO I say be silent!— (His voice dominates the uproar. Momentary hush.) And I offer One universal challenge to you all! Approach, young heroes—I will take your names. Each in his turn—no crowding! One, two, three— Come, get your numbers—who will head the list— You sir? No— You? Ah, no. To the first man Who falls I'll build a monument! ... Not one? Will all who wish to die, please raise their hands? . . . I see. You are so modest, you might blush CYRANO DE BERGERAC 31 Before a sword naked. Sweet innocence! . . . Not one name? Not one finger? . . . Very well, Then I go on: (Turning back towards the stage, where Mont- fleury waits in despair.) I'd have our theatre cured Of this carbuncle. Or if not, why then— (His hand on his sword hilt.) The lancet! montfleury I— cyrano (Descends from his chair, seats himself com¬ fortably in the centre of the circle which has formed around him, and makes himself quite at home.) Attend to me—full moon ! I clap my hands, three times—'thus. At the third You will eclipse yourself. the crowd (Amused) Ah! cyrano Ready ?. One. montfleury I— a voice (From the boxes) No! the crowd He'll go— He'll stay— montfleury I really think, Gentlemen— Two. cyrano 32 CYRANO DE BERGERAC montfleury Perhaps I had better— cyrano Three! (Montfleury disappears, as if through a trap¬ door. Tempest of laughter, hoots and kisses.) the crowd Yah!—Coward— Come back— cyrano (Beaming, drops hack in his chair and crosses his legs) Let him—if he dare! a citizen The Manager! Speech! Speech ! (Bellerose advances and bows.) the boxes Ah! Bellerose! bellerose (With elegance) Most noble—most fair— the crowd No ! The Comedian— Jodelet!— jodelet {Advances, and speaks through his nose.) Lewd fellows of the baser sort— the crowd Ha! Ha! Not bad! Bravo! jodelet No Bravos here! Our heavy tragedian with the voluptuous bust Was taken suddenly— the crowd Yah! Coward! jodelet I mean . . - CYRANO DE BERGERAC 33 He had to be excused— the crowd Call him back— No!— Yes!— the boy {To Cyrano) After all, Monsieur, what reason have you To hate this Montfleury? cyrano ( Graciously, still seated) My dear young man, I have two reasons, either one alone Conclusive. Primo: A lamentable actor, Who mouths his verse and moans his tragedy, And heaves up— Ugh!—like a hod-carrier, lines That ought to soar on their own wings. Secundo:— Well—that's my secret. the old citizen {Behind him) But you close the play— La Clorisc—by Baro! Are we to miss Our entertainment, merely— cyrano {Respectfully, turns his chair toward the old man) My dear old boy, The poetry of Baro being worth Zero, or less, I feel that I have done Poetic justice! the intellectuals {In the boxes) Really!—our Baro !— My dear!—Who ever ?—Ah, dieu! The idea!— cyrano {Gallantly, turns his chair toward the boxes) Fair ladies—shine upon us like the sun, Blossom like flowers around us—be our songs, CYRANO DE BERGERAC Heard in a dream— Make sweet the hour of death, Smiling upon us as you close our eyes— Inspire, bu'c do not try to criticise! bellerose Quite so !—and the mere money—possibly You would like that returned— Yes? cyrano Bellerose, You speak the first word of intelligence! I will not wound the mantle of the Muse— Here, catch!— (Throws him a purse) And hold your tongue. the crowd {Astonished) Ah! Ah! jodelet (Deftly catches the purse, weighs it in his hand.) Monsieur, You are hereby authorized to close our play Every night, on the same terms. the crowd Boo! jodelet And welcome! Let us be booed together, you and I! bellerose Kindly pass out quietly . . . jodelet {Burlesquing Bellerose) Quietly . . . {They begin to go out, while Cypano looks about him with satisfaction. But the sjfod^s ceases presently during the ensuing seem. The ladies in the boxes who have already CYRANO DE BERGERAC 35 risen and put on their wraps, stop to listen, and finally sit down again.) le bret {To Cyrano) Idiot! a meddler (Hurries up to Cyrano.) But what a scandal! Montfleury— The great Montfleury! Did you know the Due De Candale was his patron? Who is yours? cyrano No one. the meddler No one—no patron? cyrano I said no. the meddler What, no great lord, to cover with