Join over Widely considered the most popular modern French play, Cyrano de Bergerac has dazzled audiences with its wit and eloquence since it premiered in Cyrano, a quarrelsome, hot-tempered swordsman, as famous for his dueling skills and pugnacity as for his inordinately long nose, is hopelessly enamored of the beautiful Roxane.
She, in turn, is in love with Christian, a handsome but inarticulate and slow-witted suitor. Asked for help by Christian in wooing Roxane, Cyrano pours out his heart in romantic dialogues — delivered under cover of night and dense foliage — and through ardent love letters written in the name of Christian.
Presented here in a rich blank verse translation by poet Louis Untermeyer, this beloved romantic comedy will be warmly received by theater buffs as well as students and teachers of drama and literature.
France's best tale of love and panache, retold for children Cyrano de Bergerac is in possession of a cadet-position in the French Army, a poet's soul and a very, very large nose. He is also in love with Roxane, but believes himself too ugly to be loved by her in. Poet and soldier, brawler and charmer, Cyrano de Bergerac is desperately in love with Roxane, the most beautiful woman in Paris.
But there is one very large problem - he has a nose of stupendous size and believes she will never see past it to return his feelings. On the same side, farther back, an immense open fireplace, in front of which, between monster firedogs, on each of which hangs a little saucepan; the roasts are dripping into the pans.
Farther back, staircase leading to a little room under the roof, the entrance of which is visible through the open shutter. In this room a table is laid. A small Flemish luster is alight. It is a place for eating and drinking.
A wooden gallery, continuing the staircase, apparently leads to other similar little rooms. In the middle of the shop an iron hoop is suspended from the ceiling by a string with which it can be drawn up and down, and big game is hung around it. The ovens in the darkness under the stairs give forth a red glow. The copper pans shine. The spits are turning. Heaps of food formed into pyramids.
Hams suspended. It is the busy hour of the morning. Bustle and hurry of scullions, fat cooks, and diminutive apprentices, their caps profusely decorated with cock's feathers and wings of guinea-fowl. Tables laden with rolls and dishes of food.
Other tables surrounded with chairs are ready for the consumers. A small table in a corner covered with papers, at which Ragueneau is seated writing on the rising of the curtain. Anon shall come the hour of the lute!
He rises. To a cook : You, make that sauce longer, 'tis too short! To a cook, showing him some loaves : You have put the cleft o' th' loaves in the wrong place; know you not that the coesura should be between the hemistiches? To another, showing him an unfinished pasty : To this palace of paste you must add the roof. To a young apprentice, who, seated on the ground, is spitting the fowls : And you, as you put on your lengthy spit the modest fowl and the superb turkey, my son, alternate them, as the old Malherbe loved well to alternate his long lines of verse with the short ones; thus shall your roasts, in strophes, turn before the flame!
Seeing Lise enter : Hush! My wife. Bustle, pass on, and hide that money! To Lise, showing her the lyre, with a conscious look : Is it not beautiful? I thank you. He looks at them : Heavens! 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! LISE dryly : 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?
LISE: Before you were the sworn comrade of all that crew, my friend, you did not call your wife ant and Bacchante! To the children : What? Must I wrap them up? He takes a bag, and just as he is about to put in the pies, he reads : 'Ulysses thus, on leaving fair Penelope. He puts it aside, and takes another, and as he is about to put in the pies, he reads : 'The gold-locked Phoebus. LISE: By good luck he has made up his mind at last! Shrugging her shoulders : Nicodemus! At the envoi's end, I touch!
With increasing enthusiasm : 'At the envoi's end--'. LISE to Cyrano, who, as he passes by the counter, has absently shaken hands with her : What's wrong with your hand? Changing his tone : I wait some one here. Leave us alone, and disturb us for naught an it were not for crack of doom! What's o'clock? To himself : I will write, fold it, give it her, and fly! Throws down the pen : Coward!. But strike me dead if I dare to speak to her,.
