Act I: A Representation at the Hotel de BourgogneScene IV
The same. Cyrano, then Bellerose, Jodelet.
Montfleury
To the marquises
Come to my help, my lords!
A Marquis
Carelessly
Go on! Go on!
Cyrano
Fat man, take warning! If you go on, IShall feel myself constrained to cuff your face!
The Marquis
Have done!
Cyrano
And if these lords hold not their tongueShall feel constrained to make them taste my cane!
All the Marquises
Rising
Enough!…Montfleury…
Cyrano
If he goes not quickI will cut off his ears and slit him up!
A Voice
But…
Cyrano
Out he goes!
Another Voice
Yet…
Cyrano
Is he not gone yet?
He makes the gesture of turning up his cuffs
Good! I shall mount the stage now, buffet-wise,To carve this fine Italian sausage—thus!
Montfleury
Trying to be dignified
You outrage Thalia in insulting me!
Cyrano
Very politely
If that Muse, Sir, who knows you not at all,Could claim acquaintance with you—oh, believe(Seeing how urn-like, fat, and slow you are)That she would make you taste her buskin’s sole!
The Pit
Montfleury! Montfleury! Come—Baro’s play!
Cyrano
To those who are calling out
I pray you have a care! If you go onMy scabbard soon will render up its blade!
The circle round him widens.
The Crowd
Drawing back
Take care!
Cyrano
To Montfleury
Leave the stage!
The Crowd
Coming near and grumbling
Oh!—
Cyrano
Did some one speak?
They draw back again.
A Voice
Singing at the back
Monsieur de CyranoDisplays his tyrannies:A fig for tyrants! What, ho!Come! Play us ‘La Clorise!’
All the Pit
Singing
‘La Clorise!’ ‘La Clorise!’…
Cyrano
Let me but hear once more that foolish rhyme,I slaughter every man of you.
A Burgher
Oh! Samson?
Cyrano
Yes Samson! Will you lend your jawbone, Sir?
A Lady
In the boxes
Outrageous!
A Lord
Scandalous!
A Burgher
’Tis most annoying!
A Page
Fair good sport!
The Pit
Kss!—Montfleury…Cyrano!
Cyrano
Silence!
The Pit
Wildly excited
Ho-o-o-o-h! Quack! Cock-a-doodle-doo!
Cyrano
I order—
A Page
Miow!
Cyrano
I order silence, all!And challenge the whole pit collectively!—I write your names!—Approach, young heroes, here!Each in his turn! I cry the numbers out!—Now which of you will come to ope the lists?You, Sir? No! You? No! The first duellistShall be dispatched by me with honors due!Let all who long for death hold up their hands!
A silence
Modest? You fear to see my naked blade?Not one name?—Not one hand?—Good, I proceed!
Turning toward the stage, where Montfleury waits in an agony
The theater’s too full, congested,—IWould clear it out…If not…
Puts his hand on his sword
The knife must act!
Montfleury
I…
Cyrano
Leaves his chair, and settles himself in the middle of the circle which has formed
I will clap my hands thrice, thus—full moon! At the third clap, eclipse yourself!
The Pit
Amused
Ah!
Cyrano
Clapping his hands
One!
Montfleury
I…
A Voice
In the boxes
Stay!
The Pit
He stays…he goes…he stays…
Montfleury
I think…Gentlemen,…
Cyrano
Two!
Montfleury
I think ’twere wisest…
Cyrano
Three!
Montfleury disappears as through a trap. Tempest of laughs, whistling cries, etc.
The Whole House
Coward…come back!
Cyrano
Delighted, sits back in his chair, arms crossed
Come back an if you dare!
A Burgher
Call for the orator!
Bellerose comes forward and bows.
The Boxes
Ah! here’s Bellerose!
Bellerose
Elegantly
My noble lords…
The Pit
No! no! Jodelet!
Jodelet
Advancing, speaking through his nose
Calves!
The Pit
Ah! bravo! good! go on!
Jodelet
No bravos, Sirs!The fat tragedian whom you all loveFelt…
The Pit
Coward!
Jodelet
…was obliged to go.
The Pit
Come back!
Some
No!
Others
Yes!
A Young Man
To Cyrano
But pray, Sir, for what reason, say,Hate you Montfleury?
Cyrano
Graciously, still seated
Youthful gander, knowI have two reasons—either will suffice.Primo. An actor villainous! who mouths,And heaves up like a bucket from a wellThe verses that should, bird-like, fly! Secundo—That is my secret…
The Old Burgher
Behind him
Shameful! You deprive usOf the ‘Clorise!’ I must insist…
Cyrano
Turning his chair toward the burgher, respectfully
Old mule!The verses of old Baro are not worthA doit! I’m glad to interrupt…
The Precieuses
In the boxes
Our Baro!—My dear! How dares he venture!…
Cyrano
Turning his chair toward the boxes gallantly
Fairest ones,Radiate, bloom, hold to our lips the cupOf dreams intoxicating, Hebe-like!Or, when death strikes, charm death with your sweet smiles;Inspire our verse, but—criticise it not!
