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The public, arriving by degrees. Troopers, burghers, lackeys, pages, a
pickpocket, the doorkeeper, etc., followed by the marquises. Cuigy,
Brissaille, the buffet-girl, the violinists, etc.
(A confusion of loud voices is heard outside the door. A trooper enters
hastily.)
THE DOORKEEPER (following him):
Hollo! You there! Your money!
THE TROOPER:
I enter gratis.
THE DOORKEEPER:
Why?
THE TROOPER:
Why? I am of the King's Household Cavalry, 'faith!
THE DOORKEEPER (to another trooper who enters):
And you?
SECOND TROOPER:
I pay nothing.
THE DOORKEEPER:
How so?
SECOND TROOPER:
I am a musketeer.
FIRST TROOPER (to the second):
The play will not begin till two. The pit is empty. Come, a bout with the
foils to pass the time.
(They fence with the foils they have brought.)
A LACKEY (entering):
Pst. . .Flanquin. . .!
ANOTHER (already there):
Champagne?. . .
THE FIRST (showing him cards and dice which he takes from his doublet):
See, here be cards and dice.
(He seats himself on the floor):
Let's play.
THE SECOND (doing the same):
Good; I am with you, villain!
FIRST LACKEY (taking from his pocket a candle-end, which he lights, and sticks
on the floor):
I made free to provide myself with light at my master's expense!
A GUARDSMAN (to a shop-girl who advances):
'Twas prettily done to come before the lights were lit!
(He takes her round the waist.)
ONE OF THE FENCERS (receiving a thrust):
A hit!
ONE OF THE CARD-PLAYERS:
Clubs!
THE GUARDSMAN (following the girl):
A kiss!
THE SHOP-GIRL (struggling to free herself):
They're looking!
THE GUARDSMAN (drawing her to a dark corner):
No fear! No one can see!
A MAN (sitting on the ground with others, who have brought their provisions):
By coming early, one can eat in comfort.
A BURGHER (conducting his son):
Let us sit here, son.
A CARD-PLAYER:
Triple ace!
A MAN (taking a bottle from under his cloak,
and also seating himself on the floor):
A tippler may well quaff his Burgundy
(he drinks):
in the Burgundy Hotel!
THE BURGHER (to his son):
'Faith! A man might think he had fallen in a bad house here!
(He points with his cane to the drunkard):
What with topers!
(One of the fencers in breaking off, jostles him):
brawlers!
(He stumbles into the midst of the card-players):
gamblers!
THE GUARDSMAN (behind him, still teasing the shop-girl):
Come, one kiss!
THE BURGHER (hurriedly pulling his son away):
By all the holies! And this, my boy, is the theater where they played
Rotrou erewhile.
THE YOUNG MAN:
Ay, and Corneille!
A TROOP OF PAGES (hand-in-hand, enter dancing the farandole, and singing):
Tra' a la, la, la, la, la, la, la, lere. . .
THE DOORKEEPER (sternly, to the pages):
You pages there, none of your tricks!. . .
FIRST PAGE (with an air of wounded dignity):
Oh, sir!--such a suspicion!. . .
(Briskly, to the second page, the moment the doorkeeper's back is turned):
Have you string?
THE SECOND:
Ay, and a fish-hook with it.
FIRST PAGE:
We can angle for wigs, then, up there i' th' gallery.
A PICKPOCKET (gathering about him some evil-looking youths):
Hark ye, young cut-purses, lend an ear, while I give you your first lesson
in thieving.
SECOND PAGE (calling up to others in the top galleries):
You there! Have you peashooters?
THIRD PAGE (from above):
Ay, have we, and peas withal!
(He blows, and peppers them with peas.)
THE YOUNG MAN (to his father):
What piece do they give us?
THE BURGHER:
'Clorise.'
THE YOUNG MAN:
Who may the author be?
THE BURGHER:
Master Balthazar Baro. It is a play!. . .
(He goes arm-in-arm with his son.)
THE PICKPOCKET (to his pupils):
Have a care, above all, of the lace knee-ruffles--cut them off!
A SPECTATOR (to another, showing him a corner in the gallery):
I was up there, the first night of the 'Cid.'
THE PICKPOCKET (making with his fingers the gesture of filching):
Thus for watches--
THE BURGHER (coming down again with his son):
Ah! You shall presently see some renowned actors. . .
THE PICKPOCKET (making the gestures of one who pulls something stealthily,
with little jerks):
Thus for handkerchiefs--
THE BURGHER:
Montfleury. . .
SOME ONE (shouting from the upper gallery):
Light up, below there!
THE BURGHER:
. . .Bellerose, L'Epy, La Beaupre, Jodelet!
A PAGE (in the pit):
Here comes the buffet-girl!
THE BUFFET-GIRL (taking her place behind the buffet):
Oranges, milk, raspberry-water, cedar bitters!
(A hubbub outside the door is heard.)
A FALSETTO VOICE:
Make place, brutes!
A LACKEY (astonished):
The Marquises!--in the pit?. . .
ANOTHER LACKEY:
Oh! only for a minute or two!
(Enter a band of young marquises.)
A MARQUIS (seeing that the hall is half empty):
What now! So we make our entrance like a pack of woolen-drapers!
Peaceably, without disturbing the folk, or treading on their toes!--Oh, fie!
Fie!
(Recognizing some other gentlemen who have entered a little before him):
Cuigy! Brissaille!
(Greetings and embraces.)
CUIGY:
True to our word!. . .Troth, we are here before the candles are lit.
THE MARQUIS:
Ay, indeed! Enough! I am of an ill humor.
ANOTHER:
Nay, nay, Marquis! see, for your consolation, they are coming to light up!
ALL THE AUDIENCE (welcoming the entrance of the lighter):
Ah!. . .
(They form in groups round the lusters as they are lit. Some people have
taken their seats in the galleries. Ligniere, a distinguished-looking roue,
with disordered shirt-front arm-in-arm with christian de Neuvillette.
Christian, who is dressed elegantly, but rather behind the fashion, seems
preoccupied, and keeps looking at the boxes.)
| Scene one opens in a famous French theater, where Balthazar Baro's play La Clorise, starring Montfleury, is to be performed. People are beginning to arrive for the performance. The patrons to arrive first include military men, tradesmen , and pages. Two lackeys come in and sit on the floor to gamble. Some cavaliers enter without buying a ticket. A gang of pickpockets arrives to do their dirty work. Gradually the aristocrats start arriving. The conversations of the various people are intertwined. One of the aristocrats complains that he has come too early to disrupt the play. Others talk about the upcoming drama. The scene ends with the entrance of the satiric drunken poet Ligniere, who is arm in arm with Christian de Neuvillette. | summary |
The public, arriving by degrees. Troopers, burghers, lackeys, pages, a
pickpocket, the doorkeeper, etc., followed by the marquises. Cuigy,
Brissaille, the buffet-girl, the violinists, etc.
(A confusion of loud voices is heard outside the door. A trooper enters
hastily.)
THE DOORKEEPER (following him):
Hollo! You there! Your money!
THE TROOPER:
I enter gratis.
THE DOORKEEPER:
Why?
THE TROOPER:
Why? I am of the King's Household Cavalry, 'faith!
THE DOORKEEPER (to another trooper who enters):
And you?
SECOND TROOPER:
I pay nothing.
THE DOORKEEPER:
How so?
SECOND TROOPER:
I am a musketeer.
FIRST TROOPER (to the second):
The play will not begin till two. The pit is empty. Come, a bout with the
foils to pass the time.
(They fence with the foils they have brought.)
A LACKEY (entering):
Pst. . .Flanquin. . .!
ANOTHER (already there):
Champagne?. . .
THE FIRST (showing him cards and dice which he takes from his doublet):
See, here be cards and dice.
(He seats himself on the floor):
Let's play.
THE SECOND (doing the same):
Good; I am with you, villain!
FIRST LACKEY (taking from his pocket a candle-end, which he lights, and sticks
on the floor):
I made free to provide myself with light at my master's expense!
A GUARDSMAN (to a shop-girl who advances):
'Twas prettily done to come before the lights were lit!
(He takes her round the waist.)
ONE OF THE FENCERS (receiving a thrust):
A hit!
ONE OF THE CARD-PLAYERS:
Clubs!
THE GUARDSMAN (following the girl):
A kiss!
THE SHOP-GIRL (struggling to free herself):
They're looking!
THE GUARDSMAN (drawing her to a dark corner):
No fear! No one can see!
A MAN (sitting on the ground with others, who have brought their provisions):
By coming early, one can eat in comfort.
A BURGHER (conducting his son):
Let us sit here, son.
A CARD-PLAYER:
Triple ace!
A MAN (taking a bottle from under his cloak,
and also seating himself on the floor):
A tippler may well quaff his Burgundy
(he drinks):
in the Burgundy Hotel!
THE BURGHER (to his son):
'Faith! A man might think he had fallen in a bad house here!
(He points with his cane to the drunkard):
What with topers!
(One of the fencers in breaking off, jostles him):
brawlers!
(He stumbles into the midst of the card-players):
gamblers!
THE GUARDSMAN (behind him, still teasing the shop-girl):
Come, one kiss!
THE BURGHER (hurriedly pulling his son away):
By all the holies! And this, my boy, is the theater where they played
Rotrou erewhile.
THE YOUNG MAN:
Ay, and Corneille!
A TROOP OF PAGES (hand-in-hand, enter dancing the farandole, and singing):
Tra' a la, la, la, la, la, la, la, lere. . .
THE DOORKEEPER (sternly, to the pages):
You pages there, none of your tricks!. . .
FIRST PAGE (with an air of wounded dignity):
Oh, sir!--such a suspicion!. . .
(Briskly, to the second page, the moment the doorkeeper's back is turned):
Have you string?
THE SECOND:
Ay, and a fish-hook with it.
FIRST PAGE:
We can angle for wigs, then, up there i' th' gallery.
A PICKPOCKET (gathering about him some evil-looking youths):
Hark ye, young cut-purses, lend an ear, while I give you your first lesson
in thieving.
SECOND PAGE (calling up to others in the top galleries):
You there! Have you peashooters?
THIRD PAGE (from above):
Ay, have we, and peas withal!
(He blows, and peppers them with peas.)
THE YOUNG MAN (to his father):
What piece do they give us?
THE BURGHER:
'Clorise.'
THE YOUNG MAN:
Who may the author be?
THE BURGHER:
Master Balthazar Baro. It is a play!. . .
(He goes arm-in-arm with his son.)
THE PICKPOCKET (to his pupils):
Have a care, above all, of the lace knee-ruffles--cut them off!
A SPECTATOR (to another, showing him a corner in the gallery):
I was up there, the first night of the 'Cid.'
THE PICKPOCKET (making with his fingers the gesture of filching):
Thus for watches--
THE BURGHER (coming down again with his son):
Ah! You shall presently see some renowned actors. . .
THE PICKPOCKET (making the gestures of one who pulls something stealthily,
with little jerks):
Thus for handkerchiefs--
THE BURGHER:
Montfleury. . .
SOME ONE (shouting from the upper gallery):
Light up, below there!
THE BURGHER:
. . .Bellerose, L'Epy, La Beaupre, Jodelet!
A PAGE (in the pit):
Here comes the buffet-girl!
THE BUFFET-GIRL (taking her place behind the buffet):
Oranges, milk, raspberry-water, cedar bitters!
(A hubbub outside the door is heard.)
A FALSETTO VOICE:
Make place, brutes!
A LACKEY (astonished):
The Marquises!--in the pit?. . .
ANOTHER LACKEY:
Oh! only for a minute or two!
(Enter a band of young marquises.)
A MARQUIS (seeing that the hall is half empty):
What now! So we make our entrance like a pack of woolen-drapers!
Peaceably, without disturbing the folk, or treading on their toes!--Oh, fie!
Fie!
(Recognizing some other gentlemen who have entered a little before him):
Cuigy! Brissaille!
(Greetings and embraces.)
CUIGY:
True to our word!. . .Troth, we are here before the candles are lit.
THE MARQUIS:
Ay, indeed! Enough! I am of an ill humor.
ANOTHER:
Nay, nay, Marquis! see, for your consolation, they are coming to light up!
ALL THE AUDIENCE (welcoming the entrance of the lighter):
Ah!. . .
(They form in groups round the lusters as they are lit. Some people have
taken their seats in the galleries. Ligniere, a distinguished-looking roue,
with disordered shirt-front arm-in-arm with christian de Neuvillette.
Christian, who is dressed elegantly, but rather behind the fashion, seems
preoccupied, and keeps looking at the boxes.)
| Notes Scene I introduces the importance of French theatre in the seventeenth century. It is the period of famous French dramatists, such as Corneille and Moliere. A variety of people come to the theater. They come for many different reasons to play cards, to flirt, and to pick pockets. A few of the patrons actually come to watch the play. The theater-goers are really a cross-section of seventeenth century French society, and not all of them are pleasant types. The patrons include pickpockets, who plan to prey on the wealthy, and cavaliers, who enter without paying for the performance. In the general chatter of the crowd that arrives and waits for the play to begin, a mood of excitement is created. The conversations also give information about the upcoming performance. The play is Clorise, and it stars Montfleury. Other conversations are also heard, including a pickpocket's instructions to his men. The diversity of talk, especially that of the pickpocket and the aristocrat who regrets his on-time arrival, brings an element of humor to the opening scene. | analysis |
The same. Christian, Ligniere, then Ragueneau and Le Bret.
CUIGY:
Ligniere!
BRISSAILLE (laughing):
Not drunk as yet?
LIGNIERE (aside to Christian):
I may introduce you?
(Christian nods in assent):
Baron de Neuvillette.
(Bows.)
THE AUDIENCE (applauding as the first luster is lighted and drawn up):
Ah!
CUIGY (to Brissaille, looking at Christian):
'Tis a pretty fellow!
FIRST MARQUIS (who has overheard):
Pooh!
LIGNIERE (introducing them to Christian):
My lords De Cuigy. De Brissaille. . .
CHRISTIAN (bowing):
Delighted!. . .
FIRST MARQUIS (to second):
He is not ill to look at, but certes, he is not costumed in the latest mode.
LIGNIERE (to Cuigy):
This gentleman comes from Touraine.
CHRISTIAN:
Yes, I have scarce been twenty days in Paris; tomorrow I join the Guards, in
the Cadets.
FIRST MARQUIS (watching the people who are coming into the boxes):
There is the wife of the Chief-Justice.
THE BUFFET-GIRL:
Oranges, milk. . .
THE VIOLINISTS (tuning up):
La--la--
CUIGY (to Christian, pointing to the hall, which is filling fast):
'Tis crowded.
CHRISTIAN:
Yes, indeed.
FIRST MARQUIS:
All the great world!
(They recognize and name the different elegantly dressed ladies who enter the
boxes, bowing low to them. The ladies send smiles in answer.)
SECOND MARQUIS:
Madame de Guemenee.
CUIGY:
Madame de Bois-Dauphin.
FIRST MARQUIS:
Adored by us all!
BRISSAILLE:
Madame de Chavigny. . .
SECOND MARQUIS:
Who sports with our poor hearts!. . .
LIGNIERE:
Ha! so Monsieur de Corneille has come back from Rouen!
THE YOUNG MAN (to his father):
Is the Academy here?
THE BURGHER:
Oh, ay, I see several of them. There is Boudu, Boissat,
and Cureau de la Chambre, Porcheres, Colomby, Bourzeys,
Bourdon, Arbaud. . .all names that will live! 'Tis fine!
FIRST MARQUIS:
Attention! Here come our precieuses; Barthenoide, Urimedonte, Cassandace,
Felixerie. . .
SECOND MARQUIS:
Ah! How exquisite their fancy names are! Do you know them all, Marquis?
FIRST MARQUIS:
Ay, Marquis, I do, every one!
LIGNIERE (drawing Christian aside):
Friend, I but came here to give you pleasure. The lady comes not. I will
betake me again to my pet vice.
CHRISTIAN (persuasively):
No, no! You, who are ballad-maker to Court and City alike, can tell me
better than any who the lady is for whom I die of love. Stay yet awhile.
THE FIRST VIOLIN (striking his bow on the desk):
Gentlemen violinists!
(He raises his bow.)
THE BUFFET-GIRL:
Macaroons, lemon-drink. . .
(The violins begin to play.)
CHRISTIAN:
Ah! I fear me she is coquettish, and over nice and fastidious!
I, who am so poor of wit, how dare I speak to her--how address her?
This language that they speak to-day--ay, and write--confounds me;
I am but an honest soldier, and timid withal. She has ever her place,
there, on the right--the empty box, see you!
LIGNIERE (making as if to go):
I must go.
CHRISTIAN (detaining him):
Nay, stay.
LIGNIERE:
I cannot. D'Assoucy waits me at the tavern, and here one dies of thirst.
THE BUFFET-GIRL (passing before him with a tray):
Orange drink?
LIGNIERE:
Ugh!
THE BUFFET-GIRL:
Milk?
LIGNIERE:
Pah!
THE BUFFET-GIRL:
Rivesalte?
LIGNIERE:
Stay.
(To Christian):
I will remain awhile.--Let me taste this rivesalte.
(He sits by the buffet; the girl pours some out for him.)
CRIES (from all the audience, at the entrance of a plump little man, joyously
excited):
Ah! Ragueneau!
LIGNIERE (to Christian):
'Tis the famous tavern-keeper Ragueneau.
RAGUENEAU (dressed in the Sunday clothes of a pastry-cook, going up quickly to
Ligniere):
Sir, have you seen Monsieur de Cyrano?
LIGNIERE (introducing him to Christian):
The pastry-cook of the actors and the poets!
RAGUENEAU (overcome):
You do me too great honor. . .
LIGNIERE:
Nay, hold your peace, Maecenas that you are!
RAGUENEAU:
True, these gentlemen employ me. . .
LIGNIERE:
On credit!
He is himself a poet of a pretty talent. . .
RAGUENEAU:
So they tell me.
LIGNIERE:
--Mad after poetry!
RAGUENEAU:
'Tis true that, for a little ode. . .
LIGNIERE:
You give a tart. . .
RAGUENEAU:
Oh!--a tartlet!
LIGNIERE:
Brave fellow! He would fain fain excuse himself!
--And for a triolet, now, did you not give in exchange. . .
RAGUENEAU:
Some little rolls!
LIGNIERE (severely):
They were milk-rolls! And as for the theater, which you love?
RAGUENEAU:
Oh! to distraction!
LIGNIERE:
How pay you your tickets, ha?--with cakes.
Your place, to-night, come tell me in my ear, what did it cost you?
RAGUENEAU:
Four custards, and fifteen cream-puffs.
(He looks around on all sides):
Monsieur de Cyrano is not here? 'Tis strange.
LIGNIERE:
Why so?
RAGUENEAU:
Montfleury plays!
LIGNIERE:
Ay, 'tis true that that old wine-barrel is to take Phedon's part to-night;
but what matter is that to Cyrano?
RAGUENEAU:
How? Know you not? He has got a hot hate for Montfleury, and so!--has
forbid him strictly to show his face on the stage for one whole month.
LIGNIERE (drinking his fourth glass):
Well?
RAGUENEAU:
Montfleury will play!
CUIGY:
He can not hinder that.
RAGUENEAU:
Oh! oh! that I have come to see!
FIRST MARQUIS:
Who is this Cyrano?
CUIGY:
A fellow well skilled in all tricks of fence.
SECOND MARQUIS:
Is he of noble birth?
CUIGY:
Ay, noble enough. He is a cadet in the Guards.
(Pointing to a gentleman who is going up and down the hall as if searching for
some one):
But 'tis his friend Le Bret, yonder, who can best tell you.
(He calls him):
Le Bret!
(Le Bret comes towards them):
Seek you for De Bergerac?
LE BRET:
Ay, I am uneasy. . .
CUIGY:
Is it not true that he is the strangest of men?
LE BRET (tenderly):
True, that he is the choicest of earthly beings!
RAGUENEAU:
Poet!
CUIGY:
Soldier!
BRISSAILLE:
Philosopher!
LE BRET:
Musician!
LIGNIERE:
And of how fantastic a presence!
RAGENEAU:
Marry, 'twould puzzle even our grim painter Philippe de Champaigne to
portray him! Methinks, whimsical, wild, comical as he is, only Jacques
Callot, now dead and gone, had succeeded better, and had made of him the
maddest fighter of all his visored crew--with his triple-plumed beaver and
six-pointed doublet--the sword-point sticking up 'neath his mantle like an
insolent cocktail! He's prouder than all the fierce Artabans of whom Gascony
has ever been and will ever be the prolific Alma Mater! Above his Toby ruff
he carries a nose!--ah, good my lords, what a nose is his! When one sees it
one is fain to cry aloud, 'Nay! 'tis too much! He plays a joke on us!' Then
one laughs, says 'He will anon take it off.' But no!--Monsieur de Bergerac
always keeps it on.
LE BRET (throwing back his head):
He keeps it on--and cleaves in two any man who dares remark on it!
RAGUENEAU (proudly):
His sword--'tis one half of the Fates' shears!
FIRST MARQUIS (shrugging his shoulders):
He will not come!
RAGUENEAU:
I say he will! and I wager a fowl--a la Ragueneau.
THE MARQUIS (laughing):
Good!
(Murmurs of admiration in hall. Roxane has just appeared in her box. She
seats herself in front, the duenna at the back. Christian, who is paying the
buffet-girl, does not see her entrance.)
SECOND MARQUIS (with little cries of joy):
Ah, gentlemen! she is fearfully--terribly--ravishing!
FIRST MARQUIS:
When one looks at her one thinks of a peach smiling at a strawberry!
SECOND MARQUIS:
And what freshness! A man approaching her too near might chance to get a
bad chill at the heart!
CHRISTIAN (raising his head, sees Roxane, and catches Ligniere by the arm):
'Tis she!
LIGNIERE:
Ah! is it she?
CHRISTIAN:
Ay, tell me quick--I am afraid.
LIGNIERE (tasting his rivesalte in sips):
Magdaleine Robin--Roxane, so called! A subtle wit--a precieuse.
CHRISTIAN:
Woe is me!
LIGNIERE:
Free. An orphan. The cousin of Cyrano, of whom we were now speaking.
(At this moment an elegant nobleman, with blue ribbon across his breast,
enters the box, and talks with Roxane, standing.)
CHRISTIAN (starting):
Who is yonder man?
LIGNIERE (who is becoming tipsy, winking at him):
Ha! ha! Count de Guiche. Enamored of her. But wedded to the niece of
Armand de Richelieu. Would fain marry Roxane to a certain sorry fellow, one
Monsieur de Valvert, a viscount--and--accommodating! She will none of that
bargain; but De Guiche is powerful, and can persecute the daughter of a plain
untitled gentleman. More by token, I myself have exposed this cunning plan of
his to the world, in a song which. . .Ho! he must rage at me! The end hit
home. . .Listen!
(He gets up staggering, and raises his glass, ready to sing.)
CHRISTIAN:
No. Good-night.
LIGNIERE:
Where go you?
CHRISTIAN:
To Monsieur de Valvert!
LIGNIERE:
Have a care! It is he who will kill you
(showing him Roxane by a look):
Stay where you are--she is looking at you.
CHRISTIAN:
It is true!
(He stands looking at her. The group of pickpockets seeing him thus, head in
air and open-mouthed, draw near to him.)
LIGNIERE:
'Tis I who am going. I am athirst! And they expect me--in the taverns!
(He goes out, reeling.)
LE BRET (who has been all round the hall, coming back to Ragueneau reassured):
No sign of Cyrano.
RAGUENEAU (incredulously):
All the same. . .
LE BRET:
A hope is left to me--that he has not seen the playbill!
THE AUDIENCE:
Begin, begin!
| Ligniere introduces Christian de Neuvillette to two gentlemen, Cuigy and Brissaille, who comment on his elegant appearance but outmoded clothes. Ligniere explains that his friend has come from Touraine, and Christian adds that he is entering the Guards as a Cadet. When Ligniere grows restless and wants to leave and get another drink, Christian begs him to wait for a little while. Christian, who has fallen in love at first sight with a beautiful lady, wants Ligniere to help him watch for her arrival. He confesses to Ligniere that he also needs help in talking to her, for he does not know how to address a lady with elegance and wit. While the two of them wait, Ragueneau, the patron and pastry cook of actors and poets, enters, wearing his best clothes. Ragueneau, who appears agitated, is looking for Cyrano de Bergerac, who has not yet arrived at the theater. Ragueneau expects there to be a disturbance. Cyrano has forbidden Montfleury to act on the stage for three weeks, but he is cast to play Phaedo in the upcoming performance. In the course of the conversation, information about Cyrano is revealed. He is a poet, swordsman, scientist, and musician, whose character is described as "odd, impetuous, brash, and outlandish. . . proudest of all the thin-skinned swaggerers lovingly spawned by Gascony." Ragueneau then goes on to describe Cyrano's appearance. He usually wears a feathered hat and a cape, held behind by a sword rising like a cock's tail. A huge nose covers much of his face. As Ragueneau talks, Roxane, the beautiful woman that Christian longs to meet, enters her box in the theater. Her beauty creates an immediate stir among the audience. Ligniere tells Christian that her name is Madeleine Robin. He describes her as a sharp-witted orphan and the cousin of Cyrano de Bergerac. Christian watches as a gentleman visits Roxane in her box. Ligniere explains that the gentleman is her admirer, Count de Guiche. Since De Guiche is already married to Cardinal Richelieu's niece, he is trying to arrange a marriage between Roxane and his protege, Viscount de Valvert, a weak, accommodating man. Ligniere knows that De Guiche has ulterior motives and declares that he has written a song exposing the count's crafty designs. Hearing about Viscount de Valvert, Christian wants to go and have a duel with him, wanting to protect Roxane from him. Ligniere, however, restrains him by drawing his attention to Roxane, who seems to watching Christian. | summary |
The same, all but Ligniere. De Guiche, Valvert, then Montfleury.
A marquis (watching De Guiche, who comes down from Roxane's box, and crosses
the pit surrounded by obsequious noblemen, among them the Viscount de
Valvert):
He pays a fine court, your De Guiche!
ANOTHER:
Faugh!. . .Another Gascon!
THE FIRST:
Ay, but the cold, supple Gascon--that is the stuff success is made of!
Believe me, we had best make our bow to him.
(They go toward De Guiche.)
SECOND MARQUIS:
What fine ribbons! How call you the color, Count de Guiche? 'Kiss me, my
darling,' or 'Timid Fawn?'
DE GUICHE:
'Tis the color called 'Sick Spaniard.'
FIRST MARQUIS:
'Faith! The color speaks truth, for, thanks to your valor, things will soon
go ill for Spain in Flanders.
DE GUICHE:
I go on the stage! Will you come?
(He goes toward the stage, followed by the marquises and gentlemen. Turning,
he calls):
Come you Valvert!
CHRISTIAN (who is watching and listening, starts on hearing this name):
The Viscount! Ah! I will throw full in his face my. . .
(He puts his hand in his pocket, and finds there the hand of a pickpocket who
is about to rob him. He turns round):
Hey?
THE PICKPOCKET:
Oh!
CHRISTIAN (holding him tightly):
I was looking for a glove.
THE PICKPOCKET (smiling piteously):
And you find a hand.
(Changing his tone, quickly and in a whisper):
Let me but go, and I will deliver you a secret.
CHRISTIAN (still holding him):
What is it?
