Part 5
CHRISTIAN: Bah! One finds battle-cry to lead th' assault! I have a certain military wit, But, before women, can but hold my tongue. Their eyes! True, when I pass, their eyes are kind. . .
CYRANO: And, when you stay, their hearts, methinks, are kinder?
CHRISTIAN: No! for I am one of those men--tongue-tied, I know it--who can never tell their love.
CYRANO: And I, meseems, had Nature been more kind, More careful, when she fashioned me,--had been One of those men who well could speak their love!
CHRISTIAN: Oh, to express one's thoughts with facile grace!. . .
CYRANO: . . .To be a musketeer, with handsome face!
CHRISTIAN: Roxane is precieuse. I'm sure to prove A disappointment to her!
CYRANO (looking at him): Had I but Such an interpreter to speak my soul!
CHRISTIAN (with despair): Eloquence! Where to find it?
CYRANO (abruptly): That I lend, If you lend me your handsome victor-charms; Blended, we make a hero of romance!
CHRISTIAN: How so?
CYRANO: Think you you can repeat what things I daily teach your tongue?
CHRISTIAN: What do you mean?
CYRANO: Roxane shall never have a disillusion! Say, wilt thou that we woo her, double-handed? Wilt thou that we two woo her, both together? Feel'st thou, passing from my leather doublet, Through thy laced doublet, all my soul inspiring?
CHRISTIAN: But, Cyrano!. . .
CYRANO: Will you, I say?
CHRISTIAN: I fear!
CYRANO: Since, by yourself, you fear to chill her heart, Will you--to kindle all her heart to flame-- Wed into one my phrases and your lips?
CHRISTIAN: Your eyes flash!
CYRANO: Will you?
CHRISTIAN: Will it please you so? --Give you such pleasure?
CYRANO (madly): It!. . . (Then calmly, business-like): It would amuse me! It is an enterprise to tempt a poet. Will you complete me, and let me complete you? You march victorious,--I go in your shadow; Let me be wit for you, be you my beauty!
CHRISTIAN: The letter, that she waits for even now! I never can. . .
CYRANO (taking out the letter he had written): See! Here it is--your letter!
CHRISTIAN: What?
CYRANO: Take it! Look, it wants but the address.
CHRISTIAN: But I. . .
CYRANO: Fear nothing. Send it. It will suit.
CHRISTIAN: But have you. . .?
CYRANO: Oh! We have our pockets full, We poets, of love-letters, writ to Chloes, Daphnes--creations of our noddle-heads. Our lady-loves,--phantasms of our brains, --Dream-fancies blown into soap-bubbles! Come! Take it, and change feigned love-words into true; I breathed my sighs and moans haphazard-wise; Call all these wandering love-birds home to nest. You'll see that I was in these lettered lines, --Eloquent all the more, the less sincere! --Take it, and make an end!
CHRISTIAN: Were it not well To change some words? Written haphazard-wise, Will it fit Roxane?
CYRANO: 'Twill fit like a glove!
CHRISTIAN: But. . .
CYRANO: Ah, credulity of love! Roxane Will think each word inspired by herself!
CHRISTIAN: My friend!
(He throws himself into Cyrano's arms. They remain thus.)
## Scene 2.XI.
Cyrano, Christian, the Gascons, the musketeer, Lise.
A CADET (half opening the door): Naught here!. . .The silence of the grave! I dare not look. . . (He puts his head in): Why?. . .
ALL THE CADETS (entering, and seeing Cyrano and Christian embracing): Oh!. . .
A CADET: This passes all!
(Consternation.)
THE MUSKETEER (mockingly): Ho, ho!. . .
CARBON: Our demon has become a saint? Struck on one nostril--lo! he turns the other!
MUSKETEER: Then we may speak about his nose, henceforth!. . . (Calling to Lise, boastfully): --Ah, Lise, see here! (Sniffing ostentatiously): O heavens!. . .what a stink!. . . (Going up to Cyrano): You, sir, without a doubt have sniffed it up! --What is the smell I notice here?
CYRANO (cuffing his head): Clove-heads.
