Part 5
CYRANO, RAGUENEAU, THE POETS, CARBON OF HAUGHTY-HALL, THE CADETS, THE CROWD, _etc._, _later_ LE BRET, _and then_ GUICHE.
RAGUENEAU.
The coast is clear?
CYRANO (_motionless_).
Yes.
(_Ragueneau makes a sign, and his friends come in. At the same moment appears in the doorway Carbon of Haughty-Hall, in full uniform of Captain of the Guards; he lifts his arms on discovering Cyrano._)
CARBON.
Here he is at last!
CYRANO (_raising his eyes_).
Captain!....
CARBON (_rejoiced_).
Our hero! We heard it all. Thirty at least of the Cadets are here!....
CYRANO (_falling back_).
But, Captain....
CARBON (_trying to take him along_).
Come! They wish to see you!
CYRANO.
No, I cannot!
CARBON.
They are over the way, at the Inn of the Cross.
CYRANO.
I cannot.
CARBON (_going to the door and shouting outside_).
Our hero refuses. He is out of sorts!
A VOICE (_outside_).
Sandious![17]
(_Noise outside. Sound of swords and boots drawing near._)
CARBON (_rubbing his hands_).
They are crossing the street!....
THE CADETS (_invading the shop_).
Milledious!--Capededious!--Mordious!--Pocapdedious!
RAGUENEAU (_retreating in terror_).
Why, gentlemen, are you all from Gascony?
THE CADETS.
Everyone of us!
A CADET (_to Cyrano_).
Bravo!
CYRANO.
Baron, yours!....
ANOTHER CADET (_shaking Cyrano's hand_).
Bravo!
CYRANO.
Yours, baron!
THIRD CADET.
Allow me to embrace you!
CYRANO.
Baron, baron!
SEVERAL CADETS.
Let us all embrace him!
CYRANO.
Baron.... baron.... spare me!....
RAGUENEAU.
But, gentlemen, are you all barons?
THE CADETS.
All of us!
FIRST CADET.
With our coronets alone you could build a tower.
LE BRET (_enters and runs up to Cyrano_).
An enthusiastic crowd is looking for you!
CYRANO (_frightened_).
You didn't tell them where I am?
LE BRET (_rubbing his hands_).
Of course I did!
(_The street is crowded with pedestrians, chaises and coaches, all stopping before the door._)
You saw Roxane?
CYRANO (_rapidly_).
Be silent!
THE CROWD (_outside_).
Cyrano! Cyrano!
(_They invade the shop, pushing each other, and shower Cyrano with congratulations._)
RAGUENEAU (_standing on a table_).
My shop is taken by storm! and almost wrecked! Beautiful! Beautiful!
PEOPLE AROUND CYRANO.
Dear friend!.... Brave friend.... Heroic friend!....
CYRANO.
Yesterday I had nothing like as many friends!....
LE BRET (_delighted_).
Success, you see! Success!
A MARQUIS (_running up with extended hands_).
If you only knew, dear boy....
CYRANO.
Dear boy? Dear boy? On what field did we ever camp together?
MARQUIS.
I should be pleased to present you, Sir, to some ladies who are outside in my coach.
CYRANO.
But, first, you--who will present you to me?
LE BRET (_dumbfounded_).
Why! friend, what ails you?
CYRANO.
Be silent, please!
A MAN OF LETTERS (_with pen and tablets_).
May I not gather some details....
CYRANO.
You may not!
LE BRET (_aside to Cyrano_).
But this is Theophraste Renaudot, who invented the gazette!
CYRANO.
I care not!
LE BRET.
.... That sheet in which are found so many things of interest. The idea, it is said, has before it a great future.
A POET.
Dear Sir, I desire to build upon your name a pentacrostic.
ANOTHER POET.
I desire, dear Sir,....
CYRANO.
Enough! Enough!
(_Movement. The crowd becomes more orderly and opens. Guiche appears, with an escort of officers: Cuigy, Brissaille, the officers who accompanied Cyrano at the close of Act I._)
CUIGY (_running up to Cyrano_).
Here is Monsieur de Guiche! He is sent by Marshal de Gassion!
GUICHE (_bowing to Cyrano_).
.... Who desires to express to you, Sir, his admiration for the wonderful prowess that we have just heard of.