THE PICKPOCKET:
Ligniere. . .he who has just left you. . .
CHRISTIAN (same play):
Well?
THE PICKPOCKET:
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. . .
CHRISTIAN:
A hundred men! By whom posted?
THE PICKPOCKET:
I may not say--a secret. . .
CHRISTIAN (shrugging his shoulders):
Oh!
THE PICKPOCKET (with great dignity):
. . .Of the profession.
CHRISTIAN:
Where are they posted?
THE PICKPOCKET:
At the Porte de Nesle. On his way homeward. Warn him.
CHRISTIAN (letting go of his wrists):
But where can I find him?
THE PICKPOCKET:
Run round to all the taverns--The Golden Wine Press, the Pine Cone, The Belt
that Bursts, The Two Torches, The Three Funnels, and at each leave a word that
shall put him on his guard.
CHRISTIAN:
Good--I fly! Ah, the scoundrels! A hundred men 'gainst one!
(Looking lovingly at Roxane):
Ah, to leave her!. . .
(looking with rage at Valvert):
and him!. . .But save Ligniere I must!
(He hurries out. De Guiche, the viscount, the marquises, have all disappeared
behind the curtain to take their places on the benches placed on the stage.
The pit is quite full; the galleries and boxes are also crowded.)
THE AUDIENCE:
Begin!
A BURGHER (whose wig is drawn up on the end of a string by a page in the upper
gallery):
My wig!
CRIES OF DELIGHT:
He is bald! Bravo, pages--ha! ha! ha!. . .
THE BURGHER (furious, shaking his fist):
Young villain!
LAUGHTER AND CRIES (beginning very loud, and dying gradually away):
Ha! ha! ha! ha! ha! ha!
(Total silence.)
LE BRET (astonished):
What means this sudden silence?. . .
(A spectator says something to him in a low voice):
Is't true?
THE SPECTATOR:
I have just heard it on good authority.
MURMURS (spreading through the hall):
Hush! Is it he? No! Ay, I say! In the box with the bars in front! The
Cardinal! The Cardinal! The Cardinal!
A PAGE:
The devil! We shall have to behave ourselves. . .
(A knock is heard upon the stage. Every one is motionless. A pause.)
THE VOICE OF A MARQUIS (in the silence, behind the curtain):
Snuff that candle!
ANOTHER MARQUIS (putting his head through the opening in the curtain):
A chair!
(A chair is passed from hand to hand, over the heads of the spectators. The
marquis takes it and disappears, after blowing some kisses to the boxes.)
A SPECTATOR:
Silence!
(Three knocks are heard on the stage. The curtain opens in the centre
Tableau. The marquises in insolent attitudes seated on each side of the
stage. The scene represents a pastoral landscape. Four little lusters light
the stage; the violins play softly.)
LE BRET (in a low voice to Ragueneau):
Montfleury comes on the scene?
RAGUENEAU (also in a low voice):
Ay, 'tis he who begins.
LE BRET:
Cyrano is not here.
RAGUENEAU:
I have lost my wager.
LE BRET:
'Tis all the better!
(An air on the drone-pipes is heard, and Montfleury enters, enormously stout,
in an Arcadian shepherd's dress, a hat wreathed with roses drooping over one
ear, blowing into a ribboned drone pipe.)
THE PIT (applauding):
Bravo, Montfleury! Montfleury!
MONTFLEURY (after bowing low, begins the part of Phedon):
'Heureux qui loin des cours, dans un lieu solitaire,
Se prescrit a soi-meme un exil volontaire,
Et qui, lorsque Zephire a souffle sur les bois. . .'
A VOICE (from the middle of the pit):
Villain! Did I not forbid you to show your face here for month?
(General stupor. Every one turns round. Murmurs.)
DIFFERENT VOICES:
Hey?--What?--What is't?. . .
(The people stand up in the boxes to look.)
CUIGY:
'Tis he!
LE BRET (terrified):
Cyrano!
THE VOICE:
King of clowns! Leave the stage this instant!
ALL THE AUDIENCE (indignantly):
Oh!
MONTFLEURY:
But. . .
THE VOICE:
Do you dare defy me?
DIFFERENT VOICES (from the pit and the boxes):
Peace! Enough!--Play on, Montfleury--fear nothing!
MONTFLEURY (in a trembling voice):
'Heureux qui loin des cours, dans un lieu sol--'
THE VOICE (more fiercely):
Well! Chief of all the blackguards, must I come and give you a taste of my
cane?
(A hand holding a cane starts up over the heads of the spectators.)
MONTFLEURY (in a voice that trembles more and more):
'Heureux qui. . .'
(The cane is shaken.)
THE VOICE:
Off the stage!
THE PIT:
Oh!
MONTFLEURY (choking):
'Heureux qui loin des cours. . .'
CYRANO (appearing suddenly in the pit, standing on a chair, his arms crossed,
his beaver cocked fiercely, his mustache bristling, his nose terrible to see):
Ah! I shall be angry in a minute!. . .
(Sensation.)
| Two gentlemen discuss Count De Guiche, a man of importance who is described as a morally flexible and coldly calculating Gascon. As the two of them try to flatter the count, they reference his ability to defeat the Spaniards in Flanders. At the same time, Christian is still planning to challenge De Guiche in order to defend Roxane's honor. As he reaches into his pocket to find his glove, he realizes that his pocket is being picked. He catches the thief, who offers to tell him about the danger Ligniere is in if Christian lets him off. Christian agrees to the bargain. The pickpocket explains that Ligniere has written an offensive poem that criticizes an important person. As a result, he is to be attacked and killed on his way home from the theater; a hundred men are waiting to ambush him at the Porte de Nesle. Concerned about his friend, Christian leaves the theatre to find Ligniere. After Christian departs, De Guiche and his followers go to sit on the stage. A page in the upper galley, wanting to have some fun, lifts the wig off of one of the followers with a fishing hook. Although the prank causes much laughter in the audience, the theater soon grows silent with the arrival of Cardinal Richelieu. Now the play can finally begin. The curtain opens, and Montfleury begins his first speech. Suddenly, the voice of Cyrano is also heard. He orders the actor to leave the stage. Montfleury, encouraged by the audience, ignores Cyrano and continues. Cyrano then stands up on a chair and gives Montfleury a warning. | summary |
The same, all but Ligniere. De Guiche, Valvert, then Montfleury.
A marquis (watching De Guiche, who comes down from Roxane's box, and crosses
the pit surrounded by obsequious noblemen, among them the Viscount de
Valvert):
He pays a fine court, your De Guiche!
ANOTHER:
Faugh!. . .Another Gascon!
THE FIRST:
Ay, but the cold, supple Gascon--that is the stuff success is made of!
Believe me, we had best make our bow to him.
(They go toward De Guiche.)
SECOND MARQUIS:
What fine ribbons! How call you the color, Count de Guiche? 'Kiss me, my
darling,' or 'Timid Fawn?'
DE GUICHE:
'Tis the color called 'Sick Spaniard.'
FIRST MARQUIS:
'Faith! The color speaks truth, for, thanks to your valor, things will soon
go ill for Spain in Flanders.
DE GUICHE:
I go on the stage! Will you come?
(He goes toward the stage, followed by the marquises and gentlemen. Turning,
he calls):
Come you Valvert!
CHRISTIAN (who is watching and listening, starts on hearing this name):
The Viscount! Ah! I will throw full in his face my. . .
(He puts his hand in his pocket, and finds there the hand of a pickpocket who
is about to rob him. He turns round):
Hey?
THE PICKPOCKET:
Oh!
CHRISTIAN (holding him tightly):
I was looking for a glove.
THE PICKPOCKET (smiling piteously):
And you find a hand.
(Changing his tone, quickly and in a whisper):
Let me but go, and I will deliver you a secret.
CHRISTIAN (still holding him):
What is it?
THE PICKPOCKET:
Ligniere. . .he who has just left you. . .
CHRISTIAN (same play):
Well?
THE PICKPOCKET:
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. . .
CHRISTIAN:
A hundred men! By whom posted?
THE PICKPOCKET:
I may not say--a secret. . .
CHRISTIAN (shrugging his shoulders):
Oh!
THE PICKPOCKET (with great dignity):
. . .Of the profession.
CHRISTIAN:
Where are they posted?
THE PICKPOCKET:
At the Porte de Nesle. On his way homeward. Warn him.
CHRISTIAN (letting go of his wrists):
But where can I find him?
THE PICKPOCKET:
Run round to all the taverns--The Golden Wine Press, the Pine Cone, The Belt
that Bursts, The Two Torches, The Three Funnels, and at each leave a word that
shall put him on his guard.
CHRISTIAN:
Good--I fly! Ah, the scoundrels! A hundred men 'gainst one!
(Looking lovingly at Roxane):
Ah, to leave her!. . .
(looking with rage at Valvert):
and him!. . .But save Ligniere I must!
(He hurries out. De Guiche, the viscount, the marquises, have all disappeared
behind the curtain to take their places on the benches placed on the stage.
The pit is quite full; the galleries and boxes are also crowded.)
THE AUDIENCE:
Begin!
A BURGHER (whose wig is drawn up on the end of a string by a page in the upper
gallery):
My wig!
CRIES OF DELIGHT:
He is bald! Bravo, pages--ha! ha! ha!. . .
THE BURGHER (furious, shaking his fist):
Young villain!
LAUGHTER AND CRIES (beginning very loud, and dying gradually away):
Ha! ha! ha! ha! ha! ha!
(Total silence.)
LE BRET (astonished):
What means this sudden silence?. . .
(A spectator says something to him in a low voice):
Is't true?
THE SPECTATOR:
I have just heard it on good authority.
MURMURS (spreading through the hall):
Hush! Is it he? No! Ay, I say! In the box with the bars in front! The
Cardinal! The Cardinal! The Cardinal!
A PAGE:
The devil! We shall have to behave ourselves. . .
(A knock is heard upon the stage. Every one is motionless. A pause.)
THE VOICE OF A MARQUIS (in the silence, behind the curtain):
Snuff that candle!
ANOTHER MARQUIS (putting his head through the opening in the curtain):
A chair!
(A chair is passed from hand to hand, over the heads of the spectators. The
marquis takes it and disappears, after blowing some kisses to the boxes.)
A SPECTATOR:
Silence!
(Three knocks are heard on the stage. The curtain opens in the centre
Tableau. The marquises in insolent attitudes seated on each side of the
stage. The scene represents a pastoral landscape. Four little lusters light
the stage; the violins play softly.)
LE BRET (in a low voice to Ragueneau):
Montfleury comes on the scene?
RAGUENEAU (also in a low voice):
Ay, 'tis he who begins.
LE BRET:
Cyrano is not here.
RAGUENEAU:
I have lost my wager.
LE BRET:
'Tis all the better!
(An air on the drone-pipes is heard, and Montfleury enters, enormously stout,
in an Arcadian shepherd's dress, a hat wreathed with roses drooping over one
ear, blowing into a ribboned drone pipe.)
THE PIT (applauding):
Bravo, Montfleury! Montfleury!
MONTFLEURY (after bowing low, begins the part of Phedon):
'Heureux qui loin des cours, dans un lieu solitaire,
Se prescrit a soi-meme un exil volontaire,
Et qui, lorsque Zephire a souffle sur les bois. . .'
A VOICE (from the middle of the pit):
Villain! Did I not forbid you to show your face here for month?
(General stupor. Every one turns round. Murmurs.)
DIFFERENT VOICES:
Hey?--What?--What is't?. . .
(The people stand up in the boxes to look.)
CUIGY:
'Tis he!
LE BRET (terrified):
Cyrano!
THE VOICE:
King of clowns! Leave the stage this instant!
ALL THE AUDIENCE (indignantly):
Oh!
MONTFLEURY:
But. . .
THE VOICE:
Do you dare defy me?
DIFFERENT VOICES (from the pit and the boxes):
Peace! Enough!--Play on, Montfleury--fear nothing!
MONTFLEURY (in a trembling voice):
'Heureux qui loin des cours, dans un lieu sol--'
THE VOICE (more fiercely):
Well! Chief of all the blackguards, must I come and give you a taste of my
cane?
(A hand holding a cane starts up over the heads of the spectators.)
MONTFLEURY (in a voice that trembles more and more):
'Heureux qui. . .'
(The cane is shaken.)
THE VOICE:
Off the stage!
THE PIT:
Oh!
MONTFLEURY (choking):
'Heureux qui loin des cours. . .'
CYRANO (appearing suddenly in the pit, standing on a chair, his arms crossed,
his beaver cocked fiercely, his mustache bristling, his nose terrible to see):
Ah! I shall be angry in a minute!. . .
(Sensation.)
| Notes The third scene is significant for several reasons. It presents De Guiche as a morally flexible and coldly calculating man; later it will be seen that he can be extremely vindictive when he is exposed in his craftiness. The scene also indicates that De Guiche is a powerful man with many followers; it is suggested that he has enough strength to defeat the Spanish in Flanders. As a result, the scene indicates the growing problem between Spain and France and foreshadows the impending siege of Arras in which De Guiche will play an important role. In addition, the scene reveals that there is supposedly a plot on Ligniere's life. According to the pickpocket, he is to be killed on his way home from the theater as punishment for an offensive poem he has written. Finally, the scene introduces Cyrano in person. When Montfleury is giving his opening speech, the voice of the protagonist is heard, ordering the actor from the stage. When Montfleury ignores him, Cyrano climbs on a check and gives him another clear warning. Rostand also creates moments of lightness in the third scene. When the meek Christian reaches into his pocket to find his glove before he goes to challenge the powerful De Guiche to a duel, he ironically finds his pocket is being picked. He then strikes a "deal" with the pickpocket. The author also adds a touch of horseplay as the pages use a fishhook to pluck the wig off the head of a burgher. The entire audience finds the antic humorous. It is important to note that by the end of this scene the three men that have an interest in Roxane have been introduced. Christian thinks he is truly in love with the beautiful women; however, he is afraid that he does not have enough charm to win her affections. De Guiche, a married man, is also interested in Roxane. Since he cannot court her because of his marital status, he is encouraging Valvert, one of his weak followers, to pursue her; if he is successful in establishing that relationship, he knows it will be easy to carry out his personal plans with Roxane. Cyrano, the cousin of Roxane, also has an interest in her. The battle for her affections will form the major conflict of the play. | analysis |
The same. Cyrano, then Bellerose, Jodelet.
MONTFLEURY (to the marquises):
Come to my help, my lords!
A MARQUIS (carelessly):
Go on! Go on!
CYRANO:
Fat man, take warning! If you go on, I
Shall feel myself constrained to cuff your face!
THE MARQUIS:
Have done!
CYRANO:
And if these lords hold not their tongue
Shall feel constrained to make them taste my cane!
ALL THE MARQUISES (rising):
Enough!. . .Montfleury. . .
CYRANO:
If he goes not quick
I will cut off his ears and slit him up!
A VOICE:
But. . .
CYRANO:
Out he goes!
ANOTHER VOICE:
Yet. . .
CYRANO:
Is he not gone yet?
(He makes the gesture of turning up his cuffs):
Good! I shall mount the stage now, buffet-wise,
To carve this fine Italian sausage--thus!
MONTFLEURY (trying to be dignified):
You outrage Thalia in insulting me!
CYRANO (very politely):
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!
THE PIT:
Montfleury! Montfleury! Come--Baro's play!
CYRANO (to those who are calling out):
I pray you have a care! If you go on
My scabbard soon will render up its blade!
(The circle round him widens.)
THE CROWD (drawing back):
Take care!
CYRANO (to Montfleury):
Leave the stage!
THE CROWD (coming near and grumbling):
Oh!--
CYRANO:
Did some one speak?
(They draw back again.)
A VOICE (singing at the back):
Monsieur de Cyrano
Displays his tyrannies:
A fig for tyrants! What, ho!
Come! Play us 'La Clorise!'
ALL THE PIT (singing):
'La Clorise!' 'La Clorise!'. . .
CYRANO:
Let me but hear once more that foolish rhyme,
I slaughter every man of you.
A BURGHER:
Oh! Samson?
CYRANO:
Yes Samson! Will you lend your jawbone, Sir?
A LADY (in the boxes):
Outrageous!
A LORD:
Scandalous!
A BURGHER:
'Tis most annoying!
A PAGE:
Fair good sport!
THE PIT:
Kss!--Montfleury. . .Cyrano!
CYRANO:
Silence!
THE PIT (wildly excited):
Ho-o-o-o-h! Quack! Cock-a-doodle-doo!
CYRANO:
I order--
A PAGE:
Miow!
CYRANO:
I order silence, all!
And challenge the whole pit collectively!--
I write your names!--Approach, young heroes, here!
Each in his turn! I cry the numbers out!--
Now which of you will come to ope the lists?
You, Sir? No! You? No! The first duellist
Shall be dispatched by me with honors due!
Let all who long for death hold up their hands!
(A silence):
Modest? You fear to see my naked blade?
Not one name?--Not one hand?--Good, I proceed!
(Turning toward the stage, where Montfleury waits in an agony):
The theater's too full, congested,--I
Would clear it out. . .If not. . .
(Puts his hand on his sword):
The knife must act!
MONTFLEURY:
I. . .
CYRANO (leaves his chair, and settles himself in the middle of the circle
which has formed):
I will clap my hands thrice, thus--full moon! At the third clap, eclipse
yourself!
THE PIT (amused):
Ah!
CYRANO (clapping his hands):
One!
MONTFLEURY:
I. . .
A VOICE (in the boxes):
Stay!
THE PIT:
He stays. . .he goes. . .he stays. . .
MONTFLEURY:
I think. . .Gentlemen,. . .
CYRANO:
Two!
MONTFLEURY:
I think 'twere wisest. . .
CYRANO:
Three!
(Montfleury disappears as through a trap. Tempest of laughs, whistling cries,
etc.)
THE WHOLE HOUSE:
Coward. . .come back!
CYRANO (delighted, sits back in his chair, arms crossed):
Come back an if you dare!
A BURGHER:
Call for the orator!
(Bellerose comes forward and bows.)
THE BOXES:
Ah! here's Bellerose!
BELLEROSE (elegantly):
My noble lords. . .
THE PIT:
No! no! Jodelet!
JODELET (advancing, speaking through his nose):
Calves!
THE PIT:
Ah! bravo! good! go on!
JODELET:
No bravos, Sirs!
The fat tragedian whom you all love
Felt. . .
THE PIT:
Coward!
JODELET:
. . .was obliged to go.
THE PIT:
Come back!
SOME:
No!
OTHERS:
Yes!
A YOUNG MAN (to Cyrano):
But pray, Sir, for what reason, say,
Hate you Montfleury?
CYRANO (graciously, still seated):
Youthful gander, know
I have two reasons--either will suffice.
Primo. An actor villainous! who mouths,
And heaves up like a bucket from a well
The verses that should, bird-like, fly! Secundo--
That is my secret. . .
THE OLD BURGHER (behind him):
Shameful! You deprive us
Of the 'Clorise!' I must insist. . .
CYRANO (turning his chair toward the burgher, respectfully):
Old mule!
The verses of old Baro are not worth
A doit! I'm glad to interrupt. . .
THE PRECIEUSES (in the boxes):
Our Baro!--
My dear! How dares he venture!. . .
CYRANO (turning his chair toward the boxes gallantly):
Fairest ones,
Radiate, bloom, hold to our lips the cup
Of dreams intoxicating, Hebe-like!
Or, when death strikes, charm death with your sweet smiles;
Inspire our verse, but--criticise it not!
BELLEROSE:
We must give back the entrance fees!
CYRANO (turning his chair toward the stage):
Bellerose,
You make the first intelligent remark!
Would I rend Thespis' sacred mantle? Nay!
(He rises and throws a bag on the stage):
Catch then the purse I throw, and hold your peace!
THE HOUSE (dazzled):
Ah! Oh!
JODELET (catching the purse dexterously and weighing it):
At this price, you've authority
To come each night, and stop 'Clorise,' Sir!
THE PIT:
Ho!. . .Ho! Ho!. . .
JODELET:
E'en if you chase us in a pack!. . .
BELLEROSE:
Clear out the hall!. . .
JODELET:
Get you all gone at once!
(The people begin to go out, while Cyrano looks on with satisfaction. But the
crowd soon stop on hearing the following scene, and remain where they are.
The women, who, with their mantles on, are already standing up in the boxes,
stop to listen, and finally reseat themselves.)
LE BRET (to Cyrano):
'Tis mad!. . .
A BORE (coming up to Cyrano):
The actor Montfleury! 'Tis shameful!
Why, he's protected by the Duke of Candal!
Have you a patron?
CYRANO:
No!
THE BORE:
No patron?. . .
CYRANO:
None!
THE BORE:
What! no great lord to shield you with his name?
CYRANO (irritated):
No, I have told you twice! Must I repeat?
No! no protector. . .
(His hand on his sword):
A protectress. . .here!
THE BORE:
But you must leave the town?
CYRANO:
Well, that depends!
THE BORE:
The Duke has a long arm!
CYRANO:
But not so long
As mine, when it is lengthened out. . .
(Shows his sword):
As thus!
THE BORE:
You think not to contend?
CYRANO:
'Tis my idea!
THE BORE:
But. . .
CYRANO:
Show your heels! now!
THE BORE:
But I. . .
CYRANO:
Or tell me why you stare so at my nose!
THE BORE (staggered):
I. . .
CYRANO (walking straight up to him):
Well, what is there strange?
THE BORE (drawing back):
Your Grace mistakes!
CYRANO:
How now? Is't soft and dangling, like a trunk?. . .
THE BORE (same play):
I never. . .
CYRANO:
Is it crook'd, like an owl's beak?
THE BORE:
I. . .
CYRANO:
Do you see a wart upon the tip?
THE BORE:
Nay. . .
CYRANO:
Or a fly, that takes the air there? What
Is there to stare at?
THE BORE:
Oh. . .
CYRANO:
What do you see?
THE BORE:
But I was careful not to look--knew better.
CYRANO:
And why not look at it, an if you please?
THE BORE:
I was. . .
CYRANO:
Oh! it disgusts you!
THE BORE:
Sir!
CYRANO:
Its hue
Unwholesome seems to you?
THE BORE:
Sir!
CYRANO:
Or its shape?
THE BORE:
No, on the contrary!. . .
CYRANO:
Why then that air
Disparaging?--perchance you think it large?
THE BORE (stammering):
No, small, quite small--minute!
CYRANO:
Minute! What now?
Accuse me of a thing ridiculous!
Small--my nose?
THE BORE:
Heaven help me!
CYRANO:
'Tis enormous!
Old Flathead, empty-headed meddler, know
That I am proud possessing such appendice.
'Tis well known, a big nose is indicative
Of a soul affable, and kind, and courteous,
Liberal, brave, just like myself, and such
As you can never dare to dream yourself,
Rascal contemptible! For that witless face
That my hand soon will come to cuff--is all
As empty. . .
(He cuffs him.)
THE BORE:
Aie!
CYRANO:
--of pride, of aspiration,
Of feeling, poetry--of godlike spark
Of all that appertains to my big nose,
(He turns him by the shoulders, suiting the action to the word):
As. . .what my boot will shortly come and kick!
THE BORE (running away):
Help! Call the Guard!
CYRANO:
Take notice, boobies all,
Who find my visage's center ornament
A thing to jest at--that it is my wont--
An if the jester's noble--ere we part
To let him taste my steel, and not my boot!
DE GUICHE (who, with the marquises, has come down from the stage):
But he becomes a nuisance!
THE VISCOUNT DE VALVERT (shrugging his shoulders):
Swaggerer!
DE GUICHE:
Will no one put him down?. . .
THE VISCOUNT:
No one? But wait!
I'll treat him to. . .one of my quips!. . .See here!. . .
(He goes up to Cyrano, who is watching him, and with a conceited air):
Sir, your nose is. . .hmm. . .it is. . .very big!
CYRANO (gravely):
Very!
THE VISCOUNT (laughing):
Ha!
CYRANO (imperturbably):
Is that all?. . .
THE VISCOUNT:
What do you mean?
CYRANO:
Ah no! young blade! That was a trifle short!
You might have said at least a hundred things
By varying the tone. . .like this, suppose,. . .
Aggressive: 'Sir, if I had such a nose
I'd amputate it!' 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!
--A cape, forsooth! 'Tis a peninsular!'
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 with a fond research
To find their tiny claws a roomy perch!'
Truculent: 'When you smoke your pipe. . .suppose
That the tobacco-smoke spouts from your nose--
Do not the neighbors, as the fumes rise higher,
Cry terror-struck: "The chimney is afire"?'
Considerate: 'Take care,. . .your head bowed low
By such a weight. . .lest head o'er heels you go!'
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!'
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!'
Dramatic: 'When it bleeds, what a Red Sea!'
Admiring: 'Sign for a perfumery!'
Lyric: 'Is this a conch?. . .a Triton you?'
Simple: 'When is the monument on view?'
Rustic: 'That thing a nose? Marry-come-up!
'Tis a dwarf pumpkin, or a prize turnip!'
Military: 'Point against cavalry!'
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! blushing its treachery!'
--Such, my dear sir, is what you might have said,
Had you of wit or letters the least jot:
But, O most lamentable man!--of wit
You never had an atom, and of letters
You have three letters only!--they spell Ass!
And--had you had the necessary wit,
To serve me all the pleasantries I quote
Before this noble audience. . .e'en so,
You would not have been let to utter one--
Nay, not the half or quarter of such jest!
I take them from myself all in good part,
But not from any other man that breathes!
DE GUICHE (trying to draw away the dismayed viscount):
Come away, Viscount!
THE VISCOUNT (choking with rage):
Hear his arrogance!
A country lout who. . .who. . .has got no gloves!
Who goes out without sleeve-knots, ribbons, lace!
CYRANO:
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 as with stays,
Covered with exploits, not with ribbon-knots,
My spirit bristling high like your mustaches,
I, traversing the crowds and chattering groups
Make Truth ring bravely out like clash of spurs!
THE VISCOUNT:
But, Sir. . .
CYRANO:
I wear no gloves? And what of that?
I had one,. . .remnant of an old worn pair,
And, knowing not what else to do with it,
I threw it in the face of. . .some young fool.
THE VISCOUNT:
Base scoundrel! Rascally flat-footed lout!
CYRANO (taking off his hat, and bowing as if the viscount had introduced
himself):
Ah?. . .and I, Cyrano Savinien
Hercule de Bergerac
(Laughter.)
THE VISCOUNT (angrily):
Buffoon!
CYRANO (calling out as if he had been seized with the cramp):
Aie! Aie!
THE VISCOUNT (who was going away, turns back):
What on earth is the fellow saying now?
CYRANO (with grimaces of pain):
It must be moved--it's getting stiff, I vow,
--This comes of leaving it in idleness!
Aie!. . .
THE VISCOUNT:
What ails you?
CYRANO:
The cramp! cramp in my sword!
THE VISCOUNT (drawing his sword):
Good!
CYRANO:
You shall feel a charming little stroke!
THE VISCOUNT (contemptuously):
Poet!. . .
CYRANO:
Ay, poet, Sir! In proof of which,
While we fence, presto! all extempore
I will compose a ballade.
THE VISCOUNT:
A ballade?
CYRANO:
Belike you know not what a ballade is.
THE VISCOUNT:
But. . .