(General delight. The cadets have found the old Cyrano again! They turn somersaults.)
Curtain.
## Act III.
Roxane's Kiss.
A small square in the old Marais. Old houses. A perspective of little streets. On the right Roxane's house and the wall of her garden overhung with thick foliage. Window and balcony over the door. A bench in front.
From the bench and the stones jutting out of the wall it is easy to climb to the balcony. In front of an old house in the same style of brick and stone. The knocker of this door is bandaged with linen like a sore thumb.
At the rising of the curtain the duenna is seated on the bench.
The window on Roxane's balcony is wide open.
Ragueneau is standing near the door in a sort of livery. He has just finished relating something to the duenna, and is wiping his eyes.
## Scene 3.I.
Ragueneau, the duenna. Then Roxane, Cyrano, and two pages.
RAGUENEAU: --And then, off she went, with a musketeer! Deserted and ruined too, I would make an end of all, and so hanged myself. My last breath was drawn:-- then in comes Monsieur de Bergerac! He cuts me down, and begs his cousin to take me for her steward.
THE DUENNA: Well, but how came it about that you were thus ruined?
RAGUENEAU: Oh! Lise loved the warriors, and I loved the poets! What cakes there were that Apollo chanced to leave were quickly snapped up by Mars. Thus ruin was not long a-coming.
THE DUENNA (rising, and calling up to the open window): Roxane, are you ready? They wait for us!
ROXANE'S VOICE (from the window): I will but put me on a cloak!
THE DUENNA (to Ragueneau, showing him the door opposite): They wait us there opposite, at Clomire's house. She receives them all there to-day--the precieuses, the poets; they read a discourse on the Tender Passion.
RAGUENEAU: The Tender Passion?
THE DUENNA (in a mincing voice): Ay, indeed! (Calling up to the window): Roxane, an you come not down quickly, we shall miss the discourse on the Tender Passion!
ROXANE'S VOICE: I come! I come!
(A sound of stringed instruments approaching.)
CYRANO'S VOICE (behind the scenes, singing): La, la, la, la!
THE DUENNA (surprised): They serenade us?
CYRANO (followed by two pages with arch-lutes): I tell you they are demi-semi-quavers, demi-semi-fool!
FIRST PAGE (ironically): You know then, Sir, to distinguish between semi-quavers and demi-semi- quavers?
CYRANO: Is not every disciple of Gassendi a musician?
THE PAGE (playing and singing): La, la!
CYRANO (snatching the lute from him, and going on with the phrase): In proof of which, I can continue! La, la, la, la!
ROXANE (appearing on the balcony): What? 'Tis you?
CYRANO (going on with the air, and singing to it): 'Tis I, who come to serenade your lilies, and pay my devoir to your ro-o- oses!
ROXANE: I am coming down!
(She leaves the balcony.)
THE DUENNA (pointing to the pages): How come these two virtuosi here?
CYRANO: 'Tis for a wager I won of D'Assoucy. We were disputing a nice point in grammar; contradictions raged hotly--''Tis so!' 'Nay, 'tis so!' when suddenly he shows me these two long-shanks, whom he takes about with him as an escort, and who are skillful in scratching lute-strings with their skinny claws! 'I will wager you a day's music,' says he!--And lost it! Thus, see you, till Phoebus' chariot starts once again, these lute-twangers are at my heels, seeing all I do, hearing all I say, and accompanying all with melody. 'Twas pleasant at the first, but i' faith, I begin to weary of it already! (To the musicians): Ho there! go serenade Montfleury for me! Play a dance to him! (The pages go toward the door. To the duenna): I have come, as is my wont, nightly, to ask Roxane whether. . . (To the pages, who are going out): Play a long time,--and play out of tune! (To the duenna): . . .Whether her soul's elected is ever the same, ever faultless!
ROXANE (coming out of the house): Ah! How handsome he is, how brilliant a wit! And--how well I love him!
CYRANO (smiling): Christian has so brilliant a wit?
ROXANE: Brighter than even your own, cousin!
CYRANO: Be it so, with all my heart!
