Cyrano De Bergerac
The Second Act
The Bakery of the Poets
Carbon We Know! All our company are here--
Cyrano (recoils) No--
Carbon Come! They are waiting for you. Cyrano.
Cyrano No!
Carbon (tries to lead him out.) Only across the street-- Come!
Cyrano Please--
Carbon (Goes to the door and shouts in a voice of thunder.) Our champion Refuses! Her is not feeling well to-day! A VOICE OUTSIDE
Ah! Sandious! (Noise outside of swords and trampling feet approaching.)
Carbon Here they come now!
The Cadets (entering the shop) Mille doious!-- Mordious!--Capdedious!--Pocapdedious!
Ragueneau (In astonishment) Gentlemen-- You are all Gascons?
The Cadets All!
First Cadet (to Cyrano) Bravo!
Cyrano Baron!
Another Cadet (Takes both his hands.) Vivat!
Cyrano Baron!
Third Cadet Come to my arms!
Cyrano Baron!
Others To mine!-- To mine!--
Cyrano Baron... Baron... Have mercy--
Ragueneau Are they?...
First Cadet Our coronets would star the midnight sky!
Le Bret (Rubbing his hands) Certainly I told them!
Citizen (Enters, followed by a group.) Listen! Shut the door!--Here come All Paris! (The street outside fills with a shouting crowd. Chairs and carriages stop at the door.)
Le Bret (Aside to Cyrano, smiling) And Roxane?
Cyrano (Quickly) Hush!
The crowd outside Cyrano! (A mob bursts into the shop. Shouts, acclamations, general disturbance.)
Ragueneau (Standing on a table.) My shop invaded-- They'll break everything-- Glorious!
Several Men (Crowding about Cyrano) My friend!... My friend!...
Cryano Why, yesterday I did not have so many friends!
Le Bret Success At last!
A Marquis (Runs to Cyrano, with outstretched hands) My dear--really!--
Cyrano (coldly) So? And how long Have I been dear to you?
Another Marquis One moment--pray! I have two ladies in my carriage here; Let me present you--
Cyrano Certainly! And first, Who will present you, sir,--to me?
Le Bret (Astounded) Why, what the devil?--
Cyrano Hush!
A Man of Letter (With a portfolio) May I have the details?...
Cyrano You many not.
Le Bret (Pucking Cyrano's sleeve) Theophraste Renaudot!--Editor of the Gazette--your reputation!...
Cyrano No!
A Poet (Advances) Monsieur--
Cyrano Well?
The Poet Your full name? I will compose A pentacrostic--
Another Monsieur--
Cyrano That will do! (Movement. The crowd arranges itself. De Guiche appears, escorted by Cuigy, Brissaille, and the other officers who were with Cyrano at the close of the First Act.)
Cuigy (Goes to Cyrano.) Monsieur de Guiche!-- (Murmur. Everyone moves.) A message from the Marshall De Gassion--
De Guiche (Saluting Cyrano) Who wishes to express through me his admiration. He has heard of your affair--
The crowd Bravo!
Cyrano (Bowing) The Marshall speaks as an authority.
De Guiche He said just now the story would have been incredible were it not for the witness--
Cuigy Of our eyes!
Le Bret (Aside to Cyrano) What is it?
Cyrano Hush!
Le Bret Something is wrong with you; Are you in pain?
Cyrano (Recovering himself) In pain? Before this crowd? (HIs moustache bristles. He throws out his chest.) I? In pain? You shall see!
De Guiche (To whom Cuigy has been whispering.) Your name is known already as a soldier. You are one of those wild Gascons, are you not?
Cyrano The Guards, Yes. A Cadet.
A Cadet (In a voice of thunder) One of ourselves!
De Guiche Ah! so-- Then all these gentlemen with the haughty air, these are the famous--
Carbon Cyrano!
Cyrano Captain?
Carbon Our troop being all present, be so kind as to present them to the Comte de Guiche!
Cyrano (With a gesture presenting the Cadets to De Guiche, declaims:)
The Cadets of Gascoyne--the defenders of Carbon de Castel-Jaloux: Free fighters, free lovers, free spenders-- The Cadets of Gascoyne--the defenders of old homes, old names, and old splendors-- a proud and a pestilent crew! The Cadets of Gascoyne, the defenders of Carbon de Castel-Jaloux.
Hawk-eyed, they stare down all contenders-- the wolf bares his fangs a s they do--Make way there, you fat money-lenders! (Hawk-eyed, they stare down all contenders) Old boots that have been to the menders, Old cloaks that are worn through and through--Hawk-eyed, they stare down all contenders-- the wolf bares his fangs as they do! Skull-breakers they are, and sword-benders; Red blood is their favorite brew; Hot haters and loyal befrienders, Skull-breakers they are, and sword-benders; Red blood is ther favorite brew! Behold the, our Gascon defenders Who win every woman they woo! There's never a dame but surrenders--Behold the, our Gascon defenders! Youn wives who are clever pretenders-- Old husbands who house the cuckoo--Behold them--our Gascon defenders who win every woman they woo!
De Guiche (Languidly, sitting in a chair) Poets are fashionable nowadays to have about one. Would you care to join my following?
Cyrano No sire. I don not follw.
De Guiche Your duel yesterday amused my uncle the Cardinal. I might help you there.
Le Bret Grand Dieu!
De Guiche I suppose you have written a tragedy-- they all have.
Le Bret (Aside to Cyrano) Now at last you'll have it played-- Your Agrippine!
De Guiche Why not? Take it to him.
Cyrano (Tempted) Really?--
De Guiche He himself a dramatist; Let him rewrite a few lines here and there, and he'll approve the rest.
