Cyrano de Bergerac
At times I'm weak: in evening hours dim
I enter some fair pleasance, perfumed sweet;
With my poor ugly devil of a nose
I scent spring's essence--in the silver rays
I see some knight--a lady on his arm,
And think 'To saunter thus 'neath the moonshine,
I were fain to have my lady, too, beside!'
Thought soars to ecstasy. . .O sudden fall!
--The shadow of my profile on the wall!
LE BRET (tenderly):
My friend!. . .
CYRANO:
My friend, at times 'tis hard, 'tis bitter,
To feel my loneliness--my own ill-favor. . .
LE BRET (taking his hand):
You weep?
CYRANO:
No, never! Think, how vilely suited
Adown this nose a tear its passage tracing!
I never will, while of myself I'm master,
let the divinity of tears--their beauty
Be wedded to such common ugly grossness.
Nothing more solemn than a tear--sublimer;
And I would not by weeping turn to laughter
The grave emotion that a tear engenders!
LE BRET:
Never be sad! What's love?--a chance of Fortune!
CYRANO (shaking his head):
Look I a Caesar to woo Cleopatra?
A Tito to aspire to Berenice?
LE BRET:
Your courage and your wit!--The little maid
Who offered you refreshment even now,
Her eyes did not abhor you--you saw well!
CYRANO (impressed):
True!
LE BRET:
Well, how then?. . .I saw Roxane herself
Was death-pale as she watched the duel.
CYRANO:
Pale?
LE BRET:
Her heart, her fancy, are already caught!
Put it to th' touch!
CYRANO:
That she may mock my face?
That is the one thing on this earth I fear!
THE PORTER (introducing some one to Cyrano):
Sir, some one asks for you. . .
CYRANO (seeing the duenna):
God! her duenna!
Scene 1.VI.
Cyrano, Le Bret, the duenna.
THE DUENNA (with a low bow):
I was bid ask you where a certain lady
Could see her valiant cousin--but in secret.
CYRANO (overwhelmed):
See me?
THE DUENNA (courtesying):
Ay, Sir! She has somewhat to tell.
CYRANO:
Somewhat?. . .
THE DUENNA (still courtesying):
Ay, private matters!
CYRANO (staggering):
Ah, my God!
THE DUENNA:
To-morrow, at the early blush of dawn,
We go to hear mass at St. Roch.
CYRANO (leaning against Le Bret):
My God!
THE DUENNA:
After--what place for a few minutes' speech?
CYRANO (confused):
Where? Ah!. . .but. . .Ah, my God!. . .
THE DUENNA:
Say!
CYRANO:
I reflect!. . .
THE DUENNA:
Where?
CYRANO:
At--the pastry-house of Ragueneau.
THE DUENNA:
Where lodges he?
CYRANO:
The Rue--God!--St. Honore!
THE DUENNA (going):
Good. Be you there. At seven.
CYRANO:
Without fail.
(The duenna goes out.)
Scene 1.VII.
Cyrano, Le Bret. Then actors, actresses, Cuigy, Brissaille, Lignière, the
porter, the violinists.
CYRANO (falling into Le Bret's arms):
A rendezvous. . .from her!. . .
LE BRET:
You're sad no more!
CYRANO:
Ah! Let the world go burn! She knows I live!
LE BRET:
Now you'll be calm, I hope?
CYRANO (beside himself for joy):
Calm? I now calm?
I'll be frenetic, frantic,--raving mad!
Oh, for an army to attack!--a host!
I've ten hearts in my breast; a score of arms;
No dwarfs to cleave in twain!. . .
(Wildly):
No! Giants now!
(For a few moments the shadows of the actors have been moving on the stage,
whispers are heard--the rehearsal is beginning. The violinists are in their
places.)
A VOICE FROM THE STAGE:
Hollo there! Silence! We rehearse!
CYRANO (laughing):
We go!
(He moves away. By the big door enter Cuigy, Brissaille, and some officers,
holding up Lignière, who is drunk.)
CUIGY:
Cyrano!
CYRANO:
Well, what now?