ROXANE: Ah! methinks 'twere impossible that there could breathe a man on this earth skilled to say as sweetly as he all the pretty nothings that mean so much-- that mean all! At times his mind seems far away, the Muse says naught--and then, presto! he speaks--bewitchingly! enchantingly!
CYRANO (incredulously): No, no!
ROXANE: Fie! That is ill said! But lo! men are ever thus! Because he is fair to see, you would have it that he must be dull of speech.
CYRANO: He hath an eloquent tongue in telling his love?
ROXANE: In telling his love? why, 'tis not simple telling, 'tis dissertation, 'tis analysis!
CYRANO: How is he with the pen?
ROXANE: Still better! Listen,--here:-- (Reciting): 'The more of my poor heart you take The larger grows my heart!' (Triumphantly to Cyrano): How like you those lines?
CYRANO: Pooh!
ROXANE: And thus it goes on. . . 'And, since some target I must show For Cupid's cruel dart, Oh, if mine own you deign to keep, Then give me your sweet heart!'
CYRANO: Lord! first he has too much, then anon not enough! How much heart does the fellow want?
ROXANE: You would vex a saint!. . .But 'tis your jealousy.
CYRANO (starting): What mean you?
ROXANE: Ay, your poet's jealousy! Hark now, if this again be not tender-sweet?-- 'My heart to yours sounds but one cry: If kisses fast could flee By letter, then with your sweet lips My letters read should be! If kisses could be writ with ink, If kisses fast could flee!'
CYRANO (smiling approvingly in spite of himself): Ha! those last lines are,--hm!. . .hm!. . . (Correcting himself--contemptuously): --They are paltry enough!
ROXANE: And this. . .
CYRANO (enchanted): Then you have his letters by heart?
ROXANE: Every one of them!
CYRANO: By all oaths that can be sworn,--'tis flattering!
ROXANE: They are the lines of a master!
CYRANO (modestly): Come, nay. . .a master?. . .
ROXANE: Ay, I say it--a master!
CYRANO: Good--be it so.
THE DUENNA (coming down quickly): Here comes Monsieur de Guiche! (To Cyrano, pushing him toward the house): In with you! 'twere best he see you not; it might perchance put him on the scent. . .
ROXANE (to Cyrano): Ay, of my own dear secret! He loves me, and is powerful, and, if he knew, then all were lost! Marry! he could well deal a deathblow to my love!
CYRANO (entering the house): Good! good!
(De Guiche appears.)
## Scene 3.II.
Roxane, De Guiche, the duenna standing a little way off.
ROXANE (courtesying to De Guiche): I was going out.
DE GUICHE: I come to take my leave.
ROXANE: Whither go you?
DE GUICHE: To the war.
ROXANE: Ah!
DE GUICHE: Ay, to-night.
ROXANE: Oh!
DE GUICHE: I am ordered away. We are to besiege Arras.
ROXANE: Ah--to besiege?. . .
DE GUICHE: Ay. My going moves you not, meseems.
ROXANE: Nay. . .
DE GUICHE: I am grieved to the core of the heart. Shall I again behold you?. . .When? I know not. Heard you that I am named commander?. . .
ROXANE (indifferently): Bravo!
DE GUICHE: Of the Guards regiment.
ROXANE (startled): What! the Guards?
DE GUICHE: Ay, where serves your cousin, the swaggering boaster. I will find a way to revenge myself on him at Arras.
ROXANE (choking): What mean you? The Guards go to Arras?
DE GUICHE (laughing): Bethink you, is it not my own regiment?
ROXANE (falling seated on the bench--aside): Christian!
DE GUICHE: What ails you?
ROXANE (moved deeply): Oh--I am in despair! The man one loves!--at the war!
DE GUICHE (surprised and delighted): You say such sweet words to me! 'Tis the first time!--and just when I must quit you!
ROXANE (collected, and fanning herself): Thus,--you would fain revenge your grudge against my cousin?
DE GUICHE: My fair lady is on his side?
ROXANE: Nay,--against him!
DE GUICHE: Do you see him often?
ROXANE: But very rarely.
DE GUICHE: He is ever to be met now in company with one of the cadets,. . .one New-- villen--viller--
ROXANE: Of high stature?