his name— cyrano ( With visible annoyance) No, I have told you twice. Must I repeat? No sir, no patron— (His hand on his sword) But a patroness! the meddler And when do you leave Paris? cyrano That's as may be. the meddler The Due de Candale has a long arm. cyrano Mine Is longer, {Drawing his sword) by three feet of steel. the meddler Yes, yes, 36 CYRANO DE BERGERAC But do you dream of daring— CYRANO I do dream Of daring . . . THE MEDDLER But— CYRANO You may go now. THE MEDDLER But— CYRANO You may go- Or tell me why are you staring at my nose! THE MEDDLER (In confusion) No—I— CYRANO (Stepping up to him) Does it astonish you? THE MEDDLER {Drawing back) Your grace Misunderstands my— CYRANO Is it long and soft And dangling, like a trunk? THE MEDDLER (Same business) I never said— CYRANO Or crooked, like an owl's beak? THE MEDDLER I— CYRANO Perhaps A pimple ornaments the end of it? CYRANO DE BERGERAC THE MEDDLER No— CYRANO Or a fly parading up and down? What is this portent? THE MEDDLER Oh!— CYRANO This phenomenon? THE MEDDLER But I have been careful not to look— CYRANO And why Not, if you please? THE MEDDLER Why— CYRANO It disgusts you, then? THE MEDDLER My dear sir— CYRANO Does its color appear to you Unwholesome ? THE MEDDLER Oh, by no means! CYRANO Or its form Obscene ? THE MEDDLER Not in the least— CYRANO Then why assume This deprecating manner? Possibly You find it just a trifle large? THE MEDDLER (Babbling) Oh no!— 38 CYRANO DE BERGERAC Small, very small, infinitesimal— cyrano (Roars) What! How? You accuse me of absurdity? Small—my nose? Why— the meddler (Breathless) My God!— cyrano Magnificent, My nose! ... You pug, you knob, you button-head, Know that I glory in this nose of mine, For a great nose indicates a great man— Genial, courteous, intellectual, Virile, courageous—as I am—and such As you—poor wretch—will never dare to be Even in imagination. For that face— That blank, inglorious concavity Which my right hand finds— (He strikes him.) the meddler Ow! cyrano —on top of you, Is as devoid of pride, of poetry, Of soul, of picturesqueness, of contour, Of character, of nose in short—as that (Takes him by the shoulders and turns him around, suiting the action to the word) Which at the end of that limp spine of yours My left foot— the meddler (Escaping) Help! The Guard! cyrano Take notice., all CYRANO DE BERGERAC 39 Who find this feature of my countenance A theme for comedy! When the humorist Is noble, then my custom is to show Appreciation proper to his rank— More heartfelt . . . and more pointed. . . . de gui che (Who has come down from the stage, sur¬ rounded, by the Marquis) Presently This fellow will grow tiresome. valvert (Shrugs) Oh, he blows His trumpet! de guiche Well—will no one interfere? valvert No one? (Looks round) Observe. I myself will proceed To put him in his place. (He walks up to Cyrano, who has been watch¬ ing him, and stands there, looking him over with an affected air.) Ah . . . your nose . . . hem! . . . Your nose is . . . rather large! cyrano (Gravely) (Simpering) Rather. valvert cyrano Oh well— (Coolly) it all? valvert away, with a shrug) lourse— CYRANO DE BERGERAC cyrano Ah, no, young sir! You are too simple. Why, you might have said— Oh, a great many things! Mon dieu, why waste Your opportunity? For example, thus:— Aggressive : I, sir, if that nose were mine, I'd have it amputated—on the spot! Friendly: How do you drink with such a nose? You ought to have a cup made specially. Descriptive: 'Tis a rock—a crag—a cape— A cape? say rather, a peninsula! Inquisitive: What is that receptacle— A razor-case or a portfolio? Kindly : Ah, do you love the little birds So much that when they come and sing to you, You give them this to perch on? insolent: Sir, when you smoke, the neighbors must suppose Your chimney is on fire, cautious: Take care—- A weight like that might make you topheavy. Thoughtful: Somebody fetch my parasol— Those delicate colors fade so in the sun! Pedantic : Does not Aristophanes Mention a mythologic monster called Hippocampelephantocamelos ? Surely we have here the original! Familiar : Well, old torchlight! Hang your hat Over that chandelier—it hurts my eyes. Eloquent : When it blows, the typhoon howls, And the clouds darken, dramatic : When it bleeds—• The Red Sea! enterprising: What a sign For some perfumer! "lyric: Hark—the horn Of Roland calls to summon Charlemagne!