Part 3

CYRANO (_in the pit, standing on his chair, arms folded, hat cocked on the side of his head, his mustache bristling and his nose terrible_).

I am going to let my temper loose!

(_Excitement in the audience._)

[7] Note.--Alexandrine verse adopted here and further on (beginning of Act II) as being more pompous.

[8] Note.--The words "you kick," in the place of "tu récalcitres," were suggested by a friend, as a better translation. But the good critic failed to realise that Cyrano does not use slang, and is almost always, on the contrary, somewhat hyperbolic, addicted to willful oddity of speech.--"Récalcitrant," adj.-part. (doggedly resisting), is frequently used in French. But the infinitive "récalcitrer," though it exists, and the other forms of the verb are seldom, if ever, heard.--Cyrano, therefore, calls up a smile, if not a laugh, by resorting to the verb in the second person, singular, present, indicative.--_To recalcitrate_ is a good English word (see Longfellow), but it is so seldom used that it creates on the English ear the same impression of amused surprise that is induced by the original.

_SCENE IV._

_The same_, CYRANO, _then_ BELLEROSE, JODELET.

MONTFLEURY (_to the Marquises_).

Protect me, gentlemen!

A MARQUIS (_languidly_).

Play on! Play on!

CYRANO.

Now mind me, corpulence! If you play, I'll have to spank your cheeks.

THE MARQUIS.

Enough! Enough!

CYRANO.

Let the gentlemen remain silent on their benches. Otherwise their ribbons will have a taste of my stick.

ALL THE MARQUISES (_rising_).

This is too much, indeed! Montfleury!

CYRANO.

Montfleury must go, or I shall crop his ears and disembowel him!

A VOICE.

But ....

CYRANO.

He must go!

ANOTHER VOICE.

We cannot ....

CYRANO.

What! Not gone yet!

(_As if he were going to turn up his sleeves_). Then must I go upon the stage to cut up this overgrown sausage into slices?

MONTFLEURY (_with an attempt at dignity_).

By insulting me, Sir, you insult the Muse Thalia!

CYRANO (_with great courtesy_).

If the Muse Thalia, with whom you are not related, Sir, had the honour of your acquaintance and saw you so fat and so silly, she would certainly give you a lift with her buskin.

THE PIT.

Montfleury! Montfleury! The play.

CYRANO (_to the noisy ones around him_).

Have pity on my scabbard! If you continue thus, it will lose control of its blade.

(_The circle around him widens._)

(_to Montfleury_).

Get off the stage!

(_The crowd closes in on him, muttering._)

(_Turning suddenly_).

Any objection made?

(_Crowd falls back again._)

A VOICE (_in the rear_).

Monsieur de Cyrano is a tyrant. "La Clorise" shall be played.

THE AUDIENCE.

"La Clorise!" "La Clorise!"

CYRANO.

If I hear that again, I'll slaughter you all.

TRADESMAN.

You are not Samson!

CYRANO.

I will be, my dear Sir, if you'll lend me your jaw.

A LADY (_in one of the boxes_).

Disgraceful disturbance!

A GENTLEMAN.

Scandalous!

A PAGE.

Oh! What fun!

THE PIT.

Kss! Kss! Montfleury! Cyrano!

CYRANO.

Silence! Such is my order. I challenge the whole pit! Now for the names! Come up here, young heroes. Take the line, please; I'll distribute numbers. Well, who'll be number one? You, Sir? No! You, then? No! I'll favour number one by prompt attendance. Let any one who desires to die hold up a hand.

(_Silence around him._)

Oh! I see. You are prudish and would not like to see a blade naked. Not a name? Not a hand?--Very well, then, I continue.

(_Turning again to the stage, on which Montfleury is waiting in agony_).

I desire to see the stage cured of a monstrous tumor. And, if necessary, I'll use ... (_putting his hand to his sword_) a lancet!

MONTFLEURY.

But I ....

CYRANO (_gets off his chair and sits down on it, comfortably, with a wide circle around him_).

Attention, full moon! I'll clap my hands thrice. The third time, there must be an eclipse.

THE PIT (_amused_).

Ah! Good!