DE GUICHE: Fair-haired!
ROXANE: Ay, a red-headed fellow!
DE GUICHE: Handsome!. . .
ROXANE: Tut!
DE GUICHE: But dull-witted.
ROXANE: One would think so, to look at him! (Changing her tone): How mean you to play your revenge on Cyrano? Perchance you think to put him i' the thick of the shots? Nay, believe me, that were a poor vengeance--he would love such a post better than aught else! I know the way to wound his pride far more keenly!
DE GUICHE: What then? Tell. . .
ROXANE: If, when the regiment march to Arras, he were left here with his beloved boon companions, the Cadets, to sit with crossed arms so long as the war lasted! There is your method, would you enrage a man of his kind; cheat him of his chance of mortal danger, and you punish him right fiercely.
DE GUICHE (coming nearer): O woman! woman! Who but a woman had e'er devised so subtle a trick?
ROXANE: See you not how he will eat out his heart, while his friends gnaw their thick fists for that they are deprived of the battle? So are you best avenged.
DE GUICHE: You love me, then, a little? (She smiles): I would fain--seeing you thus espouse my cause, Roxane--believe it a proof of love!
ROXANE: 'Tis a proof of love!
DE GUICHE (showing some sealed papers): Here are the marching orders; they will be sent instantly to each company-- except-- (He detaches one): --This one! 'Tis that of the Cadets. (He puts it in his pocket): This I keep. (Laughing): Ha! ha! ha! Cyrano! His love of battle!. . .So you can play tricks on people?. . .you, of all ladies!
ROXANE: Sometimes!
DE GUICHE (coming close to her): Oh! how I love you!--to distraction! Listen! To-night--true, I ought to start--but--how leave you now that I feel your heart is touched! Hard by, in the Rue d'Orleans, is a convent founded by Father Athanasius, the syndic of the Capuchins. True that no layman may enter--but--I can settle that with the good Fathers! Their habit sleeves are wide enough to hide me in. 'Tis they who serve Richelieu's private chapel: and from respect to the uncle, fear the nephew. All will deem me gone. I will come to you, masked. Give me leave to wait till tomorrow, sweet Lady Fanciful!
ROXANE: But, of this be rumored, your glory. . .
DE GUICHE: Bah!
ROXANE: But the siege--Arras. . .
DE GUICHE: 'Twill take its chance. Grant but permission.
ROXANE: No!
DE GUICHE: Give me leave!
ROXANE (tenderly): It were my duty to forbid you!
DE GUICHE: Ah!
ROXANE: You must go! (Aside): Christian stays here. (Aloud): I would have you heroic--Antoine!
DE GUICHE: O heavenly word! You love, then, him?. . .
ROXANE: . . .For whom I trembled.
DE GUICHE (in an ecstasy): Ah! I go then! (He kisses her hand): Are you content?
ROXANE: Yes, my friend!
(He goes out.)
THE DUENNA (making behind his back a mocking courtesy): Yes, my friend!
ROXANE (to the duenna): Not a word of what I have done. Cyrano would never pardon me for stealing his fighting from him! (She calls toward the house): Cousin!
## Scene 3.III.
Roxane, The duenna, Cyrano.
ROXANE: We are going to Clomire's house. (She points to the door opposite): Alcandre and Lysimon are to discourse!
THE DUENNA (putting her little finger in her ear): Yes! But my little finger tells me we shall miss them.
CYRANO: 'Twere a pity to miss such apes!
(They have come to Clomire's door.)
THE DUENNA: Oh, see! The knocker is muffled up! (Speaking to the knocker): So they have gagged that metal tongue of yours, little noisy one, lest it should disturb the fine orators!
(She lifts it carefully and knocks with precaution.)
ROXANE (seeing that the door opens): Let us enter! (On the threshold, to Cyrano): If Christian comes, as I feel sure he will, bid him wait for me!
CYRANO (quickly, as she is going in): Listen! (She turns): What mean you to question him on, as is your wont, to-night?
ROXANE: Oh--
CYRANO (eagerly): Well, say.
