Cyrano, Christian.
CYRANO:
Embrace me now!
Embrace me now!
CHRISTIAN:
Sir. . .
Sir. . .
CYRANO:
You are brave.
You are brave.
CHRISTIAN:
Oh! but. . .
Oh! but. . .
CYRANO:
Nay, I insist.
Nay, I insist.
CHRISTIAN:
Pray tell me. . .
Pray tell me. . .
CYRANO:
Come, embrace! I am her brother.
Come, embrace! I am her brother.
CHRISTIAN:
Whose brother?
Whose brother?
CYRANO:
Hers i’ faith! Roxane’s!
Hers i’ faith! Roxane’s!
CHRISTIAN (rushing up to him):
O heavens!
Her brother. . .?
O heavens!
Her brother. . .?
CYRANO:
Cousin—brother!. . .the same thing!
Cousin—brother!. . .the same thing!
CHRISTIAN:
And she has told you. . .?
And she has told you. . .?
CYRANO:
All!
All!
CHRISTIAN:
She loves me? say!
She loves me? say!
CYRANO:
Maybe!
Maybe!
CHRISTIAN (taking his hands):
How glad I am to meet you, Sir!
How glad I am to meet you, Sir!
CYRANO:
That may be called a sudden sentiment!
That may be called a sudden sentiment!
CHRISTIAN:
I ask your pardon. . .
I ask your pardon. . .
CYRANO (looking at him, with his hand on his shoulder):
True, he’s fair, the villain!
True, he’s fair, the villain!
CHRISTIAN:
Ah, Sir! If you but knew my admiration!. . .
Ah, Sir! If you but knew my admiration!. . .
CYRANO:
But all those noses?. . .
But all those noses?. . .
CHRISTIAN:
Oh! I take them back!
Oh! I take them back!
CYRANO:
Roxane expects a letter.
Roxane expects a letter.
CHRISTIAN:
Woe the day!
Woe the day!
CYRANO:
How?
How?
CHRISTIAN:
I am lost if I but ope my lips!
I am lost if I but ope my lips!
CYRANO:
Why so?
Why so?
CHRISTIAN:
I am a fool—could die for shame!
I am a fool—could die for shame!
CYRANO:
None is a fool who knows himself a fool.
And you did not attack me like a fool.
None is a fool who knows himself a fool.
And you did not attack me like a fool.
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. . .
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?
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.
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!
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!. . .
Oh, to express one’s thoughts with facile grace!. . .
CYRANO:
. . .To be a musketeer, with handsome face!
. . .To be a musketeer, with handsome face!
CHRISTIAN:
Roxane is precieuse. I’m sure to prove
A disappointment to her!
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!
Had I but
Such an interpreter to speak my soul!
CHRISTIAN (with despair):
Eloquence! Where to find it?
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!
That I lend,
If you lend me your handsome victor-charms;
Blended, we make a hero of romance!
CHRISTIAN:
How so?
How so?
CYRANO:
Think you you can repeat what things
I daily teach your tongue?
Think you you can repeat what things
I daily teach your tongue?
CHRISTIAN:
What do you mean?
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?
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!. . .
But, Cyrano!. . .
CYRANO:
Will you, I say?
Will you, I say?
CHRISTIAN:
I fear!
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?
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!
Your eyes flash!
CYRANO:
Will you?
Will you?
CHRISTIAN:
Will it please you so?
—Give you such pleasure?
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!
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. . .
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!
See! Here it is—your letter!
CHRISTIAN:
What?
What?
CYRANO:
Take it! Look, it wants but the address.
Take it! Look, it wants but the address.
CHRISTIAN:
But I. . .
But I. . .
CYRANO:
Fear nothing. Send it. It will suit.
Fear nothing. Send it. It will suit.
CHRISTIAN:
But have you. . .?
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!
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?
Were it not well
To change some words? Written haphazard-wise,
Will it fit Roxane?
CYRANO:
’Twill fit like a glove!
’Twill fit like a glove!
CHRISTIAN:
But. . .
But. . .
CYRANO:
Ah, credulity of love! Roxane
Will think each word inspired by herself!
Ah, credulity of love! Roxane
Will think each word inspired by herself!
CHRISTIAN:
My friend!
My friend!
(He throws himself into Cyrano’s arms. They remain thus.)