CYRANO (reciting, as if repeating a lesson):
Know then that the ballade should contain
Three eight-versed couplets. . .
THE VISCOUNT (stamping):
Oh!
CYRANO (still reciting):
And an envoi
Of four lines. . .
THE VISCOUNT:
You. . .
CYRANO:
I'll make one while we fight;
And touch you at the final line.
THE VISCOUNT:
No!
CYRANO:
No?
(declaiming):
The duel in Hotel of Burgundy--fought
By De Bergerac and a good-for-naught!
THE VISCOUNT:
What may that be, an if you please?
CYRANO:
The title.
THE HOUSE (in great excitement):
Give room!--Good sport!--Make place!--Fair play!--No noise!
(Tableau. A circle of curious spectators in the pit; the marquises and
officers mingled with the common people; the pages climbing on each other's
shoulders to see better. All the women standing up in the boxes. To the
right, De Guiche and his retinue. Left, Le Bret, Ragueneau, Cyrano, etc.)
CYRANO (shutting his eyes for a second):
Wait while I choose my rhymes. . .I have them now!
(He suits the action to each word):
I gayly doff my beaver low,
And, freeing hand and heel,
My heavy mantle off I throw,
And I draw my polished steel;
Graceful as Phoebus, round I wheel,
Alert as Scaramouch,
A word in your ear, Sir Spark, I steal--
At the envoi's end, I touch!
(They engage):
Better for you had you lain low;
Where skewer my cock? In the heel?--
In the heart, your ribbon blue below?--
In the hip, and make you kneel?
Ho for the music of clashing steel!
--What now?--A hit? Not much!
'Twill be in the paunch the stroke I steal,
When, at the envoi, I touch.
Oh, for a rhyme, a rhyme in o?--
You wriggle, starch-white, my eel?
A rhyme! a rhyme! The white feather you SHOW!
Tac! I parry the point of your steel;
--The point you hoped to make me feel;
I open the line, now clutch
Your spit, Sir Scullion--slow your zeal!
At the envoi's end, I touch.
(He declaims solemnly):
Envoi.
Prince, pray Heaven for your soul's weal!
I move a pace--lo, such! and such!
Cut over--feint!
(Thrusting):
What ho! You reel?
(The viscount staggers. Cyrano salutes):
At the envoi's end, I touch!
(Acclamations. Applause in the boxes. Flowers and handkerchiefs are thrown
down. The officers surround Cyrano, congratulating him. Ragueneau dances for
joy. Le Bret is happy, but anxious. The viscount's friends hold him up and
bear him away.)
THE CROWD (with one long shout):
Ah!
A TROOPER:
'Tis superb!
A WOMAN:
A pretty stroke!
RAGUENEAU:
A marvel!
A MARQUIS:
A novelty!
LE BRET:
O madman!
THE CROWD (presses round Cyrano. Chorus of):
Compliments!
Bravo! Let me congratulate!. . .Quite unsurpassed!. . .
A WOMAN'S VOICE:
There is a hero for you!. . .
A MUSKETEER (advancing to Cyrano with outstretched hand):
Sir, permit;
Naught could be finer--I'm a judge I think;
I stamped, i' faith!--to show my admiration!
(He goes away.)
CYRANO (to Cuigy):
Who is that gentleman?
CUIGY:
Why--D'Artagnan!
LE BRET (to Cyrano, taking his arm):
A word with you!. . .
CYRANO:
Wait; let the rabble go!. . .
(To Bellerose):
May I stay?
BELLEROSE (respectfully):
Without doubt!
(Cries are heard outside.)
JODELET (who has looked out):
They hoot Montfleury!
BELLEROSE (solemnly):
Sic transit!. . .
(To the porters):
Sweep--close all, but leave the lights.
We sup, but later on we must return,
For a rehearsal of to-morrow's farce.
(Jodelet and Bellerose go out, bowing low to Cyrano.)
THE PORTER (to Cyrano):
You do not dine, Sir?
CYRANO:
No.
(The porter goes out.)
LE BRET:
Because?
CYRANO (proudly):
Because. . .
(Changing his tone as the porter goes away):
I have no money!. . .
LE BRET (with the action of throwing a bag):
How! The bag of crowns?. . .
CYRANO:
Paternal bounty, in a day, thou'rt sped!
LE BRET:
How live the next month?. . .
CYRANO:
I have nothing left.
LE BRET:
Folly!
CYRANO:
But what a graceful action! Think!
THE BUFFET-GIRL (coughing, behind her counter):
Hum!
(Cyrano and Le Bret turn. She comes timidly forward):
Sir, my heart mislikes to know you fast.
(Showing the buffet):
See, all you need. Serve yourself!
CYRANO (taking off his hat):
Gentle child,
Although my Gascon pride would else forbid
To take the least bestowal from your hands,
My fear of wounding you outweighs that pride,
And bids accept. . .
(He goes to the buffet):
A trifle!. . .These few grapes.
(She offers him the whole bunch. He takes a few):
Nay, but this bunch!. . .
(She tries to give him wine, but he stops her):
A glass of water fair!. . .
And half a macaroon!
(He gives back the other half.)
LE BRET:
What foolery!
THE BUFFET-GIRL:
Take something else!
CYRANO:
I take your hand to kiss.
(He kisses her hand as though she were a princess.)
THE BUFFET-GIRL:
Thank you, kind Sir!
(She courtesies):
Good-night.
(She goes out.)
| Scene 4 begins with Cyrano standing his ground against the audience, which is loudly insisting that Montfleury should not stop his performance. Cyrano threatens to draw his sword and fight anyone in the audience who dares to challenge him. He then insults the actor and chases him off the stage. Next Cyrano criticizes the dramatist, Baro, for his worthless writing. When the intellectually pretentious women in the audience protest his actions, Cyrano compliments them as subjects of literature but implores them not to judge it. Bellerose, the manager of the theater, confronts Cyrano and tells him that the money of the patrons will have to be refunded if the play is cancelled. Cyrano hands over his purse, which if filled with gold, and tells him to pay the patrons. The audience is then told to leave. An obnoxious man comes up to Cyrano and warns him that Montfleury and his key patron have been greatly insulted and will want revenge. When the man continues and will not leave in spite of Cyrano's insistence, he quarrels with him and kicks him out. Count De Guiche calls upon his followers to silence Cyrano. Valvert approaches Cyrano and dares to comment on the size of his nose. Cyrano responds by giving a witty exposition on noses and imagining what all sorts of people might say about the size of his nose. Valvert, feeling he has been put down by Cyrano, tries to insult his clothing. Cyrano retorts by explaining that his morals are impeccable even if his clothing is not. Valvert, failing to gain the upper hand, becomes more aggressively rude. Cyrano reacts with wit. When he is called a buffoon, however, Cyrano draws his sword to fight Valvert. He claims that he will fight the duel while he is composing a ballad, which he will recite as he fences. The two draw their swords and begin fighting to the verses of Cyrano's witty poem. By the ballad's refrain, Cyrano lunges and strikes Valvert, making him stagger. As Valvert is led away, the audience applauds Cyrano for his performance; they then depart the theater. After the patrons have left, Cyrano confesses that he has no money to buy dinner. When his friend, Le Bret, rebukes him for giving away his whole month's income to the theatre, he claims that it was a noble and worthwhile gesture. When the refreshment waitress offers him food, he takes a token bite and courteously and grandiosely thanks her. | summary |
Cyrano, Le Bret.
CYRANO (to Le Bret):
Now talk--I listen.
(He stands at the buffet, and placing before him first the macaroon):
Dinner!. . .
(then the grapes):
Dessert!. . .
(then the glass of water):
Wine!. . .
(he seats himself):
So! And now to table!
Ah! I was hungry, friend, nay, ravenous!
(eating):
You said--?
LE BRET:
These fops, would-be belligerent,
Will, if you heed them only, turn your head!. . .
Ask people of good sense if you would know
The effect of your fine insolence--
CYRANO (finishing his macaroon):
Enormous!
LE BRET:
The Cardinal. . .
CYRANO (radiant):
The Cardinal--was there?
LE BRET:
Must have thought it. . .
CYRANO:
Original, i' faith!
LE BRET:
But. . .
CYRANO:
He's an author. 'Twill not fail to please him
That I should mar a brother-author's play.
LE BRET:
You make too many enemies by far!
CYRANO (eating his grapes):
How many think you I have made to-night?
LE BRET:
Forty, no less, not counting ladies.
CYRANO:
Count!
LE BRET:
Montfleury first, the bourgeois, then De Guiche,
The Viscount, Baro, the Academy. . .
CYRANO:
Enough! I am o'erjoyed!
LE BRET:
But these strange ways,
Where will they lead you, at the end? Explain
Your system--come!
CYRANO:
I in a labyrinth
Was lost--too many different paths to choose;
I took. . .
LE BRET:
Which?
CYRANO:
Oh! by far the simplest path. . .
Decided to be admirable in all!
LE BRET (shrugging his shoulders):
So be it! But the motive of your hate
To Montfleury--come, tell me!
CYRANO (rising):
This Silenus,
Big-bellied, coarse, still deems himself a peril--
A danger to the love of lovely ladies,
And, while he sputters out his actor's part,
Makes sheep's eyes at their boxes--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!
LE BRET (stupefied):
How now? What? Can it be. . .?
CYRANO (laughing bitterly):
That I should love?. . .
(Changing his tone, gravely):
I love.
LE BRET:
And may I know?. . .You never said. . .
CYRANO:
Come now, bethink you!. . .The fond hope to be
Beloved, e'en by some poor graceless lady,
Is, by this nose of mine for aye bereft me;
--This lengthy nose which, go where'er I will,
Pokes yet a quarter-mile ahead of me;
But I may love--and who? 'Tis Fate's decree
I love the fairest--how were't otherwise?
LE BRET:
The fairest?. . .
CYRANO:
Ay, the fairest of the world,
Most brilliant--most refined--most golden-haired!
LE BRET:
Who is this lady?
CYRANO:
She's a danger mortal,
All unsuspicious--full of charms unconscious,
Like a sweet perfumed rose--a snare of nature,
Within whose petals Cupid lurks in ambush!
He who has seen her smile has known perfection,
--Instilling into trifles grace's essence,
Divinity in every careless gesture;
Not Venus' self can mount her conch blown sea-ward,
As she can step into her chaise a porteurs,
Nor Dian fleet across the woods spring-flowered,
Light as my Lady o'er the stones of Paris!. . .
LE BRET:
Sapristi! all is clear!
CYRANO:
As spiderwebs!
LE BRET:
Your cousin, Madeleine Robin?
CYRANO:
Roxane!
LE BRET:
Well, but so much the better! Tell her so!
She saw your triumph here this very night!
CYRANO:
Look well at me--then tell me, with what hope
This vile protuberance can inspire my heart!
I do not lull me with illusions--yet
At times I'm weak: in evening hours dim
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 'neath the moonshine,
I were fain to have my lady, too, beside!'
Thought soars to ecstasy. . .O sudden fall!
--The shadow of my profile on the wall!
LE BRET (tenderly):
My friend!. . .
CYRANO:
My friend, at times 'tis hard, 'tis bitter,
To feel my loneliness--my own ill-favor. . .
LE BRET (taking his hand):
You weep?
CYRANO:
No, never! 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--their beauty
Be wedded to such common ugly grossness.
Nothing more solemn than a tear--sublimer;
And I would not by weeping turn to laughter
The grave emotion that a tear engenders!
LE BRET:
Never be sad! What's love?--a chance of Fortune!
CYRANO (shaking his head):
Look I a Caesar to woo Cleopatra?
A Tito to aspire to Berenice?
LE BRET:
Your courage and your wit!--The little maid
Who offered you refreshment even now,
Her eyes did not abhor you--you saw well!
CYRANO (impressed):
True!
LE BRET:
Well, how then?. . .I saw Roxane herself
Was death-pale as she watched the duel.
CYRANO:
Pale?
LE BRET:
Her heart, her fancy, are already caught!
Put it to th' touch!
CYRANO:
That she may mock my face?
That is the one thing on this earth I fear!
THE PORTER (introducing some one to Cyrano):
Sir, some one asks for you. . .
CYRANO (seeing the duenna):
God! her duenna!
| LeBret is appalled by the actions of Cyrano at the theater. He is certain that his friend has made a large number of enemies because of his outlandish behavior. Cyrano, however, is proud of how he has acted. He feels he has done what is right, which gives him a clear conscience. This is important to Cyrano, who tries "to be admirable in everything." Cyrano reveals the true reason for his hatred of Montfleury. The actor had given amorous looks to Roxane, whom Cyrano confesses that he loves. Le Bret tells Cyrano that Roxane seemed to be deeply impressed by his victory over Valvert. He then encourages his friend to tell Roxane of his love, but Cyrano refuses. Because of his physical appearance, he feels that she could never have a romantic interest in him. In fact, he fears that she might laugh in his face. | summary |
Cyrano, Le Bret.
CYRANO (to Le Bret):
Now talk--I listen.
(He stands at the buffet, and placing before him first the macaroon):
Dinner!. . .
(then the grapes):
Dessert!. . .
(then the glass of water):
Wine!. . .
(he seats himself):
So! And now to table!
Ah! I was hungry, friend, nay, ravenous!
(eating):
You said--?
LE BRET:
These fops, would-be belligerent,
Will, if you heed them only, turn your head!. . .
Ask people of good sense if you would know
The effect of your fine insolence--
CYRANO (finishing his macaroon):
Enormous!
LE BRET:
The Cardinal. . .
CYRANO (radiant):
The Cardinal--was there?
LE BRET:
Must have thought it. . .
CYRANO:
Original, i' faith!
LE BRET:
But. . .
CYRANO:
He's an author. 'Twill not fail to please him
That I should mar a brother-author's play.
LE BRET:
You make too many enemies by far!
CYRANO (eating his grapes):
How many think you I have made to-night?
LE BRET:
Forty, no less, not counting ladies.
CYRANO:
Count!
LE BRET:
Montfleury first, the bourgeois, then De Guiche,
The Viscount, Baro, the Academy. . .
CYRANO:
Enough! I am o'erjoyed!
LE BRET:
But these strange ways,
Where will they lead you, at the end? Explain
Your system--come!
CYRANO:
I in a labyrinth
Was lost--too many different paths to choose;
I took. . .
LE BRET:
Which?
CYRANO:
Oh! by far the simplest path. . .
Decided to be admirable in all!
LE BRET (shrugging his shoulders):
So be it! But the motive of your hate
To Montfleury--come, tell me!
CYRANO (rising):
This Silenus,
Big-bellied, coarse, still deems himself a peril--
A danger to the love of lovely ladies,
And, while he sputters out his actor's part,
Makes sheep's eyes at their boxes--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!
LE BRET (stupefied):
How now? What? Can it be. . .?
CYRANO (laughing bitterly):
That I should love?. . .
(Changing his tone, gravely):
I love.
LE BRET:
And may I know?. . .You never said. . .
CYRANO:
Come now, bethink you!. . .The fond hope to be
Beloved, e'en by some poor graceless lady,
Is, by this nose of mine for aye bereft me;
--This lengthy nose which, go where'er I will,
Pokes yet a quarter-mile ahead of me;
But I may love--and who? 'Tis Fate's decree
I love the fairest--how were't otherwise?
LE BRET:
The fairest?. . .
CYRANO:
Ay, the fairest of the world,
Most brilliant--most refined--most golden-haired!
LE BRET:
Who is this lady?
CYRANO:
She's a danger mortal,
All unsuspicious--full of charms unconscious,
Like a sweet perfumed rose--a snare of nature,
Within whose petals Cupid lurks in ambush!
He who has seen her smile has known perfection,
--Instilling into trifles grace's essence,
Divinity in every careless gesture;
Not Venus' self can mount her conch blown sea-ward,
As she can step into her chaise a porteurs,
Nor Dian fleet across the woods spring-flowered,
Light as my Lady o'er the stones of Paris!. . .
LE BRET:
Sapristi! all is clear!
CYRANO:
As spiderwebs!
LE BRET:
Your cousin, Madeleine Robin?
CYRANO:
Roxane!
LE BRET:
Well, but so much the better! Tell her so!
She saw your triumph here this very night!
CYRANO:
Look well at me--then tell me, with what hope
This vile protuberance can inspire my heart!
I do not lull me with illusions--yet
At times I'm weak: in evening hours dim
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 'neath the moonshine,
I were fain to have my lady, too, beside!'
Thought soars to ecstasy. . .O sudden fall!
--The shadow of my profile on the wall!
LE BRET (tenderly):
My friend!. . .
CYRANO:
My friend, at times 'tis hard, 'tis bitter,
To feel my loneliness--my own ill-favor. . .
LE BRET (taking his hand):
You weep?
CYRANO:
No, never! 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--their beauty
Be wedded to such common ugly grossness.
Nothing more solemn than a tear--sublimer;
And I would not by weeping turn to laughter
The grave emotion that a tear engenders!
LE BRET:
Never be sad! What's love?--a chance of Fortune!
CYRANO (shaking his head):
Look I a Caesar to woo Cleopatra?
A Tito to aspire to Berenice?
LE BRET:
Your courage and your wit!--The little maid
Who offered you refreshment even now,
Her eyes did not abhor you--you saw well!
CYRANO (impressed):
True!
LE BRET:
Well, how then?. . .I saw Roxane herself
Was death-pale as she watched the duel.
CYRANO:
Pale?
LE BRET:
Her heart, her fancy, are already caught!
Put it to th' touch!
CYRANO:
That she may mock my face?
That is the one thing on this earth I fear!
THE PORTER (introducing some one to Cyrano):
Sir, some one asks for you. . .
CYRANO (seeing the duenna):
God! her duenna!
| Notes In this scene, Cyrano reveals that he is in love with Roxane. He also reveals that the true reason for his hatred of Montfleury is jealousy. The actor, whom Cyrano judges to be a buffoon, has looked amorously at Roxane, greatly upsetting Cyrano. He obviously does not yet know about Christian's amorous feelings for Roxane. The brief conversation between Cyrano and Le Bret centers on love, which is the main thematic content and motivating force of the entire play. Even though he deeply loves his cousin Roxane, Cyrano does not dare to let her know because of his ugly appearance. He fears that she would laugh at the "protuberance" on his face. His romantic sensibility reaches hyperbolic proportions when he claims that "the divine beauty of tears must not be contaminated" by running down the ugliness of his nose. In contrast to his ugliness, Cyrano describes the pure beauty of Roxane with vivid language that is filled with imagery and metaphors. He says that she is "unintentionally nature's trap" and a musk rose. He also compares her to the goddesses, Venus and Diana. Then as Cyrano sadly talks about his own ugliness, he reveals that he is totally honest about himself. He also expects others to be honest and cannot stand hypocrisy in anyone. As Cyrano describes himself and his beliefs, Rostand is trying to make certain that any antagonism that the audience may have felt at his protagonist's earlier bullying is eliminated. It is important to note the differences between the two lovers of Roxane. Christian, who is extremely handsome, feels he cannot win Roxane because he has no way with words. In ironic contrast, the poetic Cyrano, who has a remarkable way with words, feels he cannot win Roxane because of his ugliness. | analysis |
Cyrano, Le Bret, the duenna.
THE DUENNA (with a low bow):
I was bid ask you where a certain lady
Could see her valiant cousin--but in secret.
CYRANO (overwhelmed):
See me?
THE DUENNA (courtesying):
Ay, Sir! She has somewhat to tell.
CYRANO:
Somewhat?. . .
THE DUENNA (still courtesying):
Ay, private matters!
CYRANO (staggering):
Ah, my God!
THE DUENNA:
To-morrow, at the early blush of dawn,
We go to hear mass at St. Roch.
CYRANO (leaning against Le Bret):
My God!
THE DUENNA:
After--what place for a few minutes' speech?
CYRANO (confused):
Where? Ah!. . .but. . .Ah, my God!. . .
THE DUENNA:
Say!
CYRANO:
I reflect!. . .
THE DUENNA:
Where?
CYRANO:
At--the pastry-house of Ragueneau.
THE DUENNA:
Where lodges he?
CYRANO:
The Rue--God!--St. Honore!
THE DUENNA (going):
Good. Be you there. At seven.
CYRANO:
Without fail.
(The duenna goes out.)
| In this short scene, Roxane's governess enters, bringing a message for Cyrano. Roxane desires to speak to him privately the next morning. Cyrano, overcome with happiness at the thought of talking with his true love, suggests that they meet at Ragueneau's bakery. | summary |
Cyrano, Le Bret, the duenna.
THE DUENNA (with a low bow):
I was bid ask you where a certain lady
Could see her valiant cousin--but in secret.
CYRANO (overwhelmed):
See me?
THE DUENNA (courtesying):
Ay, Sir! She has somewhat to tell.
CYRANO:
Somewhat?. . .
THE DUENNA (still courtesying):
Ay, private matters!
CYRANO (staggering):
Ah, my God!
THE DUENNA:
To-morrow, at the early blush of dawn,
We go to hear mass at St. Roch.
CYRANO (leaning against Le Bret):
My God!
THE DUENNA:
After--what place for a few minutes' speech?
CYRANO (confused):
Where? Ah!. . .but. . .Ah, my God!. . .
THE DUENNA:
Say!
CYRANO:
I reflect!. . .
THE DUENNA:
Where?
CYRANO:
At--the pastry-house of Ragueneau.
THE DUENNA:
Where lodges he?
CYRANO:
The Rue--God!--St. Honore!
THE DUENNA (going):
Good. Be you there. At seven.
CYRANO:
Without fail.
(The duenna goes out.)
| Notes In this short scene, the emotions of Cyrano are greatly stirred. When he learns that Roxane wants to talk with him privately the next morning, he believes that perhaps she is interested in him. | analysis |
Cyrano, Le Bret. Then actors, actresses, Cuigy, Brissaille, Ligniere, the
porter, the violinists.
CYRANO (falling into Le Bret's arms):
A rendezvous. . .from her!. . .
LE BRET:
You're sad no more!
CYRANO:
Ah! Let the world go burn! She knows I live!
LE BRET:
Now you'll be calm, I hope?
CYRANO (beside himself for joy):
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!. . .
(Wildly):
No! Giants now!
(For a few moments the shadows of the actors have been moving on the stage,
whispers are heard--the rehearsal is beginning. The violinists are in their
places.)
A VOICE FROM THE STAGE:
Hollo there! Silence! We rehearse!
CYRANO (laughing):
We go!
(He moves away. By the big door enter Cuigy, Brissaille, and some officers,
holding up Ligniere, who is drunk.)
CUIGY:
Cyrano!
CYRANO:
Well, what now?
CUIGY:
A lusty thrush
They're bringing you!
CYRANO (recognizing him):
Ligniere!. . .What has chanced?
CUIGY:
He seeks you!
BRISSAILLE:
He dare not go home!
CYRANO:
Why not?
LIGNIERE (in a husky voice, showing him a crumpled letter):
This letter warns me. . .that a hundred men. . .
Revenge that threatens me. . .that song, you know--
At the Porte de Nesle. To get to my own house
I must pass there. . .I dare not!. . .Give me leave
To sleep to-night beneath your roof! Allow. . .
CYRANO:
A hundred men? You'll sleep in your own bed!
LIGNIERE (frightened):
But--
CYRANO (in a terrible voice, showing him the lighted lantern held by the
porter, who is listening curiously):
Take the lantern.
(Ligniere seizes it):
Let us start! I swear
That I will make your bed to-night myself!
(To the officers):
Follow; some stay behind, as witnesses!
CUIGY:
A hundred!. . .
CYRANO:
Less, to-night--would be too few!
(The actors and actresses, in their costumes, have come down from the stage,
and are listening.)
LE BRET:
But why embroil yourself?
CYRANO:
Le Bret who scolds!
LE BRET:
That worthless drunkard!--
CYRANO (slapping Ligniere on the shoulder):
Wherefore? 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!. . .
AN ACTRESS:
Indeed, that was a graceful thing!
CYRANO:
Ay, was it not?
THE ACTRESS (to the others):
But why a hundred men 'gainst one poor rhymer?
CYRANO:
March!
(To the officers):
Gentlemen, when you shall see me charge,
Bear me no succor, none, whate'er the odds!
ANOTHER ACTRESS (jumping from the stage):
Oh! I shall come and see!
CYRANO:
Come, then!
ANOTHER (jumping down--to an old actor):
And you?. . .
CYRANO:
Come all--the Doctor, Isabel, Leander,
Come, for you shall add, in a motley swarm,
The farce Italian to this Spanish drama!
ALL THE WOMEN (dancing for joy):
Bravo!--a mantle, quick!--my hood!
JODELET:
Come on!
CYRANO:
Play us a march, gentlemen of the band!
(The violinists join the procession, which is forming. They take the
footlights, and divide them for torches):
Brave officers! next, women in costume,
And, twenty paces on--
(He takes his place):
I all alone,
Beneath the plume that Glory lends, herself,
To deck my beaver--proud as Scipio!. . .
--You hear me?--I forbid you succor me!--
One, two three! Porter, open wide the doors!
(The porter opens the doors; a view of old Paris in the moonlight is seen):
Ah!. . .Paris wrapped in night! half nebulous:
The moonlight streams o'er the blue-shadowed roofs;
A lovely frame for this wild battle-scene;
Beneath the vapor's floating scarves, the Seine
Trembles, mysterious, like a magic mirror,
And, shortly, you shall see what you shall see!
ALL:
To the Porte de Nesle!
CYRANO (standing on the threshold):
Ay, to the Porte de Nesle!
(Turning to the actress):
Did you not ask, young lady, for what cause
Against this rhymer fivescore men were sent?
(He draws his sword; then, calmly):
'Twas that they knew him for a friend of mine!
(He goes out. Ligniere staggers first after him, then the actresses on the
officers' arms--the actors. The procession starts to the sound of the violins
and in the faint light of the candles.)
Curtain.
| As this scene opens, Cyrano is in a state of frenzied exhilaration because Roxane has acknowledged his existence. He wishes to prove his worth to her by showing his valor. Two gentlemen, Cuigy and Brissaille, enter with the drunken Ligniere, who declares that a hundred men are waiting to attack him. Cyrano offers to offer him protection, by escorting him with a troop of officers. He declares, however, that he will find the attackers alone and unaided. As they prepare to leave, several others join the group, wishing to witness what happens at the Porte de Nesle. When they depart, Cyrano is proudly at the head of the group. He pauses to say that it was necessary to send one hundred men to kill Ligniere because everyone knows he is a friend of his, implying that everyone fears Cyrano. | summary |
Cyrano, Le Bret. Then actors, actresses, Cuigy, Brissaille, Ligniere, the
porter, the violinists.
CYRANO (falling into Le Bret's arms):
A rendezvous. . .from her!. . .
LE BRET:
You're sad no more!
CYRANO:
Ah! Let the world go burn! She knows I live!
LE BRET:
Now you'll be calm, I hope?
CYRANO (beside himself for joy):
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!. . .
(Wildly):
No! Giants now!
(For a few moments the shadows of the actors have been moving on the stage,
whispers are heard--the rehearsal is beginning. The violinists are in their
places.)
A VOICE FROM THE STAGE:
Hollo there! Silence! We rehearse!
CYRANO (laughing):
We go!
(He moves away. By the big door enter Cuigy, Brissaille, and some officers,
holding up Ligniere, who is drunk.)
CUIGY:
Cyrano!
CYRANO:
Well, what now?