ROXANE: But you will be mute?
CYRANO: Mute as a fish.
ROXANE: I shall not question him at all, but say: Give rein to your fancy! Prepare not your speeches,--but speak the thoughts as they come! Speak to me of love, and speak splendidly!
CYRANO (smiling): Very good!
ROXANE: But secret!. . .
CYRANO: Secret.
ROXANE: Not a word!
(She enters and shuts the door.)
CYRANO (when the door is shut, bowing to her): A thousand thanks!
(The door opens again, and Roxane puts her head out.)
ROXANE: Lest he prepare himself!
CYRANO: The devil!--no, no!
BOTH TOGETHER: Secret.
(The door shuts.)
CYRANO (calling): Christian!
## Scene 3.IV.
Cyrano, Christian.
CYRANO: I know all that is needful. Here's occasion For you to deck yourself with glory. Come, Lose no time; put away those sulky looks, Come to your house with me, I'll teach you. . .
CHRISTIAN: No!
CYRANO: Why?
CHRISTIAN: I will wait for Roxane here.
CYRANO: How? Crazy? Come quick with me and learn. . .
CHRISTIAN: No, no! I say. I am aweary of these borrowed letters, --Borrowed love-makings! Thus to act a part, And tremble all the time!--'Twas well enough At the beginning!--Now I know she loves! I fear no longer!--I will speak myself.
CYRANO: Mercy!
CHRISTIAN: And how know you I cannot speak?-- I am not such a fool when all is said! I've by your lessons profited. You'll see I shall know how to speak alone! The devil! I know at least to clasp her in my arms! (Seeing Roxane come out from Clomire's house): --It is she! Cyrano, no!--Leave me not!
CYRANO (bowing): Speak for yourself, my friend, and take your chance.
(He disappears behind the garden wall.)
## Scene 3.V.
Christian, Roxane, the duenna.
ROXANE (coming out of Clomire's house, with a company of friends, whom she leaves. Bows and good-byes): Barthenoide!--Alcandre!--Gremione!--
THE DUENNA (bitterly disappointed): We've missed the speech upon the Tender Passion!
(Goes into Roxane's house.)
ROXANE (still bowing): Urimedonte--adieu! (All bow to Roxane and to each other, and then separate, going up different streets. Roxane suddenly seeing Christian): You! (She goes to him): Evening falls. Let's sit. Speak on. I listen.
CHRISTIAN (sits by her on the bench. A silence): Oh! I love you!
ROXANE (shutting her eyes): Ay, speak to me of love.
CHRISTIAN: I love thee!
ROXANE: That's The theme! But vary it.
CHRISTIAN: I. . .
ROXANE: Vary it!
CHRISTIAN: I love you so!
ROXANE: Oh! without doubt!--and then?. . .
CHRISTIAN: And then--I should be--oh!--so glad--so glad If you would love me!--Roxane, tell me so!
ROXANE (with a little grimace): I hoped for cream,--you give me gruel! Say How love possesses you?
CHRISTIAN: Oh utterly!
ROXANE: Come, come!. . .unknot those tangled sentiments!
CHRISTIAN: Your throat I'd kiss it!
ROXANE: Christian!
CHRISTIAN: I love thee!
ROXANE (half-rising): Again!
CHRISTIAN (eagerly, detaining her): No, no! I love thee not!
ROXANE (reseating herself): 'Tis well!
CHRISTIAN: But I adore thee!
ROXANE (rising, and going further off): Oh!
CHRISTIAN: I am grown stupid!
ROXANE (dryly): And that displeases me, almost as much As 'twould displease me if you grew ill-favored.
CHRISTIAN: But. . .
ROXANE: Rally your poor eloquence that's flown!
CHRISTIAN: I. . .
ROXANE: Yes, you love me, that I know. Adieu.
(She goes toward her house.)
CHRISTIAN: Oh, go not yet! I'd tell you--
ROXANE (opening the door): You adore me? I've heard it very oft. No!--Go away!
CHRISTIAN: But I would fain. . .
(She shuts the door in his face.)
CYRANO (who has re-entered unseen): I' faith! It is successful!