THE CROWD.
Bravo! Bravo!
CYRANO (_bowing_).
The Marshal is a connoisseur in deeds of valour.
GUICHE.
He never would have believed the feat possible, if these gentlemen had not sworn that they witnessed it.
CUIGY.
With our own good eyes!
LE BRET (_aside, to Cyrano, who seems lost in thought_).
My good friend....
CYRANO (_to Le Bret_).
Be silent!
LE BRET (_aside to Cyrano_).
You seem to suffer!
CYRANO (_awakening and drawing himself up_).
Before all these people!.... I .... Suffer!.... Watch, and you shall see.
GUICHE (_to whom Cuigy has whispered a few words_).
All know that you have accomplished wonders before this. You are serving the King with these hare-brained Gascons, are you not?
CYRANO.
Yes, with the cadets.
A CADET (_in stentorian tones_).
With us!
GUICHE (_looking at the Gascons, who have aligned behind Cyrano_).
Ah! ah!.... So these haughty-looking gentlemen are the famous....
CARBON.
Cyrano!
CYRANO.
Captain?
CARBON.
Since my Company is all here, I believe, present it to the Count, if you please.
CYRANO (_taking two steps toward Guiche, and pointing to the Cadets_).
Fair Gascony's cadets are they, With Carbon--He of Haughty-Hall;[18] They fight and lie without dismay, Fair Gascony's cadets are they! In heraldry they've all to say, And pedigrees like theirs appall. Fair Gascony's cadets are they, With Carbon--He of Haughty-Hall!
With eagle eye, in crane's array, With cat's mustache, and tooth for all, Through rabble growling as they may, With eagle eye, in crane's array, They strut with hats in sad decay Beneath their plumes so bright and tall! With eagle eye, in crane's array, With cat's mustache, and tooth for all!
Abdomen-Blade and Slash-Away Are names to them of pleasant fall. They thirst for glory night and day Abdomen-Blade and Slash-Away! In every battle brawl, or fray.... They congregate as for a ball.... Abdomen-Blade and Slash-Away Are names to them of pleasant fall!
Fair Gascony's cadets are they To husbands....writing on the wall! O woman, wench of godly clay, Fair Gascony's cadets are they! Though jealous masters fume and bray, Let trumpet sound! Let cuckoo call! Fair Gascony's cadets are they, To husbands, writing on the wall!
GUICHE (_comfortably seated in an armchair that Ragueneau promptly brought in_).
A poet is one of our choice luxuries to-day. Will you be mine?
CYRANO.
No, Sir, nobody's!
GUICHE.
Your ready wit, yesterday, caused much amusement to my uncle Richelieu. I shall take pleasure in recommending you to him.
LE BRET (_dazzled_).
What a good fortune!
GUICHE.
You certainly must have rimed some five-act tragedy?
LE BRET (_whispering to Cyrano_).
Your "Agrippine!" You'll have it played!
GUICHE.
Yes, take your work to the Cardinal.
CYRANO (_delighted and tempted_).
But, really....
GUICHE.
He is quite an expert, but will not make too many corrections!
CYRANO (_whose face has immediately resumed its severe look_).
Impossible, Sir! My blood curdles at the thought of my verse being improved by the displacement or the addition of a single comma.
GUICHE.
But, on the other hand, my dear fellow, when a line pleases him, he pays for it a large price.
CYRANO.
Not so large a one as I myself pay. When I have written a line and then I fall in love with it, I buy it from and sing it to myself.
GUICHE.
Your disposition is a proud one!
CYRANO.
Really, you noticed it?
A CADET (_enters with, strung on a sword, a number of hats, crushed, pierced and very much dejected as to plumes_).
Behold, Cyrano! This morning, on the quay, we found this sorry feathered game. The hats of those you put to flight!....
CARBON.
Spolia opima!
(_Everybody laughs ._)
CUIGY.
Whoever paid these cut-throats must to-day regret his bargain.
BRISSAILLE.
Does anyone know who it is?
GUICHE.
It is I!
(_Laughing stops short._)
I had hired them--a nobleman is above doing these things himself--to chastise--a drunkard rimester.
(_General embarrassment._)
THE CADET (_aside to Cyrano, pointing to the hats_).
What shall we do with them? They are greasy enough to make a stew.