CYRANO (_striking his hands together_).

One!

MONTFLEURY.

But I ....

A VOICE (_from the boxes_).

Stay, Montfleury!

THE PIT.

Will stay, will not! Will stay, will not!

MONTFLEURY.

I believe, gentlemen ....

CYRANO.

Two!

MONTFLEURY.

It would be far better ....

CYRANO.

Three!

(_Montfleury disappears as if by magic. General laughter, whistling, etc._)

CYRANO (_leaning back in his chair, and crossing his legs_).

Let him return if he dares!

THE AUDIENCE.

The company's orator!

(_Bellerose advances and bows._)

THE BOXES.

Ah! here is Bellerose!

BELLEROSE (_with great elegance_).

Noble lords ....

THE PIT.

No! No! Jodelet!

JODELET (_with a nasal twang_).

Disturbers of the peace! The heavy tragedian whose bulk suits your fancy, felt....

THE PIT.

He is a coward!

JODELET.

Suddenly unwell ... and was compelled to retire.

THE PIT.

Let him return!--No!--Yes!--

A YOUNG MAN (_to Cyrano_).

But, after all, Sir, what reason is there for your hating Montfleury?

CYRANO (_very courteous, still seated_).

Young gosling, there are two, either one of which is sufficient in itself. First: he is a bad actor; he rants, and seems to lift with a derrick lines that have wings of their own. Second: but that is _my_ secret.

TRADESMAN (_behind Cyrano_).

But, Sir, you deprive us of the pleasure of hearing "La Clorise." I insist....

CYRANO (_turning in his chair toward the tradesman respectfully_).

Venerable mule, Baro's verse is worthless. I interrupt without the slightest remorse.

THE "PRÉCIEUSES" (_in the boxes_).

Baro! Our Baro! Heavens! Is it possible?

CYRANO (_turning his chair to the boxes, with great courtesy_).

Fair beings .... Irradiate and bloom, be Hebes, all, Dispensing dream; with smile make death a feast To us----inspire verse.... but judge it not!

BELLEROSE.

How about the money we'll have to return?

CYRANO (_turning his chair toward the stage_).

Bellerose, you have said the only intelligent thing yet heard to-day. I would not for the world make holes in the cloak of Thespis.

(_He rises and throws a small bag upon the stage_).

Catch this purse and hold your tongue!

THE AUDIENCE (_bewildered_).

Ah!.... Oh!....

JODELET (_picking up the purse and weighing it_).

For the same price, Sir, you may daily prevent the performance of "La Clorise"!....

THE AUDIENCE.

Hu!.... Hu!....

JODELET.

Even if we are to be hooted .... Clear the house!

(_The audience begins to leave. Cyrano looks on with great satisfaction. The crowd, however, soon stops as the following discussion begins. The ladies in the boxes, who had already risen to go, and put on their wraps, resume their seats_).

LE BRET (_to Cyrano_).

You are insane!

AN INTRUDER (_who has come up to Cyrano_).

A comedian like Montfleury! Scandalous! Why! He is a favourite of the Duke de Candale's! What powerful patron have you?

CYRANO.

None!

THE INTRUDER.

No patron?

CYRANO.

No!

THE INTRUDER.

What! no high-born gentleman whose name can shield you?

CYRANO (_impatient_).

I've said No twice already. A third time: No! I've no protector.... (_his hand on his sword_) but this!

THE INTRUDER.

You are going to leave town, then?

CYRANO.

Hardly probable.

THE INTRUDER.

But the Duke has a long reach!

CYRANO.

Not so long as mine .... (_showing his sword_) with this extension! Now, go about your business.

THE INTRUDER.

But allow me....

CYRANO.

Go! Or, rather, tell me why you look so sharply at my nose.

THE INTRUDER (_abashed_).

What! I....

CYRANO.

Is there anything extraordinary about it?

THE INTRUDER.

Your lordship mistakes....

CYRANO.

Is it soft and swinging like an elephant's trunk?

THE INTRUDER.

I did not say....

CYRANO.

Or crooked like the beak of an owl?

THE INTRUDER.

No; I....

CYRANO.