To Ragueneau : What time is it? But writing, 'tis easier done. He takes up the pen : Go to, I will write it, that love-letter! I have writ it and rewrit it in my own mind so oft that it lies there ready for pen and ink; and if I lay but my soul by my letter-sheet, 'tis naught to do but to copy from it. He writes. Through the glass of the door the silhouettes of their figures move uncertainly and hesitatingly. He sniffs : Marry! He stops, just as he is about to sign, and gets up, slipping the letter into his doublet : No need I sign, since I give it her myself.
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!
I see well enough, but I never will seem to look, fearing to distress them; thus I gain a double pleasure when I recite to them my poems; for I leave those poor fellows who have not breakfasted free to eat, even while I gratify my own dearest foible, see you? Ragueneau goes after his friends. Cyrano follows him with his eyes, then, rather sharply : Ho there! Lise, who is talking tenderly to the musketeer, starts, and comes down toward Cyrano : So this fine captain is laying siege to you?
LISE offended : One haughty glance of my eye can conquer any man that should dare venture aught 'gainst my virtue. Is this your courage?. Why turn you not a jest on his nose? Roxane, masked, followed by the duenna, appears at the glass pane of the door.
He opens quickly : Enter!. Walking up to the duenna : Two words with you, Duenna. See you these two sonnets of Monsieur Beuserade. And in these verses of Chapelain I glide a lighter morsel. Stay, love you hot cakes? He shuts the door, comes down toward Roxane, and, uncovering, stands at a respectful distance from her. That dandy count, Whom you checkmated in brave sword-play Last night,. Husband a la mode!
Bowing : Then I fought, happy chance! But, ere I make my shrift, You must be once again that brother-friend With whom I used to play by the lake-side!. Then--aping mother-ways-- I, in a voice would-be severe, would chide,-- She takes his hand : 'What is this scratch, again, that I see here?
What's this? Cyrano tries to draw away his hand : No, let me see! At your age, fie! Where did you get that scratch? The scent of those old days emboldens me! Yes, now I dare.
I am in love. But you must know I have only seen him at the Comedy. Gossip's chat Has let me know. She goes out :. My poor child, you who love but flowing words, Bright wit,--what if he be a lout unskilled?
I fail to see what use this serves, Madame. Heaven save the mark! They told you that as well? You'll promise me you will do this for me? I've always held you as a tender friend. Now I must be gone. She puts on her mask and veil quickly; then, absently : You have not told me of your last night's fray. Ah, but it must have been a hero-fight!. She sends him a kiss with her fingers : How good you are! You'll tell me all one day--A hundred men!
How brave! She goes out. Cyrano stands motionless, with eyes on the ground. A silence. The door right opens. Ragueneau looks in. Ragueneau signs to his friends, and they come in.
At the same time, by door at back, enters Carbon de Castel-Jaloux, in Captain's uniform. He makes gestures of surprise on seeing Cyrano. We heard all! Thirty or more Of my cadets are there!. They will not rest until they see you! The hero's in the sulks! Here's a crazy mob Led by the men who followed you last night. Pray when Did we herd swine together, you and I! They say it will be an immense success! A movement in the crowd. De Guiche appears, escorted by officers.
Cuigy, Brissaille, the officers who went with Cyrano the night before. Cuigy comes rapidly up to Cyrano. Who would express his admiration, Sir, For your new exploit noised so loud abroad.
He draws himself up, twirls his mustache, and throws back his shoulders : Wait!. You shall see! All these gentlemen of haughty mien, Are they the famous?. Brawling and swaggering boastfully, The bold Cadets of Gascony!
Eagle-eye, and spindle-shanks, Fierce mustache, and wolfish tooth! Slash-the-rabble and scatter-their-ranks; Eagle-eye and spindle-shanks, With a flaming feather that gayly pranks, Hiding the holes in their hats, forsooth!