CYRANO (_taking the sword on which the hats are strung, and allowing them, as he salutes, to slip off at the feet of Guiche_).
You may desire, Sir, to return them to your friends.
GUICHE (_rising and in sharp tones_).
My chair, immediately!
(_to Cyrano, angrily_).
As to you, Sir!....
A VOICE (_in the street_).
The chair of his lordship Count de Guiche.
GUICHE (_who has conquered his feelings and now smiles_).
No doubt you've read Don Quixote?
CYRANO.
Yes, and, when I hear the name of this enthusiast, I doff my hat.
GUICHE.
Then kindly meditate The windmill chapter....
CYRANO (_bowing_).
Yes,--I know--thirteenth.
GUICHE.
When windmills are attacked it happens oft....
CYRANO.
Have I attacked some noble weather-vane?
GUICHE.
That, if their mighty arms revolve, a man Is dashed to earth!....
CYRANO.
Or lifted to the stars!
(_Exit Guiche, who enters his chair. His friends, whispering. Crowd withdraws._)
_SCENE VIII._
CYRANO, LE BRET, THE CADETS, _who have taken seats at the tables, and are eating and drinking_.
CYRANO (_bowing out in an affectedly polite way those who are leaving without taking any further notice of him_).
Gentlemen--delighted--Delighted--gentlemen--
LE BRET (_lifting his arms in despair_).
A pretty mess you've made of it!
CYRANO.
Oh! of course! As usual, you must growl!
LE BRET.
Come, now, you must admit that this constant assassination--that is the word--of every passing opportunity is, to say the least, a gross exaggeration.
CYRANO.
Well, yes, I do exaggerate. There!
LE BRET (_triumphant_).
You see!
CYRANO.
But I do so as a matter of principle, for the sake of example. In my opinion, such exaggeration is good.
LE BRET.
Suppose you set aside, a while, your soul Heroic and success....
CYRANO.
What should I do?.... Set out to find a power, influence, A master, then? A lowly ivy be That licks the trunk it uses for support? Creep up by stealth, instead of rising strong? I thank you, no!--Inscribe the verse I write To money bags, and play the low buffoon, To cause, on lips that I despise, a smile? I thank you, no! For breakfast eat a toad? Wear out, or soil, especially my knees? Forever prove how pliant is a spine? I thank you, no! Give--only to exact? Have ready praise for all, and strive to be A pygmy hero in a puny ring? I thank you, no! Ask publishers to print My verse--at my expense? I thank you, no! Seek favour from the solemn councils held By pompous fools in taverns and the like? I thank you, no! Or try to build a name Upon a single sonnet, sooner than Write other sonnets? No. I thank you, no! Be terrorized by journals vague and small, And hope the while they'll not forget me? No, I thank you! Ever weigh, observe and fear? Place gossip far above poetic lines? Solicit, beg, crave notoriety? I thank you, no! I thank you, nay!.... But, oh!.... To sing, to dream, to laugh, to be alone And free, with eyes that naught will cause to turn, And with a voice that naught will cause to shake! To cock your hat, if you feel so disposed: For this, or that, to fight--or write a verse! To plan, without a thought of gold or fame, A novel trip, perhaps unto the moon! To write but what is honestly your own, And, diffident for once, reflect: my boy, Be satisfied with flower, fruit.... or leaf, If they have grown on soil that's strictly yours! Then, if perchance a bit of fame is earned, To feel that none of it to Cæsar's due! The truth is there, and so is honesty: Despise to ape the ivy-parasite, And try to be an oak, or elm, to rise, Not very high, perhaps, but rise alone!
LE BRET.
Alone, you're right! But not opposing all! Why should you make so many enemies?
CYRANO.
Because I see you make so many friends, And smile on them with mouths I'll not describe.[19] I'm glad to pass with fewer greetings met, And proud to think: another enemy!
LE BRET.
You are insane!
CYRANO.
