"Hotel de Bourgogne (Paris 1640)" "Hollo!" "You there!" "Your money!" "I enter gratis." "Why?" "I am of the King's Household Cavalry!" "And you?" "I pay nothing." "How so?" "I am a musketeer." "The play will not begin yet." "The pit is empty." "It will not begin till two." "Come, a bout with the foils." "Pst..." "Flanquin!" "Don't you hear me?" "Champagne?" "Let's play." "I am with you, villain!" "I made free to provide myself with light at my master's expense!" "'Twas prettily done to come before the lights were lit!" "A kiss!" "A hit!" "They're looking!" "No, they are not." "Hearts are trumps." "Come here, son." "A tippler may well quaff his Burgundy in the Burgundy Hotel!" "'Faith!" "A man might think he had fallen in a bad house here!" "What with topers!" "Brawlers!" "Gamblers!" "One kiss." "No!" "And this, my boy, is the theater where they played Rotrou erewhile." "Ay, and Corneille." "You pages there, none of your tricks!" "Oh, sir... such a suspicion." "And a fish-hook with it." "We can angle for wigs, then up there in the gallery." "Hark ye, young cut-purses, lend an ear... while I give you your first lesson in thieving." "Have you peashooters?" "Ay, have we, and peas withal!" "What piece do they give us?" "'Clorise.'" "Who may the author be?" "Balthazar Baro." "It is a play." "The lace knee-ruffles..." "cut them off!" "I was up there, the first night of the 'Cid.'" "Watches..." "You shall presently see some actors..." "Handkerchiefs..." "Montfleury..." "Bellerose, L'Epy, La Beaupre, Jodelet!" "Here comes the buffet-girl!" "Milk, cider, chocolate, fruit juice and beer." "Brutes!" "The Marquises!" "In the pit?" "Only for a minute or two!" "What now!" "So we make our entrance like a pack of woolen-drapers!" "No toes to tread on and no one needs to get up." "Fie!" "Cuigy!" "Brissaille!" "Dear friend, what a disgrace." "We are here before the candles are lit." "Tell me about it." "What a sight." "Marquis!" "See, for your consolation, they are coming to light up!" "Ligniere!" "Not drunk as yet?" "I may introduce you?" "Baron de Neuvillette." "Charming." "Each to their own." "De Cuigy." "De Brissaille." "Delighted!" "He is not ill to look at, but certes, he is not costumed in the latest mode." "This gentleman comes from Touraine." "Three weeks ago." "Tomorrow I join the Guards, in the Cadets." "You will soon see the elite here." "The ladies Guéménée." "Who once loved me." "Madame de Chavigny." "Who sports with our poor hearts!" "Friend, I but came here to give you pleasure." "The lady comes not, I will betake me again to my pet vice." "No stay, you who knows everybody." "Tell me who the lady is for whom I die of love." "Lemon-drink, macaroons!" "Violins, attention." "I fear me she is coquettish." "I, who am so poor of wit, I should not speak." "This language that they speak to-day, and write, confounds me." "I am but a soldier." "I must go." "Nay, stay." "It is late." "I die of thirst." "Lemonade?" "Oh, stay away from me." "Milk?" "Have mercy, woman." "Madeira?" "Halt!" "I will remain." "Madeira." "The king of pastry-cooks." "Sir, have you seen Cyrano?" "The pastry-cook of the actors and the poets!" "You do me too great honor." "Hold your peace, Maecenas that you are." "True, these gentlemen employ me." "On credit." "He is himself a poet of a pretty talent." "So they tell me." "Mad after poetry." "'Tis true that, for a little ode... you give a tart." "Oh, a tartlet." "He would fain fain excuse himself." "And for a triolet, now... some little rolls." "Milk-rolls!" "And as for the theater, which you love?" "Oh, to distraction!" "But where is Cyrano?" "You thought he was here?" "Montfleury plays." "Ay, 'tis true that that old wine-barrel is to take Phedon's part to-night... but what matter is that to Cyrano?" "Know you not?" "He has forbid him strictly to show his face on the stage for one whole month." "Well?" "Montfleury will play!" "He can not hinder that." "Oh, that I have come to see." "Who is this Cyrano?" "A fellow well skilled in all tricks of fence." "Is he of noble birth?" "He is a cadet in the Guards." "Look 'tis his friend." "Le Bret!" "Seek you for De Bergerac?" "Ay, I am uneasy..." "He is playing some trick on Montfleury." "Is it not true that Cyrano is the strangest of men?" "True, that he is the choicest of earthly beings!" "Poet!" "Soldier!" "Philosopher!" "Musician!" "And of how fantastic a presence!" "He has a nose...!" "A nose that leaves one speechless." "When one sees it one is fain to cry aloud, 'Nay!" "'tis too much!" "Then one laughs, says 'He will anon take it off.' But no!" "He always keeps it on." "And he cleaves in two any man who dares remark on it!" "He will not die in his bed." "He will not come!" "I say he will!" "I wager a fowl a la Ragueneau." "Ah gentlemen, look up there!" "She is fearfully... terribly..." "ravishing!" "A peach smiling at a strawberry." "A man approaching her too near might chance to get a bad chill at the heart!" "'Tis she!" "Ah, is it she?" "Ay, tell me quick." "I am afraid." "Magdaleine Robin, Roxane, so called." "A subtle wit, a precieuse." "Woe is me!" "Free." "An orphan." "The cousin of Cyrano." "Who is yonder man?" "Count De Guiche." "Married, but keep an eye on him." "Would fain marry Roxane to a certain sorry fellow." "Monsieur de Valvert, a viscount." "She will none of that bargain, but De Guiche is powerful." "He will not give up easily." "I myself have exposed this cunning plan of his to the world, in a song which... he must rage at me!" "The end hit home." "Listen!" "No." "Good-night." "Where go you?" "To Monsieur de Valvert!" "Have a care!" "It is he who will kill you." "Stay where you are." "She is looking at you." "It is true." "'Tis I who am going." "They expect me." "No sign of Cyrano." "All the same..." "A hope is left to me:" "that he has not seen the playbill." "Begin, begin!" "His Majesty De Guiche." "Another strutter." "That is the stuff success is made of." "We had best make our bow to him." "What fine ribbons!" "How call you the color, Count De Guiche?" "'Kiss me, my darling,' or 'Timid Fawn?" "'" "'Tis the color called 'Sick Spaniard.'" "The color speaks truth, for things will soon go ill for Spain." "I go on the stage." "Will you come?" "Come you Valvert!" "Valvert?" "Ah, I will throw full in his face my..." "Hey?" "I was looking for a glove." "And you find a hand." "What?" "Let me but go, and I will deliver you a secret." "What is it?" "Ligniere... he who has just left you." "Well?" "His life is in peril." "A song writ by him has given offense in high places... and a hundred men" "I am of them- are posted to-night." "A hundred men!" "By whom posted?" "Pardon?" "Speak, man." "A secret of the profession." "Where?" "At the Porte de Nesle." "On his way homeward." "Warn him." "But where can I find him?" "Run round to all the taverns." "And at each leave a word for him." "Good, I fly!" "A hundred men 'gainst one." "Cowards!" "Ah, to leave her!" "And him!" "But save Ligniere I must!" "What means this sudden silence?" "It's true, believe me." "He is coming." "Is he going upstairs?" "The Cardinal?" "The Cardinal." "Let us bet." "The devil!" "We shall have to behave ourselves." "Snuff that candle!" "A chair!" "Silence!" "Montfleury comes on the scene?" "Ay, 'tis he who begins." "Cyrano is not here." "I have lost my wager." "'Tis all the better." "Bravo, Montfleury!" "Montfleury!" "Happily away from the world, in a solitary life... he put himself in voluntary exile... and when a breeze ruffled through the woods..." "Villain!" "Did I not forbid you to show your face here for month?" "Who is that?" "Cyrano!" "Leave!" "King of clowns!" "Leave immediately!" "But..." "Do you dare defy me?" "Peace!" "Play on!" "Happily away from the world..." "Will it take long?" "Stay, Montfleury!" "I shall grill him!" "Be silent!" "Play on!" "All be seated for dinner." "Grilled jambon d'Ardenne." "Allow me to cut you up." "You outrage Thalia in insulting me!" "If that Muse, Sir, who knows you not at all... could claim acquaintance with you, oh, believe... seeing how urn-like, fat, and slow you are... that she would make you taste her buskin's sole!" "Montfleury!" "Montfleury!" "Come." "Baro's play!" "If you go on, my scabbard soon will render up its blade!" "Leave!" "Did some one speak?" "Monsieur de Cyrano... displays his tyrannies." "Come!" "Play us 'La Clorise!" "'" "'La Clorise!" "' 'La Clorise!" "'" "I order silence, all!" "Or you will regret it." "I challenge the whole pit collectively." "Approach, heroes!" "Well, who dares?" "Each in his turn!" "I cry the numbers out!" "Now which of you will come to open the lists?" "You, Sir?" "No!" "You?" "No!" "I guarantee it is a beautiful journey." "Service is excellent." "Who wants to die?" "Modest?" "You fear to see my naked blade?" "Not one name?" "Not one hand?" "The theater's too full, congested..." "I will clap my hands thrice!" "At the third clap, eclipse yourself!" "One!" "Stay!" "He stays... he goes... he stays..." "I think, gentlemen..." "Two!" "I think 'twere wisest.." "Three!" "If he dares..." "My noble lords..." "No, no!" "Calves!" "No bravos, Sirs!" "The fat tragedian whom you all love, felt..." "Coward!" "was obliged to go." "But pray, Sir... for what reason, say, hate you Montfleury?" "Youthful gander, know I have two reasons." "But either will suffice." "Primo." "An actor who mouths, and heaves up like a bucket from a well." "The verses that should, bird-like, fly!" "Secundo." "That is my secret." "But you deprive us Of the 'Clorise!" "'" "I must insist..." "Old mule!" "The verses of old Baro are not worth a doit!" "I'm glad to interrupt..." "How dares he venture!" "Who will pay for this?" "Bellerose, you make the first intelligent remark!" "Would I rend Thespis' sacred mantle?" "Nay!" "Catch then the purse I throw, and hold your peace!" "At this price, you've authority to come each night, and stop 'Clorise,' Sir!" "Listen to them all!" "The show has been cancelled." "Clear out the hall!" "But he becomes a nuisance!" "A swaggerer!" "Will no one put him down?" "I'll treat him to one of my quips!" "See here!" "Sir!" "You have... have... a nose!" "A nose... that's very big!" "Very." "Is that all?" "What?" "That was a trifle short!" "Let me teach you." "You might have said at least a hundred things." "Like this, suppose." "Aggressive!" "'Sir, if I had such a nose I'd amputate it!" "'" "Or friendly." "'When you sup, it must annoy you, dipping in your cup.'" "'You need a drinking-bowl of special shape!" "'" "Descriptive." ""Tis a rock!" "A peak!" "A cape!" "'Tis the Mont Blanc!" "'" "Curious." "'How serves that oblong capsular?" "'" "'For scissor-sheath?" "Or pot to hold your ink?" "'" "Gracious." "'You love the little birds, I think?" "'" "'I see you've managed to find their tiny claws a roomy perch!" "'" "Considerate." "'Take care, your head bowed low by such a weight lest head o'er heels you go!" "'" "Or tender." "'Pray get a small umbrella made...'" "'Lest its bright color in the sun should fade!" "'" "Pedantic!" "'That beast Aristophanes names Hippocamelelephantoles...' 'must have possessed just such a solid lump...' 