Eagle-eye and spindle-shanks, Fierce mustache, and wolfish tooth! Cadets of Gascony! All jealous lovers are sport for you! O Woman! Whom scowling husbands quake to see. Blow, 'taratara,' and cry 'Cuckoo. Husbands and lovers are game for you! I'll gladly say a word to him for you. My blood congeals to think That other hand should change a comma's dot. A CADET entering, with a string of old battered plumed beaver hats, full of holes, slung on his sword : See, Cyrano,--this morning, on the quay What strange bright-feathered game we caught!
The hats O' the fugitives. The laughter stops : I charged them--work too dirty for my sword, To punish and chastise a rhymster sot. They're full of grease! To Cyrano passionately : As to you, sirrah!. That windmill sails may sweep you with their arm Down--in the mire!. De Guiche goes out, and mounts into his chair. The other lords go away whispering together.
Le Bret goes to the door with them. The crowd disperses. 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! I, like all the rest Dedicate verse to bankers? Grammercy, no! And, acrobat-like, teach my back to bend? Or,--double-faced and sly-- Run with the hare, while hunting with the hounds; And, oily-tongued, to win the oil of praise, Flatter the great man to his very nose?
Steal soft from lap to lap, --A little great man in a circle small, Or navigate, with madrigals for sails, Blown gently windward by old ladies' sighs?
Bribe kindly editors To spread abroad my verses? Or try to be elected as the pope Of tavern-councils held by imbeciles? Toil to gain reputation By one small sonnet, 'stead of making many? Or flatter sorry bunglers? Be terrorized by every prating paper?
Say ceaselessly, 'Oh, had I but the chance Of a fair notice in the "Mercury"! Grow pale, fear, calculate? Prefer to make a visit to a rhyme? Seek introductions, draw petitions up? Dream, laugh, 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!
Never to pen a line that has not sprung Straight from the heart within. Embracing then Modesty, say to oneself, 'Good my friend, Be thou content with flowers,--fruit,--nay, leaves, But pluck them from no garden but thine own! In short, Disdaining tendrils of the parasite, To be content, if neither oak nor elm-- Not to mount high, perchance, but mount alone!
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? I pass, still unsaluted, joyfully, And cry,--What, ho! Ah, friend of mine, believe me, I march better 'Neath the cross-fire of glances inimical!
How droll the stains one sees on fine-laced doublets, From gall of envy, or the poltroon's drivel! The forehead, free from mainstay or coercion, Bends here, there, everywhere.
But I, embracing Hatred, she lends,--forbidding, stiffly fluted, The ruff's starched folds that hold the head so rigid; Each enemy--another fold--a gopher, Who adds constraint, and adds a ray of glory; For Hatred, like the ruff worn by the Spanish, Grips like a vice, but frames you like a halo!
Christian has just entered, and mingled with the cadets, who do not speak to him; he has seated himself at a table, where Lise serves him. Cyrano turns round : The story! 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! He puts his finger three times, mysteriously, on his nose : Do you understand?
He put two snuffling men to death, in rage, For the sole reason they spoke through their nose! ANOTHER in a hollow voice, darting on all-fours from under the table, where he had crept : And if you would not perish in flower o' youth, --Oh, mention not the fatal cartilage!
A gesture! For the indiscreet His handkerchief may prove his winding-sheet! All, with crossed arms, look at Christian. He rises and goes over to Carbon de Castel-Jaloux, who is talking to an officer, and feigns to see nothing. All bring their stools up, and group round him, listening eagerly. Christian is astride a chair : 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.
And, presto! The night was inky black, and all the quays Were hidden in the murky dark. One could see nothing further. It is well. He turns pale, flushes, makes as if to fall on Christian : I. He controls himself : What said I?.
Then continues calmly : That it was dark. The cadets reseat themselves, staring at him : On I went, thinking, 'For a knavish cause I may provoke some great man, some great prince, Who certainly could break'. Who would break my teeth, and I, imprudent-like, Was poking. He may prove strong And rap me. Ay,' But I cried, 'Forward, Gascon!