Perhaps. My vice is such. I'm pleased if I displease. Indeed, I love To gather hatred. Friend, you've never felt The thrill that's caused by walking on erect, While fifty pairs of eyes are sending shot, As if they were so many guns! And then.... How comical the spots on doublets made By envy's gall and cowardice's slaver! --Loose friendships like to those you cultivate Resemble the Italian collars, soft And open-worked, that feminize your necks. They're easy and of tranquil-going mien; Your head with them can bend to any will. Not so with me! For Hatred, every morn, Makes stiff the ruff that forces up my head! An enemy I gain's another fold That straightens me the more, perhaps, but adds A beam to my renown. The Spanish ruff, Though sitting on the neck as would a yoke, With some can be a halo 'round the head!
LE BRET (_after a pause, passing his arm through Cyrano's_).
Speak out aloud your pride and bitterness, But whisper to me then: she loves me not!
[17] Note.--This is a Gascon oath. Like the similar oaths following, it would if translated literally (Blood of God,) lose its picturesque and really innocent character. All of these are oath-sounds rather than oaths, and somewhat oath-evading, after the fashion of "goldarn it," in America.
[18] Note.--The name "Castel-Jaloux," in the original, being indicative of Gascon pride and superlativeness, it was thought better to translate it in order to preserve colour. But here arose the question: "Him" or "He" of Haughty-Hall? Both cases have their champions, with most excellent reasons. It was thought, however, that argument might be avoided and the line be made more effective by the insertion of a dash after "Carbon," thus leaving time for the imaginary interrogation: "What Carbon?" following which suspension, the answer is. "He of Haughty-Hall" is the Carbon meant.
[19] Note.--The text here, justified by a current French expression, would be too broad in English.
_SCENE IX._
CYRANO, LE BRET, THE CADETS, CHRISTIAN DE NEUVILLETTE.
A CADET (_seated at a table in the rear, drinking_).
Cyrano!
(_Cyrano turns._)
That narrative, please.
CYRANO.
Yes, presently!
(_He takes the arm of Le Bret, going up and speaking in low tone to him._)
THE CADET (_rising and coming down_).
The details of the fight! They will make the best kind of lesson.... (_stopping near the table before which Christian is seated_) for a timid apprentice!
CHRISTIAN (_looking up_).
Apprentice!
ANOTHER CADET.
Just so, sickly northerner!
CHRISTIAN.
Sickly!
FIRST CADET (_sneeringly_).
Monsieur de Neuvillette, there's something you must learn, to wit: there exists a thing that, with us, must never be even alluded to--no more than a rope in the house of one who was hung.
CHRISTIAN.
And what is that?
ANOTHER CADET (_in terrifying tone_).
Look at me!
(_With his finger he, three times, strikes his nose._)
You understand?
CHRISTIAN.
Oh! you mean the....
ANOTHER CADET.
Hush!.... The word is never pronounced....
(_pointing to Cyrano, who, in the rear, is talking with Le Bret_).
.... Or else trouble is sure.
ANOTHER CADET (_who, while Christian was looking the other way, took a seat on the table_).
Two men were killed by him because they spoke through the nose--a subject he dislikes!
ANOTHER CADET (_springing up from underneath the table, where he had crawled_).
Those who desire to die young have but to come here and speak of the fatal cartilage.
ANOTHER CADET (_placing his hand on Christian's shoulder_).
One word's enough. Did I say: a word? One motion, just one, suffices. And drawing out one's handkerchief is equivalent to weaving one's shroud!
(_Silence. All the Cadets remain, with folded arms, staring at Christian. Christian goes up to Carbon of Haughty-Hall, who has been conversing with an officer and affecting not to notice the proceedings._)
CHRISTIAN.
Captain!
CARBON (_turning, and with a severe look_).
Sir?
CHRISTIAN.
When one encounters southerners possessed of too much braggadocio....
CARBON.
The right thing to do? Prove to them that you may come from the North and still be brave.
(_Carbon turns._)
CHRISTIAN.
Captain, I thank you.
FIRST CADET (_to Cyrano_).
And now your narrative!
OTHER CADETS.
Yes, his narrative!
CYRANO (_coming down to them_).
My narrative? Well, here it is!
(_They gather around him, some seated, some standing. Christian straddles a chair._)
Well, then, I was walking along so as to meet them. The moon, in the sky, looked like a big silver watch; when suddenly some zealous watch-maker, I suppose, began passing over it, with a view to making it shine, no doubt, some cloudy cotton. In consequence, the night became as dark as possible, and, mordious! I could not see further....
CHRISTIAN.
Than the end of your nose.