CUIGY:
A lusty thrush
They're bringing you!
CYRANO (recognizing him):
Ligniere!. . .What has chanced?
CUIGY:
He seeks you!
BRISSAILLE:
He dare not go home!
CYRANO:
Why not?
LIGNIERE (in a husky voice, showing him a crumpled letter):
This letter warns me. . .that a hundred men. . .
Revenge that threatens me. . .that song, you know--
At the Porte de Nesle. To get to my own house
I must pass there. . .I dare not!. . .Give me leave
To sleep to-night beneath your roof! Allow. . .
CYRANO:
A hundred men? You'll sleep in your own bed!
LIGNIERE (frightened):
But--
CYRANO (in a terrible voice, showing him the lighted lantern held by the
porter, who is listening curiously):
Take the lantern.
(Ligniere seizes it):
Let us start! I swear
That I will make your bed to-night myself!
(To the officers):
Follow; some stay behind, as witnesses!
CUIGY:
A hundred!. . .
CYRANO:
Less, to-night--would be too few!
(The actors and actresses, in their costumes, have come down from the stage,
and are listening.)
LE BRET:
But why embroil yourself?
CYRANO:
Le Bret who scolds!
LE BRET:
That worthless drunkard!--
CYRANO (slapping Ligniere on the shoulder):
Wherefore? 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!. . .
AN ACTRESS:
Indeed, that was a graceful thing!
CYRANO:
Ay, was it not?
THE ACTRESS (to the others):
But why a hundred men 'gainst one poor rhymer?
CYRANO:
March!
(To the officers):
Gentlemen, when you shall see me charge,
Bear me no succor, none, whate'er the odds!
ANOTHER ACTRESS (jumping from the stage):
Oh! I shall come and see!
CYRANO:
Come, then!
ANOTHER (jumping down--to an old actor):
And you?. . .
CYRANO:
Come all--the Doctor, Isabel, Leander,
Come, for you shall add, in a motley swarm,
The farce Italian to this Spanish drama!
ALL THE WOMEN (dancing for joy):
Bravo!--a mantle, quick!--my hood!
JODELET:
Come on!
CYRANO:
Play us a march, gentlemen of the band!
(The violinists join the procession, which is forming. They take the
footlights, and divide them for torches):
Brave officers! next, women in costume,
And, twenty paces on--
(He takes his place):
I all alone,
Beneath the plume that Glory lends, herself,
To deck my beaver--proud as Scipio!. . .
--You hear me?--I forbid you succor me!--
One, two three! Porter, open wide the doors!
(The porter opens the doors; a view of old Paris in the moonlight is seen):
Ah!. . .Paris wrapped in night! half nebulous:
The moonlight streams o'er the blue-shadowed roofs;
A lovely frame for this wild battle-scene;
Beneath the vapor's floating scarves, the Seine
Trembles, mysterious, like a magic mirror,
And, shortly, you shall see what you shall see!
ALL:
To the Porte de Nesle!
CYRANO (standing on the threshold):
Ay, to the Porte de Nesle!
(Turning to the actress):
Did you not ask, young lady, for what cause
Against this rhymer fivescore men were sent?
(He draws his sword; then, calmly):
'Twas that they knew him for a friend of mine!
(He goes out. Ligniere staggers first after him, then the actresses on the
officers' arms--the actors. The procession starts to the sound of the violins
and in the faint light of the candles.)
Curtain.
| Notes Scene 7 shows how love spurs men to heroic deeds. Cyrano feels that if he is ever to win Roxane's love, he must convince her that he is brave and valorous. As a result, when Ligniere enters and tells him about the one hundred men who are waiting to attack him, Cyrano, a good swordsman, offers to fight them single- handedly. It will be his opportunity to prove his worth to Roxane. The scene is filled with humor as Cyrano goes forth with excessive show to bravely defend Ligniere in an effort to win the love of Roxane. The scene also ends on a note of suspense. The audience wonders if Cyrano will be successful in defending Ligniere against an attack by one hundred men; they also wonder what Roxane wants to say to him the next morning. | analysis |
Ragueneau, pastry-cooks, then Lise. Ragueneau is writing, with an inspired
air, at a small table, and counting on his fingers.
FIRST PASTRY-COOK (bringing in an elaborate fancy dish):
Fruits in nougat!
SECOND PASTRY-COOK (bringing another dish):
Custard!
THIRD PASTRY-COOK (bringing a roast, decorated with feathers):
Peacock!
FOURTH PASTRY-COOK (bringing a batch of cakes on a slab):
Rissoles!
FIFTH PASTRY-COOK (bringing a sort of pie-dish):
Beef jelly!
RAGUENEAU (ceasing to write, and raising his head):
Aurora's silver rays begin to glint e'en now on the copper pans, and thou, O
Ragueneau! must perforce stifle in thy breast the God of Song! Anon shall
come the hour of the lute!--now 'tis the hour of the oven!
(He rises. To a cook):
You, make that sauce longer, 'tis too short!
THE COOK:
How much too short?
RAGUENEAU:
Three feet.
(He passes on farther.)
THE COOK:
What means he?
FIRST PASTRY-COOK (showing a dish to Ragueneau):
The tart!
SECOND PASTRY-COOK:
The pie!
RAGUENEAU (before the fire):
My muse, retire, lest thy bright eyes be reddened by the fagot's blaze!
(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!
ANOTHER APPRENTICE (also coming up with a tray covered by a napkin):
Master, I bethought me erewhile of your tastes, and made this, which will
please you, I hope.
(He uncovers the tray, and shows a large lyre made of pastry.)
RAGUENEAU (enchanted):
A lyre!
THE APPRENTICE:
'Tis of brioche pastry.
RAGUENEAU (touched):
With conserved fruits.
THE APPRENTICE:
The strings, see, are of sugar.
RAGUENEAU (giving him a coin):
Go, drink my health!
(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?
LISE:
'Tis passing silly!
(She puts a pile of papers on the counter.)
RAGUENEAU:
Bags? Good. I thank you.
(He looks at them):
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!
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?
RAGUENEAU:
Groveling ant!. . .Insult not the divine grasshoppers, the sweet singers!
LISE:
Before you were the sworn comrade of all that crew, my friend, you did not
call your wife ant and Bacchante!
RAGUENEAU:
To turn fair verse to such a use!
LISE:
'Faith, 'tis all it's good for.
RAGUENEAU:
Pray then, madam, to what use would you degrade prose?
| The next morning Ragueneau is seen in his pastry shop. He is laboriously composing a poem while supervising his cooks. Lise, his practical wife, enters. She is carrying paper bags, which she made out of the sheets on which Ragueneau's poet friends have written their verses. Since the poets rarely pay for what they eat at the pastry shop, Lise at least wants to make use of the paper that they leave behind. Her husband protests, but Lise ignores him. | summary |
Ragueneau, pastry-cooks, then Lise. Ragueneau is writing, with an inspired
air, at a small table, and counting on his fingers.
FIRST PASTRY-COOK (bringing in an elaborate fancy dish):
Fruits in nougat!
SECOND PASTRY-COOK (bringing another dish):
Custard!
THIRD PASTRY-COOK (bringing a roast, decorated with feathers):
Peacock!
FOURTH PASTRY-COOK (bringing a batch of cakes on a slab):
Rissoles!
FIFTH PASTRY-COOK (bringing a sort of pie-dish):
Beef jelly!
RAGUENEAU (ceasing to write, and raising his head):
Aurora's silver rays begin to glint e'en now on the copper pans, and thou, O
Ragueneau! must perforce stifle in thy breast the God of Song! Anon shall
come the hour of the lute!--now 'tis the hour of the oven!
(He rises. To a cook):
You, make that sauce longer, 'tis too short!
THE COOK:
How much too short?
RAGUENEAU:
Three feet.
(He passes on farther.)
THE COOK:
What means he?
FIRST PASTRY-COOK (showing a dish to Ragueneau):
The tart!
SECOND PASTRY-COOK:
The pie!
RAGUENEAU (before the fire):
My muse, retire, lest thy bright eyes be reddened by the fagot's blaze!
(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!
ANOTHER APPRENTICE (also coming up with a tray covered by a napkin):
Master, I bethought me erewhile of your tastes, and made this, which will
please you, I hope.
(He uncovers the tray, and shows a large lyre made of pastry.)
RAGUENEAU (enchanted):
A lyre!
THE APPRENTICE:
'Tis of brioche pastry.
RAGUENEAU (touched):
With conserved fruits.
THE APPRENTICE:
The strings, see, are of sugar.
RAGUENEAU (giving him a coin):
Go, drink my health!
(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?
LISE:
'Tis passing silly!
(She puts a pile of papers on the counter.)
RAGUENEAU:
Bags? Good. I thank you.
(He looks at them):
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!
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?
RAGUENEAU:
Groveling ant!. . .Insult not the divine grasshoppers, the sweet singers!
LISE:
Before you were the sworn comrade of all that crew, my friend, you did not
call your wife ant and Bacchante!
RAGUENEAU:
To turn fair verse to such a use!
LISE:
'Faith, 'tis all it's good for.
RAGUENEAU:
Pray then, madam, to what use would you degrade prose?
| Notes As the scene opens in Ragueneau's pastry shop, he is seen trying to write verse while he supervises his cooks. It is clearly obvious that he is an unnatural and limited poet, for he has to count the syllables to get the metrical feet correct. As a result, he greatly values the true poets that visit his shop and treasures the verses that they write and leave for him. Lise, his wife, has no appreciation for poetry. In fact, she takes the sheets on which the poets have written their verse and makes them into paper bags for the customers. She feels the poets who frequent the shop exploit her husband, for they usually fail to pay for what they have eaten. Rageuneau resents that she has no appreciation for poetry. Ragueneau, who is similar to Cyrano in his sensitivity and show, is based upon a historical person, who was also a poet and pastry cook. He was mentioned in Dassoucy's Aventures Burlesques, where he is satirized for being a poet "in defiance of common sense." | analysis |
The same. Two children, who have just trotted into the shop.
RAGUENEAU:
What would you, little ones?
FIRST CHILD:
Three pies.
RAGUENEAU (serving them):
See, hot and well browned.
SECOND CHILD:
If it please you, Sir, will you wrap them up for us?
RAGUENEAU (aside, distressed):
Alas! one of my bags!
(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. . .'
Not that one!
(He puts it aside, and takes another, and as he is about to put in the pies,
he reads):
'The gold-locked Phoebus. . .'
Nay, nor that one!. . .
(Same play.)
LISE (impatiently):
What are you dallying for?
RAGUENEAU:
Here! here! here
(He chooses a third, resignedly):
The sonnet to Phillis!. . .but 'tis hard to part with it!
LISE:
By good luck he has made up his mind at last!
(Shrugging her shoulders):
Nicodemus!
(She mounts on a chair, and begins to range plates on a dresser.)
RAGUENEAU (taking advantage of the moment she turns her back, calls back the
children, who are already at the door):
Hist! children!. . .render me back the sonnet to Phillis, and you shall have
six pies instead of three.
(The children give him back the bag, seize the cakes quickly, and go out.)
RAGUENEAU (smoothing out the paper, begins to declaim):
'Phillis!. . .' On that sweet name a smear of butter! 'Phillis!. . .'
(Cyrano enters hurriedly.)
| Two children enter the pastry shop and purchase some pastries. Ragueneau is reluctant to pack them in the bags with poetry on them, but Lise insists. While she is occupied elsewhere, he calls the children back and offers them free pastries in exchange for the bag with a poem on it. The children agree to the bargain. | summary |
The same. Two children, who have just trotted into the shop.
RAGUENEAU:
What would you, little ones?
FIRST CHILD:
Three pies.
RAGUENEAU (serving them):
See, hot and well browned.
SECOND CHILD:
If it please you, Sir, will you wrap them up for us?
RAGUENEAU (aside, distressed):
Alas! one of my bags!
(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. . .'
Not that one!
(He puts it aside, and takes another, and as he is about to put in the pies,
he reads):
'The gold-locked Phoebus. . .'
Nay, nor that one!. . .
(Same play.)
LISE (impatiently):
What are you dallying for?
RAGUENEAU:
Here! here! here
(He chooses a third, resignedly):
The sonnet to Phillis!. . .but 'tis hard to part with it!
LISE:
By good luck he has made up his mind at last!
(Shrugging her shoulders):
Nicodemus!
(She mounts on a chair, and begins to range plates on a dresser.)
RAGUENEAU (taking advantage of the moment she turns her back, calls back the
children, who are already at the door):
Hist! children!. . .render me back the sonnet to Phillis, and you shall have
six pies instead of three.
(The children give him back the bag, seize the cakes quickly, and go out.)
RAGUENEAU (smoothing out the paper, begins to declaim):
'Phillis!. . .' On that sweet name a smear of butter! 'Phillis!. . .'
(Cyrano enters hurriedly.)
| Notes In this short scene, the character of Ragueneau is further developed. He is crushed when his practical wife insists that he wrap the pastries purchased by two children with the sheets of poetry. Since Lise is the strong, domineering one in the family, he reluctantly follows her orders. However, as soon as she is out of sight, Ragueneau calls the children back and gives them free pastries in exchange for the sheets of poetry. The fact that Rostand devotes two scenes at the beginning of Act II to Ragueneau is significant. He will become a constant character in the play, appearing and re-appearing, as he tries to befriend Cyrano, whom he greatly admires. His pastry shop is also important, for it is the meeting place of poets; more importantly, it is the place where Roxane and Cyrano are to meet. | analysis |
Ragueneau, Lise, Cyrano, then the musketeer.
CYRANO:
What's o'clock?
RAGUENEAU (bowing low):
Six o'clock.
CYRANO (with emotion):
In one hour's time!
(He paces up and down the shop.)
RAGUENEAU (following him):
Bravo! I saw. . .
CYRANO:
Well, what saw you, then?
RAGUENEAU:
Your combat!. . .
CYRANO:
Which?
RAGUENEAU:
That in the Burgundy Hotel, 'faith!
CYRANO (contemptuously):
Ah!. . .the duel!
RAGUENEAU (admiringly):
Ay! the duel in verse!. . .
LISE:
He can talk of naught else!
CYRANO:
Well! Good! let be!
RAGUENEAU (making passes with a spit that he catches up):
'At the envoi's end, I touch!. . .At the envoi's end, I touch!'. . .'Tis
fine, fine!
(With increasing enthusiasm):
'At the envoi's end--'
CYRANO:
What hour is it now, Ragueneau?
RAGUENEAU (stopping short in the act of thrusting to look at the clock):
Five minutes after six!. . .'I touch!'
(He straightens himself):
. . .Oh! to write a ballade!
LISE (to Cyrano, who, as he passes by the counter, has absently shaken hands
with her):
What's wrong with your hand?
CYRANO:
Naught; a slight cut.
RAGUENEAU:
Have you been in some danger?
CYRANO:
None in the world.
LISE (shaking her finger at him):
Methinks you speak not the truth in saying that!
CYRANO:
Did you see my nose quiver when I spoke? 'Faith, it must have been a
monstrous lie that should move it!
(Changing his tone):
I wait some one here. Leave us alone, and disturb us for naught an it were
not for crack of doom!
RAGUENEAU:
But 'tis impossible; my poets are coming. . .
LISE (ironically):
Oh, ay, for their first meal o' the day!
CYRANO:
Prythee, take them aside when I shall make you sign to do so. . .What's
o'clock?
RAGUENEAU:
Ten minutes after six.
CYRANO (nervously seating himself at Ragueneau's table, and drawing some paper
toward him):
A pen!. . .
RAGUENEAU (giving him the one from behind his ear):
Here--a swan's quill.
A MUSKETEER (with fierce mustache, enters, and in a stentorian voice):
Good-day!
(Lise goes up to him quickly.)
CYRANO (turning round):
Who's that?
RAGUENEAU:
'Tis a friend of my wife--a terrible warrior--at least so says he himself.
CYRANO (taking up the pen, and motioning Ragueneau away):
Hush!
(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,. . .ay, even one
single word!
(To Ragueneau):
What time is it?
RAGUENEAU:
A quarter after six!. . .
CYRANO (striking his breast):
Ay--a single word of all those here! here! But writing, 'tis easier done. .
.
(He takes up the pen):
Go to, I will write it, that love-letter! Oh! 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.)
| This scene opens with Cyrano's arrival at the bakery for his meeting with Roxane. Upon his entry, Ragueneau is distracted from the paper bags covered with verse. He praises Cyrano for his duel that was fought while composing a ballad. Cyrano asks Ragueneau to let him use the shop as a private meeting place. The baker agrees to the plan reluctantly, for it is the hour when his poets usually arrive. While waiting nervously for Roxane, Cyrano writes a love letter to give to Roxane, while Lise entertains a musketeer who has entered the shop. | summary |
Ragueneau, Lise, Cyrano, then the musketeer.
CYRANO:
What's o'clock?
RAGUENEAU (bowing low):
Six o'clock.
CYRANO (with emotion):
In one hour's time!
(He paces up and down the shop.)
RAGUENEAU (following him):
Bravo! I saw. . .
CYRANO:
Well, what saw you, then?
RAGUENEAU:
Your combat!. . .
CYRANO:
Which?
RAGUENEAU:
That in the Burgundy Hotel, 'faith!
CYRANO (contemptuously):
Ah!. . .the duel!
RAGUENEAU (admiringly):
Ay! the duel in verse!. . .
LISE:
He can talk of naught else!
CYRANO:
Well! Good! let be!
RAGUENEAU (making passes with a spit that he catches up):
'At the envoi's end, I touch!. . .At the envoi's end, I touch!'. . .'Tis
fine, fine!
(With increasing enthusiasm):
'At the envoi's end--'
CYRANO:
What hour is it now, Ragueneau?
RAGUENEAU (stopping short in the act of thrusting to look at the clock):
Five minutes after six!. . .'I touch!'
(He straightens himself):
. . .Oh! to write a ballade!
LISE (to Cyrano, who, as he passes by the counter, has absently shaken hands
with her):
What's wrong with your hand?
CYRANO:
Naught; a slight cut.
RAGUENEAU:
Have you been in some danger?
CYRANO:
None in the world.
LISE (shaking her finger at him):
Methinks you speak not the truth in saying that!
CYRANO:
Did you see my nose quiver when I spoke? 'Faith, it must have been a
monstrous lie that should move it!
(Changing his tone):
I wait some one here. Leave us alone, and disturb us for naught an it were
not for crack of doom!
RAGUENEAU:
But 'tis impossible; my poets are coming. . .
LISE (ironically):
Oh, ay, for their first meal o' the day!
CYRANO:
Prythee, take them aside when I shall make you sign to do so. . .What's
o'clock?
RAGUENEAU:
Ten minutes after six.
CYRANO (nervously seating himself at Ragueneau's table, and drawing some paper
toward him):
A pen!. . .
RAGUENEAU (giving him the one from behind his ear):
Here--a swan's quill.
A MUSKETEER (with fierce mustache, enters, and in a stentorian voice):
Good-day!
(Lise goes up to him quickly.)
CYRANO (turning round):
Who's that?
RAGUENEAU:
'Tis a friend of my wife--a terrible warrior--at least so says he himself.
CYRANO (taking up the pen, and motioning Ragueneau away):
Hush!
(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,. . .ay, even one
single word!
(To Ragueneau):
What time is it?
RAGUENEAU:
A quarter after six!. . .
CYRANO (striking his breast):
Ay--a single word of all those here! here! But writing, 'tis easier done. .
.
(He takes up the pen):
Go to, I will write it, that love-letter! Oh! 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.)
| Notes In this scene, the kindness and generosity of Ragueneau are highlighted. Cyrano arrives at his bakery and asks Ragueneau if he can use the shop as a private meeting place. The baker agrees even though it means he will not be able to enjoy the company of the poets during the entire morning. It is clear that poetry is an obsession for Ragueneau. Not only does he try to compose verse himself, he truly enjoys hearing the verse of others. He particularly praises Cyrano for reciting an original ballad while fighting a duel with Valvert. | analysis |
Ragueneau, Lise, the musketeer. Cyrano at the little table writing. The
poets, dressed in black, their stockings ungartered, and covered with mud.
LISE (entering, to Ragueneau):
Here they come, your mud-bespattered friends!
FIRST POET (entering, to Ragueneau):
Brother in art!. . .
SECOND POET (to Ragueneau, shaking his hands):
Dear brother!
THIRD POET:
High soaring eagle among pastry-cooks!
(He sniffs):
Marry! it smells good here in your eyrie!
FOURTH POET:
'Tis at Phoebus' own rays that thy roasts turn!
FIFTH POET:
Apollo among master-cooks--
RAGUENEAU (whom they surround and embrace):
Ah! how quick a man feels at his ease with them!. . .
FIRST POET:
We were stayed by the mob; they are crowded all round the Porte de Nesle!. .
.
SECOND POET:
Eight bleeding brigand carcasses strew the pavements there--all slit open
with sword-gashes!
CYRANO (raising his head a minute):
Eight?. . .hold, methought seven.
(He goes on writing.)
RAGUENEAU (to Cyrano):
Know you who might be the hero of the fray?
CYRANO (carelessly):
Not I.
LISE (to the musketeer):
And you? Know you?
THE MUSKETEER (twirling his mustache):
Maybe!
CYRANO (writing a little way off:--he is heard murmuring a word from time to
time):
'I love thee!'
FIRST POET:
'Twas one man, say they all, ay, swear to it, one man who, single-handed,
put the whole band to the rout!
SECOND POET:
'Twas a strange sight!--pikes and cudgels strewed thick upon the ground.
CYRANO (writing):
. . .'Thine eyes'. . .
THIRD POET:
And they were picking up hats all the way to the Quai d'Orfevres!
FIRST POET:
Sapristi! but he must have been a ferocious. . .
CYRANO (same play):
. . .'Thy lips'. . .
FIRST POET:
'Twas a parlous fearsome giant that was the author of such exploits!
CYRANO (same play):
. . .'And when I see thee come, I faint for fear.'
SECOND POET (filching a cake):
What hast rhymed of late, Ragueneau?
CYRANO (same play):
. . .'Who worships thee'. . .
(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.
RAGUENEAU (to second poet):
I have put a recipe into verse.
THIRD POET (seating himself by a plate of cream-puffs):
Go to! Let us hear these verses!
FOURTH POET (looking at a cake which he has taken):
Its cap is all a' one side!
(He makes one bite of the top.)
FIRST POET:
See how this gingerbread woos the famished rhymer with its almond eyes, and
its eyebrows of angelica!
(He takes it.)
SECOND POET:
We listen.
THIRD POET (squeezing a cream-puff gently):
How it laughs! Till its very cream runs over!
SECOND POET (biting a bit off the great lyre of pastry):
This is the first time in my life that ever I drew any means of nourishing
me from the lyre!
RAGUENEAU (who has put himself ready for reciting, cleared his throat, settled
his cap, struck an attitude):
A recipe in verse!. . .
SECOND POET (to first, nudging him):
You are breakfasting?
FIRST POET (to second):
And you dining, methinks.
RAGUENEAU:
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!
THE POETS (with mouths crammed full):
Exquisite! Delicious!
A POET (choking):
Homph!
(They go up, eating.)
CYRANO (who has been watching, goes toward Ragueneau):
Lulled by your voice, did you see how they were stuffing themselves?
RAGUENEAU (in a low voice, smiling):
Oh, ay! 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?
CYRANO (clapping him on the shoulder):
Friend, I like you right well!. . .
(Ragueneau goes after his friends. Cyrano follows him with his eyes, then,
rather sharply):
Ho there! Lise!
(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.
CYRANO:
Pooh! Conquering eyes, methinks, are oft conquered eyes.
LISE (choking with anger):
But--
CYRANO (incisively):
I like Ragueneau well, and so--mark me, Dame Lise--I permit not that he be
rendered a laughing-stock by any. . .
LISE:
But. . .
CYRANO (who has raised his voice so as to be heard by the gallant):
A word to the wise. . .
(He bows to the musketeer, and goes to the doorway to watch, after looking at
the clock.)
LISE (to the musketeer, who has merely bowed in answer to Cyrano's bow):
How now? Is this your courage?. . .Why turn you not a jest on his nose?
THE MUSKETEER:
On his nose?. . .ay, ay. . .his nose.
(He goes quickly farther away; Lise follows him.)
CYRANO (from the doorway, signing to Ragueneau to draw the poets away):
Hist!. . .
RAGUENEAU (showing them the door on the right):
We shall be more private there. . .
CYRANO (impatiently):
Hist! Hist!. . .
RAGUENEAU (drawing them farther):
To read poetry, 'tis better here. . .
FIRST POET (despairingly, with his mouth full):
What! leave the cakes?. . .
SECOND POET:
Never! Let's take them with us!
(They all follow Ragueneau in procession, after sweeping all the cakes off the
trays.)
| Several poets arrive at the bakery. They are talking about the fight that took place at the Porte de Nesle. During the fight, eight people were wounded by a single swordsman, whose identity is unknown. Cyrano pays the poets little attention. He is completely absorbed in writing his love letter and thinking about his meeting with Roxane. He can hardly believe that he is actually going to meet with her and constantly asks what time it is, worrying about the nearness of her arrival. The poets stuff themselves with pastry, for which they do not pay, and encourage Ragueneau to read his Almond Tart recipe in verse. Although he knows he is exploited by the poets, Ragueneau enjoys their company and tries to accommodate them. The moral Cyrano watches the actions of Lise as she flirts with the musketeer and warns her about deceiving Ragueneau. He then signals the baker to drive the poets away from the shop, for it is time for Roxane to arrive. | summary |
Ragueneau, Lise, the musketeer. Cyrano at the little table writing. The
poets, dressed in black, their stockings ungartered, and covered with mud.
LISE (entering, to Ragueneau):
Here they come, your mud-bespattered friends!
FIRST POET (entering, to Ragueneau):
Brother in art!. . .
SECOND POET (to Ragueneau, shaking his hands):
Dear brother!
THIRD POET:
High soaring eagle among pastry-cooks!
(He sniffs):
Marry! it smells good here in your eyrie!
FOURTH POET:
'Tis at Phoebus' own rays that thy roasts turn!
FIFTH POET:
Apollo among master-cooks--
RAGUENEAU (whom they surround and embrace):
Ah! how quick a man feels at his ease with them!. . .
FIRST POET:
We were stayed by the mob; they are crowded all round the Porte de Nesle!. .
.
SECOND POET:
Eight bleeding brigand carcasses strew the pavements there--all slit open
with sword-gashes!
CYRANO (raising his head a minute):
Eight?. . .hold, methought seven.
(He goes on writing.)
RAGUENEAU (to Cyrano):
Know you who might be the hero of the fray?
CYRANO (carelessly):
Not I.
LISE (to the musketeer):
And you? Know you?
THE MUSKETEER (twirling his mustache):
Maybe!
CYRANO (writing a little way off:--he is heard murmuring a word from time to
time):
'I love thee!'
FIRST POET:
'Twas one man, say they all, ay, swear to it, one man who, single-handed,
put the whole band to the rout!
SECOND POET:
'Twas a strange sight!--pikes and cudgels strewed thick upon the ground.
CYRANO (writing):
. . .'Thine eyes'. . .
THIRD POET:
And they were picking up hats all the way to the Quai d'Orfevres!
FIRST POET:
Sapristi! but he must have been a ferocious. . .
CYRANO (same play):
. . .'Thy lips'. . .