CUIGY:
A lusty thrush
They're bringing you!
CYRANO (recognizing him):
Lignière!. . .What has chanced?
CUIGY:
He seeks you!
BRISSAILLE:
He dare not go home!
CYRANO:
Why not?
LIGNIÈRE (in a husky voice, showing him a crumpled letter):
This letter warns me. . .that a hundred men. . .
Revenge that threatens me. . .that song, you know--
At the Porte de Nesle. To get to my own house
I must pass there. . .I dare not!. . .Give me leave
To sleep to-night beneath your roof! Allow. . .
CYRANO:
A hundred men? You'll sleep in your own bed!
LIGNIÈRE (frightened):
But--
CYRANO (in a terrible voice, showing him the lighted lantern held by the
porter, who is listening curiously):
Take the lantern.
(Lignière seizes it):
Let us start! I swear
That I will make your bed to-night myself!
(To the officers):
Follow; some stay behind, as witnesses!
CUIGY:
A hundred!. . .
CYRANO:
Less, to-night--would be too few!
(The actors and actresses, in their costumes, have come down from the stage,
and are listening.)
LE BRET:
But why embroil yourself?
CYRANO:
Le Bret who scolds!
LE BRET:
That worthless drunkard!--
CYRANO (slapping Lignière on the shoulder):
Wherefore? For this cause;--
This wine-barrel, this cask of Burgundy,
Did, on a day, an action full of grace;
As he was leaving church, he saw his love
Take holy water--he, who is affeared
At water's taste, ran quickly to the stoup,
And drank it all, to the last drop!. . .
AN ACTRESS:
Indeed, that was a graceful thing!
CYRANO:
Ay, was it not?
THE ACTRESS (to the others):
But why a hundred men 'gainst one poor rhymer?
CYRANO:
March!
(To the officers):
Gentlemen, when you shall see me charge,
Bear me no succor, none, whate'er the odds!
ANOTHER ACTRESS (jumping from the stage):
Oh! I shall come and see!
CYRANO:
Come, then!
ANOTHER (jumping down--to an old actor):
And you?. . .
CYRANO:
Come all--the Doctor, Isabel, Leander,
Come, for you shall add, in a motley swarm,
The farce Italian to this Spanish drama!
ALL THE WOMEN (dancing for joy):
Bravo!--a mantle, quick!--my hood!
JODELET:
Come on!
CYRANO:
Play us a march, gentlemen of the band!
(The violinists join the procession, which is forming. They take the
footlights, and divide them for torches):
Brave officers! next, women in costume,
And, twenty paces on--
(He takes his place):
I all alone,
Beneath the plume that Glory lends, herself,
To deck my beaver--proud as Scipio!. . .
--You hear me?--I forbid you succor me!--
One, two three! Porter, open wide the doors!
(The porter opens the doors; a view of old Paris in the moonlight is seen):
Ah!. . .Paris wrapped in night! half nebulous:
The moonlight streams o'er the blue-shadowed roofs;
A lovely frame for this wild battle-scene;
Beneath the vapor's floating scarves, the Seine
Trembles, mysterious, like a magic mirror,
And, shortly, you shall see what you shall see!
ALL:
To the Porte de Nesle!
CYRANO (standing on the threshold):
Ay, to the Porte de Nesle!
(Turning to the actress):
Did you not ask, young lady, for what cause
Against this rhymer fivescore men were sent?
(He draws his sword; then, calmly):
'Twas that they knew him for a friend of mine!
(He goes out. Lignière staggers first after him, then the actresses on the
officers' arms--the actors. The procession starts to the sound of the violins
and in the faint light of the candles.)
Curtain.
Act II.
The Poet's Eating-House.
Ragueneau's cook and pastry-shop. A large kitchen at the corner of the Rue
St. Honore and the Rue de l'Arbre Sec, which are seen in the background
through the glass door, in the gray dawn.
On the left, in the foreground, a counter, surmounted by a stand in forged
iron, on which are hung geese, ducks, and water peacocks. In great china
vases are tall bouquets of simple flowers, principally yellow sunflowers.