— Simple: When do they unveil the monument? Respectful: Sir, I recognize in you A man of parts, a man of prominence— JRusttc: Hey? What? Call that a nose? CYRANO DE BERGERAC 41 I be no fool like what you think I be— That there's a blue cucumber! military: Point against cavalry! practical : Why not A lottery with this for the grand prize? Or—parodying Faustus in the play— "Was this the nose that launched a thousand ships And burned the topless towers of Ilium?" These, my dear sir, are things you might have said Had you some tinge of letters, or of wit To color your discourse. But wit,—not so, You never had an atom—and of letters, You need but three to write you down—an Ass. Moreover,—if you had the invention, here Before these folk to make a jest of me— Be sure you would not then articulate The twentieth part of half &-syllable Of the beginning! For I say these things Lightly enough myself, about myself, But I allow none else to utter them. de gui che (Tries to lead away the amazed, Valvert.) Vicomte—come. valvert (Choking) $ Oh— These arrogant grand airs !—■ A clown who—look at him—not even gloves! No ribbons—no lace—no buckles on his shoes— cyrano I carry my adornments on my soul. I do not dress up like a popinjay; But inwardly, I keep my daintiness. I do not bear with me, by any chance, An insult not yet washed away—a conscience Yellow with unpurged bile—an honor frayed To rags, a set of scruples badly worn. J. go caparisoned in gems unseen, 42 CYRANO DE BERG&RAC Trailing white plumes of freedom, garlanded With my good name—no figure of a man, But a vsoul clothed in shining armor, hung With deeds for decorations, twirling—thus— A bristling wit, and swinging at my side Courage, and on the stones of this old town Making the sharp truth ring, like golden spurs VALVERT But— CYRANO But I have no gloves ! A pity too! I had one—the last one of an old pair— And lost that. Very careless of me. Some Gentleman offered me an impertinence. I left it—in his face. VALVERT Dolt, bumpkin, fool, Insolent puppy, jobbernowl! CYRANO (.Removes his hat and bows.) Ah, yes? And I—Cyrano-Savinien-Hercule De Bergerac! VALVERT (Turns away.) Buffoon! CYRANO (Cries out as if suddenly taken with a cr Oh! VALVERT (Turns back.) Well, what m CYRANO CYRANO DE BERGERAC 43 VALVERT What is all this? CYRANO My sword has gone to sleep! VALVERT {Draws) So be it! CYRANO You shall die exquisitely. VALVERT (Contemptuously) Poet! CYRANO Why yes, a poet, if you will; So while we fence, I'll make you a Ballade Extempore. VALVERT A Ballade ? CYRANO Yes. You know What that is? VALVERT I— CYRANO The Ballade, sir, is formed Of three stanzas of eight lines each— VALVERT Oh, come! CYRANO And a refrain of four. VALVERT You— CYRANO I'll compose One, while I fight with you; and at the end Of the last line—thrust home! 44 CYRANO DE BERGERAC valvert Will you? cyrano I will. {Declaims) "Ballade of the duel at the Hotel de Bourgogne Bet-ween de Bergerac and a Boeotian." valvert (Sneering) What do you mean by that? cyrano Oh, that? The title. the crowd {Excited) Come on— A circle— Quiet— Down in front! (Tableau. A ring of interested spectators in the centre of the floor, the Marquis and the Officers mingling with the citizens and common folk. Pages swarming up on men's shoulders to see better; the Ladies in the boxes standing and leaning over. To the right, De Guiche and his following; to the left, Le Bret, Cuigy, Ragueneau, and others of Cyrano's friends.) cyrano {Closes his eyes for an instant.) Stop . . . Let me choose my rimes. . . . Now! Here we go— {He suits the action to the word, throughout the following:) Lightly I toss my hat away, Languidly over my arm let fall The cloak that covers my bright array— Then out swords, and to work withal! CYRANO DE BERGERAC 45 A Launcclot, in his Lady's hall . . . A Spartacus, at the Hippodrome! . . . I dally awhile with you, dear jackal, Then, as I end the refrain, thrust home. (The swords cross—the fight is on.) Where shall I skezver my peacock? . . . Nay, Better for you to have shunned this brawl!