(_Silence. Everybody rises slowly, frightened, and looking at Cyrano, whom the interruption has astounded. General expectancy._)
CYRANO.
Who is this man?
A CADET (_in subdued tone_).
One who joined this morning.
CYRANO (_going toward Christian_).
This morning?
CARBON.
His name is Baron de Neuvillette.
CYRANO (_rapidly, stopping_).
Oh! very well then!....
(_He turns pale, then reddens, and appears ready to throw himself upon Christian._)
I must....
(_restraining himself, however_).
That is different. (_resuming_). As I was saying....
(_with ill-concealed fury_).
Mordious!....
(_continuing in a natural tone_).... I could not see very far.
(_General stupefaction. All take their seats again, looking at Cyrano._)
So, I was walking on, thinking how I was going to disappoint some mighty lord desirous of pulling....
CHRISTIAN.
Your nose!....
(_Everybody rises again, while Christian rocks on his chair._)
CYRANO (_half choking_).
My ears!.... and how imprudent some people might find me for thus poking....
CHRISTIAN.
Your nose....
CYRANO.
No, my finger, between the tree and the bark. For this great lord might be powerful enough to rap me....
CHRISTIAN.
On the nose....
CYRANO (_wiping the perspiration from his forehead_).
No, on the fingers. But I said to myself: go ahead, Gascon; do your duty! On, Cyrano! Then, abruptly, out of the dark, somebody made a lunge at me. I parried: when suddenly, I found myself....
CHRISTIAN.
Nose to nose....
CYRANO (_bounding toward him_).
Ventre--Saint--Gris!....
(_All the Gascons advance to witness the scene. But Cyrano, on coming up to Christian, masters himself, and continues:_)
Confronted by a hundred drunken rascals.... smelling....
CHRISTIAN.
With their hundred noses....
CYRANO (_pale as death, but smiling_).
....Strongly of onion and garlic! I rushed forward blindly....
CHRISTIAN.
Without nosing....
CYRANO.
And charged them! Down went two of them. A third I ran through. They lunged, I parried, and struck down, how many?....
CHRISTIAN.
Who knows!....
CYRANO (_bursting with rage_).
Thunder and lightning! Clear the room!
(_The Cadets rush toward the door._)
FIRST CADET.
The tiger wakes!
CYRANO.
All out! Leave me alone with this man!
SECOND CADET.
We'll find the fellow in mince-meat.
RAGUENEAU.
Mince-meat. Not fit, though, for my pies.
(_All go out, by the rear, the sides and the staircase. Cyrano and Christian remain face to face staring at each other fiercely._)
_SCENE X._
CYRANO, CHRISTIAN.
CYRANO.
Embrace me!
CHRISTIAN.
Sir!....
CYRANO.
You are brave.
CHRISTIAN.
Perhaps. But....
CYRANO.
Very brave. I prefer it so.
CHRISTIAN.
Kindly explain....
CYRANO.
Embrace me! I am her brother!
CHRISTIAN.
Whose brother?
CYRANO.
Her's! Roxane's!
CHRISTIAN (_running up to him_).
You! The brother of Roxane?
CYRANO.
Well, very much the same: a brotherly cousin.
CHRISTIAN.
And she?....
CYRANO.
Told me all!
CHRISTIAN.
Does she love me?
CYRANO.
Perhaps!
CHRISTIAN (_taking Cyrano's hands_).
How happy I feel, Sir, to know you!
CYRANO.
Rather a sudden sentiment, is it not?
CHRISTIAN.
Forgive me, but....
CYRANO (_looking well at him, and laying his hand on Christian's shoulder_).
It's a fact. A fine-looking fellow, this rascal!
CHRISTIAN.
I only wish you knew, Sir, how much I admire you.
CYRANO.
Yes? But what of all those noses that you....
CHRISTIAN.
I withdraw them, Sir!
CYRANO.
Roxane expects a letter to-night.
CHRISTIAN.
That is the trouble.
CYRANO.
How so?
CHRISTIAN.
I am lost if I remain silent!....
CYRANO.
Well then?....
CHRISTIAN.
But, I am ashamed to own it, I am too stupid to write.
CYRANO.
Stupid? You are not, friend, since you realise your inability. Moreover, your attack upon me was not that of a dunce.
CHRISTIAN.