On the same side, farther back, an immense open fireplace, in front of which,
between monster firedogs, on each of which hangs a little saucepan; the roasts
are dripping into the pans.
On the right, foreground with door.
Farther back, staircase leading to a little room under the roof, the entrance
of which is visible through the open shutter. In this room a table is laid.
A small Flemish luster is alight. It is a place for eating and drinking. A
wooden gallery, continuing the staircase, apparently leads to other similar
little rooms.
In the middle of the shop an iron hoop is suspended from the ceiling by a
string with which it can be drawn up and down, and big game is hung around it.
The ovens in the darkness under the stairs give forth a red glow. The copper
pans shine. The spits are turning. Heaps of food formed into pyramids. Hams
suspended. It is the busy hour of the morning. Bustle and hurry of
scullions, fat cooks, and diminutive apprentices, their caps profusely
decorated with cock's feathers and wings of guinea-fowl.
On metal and wicker plates they are bringing in piles of cakes and tarts.
Tables laden with rolls and dishes of food. Other tables surrounded with
chairs are ready for the consumers.
A small table in a corner covered with papers, at which Ragueneau is seated
writing on the rising of the curtain.
Scene 2.I.
Ragueneau, pastry-cooks, then Lise. Ragueneau is writing, with an inspired
air, at a small table, and counting on his fingers.
FIRST PASTRY-COOK (bringing in an elaborate fancy dish):
Fruits in nougat!
SECOND PASTRY-COOK (bringing another dish):
Custard!
THIRD PASTRY-COOK (bringing a roast, decorated with feathers):
Peacock!
FOURTH PASTRY-COOK (bringing a batch of cakes on a slab):
Rissoles!
FIFTH PASTRY-COOK (bringing a sort of pie-dish):
Beef jelly!
RAGUENEAU (ceasing to write, and raising his head):
Aurora's silver rays begin to glint e'en now on the copper pans, and thou, O
Ragueneau! must perforce stifle in thy breast the God of Song! Anon shall
come the hour of the lute!--now 'tis the hour of the oven!
(He rises. To a cook):
You, make that sauce longer, 'tis too short!
THE COOK:
How much too short?
RAGUENEAU:
Three feet.
(He passes on farther.)
THE COOK:
What means he?
FIRST PASTRY-COOK (showing a dish to Ragueneau):
The tart!
SECOND PASTRY-COOK:
The pie!
RAGUENEAU (before the fire):
My muse, retire, lest thy bright eyes be reddened by the fagot's blaze!
(To a cook, showing him some loaves):
You have put the cleft o' th' loaves in the wrong place; know you not that
the coesura should be between the hemistiches?
(To another, showing him an unfinished pasty):
To this palace of paste you must add the roof. . .
(To a young apprentice, who, seated on the ground, is spitting the fowls):
And you, as you put on your lengthy spit the modest fowl and the superb
turkey, my son, alternate them, as the old Malherbe loved well to alternate
his long lines of verse with the short ones; thus shall your roasts, in
strophes, turn before the flame!
ANOTHER APPRENTICE (also coming up with a tray covered by a napkin):
Master, I bethought me erewhile of your tastes, and made this, which will
please you, I hope.
(He uncovers the tray, and shows a large lyre made of pastry.)
RAGUENEAU (enchanted):
A lyre!
THE APPRENTICE:
'Tis of brioche pastry.
RAGUENEAU (touched):
With conserved fruits.
THE APPRENTICE:
The strings, see, are of sugar.
RAGUENEAU (giving him a coin):
Go, drink my health!
(Seeing Lise enter):
Hush! My wife. Bustle, pass on, and hide that money!
(To Lise, showing her the lyre, with a conscious look):
Is it not beautiful?
LISE:
'Tis passing silly!
(She puts a pile of papers on the counter.)
RAGUENEAU:
Bags? Good. I thank you.
(He looks at them):
Heavens! my cherished leaves! The poems of my friends! Torn, dismembered,
to make bags for holding biscuits and cakes!. . .Ah, 'tis the old tale again.
. .Orpheus and the Bacchantes!
LISE (dryly):