FIRST POET:
'Twas a parlous fearsome giant that was the author of such exploits!
CYRANO (same play):
. . .'And when I see thee come, I faint for fear.'
SECOND POET (filching a cake):
What hast rhymed of late, Ragueneau?
CYRANO (same play):
. . .'Who worships thee'. . .
(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.
RAGUENEAU (to second poet):
I have put a recipe into verse.
THIRD POET (seating himself by a plate of cream-puffs):
Go to! Let us hear these verses!
FOURTH POET (looking at a cake which he has taken):
Its cap is all a' one side!
(He makes one bite of the top.)
FIRST POET:
See how this gingerbread woos the famished rhymer with its almond eyes, and
its eyebrows of angelica!
(He takes it.)
SECOND POET:
We listen.
THIRD POET (squeezing a cream-puff gently):
How it laughs! Till its very cream runs over!
SECOND POET (biting a bit off the great lyre of pastry):
This is the first time in my life that ever I drew any means of nourishing
me from the lyre!
RAGUENEAU (who has put himself ready for reciting, cleared his throat, settled
his cap, struck an attitude):
A recipe in verse!. . .
SECOND POET (to first, nudging him):
You are breakfasting?
FIRST POET (to second):
And you dining, methinks.
RAGUENEAU:
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!
THE POETS (with mouths crammed full):
Exquisite! Delicious!
A POET (choking):
Homph!
(They go up, eating.)
CYRANO (who has been watching, goes toward Ragueneau):
Lulled by your voice, did you see how they were stuffing themselves?
RAGUENEAU (in a low voice, smiling):
Oh, ay! 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?
CYRANO (clapping him on the shoulder):
Friend, I like you right well!. . .
(Ragueneau goes after his friends. Cyrano follows him with his eyes, then,
rather sharply):
Ho there! Lise!
(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.
CYRANO:
Pooh! Conquering eyes, methinks, are oft conquered eyes.
LISE (choking with anger):
But--
CYRANO (incisively):
I like Ragueneau well, and so--mark me, Dame Lise--I permit not that he be
rendered a laughing-stock by any. . .
LISE:
But. . .
CYRANO (who has raised his voice so as to be heard by the gallant):
A word to the wise. . .
(He bows to the musketeer, and goes to the doorway to watch, after looking at
the clock.)
LISE (to the musketeer, who has merely bowed in answer to Cyrano's bow):
How now? Is this your courage?. . .Why turn you not a jest on his nose?
THE MUSKETEER:
On his nose?. . .ay, ay. . .his nose.
(He goes quickly farther away; Lise follows him.)
CYRANO (from the doorway, signing to Ragueneau to draw the poets away):
Hist!. . .
RAGUENEAU (showing them the door on the right):
We shall be more private there. . .
CYRANO (impatiently):
Hist! Hist!. . .
RAGUENEAU (drawing them farther):
To read poetry, 'tis better here. . .
FIRST POET (despairingly, with his mouth full):
What! leave the cakes?. . .
SECOND POET:
Never! Let's take them with us!
(They all follow Ragueneau in procession, after sweeping all the cakes off the
trays.)
| Notes This scene helps to develop the character of Cyrano as a moral man. When he sees Lise flirting with a musketeer, he is bothered by her actions; therefore, he interrupts and warns her about deceiving her husband. Cyrano is also shown as a modest man. Although it was not seen on stage, the audience learns from the poets at Ragueneau's bakery that the fight at Porte de Nesle took place the previous night. They talk about the fact that an unidentified swordsman single handedly wounded eight people during the encounter. Even when he hears the amazed poets speaking about the prowess of the swordsman, the unassuming Cyrano does not let his identity be known. Cyrano is also portrayed as a nervous man. He is so excited about meeting with Roxane that he can hardly hold still. Worrying about her arrival, he constantly asks about the time. He then signals Ragueneau to drive the poets out of the bakery, for it is almost time for her appearance. Cyrano's nervousness and Ragueneau's recipe in verse both lend humor to the scene. | analysis |
Cyrano, Roxane, the duenna.
CYRANO:
Ah! if I see but the faint glimmer of hope, then I draw out my letter!
(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.
THE DUENNA:
Four, Sir, an it like you.
CYRANO:
Are you fond of sweet things?
THE DUENNA:
Ay, I could eat myself sick on them!
CYRANO (catching up some of the paper bags from the counter):
Good. See you these two sonnets of Monsieur Beuserade. . .
THE DUENNA:
Hey?
CYRANO:
. . .Which I fill for you with cream cakes!
THE DUENNA (changing her expression):
Ha.
CYRANO:
What say you to the cake they call a little puff?
THE DUENNA:
If made with cream, Sir, I love them passing well.
CYRANO:
Here I plunge six for your eating into the bosom of a poem by Saint Amant!
And in these verses of Chapelain I glide a lighter morsel. Stay, love you hot
cakes?
THE DUENNA:
Ay, to the core of my heart!
CYRANO (filling her arms with the bags):
Pleasure me then; go eat them all in the street.
THE DUENNA:
But. . .
CYRANO (pushing her out):
And come not back till the very last crumb be eaten!
(He shuts the door, comes down toward Roxane, and, uncovering, stands at a
respectful distance from her.)
| After the bakery has been cleared, Roxane arrives with her governess. Wanting to be totally alone with her, Cyrano packs pastries into one of Lise's paper bags with poetry and sends the governess out to eat them. He then expresses to Roxane his pleasure over her acknowledgement of his existence. She, in turn, thanks him for ridding her of Valvert. Cyrano is delighted to learn that the duel served a purpose other than defending his nose. Roxane warmly recalls the childhood friendship she had with Cyrano, her cousin. She then goes on to confess that she is in love. Cyrano dares to think that she has come to confess her love for him. As he is feeling elated, she dashes his hopes, for she says that the man she loves is extremely handsome. She also states that he is a cadet in Cyrano's regiment with whom she has only exchanged glances; however, she has heard that he loves her. Cyrano warns her that the man may be an uncultured brute, but Roxane is convinced otherwise. The naive Roxane responds that no one with such lovely hair could be a brute. At first Cyrano fails to understand the reason for Roxane confiding in him. She then, however, explains that she wants Cyrano's help. The young man is an outsider who has just joined the Gascon regiment. She wants Cyrano to protect him from the other hot- headed, quarrelsome Gascons. The kind-hearted Cyrano agrees to defend the cadet, even though it will be hard for him to do so. Satisfied that her mission has been accomplished, Roxane leaves the bakery. As she walks away, she realizes that she is torn between admiration for Cyrano, who has just fought a hundred men single-handedly, and admiration for the handsome cadet. | summary |
Cyrano, Roxane, the duenna.
CYRANO:
Ah! if I see but the faint glimmer of hope, then I draw out my letter!
(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.
THE DUENNA:
Four, Sir, an it like you.
CYRANO:
Are you fond of sweet things?
THE DUENNA:
Ay, I could eat myself sick on them!
CYRANO (catching up some of the paper bags from the counter):
Good. See you these two sonnets of Monsieur Beuserade. . .
THE DUENNA:
Hey?
CYRANO:
. . .Which I fill for you with cream cakes!
THE DUENNA (changing her expression):
Ha.
CYRANO:
What say you to the cake they call a little puff?
THE DUENNA:
If made with cream, Sir, I love them passing well.
CYRANO:
Here I plunge six for your eating into the bosom of a poem by Saint Amant!
And in these verses of Chapelain I glide a lighter morsel. Stay, love you hot
cakes?
THE DUENNA:
Ay, to the core of my heart!
CYRANO (filling her arms with the bags):
Pleasure me then; go eat them all in the street.
THE DUENNA:
But. . .
CYRANO (pushing her out):
And come not back till the very last crumb be eaten!
(He shuts the door, comes down toward Roxane, and, uncovering, stands at a
respectful distance from her.)
| Notes The suspense about the reason for Roxane wanting to meet with Cyrano is answered in these scenes. When she arrives at the bakery, she greets Cyrano warmly and talks about their childhood friendship with emotion. She then confesses to Cyrano that she is in love with a man who does not realize her affections. Cyrano dares to think that Roxane is talking about him. Roxane is not trying to be mean or play the coquette. She has no idea that Cyrano is in love with her. She cannot know that he is misinterpreting everything she says. The truth dawns on him, however, when she says that the man she loves is extremely handsome. Cyrano knows that she cannot be speaking of him. She then asks for Cyrano's help. She wants him to protect the cadet in his regiment since he is new to the Gascons and may be mistreated by the more experienced cadets. Although he is shocked and disappointed, the kind Cyrano promises to watch out for him. Although Roxane has no clue that Cyrano is in love with her, when she leaves the bakery she thinks about her admiration for him. Not only has he agreed to protect her cadet, he has also saved her from Valvert and single-handedly wounded eight men in order to protect Ligniere. | analysis |
Cyrano, Roxane.
CYRANO:
Blessed be the moment when you condescend--
Remembering that humbly I exist--
To come to meet me, and to say. . .to tell?. . .
ROXANE (who has unmasked):
To thank you first of all. That dandy count,
Whom you checkmated in brave sword-play
Last night,. . .he is the man whom a great lord,
Desirous of my favor. . .
CYRANO:
Ha, De Guiche?
ROXANE (casting down her eyes):
Sought to impose on me. . .for husband. . .
CYRANO:
Ay! Husband!--dupe-husband!. . .Husband a la mode!
(Bowing):
Then I fought, happy chance! sweet lady, not
For my ill favor--but your favors fair!
ROXANE:
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!. . .
CYRANO:
Ay, you would come each spring to Bergerac!
ROXANE:
Mind you the reeds you cut to make your swords?. . .
CYRANO:
While you wove corn-straw plaits for your dolls' hair!
ROXANE:
Those were the days of games!. . .
CYRANO:
And blackberries!. . .
ROXANE:
In those days you did everything I bid!. . .
CYRANO:
Roxane, in her short frock, was Madeleine. . .
ROXANE:
Was I fair then?
CYRANO:
You were not ill to see!
ROXANE:
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,--
(She takes his hand):
'What is this scratch, again, that I see here?'
(She starts, surprised):
Oh! 'Tis too much! What's this?
(Cyrano tries to draw away his hand):
No, let me see!
At your age, fie! Where did you get that scratch?
CYRANO:
I got it--playing at the Porte de Nesle.
ROXANE (seating herself by the table, and dipping her handkerchief in a glass
of water):
Give here!
CYRANO (sitting by her):
So soft! so gay maternal-sweet!
ROXANE:
And tell me, while I wipe away the blood,
How many 'gainst you?
CYRANO:
Oh! A hundred--near.
ROXANE:
Come, tell me!
CYRANO:
No, let be. But you, come tell
The thing, just now, you dared not. . .
ROXANE (keeping his hand):
Now, I dare!
The scent of those old days emboldens me!
Yes, now I dare. Listen. I am in love.
CYRANO:
Ah!. . .
ROXANE:
But with one who knows not.
CYRANO:
Ah!. . .
ROXANE:
Not yet.
CYRANO:
Ah!. . .
ROXANE:
But who, if he knows not, soon shall learn.
CYRANO:
Ah!. . .
ROXANE:
A poor youth who all this time has loved
Timidly, from afar, and dares not speak. . .
CYRANO:
Ah!. . .
ROXANE:
Leave your hand; why, it is fever-hot!--
But I have seen love trembling on his lips.
CYRANO:
Ah!. . .
ROXANE (bandaging his hand with her handkerchief):
And to think of it! that he by chance--
Yes, cousin, he is of your regiment!
CYRANO:
Ah!. . .
ROXANE (laughing):
--Is cadet in your own company!
CYRANO:
Ah!. . .
ROXANE:
On his brow he bears the genius-stamp;
He is proud, noble, young, intrepid, fair. . .
CYRANO (rising suddenly, very pale):
Fair!
ROXANE:
Why, what ails you?
CYRANO:
Nothing; 'tis. . .
(He shows his hand, smiling):
This scratch!
ROXANE:
I love him; all is said. But you must know
I have only seen him at the Comedy. . .
CYRANO:
How? You have never spoken?
ROXANE:
Eyes can speak.
CYRANO:
How know you then that he. . .?
ROXANE:
Oh! people talk
'Neath the limes in the Place Royale. . .
Gossip's chat
Has let me know. . .
CYRANO:
He is cadet?
ROXANE:
In the Guards.
CYRANO:
His name?
ROXANE:
Baron Christian de Neuvillette.
CYRANO:
How now?. . .He is not of the Guards!
ROXANE:
To-day
He is not join your ranks, under Captain
Carbon de Castel-Jaloux.
CYRANO:
Ah, how quick,
How quick the heart has flown!. . .But, my poor child. . .
THE DUENNA (opening the door):
The cakes are eaten, Monsieur Bergerac!
CYRANO:
Then read the verses printed on the bags!
(She goes out):
. . .My poor child, you who love but flowing words,
Bright wit,--what if he be a lout unskilled?
ROXANE:
No, his bright locks, like D'Urfe's heroes. . .
CYRANO:
Ah!
A well-curled pate, and witless tongue, perchance!
ROXANE:
Ah no! I guess--I feel--his words are fair!
CYRANO:
All words are fair that lurk 'neath fair mustache!
--Suppose he were a fool!. . .
ROXANE (stamping her foot):
Then bury me!
CYRANO (after a pause):
Was it to tell me this you brought me here?
I fail to see what use this serves, Madame.
ROXANE:
Nay, but I felt a terror, here, in the heart,
On learning yesterday you were Gascons
All of your company. . .
CYRANO:
And we provoke
All beardless sprigs that favor dares admit
'Midst us pure Gascons--(pure! Heaven save the mark!
They told you that as well?
ROXANE:
Ah! Think how I
Trembled for him!
CYRANO (between his teeth):
Not causelessly!
ROXANE:
But when
Last night I saw you,--brave, invincible,--
Punish that dandy, fearless hold your own
Against those brutes, I thought--I thought, if he
Whom all fear, all--if he would only. . .
CYRANO:
Good.
I will befriend your little Baron.
ROXANE:
Ah!
You'll promise me you will do this for me?
I've always held you as a tender friend.
CYRANO:
Ay, ay.
ROXANE:
Then you will be his friend?
CYRANO:
I swear!
ROXANE:
And he shall fight no duels, promise!
CYRANO:
None.
ROXANE:
You are kind, cousin! 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!. . .
--Bid him to write.
(She sends him a kiss with her fingers):
How good you are!
CYRANO:
Ay! Ay!
ROXANE:
A hundred men against you? Now, farewell.--
We are great friends?
CYRANO:
Ay, ay!
ROXANE:
Oh, bid him write!
You'll tell me all one day--A hundred men!--
Ah, brave!. . .How brave!
CYRANO (bowing to her):
I have fought better since.
(She goes out. Cyrano stands motionless, with eyes on the ground. A silence.
The door (right) opens. Ragueneau looks in.)
| After the bakery has been cleared, Roxane arrives with her governess. Wanting to be totally alone with her, Cyrano packs pastries into one of Lise's paper bags with poetry and sends the governess out to eat them. He then expresses to Roxane his pleasure over her acknowledgement of his existence. She, in turn, thanks him for ridding her of Valvert. Cyrano is delighted to learn that the duel served a purpose other than defending his nose. Roxane warmly recalls the childhood friendship she had with Cyrano, her cousin. She then goes on to confess that she is in love. Cyrano dares to think that she has come to confess her love for him. As he is feeling elated, she dashes his hopes, for she says that the man she loves is extremely handsome. She also states that he is a cadet in Cyrano's regiment with whom she has only exchanged glances; however, she has heard that he loves her. Cyrano warns her that the man may be an uncultured brute, but Roxane is convinced otherwise. The naive Roxane responds that no one with such lovely hair could be a brute. At first Cyrano fails to understand the reason for Roxane confiding in him. She then, however, explains that she wants Cyrano's help. The young man is an outsider who has just joined the Gascon regiment. She wants Cyrano to protect him from the other hot- headed, quarrelsome Gascons. The kind-hearted Cyrano agrees to defend the cadet, even though it will be hard for him to do so. Satisfied that her mission has been accomplished, Roxane leaves the bakery. As she walks away, she realizes that she is torn between admiration for Cyrano, who has just fought a hundred men single-handedly, and admiration for the handsome cadet. | summary |
Cyrano, Roxane.
CYRANO:
Blessed be the moment when you condescend--
Remembering that humbly I exist--
To come to meet me, and to say. . .to tell?. . .
ROXANE (who has unmasked):
To thank you first of all. That dandy count,
Whom you checkmated in brave sword-play
Last night,. . .he is the man whom a great lord,
Desirous of my favor. . .
CYRANO:
Ha, De Guiche?
ROXANE (casting down her eyes):
Sought to impose on me. . .for husband. . .
CYRANO:
Ay! Husband!--dupe-husband!. . .Husband a la mode!
(Bowing):
Then I fought, happy chance! sweet lady, not
For my ill favor--but your favors fair!
ROXANE:
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!. . .
CYRANO:
Ay, you would come each spring to Bergerac!
ROXANE:
Mind you the reeds you cut to make your swords?. . .
CYRANO:
While you wove corn-straw plaits for your dolls' hair!
ROXANE:
Those were the days of games!. . .
CYRANO:
And blackberries!. . .
ROXANE:
In those days you did everything I bid!. . .
CYRANO:
Roxane, in her short frock, was Madeleine. . .
ROXANE:
Was I fair then?
CYRANO:
You were not ill to see!
ROXANE:
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,--
(She takes his hand):
'What is this scratch, again, that I see here?'
(She starts, surprised):
Oh! 'Tis too much! What's this?
(Cyrano tries to draw away his hand):
No, let me see!
At your age, fie! Where did you get that scratch?
CYRANO:
I got it--playing at the Porte de Nesle.
ROXANE (seating herself by the table, and dipping her handkerchief in a glass
of water):
Give here!
CYRANO (sitting by her):
So soft! so gay maternal-sweet!
ROXANE:
And tell me, while I wipe away the blood,
How many 'gainst you?
CYRANO:
Oh! A hundred--near.
ROXANE:
Come, tell me!
CYRANO:
No, let be. But you, come tell
The thing, just now, you dared not. . .
ROXANE (keeping his hand):
Now, I dare!
The scent of those old days emboldens me!
Yes, now I dare. Listen. I am in love.
CYRANO:
Ah!. . .
ROXANE:
But with one who knows not.
CYRANO:
Ah!. . .
ROXANE:
Not yet.
CYRANO:
Ah!. . .
ROXANE:
But who, if he knows not, soon shall learn.
CYRANO:
Ah!. . .
ROXANE:
A poor youth who all this time has loved
Timidly, from afar, and dares not speak. . .
CYRANO:
Ah!. . .
ROXANE:
Leave your hand; why, it is fever-hot!--
But I have seen love trembling on his lips.
CYRANO:
Ah!. . .
ROXANE (bandaging his hand with her handkerchief):
And to think of it! that he by chance--
Yes, cousin, he is of your regiment!
CYRANO:
Ah!. . .
ROXANE (laughing):
--Is cadet in your own company!
CYRANO:
Ah!. . .
ROXANE:
On his brow he bears the genius-stamp;
He is proud, noble, young, intrepid, fair. . .
CYRANO (rising suddenly, very pale):
Fair!
ROXANE:
Why, what ails you?
CYRANO:
Nothing; 'tis. . .
(He shows his hand, smiling):
This scratch!
ROXANE:
I love him; all is said. But you must know
I have only seen him at the Comedy. . .
CYRANO:
How? You have never spoken?
ROXANE:
Eyes can speak.
CYRANO:
How know you then that he. . .?
ROXANE:
Oh! people talk
'Neath the limes in the Place Royale. . .
Gossip's chat
Has let me know. . .
CYRANO:
He is cadet?
ROXANE:
In the Guards.
CYRANO:
His name?
ROXANE:
Baron Christian de Neuvillette.
CYRANO:
How now?. . .He is not of the Guards!
ROXANE:
To-day
He is not join your ranks, under Captain
Carbon de Castel-Jaloux.
CYRANO:
Ah, how quick,
How quick the heart has flown!. . .But, my poor child. . .
THE DUENNA (opening the door):
The cakes are eaten, Monsieur Bergerac!
CYRANO:
Then read the verses printed on the bags!
(She goes out):
. . .My poor child, you who love but flowing words,
Bright wit,--what if he be a lout unskilled?
ROXANE:
No, his bright locks, like D'Urfe's heroes. . .
CYRANO:
Ah!
A well-curled pate, and witless tongue, perchance!
ROXANE:
Ah no! I guess--I feel--his words are fair!
CYRANO:
All words are fair that lurk 'neath fair mustache!
--Suppose he were a fool!. . .
ROXANE (stamping her foot):
Then bury me!
CYRANO (after a pause):
Was it to tell me this you brought me here?
I fail to see what use this serves, Madame.
ROXANE:
Nay, but I felt a terror, here, in the heart,
On learning yesterday you were Gascons
All of your company. . .
CYRANO:
And we provoke
All beardless sprigs that favor dares admit
'Midst us pure Gascons--(pure! Heaven save the mark!
They told you that as well?
ROXANE:
Ah! Think how I
Trembled for him!
CYRANO (between his teeth):
Not causelessly!
ROXANE:
But when
Last night I saw you,--brave, invincible,--
Punish that dandy, fearless hold your own
Against those brutes, I thought--I thought, if he
Whom all fear, all--if he would only. . .
CYRANO:
Good.
I will befriend your little Baron.
ROXANE:
Ah!
You'll promise me you will do this for me?
I've always held you as a tender friend.
CYRANO:
Ay, ay.
ROXANE:
Then you will be his friend?
CYRANO:
I swear!
ROXANE:
And he shall fight no duels, promise!
CYRANO:
None.
ROXANE:
You are kind, cousin! 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!. . .
--Bid him to write.
(She sends him a kiss with her fingers):
How good you are!
CYRANO:
Ay! Ay!
ROXANE:
A hundred men against you? Now, farewell.--
We are great friends?
CYRANO:
Ay, ay!
ROXANE:
Oh, bid him write!
You'll tell me all one day--A hundred men!--
Ah, brave!. . .How brave!
CYRANO (bowing to her):
I have fought better since.
(She goes out. Cyrano stands motionless, with eyes on the ground. A silence.
The door (right) opens. Ragueneau looks in.)
| Notes The suspense about the reason for Roxane wanting to meet with Cyrano is answered in these scenes. When she arrives at the bakery, she greets Cyrano warmly and talks about their childhood friendship with emotion. She then confesses to Cyrano that she is in love with a man who does not realize her affections. Cyrano dares to think that Roxane is talking about him. Roxane is not trying to be mean or play the coquette. She has no idea that Cyrano is in love with her. She cannot know that he is misinterpreting everything she says. The truth dawns on him, however, when she says that the man she loves is extremely handsome. Cyrano knows that she cannot be speaking of him. She then asks for Cyrano's help. She wants him to protect the cadet in his regiment since he is new to the Gascons and may be mistreated by the more experienced cadets. Although he is shocked and disappointed, the kind Cyrano promises to watch out for him. Although Roxane has no clue that Cyrano is in love with her, when she leaves the bakery she thinks about her admiration for him. Not only has he agreed to protect her cadet, he has also saved her from Valvert and single-handedly wounded eight men in order to protect Ligniere. | analysis |
Cyrano, Ragueneau, poets, Carbon de Castel-Jaloux, the cadets, a crowd, then
De Guiche.
RAGUENEAU:
Can we come in?
CYRANO (without stirring):
Yes. . .
(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.)
CARBON:
Here he is!
CYRANO (raising his head):
Captain!. . .
CARBON (delightedly):
Our hero! We heard all! Thirty or more
Of my cadets are there!. . .
CYRANO (shrinking back):
But. . .
CARBON (trying to draw him away):
Come with me!
They will not rest until they see you!
CYRANO:
No!
CARBON:
They're drinking opposite, at The Bear's Head.
CYRANO:
I. . .
CARBON (going to the door and calling across the street in a voice of
thunder):
He won't come! The hero's in the sulks!
A VOICE (outside):
Ah! Sandious!
(Tumult outside. Noise of boots and swords is heard approaching.)
CARBON (rubbing his hands):
They are running 'cross the street!
CADETS (entering):
Mille dious! Capdedious! Pocapdedious!
RAGUENEAU (drawing back startled):
Gentlemen, are you all from Gascony?
THE CADETS:
All!
A CADET (to Cyrano):
Bravo!
CYRANO:
Baron!
ANOTHER (shaking his hands):
Vivat!
CYRANO:
Baron!
THIRD CADET:
Come!
I must embrace you!
CYRANO:
Baron!
SEVERAL GASCONS:
We'll embrace
Him, all in turn!
CYRANO (not knowing whom to reply to):
Baron!. . .Baron!. . .I beg. . .
RAGUENEAU:
Are you all Barons, Sirs?
THE CADETS:
Ay, every one!
RAGUENEAU:
Is it true?. . .
FIRST CADET:
Ay--why, you could build a tower
With nothing but our coronets, my friend!
LE BRET (entering, and running up to Cyrano):
They're looking for you! Here's a crazy mob
Led by the men who followed you last night. . .
CYRANO (alarmed):
What! Have you told them where to find me?
LE BRET (rubbing his hands):
Yes!
A BURGHER (entering, followed by a group of men):
Sir, all the Marais is a-coming here!
(Outside the street has filled with people. Chaises a porteurs and carriages
have drawn up.)
LE BRET (in a low voice, smiling, to Cyrano):
And Roxane?
CYRANO (quickly):
Hush!
THE CROWD (calling outside):
Cyrano!. . .
(A crowd rush into the shop, pushing one another. Acclamations.)
RAGUENEAU (standing on a table):
Lo! my shop
Invaded! They break all! Magnificent!
PEOPLE (crowding round Cyrano):
My friend!. . .my friend. . .
Cyrano:
Meseems that yesterday
I had not all these friends!
LE BRET (delighted):
Success!
A YOUNG MARQUIS (hurrying up with his hands held out):
My friend,
Didst thou but know. . .
CYRANO:
Thou!. . .Marry!. . .thou!. . .Pray when
Did we herd swine together, you and I!
ANOTHER:
I would present you, Sir, to some fair dames
Who in my carriage yonder. . .
CYRANO (coldly):
Ah! and who
Will first present you, Sir, to me?
LE BRET (astonished):
What's wrong?
CYRANO:
Hush!
A MAN OF LETTERS (with writing-board):
A few details?. . .
CYRANO:
No.
LE BRET (nudging his elbow):
'Tis Theophrast,
Renaudet,. . .of the 'Court Gazette'!
CYRANO:
Who cares?
LE BRET:
This paper--but it is of great importance!. . .
They say it will be an immense success!
A POET (advancing):
Sir. . .
CYRANO:
What, another!
THE POET:
. . .Pray permit I make
A pentacrostic on your name. . .
SOME ONE (also advancing):
Pray, Sir. . .
CYRANO:
Enough! Enough!
(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.)
CUIGY (to Cyrano):
Here is Monsieur de Guiche?
(A murmur--every one makes way):
He comes from the Marshal of Gassion!
DE GUICHE (bowing to Cyrano):
. . .Who would express his admiration, Sir,
For your new exploit noised so loud abroad.
THE CROWD:
Bravo!
CYRANO (bowing):
The Marshal is a judge of valor.