'of flesh and bone, beneath his forehead's bump!" "'" "Or cavalier." "'The last fashion, friend, that hook?" "To hang your hat on?" "'" "'Tis a useful crook!" "'" "Emphatic." "'No wind, O majestic nose, Can give thee cold!" "'" "'Save when the mistral blows!" "'" "Admiring." "'Sign for a perfumery!" "'" "Respectful." "'One has to agree with the saying that the front improves the house.'" "Simple." "'When is the monument on view?" "'" "Rustic." "'That thing a nose?" "Marry-come-up!" "'Tis a dwarf pumpkin, or a prize turnip!" "'" "Practical." "'Put it in a lottery!" "Assuredly 'twould be the biggest prize!" "'" "Or... parodying Pyramus' sighs..." "'Behold the nose that mars the harmony of its master's phiz!" "'" "Such, my dear sir, is what you might have said... had you of wit or letters the least jot." "Of wit you never had an atom, and of letters you only know your name." "And I take jest from myself all in good part... but not from any other man that breathes!" "Come away, Viscount!" "A country lout who has got no gloves and goes out without sleeve-knots!" "True, all my elegances are within." "I do not prank myself out, puppy-like." "My toilet is more thorough, if less gay." "I would not sally forth, a half-washed- out affront upon my cheek, a conscience." "yellow-eyed, bilious, from its sodden sleep... a ruffled honor, scruples grimed and dull!" "I show no bravery of shining gems." "Truth independence, are my fluttering plumes." "'Tis not my form I lace to make me slim, but brace my soul with efforts." "Covered with exploits, my spirit bristling high like your mustaches..." "I, traversing the crowds make truth ring bravely out like clash of spurs!" "Base scoundrel!" "Rascally flat-footed lout!" "Ah?" "And I, Cyrano Savinien Hercule de Bergerac." "Buffoon!" "Aie!" "What on earth is the fellow saying now?" "Aie aie!" "What ails you?" "Cramp in my sword." "Good!" "You shall feel a charming little stroke!" "Poet!" "Ay, poet, Sir!" "In proof of which, while we fence, I will compose a ballade." "A ballade?" "Belike you know not what a ballade is." "But..." "Know then that the ballade should contain three eight-versed couplets... and an envoi of four lines." "I'm awaiting your sword!" "I'll make one while we fight." "And touch you at the final line." "No!" "No?" "The duel in Hotel of Burgundy." "Fought by De Bergerac and a good-for-naught!" "What may that be, an if you please?" "The title of the ballade." "Wait while I choose my rhymes." "I have them now!" "Silence!" "Silence!" "Let us prepare the way our rank prescribes." "Get ready!" "But first I gayly doff my beaver low." "My mantle off I throw." "First we merely play." "So you may enjoy my verses." "First you may counter my strokes." "At the envoi's end, I touch!" "You show too little variation." "The ballade continues." "Tac!" "I parry the point of your steel!" "The point you hoped to make me feel." "Where shall I lard this turkey?" "Better for you had you lain low." "'Twill be in the paunch the stroke I steal." "At the envoi's end, I touch!" "Your belly is tempting my blade." "Yours trembles like a leaf." "And why do you look so white?" "Tic tac, useless scoundrel." "Ho, bandit." "You wanted to pierce my heart?" "But you struck nothing but air." "We can't continue this banter." "At the envoi's end, I touch!" "Prince, pray Heaven for your soul's weal!" "Beg for mercy, for look..." "At the envoi's end, I touch!" "Bravo!" "Let me congratulate." "My compliments." "Sir, permit me to show my admiration." "Naught could be finer, and I'm a judge I think." "I stamped, i' faith!" "Who was that?" "D'Artagnan!" "A word with you!" "Wait, let the rabble go!" "May I stay?" "Without doubt!" "They hoot Montfleury!" "Sweep, close all, but leave the lights." "We sup, but later on we must return." "For a rehearsal of to-morrow's farce." "You do not dine, Sir?" "No." "Why do you not dine?" "Not hungry." "No money!" "How!" "The bag of crowns?" "Paternal bounty, in a day, thou'rt sped!" "The money of an entire month?" "I have nothing left." "You throw that out?" "Folly!" "But what a graceful action!" "Sir, my heart mislikes to know you fast." "See, all you need." "Serve yourself!" "Gentle child, Although my pride would else forbid... to take the least bestowal from your hands..." "My fear of wounding you outweighs that pride... and bids accept." "One grape." "No more." "One glass of water." "No, just water." "What foolery!" "And half a macaroon!" "Take something else!" "I take your hand to kiss." "Thank you, Sir!" "Good-night." "Now talk." "I listen." "Dinner, drink, dessert." "And now to table!" "I was hungry, friend, nay, ravenous!" "You said?" "These fops, would-be belligerent, will if you heed them only, turn your head!" "Ask people of good sense if you would know." "Enormous!" "The Cardinal." "The Cardinal was there?" "Must have thought it." "Original, i' faith!" "But..." "He's an author. 'Twill lease him that I should mar a brother-author's play." "You make too many enemies by far!" "How many think you I have made to-night?" "Fifty, no less, not counting ladies." "Count!" "Montfleury, the bourgeois, De Guiche, the Viscount, Baro, the Academy..." "Enough!" "I am o'erjoyed!" "Where will they lead you, at the end?" "Explain your system, come!" "I in a labyrinth was lost." "Too many different paths to choose." "I took..." "Which?" "Oh!" "by far the simplest path." "Decided to be admirable in all!" "So be it." "But the motive of your hate to Montfleury." "Come, tell me." "Why can he not perform?" "This Silenus, big-bellied, coarse, still deems himself a peril... a danger to the love of lovely ladies." "While he sputters out his actor's part, makes sheep's eyes at their boxes." "The goggling frog!" "I hate him since the evening he presumed to raise his eyes to hers." "Meseemed I saw a slug crawl slavering o'er a flower's petals." "How now?" "What?" "Can it be?" "That I should love?" "I love." "And may I know?" "With a nose like this one, who will she choose?" "I love the fairest." "How were't otherwise?" "The fairest?" "Ay, the fairest of the world, most brilliant, most golden-haired!" "Who is this lady?" "She's a danger mortal." "All unsuspicious, full of charms unconscious." "A snare of nature." "Sapristi!" "all is clear!" "Do you doubt it?" "Your cousin, Madeleine Robin?" "Is it she?" "Yes, Roxane." "Tell her so!" "Why not take your chance?" "She saw your triumph here this very night." "Look well at me, with what hope this vile protuberance can inspire my heart." "I do not lull me with illusions." "At times I'm weak in evening hours." "I enter some fair pleasance, perfumed sweet... with my poor ugly devil of a nose I scent spring's essence." "In the silver rays I see some knight, a lady on his arm." "And think 'To saunter thus, I were fain to have my lady, too, beside.'" "Slowly, arm in arm, 'neath the moonshine." "Thought soars to ecstasy." "O sudden fall!" "The shadow of my profile on the wall!" "My friend..." "Yes, yes." "My friend, at times 'tis hard, 'tis bitter, to feel my..." "loneliness." "You weep." "No, never, my friend!" "Think, how vilely suited adown this nose a tear its passage tracing!" "I never will, while of myself I'm master, let the divinity of tears... be wedded to such common ugly grossness." "Nothing more solemn than a tear." "Can't your courage and your wit be a reason for love?" "The little maid who offered you refreshment even now..." "Her eyes did not abhor you." "You saw well!" "True." "Well, how then?" "I saw Roxane herself was death-pale as she watched the duel." "Pale?" "Her heart, her fancy, are already caught." "Put it to th' touch!" "That she may mock my face?" "That is the one thing on this earth I fear!" "Sir, some one asks for you." "Should I believe my eyes?" "Her duenna!" "I was bid ask you where a certain lady could see her valiant cousin, in secret." "See me?" "Ay, Sir!" "She has somewhat to ask." "Somewhat?" "Ay, private matters!" "To-morrow, at the early blush of dawn, We go to hear mass at St. Roch." "My God!" "After, what place for a few minutes' speech?" "Where?" "Ah... but... ah, my God!" "Say." "I reflect." "Where?" "At the pastry-house of Ragueneau." "Where lodges he?" "The Rue..." "God!" "St. Honoré!" "Good." "Be you there." "At seven." "You too?" "Without fail." "Me." "Hmm?" "A rendezvous... from her!" "Did I not say so?" "There is no reason to lose faith." "She knows I live!" "Now you'll be calm, I hope?" "Calm?" "I now calm?" "I'll be frenetic, frantic, raving mad!" "Oh, for an army to attack!" "A host!" "I've ten hearts in my breast, a score of arms." "No dwarfs to cleave in twain!" "No!" "Giants now!" "Hollo there!" "Silence!" "We rehearse!" "We go!" "Cyrano!" "A lusty thrush they're bringing you!" "Ligniere!" "He seeks you!" "He dare not go home!" "Why not?" "This letter warns me... that a hundred men threaten me..." "That song, you know..." "The Porte de Nesle." "To get to my house I must pass there." "I dare not!" "Give me leave to sleep to-night beneath your roof!" "A hundred men?" "You'll sleep in your own bed!" "Take the lantern." "Let us start!" "I swear that I will make your bed to-night myself!" "Follow." "Some stay behind, as witnesses!" "A hundred!" "Less, to-night, would be too few!" "But why embroil yourself?" "Le Bret who scolds!" "That worthless drunkard!" "For this cause: this wine-barrel, this cask of Burgundy... did, on a day, an action full of grace." "As he was leaving church, he saw his love... take holy water." "He, who is affeared at water's taste... ran quickly to the stoup, and drank it all, to the last drop!" "Indeed, that was a graceful thing!" "Ay, was it not?" "But why a hundred men 'gainst one poor rhymer?" "March!" "When you shall see me charge, bear me no succor, none, whate'er the odds!" "Oh!" "I shall come and see!" "It's fantastic!" "Play us a march, gentlemen of the band!" "You hear me?" "I forbid you succor me!" "One, two three, open wide the doors!" "To the Porte de Nesle!" "Ah, Paris wrapped in night!" "Half nebulous." "The moonlight streams o'er the blue-shadowed roofs." "A lovely frame for this battle-scene, beneath the vapor's scarves, the Seine." "She trembles, mysterious, like a mirror, and, shortly, you shall see!" "Did you not ask, young lady, for what cause... against this rhymer fivescore men were sent?" "'Twas that they knew him for a friend of mine!" "THE POET'S EATING-HOUSE" "Cream horns!" "Petits fours!" "Pheasant!" "Duck!" "Beef olives!" "Aurora's silver rays begin to glint e'en now on the copper pans." "O Ragueneau!" "Must perforce stifle in thy breast the God of Song!" "You, make that sauce longer, 'tis too short." "How much too short?" "Three feet." "My muse, retire, lest thy bright eyes be reddened by the fagot's blaze!" "You have put the cleft o' th' loaves in the wrong place." "Know you not that the coesura should be between the hemistiches?" "To this palace of paste you must add the roof." "And you, as you put on your lengthy spit the modest fowl and the superb turkey... alternate them." "As Malherbe loved well to alternate his long lines of verse with the short ones." "Thus shall your roasts, in strophes, turn before the flame." "This rhyming!" "Pray then, madam, to what use would you degrade prose?" "Master, I bethought me erewhile of your tastes..." "A lyre!" "'Tis of brioche pastry." "With conserved fruits." "The strings, see, are of sugar." "Go, drink my health." "Hush!" "My wife." "Bustle, pass on, and hide that money." "Is it not beautiful?" "'Tis passing silly!" "Bags?" "Good." "I thank you." "Heavens!" "my cherished leaves!" "The poems of my friends!" "Torn, dismembered, to make bags for holding biscuits and cakes!" "Ah, 'tis the old tale again." "Orpheus and the Bacchantes!" "And am I not free to turn at last to some use the sole thing that your... wretched scribblers of halting lines leave behind them by way of payment?" "Groveling ant!" "Insult not the divine grasshoppers, the sweet singers!" "Before you were the sworn comrade of all that crew... you did not call your wife ant and Bacchante!" "To turn fair verse to such a use!" "What would you?" "Three pies." "See, hot and well browned." "If it please you, Sir, will you wrap them up for us?" "Alas!" "one of my bags!" "What?" "Must I wrap them up?" "'Ulysses thus, on leaving fair Penelope...' Not that one!" "'The gold-locked Phoebus...' Nay, nor that one!" "What are you dallying for?" "Calm down." "One second." "The sonnet to Phillis!" "'Tis hard to part with it!" "Finally." "Silly man!" "Render me back the bag, and you shall have six pies instead of three." "Phillis!" "On that sweet name a smear of butter." "What's o'clock?" "Six o'clock." "In one hour's time!" "Bravo!" "I saw..." "Well, what saw you, then?" "Your combat." "Which?" "That in the Burgundy Hotel, 'faith!" "Ah, the duel!" "Ay, the duel in verse!" "He can talk of naught else!" "Well!" "Good!" "let be!" "'Tis fine, fine!" "'At the envoi's end..." "What hour is it now?" "Five minutes after six." "'I touch!" "What's wrong with your hand?" "Naught, a slight cut." "Have you been in some danger?" "None in the world." "Methinks you speak not the truth in saying that," "Did you see my nose quiver when I spoke?" "'Faith, it must have been a monstrous lie that should move it!" "I wait some one here." "Leave us alone." "But 'tis impossible." "My poets are coming." "Oh, ay, for their first meal o' the day!" "Prythee, take them aside when I shall make you sign to do so." "What's o'clock?" "Ten minutes after six." "A pen!" "Here, a swan's quill." "Good-day!" "Who's that?" "'Tis a friend of my wife." "A terrible warrior, at least so says he himself." "Hush!" "I will write, fold it, give it her, and fly!" "Coward!" "But strike me dead if I dare to speak to her even one single word." "What time is it?" "A quarter after six." "A single word of all those here!" "But writing, 'tis easier done." "I will write it, that letter." "Oh!" "I have writ it and rewrit." "It is ready." "And if I lay but my soul by my letter-sheet... 