Bellerose
We must give back the entrance fees!
Cyrano
Turning his chair toward the stage
Bellerose,You make the first intelligent remark!Would I rend Thespis’ sacred mantle? Nay!
He rises and throws a bag on the stage
Catch then the purse I throw, and hold your peace!
The House
Dazzled
Ah! Oh!
Jodelet
Catching the purse dexterously and weighing it
At this price, you’ve authorityTo come each night, and stop ‘Clorise,’ Sir!
The Pit
Ho!…Ho! Ho!…
Jodelet
E’en if you chase us in a pack!…
Bellerose
Clear out the hall!…
Jodelet
Get you all gone at once!
The people begin to go out, while Cyrano looks on with satisfaction. But the crowd soon stop on hearing the following scene, and remain where they are. The women, who, with their mantles on, are already standing up in the boxes, stop to listen, and finally reseat themselves.
Le Bret
To Cyrano
’Tis mad!…
A Bore
Coming up to Cyrano
The actor Montfleury! ’Tis shameful!Why, he’s protected by the Duke of Candal!Have you a patron?
Cyrano
No!
The Bore
No patron?…
Cyrano
None!
The Bore
What! no great lord to shield you with his name?
Cyrano
Irritated
No, I have told you twice! Must I repeat?No! no protector…
His hand on his sword
A protectress…here!
The Bore
But you must leave the town?
Cyrano
Well, that depends!
The Bore
The Duke has a long arm!
Cyrano
But not so longAs mine, when it is lengthened out…
Shows his sword
As thus!
The Bore
You think not to contend?
Cyrano
’Tis my idea!
The Bore
But…
Cyrano
Show your heels! now!
The Bore
But I…
Cyrano
Or tell me why you stare so at my nose!
The Bore
Staggered
I…
Cyrano
Walking straight up to him
Well, what is there strange?
The Bore
Drawing back
Your Grace mistakes!
Cyrano
How now? Is’t soft and dangling, like a trunk?…
The Bore
Same play
I never…
Cyrano
Is it crook’d, like an owl’s beak?
The Bore
I…
Cyrano
Do you see a wart upon the tip?
The Bore
Nay…
Cyrano
Or a fly, that takes the air there? WhatIs there to stare at?
The Bore
Oh…
Cyrano
What do you see?
The Bore
But I was careful not to look—knew better.
Cyrano
And why not look at it, an if you please?
The Bore
I was…
Cyrano
Oh! it disgusts you!
The Bore
Sir!
Cyrano
Its hueUnwholesome seems to you?
The Bore
Sir!
Cyrano
Or its shape?
The Bore
No, on the contrary!…
Cyrano
Why then that airDisparaging?—perchance you think it large?
The Bore
Stammering
No, small, quite small—minute!
Cyrano
Minute! What now?Accuse me of a thing ridiculous!Small—my nose?
The Bore
Heaven help me!
Cyrano
’Tis enormous!Old Flathead, empty-headed meddler, knowThat I am proud possessing such appendice.’Tis well known, a big nose is indicativeOf a soul affable, and kind, and courteous,Liberal, brave, just like myself, and suchAs you can never dare to dream yourself,Rascal contemptible! For that witless faceThat my hand soon will come to cuff—is allAs empty…
He cuffs him.
The Bore
Aie!
Cyrano
—of pride, of aspiration,Of feeling, poetry—of godlike sparkOf all that appertains to my big nose,
He turns him by the shoulders, suiting the action to the word
As…what my boot will shortly come and kick!
The Bore
Running away
Help! Call the Guard!
Cyrano
Take notice, boobies all,Who find my visage’s center ornamentA thing to jest at—that it is my wont—An if the jester’s noble—ere we partTo let him taste my steel, and not my boot!
De Guiche
Who, with the marquises, has come down from the stage
But he becomes a nuisance!
The Viscount de Valvert
Shrugging his shoulders
Swaggerer!
De Guiche
Will no one put him down?…
The Viscount
No one? But wait!I’ll treat him to…one of my quips!…See here!…
He goes up to Cyrano, who is watching him, and with a conceited air
Sir, your nose is…hmm…it is…very big!
Cyrano
Gravely
Very!
The Viscount
Laughing
Ha!
Cyrano
Imperturbably
Is that all?…
The Viscount
What do you mean?