— Here, in the heart, thro' your ribbons gay? —In the belly, under your silken shawl? Hark, how the steel rings musical! Mark how my point floats, light as the foam, Ready to drive you back to the wall, Then, as I end the refrain, thrust home! Ho, for a rime! ... Yon arc white as whey— You break, you cower, you cringe, you . . . crawl! Tac!—and I parry your last essay: So may the turn of a hand forestall Life with its honey, death with its gall; So may the turn of my fancy roam Free, for a time, till the rimes recall, Then, as I end the refrain, thrust home! {He announces solemnly.) REFRAIN Prince! Pray God, that is Lord of all, Pardon your soul, for your time has come! Beat—pass—fling you aslant, asprawl— Then, as I end the refrain . . . (He lunges; Valvert staggers back and falls into the arms of his friends. Cyrano re¬ covers, and salutes.) —Thrust home! (Shouts. Applause from the boxes. Flowers and handkerchiefs come fluttering down. The Officers surround Cyrano and con- 46 CYRANO DE BERGERAC gratulate him. Ragueneau dances for joy. Le Bret is unable to conceal his enthusiasm. The friends of Valvert hold him up and help him away.) the crowd {In one long cry) Ah-h! a cavalier Superb! a woman Simply sweet! ragueneau Magnelephant! a marquis A novelty! le bret Bah! the crowd {Thronging around Cyrano) Compliments—regards— Bravo!— a woman's voice Why, he's a hero! a musketeer {Advances quickly to Cyrano, with out¬ stretched hands.) Monsieur, will you Permit me?—It was altogether fine! I think I may appreciate these things— Moreover, I have been stamping for pure joy! {He retires quickly.) cyrano {To Cuigy) What was that gentleman's name? cuigy Oh . . . D'Artagnan. CYRANO DE BERGERAC 47 le bret (Takes Cyrano's arm.) Come here and tell me— cyrano Let this crowd go first— (To Bellerose) May we stay? bellerose ( With great respect) Certainly! (Cries and cat-calls off stage.) jodelet (Comes dozvn from the door where he has been looking out.) Hark !— Montfleury— They are hooting him. bellerose (Solemnly) Sic transit gloria! (Changes his tone and shouts to the porter and the lamplighter.) —Strike! . . . Close the house! . . . Leave the lights— We rehearse The new farce after dinner. (Jodelet and Bellerose go out after elabo¬ rately saluting Cyrano.) the porter (To Cyrano) You do not dine? cyrano I?—No! (The Porter turns azvay.) le bret Why not? 48 CYRANO DE BERGERAC cyrano (Haughtily) Because— (Changing his tone when he sees The Porter has gone.) Because I have No money. le bret (Gesture of tossing) But—the purse of gold? cyrano Farewell, Paternal pension! le bret So you have, until The first of next month—? cyrano Nothing. le bret What a fool!— cyrano But—what a gesture ! the orange girl (Behind, her little counter; coughs.) Hem! (Cyrano and Le Bret look around; she ad¬ vances timidly.) Pardon, monsieur . . . A man ought never to go hungry . . . {Indicating the sideboard) See, I have everything here . . . (Eagerly) Please!— cyrano (Uncovers) My dear child, CYRANO DE BERGERAC 49 f cannot bend this Gascon pride of mine To accept such a kindness— Yet, for fear That I may give you pain if I refuse, [ will take . . . {He goes to the sideboard and makes his selec¬ tion.) Oh, not very much! A grape . . . {She gives him the bunch; he removes a single grape.) One only! And a glass of water . . . {She starts to pour wine into it; he stops her.) Clear! \nd . . . half a macaroon! {He gravely returns the other half.) LE BRET Old idiot! THE ORANGE GIRL Please!—Nothing more? CYRANO Why yes— Your han-'. to kiss. {He kisses the hand which she holdr out, as he would the hand of a princess.) THE ORANGE GIRL Thank you, sir. {She curtseys.) Good-night. {She goes out.) CYRANO J ,'ow, I am listening. {Plants himself before the sideboard and ar¬ ranges thereon—) Dinner!— (—the macaroon) Drink!— (—the glass of water) Dessert!— (—the grape.) 