'tis naught to do but to copy from it." "Here they come, your friends." "Brother in art!" "Dear brother!" "High soaring eagle among pastry-cooks!" "It smells good here in your eyrie!" "Apollo among master-cooks." "How quick a man feels at his ease with them." "We were stayed by the mob." "They are crowded all round the Porte de Nesle!" "Eight bleeding brigand carcasses strew the pavements there." "Eight?" "Hold, methought six." "Know you the hero of the fray?" "Not I." "And you?" "Maybe." "'Twas one man, say they all, who single- handed put the whole band to the rout!" "Pikes and cudgels strewed thick upon the ground." "Thine eyes..." "And they were picking up hats from the Seine." "Thy lips..." "'Twas a parlous fearsome giant that was the author of such exploits." "Ferocious, sapristi!" "'And when I see thee come, I faint for fear.'" "What hast rhymed of late, Ragueneau?" "No need I sign, since I give it her myself." "I have put a recipe into verse." "Let us hear these verses!" "How almond tartlets are made." "Beat your eggs up, light and quick." "Froth them thick." "Mingle with them while you beat." "Juice of lemon, essence fine." "Then combine the burst milk of almonds sweet." "Circle with a custard paste the slim waist... of your tartlet-molds; the top." "With a skillful finger print, nick and dint... round their edge, then, drop by drop, in its little dainty bed." "Your cream shed, in the oven place each mold." "Reappearing, softly browned, the renowned... almond tartlets you behold!" "Lulled by your voice, did you see how they were stuffing themselves?" "I see well enough, but I leave those poor fellows who have not breakfasted... free to eat, even while I gratify my own dearest foible." "I like you right well." "Ho there!" "Lise!" "Yes?" "So this fine captain is laying siege to you?" "One glance of my eye... can conquer any man that should dare venture aught 'gainst my virtue." "Conquering eyes, methinks, are oft conquered eyes." "I like Ragueneau well, and so mark me..." "I permit not that he be rendered a laughing-stock by any." "But..." "Understood?" "How now?" "Is this your courage?" "Speak!" "Why turn you not a jest on his nose?" "On his nose?" "We shall be more private there." "What!" "leave the cakes?" "Let's take them with us!" "If I see but the faint glimmer of hope... then I draw out my letter." "Enter." "One moment." "Two words with you, Duenna." "Four, Sir, an it like you." "Are you fond of sweet things?" "I could eat myself sick on them." "Good." "See you these two sonnets?" "I have already eaten." "I fill them for you with cream cakes." "What say you to the cake they call a little puff?" "If made with cream, Sir, I love them passing well." "Here I plunge six for your eating into the bosom of a poem." "Stay, love you hot cakes?" "Yes!" "Go eat them all in the street." "But..." "Come back when it's all eaten." "Blessed be the moment when you condescend... remembering that humbly I exist... to come to meet me, and to ask." "To thank you first of all." "That dandy count, whom you checkmated in brave sword-play." "He is the man whom a great lord, desirous of my favor..." "De Guiche?" "You guessed it." "Sought to impose on me..." "for husband." "Husband... dupe-husband?" "Yes." "Then I fought, happy chance, not for my ill favor, but your favors fair." "Confession next!" "But, ere I make my shrift... you must be once again that brother-friend... with whom I used to play by the lake-side." "Ay, you would come each spring to Bergerac." "Mind you the reeds you cut to make your swords?" "While you wove corn-straw plaits for your dolls' hair." "Those were the days of games." "And blackberries." "In those days you did everything I bid." "Roxane, in her short frock, was Madeleine." "Was I fair then?" "You were not ill to see!" "Ofttimes, with hands all bloody from a fall, you'd run to me." "Then, aping mother-ways, I, in a voice would-be severe, would chide..." "'What is this scratch, again, that I see here?" "'" "Oh!" "'Tis too much!" "What's this?" "No, let me see!" "At your age, fie!" "Where did you get that scratch?" "I got it playing at the Porte de Nesle." "Come here." "Let me wipe away the blood." "How many 'gainst you?" "A hundred near." "Come, tell me." "No, let be." "But you, come tell the thing, just now, you dared not." "The reason you wanted to see me." "The scent of those old days emboldens me." "Yes, now I dare." "Listen." "I am in love." "Leave your hand." "But I have seen love trembling on his lips." "And to think of it that he by chance..." "Yes, cousin, he is of your regiment!" "Is cadet in your own company." "On his brow he bears the genius-stamp." "He is proud, noble, young, intrepid, fair." "Fair?" "Why, what ails you?" "'Tis... this scratch." "I love him." "But you must know I have only seen him from afar and briefly." "You have never spoken?" "Eyes can speak." "How know you then that he..." "'Neath the limes in the Place Royale, gossip's chat has let me know." "Cadet?" "In the Guards." "His name?" "Baron Christian de Neuvillette." "I hear that name for the first time." "He is not of the Guards." "Since to-day." "Under Captain Carbon de Castel-Jaloux." "How quick the heart has flown." "The cakes are eaten, Monsieur De Bergerac." "Then read the verses printed on the bags." "My poor child, you who love but flowing words, bright wit... what if he be a lout unskilled?" "Suppose he were a fool!" "Then bury me!" "Was it to tell me this you brought me here?" "I fail to see what use this serves." "No, it is to ask you something." "Nay, but I felt a terror, here, in the heart, on learning yesterday... you were Gascons." "All of your company." "And we provoke all beardless sprigs that favor dares admit... 'midst us pure Gascons, pure!" "They told you that as well?" "Think how I trembled for him." "Not causelessly." "But when last night I saw you, brave, invincible, punish that dandy..." "I thought..." "I thought, if he whom all fear, all...if he would only." "Good." "I will befriend your little Baron." "Yes?" "You'll promise you will do this for me?" "I've always held you as a friend." "Yes, yes." "Then you will be his friend?" "Since you want it." "And he shall fight no duels!" "I swear it." "I hold you dear." "Yes." "Now I must be gone." "You have not told me of your last night's fray." "But it must have been a hero-fight." "Bid him to write." "I hold you so dear." "Yes, yes." "A hundred men!" "Now, farewell." "We are great friends?" "Yes." "Oh, bid him write!" "You'll tell me all one day." "A hundred men!" "A hundred men?" "How brave!" "I have fought better since." "Can we come in?" "Yes." "Finally!" "I looked for you." "You fought like Hercules!" "My cadets are there." "But..." "Come, they want to see you." "No." "They're drinking at The Bear's Head." "No." "No!" "He won't come!" "The hero's in the sulks!" "They are running 'cross the street!" "We must teach him better manners!" "Gentlemen, are you all from Gascony?" "All!" "Bravo!" "Baron!" "Baron, mercy!" "Are you all Barons?" "Ay, every one!" "Is it true?" "Ay, why, you could build a tower with nothing but our coronets!" "They're looking for you!" "A crazy mob led by the men who followed you last night." "Have you told them where to find me?" "Of course." "And Roxane?" "Hush." "Lo!" "my shop invaded!" "They break all!" "Magnificent!" "My friend!" "My friend!" "Yesterday I had not all these friends!" "Success!" "My friend, didst thou but know..." "Pray when did we herd swine together, you and I!" "I would present you, Sir, to some fair dames who in my carriage yonder..." "And who will first present you, Sir, to me?" "What's wrong?" "Hush." "Sir!" "What, another!" "Pray permit I make a pentacrostic on your name." "Pray, Sir..." "Enough!" "Enough!" "Here is Monsieur De Guiche." "He comes from the Marshal of Gassion." "Who would express his admiration for your new exploit noised so loud abroad." "I have learnt from the Marshal's example." "He could not have believed the thing... unless these gentlemen had sworn they witnessed it." "With our own eyes!" "Say..." "Hush." "Why so sad?" "Sad?" "I?" "Wait, you shall see." "In feats of arms, already your career abounded." "You serve with those crazy pates of Gascons?" "Ay, with the Cadets." "With us!" "Ah!" "All these gentlemen of haughty mien." "Cyrano?" "Captain." "Meseems the Count wants to learn something." "Since all my company's assembled here... pray favor me." "Present them to my lord." "Permit that I present the Cadets of Carbon de Castel-Jaloux!" "Brawling and swaggering boastfully... the bold Cadets of Gascony!" "Spouting of Armory, Heraldry." "Their veins a-brimming with blood so blue." "These are the Cadets of Carbon de Castel-Jaloux." "Eagle-eye, and spindle-shanks..." "Fierce mustache, and wolfish tooth!" "Slash-the-rabble and... scatter-their-ranks." "With a flaming feather that gayly pranks... hiding the holes in their hats, forsooth!" "These are the Cadets of Carbon de Castel-Jaloux." "Pink-your-Doublet and Slit-your-Trunk are their gentlest sobriquets." "With Fame and Glory their soul is drunk!" "Pink-your-Doublet, Slit-your-Trunk... in brawl and skirmish they show spunk, give rendezvous in broil and fray." "Thus are the Cadets of Carbon de Castel-Jaloux." "What, ho!" "Cadets of Gascony!" "All jealous lovers are sport for you!" "O Woman!" "dear divinity!" "what, ho!" "Cadets of Gascony!" "Whom scowling husbands quake to see." "Blow, 'taratara,' and cry 'Cuckoo'." "These are the Cadets of Carbon de Castel-Jaloux." "A poet!" "'Tis the fashion of the hour!" "Will you be mine?" "No, Sir, no man's!" "Last night, your fancy pleased my uncle Richelieu." "I'll gladly say a word to him for you." "In sooth, I would..." "He is a critic skilled." "He may correct a line or two, at most." "Impossible!" "My blood congeals to think that other hand should change a comma's dot." "But when a verse approves itself to him he pays it dear, good friend." "He pays less dear than I myself." "When a verse pleases me..." "I pay myself, and sing it to myself!" "You are proud." "Really?" "You have noticed that?" "See, Cyrano!" "What strange bright-feathered game we caught!" "Spolia opima!" "Nothing but feathers!" "He who laid that ambush must curse and swear." "Who was it?" "I myself!" "I charged them to punish and chastise a rhymster sot." "It was work too dirty for my sword." "What do with them?" "They're full of grease!" "Sir, pray be good enough to render them back to your friends." "Have you read 'Don Quixote'?" "I have." "And doff my hat at th' mad knight-errant's name." "I counsel you to study the windmill chapter." "The eighth chapter." "Precisely." "For when one tilts 'gainst windmills, it may chance..." "Tilt I 'gainst those who change with every breeze?" "That windmill sails may sweep you with their arm down in the mire!" "Or upward to the stars." "Here's a fine coil." "Oh, scold away!" "You will agree that to annihilate each chance of Fate exaggerates..." "Yes, I exaggerate." "Ah!" "But for principle, example too, I think 'tis well thus to exaggerate." "Lay aside that pride of musketeer, fortune and glory wait you..." "Ay, and then?" "Seek a protector, choose a patron out... and like the crawling ivy round a tree... that licks the bark to gain the trunk's support... climb high by creeping ruse instead of force?" "No, grammercy!" "Learn to swallow toads?" "A skin grown grimed and horny, here, about the knees?" "And, acrobat-like, teach my back to bend?" "Grammercy, no!" "Bribe kindly editors to spread abroad my verses?" "Grammercy!" "Or try to be elected as the pope of tavern-councils held by imbeciles?" "Grammercy!" "Toil to gain reputation by one small sonnet, 'stead of making many?" "Grammercy." "Or flatter sorry bunglers?" "Be terrorized by every prating paper?" "Say ceaselessly, 'Had I but the chance of a fair notice in the "Mercury"!" "'" "Grammercy!" "Prefer to make a visit to a rhyme?" "Seek introductions, draw petitions up?" "Grammercy." "But sing, dream?" "Yes." "Go lightly, solitary, free, with eyes that look straight forward... fearless voice!" "To cock your beaver just the way you choose... for 'yes' or 'no' show fight, or turn a rhyme!" "And then, if glory come by chance your way, to pay no tribute unto Caesar... but keep the merit all your own!" "Disdaining tendrils of the parasite... to be content, if neither oak nor elm not to mount high, but mount alone!" "Alone, an if you will!" "But not with hand 'gainst every man!" "How in the devil's name have you conceived this lunatic idea... to make foes for yourself at every turn?" "By dint of seeing you at every turn make friends." "And fawn upon your frequent friends with mouth wide smiling... slit from ear to ear!" "I pass, still unsaluted, joyfully, and cry, What, ho!" "another enemy?" "Lunacy!" "Well, what if it be my vice, my pleasure to displease... to love men hate me." "Ah, friend of mine, believe me, I march better... 