## Scene 3.VI.
Christian, Cyrano, two pages.
CHRISTIAN: Come to my aid!
CYRANO: Not I!
CHRISTIAN: But I shall die, Unless at once I win back her fair favor.
CYRANO: And how can I, at once, i' th' devil's name, Lesson you in. . .
CHRISTIAN (seizing his arm): Oh, she is there!
(The window of the balcony is now lighted up.)
CYRANO (moved): Her window!
CHRISTIAN: Oh! I shall die!
CYRANO: Speak lower!
CHRISTIAN (in a whisper): I shall die!
CYRANO: The night is dark. . .
CHRISTIAN: Well!
CYRANO: All can be repaired. Although you merit not. Stand there, poor wretch! Fronting the balcony! I'll go beneath And prompt your words to you. . .
CHRISTIAN: But. . .
CYRANO: Hold your tongue!
THE PAGES (reappearing at back--to Cyrano): Ho!
CYRANO: Hush!
(He signs to them to speak softly.)
FIRST PAGE (in a low voice): We've played the serenade you bade To Montfleury!
CYRANO (quickly, in a low voice): Go! lurk in ambush there, One at this street corner, and one at that; And if a passer-by should here intrude, Play you a tune!
SECOND PAGE: What tune, Sir Gassendist?
CYRANO: Gay, if a woman comes,--for a man, sad! (The pages disappear, one at each street corner. To Christian): Call her!
CHRISTIAN: Roxane!
CYRANO (picking up stones and throwing them at the window): Some pebbles! wait awhile!
ROXANE (half-opening the casement): Who calls me?
CHRISTIAN: I!
ROXANE: Who's that?
CHRISTIAN: Christian!
ROXANE (disdainfully): Oh! you?
CHRISTIAN: I would speak with you.
CYRANO (under the balcony--to Christian): Good. Speak soft and low.
ROXANE: No, you speak stupidly!
CHRISTIAN: Oh, pity me!
ROXANE: No! you love me no more!
CHRISTIAN (prompted by Cyrano): You say--Great Heaven! I love no more?--when--I--love more and more!
ROXANE (who was about to shut the casement, pausing): Hold! 'tis a trifle better! ay, a trifle!
CHRISTIAN (same play): Love grew apace, rocked by the anxious beating. . . Of this poor heart, which the cruel wanton boy. . . Took for a cradle!
ROXANE (coming out on to the balcony): That is better! But An if you deem that Cupid be so cruel You should have stifled baby-love in's cradle!
CHRISTIAN (same play): Ah, Madame, I assayed, but all in vain This. . .new-born babe is a young. . .Hercules!
ROXANE: Still better!
CHRISTIAN (same play): Thus he strangled in my heart The. . .serpents twain, of. . .Pride. . .and Doubt!
ROXANE (leaning over the balcony): Well said! --But why so faltering? Has mental palsy Seized on your faculty imaginative?
CYRANO (drawing Christian under the balcony, and slipping into his place): Give place! This waxes critical!. . .
ROXANE: To-day. . . Your words are hesitating.
CYRANO (imitating Christian--in a whisper): Night has come. . . In the dusk they grope their way to find your ear.
ROXANE: But my words find no such impediment.
CYRANO: They find their way at once? Small wonder that! For 'tis within my heart they find their home; Bethink how large my heart, how small your ear! And,--from fair heights descending, words fall fast, But mine must mount, Madame, and that takes time!
ROXANE: Meseems that your last words have learned to climb.
CYRANO: With practice such gymnastic grows less hard!
ROXANE: In truth, I seem to speak from distant heights!
CYRANO: True, far above; at such a height 'twere death If a hard word from you fell on my heart.
ROXANE (moving): I will come down. . .
CYRANO (hastily): No!
ROXANE (showing him the bench under the balcony): Mount then on the bench!
CYRANO (starting back alarmed): No!
ROXANE: How, you will not?
CYRANO (more and more moved): Stay awhile! 'Tis sweet,. . . The rare occasion, when our hearts can speak Our selves unseen, unseeing!
ROXANE: Why--unseen?