Oh! it is easy enough to find words for a fight! Yes, perhaps I have a sort of easy, military wit; but, facing women, I am struck dumb. Oh! their eyes seem favourable enough as I pass them....
CYRANO.
Are not their hearts the same when you stop?
CHRISTIAN.
No, for I belong to those--and I know it--who tremble, and know not how to speak of love.
CYRANO.
Strange!.... It seems to me that, if I were better looking, I should belong to the other class: those who know and dare.
CHRISTIAN.
Oh! that I could with elegance express my feelings!
CYRANO.
Or be a pretty little musketeer!
CHRISTIAN.
Roxane is a "_précieuse_," and, in her eyes, I shall be disgraced!
CYRANO (_looking at Christian_).
Oh! that for the feelings of my soul I had such an interpreter!
CHRISTIAN (_despairing_).
What would I not give for eloquence!
CYRANO (_eagerly_).
I'll lend you some! Lend you to me your physical attraction, and the two combined will constitute the hero of a romance.
CHRISTIAN.
What then?
CYRANO.
Would you feel equal to repeating the daily lessons I could give you?
CHRISTIAN.
What is it you propose?
CYRANO.
In Roxane's eyes you shall not be disgraced. Together, if you will, we can gain her love. Will you allow the soul so ill-restrained by my buckskin here to breathe and sing beneath your embroidered doublet?....
CHRISTIAN.
But Cyrano....
CYRANO.
.... Christian, will you?
CHRISTIAN.
Would it give you so much pleasure?
CYRANO (_enraptured_).
It would....
(_returning to his senses, and lightly_)
It would amuse me!
A trial this to tempt a poet. Come! We shall complete each other, if you will. You'll walk, and I'll be near you in the shade! I'll be the breath, and you shall be the form!
CHRISTIAN.
But that letter she expects. I cannot write it....
CYRANO (_taking from his doublet the letter he wrote a while before_).
Your letter?.... Here it is!
CHRISTIAN.
How is this?
CYRANO.
It lacks nothing but the address. You may send it. Feel no anxiety. It is as it should be.
CHRISTIAN.
But how is it that you?....
CYRANO.
We poets have about us, as a rule, Fine letters to the women we adore.... In our dreams. For we belong to those Whose love is but a fleeting fancy blown Into the rainbow-bubble of a name! Take this and make a truth of what is feigned. My rambling words of rapture flutter like Bewildered birds; you'll cause them to alight. The letter shows, itself--now take it!--that My eloquence was born of artifice.
CHRISTIAN.
But there may be a few words to change. Thus, written at random, will it fit Roxane?
CYRANO.
It will fit her like a glove! Human vanity is so credulous that Roxane will never doubt the letter was written for her!
CHRISTIAN.
You are my dearest friend!
(_He throws himself into Cyrano's arms. They remain embracing._)
_SCENE XI._
CYRANO, CHRISTIAN, THE GASCONS, THE MUSKETEER, LISE.
A CADET (_half opening the door_).
Complete silence.... the silence of death.... I fear to look around!
(_after a survey_) What!....
SEVERAL CADETS (_entering and looking at Cyrano and Christian locked in each other's arms_).
Ah!.... Oh!.... Impossible!....
(_Consternation._)
THE MUSKETEER (_jeeringly_).
Well, well!....
CARBON.
Our quarrelsome demon has become as lamblike as an apostle! Struck on one of his nostrils--he offers the other!
THE MUSKETEER.
So, now we may speak of his nose!....
(_calling Lise, triumphantly_).
Lise, just come and see!....
(_sniffing with affectation_).
Why!.... Why!.... this is surprising! It smells here of....
(_going up to Cyrano_).
But you, Sir, must have noticed it? It smells of....
CYRANO (_slapping Musketeer's face_).
Five-leaf clover!
(_General rejoicing, Cyrano is himself again. Cadets turn somersaults._)
_CURTAIN._
[Illustration: _SECOND ACT._]
[Illustration: _SECOND ACT._]
_ACT III._
THE KISS OF ROXANE.
_A small public square in the old Marais quarter of Paris. Old houses, narrow streets. To the right Roxane's house and garden, over the wall of which spread and hang the branches of large trees inside. Above the door, a window and a balcony. By the door a stone bench._