'neath the cross-fire of glances inimical." "Speak proud aloud, and bitter!" "In my ear whisper me simply this, she loves thee not." "Hush." "Cyrano!" "The story." "Yes, the story!" "In its time." "The story of the fray." "'Twill lesson well this timid young apprentice." "'Prentice?" "This sickly Northern greenhorn." "Sickly?" "That pale face." "Monsieur de Neuvillette, this in your ear." "There's somewhat here, one no more dares to name... than to say 'rope' to one whose sire was hanged!" "Not a word!" "Understood?" "What may that be?" "See here." "Do you understand?" "Oh!" "'tis the..." "That word means bloodshed." "Hush!" "oh, never breathe that word, unless you'd reckon with him yonder." "He put two snuffling men to death, in rage... for the sole reason they spoke through their nose." "And if you would not perish in flower o' youth... oh, mention not the fatal cartilage!" "A word?" "A gesture!" "His handkerchief may prove his winding-sheet." "Captain!" "Sir!" "Pray, what skills it best to do to Southerners who swagger?" "Give them proof that one may be a Northerner, yet brave." "I thank you." "Now the tale, Cyrano!" "Well!" "I went all alone to meet the band." "The moon was shining, clock-like, full i' th' sky... when, suddenly, some careful clockwright passed... a cloud of cotton-wool across the case that held this silver watch." "The night was inky black, and all the quays... were hidden in the murky dark." "One could see nothing further..." "Than one's nose." "Who on God's earth is that?" "It is a man who joined to-day." "To-day?" "Yes... his name is the Baron de Neuvil..." "Good!" "It is well..." "I..." "What said I?" "Mordious!" "That it was dark." "On I went, thinking, 'For a knavish cause I may... provoke some great man... some great prince who certainly could break'..." "My nose!" "'My teeth!" "Who would break my teeth, and I, imprudent-like, was poking...'" "My nose!" "'My finger, in the crack between the tree and bark." "He may prove strong and rap me...'" "Over the nose..." "'O' th' knuckles!" "But I cried, 'Forward, Gascon!" "Duty calls!" "And thus I ventured on..." "When, from the shadow, came..." "A crack o' th' nose." "I parry it, find myself..." "Nose to nose..." "Heaven and earth!" "With a hundred brawling sots, who stank..." "A noseful... onions, brandy-cups!" "I leapt out, head well down..." "Nosing the wind!" "I charge, gore two, impale one, run him through." "One aims at me." "Paf!" "Great God!" "Out!" "All of you!" "The tiger wakes!" "Every man, out!" "Leave me alone with him!" "I am turning pale, and curl up, like a napkin, limp and white!" "He will not leave a crumb!" "Something too horrible!" "My friend." "Embrace me now." "Sir..." "Bravo." "Oh, but..." "Your hand." "But..." "I insist." "I am her brother." "Whose brother?" "Hers." "Roxane's." "You, her brother?" "Cousin, brother, the same thing." "And she has told you?" "All." "She loves me?" "Maybe." "How glad I am to meet you, Sir!" "That may be called a sudden sentiment." "I ask your pardon." "True, he's fair, the villain." "If you but knew my admiration." "But all those noses?" "Oh!" "I take them back." "Roxane expects a letter." "Woe the day!" "How?" "I am lost if I but open my lips." "Why so?" "I am a fool, could die for shame!" "And I, had Nature been more kind, more careful, when she fashioned me... had been one of those men who well could speak their love." "Oh, to express one's thoughts with facile grace..." "To be a musketeer, with handsome face..." "Roxane is precieuse." "I'm sure to prove a disappointment to her." "Had I but such an interpreter to speak my soul." "Eloquence!" "Where to find it?" "That I lend... if you lend me... your handsome victor-charms." "Blended, we make a hero of romance!" "How so?" "Think you you can repeat what things I daily teach your tongue?" "What do you mean?" "Roxane shall never have a disillusion!" "Say, wilt thou that we woo her." "Wilt thou that we two woo her, both together?" "But, Cyrano!" "Will you, I say?" "I fear!" "Since, by yourself, you fear to chill her heart... will you wed into one my phrases and your lips?" "But your eyes are flashing!" "It would amuse me." "It is an enterprise to tempt a poet." "Will you complete me, and let me complete you?" "I go in your shadow." "Let me be wit for you, be you my beauty!" "The letter, that she waits for even now!" "I never can..." "Here it is, your letter." "What?" "Look, it wants but the address." "But..." "Fear nothing." "Send it." "It will suit." "But have you...?" "Oh!" "We have our pockets full," "We poets, of love-letters, writ to creations of our noddle-heads." "Our lady-loves, dream-fancies blown into soap-bubbles!" "Come!" "Were it not well to change some words?" "Will it fit her?" "'Twill fit like a glove." "But..." "Ah, credulity of love!" "Roxane will think each word inspired by herself." "My friend!" "Naught here!" "The silence of the grave!" "I dare not look." "What?" "The lion and the sheep are embracing!" "Struck on one nostril..." "lo, he turns the other!" "Then we may speak about his nose, henceforth!" "Ah, Lise, see here." "O heavens!" "What a stink!" "You, sir, without a doubt have sniffed it up." "With such a device." "What is the smell I notice here?" "Clove-heads!" "ROXANE'S KISS" "And then, off Lise 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." "Well, but how came it about that she took off with him?" "Lise loved the warriors, and I loved the poets." "Cakes that Apollo chanced to leave were quickly snapped up by Mars." "Thus ruin was not long a-coming." "Roxane, are you ready?" "They wait for us!" "I will but put me on a cloak!" "We shall be late." "They wait us there opposite, at Clomire's house." "They read a discourse on the Tender Passion." "The Tender Passion?" "Roxane, an you come not down quickly." "We shall miss the discourse on the Tender Passion!" "I come!" "They serenade us?" "I tell you they are demi-semi-quavers, demi-semi-fool." "You know then to distinguish between semi-quavers and demi-semi-quavers?" "Is not every disciple of Gassendi a musician?" "Listen to me." "'Tis you?" "'Tis I, who come to serenade your lilies and roses." "I am coming down." "How come these two virtuosi here?" "Ho there, go serenade Montfleury for me." "I have come, as is my wont, nightly, to ask Roxane whether..." "Play a long time, and play out of tune." "Whether her soul's elected is ever the same, ever faultless!" "Ah, how handsome he is, how brilliant a wit." "Christian has so brilliant a wit?" "Brighter than even your own." "Be it so." "He is skilled to say all the pretty nothings that mean so much." "At times his mind seems far away, the Muse says naught." "And then, presto!" "He speaks bewitchingly, enchantingly!" "No!" "Fie!" "That is ill said!" "Because he is fair to see, you would have it that he must be dull of speech." "He hath an eloquent tongue in telling his love?" "In telling his love?" "Why, 'tis not simple telling, 'tis dissertation." "How is he with the pen?" "Still better." "Listen, here..." "'The more of my poor heart you take... the larger grows my heart'." "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.'" "First he has too much, then anon not enough!" "How much heart does the fellow want?" "You would vex a saint." "But 'tis your jealousy." "I..." "Ay, your poet's jealousy." "Can you say it this well?" "'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." "Those last lines are... paltry enough." "And this..." "Then you have his letters by heart?" "Every one of them!" "'Tis flattering." "They are the lines of a master!" "A master?" "Ay, I say it a master." "Good, be it so." "Monsieur De Guiche!" "In with you!" "'Twere best he see you not." "It might perchance put him on the scent." "Ay, of my own dear secret!" "He loves me, and is powerful, and, if he knew, then all were lost!" "Good." "We were just going out." "I come to take my leave." "Did I hear you right?" "Whither go you?" "To the war." "Tonight." "We are to besiege Arras." "Ah, to besiege?" "My going moves you not, meseems." "Nay." "I am grieved to the core of the heart." "Shall I again behold you?" "When shall I come back?" "Heard you that I am named commander?" "Bravo!" "Of the Guards regiment." "The Guards?" "Ay, where serves your cousin, the swaggering boaster." "I will find a way to revenge myself on him at Arras." "The Guards go to Arras?" "Bethink you, is it not my own regiment?" "Christian!" "What ails you?" "Oh, I am in despair." "The man one loves... at the war." "You say such sweet words to me." "'Tis the first time." "And just when I must quit you!" "Thus, you would fain revenge your grudge against my cousin?" "And friend?" "Oh nay." "Do you see him often?" "But very rarely." "He is ever to be met now in company with one of the cadets... one New... villen... viller..." "Of high stature?" "Fair-haired." "Handsome!" "Well, handsome..." "But dull-witted." "One would think so, to look at him." "How mean you to play your revenge on Cyrano?" "Perchance you think to put him i' the thick of the shots?" "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." "What then?" "Tell." "If, when the regiment march to Arras, he were left here with his companions... 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 fiercely." "Who but a woman had e'er devised so subtle a trick?" "He will eat out his heart, while his friends gnaw their fists... for they are deprived of the battle." "So are you best avenged." "You love me, then, a little?" "I would fain, seeing you thus espouse my cause... believe it a proof of love, Roxane!" "'Tis a proof of love!" "Here are the marching orders." "They will be sent instantly to each company, except this one." "'Tis that of the Cadets." "Cyrano will be so angry." "So you can play tricks on people." "Sometimes." "How leave you now that I feel your heart is touched." "Listen." "I have a plan." "I can leave later." "A convent founded by Father Athanasius of the Capuchins..." "True that no layman may enter, but I can settle that with the good Fathers." "'Tis they who serve Richelieu's private chapel." "And from respect to the uncle, fear the nephew." "Their habit sleeves are wide enough to hide me in." "All will deem me gone." "Give me leave to wait till tomorrow." "But, of this be rumored, your glory." "Bah." "But the siege.." "Arras..." "Say yes." "No!" "Yes." "No, I cannot." "Why?" "Leave." "Christian stays here." "I would have you heroic, Antoine." "O heavenly word!" "You love me then?" "If you are brave." "I go." "Are you content?" "Yes, my friend." "Yes, my friend!" "Not a word of what I have done." "Cyrano would never pardon me for stealing... his fighting from him." "Cyrano!" "We are going to Clomire's house." "Alcandre is to discourse." "Yes!" "But my little finger tells me we shall miss her." "'Twere a pity to miss such an ape!" "Oh, see!" "The knocker is muffled up!" "So they have gagged that metal tongue of yours, little noisy one... lest it should disturb the fine orators." "Let us enter." "If Christian comes, bid him wait for me." "What mean you to question him on, as is your wont, to-night?" "Oh..." "Well, say." "But you will be mute?" "Mute as a fish." "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!" "Good." "Not a word." "A thousand thanks on behalf of Christian." "Lest he prepare himself." "The devil!" "No, no!" "Christian, I know all that is needful." "Here's occasion for you to deck yourself with glory." "Lose no time." "Put away those sulky looks." "Come to your house with me, I'll teach you." "No." "Why?" "I will wait for Roxane here." "How?" "Crazy?" "Come quick with me." "No, I say." "I am aweary of these borrowed letters." "Words, advice, playing a role and tremble all the time." "'Twas well enough at the beginning." "Now I know she loves." "Thank you." "I fear no longer." "I will speak myself." "Mercy!" "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!" "I know at least to clasp her in my arms." "It is she." "Cyrano, leave me not." "Speak for yourself, my friend, and take your chance." "Alcandre." "Adieu." "We've missed the speech upon the Tender Passion!" "Gremione." "Adieu, Roxane." "Wait." "You." "Wait, they are leaving." "Wonderful." "Adieu." "Evening falls." "All quiet." "Sit down." "Speak on." "I listen." "Speak and let nothing hold you back." "I love you!" "Yes." "Ay, speak to me of love." "I love thee." "That's the theme." "But vary it." "I..." "Vary it." "I love you so." "Without doubt!" "And then?" "And then..." "I should be so glad... if you would love me." "I hoped for cream." "You give me gruel." "Say how love possesses you." "Oh utterly." "Unknot those tangled sentiments." "Your throat I'd kiss it!" "Christian!" "I love thee!" "Where is your esprit?" "No, I love thee not." "'Tis well." "But I adore thee!" "Yes!" "I am grown stupid!" "And that displeases me, almost as much... as 'twould displease me if you grew ill-favored." "Rally your poor eloquence that's flown!" "No, I..." "Yes, you love me, that I know." "Adieu." "Oh, go not yet!" "You adore me?" "I've heard it very oft." "Adieu." "Stay!" "Roxane!" "It is successful!" "Congratulations." "Come to my aid." "What can I teach you?" "But I shall die, unless at once I win back her fair favor." "And how can I, at once, i' th' devil's name, lesson you in?" "Oh, she is there." "Her window." "Oh, I shall die!" "Speak lower." "I shall die." "The night is dark." "And?" "All can be repaired." "Although you merit not." "Stand there." "I here." "Where she can't see." "I'll prompt your words to you." "Oh, no." "Hold your tongue." "Ho!" "Well?" "We've played the serenade you bade to Montfleury." "Good." "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." "What tune, Sir