DE GUICHE:
He could not have believed the thing, unless
These gentlemen had sworn they witnessed it.
CUIGY:
With our own eyes!
LE BRET (aside to Cyrano, who has an absent air):
But. . .you. . .
CYRANO:
Hush!
LE BRET:
But. . .You suffer?
CYRANO (starting):
Before this rabble?--I?. . .
(He draws himself up, twirls his mustache, and throws back his shoulders):
Wait!. . .You shall see!
DE GUICHE (to whom Cuigy has spoken in a low voice):
In feats of arms, already your career
Abounded.--You serve with those crazy pates
Of Gascons?
CYRANO:
Ay, with the Cadets.
A CADET (in a terrible voice):
With us!
DE GUICHE (looking at the cadets, ranged behind Cyrano):
Ah!. . .All these gentlemen of haughty mien,
Are they the famous?. . .
CARBON:
Cyrano!
CYRANO:
Ay, Captain!
CARBON:
Since all my company's assembled here,
Pray favor me,--present them to my lord!
CYRANO (making two steps toward De Guiche):
My Lord de Guiche, permit that I present--
(pointing to the cadets):
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,
The bold Cadets of Gascony,
Of Carbon of Castel-Jaloux:
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!
'Pink-your-Doublet' and 'Slit-your-Trunk'
Are their gentlest sobriquets;
With Fame and Glory their soul is drunk!
'Pink-your-Doublet' and 'Slit-your-Trunk,'
In brawl and skirmish they show their spunk,
Give rendezvous in broil and fray;
'Pink-your-Doublet' and 'Slit-your-Trunk'
Are their gentlest sobriquets!
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.'
What, ho! Cadets of Gascony!
Husbands and lovers are game for you!
DE GUICHE (seated with haughty carelessness in an armchair brought quickly by
Ragueneau):
A poet! 'Tis the fashion of the hour!
--Will you be mine?
CYRANO:
No, Sir,--no man's!
DE GUICHE:
Last night
Your fancy pleased my uncle Richelieu.
I'll gladly say a word to him for you.
LE BRET (overjoyed):
Great Heavens!
DE GUICHE:
I imagine you have rhymed
Five acts, or so?
LE BRET (in Cyrano's ear):
Your play!--your 'Agrippine!'
You'll see it staged at last!
DE GUICHE:
Take them to him.
CYRANO (beginning to be tempted and attracted):
In sooth,--I would. . .
DE GUICHE:
He is a critic skilled:
He may correct a line or two, at most.
CYRANO (whose face stiffens at once):
Impossible! My blood congeals to think
That other hand should change a comma's dot.
DE GUICHE:
But when a verse approves itself to him
He pays it dear, good friend.
CYRANO:
He pays less dear
Than I myself; when a verse pleases me
I pay myself, and sing it to myself!
DE GUICHE:
You are proud.
CYRANO:
Really? You have noticed that?
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. . .
CARBON:
'Spolia opima!'
ALL (laughing):
Ah! ah! ah!
CUIGY:
He who laid that ambush, 'faith!
Must curse and swear!
BRISSAILLE:
Who was it?
DE GUICHE:
I myself.
(The laughter stops):
I charged them--work too dirty for my sword,
To punish and chastise a rhymster sot.
(Constrained silence.)
The CADET (in a low voice, to Cyrano, showing him the beavers):
What do with them? They're full of grease!--a stew?
CYRANO (taking the sword and, with a salute, dropping the hats at De Guiche's
feet):
Sir, pray be good enough to render them
Back to your friends.
DE GUICHE (rising, sharply):
My chair there--quick!--I go!
(To Cyrano passionately):
As to you, sirrah!. . .
VOICE (in the street):
Porters for my lord De Guiche!
DE GUICHE (who has controlled himself--smiling):
Have you read 'Don Quixote'?
CYRANO:
I have!
And doff my hat at th' mad knight-errant's name.
DE GUICHE:
I counsel you to study. . .
A PORTER (appearing at back):
My lord's chair!
DE GUICHE:
. . .The windmill chapter!
CYRANO (bowing):
Chapter the Thirteenth.
DE GUICHE:
For when one tilts 'gainst windmills--it may chance. . .
CYRANO:
Tilt I 'gainst those who change with every breeze?
DE GUICHE:
. . .That windmill sails may sweep you with their arm
Down--in the mire!. . .
CYRANO:
Or upward--to the stars!
(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.)
| Ragueneau and the poets return. Since they have learned that Cyrano was the brave swordsman at the Porte de Nesle, one of the poets wants to write a verse about Cyrano's feat; Cyrano, however, is not interested. Immediately after them enter a group of men from Cyrano's regiment, led by Captain Carbon de Castel Jaloux. They have come to congratulate Cyrano for his heroic fight against one hundred men. Le Bret then announces that a large Parisian crowd has also come out to applaud his deed, and a reporter wants to interview him. Cyrano, however, receives them all coolly. When Le Bret asks his friend about the meeting with Roxane, Cyrano responds by telling him to be quiet. De Guiche arrives and offers Cyrano patronage through Cardinal Richelieu, his rich and powerful uncle. Cyrano is tempted to ask them to support his play, Agrippine, but De Guiche explains that Richelieu always alters a script before he has it produced. Since Cyrano wants no one to touch his play, he refuses the offer of patronage. De Guiche accuses Cyrano of being too proud. Some of the Cadets enter with the feathered hats of the men Cyrano fought at the Porte de Nesle. The sight of the hats causes Cuigy to laugh, as he comments on the probable frustration of the person who hired the attackers. De Guiche then claims responsibility for the attack. He said he wanted to be rid of Ligniere, whom he judges to be a "drunken rhymester." Cyrano then asks De Guiche if he would like to take the hats back to his defeated friends. Feeling insulted, De Guiche warns Cyrano that he is acting like Don Quixote, trying to fight windmills. Cyrano wittily turns the argument on De Guiche, asking him if his men are windmills "who veer with every change of wind". De Guiche warns that the windmills will hurl Cyrano down. Cyrano insists, however, that they will only serve to sweep him up. When De Guiche leaves in a huff, Le Bret is upset that Cyrano has passed up an opportunity to have a famous patron, while making a powerful and influential man his enemy. Cyrano then rants against the system of patronage, saying he refuses to bow to anyone; he wants to be free and independent, not beholden to an important person. He adds that he enjoys making enemies because he can do it without bowing. Le Bret comments that Cyrano's bitterness has probably been caused by his meeting with Roxane. Cyrano sharply silences him, not wanting to discuss his cousin. | summary |
Cyrano, Le Bret, the cadets, who are eating and drinking at the tables right
and left.
CYRANO (bowing mockingly to those who go out without daring to salute him):
Gentlemen. . .Gentlemen. . .
LE BRET (coming back, despairingly):
Here's a fine coil!
CYRANO:
Oh! scold away!
LE BRET:
At least, you will agree
That to annihilate each chance of Fate
Exaggerates. . .
CYRANO:
Yes!--I exaggerate!
LE BRET (triumphantly):
Ah!
CYRANO:
But for principle--example too,--
I think 'tis well thus to exaggerate.
LE BRET:
Oh! lay aside that pride of musketeer,
Fortune and glory wait you!. . .
CYRANO:
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! What! I, like all the rest
Dedicate verse to bankers?--play buffoon
In cringing hope to see, at last, a smile
Not disapproving, on a patron's lips?
Grammercy, no! What! learn to swallow toads?
--With frame aweary climbing stairs?--a skin
Grown grimed and horny,--here, about the knees?
And, acrobat-like, teach my back to bend?--
No, grammercy! 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?
No, grammercy! 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?
No, grammercy! Bribe kindly editors
To spread abroad my verses? Grammercy!
Or try to be elected as the pope
Of tavern-councils held by imbeciles?
No, grammercy! Toil to gain reputation
By one small sonnet, 'stead of making many?
No, grammercy! 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"!'
Grammercy, no! Grow pale, fear, calculate?
Prefer to make a visit to a rhyme?
Seek introductions, draw petitions up?
No, grammercy! and no! and no again! But--sing?
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!
--To work without one thought of gain or fame,
To realize that journey to the moon!
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!'
And then, if glory come by chance your way,
To pay no tribute unto Caesar, none,
But keep the merit all your own! In short,
Disdaining tendrils of the parasite,
To be content, if neither oak nor elm--
Not to mount high, perchance, but mount alone!
LE BRET:
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?
CYRANO:
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?
LE BRET:
Lunacy!
CYRANO:
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!
How droll the stains one sees on fine-laced doublets,
From gall of envy, or the poltroon's drivel!
--The enervating friendship which enfolds you
Is like an open-laced Italian collar,
Floating around your neck in woman's fashion;
One is at ease thus,--but less proud the carriage!
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!
LE BRET (after a silence, taking his arm):
Speak proud aloud, and bitter!--In my ear
Whisper me simply this,--She loves thee not!
CYRANO (vehemently):
Hush!
(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.)
| Ragueneau and the poets return. Since they have learned that Cyrano was the brave swordsman at the Porte de Nesle, one of the poets wants to write a verse about Cyrano's feat; Cyrano, however, is not interested. Immediately after them enter a group of men from Cyrano's regiment, led by Captain Carbon de Castel Jaloux. They have come to congratulate Cyrano for his heroic fight against one hundred men. Le Bret then announces that a large Parisian crowd has also come out to applaud his deed, and a reporter wants to interview him. Cyrano, however, receives them all coolly. When Le Bret asks his friend about the meeting with Roxane, Cyrano responds by telling him to be quiet. De Guiche arrives and offers Cyrano patronage through Cardinal Richelieu, his rich and powerful uncle. Cyrano is tempted to ask them to support his play, Agrippine, but De Guiche explains that Richelieu always alters a script before he has it produced. Since Cyrano wants no one to touch his play, he refuses the offer of patronage. De Guiche accuses Cyrano of being too proud. Some of the Cadets enter with the feathered hats of the men Cyrano fought at the Porte de Nesle. The sight of the hats causes Cuigy to laugh, as he comments on the probable frustration of the person who hired the attackers. De Guiche then claims responsibility for the attack. He said he wanted to be rid of Ligniere, whom he judges to be a "drunken rhymester." Cyrano then asks De Guiche if he would like to take the hats back to his defeated friends. Feeling insulted, De Guiche warns Cyrano that he is acting like Don Quixote, trying to fight windmills. Cyrano wittily turns the argument on De Guiche, asking him if his men are windmills "who veer with every change of wind". De Guiche warns that the windmills will hurl Cyrano down. Cyrano insists, however, that they will only serve to sweep him up. When De Guiche leaves in a huff, Le Bret is upset that Cyrano has passed up an opportunity to have a famous patron, while making a powerful and influential man his enemy. Cyrano then rants against the system of patronage, saying he refuses to bow to anyone; he wants to be free and independent, not beholden to an important person. He adds that he enjoys making enemies because he can do it without bowing. Le Bret comments that Cyrano's bitterness has probably been caused by his meeting with Roxane. Cyrano sharply silences him, not wanting to discuss his cousin. | summary |
Cyrano, Le Bret, the cadets, Christian de Neuvillette.
A CADET (seated at a table, glass in hand):
Cyrano!
(Cyrano turns round):
The story!
CYRANO:
In its time!
(He goes up on Le Bret's arm. They talk in low voices.)
THE CADET (rising and coming down):
The story of the fray! 'Twill lesson well
(He stops before the table where Christian is seated):
This timid young apprentice!
CHRISTIAN (raising his head):
'Prentice! Who?
ANOTHER CADET:
This sickly Northern greenhorn!
CHRISTIAN:
Sickly!
FIRST CADET (mockingly):
Hark!
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!
CHRISTIAN:
What may that be?
ANOTHER CADET (in a terrible voice):
See here!
(He puts his finger three times, mysteriously, on his nose):
Do you understand?
CHRISTIAN:
Oh! 'tis the. . .
ANOTHER:
Hush! oh, never breathe that word,
Unless you'd reckon with him yonder!
(He points to Cyrano, who is talking with Le Bret.)
ANOTHER (who has meanwhile come up noiselessly to sit on the table--whispering
behind him):
Hark!
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!
ANOTHER (clapping him on the shoulder):
A word? A gesture! For the indiscreet
His handkerchief may prove his winding-sheet!
(Silence. 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.)
CHRISTIAN:
Captain!
CARBON (turning and looking at him from head to foot):
Sir!
CHRISTIAN:
Pray, what skills it best to do
To Southerners who swagger?. . .
CARBON:
Give them proof
That one may be a Northerner, yet brave!
(He turns his back on him.)
CHRISTIAN:
I thank you.
FIRST CADET (to Cyrano):
Now the tale!
ALL:
The tale!
CYRANO (coming toward them):
The tale?. . .
(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! heigh!
The night was inky black, and all the quays
Were hidden in the murky dark. Gadsooks!
One could see nothing further. . .
CHRISTIAN:
Than one's nose!
(Silence. All slowly rise, looking in terror at Cyrano, who has stopped--
dumfounded. Pause.)
CYRANO:
Who on God's earth is that?
A CADET (whispering):
It is a man
Who joined to-day.
CYRANO (making a step toward Christian):
To-day?
CARBON (in a low voice):
Yes. . .his name is
The Baron de Neuvil. . .
CYRANO (checking himself):
Good! It is well. . .
(He turns pale, flushes, makes as if to fall on Christian):
I. . .
(He controls himself):
What said I?. . .
(With a burst of rage):
MORDIOUS!. . .
(Then continues calmly):
That it was dark.
(Astonishment. 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'. . .
CHRISTIAN:
My nose!. . .
(Every one starts up. Christian balances on his chair.)
CYRANO (in a choked voice):
. . .'My teeth!
Who would break my teeth, and I, imprudent-like,
Was poking. . .'
CHRISTIAN:
My nose!. . .
CYRANO:
'My finger,. . .in the crack
Between the tree and bark! He may prove strong
And rap me. . .'
CHRISTIAN:
Over the nose. . .
CYRANO (wiping his forehead):
. . .'O' th' knuckles! Ay,'
But I cried, 'Forward, Gascon! Duty calls!
On, Cyrano!' And thus I ventured on. . .
When, from the shadow, came. . .
CHRISTIAN:
A crack o' th' nose.
CYRANO:
I parry it--find myself. . .
CHRISTIAN:
Nose to nose. . .
CYRANO (bounding on to him):
Heaven and earth!
(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. . .
CHRISTIAN:
A noseful. . .
CYRANO (white, but smiling):
Onions, brandy-cups!
I leapt out, head well down. . .
CHRISTIAN:
Nosing the wind!
CYRANO:
I charge!--gore two, impale one--run him through,
One aims at me--Paf! and I parry. . .
CHRISTIAN:
Pif!
CYRANO (bursting out):
Great God! Out! all of you!
(The cadets rush to the doors.)
FIRST CADET:
The tiger wakes!
CYRANO:
Every man, out! Leave me alone with him!
SECOND CADET:
We shall find him minced fine, minced into hash
In a big pasty!
RAGUENEAU:
I am turning pale,
And curl up, like a napkin, limp and white!
CARBON:
Let us be gone.
ANOTHER:
He will not leave a crumb!
ANOTHER:
I die of fright to think what will pass here!
ANOTHER (shutting door right):
Something too horrible!
(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.)
| In an effort to educate the newcomer, the Cadets warn Christian de Neuvillette that he should never mention Cyrano's nose. Christian, however, wants to prove that he is brave. As a result, he interrupts Cyrano as he tells his friends about his fight at the Porte de Nesle. Christian then criticizes Cyrano's nose. Cyrano is immediately incensed at the daring young cadet, but when he discovers that the person interrupting him is the one Roxane loves, he controls himself at every interruption from Christian. Finally, he drives all the cadets out of the room to be alone with Christian. They expect Christian to be murdered by Cyrano. Left alone with Christian, Cyrano introduces himself as the cousin of Roxane. He then explains Roxane's feelings for the handsome cadet. He asks Christian to write a letter to Roxane to express his feelings for her. Christian confesses that he has no verbal skills, especially when he must address a female. Since Cyrano is skilled with words, the two of them work out a plan to jointly woo and win Roxane. Cyrano will provide the words, which the handsome Christian will voice to Roxane. Cyrano then gives Christian the letter he has already composed to her, pretending that he has written it to some imaginary lady. He tells Christian to sign and send the letter as his own. Christian embraces Cyrano with gratitude. When the cadets who have been waiting outside see Christian moving towards Cyrano, they are concerned and push open the door. When they realize that Cyrano is embracing Christian, they jeer at the sight. Lise's musketeer, who has come in with the cadets, insults Cyrano about his nose. Cyrano responds by hitting him. | summary |
Cyrano, Le Bret, the cadets, Christian de Neuvillette.
A CADET (seated at a table, glass in hand):
Cyrano!
(Cyrano turns round):
The story!
CYRANO:
In its time!
(He goes up on Le Bret's arm. They talk in low voices.)
THE CADET (rising and coming down):
The story of the fray! 'Twill lesson well
(He stops before the table where Christian is seated):
This timid young apprentice!
CHRISTIAN (raising his head):
'Prentice! Who?
ANOTHER CADET:
This sickly Northern greenhorn!
CHRISTIAN:
Sickly!
FIRST CADET (mockingly):
Hark!
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!
CHRISTIAN:
What may that be?
ANOTHER CADET (in a terrible voice):
See here!
(He puts his finger three times, mysteriously, on his nose):
Do you understand?
CHRISTIAN:
Oh! 'tis the. . .
ANOTHER:
Hush! oh, never breathe that word,
Unless you'd reckon with him yonder!
(He points to Cyrano, who is talking with Le Bret.)
ANOTHER (who has meanwhile come up noiselessly to sit on the table--whispering
behind him):
Hark!
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!
ANOTHER (clapping him on the shoulder):
A word? A gesture! For the indiscreet
His handkerchief may prove his winding-sheet!
(Silence. 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.)
CHRISTIAN:
Captain!
CARBON (turning and looking at him from head to foot):
Sir!
CHRISTIAN:
Pray, what skills it best to do
To Southerners who swagger?. . .
CARBON:
Give them proof
That one may be a Northerner, yet brave!
(He turns his back on him.)
CHRISTIAN:
I thank you.
FIRST CADET (to Cyrano):
Now the tale!
ALL:
The tale!
CYRANO (coming toward them):
The tale?. . .
(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! heigh!
The night was inky black, and all the quays
Were hidden in the murky dark. Gadsooks!
One could see nothing further. . .
CHRISTIAN:
Than one's nose!
(Silence. All slowly rise, looking in terror at Cyrano, who has stopped--
dumfounded. Pause.)
CYRANO:
Who on God's earth is that?
A CADET (whispering):
It is a man
Who joined to-day.
CYRANO (making a step toward Christian):
To-day?
CARBON (in a low voice):
Yes. . .his name is
The Baron de Neuvil. . .
CYRANO (checking himself):
Good! It is well. . .
(He turns pale, flushes, makes as if to fall on Christian):
I. . .
(He controls himself):
What said I?. . .
(With a burst of rage):
MORDIOUS!. . .
(Then continues calmly):
That it was dark.
(Astonishment. 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'. . .
CHRISTIAN:
My nose!. . .
(Every one starts up. Christian balances on his chair.)
CYRANO (in a choked voice):
. . .'My teeth!
Who would break my teeth, and I, imprudent-like,
Was poking. . .'
CHRISTIAN:
My nose!. . .
CYRANO:
'My finger,. . .in the crack
Between the tree and bark! He may prove strong
And rap me. . .'
CHRISTIAN:
Over the nose. . .
CYRANO (wiping his forehead):
. . .'O' th' knuckles! Ay,'
But I cried, 'Forward, Gascon! Duty calls!
On, Cyrano!' And thus I ventured on. . .
When, from the shadow, came. . .
CHRISTIAN:
A crack o' th' nose.
CYRANO:
I parry it--find myself. . .
CHRISTIAN:
Nose to nose. . .
CYRANO (bounding on to him):
Heaven and earth!
(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. . .
CHRISTIAN:
A noseful. . .
CYRANO (white, but smiling):
Onions, brandy-cups!
I leapt out, head well down. . .
CHRISTIAN:
Nosing the wind!
CYRANO:
I charge!--gore two, impale one--run him through,
One aims at me--Paf! and I parry. . .
CHRISTIAN:
Pif!
CYRANO (bursting out):
Great God! Out! all of you!
(The cadets rush to the doors.)
FIRST CADET:
The tiger wakes!
CYRANO:
Every man, out! Leave me alone with him!
SECOND CADET:
We shall find him minced fine, minced into hash
In a big pasty!
RAGUENEAU:
I am turning pale,
And curl up, like a napkin, limp and white!
CARBON:
Let us be gone.
ANOTHER:
He will not leave a crumb!
ANOTHER:
I die of fright to think what will pass here!
ANOTHER (shutting door right):
Something too horrible!
(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.)
| Notes Scene 9 opens with the cadets warning Christian that he must never mention Cyrano's nose in front of him, for he is very sensitive about its size and ugliness. Christian, however, does not heed their warning. Wanting to prove he is brave, he interrupts Cyrano and dares to criticize his nose. The other cadets are certain that Cyrano, the rash swordsman, will quickly take care of the brazen new cadet. The real heroism of Cyrano's character is then revealed. Aggressive by nature, Cyrano wants to strike Christian, but he controls his anger. Since he has promised Roxane that he will protect the handsome, young cadet, he must keep his word. Love has tempered his brashness and turned him in to a picture of patience. Feeling he can never have Roxane and wanting her to have what she desires, Cyrano decides to help Christian woo her. When Christian confesses that he has no way with words and cannot possibly write Roxane an appropriate letter expressing his feelings, Cyrano gives him the letter he has written to her in the bakery shop. He tells Christian to sign it and send it to Roxane as his own. Christian is so appreciative of the gesture that he gives Cyrano a hug. When the other cadets realize that Cyrano has not punished Christian, they are disappointed in their leader and jeer him. Lise's musketeer even dares to criticize Cyrano's nose. Cyrano, however, will not tolerate ridicule from anyone other than Christian. He promptly hits the musketeer. By the end of scene 11, Cyrano emerges as a much stronger character. When he needs to be, he is a man of self-control and patience. He also shows he is kind-hearted, for he wants Roxane to be happy. In contrast to Cyrano, Christian seems pathetically weak in spite of his attractiveness. The audience finds it hard to believe that Roxane could ever be truly happy with such a simple man. Rostand's ability as a masterful dramatist is clearly obvious in these three scenes. He has carefully constructed the play up to this point to make a ridiculously ironic situation seem believable. The physically ugly Cyrano, who is intelligent, witty, and wise with words, is willing to help his competitor because Roxane has asked him to do so. Rostand has intentionally created Christian to be a total contrast to Cyrano. The extremely handsome cadet is slow, simple, and unable to express himself. Together, however, Cyrano and Christian make a perfect suitor for Roxane; Christian can supply the looks and Cyrano can supply the words. The arrangement will go on for years. | analysis |
Cyrano, Christian.
CYRANO:
Embrace me now!
CHRISTIAN:
Sir. . .
CYRANO:
You are brave.
CHRISTIAN:
Oh! but. . .
CYRANO:
Nay, I insist.
CHRISTIAN:
Pray tell me. . .
CYRANO:
Come, embrace! I am her brother.
CHRISTIAN:
Whose brother?
CYRANO:
Hers i' faith! Roxane's!
CHRISTIAN (rushing up to him):
O heavens!
Her brother. . .?
CYRANO:
Cousin--brother!. . .the same thing!
CHRISTIAN:
And she has told you. . .?
CYRANO:
All!
CHRISTIAN:
She loves me? say!
CYRANO:
Maybe!
CHRISTIAN (taking his hands):
How glad I am to meet you, Sir!
CYRANO:
That may be called a sudden sentiment!
CHRISTIAN:
I ask your pardon. . .
CYRANO (looking at him, with his hand on his shoulder):
True, he's fair, the villain!
CHRISTIAN:
Ah, Sir! If you but knew my admiration!. . .
CYRANO:
But all those noses?. . .
CHRISTIAN:
Oh! I take them back!
CYRANO:
Roxane expects a letter.
CHRISTIAN:
Woe the day!
CYRANO:
How?
CHRISTIAN:
I am lost if I but ope my lips!
CYRANO:
Why so?
CHRISTIAN:
I am a fool--could die for shame!
CYRANO:
None is a fool who knows himself a fool.
And you did not attack me like a fool.
CHRISTIAN:
Bah! One finds battle-cry to lead th' assault!
I have a certain military wit,
But, before women, can but hold my tongue.
Their eyes! True, when I pass, their eyes are kind. . .
CYRANO:
And, when you stay, their hearts, methinks, are kinder?
CHRISTIAN:
No! for I am one of those men--tongue-tied,
I know it--who can never tell their love.
CYRANO:
And I, meseems, had Nature been more kind,
More careful, when she fashioned me,--had been
One of those men who well could speak their love!
CHRISTIAN:
Oh, to express one's thoughts with facile grace!. . .
CYRANO:
. . .To be a musketeer, with handsome face!
CHRISTIAN:
Roxane is precieuse. I'm sure to prove
A disappointment to her!
CYRANO (looking at him):
Had I but
Such an interpreter to speak my soul!
CHRISTIAN (with despair):
Eloquence! Where to find it?
CYRANO (abruptly):
That I lend,
If you lend me your handsome victor-charms;
Blended, we make a hero of romance!
CHRISTIAN:
How so?
CYRANO:
Think you you can repeat what things
I daily teach your tongue?
CHRISTIAN:
What do you mean?
CYRANO:
Roxane shall never have a disillusion!
Say, wilt thou that we woo her, double-handed?
Wilt thou that we two woo her, both together?
Feel'st thou, passing from my leather doublet,
Through thy laced doublet, all my soul inspiring?
CHRISTIAN:
But, Cyrano!. . .
CYRANO:
Will you, I say?
CHRISTIAN:
I fear!
CYRANO:
Since, by yourself, you fear to chill her heart,
Will you--to kindle all her heart to flame--
Wed into one my phrases and your lips?
CHRISTIAN:
Your eyes flash!
CYRANO:
Will you?
CHRISTIAN:
Will it please you so?
--Give you such pleasure?
CYRANO (madly):
It!. . .
(Then calmly, business-like):
It would amuse me!
It is an enterprise to tempt a poet.
Will you complete me, and let me complete you?
You march victorious,--I go in your shadow;
Let me be wit for you, be you my beauty!
CHRISTIAN:
The letter, that she waits for even now!
I never can. . .
CYRANO (taking out the letter he had written):
See! Here it is--your letter!
CHRISTIAN:
What?
CYRANO:
Take it! Look, it wants but the address.
CHRISTIAN:
But I. . .
CYRANO:
Fear nothing. Send it. It will suit.
CHRISTIAN:
But have you. . .?
CYRANO:
Oh! We have our pockets full,
We poets, of love-letters, writ to Chloes,
Daphnes--creations of our noddle-heads.
Our lady-loves,--phantasms of our brains,
--Dream-fancies blown into soap-bubbles! Come!
Take it, and change feigned love-words into true;
I breathed my sighs and moans haphazard-wise;
Call all these wandering love-birds home to nest.
You'll see that I was in these lettered lines,
--Eloquent all the more, the less sincere!
--Take it, and make an end!
CHRISTIAN:
Were it not well
To change some words? Written haphazard-wise,
Will it fit Roxane?