50 CYRANO DE BERGERAC There—now I'll sit down. (Seats himself.) Lord, I was hungry! Abominably! (Eatinq) Well? LE BRET These fatheads with the bellicose grand airs Will have you ruined if you listen to them; Talk to a man of sense and hear how all Your swagger impresses him. CYRANO (Finishes his macaroon.) Enormously. LE BRET The Cardinal— CYRANO {Beaming) Was he there? LE BRET He must have thought you— CYRANO Original. LE BRET Well, but— CYRANO He is himself A playwright. He will not be too displeased That I have closed anc.her author's play. IE BRET But look at all the enemies you have made! CYRANO (Begins on the grape.) How many—do you think? LE BRET Just forty-eight Without the women. CYRANO DE BERGERAC 51 CYRANO Count them. LE BRET Montfleury, Baro, de Guiche, the Vicomte, the Old Man, All the Academy— CYRANO Enough! You make me Happy! LE BRET But where is all this leading you? What is your plan? CYRANO I have been wandering— Wasting my force upon too many plans. Now I have chosen one. LE BRET What one? CYRANO The simplest— To make myself in all things admirable! LE BRET Hmph!—Well, then, the real reason why you hate Montfleury— Come, the truth, now! CYRANO (Rises) That Silenus, Who cannot hold his belly in his arms, Still dreams of being sweetly dangerous Among the women—sighs and languishes, Making sheeps' eyes out of his great frog's face— I hate him ever since one day he dared Smile upon— Oh, my friend, I seemed to see Over some flower a great snail crawling! 52 CYRANO DE BERGERAC LE BRET {Amazed) How, What? Is it possible?— CYRANO (With a bitter smile) For me to love? . . . (Changing his tone; seriously) I love. LE BRET May I know? You have never said— CYRANO Whom I love? Think a moment. Think of me— Me, whom the plainest woman would despise— Me, with this nose of mine that marches on Before me by a quarter of an hour! Whom should I love? Why—of course—it must be The woman in the world most beautiful. LE BRET Most beautiful? CYRANO In all this world—most sweet Also; most wise; most witty; and most fair! LE BRET Who and what is this woman? CYRANO Dangerous Mortally, without meaning; exquisite Without imagining. Nature's own snare To allure manhood. A white rose wherein Love lies in ambush for his natural prey. Who knows her smile has known a perfect thing. She creates grace in her own image, brings Heaven to earth in one movement of her hand— Nor thou, O Venus! balancing thy shell Over the Mediterranean blue, nor thou, Diana! marching through broad, blossoming woods, CYRANO DE BERGERAC 53 Art so divine as when she mounts her chair, And goes abroad through Paris! LE BRET Oh, well—of course, That makes everything clear! CYRANO Transparently. LE BRET Magdeleine Robin—your cousin? CYRANO Yes; Roxane. LE BRET And why not? If you love her, tell her so! You have covered yourself with glory in her eyes This very day. CYRANO My old friend—look at me, And tell me how much hope remains for me With this protuberance! Oh I have no more Illusions ! Now and then—bah ! I may grow Tender, walking alone in the blue cool Of evening, through some garden fresh with flowers After the benediction of the rain; My poor big devil of a nose inhales April . . . and so I follow with my eyes Where some boy, with a girl upon his arm, Passes a patch of silver . . . and I feel Somehow, I wish I had a woman too, Walking with little steps under the moon, And holding my arm so, and smiling. Then I dream—and I forget. . . . And then I see The shadow of my profile on the wall! LE BRET My friend! . . . CYRANO My friend, I have my bitter days, 54 CYRANO DE BERGERAC Knowing myself so ugly, so alone. Sometimes— LE BRET You weep? CYRANO ( Quickly) Oh, not that ever! No, That would be too grotesque—tears trickling down All the long way along this nose of mine? I will not so profane the dignity Of sorrow. Never any tears for me! Why, there is nothing more sublime than tears, Nothing!—Shall I make them ridiculous In my poor person? LE BRET Love's no more than chance! CYRANO (Shakes his head.) No. I love Cleopatra; do I appear Caesar? I adore Beatrice; have I The look of Dante? LE BRET But your wit—your courage— Why, that poor child who offered you just now Your dinner! She—you saw with your own eyes, Her eyes did not avoid you. CYRANO (Thoughtful) That is true . . . LE BRET Well then! Roxane herself, watching your duel, Paler than— CYRANO Pale?