Musicologist?" "Gay, if a woman comes, for a man, sad." "Call her." "Roxane." "Some pebbles." "Wait awhile." "Who calls me?" "I!" "Who's that?" "Christian!" "You?" "I would speak with you." "Speak soft and low." "No, you love me no more." "Do not judge me blindly." "Do I not love you?" "When I love more and more!" "Hold, 'tis a trifle better." "Love grew apace, rocked by the anxious beating... of this poor heart, which the cruel wanton boy... took for a cradle." "That is better." "But an if you deem that he be so cruel... you should have stifled baby-love in's cradle." "I assayed, but all in vain..." "This new-born babe is a young Hercules." "Still better." "Thus he strangled in my heart... the... serpents twain, of... pride..." "and doubt." "Well said." "But why so faltering?" "Has mental palsy seized on your faculty imaginative?" "Give place." "This waxes critical." "To-day your words are hesitating." "To-day... in the dusk they grope their way to find your ear." "But my words find no such impediment." "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, and that takes time." "Meseems that your last words have learned to climb." "At such a height 'twere death if a hard word from you fell on my heart." "I will come down." "No." "Mount then on the bench." "No." "How, you will not?" "Stay awhile." "'Tis sweet, the rare occasion, when our hearts can speak... our selves unseen, unseeing." "Why unseen?" "Ay, it is sweet." "Half hidden, half revealed... you see the dark folds of my shrouding cloak." "And I, the glimmering whiteness of your dress." "I but a shadow you a radiance fair." "Know you what such a moment holds for me?" "If ever I were eloquent..." "You were." "Never till to-night my speech has sprung from my heart as now it springs." "Why not?" "Till now I spoke haphazard..." "What?" "Your eyes have beams that turn men dizzy." "But to-night methinks I shall find speech for the first time." "'Tis true, your voice rings with a tone that's new." "Ay, a new tone!" "In the tender, sheltering dusk I dare to be myself for once." "What say I?" "I know not." "Oh, pardon me." "It thrills me, 'tis so sweet, so novel." "How?" "So novel?" "Ay, to be at last sincere." "Till now, my chilled heart, fearing to be mocked." "Mocked, and for what?" "My heart has clothed itself with witty words... to shroud itself from curious eyes, impelled... at times to aim at a star, I stay my hand... and, fearing ridicule, cull a wild flower." "A wild flower's sweet." "Ay, but to-night, the star!" "Oh, never have you spoken thus before." "If, leaving Cupid's arrows, quivers, torches... we turned to seek for sweeter, fresher things." "Instead of sipping in a pygmy glass dull fashionable waters... did we try how the soul slakes its thirst in fearless draught... by drinking from the river's flooding brim!" "Good!" "But wit?" "In love 'tis crime, 'tis hateful!" "Turning frank loving into subtle fencing!" "At last the moment comes, inevitable." "Oh, woe for those who never know that moment!" "When feeling love exists in us, ennobling," "Each well-weighed word is futile and soul-saddening!" "Well, if that moment's come for us, suppose it." "What words would serve you?" "All, all, all, whatever that came to me, e'en as they came... in a wild cluster, not a careful bouquet." "I love thee!" "I am mad!" "I love, I stifle!" "I die of joy and sorrow." "I live and die at once." "Thy name is in my heart as in a sheep-bell." "Roxane!" "Roxane!" "The sound of your name alone brings me to tears." "All things of thine I mind, for I love all things." "I remember all." "I know that last year on the twelfth of May-month, to walk abroad... one day you changed your hair-plaits!" "I am so used to take your hair for daylight... that, like as when the eye stares on the sun's disk... one sees long after a red blot on all things." "Why, this is love indeed!" "Ay, true, the feeling which fills me, terrible and jealous, truly... love, which is ever sad amid its transports!" "Love, and yet, strangely, not a selfish passion!" "I for your joy would gladly lay mine own down." "E'en though you never were to know it, never!" "If but at times I might hear some gay echo of the joy I bought you!" "Each glance of thine awakes in me a virtue... a novel, unknown valor." "Dost begin, sweet, to understand?" "Feel'st thou my soul, here, through the darkness mounting?" "Too fair the night!" "Too fair, too fair the moment!" "That I should speak thus, and that you should hearken!" "In moments when my hopes rose proudest, I never hoped such guerdon." "Naught is left me but to die now!" "Have words of mine the power to make you tremble." "Ay, like a leaf among the leaves, you tremble!" "For I feel, an if you will it, or will it not, your hand's beloved trembling." "Thank you for that, Roxane, thank you." "I am trembling, weeping." "I love thee." "So much." "Then let death come." "'Tis I, 'tis I myself, who conquered thee." "One thing, but one, I dare to ask." "A kiss!" "What?" "You ask...?" "You go too quick." "Since she is moved thus, I will profit by it!" "My words sprang thoughtlessly, but now I see I was too presumptuous." "How quickly you withdraw." "Yes, I withdraw without withdrawing." "Hurt I modesty?" "If so, the kiss I asked, oh, grant it not." "Why?" "Silence, Christian." "What whisper you?" "Said, 'Silence, Christian!" "'" "I chid myself for my too bold advances." "Hark!" "Steps come!" "Wait awhile." "Why, they play sad, then gay, then sad!" "What?" "Neither man nor woman?" "A monk." "What do you, playing at Diogenes?" "I seek the house of Madame..." "Oh, the devil take him." "Madeleine Robin." "What would he?" "This way." "Straight on." "Keep going straight." "Thank you, Sir." "I thank you, and, in your intention will tell my rosary to its last bead." "My blessings rest upon your cowl." "Win for me that kiss." "No." "Soon or late." "'Tis true." "The moment of intoxication of madness... when your mouths are sure to meet." "Thanks to your fair mustache and her rose lips." "I'd fainer it should come thanks to..." "Still there?" "Yes." "We spoke of a..." "A kiss." "Yes." "The word is sweet." "I see not why your lip should shrink from it." "If the word burns it, what would the kiss do?" "Oh, let it not your bashfulness affright." "Have you not, all this time, insensibly... left badinage aside, and unalarmed... glided from smile to sigh, from sigh to weeping?" "Glide gently, imperceptibly, still onward... from tear to kiss, a moment's thrill, a heartbeat." "Hush." "A kiss, when all is said, what is it?" "An oath that's ratified, a sealed promise." "A rose-dot on the 'i' of 'adoration,' a secret that to mouth is whispered." "Brush of a bee's wing, that makes time eternal." "Communion perfumed like the spring's wild flowers." "The heart's relieving in the heart's outbreathing... when to the lips the soul's flood rises, brimming." "Hush." "A kiss is honorable." "The Queen of France, to a most favored lord did grant a kiss, the Queen!" "What then?" "Buckingham suffered dumbly... adored his queen... as loyally as I was sad, but faithful, so am I." "And you are fair as he." "True, I forgot." "Fair, 'tis true." "Well then... must I then bid thee mount to cull this flower?" "Mount." "This heart-breathing." "Quick." "This brush of bee's wing." "Mount!" "But I feel as though 'twere ill done." "This moment infinite." "Come, blockhead, mount!" "Roxane." "My heart." "Strange pain that wrings my heart." "The kiss, love's feast, so near." "Falls still a crumb or two from the rich man's board." "Ay, 'tis my heart receives thee, Roxane, mine." "For on the lips you press you kiss as well... the words I spoke just now!" "My words." "A sad air, a gay air." "The monk." "Hola!" "Who is it?" "It is I. Is Christian there too?" "Oh, look, Cyrano." "Good-day, cousin." "Good-day, both." "I'm coming." "Back again?" "'Tis here, I'm sure of it." "Madame Madeleine Robin!" "Why, you said Ro-LIN." "No, BIN!" "B-I-N." "Bin." "What is't?" "A letter for you." "Oh, it can boot but a holy business." "'Tis from a worthy lord." "De Guiche!" "He dares." "Oh, he will not importune me forever." "I love you, therefore..." "Roxane, the drums beat." "My regiment buckles its harness on and starts." "But I stay." "Your lips erewhile have smiled on me, too sweet." "I go not ere I've seen them once again." "I would be private." "Send each soul away." "Allow me to come to you." "Your humble and obliged, et cetera." "Father, this is the matter of the letter." "Madeleine Robin, the Cardinal's wish is law..." "Albeit it be to you unwelcome." "I send these lines by a holy man, discreet, intelligent." "A wise monk we trust blindly." "This evening, you will receive from him, in your house, the marriage." "Unknown to all the world Christian becomes your husband." "Let be." "Resign yourself." "This obedience will be by Heaven well recompensed." "Receive, fair lady, all assurance of respect... from him who ever was, and remains, your humble and obliged, et cetera." "O worthy lord." "I knew naught was to fear." "It could be but holy business." "Am I not apt at reading letters?" "But this is horrible!" "'Tis you?" "No, I!" "You?" "I have overlooked the postscript." "'Give 110 pistoles for the Convent.'" "Oh, most worthy lord!" "Submit." "It is my fate to submit." "Oh, keep De Guiche at bay!" "He will be here!" "I understand." "Will it take long?" "A quarter of an hour." "Go!" "I stay." "Now, how to detain De Guiche so long?" "I have my plan." "It is a man." "'Tis not too high." "I'll shake this atmosphere." "What can that cursed Friar be about?" "The devil!" "If he knows my voice." "Assume thou, Cyrano, to serve the turn, the southern accent." "'Tis there." "I see dim, this mask hinders me." "But 'tis here." "What's this?" "Where fell that man from?" "Where did you fall from?" "From the moon." "From?" "The moon!" "Do you know the song?" "Good, let it be so." "He's raving mad." "I mean no metaphor." "But..." "Was't a hundred years, a minute, since?" "I cannot guess what time that fall embraced... that I was in that saffron-colored ball." "Good, let me pass!" "Where am I?" "Tell the truth!" "No?" "Can it be?" "I'm on a planet where men have black faces?" "What?" "Am I in Africa?" "A native you?" "This mask of mine..." "In Venice or Rome?" "Is this Venice?" "A lady waits." "Oh-ho, I am in Paris." "The fool is comical!" "You laugh?" "I laugh, but would get by!" "I have shot back to Paris!" "Come, pardon me, by the last water-spout..." "Covered with ether, accident of travel!" "My eyes still full of star-dust." "I swear to you that if you squeezed my nose, it would spout milk." "Milk?" "From the Milky Way." "Oh, go to hell!" "I fall, Sir, out of heaven!" "Six novel methods to get up, this brain invented." "Six?" "First, with body naked as your hand... festooned about with crystal flacons... full o' th' tears the early morning dew distils." "My body to the sun's fierce rays exposed... to let it suck me up, as 't sucks the dew." "Ah, that makes one." "And then, the second way..." "To generate wind for my impetus... to rarefy air, in a cedar case... by mirrors placed icosahedron- wise." "Two." "Or, for I have some mechanic skill... to make a grasshopper, with springs of steel... and launch myself by succeeding fires saltpeter-fed to the stars' pastures." "Three." "Or, since fumes have property to mount... to charge a globe with fumes... sufficiently to carry me aloft." "Four." "Or smear myself with marrow from a bull... since, at the lowest point of Zodiac..." "Phoebus well loves to suck that marrow up." "Five." "Sitting on an iron platform... thence to throw a magnet in the air." "This is a method well conceived." "the iron will pursue... the magnet flown, infallibly." "Then quick relaunch your magnet, and you thus... can mount and mount unmeasured distances." "That is six." "The quarter's gone." "I'll hinder you no more." "The marriage-vows are made." "What?" "Am I mad?" "That voice?" "That nose..." "Cyrano?" "Cyrano de Bergerac." "While we were chatting, they have plighted troth." "Who?" "You?" "And he!" "Madame, mes compliments." "My compliments, Sir Apparatus-maker!" "Your story would arrest at Peter's gate Saints eager for their Paradise." "Note well the details." "They'd make a stirring book." "I shall not fail to follow your advice." "A handsome couple, son, made one by you." "Yes." "Bid your bridegroom, Madame, fond farewell." "Why so?" "Even now the regiment departs." "Join it!" "It goes to battle?" "Without doubt." "But the Cadets go not?" "Oh ay, they go." "Here is the order." "Baron, bear it, quick!" "Christian!" "The wedding-night is far, methinks!" "He thinks to give me pain of death by this." "One more kiss, Roxane!" "Come, come, enough." "'Tis hard to leave her, you know not!" "I know." "The regiment starts!" "I trust him you." "Promise me that no risks shall put his life in danger!" "I will try my best, but promise that I cannot." "But swear he