CYRANO:
'Twill fit like a glove!
CHRISTIAN:
But. . .
CYRANO:
Ah, credulity of love! Roxane
Will think each word inspired by herself!
CHRISTIAN:
My friend!
(He throws himself into Cyrano's arms. They remain thus.)
| In an effort to educate the newcomer, the Cadets warn Christian de Neuvillette that he should never mention Cyrano's nose. Christian, however, wants to prove that he is brave. As a result, he interrupts Cyrano as he tells his friends about his fight at the Porte de Nesle. Christian then criticizes Cyrano's nose. Cyrano is immediately incensed at the daring young cadet, but when he discovers that the person interrupting him is the one Roxane loves, he controls himself at every interruption from Christian. Finally, he drives all the cadets out of the room to be alone with Christian. They expect Christian to be murdered by Cyrano. Left alone with Christian, Cyrano introduces himself as the cousin of Roxane. He then explains Roxane's feelings for the handsome cadet. He asks Christian to write a letter to Roxane to express his feelings for her. Christian confesses that he has no verbal skills, especially when he must address a female. Since Cyrano is skilled with words, the two of them work out a plan to jointly woo and win Roxane. Cyrano will provide the words, which the handsome Christian will voice to Roxane. Cyrano then gives Christian the letter he has already composed to her, pretending that he has written it to some imaginary lady. He tells Christian to sign and send the letter as his own. Christian embraces Cyrano with gratitude. When the cadets who have been waiting outside see Christian moving towards Cyrano, they are concerned and push open the door. When they realize that Cyrano is embracing Christian, they jeer at the sight. Lise's musketeer, who has come in with the cadets, insults Cyrano about his nose. Cyrano responds by hitting him. | summary |
Cyrano, Christian.
CYRANO:
Embrace me now!
CHRISTIAN:
Sir. . .
CYRANO:
You are brave.
CHRISTIAN:
Oh! but. . .
CYRANO:
Nay, I insist.
CHRISTIAN:
Pray tell me. . .
CYRANO:
Come, embrace! I am her brother.
CHRISTIAN:
Whose brother?
CYRANO:
Hers i' faith! Roxane's!
CHRISTIAN (rushing up to him):
O heavens!
Her brother. . .?
CYRANO:
Cousin--brother!. . .the same thing!
CHRISTIAN:
And she has told you. . .?
CYRANO:
All!
CHRISTIAN:
She loves me? say!
CYRANO:
Maybe!
CHRISTIAN (taking his hands):
How glad I am to meet you, Sir!
CYRANO:
That may be called a sudden sentiment!
CHRISTIAN:
I ask your pardon. . .
CYRANO (looking at him, with his hand on his shoulder):
True, he's fair, the villain!
CHRISTIAN:
Ah, Sir! If you but knew my admiration!. . .
CYRANO:
But all those noses?. . .
CHRISTIAN:
Oh! I take them back!
CYRANO:
Roxane expects a letter.
CHRISTIAN:
Woe the day!
CYRANO:
How?
CHRISTIAN:
I am lost if I but ope my lips!
CYRANO:
Why so?
CHRISTIAN:
I am a fool--could die for shame!
CYRANO:
None is a fool who knows himself a fool.
And you did not attack me like a fool.
CHRISTIAN:
Bah! One finds battle-cry to lead th' assault!
I have a certain military wit,
But, before women, can but hold my tongue.
Their eyes! True, when I pass, their eyes are kind. . .
CYRANO:
And, when you stay, their hearts, methinks, are kinder?
CHRISTIAN:
No! for I am one of those men--tongue-tied,
I know it--who can never tell their love.
CYRANO:
And I, meseems, had Nature been more kind,
More careful, when she fashioned me,--had been
One of those men who well could speak their love!
CHRISTIAN:
Oh, to express one's thoughts with facile grace!. . .
CYRANO:
. . .To be a musketeer, with handsome face!
CHRISTIAN:
Roxane is precieuse. I'm sure to prove
A disappointment to her!
CYRANO (looking at him):
Had I but
Such an interpreter to speak my soul!
CHRISTIAN (with despair):
Eloquence! Where to find it?
CYRANO (abruptly):
That I lend,
If you lend me your handsome victor-charms;
Blended, we make a hero of romance!
CHRISTIAN:
How so?
CYRANO:
Think you you can repeat what things
I daily teach your tongue?
CHRISTIAN:
What do you mean?
CYRANO:
Roxane shall never have a disillusion!
Say, wilt thou that we woo her, double-handed?
Wilt thou that we two woo her, both together?
Feel'st thou, passing from my leather doublet,
Through thy laced doublet, all my soul inspiring?
CHRISTIAN:
But, Cyrano!. . .
CYRANO:
Will you, I say?
CHRISTIAN:
I fear!
CYRANO:
Since, by yourself, you fear to chill her heart,
Will you--to kindle all her heart to flame--
Wed into one my phrases and your lips?
CHRISTIAN:
Your eyes flash!
CYRANO:
Will you?
CHRISTIAN:
Will it please you so?
--Give you such pleasure?
CYRANO (madly):
It!. . .
(Then calmly, business-like):
It would amuse me!
It is an enterprise to tempt a poet.
Will you complete me, and let me complete you?
You march victorious,--I go in your shadow;
Let me be wit for you, be you my beauty!
CHRISTIAN:
The letter, that she waits for even now!
I never can. . .
CYRANO (taking out the letter he had written):
See! Here it is--your letter!
CHRISTIAN:
What?
CYRANO:
Take it! Look, it wants but the address.
CHRISTIAN:
But I. . .
CYRANO:
Fear nothing. Send it. It will suit.
CHRISTIAN:
But have you. . .?
CYRANO:
Oh! We have our pockets full,
We poets, of love-letters, writ to Chloes,
Daphnes--creations of our noddle-heads.
Our lady-loves,--phantasms of our brains,
--Dream-fancies blown into soap-bubbles! Come!
Take it, and change feigned love-words into true;
I breathed my sighs and moans haphazard-wise;
Call all these wandering love-birds home to nest.
You'll see that I was in these lettered lines,
--Eloquent all the more, the less sincere!
--Take it, and make an end!
CHRISTIAN:
Were it not well
To change some words? Written haphazard-wise,
Will it fit Roxane?
CYRANO:
'Twill fit like a glove!
CHRISTIAN:
But. . .
CYRANO:
Ah, credulity of love! Roxane
Will think each word inspired by herself!
CHRISTIAN:
My friend!
(He throws himself into Cyrano's arms. They remain thus.)
| Notes Scene 9 opens with the cadets warning Christian that he must never mention Cyrano's nose in front of him, for he is very sensitive about its size and ugliness. Christian, however, does not heed their warning. Wanting to prove he is brave, he interrupts Cyrano and dares to criticize his nose. The other cadets are certain that Cyrano, the rash swordsman, will quickly take care of the brazen new cadet. The real heroism of Cyrano's character is then revealed. Aggressive by nature, Cyrano wants to strike Christian, but he controls his anger. Since he has promised Roxane that he will protect the handsome, young cadet, he must keep his word. Love has tempered his brashness and turned him in to a picture of patience. Feeling he can never have Roxane and wanting her to have what she desires, Cyrano decides to help Christian woo her. When Christian confesses that he has no way with words and cannot possibly write Roxane an appropriate letter expressing his feelings, Cyrano gives him the letter he has written to her in the bakery shop. He tells Christian to sign it and send it to Roxane as his own. Christian is so appreciative of the gesture that he gives Cyrano a hug. When the other cadets realize that Cyrano has not punished Christian, they are disappointed in their leader and jeer him. Lise's musketeer even dares to criticize Cyrano's nose. Cyrano, however, will not tolerate ridicule from anyone other than Christian. He promptly hits the musketeer. By the end of scene 11, Cyrano emerges as a much stronger character. When he needs to be, he is a man of self-control and patience. He also shows he is kind-hearted, for he wants Roxane to be happy. In contrast to Cyrano, Christian seems pathetically weak in spite of his attractiveness. The audience finds it hard to believe that Roxane could ever be truly happy with such a simple man. Rostand's ability as a masterful dramatist is clearly obvious in these three scenes. He has carefully constructed the play up to this point to make a ridiculously ironic situation seem believable. The physically ugly Cyrano, who is intelligent, witty, and wise with words, is willing to help his competitor because Roxane has asked him to do so. Rostand has intentionally created Christian to be a total contrast to Cyrano. The extremely handsome cadet is slow, simple, and unable to express himself. Together, however, Cyrano and Christian make a perfect suitor for Roxane; Christian can supply the looks and Cyrano can supply the words. The arrangement will go on for years. | analysis |
Cyrano, Christian, the Gascons, the musketeer, Lise.
A CADET (half opening the door):
Naught here!. . .The silence of the grave!
I dare not look. . .
(He puts his head in):
Why?. . .
ALL THE CADETS (entering, and seeing Cyrano and Christian embracing):
Oh!. . .
A CADET:
This passes all!
(Consternation.)
THE MUSKETEER (mockingly):
Ho, ho!. . .
CARBON:
Our demon has become a saint?
Struck on one nostril--lo! he turns the other!
MUSKETEER:
Then we may speak about his nose, henceforth!. . .
(Calling to Lise, boastfully):
--Ah, Lise, see here!
(Sniffing ostentatiously):
O heavens!. . .what a stink!. . .
(Going up to Cyrano):
You, sir, without a doubt have sniffed it up!
--What is the smell I notice here?
CYRANO (cuffing his head):
Clove-heads.
(General delight. The cadets have found the old Cyrano again! They turn
somersaults.)
Curtain.
| In an effort to educate the newcomer, the Cadets warn Christian de Neuvillette that he should never mention Cyrano's nose. Christian, however, wants to prove that he is brave. As a result, he interrupts Cyrano as he tells his friends about his fight at the Porte de Nesle. Christian then criticizes Cyrano's nose. Cyrano is immediately incensed at the daring young cadet, but when he discovers that the person interrupting him is the one Roxane loves, he controls himself at every interruption from Christian. Finally, he drives all the cadets out of the room to be alone with Christian. They expect Christian to be murdered by Cyrano. Left alone with Christian, Cyrano introduces himself as the cousin of Roxane. He then explains Roxane's feelings for the handsome cadet. He asks Christian to write a letter to Roxane to express his feelings for her. Christian confesses that he has no verbal skills, especially when he must address a female. Since Cyrano is skilled with words, the two of them work out a plan to jointly woo and win Roxane. Cyrano will provide the words, which the handsome Christian will voice to Roxane. Cyrano then gives Christian the letter he has already composed to her, pretending that he has written it to some imaginary lady. He tells Christian to sign and send the letter as his own. Christian embraces Cyrano with gratitude. When the cadets who have been waiting outside see Christian moving towards Cyrano, they are concerned and push open the door. When they realize that Cyrano is embracing Christian, they jeer at the sight. Lise's musketeer, who has come in with the cadets, insults Cyrano about his nose. Cyrano responds by hitting him. | summary |
Cyrano, Christian, the Gascons, the musketeer, Lise.
A CADET (half opening the door):
Naught here!. . .The silence of the grave!
I dare not look. . .
(He puts his head in):
Why?. . .
ALL THE CADETS (entering, and seeing Cyrano and Christian embracing):
Oh!. . .
A CADET:
This passes all!
(Consternation.)
THE MUSKETEER (mockingly):
Ho, ho!. . .
CARBON:
Our demon has become a saint?
Struck on one nostril--lo! he turns the other!
MUSKETEER:
Then we may speak about his nose, henceforth!. . .
(Calling to Lise, boastfully):
--Ah, Lise, see here!
(Sniffing ostentatiously):
O heavens!. . .what a stink!. . .
(Going up to Cyrano):
You, sir, without a doubt have sniffed it up!
--What is the smell I notice here?
CYRANO (cuffing his head):
Clove-heads.
(General delight. The cadets have found the old Cyrano again! They turn
somersaults.)
Curtain.
| Notes Scene 9 opens with the cadets warning Christian that he must never mention Cyrano's nose in front of him, for he is very sensitive about its size and ugliness. Christian, however, does not heed their warning. Wanting to prove he is brave, he interrupts Cyrano and dares to criticize his nose. The other cadets are certain that Cyrano, the rash swordsman, will quickly take care of the brazen new cadet. The real heroism of Cyrano's character is then revealed. Aggressive by nature, Cyrano wants to strike Christian, but he controls his anger. Since he has promised Roxane that he will protect the handsome, young cadet, he must keep his word. Love has tempered his brashness and turned him in to a picture of patience. Feeling he can never have Roxane and wanting her to have what she desires, Cyrano decides to help Christian woo her. When Christian confesses that he has no way with words and cannot possibly write Roxane an appropriate letter expressing his feelings, Cyrano gives him the letter he has written to her in the bakery shop. He tells Christian to sign it and send it to Roxane as his own. Christian is so appreciative of the gesture that he gives Cyrano a hug. When the other cadets realize that Cyrano has not punished Christian, they are disappointed in their leader and jeer him. Lise's musketeer even dares to criticize Cyrano's nose. Cyrano, however, will not tolerate ridicule from anyone other than Christian. He promptly hits the musketeer. By the end of scene 11, Cyrano emerges as a much stronger character. When he needs to be, he is a man of self-control and patience. He also shows he is kind-hearted, for he wants Roxane to be happy. In contrast to Cyrano, Christian seems pathetically weak in spite of his attractiveness. The audience finds it hard to believe that Roxane could ever be truly happy with such a simple man. Rostand's ability as a masterful dramatist is clearly obvious in these three scenes. He has carefully constructed the play up to this point to make a ridiculously ironic situation seem believable. The physically ugly Cyrano, who is intelligent, witty, and wise with words, is willing to help his competitor because Roxane has asked him to do so. Rostand has intentionally created Christian to be a total contrast to Cyrano. The extremely handsome cadet is slow, simple, and unable to express himself. Together, however, Cyrano and Christian make a perfect suitor for Roxane; Christian can supply the looks and Cyrano can supply the words. The arrangement will go on for years. | analysis |
Ragueneau, the duenna. Then Roxane, Cyrano, and two pages.
RAGUENEAU:
--And then, off she 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.
THE DUENNA:
Well, but how came it about that you were thus ruined?
RAGUENEAU:
Oh! 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.
THE DUENNA (rising, and calling up to the open window):
Roxane, are you ready? They wait for us!
ROXANE'S VOICE (from the window):
I will but put me on a cloak!
THE DUENNA (to Ragueneau, showing him the door opposite):
They wait us there opposite, at Clomire's house. She receives them all
there to-day--the precieuses, the poets; they read a discourse on the Tender
Passion.
RAGUENEAU:
The Tender Passion?
THE DUENNA (in a mincing voice):
Ay, indeed!
(Calling up to the window):
Roxane, an you come not down quickly, we shall miss the discourse on the
Tender Passion!
ROXANE'S VOICE:
I come! I come!
(A sound of stringed instruments approaching.)
CYRANO'S VOICE (behind the scenes, singing):
La, la, la, la!
THE DUENNA (surprised):
They serenade us?
CYRANO (followed by two pages with arch-lutes):
I tell you they are demi-semi-quavers, demi-semi-fool!
FIRST PAGE (ironically):
You know then, Sir, to distinguish between semi-quavers and demi-semi-
quavers?
CYRANO:
Is not every disciple of Gassendi a musician?
THE PAGE (playing and singing):
La, la!
CYRANO (snatching the lute from him, and going on with the phrase):
In proof of which, I can continue! La, la, la, la!
ROXANE (appearing on the balcony):
What? 'Tis you?
CYRANO (going on with the air, and singing to it):
'Tis I, who come to serenade your lilies, and pay my devoir to your ro-o-
oses!
ROXANE:
I am coming down!
(She leaves the balcony.)
THE DUENNA (pointing to the pages):
How come these two virtuosi here?
CYRANO:
'Tis for a wager I won of D'Assoucy. We were disputing a nice point in
grammar; contradictions raged hotly--''Tis so!' 'Nay, 'tis so!' when suddenly
he shows me these two long-shanks, whom he takes about with him as an escort,
and who are skillful in scratching lute-strings with their skinny claws! 'I
will wager you a day's music,' says he!--And lost it! Thus, see you, till
Phoebus' chariot starts once again, these lute-twangers are at my heels,
seeing all I do, hearing all I say, and accompanying all with melody. 'Twas
pleasant at the first, but i' faith, I begin to weary of it already!
(To the musicians):
Ho there! go serenade Montfleury for me! Play a dance to him!
(The pages go toward the door. To the duenna):
I have come, as is my wont, nightly, to ask Roxane whether. . .
(To the pages, who are going out):
Play a long time,--and play out of tune!
(To the duenna):
. . .Whether her soul's elected is ever the same, ever faultless!
ROXANE (coming out of the house):
Ah! How handsome he is, how brilliant a wit! And--how well I love him!
CYRANO (smiling):
Christian has so brilliant a wit?
ROXANE:
Brighter than even your own, cousin!
CYRANO:
Be it so, with all my heart!
ROXANE:
Ah! methinks 'twere impossible that there could breathe a man on this earth
skilled to say as sweetly as he all the pretty nothings that mean so much--
that mean all! At times his mind seems far away, the Muse says naught--and
then, presto! he speaks--bewitchingly! enchantingly!
CYRANO (incredulously):
No, no!
ROXANE:
Fie! That is ill said! But lo! men are ever thus! Because he is fair to
see, you would have it that he must be dull of speech.
CYRANO:
He hath an eloquent tongue in telling his love?
ROXANE:
In telling his love? why, 'tis not simple telling, 'tis dissertation, 'tis
analysis!
CYRANO:
How is he with the pen?
ROXANE:
Still better! Listen,--here:--
(Reciting):
'The more of my poor heart you take
The larger grows my heart!'
(Triumphantly to Cyrano):
How like you those lines?
CYRANO:
Pooh!
ROXANE:
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!'
CYRANO:
Lord! first he has too much, then anon not enough! How much heart does the
fellow want?
ROXANE:
You would vex a saint!. . .But 'tis your jealousy.
CYRANO (starting):
What mean you?
ROXANE:
Ay, your poet's jealousy! Hark now, if this again be not tender-sweet?--
'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!
If kisses could be writ with ink,
If kisses fast could flee!'
CYRANO (smiling approvingly in spite of himself):
Ha! those last lines are,--hm!. . .hm!. . .
(Correcting himself--contemptuously):
--They are paltry enough!
ROXANE:
And this. . .
CYRANO (enchanted):
Then you have his letters by heart?
ROXANE:
Every one of them!
CYRANO:
By all oaths that can be sworn,--'tis flattering!
ROXANE:
They are the lines of a master!
CYRANO (modestly):
Come, nay. . .a master?. . .
ROXANE:
Ay, I say it--a master!
CYRANO:
Good--be it so.
THE DUENNA (coming down quickly):
Here comes Monsieur de Guiche!
(To Cyrano, pushing him toward the house):
In with you! 'twere best he see you not; it might perchance put him on the
scent. . .
ROXANE (to Cyrano):
Ay, of my own dear secret! He loves me, and is powerful, and, if he knew,
then all were lost! Marry! he could well deal a deathblow to my love!
CYRANO (entering the house):
Good! good!
(De Guiche appears.)
| When this scene opens, Ragueneau is talking to Roxane's governess about what has happened to him. The audience learns that Lise has run off with the musketeer. Ragueneau was so upset by her desertion that he tired to hang himself. Cyrano, however, saved him and made arrangements for him to become a steward for Roxane. The governess is impatiently waiting for Roxane. The two of them are going to a Clomire's salon, where a discourse on the "Tender Passion" is to be read. As Roxane delays, Cyrano enters with two pages playing lutes. He explains he has won the musicians for a day in a bet with d'Assoucy about a point of grammar; but he finds the musicians very annoying, for they do not play correctly. As a result, he sends them off to irritate Montfleury. After the musicians have left, Cyrano asks Roxane how things are going with Christian. She claims to love him dearly, explaining that he is not only handsome but also brilliant. She adds that his mind seems to be even sharper than that of Cyrano, for he says truly beautiful things to her. Cyrano does not miss a beat, but reacts with incredulity to her claims. To prove her point that he is a "master of eloquence," Roxane shows Cyrano one of Christian's letters. The dramatic irony is evident. Cyrano and the audience know that it is Cyrano who has written the letter. The governess comes in to warn that De Guiche is approaching. Roxane asks Cyrano to hide inside her house. | summary |
Ragueneau, the duenna. Then Roxane, Cyrano, and two pages.
RAGUENEAU:
--And then, off she 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.
THE DUENNA:
Well, but how came it about that you were thus ruined?
RAGUENEAU:
Oh! 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.
THE DUENNA (rising, and calling up to the open window):
Roxane, are you ready? They wait for us!
ROXANE'S VOICE (from the window):
I will but put me on a cloak!
THE DUENNA (to Ragueneau, showing him the door opposite):
They wait us there opposite, at Clomire's house. She receives them all
there to-day--the precieuses, the poets; they read a discourse on the Tender
Passion.
RAGUENEAU:
The Tender Passion?
THE DUENNA (in a mincing voice):
Ay, indeed!
(Calling up to the window):
Roxane, an you come not down quickly, we shall miss the discourse on the
Tender Passion!
ROXANE'S VOICE:
I come! I come!
(A sound of stringed instruments approaching.)
CYRANO'S VOICE (behind the scenes, singing):
La, la, la, la!
THE DUENNA (surprised):
They serenade us?
CYRANO (followed by two pages with arch-lutes):
I tell you they are demi-semi-quavers, demi-semi-fool!
FIRST PAGE (ironically):
You know then, Sir, to distinguish between semi-quavers and demi-semi-
quavers?
CYRANO:
Is not every disciple of Gassendi a musician?
THE PAGE (playing and singing):
La, la!
CYRANO (snatching the lute from him, and going on with the phrase):
In proof of which, I can continue! La, la, la, la!
ROXANE (appearing on the balcony):
What? 'Tis you?
CYRANO (going on with the air, and singing to it):
'Tis I, who come to serenade your lilies, and pay my devoir to your ro-o-
oses!
ROXANE:
I am coming down!
(She leaves the balcony.)
THE DUENNA (pointing to the pages):
How come these two virtuosi here?
CYRANO:
'Tis for a wager I won of D'Assoucy. We were disputing a nice point in
grammar; contradictions raged hotly--''Tis so!' 'Nay, 'tis so!' when suddenly
he shows me these two long-shanks, whom he takes about with him as an escort,
and who are skillful in scratching lute-strings with their skinny claws! 'I
will wager you a day's music,' says he!--And lost it! Thus, see you, till
Phoebus' chariot starts once again, these lute-twangers are at my heels,
seeing all I do, hearing all I say, and accompanying all with melody. 'Twas
pleasant at the first, but i' faith, I begin to weary of it already!
(To the musicians):
Ho there! go serenade Montfleury for me! Play a dance to him!
(The pages go toward the door. To the duenna):
I have come, as is my wont, nightly, to ask Roxane whether. . .
(To the pages, who are going out):
Play a long time,--and play out of tune!
(To the duenna):
. . .Whether her soul's elected is ever the same, ever faultless!
ROXANE (coming out of the house):
Ah! How handsome he is, how brilliant a wit! And--how well I love him!
CYRANO (smiling):
Christian has so brilliant a wit?
ROXANE:
Brighter than even your own, cousin!
CYRANO:
Be it so, with all my heart!
ROXANE:
Ah! methinks 'twere impossible that there could breathe a man on this earth
skilled to say as sweetly as he all the pretty nothings that mean so much--
that mean all! At times his mind seems far away, the Muse says naught--and
then, presto! he speaks--bewitchingly! enchantingly!
CYRANO (incredulously):
No, no!
ROXANE:
Fie! That is ill said! But lo! men are ever thus! Because he is fair to
see, you would have it that he must be dull of speech.
CYRANO:
He hath an eloquent tongue in telling his love?
ROXANE:
In telling his love? why, 'tis not simple telling, 'tis dissertation, 'tis
analysis!
CYRANO:
How is he with the pen?
ROXANE:
Still better! Listen,--here:--
(Reciting):
'The more of my poor heart you take
The larger grows my heart!'
(Triumphantly to Cyrano):
How like you those lines?
CYRANO:
Pooh!
ROXANE:
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!'
CYRANO:
Lord! first he has too much, then anon not enough! How much heart does the
fellow want?
ROXANE:
You would vex a saint!. . .But 'tis your jealousy.
CYRANO (starting):
What mean you?
ROXANE:
Ay, your poet's jealousy! Hark now, if this again be not tender-sweet?--
'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!
If kisses could be writ with ink,
If kisses fast could flee!'
CYRANO (smiling approvingly in spite of himself):
Ha! those last lines are,--hm!. . .hm!. . .
(Correcting himself--contemptuously):
--They are paltry enough!
ROXANE:
And this. . .
CYRANO (enchanted):
Then you have his letters by heart?
ROXANE:
Every one of them!
CYRANO:
By all oaths that can be sworn,--'tis flattering!
ROXANE:
They are the lines of a master!
CYRANO (modestly):
Come, nay. . .a master?. . .
ROXANE:
Ay, I say it--a master!
CYRANO:
Good--be it so.
THE DUENNA (coming down quickly):
Here comes Monsieur de Guiche!
(To Cyrano, pushing him toward the house):
In with you! 'twere best he see you not; it might perchance put him on the
scent. . .
ROXANE (to Cyrano):
Ay, of my own dear secret! He loves me, and is powerful, and, if he knew,
then all were lost! Marry! he could well deal a deathblow to my love!
CYRANO (entering the house):
Good! good!
(De Guiche appears.)
| Notes Rostand creates the musketeer as a very negative character. In the last scene, he was foolish enough to inappropriately insult Cyrano's nose. Now he has run off with the wife of Cyrano's friend. Ragueneau is so upset by Lise's desertion that he tries to kill himself. Cyrano, the play's hero, saves Ragueneau and finds him a new position as the steward of Roxane. Ragueneau's comment that Mars was using what Apollo was leaving behind in his shop is significant. It implies that the musketeer, a man of war, ironically learned the art of love from the poets, who Ragueneau encouraged in his bakery. In a similar manner, Christian is learning the art of love from Cyrano. In this scene, Cyrano's character is further developed as a very well-rounded man. He has already been presented as an able swordsman, a strong fighter, a military leader, an intelligent thinker, a poet, a spokesman who has great control of the language, and a kind and sensitive human being. Now Cyrano reveals that he has an interest in and knowledge of music, a mastery of grammar, and a strong mathematical ability. He also has a sense of humor, for he sends the annoying musicians away to irritate Montfleury, the second rate actor who irritates him. When Cyrano asks Roxane about Christian, she is full of praise for him, saying he is as intelligent as he is handsome. Since Cyrano does not seem to believe her, she reads some of Christian's letter to Cyrano to prove that he is truly bright and eloquent. Cyrano totally enjoys hearing "his" letters being praised. Of course, he gives no hint to Roxane that he has composed the letters that Christian has sent as his own. The irony of the situation is masterfully developed. | analysis |
Roxane, De Guiche, the duenna standing a little way off.
ROXANE (courtesying to De Guiche):
I was going out.
DE GUICHE:
I come to take my leave.
ROXANE:
Whither go you?
DE GUICHE:
To the war.
ROXANE:
Ah!
DE GUICHE:
Ay, to-night.
ROXANE:
Oh!