Cyrano (His face falls again.) Impossible. My blood curdles to think of altering one comma.
De Guiche Ah, but when he likes a thing he pays well.
Cyrano Yes--but not so well as I-- when I have made a line that sings itself so that I love the sound of it--I pay myself a hundred times.
De Guiche You are proud, my friend.
Cyrano You have observed that?
A Cadet (Enters with a drawn sword, along the whole blade of which is transfixed a collection of disreputable hats, their plumes draggled, their crowns cut and torn.) Cyrano! See here--look what we found this morning in the street--the plumes dropped in their flight by those fine birds who showed the white feather!
Carbon Spoils of the hunt-- Well mounted!
The crowd Ha-ha-ha!
Cuigy Whoever hired those rascals, he must be an angry man to-day!
Brissaile Who was it? Do you know?
De Guiche Myself!--(the laughter ceases) I hired them to do the sort of work we do not soil our hands with--punishing a drunken poet... (uncomfortable silence)
The Cadet (to Cyrano) What shall we do with them? They ought ot be preserved before they spoil--
Cyrano (Takes the sword, and in the gesture of saluting De Guiche with it, makes all the hats slide off at his feet.) Sir, will you not return these to your friends?
De Guiche My chair--my porters here--immediately! --As for, sir! --
A Voice (In the street) The chair of Monseigneur Le Comte de Guiche!--
De Guiche (Who has recovered his self-control; smiling) Have you read Don Quixote?
Cyrano I have--and found myself the hero.
A Porter (Appears at the door.) Chair ready!
De Guiche Be so good as to read once more the chapter of the windmills
Cyrano (Gravely) Chapter thirteen.
De Guiche Windmills, remember, if you fight with them--
Cyrano Myn enemies change, then, with every wind?
De Guiche --May swing round their huge arms and cast you down into the mire.
Cyrano Orup--among the stars! (De Guiche goes out. We see him get into the chair. The officers follow murmuring among themselves. Le Bret goes up with them. The crowd goes out.)
Cyrano (Saluting with burlesque politeness, those who go out without daring to take leave of him.) Gentlemen... Gentlemen...
Le Bret (As the door closes, comes down, shaking his clenched hands to heaven.) You have done it now--You have made your fortune!
Cyrano There you go again, Growling!--
Le Bret Atleast this lates pose of yours-- ruining every chance that comes your way--becomes exaggerated--
Cyrano Very well, Then I exaggerate!
Le Bret (Triumphantly) Oh, you do!
Cyrano Yes; on principal. There are things in this world a man does will to carry to extremes.
Le Bret Stop trying to the Three Musketeers in one! Fortune and glory--
Cyrano What would you have me do? Seek for the patronage of some great man, and like a creeping vine on a tall tree crawl upward, where I cannot stand alone? No thank you! Dedicate, as others do, poems to pawnbrokers? Be a buffoon in the vile hope of teasing out a smile on some cold face? No thank you! Eat a toad for breakfast morning? Make my knees callous, and cultivate a supple spine,-- Wear out my belly grovelling in the dust? No thank you! Scratch the back of any swine that roots up gold for me? Tickle the horns of Mammon with my left hand, while my right too proud to know his partner's business, takes in the fee? No thank you! Use the fire God gave me to burn incense all day long under the nose of wood and stone? No thank you! Shall I go leaping into ladies' laps and licking fingers? --or--to change the form--navigating with madrigals for oars, my sails full of the sighs of dowagers? No thank you! Publish verses at my own expense? No thank you! Be the pratron saint of a small group of literary souls who dine together every Tuesday? No I thank you! Shall I labor night and day to build a reputation on one song, and never write anotehr? Shall I find true genius only among Geniuses, Palpitate over little paragraphs, and struggle to insinuate my name into the columns of the Mercury? No thank you! Calculate, scheme, be afraind, love more to make a visit than a poem, seek introductions, favors, influences?-- No thank you! No, I thank you! And again I thank you!--But...to sing, to laugh, to dream, to walk in my own way and be alone, free, with an eye to see things as they are, a voice that means manhood--to cock my hat where I choose--At a word, a Yes, a No, to fight--or write. To travel androad under the sun, under the stars, nor doubt if fame or fortune lie beyond the bourne--never to make a line I have not heard in my own hear; yet, with all modesty to say: "My soul, be satisfied with flowers, with fruit, with weeds even; but gather them in the one garden you may call your own." So, when I win some triumph, by some chance, render no share ot Caesar--in a word, I am too proud to be a parasite, and if my nature wants the germ that grows towering to heaven like the mountian pine, or like the oak, sheltering multitudes--I stand, not high it may be--but alone!
Le Bret Alone, yes!--But why stand against eh world? What devil has possessed you now to go everywhere making yourself enemies?
Cyrano Watching you other people making friend everywhere--as a dog makes friends! I mark the manner of these canine courtesies and think: "My friends are of a cleaner breed; here comes--thank God!--another enemy!"
Le Bret But this is madness!
Cyrano Method, let us say. It is my pleasure to displease. I love Hatred. Imagine how it feels to face the volley of a thousand angry eyes--the bile of envy and the froth of fear spattering little drops about me-- You-- good nature all around you, soft and warm-- you are like those Italians, in great cowls comfortable and loose-- Your chin sinks down into the folds, your shoulders droop. But I--the Spanish ruff I wear around my throat is like a ring of enemies; hard, proud, each point another pride, another thorn--So that I hold myself erect perforce. Wearing the hatred of the common herd haughtily, the harsh collar of Old Spain, at once a fetter and--a halo!
Le Bret Yes... (After a silence, draws Cyrano's arm through his own.) Tell this to all the world-- And then to me say very softly that...she loves you not.
Edmond Rostad
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