shall be prudent?" "Again, I'll do my best, but..." "In the siege let him not suffer." "All that man can do, I..." "That he shall be faithful." "Doubtless." "That he will write oft?" "That, I promise you." "THE CADETS OF GASCONY" "Not a morsel of bread." "Nothing, anywhere we look." "Mordioux!" "Curse under your breath." "You will awake them." "Hush!" "Sleep on." "He who sleeps, dines." "But that is sorry comfort for the sleepless." "What starvation." "Oh, plague take their firing!" "'Twill wake my sons." "Sleep on!" "Bandits!" "Sleep on!" "'Tis Cyrano coming back." "Who goes there?" "De Bergerac!" "Who goes there?" "Bergerac, idiot!" "Heavens." "Wounded?" "Not at all." "You know it has become their custom to shoot at me every morning and miss me." "This passes all." "To take letters at each day's dawn." "To risk..." "I promised he should write often." "He sleeps." "How pale he is." "But how handsome still, despite his sufferings." "If his poor little lady-love knew..." "Get you quick to bed." "Nay, never scold, Le Bret." "I have found me a spot to pass the Spanish lines... where each night they lie drunk." "You should try to bring us back provision." "A man must carry no weight who would get by there." "But there will be surprise for us this night." "The French will eat or die if I mistake not." "Tell me." "Nay, not yet." "I am not certain." "You will see." "It is disgraceful that we should starve while we're besieging!" "Alas, how full of complication is this siege of Arras." "To think that while we are besieging, we should ourselves... be caught in a trap and besieged by the Cardinal Infante of Spain." "It were well done if he should be besieged in his turn." "I am in earnest." "Oh, indeed, Le Bret." "To think you risk a life so precious for the sake of a letter." "Thankless one." "Where are you going?" "I am going to write another." "The reveille." "Nourishing sleep!" "Thou art at an end!" "I know what will be their first cry!" "I am so hungry!" "I am dying!" "Get up you!" "Cannot move a limb." "My tongue is yellow." "The air at this season of the year is hard to digest." "My coronet for a bit of Chester!" "If none can furnish to my gaster wherewith to make a pint of chyle..." "I shall retire to my tent, like Achilles!" "Bread!" "Cyrano, join us." "Hunger!" "You have the art of quick retort and gay jest." "Come, hearten them up." "What are you crunching there?" "Cannon-wads soaked in axle-grease!" "I have been after game." "And I after fish." "Well!" "what have you brought?" "Come, show us quick!" "A gudgeon." "A sparrow." "'Tis more than can be borne!" "We will mutiny!" "Cyrano!" "Come to my help." "Why drag you your legs so sorrowfully?" "I have something in my heels which weighs them down." "And what may that be?" "My stomach!" "So have I, 'faith!" "It must be in your way?" "Nay, I am all the taller." "I have good teeth." "So you can crack hard nuts." "My stomach's hollow." "'Faith, 'twill make a fine drum to sound the assault." "I have a ringing in my ears." "No, no, a hungry stomach has no ears." "Oh, to eat something, something oily!" "Behold your salad." "What, in God's name, can we devour?" "The 'Iliad'." "The first minister in Paris has his four meals a day!" "'Twere courteous an he sent you a few partridges!" "And why not?" "With wine, too!" "A little Burgundy." "Excellency." "He could send it by one of his friars." "Ay, by His Eminence himself." "I am as ravenous as an ogre!" "Eat your patience, then." "Always your pointed word!" "I would fain die thus, some soft summer eve... making a pointed word for a good cause." "To make a soldier's end by soldier's sword... wielded by some brave adversary, die... on blood-stained turf, not on a fever-bed... a point upon my lips, a point within my heart." "I am hungry!" "All your thoughts of meat and drink!" "Bertrand the fifer, you were shepherd once." "Play to these greedy, guzzling soldiers." "Play old country airs with plaintive rhythm recurring." "Where lurk sweet echoes of the dear home-voices... each note of which calls like a little sister." "Those airs slow, slow ascending, as the smoke-wreaths... rise from the hearthstones of our native hamlets." "Their music strikes the ear... like Gascon patois." "Hark to the music, Gascons." "'Tis no longer the piercing fife of camp... but 'neath his fingers the flute of the woods." "No more the call to combat." "'Tis now the love-song of the wandering goat-herds." "The dusk of evening on the Dordogne river." "Hark, Gascons." "Hark." "'Tis Gascony." "But you make them weep." "Ay, for homesickness." "A nobler pain than hunger." "'Tis of the soul, not of the body." "Heart-ache is better than stomach-ache." "But you weaken their courage by playing thus on their heart-strings." "It is not good." "The hero that sleeps in Gascon blood is ever ready to awake in them." "What is it?" "You see?" "One roll of the drum is enough." "They have risen." "Monsieur De Guiche!" "A flattering welcome." "We are sick to death of him." "With his lace collar over his armor, playing the fine gentleman." "As if one wore linen over steel." "For all that, a Gascon." "Ay, false Gascon!" "Trust him not." "Gascons should ever be crack-brained." "Naught more dangerous than a rational Gascon." "How pale he is!" "He is hungry, just like us poor devils." "But under his cuirass, with its fine gilt nails... his stomach-ache glitters brave in the sun." "Let us not seem to suffer either." "Out with your cards, pipes, and dice." "And I shall read Descartes." "Good-day." "He's green." "He has nothing left but eyes." "Here are the rebels." "As rude as they are big." "Ay, Sirs, on all sides I hear that in your ranks you scoff at me." "That the Cadets, these loutish, mountain-bred, poor country squires... scarce find for me, their Colonel, a disdain sufficient!" "Call me plotter, wily courtier!" "It does not please their mightiness to see a lace collar on my steel cuirass." "And they enrage, because a man, in sooth... may be no ragged-robin, yet a Gascon!" "Shall I command your Captain punish you?" "No." "I am free, moreover, will not punish." "I have paid my company, 'tis mine." "I bow but to headquarters." "So in faith!" "That will suffice." "I can despise your taunts." "'Tis well known how I bear me in the war." "Yesterday, they saw the rage with which I beat back the Count of Bucquoi." "And your white scarf?" "You know that detail?" "Troth!" "While caracoling to recall the troops... for the third charge, a band of fugitives... bore me with them, close by the hostile ranks." "I was in peril capture, sudden death!" "When I thought of the good expedient... to loosen and let fall the scarf which told my military rank." "Thus I contrived, without attention waked -to leave the foes... and suddenly returning, reinforced with my own men... to scatter them!" "And now, what say you, Sir?" "I say, that Henri Quatre had not, by any dangerous odds... been forced to strip himself of his white helmet plume." "The ruse succeeded, though!" "Oh, may be!" "But one does not lightly abdicate the honor to serve as target to the enemy." "Had I been present when your scarf fell low... our courage, Sir, is of a different sort..." "I would have picked it up and put it on." "Oh, ay!" "Another Gascon boast!" "A boast." "Lend it to me." "I pledge myself, to-night, with it across my breast... to lead th' assault." "Another vaunt." "You know the scarf lies with the enemy." "No one can fetch it hither." "Here it is." "I thank you." "It will now enable me... to make a signal, that I had forborne to make till now." "See you yon man down there, who runs?" "'Tis a false Spanish spy... who is extremely useful to my ends." "The news he carries to the enemy... are those I prompt him with, so in a word... we have an influence on their decisions." "Scoundrel!" "'Tis opportune." "What were we saying?" "Ah, I have news for you." "Last evening, to victual us, the Marshal did attempt a final effort." "Secretly he went to Dourlens... where the King's provisions be." "But to return to camp more easily, he took with him a goodly force of troops." "Those who attacked us now would have fine sport." "Half of the army's absent from the camp." "Ay, if the Spaniards knew, 'twere ill for us." "But they know nothing of it." "Oh!" "they know." "They will attack us." "For my false spy... came to warn me of their attack." "He said, 'I can decide the point for their assault." "Where would you have it?" "I will tell them 'tis the least defended, they'll attempt you there.'" "I answered, 'Good... go out of camp, but watch my signal." "Choose the point from whence it comes.'" "Make ready!" "'Twill be in an hour." "No earlier?" "Time must be gained." "The Marshal will return." "How gain it?" "You will all be good enough to let yourselves to be killed." "Vengeance, oho!" "I do not say that, if I loved you well, I had chosen you and yours... but, as things stand, your courage yielding to no corps the palm..." "I serve my King, and serve my grudge as well." "Permit that I express my gratitude." "I know you love to fight against five score." "You will not now complain of paltry odds." "We shall add to the Gascon coat of arms... with its six bars of blue and gold, one more." "The blood-red bar that was a-missing there!" "Christian." "Roxane." "Alas." "At least, I'd send my heart's farewell to her in a fair letter." "I had suspicion it would be to-day." "And had already writ." "Show!" "Will you?" "Ay." "Hold!" "What?" "This spot." "A spot?" "A tear." "Poets, by dint of counterfeiting take counterfeit for true, that is the charm." "This farewell letter, it was passing sad." "I wept myself in writing it." "Wept?" "Oh, death itself is hardly terrible." "But, ne'er to see her more." "That is death's sting!" "For..." "I shall never..." "We shall..." "I mean, you..." "Give me that letter." "Who goes there?" "Halloo!" "What is it?" "'Tis a carriage!" "In the camp?" "It enters!" "It comes from the enemy!" "Fire!" "No, the coachman cries!" "Fire!" "No, wait!" "'On the King's service!" "'" "The King's service?" "Quick!" "Attention!" "Uncover all!" "The King's!" "Draw up in line!" "Beat the drum!" "Let him describe his curve as it befits!" "Beat a salute!" "Good-day!" "What?" "On the King's service!" "You?" "Ay, King Love's!" "What other king?" "You!" "Why?" "The siege was never ending." "Why?" "I will tell you all." "You cannot remain here." "But I say yes." "Give me that drum." "So!" "I thank you." "My carriage was fired at." "Would you not think 'twas made of a pumpkin." "Like Cinderella's chariot in the tale." "Good-morrow!" "You look not merry, any of you." "Know you that 'tis a long road to get to Arras?" "Cousin, delighted!" "You also lost your tongue." "Can I not hear a word of welcome after such a long journey?" "I am speechless." "But how, in Heaven's name?" "How found I the way to the army?" "I had but to pass on and on, as far as I saw the country laid waste." "Well, gentlemen, if such be the service of your King..." "I would fainer serve mine." "But 'tis sheer madness." "Did you see no danger?" "Where in the fiend's name did you get through?" "Where?" "Through the Spanish lines." "For subtle craft, give me a woman." "But how did you pass through their lines?" "That must have been a hard matter." "None too hard." "I but drove quietly forward in my carriage." "and when some hidalgo of haughty mien would have stayed me..." "I showed at the window my sweetest smile, and these gentlemen being... the most gallant gentlemen in the world, I passed on." "A greeting and I rode past." "True, that smile is a passport!" "But you must have been asked oft to give an account of where you were going." "Yes, frequently." "Then I would answer, 'I go to see my lover.'" "At that word the very fiercest Spaniard would shut the carriage-door... and make signal to his men to lower the muskets leveled at me." "I learnt some Spanish words." "Such as 'niña' and 'bonita'." "They would bow low, saying to me, 'Pass on, Senorita!" "'" "Roxane!" "Forgive me that I said, 'my lover!" "'" "But had I said 'my husband', not one of them had let me pass." "But..." "What?" "What is going on here?" "You must leave this place." "I?" "And that instantly." "No time to lose." "Yes." "Why?" "'Tis that..." "In three quarters of an hour..." "Or four..." "It were best..." "We will..." "You are going to fight?" "I stay here." "No!" "Here is my husband." "They shall kill us both together." "Why do you look at me thus?" "I will tell you why." "'Tis a post of mortal danger!" "Mortal danger!" "At this post?" "Proof enough, that he has put us here." "So, Sir, you would have made a widow of me?" "Nay, on my oath..." "Oh yes." "I will not go!" "Besides, 'tis amusing." "So our precieuse is a heroine." "Monsieur de Bergerac, I am your cousin." "We will defend you well!" "I have no fear of that, my friends." "The whole camp smells sweet of orris-root." "And, by luck, I have chosen a hat