Duty calls! On, Cyrano! When, from the shadow, came. All the Gascons leap up to see, but when he is close to Christian he controls himself and continues :. With a hundred brawling sots, Who stank. All have gone out by different doors, some by the staircase. Cyrano and Christian are face to face, looking at each other for a moment. And you did not attack me like a fool.
One finds battle-cry to lead th' assault! I have a certain military wit, But, before women, can but hold my tongue. Their eyes! True, when I pass, their eyes are kind. Say, wilt thou that we woo her, double-handed? Wilt thou that we two woo her, both together? Feel'st thou, passing from my leather doublet, Through thy laced doublet, all my soul inspiring? Then calmly, business-like : It would amuse me!
It is an enterprise to tempt a poet. Will you complete me, and let me complete you? You march victorious,--I go in your shadow; Let me be wit for you, be you my beauty! We have our pockets full, We poets, of love-letters, writ to Chloes, Daphnes--creations of our noddle-heads.
Our lady-loves,--phantasms of our brains, --Dream-fancies blown into soap-bubbles! Take it, and change feigned love-words into true; I breathed my sighs and moans haphazard-wise; Call all these wandering love-birds home to nest. You'll see that I was in these lettered lines, --Eloquent all the more, the less sincere! Written haphazard-wise, Will it fit Roxane? The silence of the grave! I dare not look. He puts his head in : Why?. Calling to Lise, boastfully : --Ah, Lise, see here!
Sniffing ostentatiously : O heavens!. Going up to Cyrano : You, sir, without a doubt have sniffed it up! A small square in the old Marais. Old houses. A perspective of little streets. On the right Roxane's house and the wall of her garden overhung with thick foliage. Window and balcony over the door. A bench in front. From the bench and the stones jutting out of the wall it is easy to climb to the balcony.
In front of an old house in the same style of brick and stone. The knocker of this door is bandaged with linen like a sore thumb. Ragueneau is standing near the door in a sort of livery. He has just finished relating something to the duenna, and is wiping his eyes. 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.
Lise loved the warriors, and I loved the poets! What cakes there were that Apollo chanced to leave were quickly snapped up by Mars. Thus ruin was not long a-coming. They wait for us! She receives them all there to-day--the precieuses, the poets; they read a discourse on the Tender Passion. Calling up to the window : Roxane, an you come not down quickly, we shall miss the discourse on the Tender Passion!
La, la, la, la! But, who does she truly love in the end? In this fresh and accessible new English translation, author Eric Merrill Budd brings Cyrano to life for a twenty-first century audience.
Based on the real life of the seventeenth century French dramatist of the same name, "Cyrano de Bergerac" is Edmond Rostand's classic romantic play. Cyrano, a cadet in the French Army, is a talented duelist, poet, and musician, however, he has extreme self-doubt in matters of love due to the large size of his nose. Cyrano is conflicted by his inability to summon the confidence to tell the woman that he adores, Roxane, how he truly feels.
He writes her a letter expressing his love with the intent of giving it to her during a rendezvous, however, when he learns that Roxane is in love with another, a handsome new cadet, Christian de Neuvillette, he withholds his admission. Christian lacks the intellect and wit to woo Roxane and enlists the help of Cyrano who, despite being against his own self-interest, agrees. First performed in , "Cyrano de Bergerac," is one of the most popular plays in the French language, which brilliantly dramatizes the idea that beauty is only skin deep and that true love is about more than just physical attractiveness.
This edition is printed on premium acid-free paper, follows the translation of Gladys Thomas and Mary F. We do not guarantee that these techniques will work for you. Some of the techniques listed in Cyrano de Bergerac may require a sound knowledge of Hypnosis, users are advised to either leave those sections or must have a basic understanding of the subject before practicing them.
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