— LE BRET Her lips parted, her hand CYRANO DE BERGERAC 55 Thus, at her breast— I saw it! Speak to her Speak, man! cyrano Through my nose ? She might laugh at me; That is the one thing in this world I fear! the porter (Followed, by The Duenna, approaches Cyrano respectfully.) A lady asking for Monsieur. cyrano Mon dieu . . . Her Duenna!— the duenna (A sweeping curtsey) Monsieur . . . A message for you: From our good cousin we desire to know When and where we may see him privately. cyrano (Amazed) To see me? the duenna (An elaborate reverence) To see you. We have certain things To tell you. cyrano Certain— the duenna Things. cyrano (Trembling) Mon dieu! . . . the duenna We go To-morrow, at the first flush of the dawn, To hear Mass at St. Roch. Then afterwards, Where can we meet and talk a little? 56 CYRANO DE BERGERAC cyrano (Catching Le Bret's arm.) Where ?— I— Ah, mon dieu! . . . mon dieu! . . . the duenna Well? cyrano I am thinking . . , the duenna And you think? cyrano I . . . The shop of Ragueneau . . Ragueneau—pastrycook . . . the duenna Who dwells?— cyrano Mon dieu ! . Oh, yes . . . Ah, mon dieu! . . . Rue St.-Honore. the duenna We are agreed. Remember—seven o'clock. (Reverence) Until then— cyrano I'll be there. (The Duenna goes out.) cyrano (Falls into the arms of Le Bret.) Me ... to see me! . . le bret You are not quite so gloomy. cyrano After all, She knows that I exist—no matter why! le bret So now, you are going to be happy. CYRANO DE BERGERAC 57 cyrano Now! . . . {Beside himself) I—I am going to be a storm—a flame— I need to fight whole armies all alone; I have ten hearts; I have a hundred arms; I feel Too strong to war with mortals— (He shouts at the top of his voice.) Bring me giants ! (A moment since, the shadows of the comedians have been visible moving and posturing upon the stage. The violins have taken their places.) A voice (From the stage) Hey—pst—less noise! We are rehearsing here! cyrano (Laughs) We are going. (He turns up stage. Through the street door enter Cuigy, Brissaille, and a number of officers, supporting Ligniere, who is now thoroughly drunk.) cuigy Cyrano! cyrano What is it? cuigy Here— Here's your stray lamb! cyrano (Recognizes Ligniere.) Ligniere !—What's wrong with him ? cuigy He wants you. brissaille He's afraid to go home. 58 CYRANO DE BERGERAC cyrano Why? ligniere (Showing a crumpled scrap of paper and speak¬ ing with the elaborate logic of profound in¬ toxication.) This letter—hundred against one—that's me— I'm the one—all because of little song— Good song— Hundred men, waiting, understand? Porte de Nesle—way home— Might be dangerous— Would you permit me spend the night with you? cyrano A hundred—is that all? You are going home! ligniere {Astonished) Why— cyrano {In a voice of thunder, indicating the lighted lantern which The Porter holds up curiously as he regards the scene.) Take that lantern! (Ligniere precipitately seizes the lantern.) Forward march! I say I'll be the man to-night that sees you home, (To the officers) You others follow—I want an audience! cuigy A hundred against one— cyrano Those are the odds To-night! (The Comedians in their costumes are descend¬ ing from the stage and joining the group.) le bret But why help this— CYRANO DE BERGERAC 59 cyrano There goes Le Bret Growling! le bret —This drunkard here? cyrano (His hand on Le Bret's shoulder.) Because this drunkard— This tun of sack, this butt of Burgundy— Once in his life has done one lovely thing: After the Mass, according to the form, He saw, one day, the lady of his heart Take holy water for a blessing. So This one, who shudders at a drop of rain, This fellow here—runs headlong to the font Bends down and drinks it dry! a soubrette I say that was A pretty thought! cyrano Ah, was it not? the soubrette (To the others) But why Against one poor poet, a hundred men? cyrano March! (To the officers) And you gentlemen, remember now, No rescue— Let me fight alone. a comedienne (Jumps down from the stage.) Come on! I'm going to watch— cyrano Come along! 