Is there a wart on the end of it? Or a fly? What's amiss with it? Or is it a phenomenon?

THE INTRUDER.

Why, I didn't even look at it!

CYRANO.

Why shouldn't you look at it? Is it repulsive?

THE INTRUDER.

My dear Sir....

CYRANO.

In colour unhealthy? In shape indecent?

THE INTRUDER.

Not at all!

CYRANO.

Why, then, seem to revile it? Perhaps the gentleman finds it rather large?

THE INTRUDER (_stammering_).

I find it small, very, very small.

CYRANO.

How small? Ridiculously then? My nose small! Why, my nose is enormous! Remember, vile flat-nose and flat-head, that I am proud of such an appendix! For a large nose properly indicates a man that is affable, kind, courteous, witty, liberal and brave, such as I am, and such as you, miserable knave! can never be; for the inglorious face that my hand is about to seek above your collar is as destitute ..... (_he slaps intruder's face_).

THE INTRUDER.

Oh!

CYRANO.

Of pride, of flight, of poesy, of picturesqueness, of fire, of magnificence, of Nose, in fact, as the one.... (_Cyrano seizes the Intruder by the shoulders and kicks him in the seat_) that my boot now reaches at the base of your back.

THE INTRUDER (_escaping_).

Help! Guards!

CYRANO.

Fair warning, then, to idle lookers on Who criticise the centre of my face! The critic, if a gentleman, will get,-- Before he flies,--in front and higher too, My custom's such, some steel instead of leather!

GUICHE (_who with the marquises, has come down from the stage_).

The gentleman is getting very tiresome!

VICOMTE DE VALVERT (_shrugging his shoulders_).

He is a braggart!

GUICHE.

And no one answers him?....

THE VICOMTE.

No one? Just wait. Such a retort as I'm going to send him!

(_He advances toward Cyrano, who has been looking at him, and draws himself up with an air of foppish vanity._)

You.... you have a nose.... hum! a nose, Sir, that is.... very large.

CYRANO (_very quietly and seriously_).

Very large, indeed!

VICOMTE (_laughing_).

Ha! Ha!

CYRANO (_with great self-possession_).

Is that all?

VICOMTE.

Well, I....

CYRANO.

No, no, that's a little too short, young man! You might have said.... Well.... many things.... in different keys. For instance, listen: _Aggressive_: "I, Sir, had I such a nose, would at once have it amputated."--_Friendly_: "It must dip into your glass. To drink with comfort, you should have a hanap constructed!"--_Descriptive_: "It is a rock!... a peak!!.... a headland!!! More than a headland, a whole peninsula!"--_Inquisitive_: "What may this oblong thing be used for? A writing-desk or a tool-chest?"--_Pleasant_: "Do you love birds so much that you feel bound to offer them so comfortable a resting place?"--_Fierce_: "When you use tobacco, Sir, can you emit smoke from that nose without your neighbours' crying that there is a chimney on fire?"--_Thoughtful_: "Be careful; so much top-hamper might cause you to fall!"--_Affectionate_: "Have a parasol made for it; the sun might fade its colour!"--_Pedantic_: "For so much flesh on so much bone beneath the forehead, we must go back, Sir, to the animal Aristophanes calls Hippocampelephantocamelos!"--_Flippant_: "Why! man, is that the fashion for hooks? Certainly convenient for hanging up a hat!"--_Emphatic_: "Masterly nose, no wind can make you catch aught but a fractional cold! None but a northern hurricane!"--_Dramatic_: "When it bleeds, we have the Red Sea!"--_Admiringly_: "For a perfumer, what a sign!"--_Lyric_: "Is it a shell trumpet, and are you a triton?"--_Innocent_: "When is this monument open to visitors?"--_Respectful_: "This is really owning a mansion with a gable on it!"--_Countrylike_: "That be not a nose, but a big turnip, or a young melon!"--_Military_: "Point against cavalry!"--_Practical_: "Will you put it up in a lottery? It will surely be the largest prize!"--Finally, to parody the grief of Pyramus:

So here we have the nose that on its master came To ruin harmony! The traitor's red for shame!