that will suit well with the battlefield." "But were it not wisest that the Count retire?" "They may begin the attack." "That is not to be brooked." "I go to inspect the cannon, and shall return." "You have still time." "Think better of it!" "Never!" "Roxane." "No." "She stays!" "Naught shall make me stir from this spot!" "Swords nor guns." "It is perchance more seemly, since things are thus, that I present... some of these gentlemen who are about to have the honor... of dying before your eyes." "Baron de Casterac de Cahuzac!" "Ha!" "Baron." "Baron de Peyrescous de Colignac!" "Ha!" "Baron." "Baron Hillot de Blagnac-Salechan de Castel Crabioules." "Ha!" "Baron." "Chevalier d'Antignac-Juzet." "Ha!" "Chevalier." "Vidame de Malgouyre Estressac Lesbas d'Escarabiot." "But how many names have you each?" "Scores!" "My company had no flag." "Open your hand." "Why?" "Our flag!" "'Tis somewhat small." "But 'tis of lace." "I could die happy, having seen so sweet a face... if I had something in my stomach, were it but a nut." "What, talk of eating when a lovely woman!" "I myself am famished." "What is on the menu to-day?" "Pasties, cold fricassee, old wines." "Pray bring it all here." "The devil may know." "Where on earth find it?" "In my carriage." "You will have to serve yourselves." "Look a little closer at my coachman, gentlemen." "You will recognize a man most welcome." "'Tis Ragueneau!" "Poor fellows." "Kind fairy." "Gentlemen!" "The Spaniards, gazing on a lady so dainty fair... overlooked the fare so dainty." "And Venus so attracted their eyes that Diana could secretly pass by with." "Prythee, one word." "Put it all on the ground." "Christian, come make yourself of use." "Truffled peacock!" "We shall not brave the last hazard without having had a gullet-full." "Pardon!" "A Balthazar feast!" "Flasks of rubies!" "Flasks of topaz!" "Unfold me that napkin." "Each of the carriage-lamps is a little larder." "I must speak with you ere you speak to her." "My whip-handle is an Arles sausage!" "Let us die well." "Let the rest of the army shift for itself." "All for the Gascons!" "It is all so good!" "What will you?" "Nothing." "Nay, nay, take this biscuit, steeped in muscat." "Oh, tell me why you came?" "Wait, my first duty is to these poor fellows." "De Guiche!" "Quick!" "hide flasks, plates, pie-dishes, game-baskets!" "Hurry!" "Let us all look unconscious!" "Up on your seat!" "Is everything covered up?" "Polish!" "Work!" "As if nothing happened." "It smells good here." "What is the matter?" "You are very red." "'Tis my blood, boiling at the thought of the coming battle." "What's that?" "Nothing!" "'Tis a song!" "You are merry, my friend!" "The approach of danger is intoxicating." "Captain!" "I..." "But you look bravely, too." "I have one cannon left, and have had it carried there." "You can use it." "Charming attention!" "Kind solicitude!" "How?" "They are all gone crazy?" "Are you tipsy?" "But what with?" "With the smell of powder!" "Madame, what decision do you deign to take?" "You must fly!" "I stay." "Go." "No." "I cannot convince you." "Give me a musket." "I too remain." "At last!" "This is true valor, Sir!" "Then you are Gascon after all, spite of your lace collar?" "I leave no woman in peril." "Think you not we might give him something to eat?" "Victuals?" "Yes, you'll see them coming from under every coat." "Do you think I will eat your leavings?" "You make progress." "I will fight without breaking my fast!" "Sir." "If you wish, you can review the troops." "Will you accept my hand, and accompany me while I review them?" "Tell me quickly!" "If Roxane should speak of the letters..." "Yes?" "Do not spoil all by seeming surprised." "At what?" "You have written to her..." "oh, nothing." "I but thought of it to-day on seeing her." "Tell quickly." "You have written to her oftener than you think." "How so?" "Thus, 'faith!" "I had taken it in hand to express your flame for you!" "At times I wrote without saying, 'I am writing!" "'" "Ah." "'Tis simple enough." "But how did you contrive, since we have been cut off, thus... to?" "Oh, before dawn I was able to get through." "That was simple, too?" "And how oft, pray you, have I written?" "Twice in the week?" "Three times?" "Four?" "More often still." "Every day?" "Yes, every day, twice." "And that became so mad a joy for you, that you braved death." "Hush." "Not before her." "Now between us, Christian." "Now tell me why, by these fearful paths so perilous, you have come." "Across these ranks of ribald soldiery." "To see me." "Your letters brought me here." "What say you?" "'Tis your fault if I ran risks." "Your letters turned my head." "Ah, all this month, how many." "And the last one ever bettered the one that went before." "What, for a few inconsequent love-letters." "Hold your peace!" "Ah, you cannot conceive it." "Ever since that night, when, in a voice all new to me... under my window you revealed your soul." "That sweet night." "When we were married." "Now your letters all this month long!" "Meseemed as if I heard that voice." "I had to see you." "Thy fault!" "Penelope would ne'er have stayed to broider on her hearthstone... if her Ulysses could have writ such letters... but would have cast away her silken bobbins... and fled to join him, mad for love as Helen." "But..." "I read, read again." "Each separate page was like a fluttering flower-petal, loosed from your own soul." "Imprinted in each burning word was love sincere, all-powerful." "Sincere and powerful?" "Yes, stronger than death." "You come...?" "I come to crave your pardon." "Were I to throw myself, here, at your knees, you would raise me... but 'tis my soul I lay at your feet." "You can raise it nevermore." "Ay, 'tis time to sue for pardon, now that death may come." "For the insult done to you when, frivolous... at first I loved you only for your face!" "Roxane!" "And later, love, less frivolous... like a bird that spreads its wings, but can not fly..." "I loved for both at once." "Arrested by your beauty, by your soul drawn close." "And now?" "You have triumphed o'er yourself." "Now, I love you only for your soul." "Roxane!" "Be happy." "I no longer love you for beauty, a poor disguise that time wears threadbare." "Your dear thoughts have now effaced that beauty that won me at the outset." "I no more see it." "No." "You are doubtful of such victory?" "No, Roxane!" "I see you cannot yet believe it." "Such love?" "I do not ask such love as that!" "I would be loved more simply for..." "For that which they have all in turns loved in thee?" "Oh, be loved henceforth in a better way!" "No, the first love was best." "Ah, how you err." "'Tis now that I love best, love well." "'Tis that which is thy true self, that I adore." "Hush." "I should love still." "Ay, if your beauty should to-day depart." "Say not so!" "Ay." "Ugly?" "How?" "Yes." "Also ugly." "Oh, my God!" "What is wrong?" "Nothing..." "Go, speak to them, smile on them ere they die." "They may be shortly doomed to death." "Dear Christian." "Hey!" "Cyrano." "Yes?" "Why so pale?" "She does not love me." "What?" "No." "'Tis you she loves." "No." "For she loves me only for my soul." "Therefore, 'tis you she loves." "And you love her." "I..." "I know it." "Ay, 'tis true." "You love to madness." "Ay and worse!" "Then tell her so." "No." "And why not?" "Look at my face!" "Be answered." "She'd love me were I ugly." "Said she so?" "Just now." "I'm glad she told you that." "But take it not for truth." "I am pleased she thought to tell you, but she loves you more than ever." "And never grow ugly." "She'd reproach me then." "That I intend discovering." "No." "Ay, she shall choose between us." "Tell her all." "I will not have it." "Spare me this." "Because my face is haply fair, shall I destroy your happiness?" "Never." "Shall I be fatal to your happiness?" "Because by Nature's freak I have the gift to say all that perchance you feel?" "Tell all!" "It is ill done to tempt me thus." "Too long I've borne about within myself a rival to myself!" "Christian!" "Our union can be easily dissolved." "If we survive." "Stop it." "No." "I will be loved myself... or not at all." "Speak." "I'll go see what they do." "Let her choose one of us two." "You." "'Tis good." "I hope it." "Roxane!" "Do not do it." "What?" "Cyrano has things important for your ear." "He's gone." "Important, how?" "'Tis naught." "Oh, you know how he sees importance in a trifle." "Did he doubt of what I said?" "Ah, yes, I saw he doubted." "But are you sure you told him all the truth?" "Yes, I swear I would love him were he..." "Does that word embarrass you before my face?" "But..." "'Twill not hurt me." "Say it." "If he were ugly..." "Even hideous?" "Yes." "Disfigured." "Disfigured." "Grotesque?" "He could not be grotesque to me." "You'd love the same?" "The same, nay, even more." "My God, it's true." "Perchance, love waits me there." "Roxane..." "Listen..." "Cyrano!" "What?" "What is it?" "All is over now." "Hark, another shot!" "It is too late, now I can never tell." "What has chanced?" "Nothing." "And those men?" "'Tis nothing." "They carry boards." "What were you just about to say before?" "I..." "Nothing now, I swear." "I swear that Christian's nature were the noblest, greatest... is..." "Were?" "Oh, he perished!" "Christian!" "Struck by first shot of the enemy." "Assault!" "O come!" "Your muskets." "Roxane!" "I told her all." "She loves you still." "How, my sweet love?" "He is not dead?" "No." "Christian." "His cheek grows cold against my own." "A letter!" "'Tis for me." "My letter." "Come, Roxane, they fight." "No." "Stay yet awhile." "For he is dead." "You knew him, you alone." "Ah, was not his a beauteous soul?" "Ay, Roxane." "Admirable in every way?" "Ay, Roxane." "Likeable." "Combative and a poet?" "Yes, Roxane." "A heart too deep for common minds to plumb, a spirit subtle, charming?" "Aye, Roxane." "He is dead!" "Ay, and let me die to-day, since, all unconscious, she mourns me in him." "It is the signal!" "Trumpet flourishes!" "Stay courageous!" "The provisions are coming!" "Surrender!" "No!" "Fly, and save her!" "So be it!" "Gain but time." "The victory's ours!" "'Tis good." "Farewell, Roxane!" "We have lost!" "We are breaking!" "Have no fear!" "I have two deaths to avenge." "Christian!" "And my happiness!" "Float there!" "Laced kerchief broidered with her name!" "Fifer, play!" "He who touches this banner will pay with his life!" "They're climbing the redoubt!" "Let us salute them!" "Who are these men who rush on death?" "Who approach death while they sing?" "The bold Cadets of Gascony, of Carbon of Castel-Jaloux!" "The bold Cadets of Gascony, of Carbon of Castel-Jaloux." "Brawling and swaggering boastfully... the bold Cadets of Gascony!" "Spouting of Armory, Heraldry." "Their veins a-brimming with blood so blue." "These are the Cadets of Carbon de Castel-Jaloux." "Eagle-eye, and spindle-shanks..." "Fierce mustache, and wolfish tooth!" "Slash-the-rabble and... scatter-their-ranks." "With a flaming feather that gayly pranks... hiding the holes in their hats, forsooth!" "These are the Cadets of Carbon de Castel-Jaloux." "Pink-your-Doublet and Slit-your-Trunk are their gentlest sobriquets." "With Fame and Glory their soul is drunk!" "Pink-your-Doublet, Slit-your-Trunk... in brawl and skirmish they show spunk, give rendezvous in broil and fray." "Thus are the Cadets of Carbon de Castel-Jaloux." "CYRANO'S GAZETTE (fifteen years later)" "Did you know that Sister Clara broke the rules three times?" "She glanced in the mirror to see if her coif suited." "'Tis not well." "But I saw Sister Martha take a plum out of the tart." "That was ill done, Sister Martha." "A little glance." "And such a little plum." "I shall tell this to Monsieur De Bergerac." "Nay, prithee do not." "He will mock." "He'll say we nuns are vain." "And greedy." "Ay, and kind." "Is it not true, pray, Mother... that he has come, each week, on Saturday for nine years, to the convent?" "Ay and more." "Ever since, fourteen years ago, the day... his cousin brought here, 'midst our woolen coifs... the worldly mourning of her widow's veil... like a blackbird's wing among the convent doves." "He only has the skill to turn her mind... from grief, unsoftened yet by Time, unhealed." "He is so droll." "It's cheerful when he comes." "He teases us." "But we all like him well." "We make him pasties of angelica." "But, he is not a faithful Catholic." "We will convert him." "Yes." "I forbid, my daughters, you attempt that subject." "Nay, weary him not." "He might less oft come here." "But God..." "Nay, never fear!" "God knows him well." "But every Saturday, when he arrives... he tells me, 'Sister, I eat meat on Friday!" "'" "Well, the last time he came, food had not passed his lips for two whole days." "God!" "He's poor." "Who told you so?" "Monsieur Le Bret." "None help him?" "He permits not." "'Tis time we go in." "Madame Madeleine walks in the garden with a visitor." "We had better go." "The Marshal of Grammont?" "'Tis he, I think." "'Tis many months now since he came to see her." "He is so busy." "The Court, the camp." "The world." "And you stay here still, ever vainly fair, ever in weeds?" "Ever." "Still faithful?" "Still." "Am I forgiven?" "Ay, since I am here." "Is this not too much?" "His was a soul, you say?" "Ah, when you knew him." "Ah, may be." "I, perchance, too little knew him." "And his last letter, ever next your heart?" "Ever." "Hung from this chain, a gentle scapulary." "And, dead, you love him still?" "At times, meseems he is but partly dead." "As if his love, still living, wrapped me round." "Cyrano comes to see you?" "Often, ay." "All weeks." "We call him my 'Gazette'." "He never fails to come." "Beneath this tree, they place his chair, if it be fine." "I wait, I broider." "The clock strikes." "At the last stroke I hear, for now I never turn to look." "Too sure to hear his cane tap down the steps." "He seats himself." "With gentle raillery he mocks my tapestry that's never done." "He tells me all the gossip of the week." "Why, here's Le Bret." "How goes it with our friend?" "Cyrano." "Ill." "How?" "All that I prophesied." "Desertion, want." "His letters now make him fresh enemies." "Attacking the sham nobles, sham devout..." "Sham brave, the thieving authors, all the world." "But his sword still holds them all in check." "None get the better of him." "One can be too reckless." "Ah, but I fear for him not man's attack." "Solitude, hunger, cold December days..." "That wolf-like steal into his chamber drear." "Ay, there is one who has no prize of Fortune." "Yet is not to be pitied." "My Lord Marshal!" "He has lived out his vows, free in his thoughts, as in his actions free." "My Lord." "True, I have all, and he has naught." "Yet I were proud to take his hand." "Adieu." "Wait, I go with you." "Ay, true, I envy him." "Look you, when life is brimful of success... though the past hold no action foul... one feels a thousand self-disgusts... of which the sum is not remorse, but a dim, vague unrest." "And, as one mounts the steps of worldly fame... the Duke's furred mantles trail within their folds... a sound of dead illusions, vain regrets... a rustle, scarce a whisper, like as when." "Like your mourning robe sweeps in its train the dying autumn leaves." "You are pensive?" "True, I am." "Le Bret..." "A word, with your permission?" "True, that none dare to attack your friend, but many hate him." "Yesterday, at the Queen's card-play... 'twas said 'that Cyrano may die by accident'." "Let him stay in, be prudent." "Prudent, he!" "What is it?" "Ragueneau would see you, Madame." "Let him come." "He comes to tell his troubles." "An author -save the mark- poor fellow, now by turns he's singer." "Bathing-man." "Player of the lute." "Wig-maker." "Actor!" "Prompter." "What will he be to-day, by chance?" "Ah, Madame!" "Sir." "'Tis time I go." "I hope you will excuse me." "Tell all your miseries to him." "I will return anon." "Madame!" "Since you are here, 'tis best she should not know." "I was going to your friend just now." "I was but a few steps from the house, when I saw him go out." "I hurried to him." "Saw him turn the corner... from out a window where he was passing." "Was it chance?" "A lackey let fall a large piece of wood." "Cowards!" "O Cyrano!" "I ran, I saw..." "'Tis hideous!" "Saw our poet, Sir, our friend, struck to the ground." "A large wound in his head!" "Dead?" "No, I bore him to his room." "Ah, his room!" "What a thing to see, that garret!" "Let us haste!" "There's no one by his bed and if he try to rise, he might die!" "It would kill him!" "Through the chapel!" "'Tis the quickest way!" "Monsieur le Bret!" "Hallo?" "Le Bret goes when I call." "'Tis some new trouble of good Ragueneau's." "What a beauty in September's close." "My sorrow's eased." "April's joy dazzled it... but autumn wins it with her dying calm." "There comes the famous armchair where he sits, dear faithful friend." "It is the parlor's best." "Thanks, sister." "The hour strikes." "He'll be here now." "Good." "How strange." "The hour's struck and he's not here." "Strange." "Where's my silk?" "To be behind his time, at last, to-day." "Perhaps the portress is preaching to him." "Where's my thimble?" "Here." "Yes, she must be preaching." "Ah, a dead leaf." "Scissors?" "Here, in my bag." "Living or dead... he will come." "Monsieur De Bergerac." "Time has dimmed the tints." "How harmonize them now?" "I'll try this." "Late." "For the first time, all these fourteen years." "Ay, it is villainous." "I raged, was stayed." "By?" "By a visitor." "Some creditor?" "The last creditor who has a debt to claim from me." "I have get a standing rendezvous that naught defers." "I must be there." "Call in an hour's time." "A creditor can always wait." "I shall not let you go ere twilight falls." "Haply, perforce, I quit you ere it falls." "How now?" "You have not teased the Sister?" "True!" "Sister Magda, come here!" "Have you been good?" "Those bright eyes bent ever on the ground?" "She looks!" "Sister, I broke fast yesterday." "I know, that's how he is so pale." "Come presently to the refectory." "I'll make you drink a famous bowl of soup." "You'll come?" "Ay, please." "There, see!" "You are more reasonable to-day." "The Sister would convert you?" "Nay, not I." "Hold, but it's true!" "You preach to me no more." "Do you think of me no more?" "It is something new!" "You let me go to hell." "Stay, I will surprise you too." "Hark!" "I permit you... to pray for me, to-night, at chapel-time." "Oh?" "Good Sister Martha is struck dumb." "I did not wait your leave to pray for you." "That tapestry!" "Beshrew me if my eyes will ever see it finished." "I was sure to hear that well-known jest." "The autumn leaves." "Soft golden brown, like a Venetian's hair." "See how they fall." "Ay, see how brave they fall, in their last journey downward from the bough." "To rot within the clay, yet, lovely, hiding the horror of the last decay... with all the wayward grace of careless flight." "What, melancholy, you?" "Nay, nay, Roxane." "Then let the dead leaves fall the way they will." "What, have you nothing new to tell?" "My Court Gazette." "Listen." "Ah!" "Saturday the nineteenth." "Having eaten to excess... of pear-conserve... the King felt feverish." "The lancet quelled this treasonable revolt." "And the august pulse beats at normal pace." "At the Queen's ball on Sunday thirty score... of best white waxen tapers were consumed." "Our troops, they say, have chased the Austrians." "Four sorcerers were hanged." "The little dog of Madame d'Athis took a dose." "Monsieur De Bergerac!" "Monday, not much." "Claire changed protector." "Oh!" "Tuesday, the Court repaired to Fontainebleau." "Wednesday, the Montglat said to Comte de Fiesque "No!"" "Thursday, the King feels a bit alone." "To do something about that, he decided to have a party." "Mancini, Queen of France, almost." "Friday, the Monglat to Count Fiesque said 'Yes!" "'" "And Saturday the twenty-sixth..." "How?" "What is this?" "He swoons, Cyrano!" "What?" "'Tis nothing." "Let me be." "Nay, on my word." "But you are in pain." "That old wound of Arras..." "It has passed." "Each of us has his wound." "I have mine, never healed up." "'Tis here, beneath this letter brown with age." "All stained with tear-drops, and still stained with blood." "Ah, you promised me one day that I should read it." "His letter?" "Yes, I would fain, to-day..." "Here." "Have I your leave to open?" "Open." "Read." "Adieu, Roxane." "I soon must die." "Out loud." "This very night, beloved." "I feel my soul heavy... with love untold..." "For the last time, I say "Farewell"." "My time here is over." "But how you read that letter." "No more, as in days of old... my loving, longing eyes will feast... on your least gesture, ay, the least." "I mind me the way you touch your cheek... with your finger, softly, as you speak." "Ah me!" "I know that gesture well." "But how you read that letter!" "'My life, my love, my jewel, my sweet..." "My heart has been yours in every beat!" "'" "My most beloved!" "That voice!" "My consolation." "My dearest!" "Will we meet again... in the promised land... no one returned from?" "'Here, dying, and there, in the land on high..." "I am he who loved, who loves you, I..." "How can you read?" "It is too dark to see." "And, fourteen years long, he has played this part... of the kind old friend who comes to laugh and chat." "Roxane!" "'Twas you!" "No, never;" "Roxane, no!" "I should have guessed, each time he said my name!" "No, it was not I!" "It was you!" "I see through all the generous counterfeit." "The letters, you!" "No." "The sweet, mad love-words!" "You!" "I swear you err." "The voice that thrilled the night, you!" "No." "The soul, it was your soul!" "I loved you not." "You loved me!" "No." "See!" "how you falter now!" "No, my love." "Things dead, long dead, see." "How they rise again." "Why keep silence fourteen years when on this letter, the tears were yours?" "The bloodstains were his." "Why, then, that noble silence, kept so long... broken to-day for the first time, why?" "Why?" "What madness!" "Here?" "I knew it well!" "What now?" "Do I not stand straight?" "He has brought his death by coming, Madame." "Why true, I forgot some news." "Saturday, twenty-sixth, at dinner-time, assassination of De Bergerac." "What says he?" "Cyrano!" "Your head all bound!" "Ah, what has chanced?" "How?" "Who?" "'To be struck down, pierced by sword i' the heart, from a hero's hand.'" "That I had dreamed." "O mockery of Fate." "Struck from behind, and by a lackey's hand." "'Tis very well." "I am foiled, foiled in all, even in my death." "Ah, Monsieur." "Ragueneau, weep not so bitterly." "What do you now, old comrade?" "Trim the lights for Moliere's stage." "Moliere!" "Yes, but I shall leave to-morrow." "I cannot bear it!" "Yesterday, they played 'Scapin'." "I saw he'd thieved a scene from you." "Your famous scene." "Moliere has stolen that?" "He did well." "How went the scene?" "Ah, how they laughed." "Look you, it was my life to be the prompter every one forgets." "The helper that one tends to forget." "That night when 'neath your window Christian spoke, you remember?" "There was the allegory of my whole life." "I, in the shadow, at the ladder's foot... while others lightly mount to Love and Fame." "Just, very just." "I pay my tribute with the rest... to Moliere's genius, Christian's fair face." "Sister, let them go pray, go pray, when the bell rings." "Sister!" "Stay." "Call no one." "When you come back, I should be gone for aye." "I was somewhat fain for music." "Hark, 'tis come." "Live, for I love you." "No, In fairy tales, when to the ill-starred Prince the lady says..." "'I love you!" "' all his ugliness fades fast... but I remain the same, up to the last." "I have marred your life, I." "You blessed my life." "Never on me had rested woman's love." "My mother even could not find me fair." "I had no sister." "And, when grown a man, I feared the mistress who would mock at me." "But I have had your friendship, grace to you... a woman's charm has passed across my path." "Your other lady-love is come." "She." "I loved but once, yet twice I lose my love." "I soon shall reach the moon." "To-night, alone, with no projectile's aid." "What are you saying?" "I tell you, it is there that they send me for my Paradise." "There I shall find at last the souls I love... in exile, Galileo, Socrates!" "No, no!" "It is too clumsy, too unjust." "So great a heart!" "So great a poet!" "Die like this?" "Like this?" "Hark to Le Bret, who scolds!" "What ho!" "Cadets of Gascony!" "His science still, he raves." "I cry you pardon, but I may not stay." "See, the moon-ray that comes to call me hence." "I would not bid you mourn less faithfully... that good, brave Christian." "I would only ask... that when my body shall be cold in clay... you wear those sable mourning weeds for two... and mourn awhile for me, in mourning him." "I swear it you." "Not there!" "What, seated?" "No!" "Let no one hold me up." "Only the tree." "It comes." "E'en now my feet have turned to stone." "My hands are gloved with lead." "You laugh in my face?" "Sword in hand!" "Cyrano." "Cyrano!" "He dares to mock my nose?" "Ho, insolent!" "You there, who are you!" "You are thousands!" "Ah, I would hope so!" "I know you now, old enemies of mine!" "Falsehood!" "Have at you!" "Compromise!" "Prejudice, treachery!" "Surrender, I?" "Parley?" "No, never!" "You too, Folly, you?" "I know that you will lay me low at last." "Let be!" "Yet I fall fighting, fighting still!" "You strip from me the laurel and the rose!" "Take all!" "Despite you there is yet one thing I hold against you all... and when, to-night, I enter Christ's fair courts... and, lowly bowed, sweep with doffed casque... the heavens' threshold blue... one thing is left, that... void of stain or smutch..." "'Tis?" "My panache."