6o CYRANO DE BERGERAC ANOTHER COMEDIENNE (Jumps down, speaks to a Comedian costumed as an old man.) You, Cassandre? CYRANO Come all of you—the Doctor, Isabelle, Leandre—the whole company—a swarm Of murmuring, golden bees—we'll parody Italian farce and Tragedy-of-Blood; Ribbons for banners, masks for blazonry, And tambourines to be our rolling drums! ALL THE WOMEN (Jumping for joy.) Bravo!—My hood— My cloak— Hurry! JODELET {Mock heroic) Lead on!— CYRANO (To the violins) You violins—play us an overture— {The violins join the procession which is form¬ ing. The lighted candles arc snatched from the stage and distributed; it becomes a torch¬ light procession.) Bravo!—Officers— Ladies in costume— And twenty paces in advance. . . . {He takes his station as he speaks.) Myself, Alone, with glory fluttering over me, Alone as Lucifer at war with heaven! Remember—no one lifts a hand to help— Ready there ? One . . . two . . . three! Porter, the doors! . . . (The Porter flings wide the great doors. We see in the dim moonlight a corner of old Paris, purple and picturesque.) Look—Paris dreams—nocturnal, nebulous, CYRANO DE BERGERAC 61 Under blue moonbeams hung from wall to wall— Nature's own setting for the scene we play!— Yonder, behind her veil of mist, the Seine, Like a mysterious and magic mirror T rembles— And you shall see what you shall see! all To the Porte de Nesle! cyrano (Erect upon the threshold) To the Porte de Nesle! {He turns back for a moment to the Soubrette) Did you not ask, my dear, why against one Singer they send a hundred swords? (Quietly, drawing his own sword) Because They know this one man for a friend of mine! {He goes out. The procession follows: Lig- niere zigzagging at its head, then the Co¬ mediennes on the arms of the Officers, then the Comedians, leaping and dancing as they go. It vanishes into the night to the music of the violins, illuminated by the flickering glimmer of the candles.) {Curtain) THE SECOND ACT THE BAKERY OF THE POETS The Shop of Ragueneau, Baker and Pastrycook: a spacious affair at the corner of the Rue St.-Honore and the Rue de I'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 sur¬ mounted by a Canopy of wrought iron from which arc hanging ducks, geese, and white peacocks. Great crockery jars hold bouquets of common flowers, yel¬ low 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 in¬ terior 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 glow¬ ing. 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. 6s 66 CYRANO DE BERGERAC 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 gelce! second pastrycook (Brings dish.) Custard! third pastrycook {Brings roast peacock ornamented with feathers.) Peacock roti! 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. CYRANO DE BERGERAC 67 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, zvho is seated on the hearth, plac¬ ing 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! 68 CYRANO DE BERGERAC 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? CYRANO DE BERGERAC 69 RAGUENEAU But, my dear girl, what would you do with prose? (Two Children enter.) 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, 70 CYRANO DE BERGERAC ■He reads from the hag, 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 Hotel de Bourgogne. CYRANO Oh—the duel! RAGUENEAU The duel in Rime! LISE He talks of nothing else. CYRANO Nonsense! RAGUENEAU (Fencing and joining with a spit, which he snatches up frgm the hearth.) "Then, as I end the refrain, thrust home!" "Then, as I end the refrain"—■ CYRANO DE BERGERAC 71 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 time comes. ragueneau How can I? In a moment, My poets will be here, lise To break their . . f fast! 72 CYRANO DE BERGERAC 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 dozun 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 . . . CYRANO DE BERGERAC 73 (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. 74 CYRANO DE BERGERAC 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 grozv faint with fear . . SECOND POET What have you written lately, Ragueneau? CYRANO f