DE GUICHE:
I am ordered away. We are to besiege Arras.
ROXANE:
Ah--to besiege?. . .
DE GUICHE:
Ay. My going moves you not, meseems.
ROXANE:
Nay. . .
DE GUICHE:
I am grieved to the core of the heart. Shall I again behold you?. . .When?
I know not. Heard you that I am named commander?. . .
ROXANE (indifferently):
Bravo!
DE GUICHE:
Of the Guards regiment.
ROXANE (startled):
What! the Guards?
DE GUICHE:
Ay, where serves your cousin, the swaggering boaster. I will find a way to
revenge myself on him at Arras.
ROXANE (choking):
What mean you? The Guards go to Arras?
DE GUICHE (laughing):
Bethink you, is it not my own regiment?
ROXANE (falling seated on the bench--aside):
Christian!
DE GUICHE:
What ails you?
ROXANE (moved deeply):
Oh--I am in despair! The man one loves!--at the war!
DE GUICHE (surprised and delighted):
You say such sweet words to me! 'Tis the first time!--and just when I must
quit you!
ROXANE (collected, and fanning herself):
Thus,--you would fain revenge your grudge against my cousin?
DE GUICHE:
My fair lady is on his side?
ROXANE:
Nay,--against him!
DE GUICHE:
Do you see him often?
ROXANE:
But very rarely.
DE GUICHE:
He is ever to be met now in company with one of the cadets,. . .one New--
villen--viller--
ROXANE:
Of high stature?
DE GUICHE:
Fair-haired!
ROXANE:
Ay, a red-headed fellow!
DE GUICHE:
Handsome!. . .
ROXANE:
Tut!
DE GUICHE:
But dull-witted.
ROXANE:
One would think so, to look at him!
(Changing her tone):
How mean you to play your revenge on Cyrano? Perchance you think to put him
i' the thick of the shots? Nay, believe me, 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!
DE GUICHE:
What then? Tell. . .
ROXANE:
If, when the regiment march to Arras, he were left here with his beloved
boon companions, the Cadets, 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 right fiercely.
DE GUICHE (coming nearer):
O woman! woman! Who but a woman had e'er devised so subtle a trick?
ROXANE:
See you not how he will eat out his heart, while his friends gnaw their
thick fists for that they are deprived of the battle? So are you best
avenged.
DE GUICHE:
You love me, then, a little?
(She smiles):
I would fain--seeing you thus espouse my cause, Roxane--believe it a proof
of love!
ROXANE:
'Tis a proof of love!
DE GUICHE (showing some sealed papers):
Here are the marching orders; they will be sent instantly to each company--
except--
(He detaches one):
--This one! 'Tis that of the Cadets.
(He puts it in his pocket):
This I keep.
(Laughing):
Ha! ha! ha! Cyrano! His love of battle!. . .So you can play tricks on
people?. . .you, of all ladies!
ROXANE:
Sometimes!
DE GUICHE (coming close to her):
Oh! how I love you!--to distraction! Listen! To-night--true, I ought to
start--but--how leave you now that I feel your heart is touched! Hard by, in
the Rue d'Orleans, is a convent founded by Father Athanasius, the syndic of
the Capuchins. True that no layman may enter--but--I can settle that with the
good Fathers! Their habit sleeves are wide enough to hide me in. 'Tis they
who serve Richelieu's private chapel: and from respect to the uncle, fear the
nephew. All will deem me gone. I will come to you, masked. Give me leave to
wait till tomorrow, sweet Lady Fanciful!
ROXANE:
But, of this be rumored, your glory. . .
DE GUICHE:
Bah!
ROXANE:
But the siege--Arras. . .
DE GUICHE:
'Twill take its chance. Grant but permission.
ROXANE:
No!
DE GUICHE:
Give me leave!
ROXANE (tenderly):
It were my duty to forbid you!
DE GUICHE:
Ah!
ROXANE:
You must go!
(Aside):
Christian stays here.
(Aloud):
I would have you heroic--Antoine!
DE GUICHE:
O heavenly word! You love, then, him?. . .
ROXANE:
. . .For whom I trembled.
DE GUICHE (in an ecstasy):
Ah! I go then!
(He kisses her hand):
Are you content?
ROXANE:
Yes, my friend!
(He goes out.)
THE DUENNA (making behind his back a mocking courtesy):
Yes, my friend!
ROXANE (to the duenna):
Not a word of what I have done. Cyrano would never pardon me for stealing
his fighting from him!
(She calls toward the house):
Cousin!
| Count De Guiche has come to bid farewell to Roxane, for he has been made a Colonel of the Guards and is to take part in the siege of Arras. Since the Guards include the regimental company of the Cadets, which include both Christian and Cyrano, Roxane tricks De Guiche. She talks him into taking revenge on Cyrano by depriving him and his regiment of the chance of heroism in war. De Guiche, not realizing he has been tricked, agrees to keep the Cadets in Paris. Roxane also quizzes De Guiche about Christian. He responds that the young man, who is handsome but stupid, has become inseparable from Cyrano. Feeling that Roxane may have an interest in him, De Guiche suggests that he also stay behind, concealed in the monastery of the Capuchins. Roxane dissuades him by saying that she could only love a man who welcomed danger. She tells him he should prove his heroism to her by fighting in the war. After De Guiche departs, Roxane warns her governess not to tell Cyrano that she has deprived him of a chance to prove himself at Arras. She then calls Cyrano out from his hiding place inside the house. | summary |
Roxane, De Guiche, the duenna standing a little way off.
ROXANE (courtesying to De Guiche):
I was going out.
DE GUICHE:
I come to take my leave.
ROXANE:
Whither go you?
DE GUICHE:
To the war.
ROXANE:
Ah!
DE GUICHE:
Ay, to-night.
ROXANE:
Oh!
DE GUICHE:
I am ordered away. We are to besiege Arras.
ROXANE:
Ah--to besiege?. . .
DE GUICHE:
Ay. My going moves you not, meseems.
ROXANE:
Nay. . .
DE GUICHE:
I am grieved to the core of the heart. Shall I again behold you?. . .When?
I know not. Heard you that I am named commander?. . .
ROXANE (indifferently):
Bravo!
DE GUICHE:
Of the Guards regiment.
ROXANE (startled):
What! the Guards?
DE GUICHE:
Ay, where serves your cousin, the swaggering boaster. I will find a way to
revenge myself on him at Arras.
ROXANE (choking):
What mean you? The Guards go to Arras?
DE GUICHE (laughing):
Bethink you, is it not my own regiment?
ROXANE (falling seated on the bench--aside):
Christian!
DE GUICHE:
What ails you?
ROXANE (moved deeply):
Oh--I am in despair! The man one loves!--at the war!
DE GUICHE (surprised and delighted):
You say such sweet words to me! 'Tis the first time!--and just when I must
quit you!
ROXANE (collected, and fanning herself):
Thus,--you would fain revenge your grudge against my cousin?
DE GUICHE:
My fair lady is on his side?
ROXANE:
Nay,--against him!
DE GUICHE:
Do you see him often?
ROXANE:
But very rarely.
DE GUICHE:
He is ever to be met now in company with one of the cadets,. . .one New--
villen--viller--
ROXANE:
Of high stature?
DE GUICHE:
Fair-haired!
ROXANE:
Ay, a red-headed fellow!
DE GUICHE:
Handsome!. . .
ROXANE:
Tut!
DE GUICHE:
But dull-witted.
ROXANE:
One would think so, to look at him!
(Changing her tone):
How mean you to play your revenge on Cyrano? Perchance you think to put him
i' the thick of the shots? Nay, believe me, 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!
DE GUICHE:
What then? Tell. . .
ROXANE:
If, when the regiment march to Arras, he were left here with his beloved
boon companions, the Cadets, 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 right fiercely.
DE GUICHE (coming nearer):
O woman! woman! Who but a woman had e'er devised so subtle a trick?
ROXANE:
See you not how he will eat out his heart, while his friends gnaw their
thick fists for that they are deprived of the battle? So are you best
avenged.
DE GUICHE:
You love me, then, a little?
(She smiles):
I would fain--seeing you thus espouse my cause, Roxane--believe it a proof
of love!
ROXANE:
'Tis a proof of love!
DE GUICHE (showing some sealed papers):
Here are the marching orders; they will be sent instantly to each company--
except--
(He detaches one):
--This one! 'Tis that of the Cadets.
(He puts it in his pocket):
This I keep.
(Laughing):
Ha! ha! ha! Cyrano! His love of battle!. . .So you can play tricks on
people?. . .you, of all ladies!
ROXANE:
Sometimes!
DE GUICHE (coming close to her):
Oh! how I love you!--to distraction! Listen! To-night--true, I ought to
start--but--how leave you now that I feel your heart is touched! Hard by, in
the Rue d'Orleans, is a convent founded by Father Athanasius, the syndic of
the Capuchins. True that no layman may enter--but--I can settle that with the
good Fathers! Their habit sleeves are wide enough to hide me in. 'Tis they
who serve Richelieu's private chapel: and from respect to the uncle, fear the
nephew. All will deem me gone. I will come to you, masked. Give me leave to
wait till tomorrow, sweet Lady Fanciful!
ROXANE:
But, of this be rumored, your glory. . .
DE GUICHE:
Bah!
ROXANE:
But the siege--Arras. . .
DE GUICHE:
'Twill take its chance. Grant but permission.
ROXANE:
No!
DE GUICHE:
Give me leave!
ROXANE (tenderly):
It were my duty to forbid you!
DE GUICHE:
Ah!
ROXANE:
You must go!
(Aside):
Christian stays here.
(Aloud):
I would have you heroic--Antoine!
DE GUICHE:
O heavenly word! You love, then, him?. . .
ROXANE:
. . .For whom I trembled.
DE GUICHE (in an ecstasy):
Ah! I go then!
(He kisses her hand):
Are you content?
ROXANE:
Yes, my friend!
(He goes out.)
THE DUENNA (making behind his back a mocking courtesy):
Yes, my friend!
ROXANE (to the duenna):
Not a word of what I have done. Cyrano would never pardon me for stealing
his fighting from him!
(She calls toward the house):
Cousin!
| Notes The power of Roxane to manipulate De Guiche proves to the audience that she is more than an intellectually affected woman. When she learns that Christian and Cyrano will be sent off to Arras along with De Guiche, she uses Cyrano as an excuse to keep Christian and the other Cadets out of the fighting. Then when De Guiche suggests that he stay behind as well, Roxane flirts with him in order to ensure his departure. She tells him she could only love a man who is not afraid to prove his bravery and encourages De Guiche to be heroic. | analysis |
Roxane, The duenna, Cyrano.
ROXANE:
We are going to Clomire's house.
(She points to the door opposite):
Alcandre and Lysimon are to discourse!
THE DUENNA (putting her little finger in her ear):
Yes! But my little finger tells me we shall miss them.
CYRANO:
'Twere a pity to miss such apes!
(They have come to Clomire's door.)
THE DUENNA:
Oh, see! The knocker is muffled up!
(Speaking to the knocker):
So they have gagged that metal tongue of yours, little noisy one, lest it
should disturb the fine orators!
(She lifts it carefully and knocks with precaution.)
ROXANE (seeing that the door opens):
Let us enter!
(On the threshold, to Cyrano):
If Christian comes, as I feel sure he will, bid him wait for me!
CYRANO (quickly, as she is going in):
Listen!
(She turns):
What mean you to question him on, as is your wont, to-night?
ROXANE:
Oh--
CYRANO (eagerly):
Well, say.
ROXANE:
But you will be mute?
CYRANO:
Mute as a fish.
ROXANE:
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!
CYRANO (smiling):
Very good!
ROXANE:
But secret!. . .
CYRANO:
Secret.
ROXANE:
Not a word!
(She enters and shuts the door.)
CYRANO (when the door is shut, bowing to her):
A thousand thanks!
(The door opens again, and Roxane puts her head out.)
ROXANE:
Lest he prepare himself!
CYRANO:
The devil!--no, no!
BOTH TOGETHER:
Secret.
(The door shuts.)
CYRANO (calling):
Christian!
| Before Roxane and her governess depart for the meeting at Clomire's, she asks Cyrano to tell Christian to await her return. Cyrano asks Roxane what subject she desires Christian to discuss today. She says that she wants him to speak about love, but Cyrano must not let Christian know. Of course, Cyrano tries to prepare Christian for the speech as usual. This time, however, Christian rebels against presenting a borrowed speech, wanting to express his own thoughts. Roxane soon returns from Clomire's, for she has missed the discourse on tenderness. She invites Christian to sit on the bench outside her house and elaborate on his sentiment of love. He fails miserably. Roxane, thinking he is being foolish, is displeased with him. She leaves Christian alone on the bench and enters her house. Cyrano, who has been eavesdropping, comes up to Christian and sarcastically congratulates him. Christian, in utter despair, asks for Cyrano's help in wooing Roxane; but it is too late to train Christian in an appropriate speech. Cyrano, however, comes up with another plan. Christian should stand under Roxane's balcony. Hiding in the darkness out of sight, Cyrano will whisper to Christian what he should say. Christian agrees to the plan. The musical pages appear with their lutes. Cyrano puts them on guard duty. They are to play a happy melody if a woman is approaching and a sad one if a man appears. Then Cyrano throws some pebbles at Roxane's window and tells Christian to call her. | summary |
Roxane, The duenna, Cyrano.
ROXANE:
We are going to Clomire's house.
(She points to the door opposite):
Alcandre and Lysimon are to discourse!
THE DUENNA (putting her little finger in her ear):
Yes! But my little finger tells me we shall miss them.
CYRANO:
'Twere a pity to miss such apes!
(They have come to Clomire's door.)
THE DUENNA:
Oh, see! The knocker is muffled up!
(Speaking to the knocker):
So they have gagged that metal tongue of yours, little noisy one, lest it
should disturb the fine orators!
(She lifts it carefully and knocks with precaution.)
ROXANE (seeing that the door opens):
Let us enter!
(On the threshold, to Cyrano):
If Christian comes, as I feel sure he will, bid him wait for me!
CYRANO (quickly, as she is going in):
Listen!
(She turns):
What mean you to question him on, as is your wont, to-night?
ROXANE:
Oh--
CYRANO (eagerly):
Well, say.
ROXANE:
But you will be mute?
CYRANO:
Mute as a fish.
ROXANE:
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!
CYRANO (smiling):
Very good!
ROXANE:
But secret!. . .
CYRANO:
Secret.
ROXANE:
Not a word!
(She enters and shuts the door.)
CYRANO (when the door is shut, bowing to her):
A thousand thanks!
(The door opens again, and Roxane puts her head out.)
ROXANE:
Lest he prepare himself!
CYRANO:
The devil!--no, no!
BOTH TOGETHER:
Secret.
(The door shuts.)
CYRANO (calling):
Christian!
| Notes Rostand cleverly reveals the methodology that Christian and Cyrano employ to trick Roxane. Cyrano tries to find out from Roxane what mood she is in and what she would like to discuss with Christian. He then coaches the handsome cadet on what to say. Christian, however, is tired of giving canned speeches to his true love. He rebels and says he wants to talk about the subject of love with Roxane on his own. Not surprisingly, he is a miserable failure. In fact, his performance is so pathetic than he seems almost comic. When Christian cannot express himself, Roxane feels he is being foolish and loses interest in him. Desperate to make amends to her, Christian asks for Cyrano's help. The clever Cyrano, who has no time to coach Christian in an appropriate speech, comes up with an alternative plan. From a hiding place in the darkness, he will whisper to Christian what to say as he stands below Roxane's window. Christian agrees to the plan. The vacillation of Christian's feelings for Cyrano is an effective dramatic device that draws the audience closer to Cyrano. When Christian rejects Cyrano's offer of help in preparing a speech about love, the audience is meant to judge Christian as foolish and unappreciative even though they accept that he is only trying to maintain some measure of self-respect. Then when he grovels and asks for Cyrano's help in winning Roxane back, Christian is meant to be judged as weak and pathetic, while Cyrano is seen as generous and helpful. | analysis |
Cyrano, Christian.
CYRANO:
I know all that is needful. Here's occasion
For you to deck yourself with glory. Come,
Lose no time; put away those sulky looks,
Come to your house with me, I'll teach you. . .
CHRISTIAN:
No!
CYRANO:
Why?
CHRISTIAN:
I will wait for Roxane here.
CYRANO:
How? Crazy?
Come quick with me and learn. . .
CHRISTIAN:
No, no! I say.
I am aweary of these borrowed letters,
--Borrowed love-makings! Thus to act a part,
And tremble all the time!--'Twas well enough
At the beginning!--Now I know she loves!
I fear no longer!--I will speak myself.
CYRANO:
Mercy!
CHRISTIAN:
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! The devil!
I know at least to clasp her in my arms!
(Seeing Roxane come out from Clomire's house):
--It is she! Cyrano, no!--Leave me not!
CYRANO (bowing):
Speak for yourself, my friend, and take your chance.
(He disappears behind the garden wall.)
| Before Roxane and her governess depart for the meeting at Clomire's, she asks Cyrano to tell Christian to await her return. Cyrano asks Roxane what subject she desires Christian to discuss today. She says that she wants him to speak about love, but Cyrano must not let Christian know. Of course, Cyrano tries to prepare Christian for the speech as usual. This time, however, Christian rebels against presenting a borrowed speech, wanting to express his own thoughts. Roxane soon returns from Clomire's, for she has missed the discourse on tenderness. She invites Christian to sit on the bench outside her house and elaborate on his sentiment of love. He fails miserably. Roxane, thinking he is being foolish, is displeased with him. She leaves Christian alone on the bench and enters her house. Cyrano, who has been eavesdropping, comes up to Christian and sarcastically congratulates him. Christian, in utter despair, asks for Cyrano's help in wooing Roxane; but it is too late to train Christian in an appropriate speech. Cyrano, however, comes up with another plan. Christian should stand under Roxane's balcony. Hiding in the darkness out of sight, Cyrano will whisper to Christian what he should say. Christian agrees to the plan. The musical pages appear with their lutes. Cyrano puts them on guard duty. They are to play a happy melody if a woman is approaching and a sad one if a man appears. Then Cyrano throws some pebbles at Roxane's window and tells Christian to call her. | summary |
Cyrano, Christian.
CYRANO:
I know all that is needful. Here's occasion
For you to deck yourself with glory. Come,
Lose no time; put away those sulky looks,
Come to your house with me, I'll teach you. . .
CHRISTIAN:
No!
CYRANO:
Why?
CHRISTIAN:
I will wait for Roxane here.
CYRANO:
How? Crazy?
Come quick with me and learn. . .
CHRISTIAN:
No, no! I say.
I am aweary of these borrowed letters,
--Borrowed love-makings! Thus to act a part,
And tremble all the time!--'Twas well enough
At the beginning!--Now I know she loves!
I fear no longer!--I will speak myself.
CYRANO:
Mercy!
CHRISTIAN:
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! The devil!
I know at least to clasp her in my arms!
(Seeing Roxane come out from Clomire's house):
--It is she! Cyrano, no!--Leave me not!
CYRANO (bowing):
Speak for yourself, my friend, and take your chance.
(He disappears behind the garden wall.)
| Notes Rostand cleverly reveals the methodology that Christian and Cyrano employ to trick Roxane. Cyrano tries to find out from Roxane what mood she is in and what she would like to discuss with Christian. He then coaches the handsome cadet on what to say. Christian, however, is tired of giving canned speeches to his true love. He rebels and says he wants to talk about the subject of love with Roxane on his own. Not surprisingly, he is a miserable failure. In fact, his performance is so pathetic than he seems almost comic. When Christian cannot express himself, Roxane feels he is being foolish and loses interest in him. Desperate to make amends to her, Christian asks for Cyrano's help. The clever Cyrano, who has no time to coach Christian in an appropriate speech, comes up with an alternative plan. From a hiding place in the darkness, he will whisper to Christian what to say as he stands below Roxane's window. Christian agrees to the plan. The vacillation of Christian's feelings for Cyrano is an effective dramatic device that draws the audience closer to Cyrano. When Christian rejects Cyrano's offer of help in preparing a speech about love, the audience is meant to judge Christian as foolish and unappreciative even though they accept that he is only trying to maintain some measure of self-respect. Then when he grovels and asks for Cyrano's help in winning Roxane back, Christian is meant to be judged as weak and pathetic, while Cyrano is seen as generous and helpful. | analysis |
Christian, Roxane, the duenna.
ROXANE (coming out of Clomire's house, with a company of friends, whom she
leaves. Bows and good-byes):
Barthenoide!--Alcandre!--Gremione!--
THE DUENNA (bitterly disappointed):
We've missed the speech upon the Tender Passion!
(Goes into Roxane's house.)
ROXANE (still bowing):
Urimedonte--adieu!
(All bow to Roxane and to each other, and then separate, going up different
streets. Roxane suddenly seeing Christian):
You!
(She goes to him):
Evening falls.
Let's sit. Speak on. I listen.
CHRISTIAN (sits by her on the bench. A silence):
Oh! I love you!
ROXANE (shutting her eyes):
Ay, speak to me of love.
CHRISTIAN:
I love thee!
ROXANE:
That's
The theme! But vary it.
CHRISTIAN:
I. . .
ROXANE:
Vary it!
CHRISTIAN:
I love you so!
ROXANE:
Oh! without doubt!--and then?. . .
CHRISTIAN:
And then--I should be--oh!--so glad--so glad
If you would love me!--Roxane, tell me so!
ROXANE (with a little grimace):
I hoped for cream,--you give me gruel! Say
How love possesses you?
CHRISTIAN:
Oh utterly!
ROXANE:
Come, come!. . .unknot those tangled sentiments!
CHRISTIAN:
Your throat I'd kiss it!
ROXANE:
Christian!
CHRISTIAN:
I love thee!
ROXANE (half-rising):
Again!
CHRISTIAN (eagerly, detaining her):
No, no! I love thee not!
ROXANE (reseating herself):
'Tis well!
CHRISTIAN:
But I adore thee!
ROXANE (rising, and going further off):
Oh!
CHRISTIAN:
I am grown stupid!
ROXANE (dryly):
And that displeases me, almost as much
As 'twould displease me if you grew ill-favored.
CHRISTIAN:
But. . .
ROXANE:
Rally your poor eloquence that's flown!
CHRISTIAN:
I. . .
ROXANE:
Yes, you love me, that I know. Adieu.
(She goes toward her house.)
CHRISTIAN:
Oh, go not yet! I'd tell you--
ROXANE (opening the door):
You adore me?
I've heard it very oft. No!--Go away!
CHRISTIAN:
But I would fain. . .
(She shuts the door in his face.)
CYRANO (who has re-entered unseen):
I' faith! It is successful!
| Before Roxane and her governess depart for the meeting at Clomire's, she asks Cyrano to tell Christian to await her return. Cyrano asks Roxane what subject she desires Christian to discuss today. She says that she wants him to speak about love, but Cyrano must not let Christian know. Of course, Cyrano tries to prepare Christian for the speech as usual. This time, however, Christian rebels against presenting a borrowed speech, wanting to express his own thoughts. Roxane soon returns from Clomire's, for she has missed the discourse on tenderness. She invites Christian to sit on the bench outside her house and elaborate on his sentiment of love. He fails miserably. Roxane, thinking he is being foolish, is displeased with him. She leaves Christian alone on the bench and enters her house. Cyrano, who has been eavesdropping, comes up to Christian and sarcastically congratulates him. Christian, in utter despair, asks for Cyrano's help in wooing Roxane; but it is too late to train Christian in an appropriate speech. Cyrano, however, comes up with another plan. Christian should stand under Roxane's balcony. Hiding in the darkness out of sight, Cyrano will whisper to Christian what he should say. Christian agrees to the plan. The musical pages appear with their lutes. Cyrano puts them on guard duty. They are to play a happy melody if a woman is approaching and a sad one if a man appears. Then Cyrano throws some pebbles at Roxane's window and tells Christian to call her. | summary |
Christian, Roxane, the duenna.
ROXANE (coming out of Clomire's house, with a company of friends, whom she
leaves. Bows and good-byes):
Barthenoide!--Alcandre!--Gremione!--
THE DUENNA (bitterly disappointed):
We've missed the speech upon the Tender Passion!
(Goes into Roxane's house.)
ROXANE (still bowing):
Urimedonte--adieu!
(All bow to Roxane and to each other, and then separate, going up different
streets. Roxane suddenly seeing Christian):
You!
(She goes to him):
Evening falls.
Let's sit. Speak on. I listen.
CHRISTIAN (sits by her on the bench. A silence):
Oh! I love you!
ROXANE (shutting her eyes):
Ay, speak to me of love.
CHRISTIAN:
I love thee!
ROXANE:
That's
The theme! But vary it.
CHRISTIAN:
I. . .
ROXANE:
Vary it!
CHRISTIAN:
I love you so!
ROXANE:
Oh! without doubt!--and then?. . .
CHRISTIAN:
And then--I should be--oh!--so glad--so glad
If you would love me!--Roxane, tell me so!
ROXANE (with a little grimace):
I hoped for cream,--you give me gruel! Say
How love possesses you?
CHRISTIAN:
Oh utterly!
ROXANE:
Come, come!. . .unknot those tangled sentiments!
CHRISTIAN:
Your throat I'd kiss it!
ROXANE:
Christian!
CHRISTIAN:
I love thee!
ROXANE (half-rising):
Again!
CHRISTIAN (eagerly, detaining her):
No, no! I love thee not!
ROXANE (reseating herself):
'Tis well!
CHRISTIAN:
But I adore thee!
ROXANE (rising, and going further off):
Oh!
CHRISTIAN:
I am grown stupid!
ROXANE (dryly):
And that displeases me, almost as much
As 'twould displease me if you grew ill-favored.
CHRISTIAN:
But. . .
ROXANE:
Rally your poor eloquence that's flown!
CHRISTIAN:
I. . .
ROXANE:
Yes, you love me, that I know. Adieu.
(She goes toward her house.)
CHRISTIAN:
Oh, go not yet! I'd tell you--
ROXANE (opening the door):
You adore me?
I've heard it very oft. No!--Go away!
CHRISTIAN:
But I would fain. . .
(She shuts the door in his face.)
CYRANO (who has re-entered unseen):
I' faith! It is successful!
| Notes Rostand cleverly reveals the methodology that Christian and Cyrano employ to trick Roxane. Cyrano tries to find out from Roxane what mood she is in and what she would like to discuss with Christian. He then coaches the handsome cadet on what to say. Christian, however, is tired of giving canned speeches to his true love. He rebels and says he wants to talk about the subject of love with Roxane on his own. Not surprisingly, he is a miserable failure. In fact, his performance is so pathetic than he seems almost comic. When Christian cannot express himself, Roxane feels he is being foolish and loses interest in him. Desperate to make amends to her, Christian asks for Cyrano's help. The clever Cyrano, who has no time to coach Christian in an appropriate speech, comes up with an alternative plan. From a hiding place in the darkness, he will whisper to Christian what to say as he stands below Roxane's window. Christian agrees to the plan. The vacillation of Christian's feelings for Cyrano is an effective dramatic device that draws the audience closer to Cyrano. When Christian rejects Cyrano's offer of help in preparing a speech about love, the audience is meant to judge Christian as foolish and unappreciative even though they accept that he is only trying to maintain some measure of self-respect. Then when he grovels and asks for Cyrano's help in winning Roxane back, