But why a hundred men against a poor poet?
CYRANO.
Let us on!.... (_to the officers_) .... and you, gentlemen, when you see
me charge, please do not follow; simply look on, whatever danger I may
be in!
COMEDIENNE.
But we wish to see too!
CYRANO.
Come along, then!
COMEDIENNE (_to the troop_).
Let us all go?
CYRANO.
Come, all of you, the Doctor, Isabella, Leander, all! Come as a bevy
pleasant and frolicsome! Come, and let the fantasy of Italian farce
tinkle through the rumble of to-night's Spanish drama, surrounding it
with jingles like a tambourine!
THE WOMEN (_jumping for joy_).
Bravo! Quick, a wrap! a hood!....
JODELET.
Let us proceed!
CYRANO (_to the violins_).
Will the violins supply the music?
(_The violins join the formation. Candles are taken from the
footlights and distributed; and thus a torch-light procession is
prepared._)
CYRANO.
Bravo! Officers, gentlemen and women in fancy dress! Now, ten steps
ahead .... (_he places himself as he speaks_) I, alone, beneath the
plume that glory itself stuck into this hat .... proud as a Scipion
thrice Nasica!.... Understood?.... All assistance to me is forbidden!
Ready?.... Open the door!
(_Janitor opens the door, through which can be seen a bit of old
Paris, picturesque in the moonlight._)
Ah! Paris in the dimness of the night,
With moonlight trickling down the bluish roofs.
For coming deed how exquisite the frame!
'Neath mist as light as gauze, behold! the Seine,
As if it were a magic mirror there,
Is trembling .... and you'll see what you shall see!
ALL.
To the Porte de Nesle!
CYRANO (_on the threshold_).
To the Porte de Nesle!
(_Turning, before going out, to the soubrette_).
Did you not ask, Madamoiselle, why against this one rimester a hundred
men were sent?
(_He draws his sword and continues very quietly._)
Because he is known to be a friend of mine!
(_Exit Cyrano. The procession--Lignière with unsteady head--the
comediennes hanging upon the arms of the officers, then the
comedians dancing and capering--moves out into the night, with the
violins for music, and with candles for light._)
_CURTAIN._
[Illustration: _FIRST ACT._]
_ACT II._
THE POET'S COOK-SHOP.
_The shop of Ragueneau, poulterer and pastry-cook, a large establishment
in Paris, on the corner of the Rue St.-Honoré and the Rue de
l'Arbre-Sec. In the rear, through the wide glazed door, the streets are
plainly seen, grey in the light of dawn._
_To the left, first entrance, a counter, above which is an iron frame,
from hooks on which are suspended geese, ducks and white peacocks. Large
crockery vases containing ordinary plants, principally sunflowers. On
the same side, second entrance, a wide fireplace, before which, between
two monumental andirons, on each of which a pot is hung, several roasts,
the fat of which is dripping into pans._
_To the right, first entrance, a door. Second entrance, a staircase
leading up to a small inside room, the interior of which is visible
through its open blinds; a table is there, with cover set, lighted by a
Flemish chandelier. A wooden gallery at the top of the staircase leads
seemingly to other rooms of the same sort._
_In the centre of the shop, an iron ring is hung: it can be lowered by
means of a pulley, and on it are large pieces of game, meat, hams, etc.
It forms a peculiar sort of chandelier._
_Under the staircase, the glow of several ovens. Copper saucepans shine.
Spits are turning. Morning activity. Cook-boys run in and out. Fat chefs
are seen now and then. Loads of cakes and meat-pies are brought in on
willow trays._
_Tables are garnished with cakes and eatables. Other tables, with chairs
around, are prepared for customers. A small table in a corner is covered
with papers. Before it is seated Ragueneau, who is writing, as the
curtain rises._
_SCENE I._
RAGUENEAU, PASTRY-COOKS, _then_ LISE. RAGUENEAU _is
writing and counts on his fingers_.
FIRST PASTRY-COOK (_bearing a dish_).
Candied fruits!
SECOND PASTRY-COOK (_with another dish_).
Pie!
THIRD PASTRY-COOK (_with a roast_).
Peacock!
FOURTH PASTRY-COOK (_with a tray_).
Cakes!
FIFTH PASTRY-COOK (_with an earthen bowl_).
Stewed beef!
RAGUENEAU (_stops writing and looks up_).
The copper's yellow sheen is silvered by the dawn[12]
Now smother, Ragueneau, the godly notes you love!
Sweet poesy must wait--just now is cooking time!
(_He rises. To one of the cooks_).
Look here! Your sauce is thick, and you must lengthen it.
COOK.
How much?
RAGUENEAU.
Three feet.
(_Passes on._)
O Muse, keep thou aloof, or else your pleading eyes
Will suffer from the glare of vulgar fires here!
(_to one of the pastry-cooks_).
These loaves are badly set, the split should not be thus,
Cesuras should be placed between the hemstitches.
(_to another, pointing to an unfinished meat-pie_).
This palace made of crust is fine, but needs a roof.
(_to an apprentice boy who, seated on the floor, is running a fowl
on a spit_).
The spit is long enough for chickens, turkeys, all,
But alternate, my boy, and imitate Malherbe:
His lines the longest were relieved by shorter ones.
Do you the same, prepare real stanzas on the spit!
ANOTHER APPRENTICE (_carrying a tray over
which is a large napkin_).
Dear Master, this for you was in the oven cooked.
We wish to please you, Sir!
RAGUENEAU.
A lyre!
THE APPRENTICE.
Made of paste!
RAGUENEAU (_moved_).
Of candied fruits besides! And strings of sugar, too!
THE APPRENTICE.
To give a sweeter tone!
RAGUENEAU (_handing him some money_).
It's fine; go drink my health
(_seeing Lise, as she enters_).
My wife! Be silent--skip!
(_to Lise, showing her the lyre_).
Fine work!
LISE.
Ridiculous!
(_She lays on the counter a bundle of paper bags._)
RAGUENEAU.
Some bags; I thank you, dear.
(_Looks at the bags._)
The manuscripts I love!
The verses of my friends! All mutilated! Torn!
To serve as wrappers for .... such prosy things as cakes!
It's Orpheus once again pursued by the Bacchantes!
LISE (_harshly_).
I use the only thing your friends in payment give;
Your sorry scribblers bent on not completing lines!
RAGUENEAU.
The ant should not insult the magic cricket's song!
LISE.
Before these crickets thus possessed you wholly, dear,
You never said to me: bacchante, or even: ant!
RAGUENEAU.
Treat verses thus!
LISE.
Why not?
RAGUENEAU.
What would you do with prose?
[12] Note.--Alexandrines were adopted, instead of pentameter, here and
further on, with the poets, for the reason that they seem more
pompous and better in keeping with the affectation shown by the
personages.
_SCENE II._
_The same_, TWO CHILDREN _come in to buy cakes_.
RAGUENEAU.
What is it, little ones?
FIRST CHILD.
We want three patties, please.
RAGUENEAU (_serving them_).
Here they are, well-browned, just out of the oven.
SECOND CHILD.
Please wrap them up for us.
RAGUENEAU (_aside_).
Alas! my bags!
(_to the children_). Oh! wrap them up, hey?....
(_takes one of the bags to use it, but first reads from it_).
"As was Ulysses when he left Penelope...."
Not this one!....
(_puts the bag aside, and takes up another, from which also he
reads_).
"Blond Phoebus...." Not this one!
(_Sets the bag aside._)
LISE (_out of patience_).
Well, what are you waiting for?
RAGUENEAU.
Coming! Coming!
(_takes up a third bag and then with resignation_).
The sonnet to Philis!.... pretty hard too!
LISE.
You were long enough about it!
(_shrugging her shoulders_).
Goose!
(_She climbs upon a chair to arrange dishes and plates on a
shelf._)
RAGUENEAU (_taking advantage of the fact that
her back is turned, calls back the children
who were just passing out_).
Pst!.... Little ones!.... Return me the bag and instead of three patties
I'll give you six.
(_The children give him the bag, take the cakes and leave.
Ragueneau smoothes the paper and reads_).
"Philis!" .... On this sweet name, a grease spot!.... "Philis!"
(_Cyrano enters abruptly._)
_SCENE III._
RAGUENEAU, LISE, CYRANO, _then_ A MUSKETEER.
CYRANO.
What time is it?
RAGUENEAU (_bowing low to him_).
Six o'clock.
CYRANO (_excited_).
In one hour!
(_Walks to and fro through the shop._)
RAGUENEAU (_following him_).
Bravo! I witnessed....
CYRANO.
What?
RAGUENEAU.
Your fight.
CYRANO.
Which one?
RAGUENEAU.
The one at the Hôtel de Bourgogne.
CYRANO (_disdainfully_).
Oh!.... that duel!....
RAGUENEAU (_admiringly_).
Yes, your duel in verse.
LISE (_aside_).
In verse!.... His mouth seems to him too small for the words!
CYRANO (_to Ragueneau_).
Ah!.... So much the better!
RAGUENEAU (_lunging with the spit he has seized_).
"For, when I close th' Envoy, I'll touch!...."
"For, when I close th' Envoy, I'll touch!...."
How beautiful!.... (_with growing enthusiasm_).
"For, when I close th' Envoy,...."
CYRANO.
Ragueneau, what time is it?
RAGUENEAU (_remaining with arm and leg outstretched,
simply turning his head to look at the clock_).
Five minutes after six!....
"I touch!"
(_He rises._)
Oh! to write a ballade!
LISE (_to Cyrano, who, on passing near her, has
absent-mindedly shaken hands with her_).
Why! what is the matter with your hand?
CYRANO.
Oh! nothing! A scratch.
RAGUENEAU.
Were you exposed to any peril?
CYRANO.
No peril!
LISE (_threatening him with her finger_).
I fear you are not telling the truth!
CYRANO.
What! Did my nose move? What an enormous lie that would indicate!
(_becoming serious_). I expect somebody here. If that somebody
comes--you never can tell,--please leave us here alone.
RAGUENEAU.
That is hardly possible; my rimesters[13] are coming....
LISE (_ironical_).
For their first meal.
CYRANO.
You will have to take them away when I make a sign to you.... What time
is it?
RAGUENEAU.
Ten minutes after six.
CYRANO (_sitting down nervously at Ragueneau's
table, and taking some paper_).
A pen, please!....
RAGUENEAU (_offering him the one that he has
behind his ear_).
A swan quill.
A MUSKETEER (_with an enormous mustache and
stentorian voice_) _enters_.
Good morning!
(_Lise goes rapidly up to him._)
CYRANO (_turning around_).
Who is this?
RAGUENEAU.
A friend of my wife's. A terrible warrior,--at least so he says!....
CYRANO (_taking up the pen and motioning
away Ragueneau_).
Silence!.... write--fold,--(_to himself_) hand it to her,--and run
away....
(_throwing away the pen_). Coward!....But may I die if I dare speak
to her, even a single word....
(_to Ragueneau_). What time is it?
RAGUENEAU.
A quarter past six!....
CYRANO (_striking his breast_).
But I have plenty of words here, and by writing....
(_Takes up the pen._)
So be it then! I'll write.--This letter fraught
With love, I've thought it out a hundred times;
It's ready, and, to close it, I have but
To read my soul, and copy what I read.
(_He writes. Behind the glazed door, a movement of lean and
hesitating forms._)
[13] Note.--The spelling _rime_ seems preferable to _rhyme_, since
rime and rhythm are two very distinct things.
_SCENE IV._
RAGUENEAU, LISE, THE MUSKETEER, CYRANO, _by the table,
writing_, THE POETS, _clad in black, bedraggled_.
LISE (_entering, to Ragueneau_).
Here are your bedraggled friends!
FIRST POET (_entering, to Ragueneau_).
Brother-poet!....
SECOND POET (_shaking Ragueneau by the hand_).
Dear brother-poet!
THIRD POET.
Eagle of pastry-cooks!
(_sniffing_) It smells good in your nest.
FOURTH POET.
O Phoebus-Caterer! Apollo master-cook!....
RAGUENEAU (_somewhat bewildered_).
How soon one feels at ease with them!
FIRST POET.
We were delayed a bit by something of a crowd,
Close by the Porte de Nesle!....
SECOND POET.
By sword both slashed and pierced,
Eight cut-throats bleeding fast illustrated the street.
CYRANO (_looking up_).
Eight?.... I thought seven.
(_continues writing._)
RAGUENEAU (_to Cyrano_).
Who fought so bravely? Do you know?
CYRANO (_treating the matter lightly_).
I?.... No!
LISE (_to the Musketeer_).
Do you?
MUSKETEER (_curling his mustache_).
Perhaps.
CYRANO (_writing--mutters a word now and then, aside_).
I love you....
FIRST POET.
A single man, they say, put all the band to flight!....
CYRANO (_writing_).
Your eyes!....
SECOND POET.
Why! Spears and hats were found a hundred yards away!
CYRANO (_writing_).
Your lips!....
FIRST POET.
Quite fearless must be he who fought so many thus.
CYRANO (_writing_).
And I am like to faint, outdone, when you appear.
SECOND POET (_helping himself to a cake_).
What new rimes can you give us, Ragueneau?
CYRANO (_writing_).
Who loves you!....
(_He stops just as he was going to sign, rises, folds the letter
and puts it into his doublet._)
Signature unnecessary. I'll hand her the letter myself.
RAGUENEAU (_to Second Poet_).
I have put a recipe into verse.
THIRD POET (_settling near a tray of tarts_).
Oh! let us hear the lines.
FOURTH POET.
This cake is crooked. Make it straight.
(_Eats it._)
SECOND POET.
We are listening.
THIRD POET.
This tart will lose its cream. We'll save it.
(_Eats the tart._)
SECOND POET (_breaking off and eating a piece of
the candied lyre_).
The only time perhaps a lyre's fed its man.
RAGUENEAU (_who has been preparing to recite,
coughing, settling his cap and striking an
attitude_).
A recipe in verse....
SECOND POET (_to First Poet_).
Why! you are breakfasting!
FIRST POET (_to Second Poet_).
And you are dining, friend!
RAGUENEAU.
HOW TO MAKE ALMOND TARTS.
Beat up to foam, discarding dregs,
Your choice of eggs.
Add carefully into the foam
Some citron juice that's new and stout;
Then lengthen out
With milk of almonds made at home.
Next, coat with dough, both fresh and sound,
Below, around,
Such moulds as pastry-cooks prepare.
Add sweetening to suit your taste
Into the paste.
Then pour quite slowly and with care
Your foam into each well[14], so well
That ev'ry well,
When it is baked to blondness, starts
To seek the walks that pleasure sings.
These seemly things
Are rightly christened: almond tarts.
THE POETS (_mouths full_).
Most exquisite! Divine!
ONE OF THE POETS (_choking_).
Humph!
(_They go to the rear, still eating. Cyrano, who has been watching
them, goes up to Ragueneau._)
CYRANO.
They seem to drink your verse, my friend; but see you not
How they assimilate your stock of eatables?
RAGUENEAU (_in low tone, smiling_).
I see, but notice not, for fear I'd trouble them;
And reading so my lines affords me double joy,
Since thus I satisfy a weakness that I own,
And feed the while poor souls whose pressing need is food!
CYRANO (_striking him on the shoulder_).
I like you, Ragueneau!....
(_Ragueneau joins his friends, the poets. Cyrano looks at him for a
while, then suddenly says:_)
Tell me there, Lise!
(_Lise, who seems to be engaged in a very animated flirtation with
the Musketeer, starts and comes down to Cyrano._)
This captain.... seems to be besieging you?
LISE (_offended_).
Oh! my eyes have a look haughty enough to vanquish all who attack my
virtue.
CYRANO (_very firmly_).
I like Ragueneau very much. For this reason, Mistress Lise, I forbid
that anybody should make him ridiculous.[15]
LISE.
But you mistake....
CYRANO (_speaking loud, so as to be heard by
the Musketeer_).
A word to the wise....
(_He bows to the Musketeer, and, after looking at the clock, goes
to the door, where he stands looking out._)
LISE (_to the Musketeer, who simply returned
Cyrano's bow_).
Really, you surprise me!.... Why do you not answer?.... Speak of his
nose....
THE MUSKETEER.
His nose.... his nose.... that is easily said....
(_Retires rapidly, Lise following._)
CYRANO (_from the door, signals to Ragueneau to
draw away the poets_).
Pst!....
RAGUENEAU (_pointing out to the Poets the door
to the right_).
We shall be much more comfortable in there....
CYRANO (_getting out of patience_).
Pst!.... Pst!....
RAGUENEAU (_pushing the Poets along_).
We'll read some more verses.
FIRST POET (_in despair, with his mouth full_).
But the cakes!....
SECOND POET.
Let us take them along.
(_They all go out, following Ragueneau, in a sort of procession,
after having loaded themselves with cakes._)
[14] Note.--The miserable pun on "puits" (well) was found possible to
reproduce. Needless to add that this is ambitious confectioner's
verse, intentionally nonsensical.
[15] Note.--_Ridicuckoldulous_ would be an exact translation.
_SCENE V._
CYRANO, ROXANE, THE DUENNA.
CYRANO.
I shall hand her my letter if I feel that there is any hope, however
slight!....
(_Roxane, masked, and followed by the Duenna, appears behind the
glazed door, that Cyrano opens eagerly._)
Be pleased to enter!....
(_Walking up to the Duenna_). As to you, Duenna, one word!
DUENNA.
Four words, if you will, Sir.
CYRANO.
Are you fond of cake and such?
DUENNA.
To and beyond excess.[16]
CYRANO (_taking paper bags from the counter_).
Good! Here are two sonnets....
DUENNA.
Ugh!
CYRANO.
....That I fill with tartlets.
DUENNA (_looking pleasant_).
Ah!
CYRANO.
Are you fond of cream cakes?
DUENNA.
More than fond when they contain too much cream!
CYRANO.
Here are six for you, wrapped in a poem. Do you like all cakes?
DUENNA.
All, all, all.
CYRANO (_loading her with paper bags full of cakes_).
Here are a few. Go now and eat them.... outside.
DUENNA.
But I....
CYRANO (_pushing her out_).
And do not return until you have eaten them all.
(_He closes the door, comes down toward Roxane, takes off his hat,
and stops, respectfully, at a distance._)
[16] Note.--The Duenna, like Roxane, is a "précieuse," an euphuist.
_SCENE VI._
CYRANO, ROXANE, _and, a moment_, THE DUENNA.
CYRANO.
Among all moments be the present blessed,
Since, ceasing to forget that I exist,--
However humbly--you have come to say....
To say....
ROXANE (_who has unmasked_).
To say: I thank you heartily.
For, know you now, the fop, the brainless wretch
You vanquished yesterday in noble strife,
Was being forced upon me....
(_bashfully_)
....As a mate
For life, by one who says he loves me....
CYRANO.
Guiche!....
Who's good at scheming thus....
(_saluting_)
So then I fought,
Not for my nose, but for your smiling eyes.
ROXANE.
And then I wished.... but the admission needs
That I should find in you.... the brother that
You were of yore....when we were children both.
CYRANO.
When Bergerac was our summer ground....
ROXANE.
And reeds made up your goodly stock of swords....
CYRANO.
While waving corn gave flowing hair for dolls.
ROXANE.
What happy days! For you my will was law....
CYRANO.
You're now Roxane; you then were Madeleine.
ROXANE.
And pretty?
CYRANO.
You were not a sorry sight.
ROXANE.
How often, romping, you would get a hurt!
Then, motherly, I'd say, in sternest voice:
"Another frolic and another scratch!"....
(_She stops astonished._)
The same to-day! What's this?
(_Cyrano tries to withdraw his hand._)
No, let me see!
You're still a boy, it seems.--Say when and how!
CYRANO.
At play just now, around the Porte de Nesle.
ROXANE (_taking a seat at one of the tables, and
wetting her handkerchief in a glass of water_).
Your hand!
CYRANO (_taking a seat near her_).
How gently thoughtful you've remained!
ROXANE.
How many foes?
CYRANO.
Not quite a hundred.
ROXANE.
Oh!
Do tell me all!
CYRANO.
What for? It's better far
You tell me what you did not dare to say....
ROXANE.
But now I dare. The memories of yore
Assist me. I'm....in love with somebody.
CYRANO.
Indeed!
ROXANE.
Who knows it not....
CYRANO.
Indeed!
ROXANE.
.... Not yet.
CYRANO.
Indeed!
ROXANE.
But he shall know it soon.
CYRANO.
Indeed!
ROXANE.
Poor fellow, he has loved me timidly,
And from afar, and never dared to speak!
CYRANO.
Indeed!
ROXANE.
Your hand is feverish.... Oh! I easily could see the truth beneath his
bashfulness!
CYRANO.
Indeed!....
ROXANE (_as she finished bandaging his hand_).
And see what a coincidence, dear cousin! He belongs to your regiment!
CYRANO.
Indeed!....
ROXANE (_laughing_).
Why, of course, he is a cadet in your Company!....
CYRANO.
Indeed!
ROXANE.
He bears on his brow the mark of intelligence, of genius!
He is haughty, noble, young, intrepid, handsome,....
CYRANO (_rising, very pale_).
Handsome!
ROXANE.
Why! what is the matter?
CYRANO.
The matter? Nothing .... It is .... It is ....
(_Showing his hand and smiling_). This little scratch.
ROXANE.
Oh! Well, I really love him. I must say, however, that I have seen him
only at the Theatre ....
CYRANO.
Then you have not spoken to each other?
ROXANE.
Our eyes alone have done the talking.
CYRANO.
Well, then, how do you know?
ROXANE.
Beneath the linden trees of the Place Royal there is some gossipping
.... and information has reached me ....
CYRANO.
He is a cadet, you say?
ROXANE.
Yes, a cadet in the Guards.
CYRANO.
His name?
ROXANE.
Baron Christian de Neuvillette.
CYRANO.
How?.... There is nobody of that name among the cadets.
ROXANE.
Oh! yes, there is, since this morning. His Captain is Carbon of
Haughty-Hall.
CYRANO.
And so, quick, quick, we throw away our little heart?.... But my poor
child....
THE DUENNA (_looking in at the door_).
Monsieur de Bergerac, I have finished the cakes!
CYRANO.
Well, then, read the verses that you will find on the bags!
(_Duenna disappears._)
.... My poor child, for you who are accustomed to refined language, to
subtle thoughts,--suppose he were thoroughly uninitiated, in fact, a
savage!
ROXANE.
Oh! no, he has the hair of a hero!
CYRANO.
Suppose he were as poor in speech as rich in hair.
ROXANE.
No, all his words are choice; I can tell by seeing him.
CYRANO.
Of course, all words are choice when they come through a mustache that
is well curled.--But suppose he were a dunce!....
ROXANE (_striking the floor with her foot, impatiently_).
Well, it would kill me! There!
CYRANO (_after a pause_).
And it is to tell me this that you asked me to meet you here? I fail to
see the necessity of the appointment, Madam.
ROXANE.
The fact is that somebody frightened me yesterday by telling me that you
are all Gascons in your Company....
CYRANO.
And that we challenge any beardless hero who, through influence, and not
being really a Gascon, manages to get assigned to our Gascon Company?
That is what you were told.
ROXANE.
And you imagine how I tremble for him?
CYRANO (_between his teeth_).
Not without good reason!
ROXANE.
But then I was reminded of you, and of your skill and courage, your
great achievements; and I thought: if he, Cyrano, whom everyone
respects, would....
CYRANO.
'Tis well. I'll answer for your little baron.
ROXANE.
Yes, defend him always, please. And many thanks! You know how fond of
you I've always been?
CYRANO.
Oh! yes, I know.
ROXANE.
You'll be his friend?
CYRANO.
I will.
ROXANE.
And he shall have no duels to fight.
CYRANO.
None; you have my promise.
ROXANE.
Ah! you are my dearest friend.--But I must go.
(_She puts on her mask again, throws a lace scarf over her head,
and then, in an unconcerned way says:_)
But you did not relate to me your battle of last night. You must have
been grand!.... Tell him to write me.
(_Sends him a kiss with her hand._)
Dear, dear friend!
CYRANO.
All is understood.
ROXANE.
One hundred men against one: you!--So, good bye!--We are the best of
friends, are we not?
CYRANO.
Assuredly, we are!
ROXANE.
Tell him to write!.... One hundred men!.... You'll tell me all about it
later. To-day I cannot listen. One hundred men! How brave!
CYRANO (_bowing_).
Oh! I have done better since.
(_Exit Roxane. Cyrano remains motionless, his eyes on the floor.
Silence. The door to the right opens, and Ragueneau passes in his
head._)
_SCENE VII._
CYRANO, RAGUENEAU, THE POETS, CARBON OF HAUGHTY-HALL,
THE CADETS, THE CROWD, _etc._, _later_ LE BRET,
_and then_ GUICHE.
RAGUENEAU.
The coast is clear?
CYRANO (_motionless_).
Yes.
(_Ragueneau makes a sign, and his friends come in. At the same
moment appears in the doorway Carbon of Haughty-Hall, in full
uniform of Captain of the Guards; he lifts his arms on discovering
Cyrano._)
CARBON.
Here he is at last!
CYRANO (_raising his eyes_).
Captain!....
CARBON (_rejoiced_).
Our hero! We heard it all. Thirty at least of the Cadets are here!....
CYRANO (_falling back_).
But, Captain....
CARBON (_trying to take him along_).
Come! They wish to see you!
CYRANO.
No, I cannot!
CARBON.
They are over the way, at the Inn of the Cross.
CYRANO.
I cannot.
CARBON (_going to the door and shouting outside_).
Our hero refuses. He is out of sorts!
A VOICE (_outside_).
Sandious![17]