Cyrano
Ah no! young blade! That was a trifle short!You might have said at least a hundred thingsBy varying the tone…like this, suppose,…Aggressive: ‘Sir, if I had such a noseI’d amputate it!’ Friendly: ‘When you supIt must annoy you, dipping in your cup;You need a drinking-bowl of special shape!’Descriptive: ‘’Tis a rock!…a peak!…a cape!—A cape, forsooth! ’Tis a peninsular!’Curious: ‘How serves that oblong capsular?For scissor-sheath? Or pot to hold your ink?’Gracious: ‘You love the little birds, I think?I see you’ve managed with a fond researchTo find their tiny claws a roomy perch!’Truculent: ‘When you smoke your pipe…supposeThat the tobacco-smoke spouts from your nose—Do not the neighbors, as the fumes rise higher,Cry terror-struck: “The chimney is afire”?’Considerate: ‘Take care,…your head bowed lowBy such a weight…lest head o’er heels you go!’Tender: ‘Pray get a small umbrella made,Lest its bright color in the sun should fade!’Pedantic: ‘That beast AristophanesNames HippocamelelephantolesMust have possessed just such a solid lumpOf flesh and bone, beneath his forehead’s bump!’Cavalier: ‘The last fashion, friend, that hook?To hang your hat on? ’Tis a useful crook!’Emphatic: ‘No wind, O majestic nose,Can give THEE cold!—save when the mistral blows!’Dramatic: ‘When it bleeds, what a Red Sea!’Admiring: ‘Sign for a perfumery!’Lyric: ‘Is this a conch?…a Triton you?’Simple: ‘When is the monument on view?’Rustic: ‘That thing a nose? Marry-come-up!’Tis a dwarf pumpkin, or a prize turnip!’Military: ‘Point against cavalry!’Practical: ‘Put it in a lottery!Assuredly ‘twould be the biggest prize!’Or…parodying Pyramus’ sighs…‘Behold the nose that mars the harmonyOf its master’s phiz! blushing its treachery!’—Such, my dear sir, is what you might have said,Had you of wit or letters the least jot:But, O most lamentable man!—of witYou never had an atom, and of lettersYou have three letters only!—they spell Ass!And—had you had the necessary wit,To serve me all the pleasantries I quoteBefore this noble audience…e’en so,You would not have been let to utter one—Nay, not the half or quarter of such jest!I take them from myself all in good part,But not from any other man that breathes!
De Guiche
Trying to draw away the dismayed viscount
Come away, Viscount!
The Viscount
Choking with rage
Hear his arrogance!A country lout who…who…has got no gloves!Who goes out without sleeve-knots, ribbons, lace!
Cyrano
True; all my elegances are within.I do not prank myself out, puppy-like;My toilet is more thorough, if less gay;I would not sally forth—a half-washed-outAffront upon my cheek—a conscienceYellow-eyed, bilious, from its sodden sleep,A ruffled honor,…scruples grimed and dull!I show no bravery of shining gems.Truth, Independence, are my fluttering plumes.’Tis not my form I lace to make me slim,But brace my soul with efforts as with stays,Covered with exploits, not with ribbon-knots,My spirit bristling high like your mustaches,I, traversing the crowds and chattering groupsMake Truth ring bravely out like clash of spurs!
The Viscount
But, Sir…
Cyrano
I wear no gloves? And what of that?I had one,…remnant of an old worn pair,And, knowing not what else to do with it,I threw it in the face of…some young fool.
The Viscount
Base scoundrel! Rascally flat-footed lout!
Cyrano
Taking off his hat, and bowing as if the viscount had introduced himself
Ah?…and I, Cyrano SavinienHercule de Bergerac
Laughter.
The Viscount
Angrily
Buffoon!
Cyrano
Calling out as if he had been seized with the cramp
Aie! Aie!
The Viscount
Who was going away, turns back
What on earth is the fellow saying now?
Cyrano
With grimaces of pain
It must be moved—it’s getting stiff, I vow,—This comes of leaving it in idleness!Aie!…
The Viscount
What ails you?
Cyrano
The cramp! cramp in my sword!
The Viscount
Drawing his sword
Good!
Cyrano
You shall feel a charming little stroke!
The Viscount
Contemptuously
Poet!…
Cyrano
Ay, poet, Sir! In proof of which,While we fence, presto! all extemporeI will compose a ballade.
The Viscount
A ballade?
Cyrano
Belike you know not what a ballade is.
The Viscount
But…
Cyrano
Reciting, as if repeating a lesson
Know then that the ballade should containThree eight-versed couplets…
The Viscount
Stamping
Oh!
Cyrano
Still reciting
And an envoiOf four lines…
The Viscount
You…
Cyrano
I’ll make one while we fight;And touch you at the final line.