That is about what you might have said, dear boy, if you had a sprinkling of letters and a bit of humour. Of humour, though, lamentable being, you never had an atom; and, as to letters, you never had but the four that spell the word Fool!--Some invention is requisite for extravagant jests before such an audience, but, even if you had it, you could not have uttered a quarter of the half of the beginning of what I said; for I may be willing to serve such sport myself, but I allow nobody to serve it to _me_.

GUICHE (_endeavouring to lead away the Vicomte_).

Vicomte, pay no attention to him!

VICOMTE (_overwhelmed_).

Such arrogance! An insignificant little squire .... who .... who .... doesn't even wear gloves!....and who sallies forth without ribbons, bows or trimmings!

CYRANO.

'Tis morally I have my elegance, I do not dress as does a fop, but I Am better groomed than some more richly clad. I'd not set forth with traces of neglect About me, say: an insult left unwashed, A conscience still confused and half asleep, My honour soiled, or scruples out of shape. When I proceed, I do so clean and bright, With truthful independence for a plume. 'Tis not my form I lace to hold it up, It is my soul I try to elevate! The ribbons that I wear are only deeds; I twist perhaps my wit like a mustache; But then I cause, as I go through your groups, Above the clash of spurs, the truth to ring!

VICOMTE.

But, Sir ....

CYRANO.

I have no gloves on?.... What matters it? I did have one left from a very old pair! One day I found it somewhat in the way .... and I left it on somebody's face.

VICOMTE.

Knave, puppy, flat-footed ridiculous bully!

CYRANO (_taking off his hat and bowing, as if the Vicomte had just presented himself_).

Ah! delighted!.... and I: Cyrano, Savinian, Hercules de Bergerac.

(_Laughter around._)

VICOMTE (_exasperated_).

Buffoon!

CYRANO (_uttering a cry as if he had a cramp_).

Ay!....

VICOMTE (_who was leaving, returning_).

What is it now?

CYRANO (_grinning as if in pain_).

I must move it, for it is asleep.... What a mistake to let it remain inactive.... Ay!....

VICOMTE.

What ails you?

CYRANO.

It's my sword that's tingling!

VICOMTE (_drawing his sword_).

Be it so!

CYRANO.

I'll show you a neat little thrust.

VICOMTE (_disdainfully_).

Poet!

CYRANO.

Yes, Sir, a poet! So much so that, while we play swords here, I mean--hop!--on the spur of the moment, to improvise for you a ballade.

VICOMTE.

A ballade?

CYRANO.

Yes. I'll wager you do not know what is a ballade.

VICOMTE.

But....

CYRANO (_as if reciting a lesson_).

Well, then, a ballade is composed of three stanzas of eight lines each....

VICOMTE (_stamping impatiently_).

Oh!

CYRANO (_continuing_).

Plus an Envoy of four lines. Twenty-eight lines in all, with only three rimes....

VICOMTE.

You....

CYRANO.

I am going to compose one while fighting, and when I come to the last line, Sir, I'll touch you!

VICOMTE.

You'll not!

CYRANO.

Be sure, I shall!

(_Declaiming._)

Ballade of the Duel Between Monsieur de Bergerac and a Coxcomb.

VICOMTE.

What is that, if you please?

CYRANO.

That is the title.

THE AUDIENCE (_greatly excited_).

Make room there!.... Capital!.... Stand back!.... Be silent!....

(_Tableau.--Circle of lookers-on in the pit,--marquises and officers, with the tradesmen and common people. Pages on each others' shoulders for a better view. All the women standing in the boxes. To the right, Guiche and his followers. To the left, Le Bret, Ragueneau, Cuigy, etc._).

CYRANO (_closing his eyes for a moment_).

Wait....I'm selecting my rimes....There now, I'm ready!

(_He does as he says while speaking the verses._)

My hat with grace I cast aside; Next, watch me, please, I slowly free The cloak in which I'm wont to stride; And then I draw my sword, you see. A Celadon[9] you have in me, A Scaramuccia very much; But, pygmy, moderate your glee, For, when I close th' Envoy, I'll touch!

'Twere better you had slept or died. O goose, where shall I puncture thee? Beneath the ribs? Above? Decide! Or through the breast, where ribbons be? The hilts are ringing. One, two, three! My sword, beware! is not a crutch. I'll strike according to decree, For, when I close th' Envoy, I'll touch!

I seek in vain a rime in _ide_. You back--and whiten--let's agree Upon a word, say: trembling hide, So, tac! I parry, just a wee, Your vicious thrust. Now finish we! I open--quart--or something such---- Hold well that spit, you dog, or flee,[10] For, when I close th' Envoy, I'll touch!

(_He announces with solemnity_).

ENVOY.[11]

Now, Prince, may heaven hear your plea! I follow, though you break and clutch. I cut--I feint--Be ready--Hee! (_He lunges._)

(_Vicomte staggers; Cyrano bows._)

For now I close th' Envoy.... (_pointing to Vicomte_)

I touch!

(_Applause in boxes. Flowers and handkerchiefs are thrown. Officers surround and congratulate Cyrano. Ragueneau dances for joy. Le Bret seems both overjoyed and dejected. The Vicomte's friends support him and bear him off._)

A MUSKETEER (_most cordially shaking Cyrano's hand_).

Allow an expert to congratulate you, Sir, most heartily.

(_He leaves._)

CYRANO (_to Cuigy_).

Who is this gentleman?

CUIGY.

D'Artagnan!

LE BRET (_passing his arm through Cyrano's_).

Now let us talk!....

CYRANO.

Wait till the crowd has left. (_to Bellerose_). May we stay a while?

BELLEROSE (_to Cyrano_).

Certainly, Sir.

(_giving orders to Janitor_).

Close the house, but do not put out the lights. We'll return after dinner for a rehearsal.

(_Jodelet and Bellerose bow to Cyrano, then exeunt._)

JANITOR (_to Cyrano_).

You are not going to dinner, Sir?

CYRANO.

I?.... No.

(_Exit Janitor._)

LE BRET (_to Cyrano_).

Why not?

CYRANO (_proudly_).

Because....

(_changing his tone, when he sees that the Janitor has gone_).

Because I have no money!....

LE BRET (_as if throwing a purse_).

How about that bag of coin?

CYRANO.

Monthly allowance, thou wert short lived! One day!

LE BRET.

For a whole month, then....

CYRANO.

I have nothing left.

LE BRET.

To throw away thus your purse, what folly!

CYRANO.

Yes, but what a gesture!

THE WAITING-GIRL (_behind the counter_).

Hum!

(_Cyrano and Le Bret turn around. She advances timidly._)

Sir .... I cannot bear.... to see you fast.... (_Showing the buffet_). I have here several things.... Take some!

CYRANO (_taking off his hat_).

My dear child, Gascon pride forbids my accepting from you the smallest of your delicacies. But, on the other hand, I would not for the whole world offend you, as my refusal might do. So I will with pleasure accept....

(_Goes up to the buffet and chooses._)

Oh! the smallest thing!.... ah! one grape from this bunch.

(_She tries to make him take the bunch, but he picks out a single grape._)

Only one.... a glass of water....

(_She tries to pour some wine, but he prevents her._)

Pure water!.... and half a maccaroon.

(_He breaks a maccaroon in two, and returns one of the pieces._)

LE BRET.

What nonsense!

WAITING-GIRL.

Do have something more!

CYRANO.

Yes, your hand to kiss.

(_He kisses her hand as if she were a princess._)

WAITING-GIRL.

Thank you, Sir!

(_Curtsies._)

A very good evening!

(_Exit waiting-girl._)

[9] Note.--One of the translations that have appeared in the New York daily press renders "Céladon" by reference to Lord Chesterfield! The time of action (first four acts) of "Cyrano de Bergerac" is 1640, and Lord Chesterfield was _born_ only 54 years _later_.

[10] Note.--In the original, Cyrano calls his opponent "Laridon." This is the name of a degenerate _dog_. See fables of La Fontaine ("L'Education").

[11] Note.--"L'Envoi," as often written, supposedly in French, is incorrect. It is, in French, when heading the last four lines of a ballade, "Envoi," without the article, l' (le).

_SCENE V._

CYRANO, LE BRET, _later_ JANITOR.

CYRANO (_to Le Bret_).

Now, I'll listen to you.

(_He goes to the buffet, on which he places the half maccaroon._)

Dinner!

(_Then the glass of water._)

Drink!

(_And the one grape from the bunch._)

Dessert!

(_Takes a seat by the buffet._)

Now for the feast! My dear friend, I feel very hungry.... (_Eating_) Well? You were saying?....

LE BRET.

That all these bellicose doings and the admiration they elicit will warp your judgment. Go ask people of sense what they think of this last prank of yours, of its effect.

CYRANO (_finishing his half maccaroon_).

Enormous!....

LE BRET.

The Cardinal!....

CYRANO (_beaming with delight_).

He was there? The Cardinal?

LE BRET.

Yes, and he must have found you....

CYRANO.

Anything but commonplace.

LE BRET.

Nevertheless....

CYRANO.

He's an author. And he must have enjoyed seeing another's play crushed.

LE BRET.

You are, really, making too many enemies!

CYRANO (_munching his one grape_).

How many do you estimate I have made to-day?

LE BRET.

Forty-eight, without counting the women.

CYRANO.

Enumerate them.

LE BRET.

Montfleury, the tradesman, Guiche, the Vicomte, Baro, the Academy....

CYRANO.

You give me infinite joy!

LE BRET.

What will all this lead you to? What system is yours?

CYRANO.

I was really meandering, and I found so many conclusions to adopt, through so many complications, that I came to this decision....

LE BRET.

Which is?....

CYRANO.

Oh! the simplest of all, by far. I decided to show myself admirable in all, and for all!

LE BRET (_shrugging his shoulders_).

So be it!.... But come now, tell me, tell _me_, the true reason of your hatred for Montfleury.

CYRANO (_rising_).

This Silenus, with a stomach like a hogshead, still believes himself a danger to womankind. See him, while he stammers on the stage, ogling like a carp, with his frog's eyes! I hate him since he dared, once, to set those eyes of his upon her.... Oh! I felt as if I saw a long slug crawling over a flower!

LE BRET (_astounded_).

What, is it possible?....

CYRANO (_with a bitter laugh_).

That I love?

(_changing to a solemn tone_).

I do love.

LE BRET.

Whom? May I enquire? You never told me.

CYRANO.

Whom I love? Come now, reflect. The dream of being loved, even by a homely girl, is one forbidden me. Forbidden by this nose of mine that precedes me everywhere by fifteen minutes. So, then, I love .... Whom? Why! it is most natural! I love .... it could not be otherwise, the loveliest of the lovely!

LE BRET.

The loveliest?....

CYRANO.

Exactly .... in the world! The most brilliant, the most exquisite, (_crushed_) the blondest!

LE BRET.

This woman is?....

CYRANO.

A deadly danger, though She knows it not; a snare that Nature made Unconscious, like a sweetly budding rose Whose leaves conceal,--in ambush lurking, love. Who sees her smile knows what perfection is: Her slightest touch engenders loveliness; She moves as if all heaven's grace were hers, And Venus ne'er embarked in any shell, Nor did Diana tread the sylvan paths As my adored can step into a chair!

LE BRET.

I understand! Quite clear.

CYRANO.

Transparent, say.

LE BRET.

It's Magdeleine, your cousin?

CYRANO.

Yes, Roxane.

LE BRET.

Well, where's the harm? You love her? Tell her so! She witnessed here just now your valiant deed!

CYRANO.

Why! Look at me, good friend, and say what hope There can be with .... such a protuberance! I clearly see the truth. But, then, of course, My heart will beat, perchance, at eventide, If, with this nose, I scent the breath of spring. Or else, I see, along some moonlit path, A whisp'ring pair of lovers slowly move; And then I think what rapture would be mine If on my arm a gentle creature leaned. I dream: but suddenly, I'm brought to sense. By what? Alas! My profile on the wall!

LE BRET.

Dear friend!....

CYRANO.

Yes, friend, it's hard indeed to feel So homely and forlorn at times....

LE BRET (_taking his hand_).

You weep!

CYRANO.