The Viscount
No!
Cyrano
No?
Declaiming
The duel in Hotel of Burgundy—foughtBy De Bergerac and a good-for-naught!
The Viscount
What may that be, an if you please?
Cyrano
The title.
The House
In great excitement
Give room!—Good sport!—Make place!—Fair play!—No noise!
Tableau. A circle of curious spectators in the pit; the marquises and officers mingled with the common people; the pages climbing on each other’s shoulders to see better. All the women standing up in the boxes. To the right, De Guiche and his retinue. Left, Le Bret, Ragueneau, Cyrano, etc.
Cyrano
Shutting his eyes for a second
Wait while I choose my rhymes…I have them now!
He suits the action to each word
I gayly doff my beaver low,And, freeing hand and heel,My heavy mantle off I throw,And I draw my polished steel;Graceful as Phoebus, round I wheel,Alert as Scaramouch,A word in your ear, Sir Spark, I steal—At the envoi’s end, I touch!
They engage
Better for you had you lain low;Where skewer my cock? In the heel?—In the heart, your ribbon blue below?—In the hip, and make you kneel?Ho for the music of clashing steel!—What now?—A hit? Not much!’Twill be in the paunch the stroke I steal,When, at the envoi, I touch.
Oh, for a rhyme, a rhyme in o?—You wriggle, starch-white, my eel?A rhyme! a rhyme! The white feather you SHOW!Tac! I parry the point of your steel;—The point you hoped to make me feel;I open the line, now clutchYour spit, Sir Scullion—slow your zeal!At the envoi’s end, I touch.
He declaims solemnly
Envoi.Prince, pray Heaven for your soul’s weal!I move a pace—lo, such! and such!Cut over—feint!
Thrusting
What ho! You reel?
The viscount staggers. Cyrano salutes
At the envoi’s end, I touch!
Acclamations. Applause in the boxes. Flowers and handkerchiefs are thrown down. The officers surround Cyrano, congratulating him. Ragueneau dances for joy. Le Bret is happy, but anxious. The viscount’s friends hold him up and bear him away.
The Crowd
With one long shout
Ah!
A Trooper
’Tis superb!
A Woman
A pretty stroke!
Ragueneau
A marvel!
A Marquis
A novelty!
Le Bret
O madman!
The Crowd
Presses round Cyrano. Chorus of
Compliments!Bravo! Let me congratulate!…Quite unsurpassed!…
A Woman’s Voice
There is a hero for you!…
A Musketeer
Advancing to Cyrano with outstretched hand
Sir, permit;Naught could be finer—I’m a judge I think;I stamped, i’ faith!—to show my admiration!
He goes away.
Cyrano
To Cuigy
Who is that gentleman?
Cuigy
Why—D’Artagnan!
Le Bret
To Cyrano, taking his arm
A word with you!…
Cyrano
Wait; let the rabble go!…
To Bellerose
May I stay?
Bellerose
Respectfully
Without doubt!
Cries are heard outside.
Jodelet
Who has looked out
They hoot Montfleury!
Bellerose
Solemnly
Sic transit!…
To the porters
Sweep—close all, but leave the lights.We sup, but later on we must return,For a rehearsal of to-morrow’s farce.
Jodelet and Bellerose go out, bowing low to Cyrano.
The Porter
To Cyrano
You do not dine, Sir?
Cyrano
No.
The porter goes out.
Le Bret
Because?
Cyrano
Proudly
Because…
Changing his tone as the porter goes away
I have no money!…
Le Bret
With the action of throwing a bag
How! The bag of crowns?…
Cyrano
Paternal bounty, in a day, thou’rt sped!
Le Bret
How live the next month?…
Cyrano
I have nothing left.
Le Bret
Folly!
Cyrano
But what a graceful action! Think!
The Buffet-girl
Coughing, behind her counter
Hum!
Cyrano and Le Bret turn. She comes timidly forward
Sir, my heart mislikes to know you fast.
Showing the buffet
See, all you need. Serve yourself!
Cyrano
Taking off his hat
Gentle child,Although my Gascon pride would else forbidTo take the least bestowal from your hands,My fear of wounding you outweighs that pride,And bids accept…
He goes to the buffet
A trifle!…These few grapes.
She offers him the whole bunch. He takes a few
Nay, but this bunch!…
She tries to give him wine, but he stops her
A glass of water fair!…And half a macaroon!
He gives back the other half.
Le Bret
What foolery!
The Buffet-girl
Take something else!
Cyrano
I take your hand to kiss.
He kisses her hand as though she were a princess.
The Buffet-girl
Thank you, kind Sir!
She courtesies
Good-night.
She goes out.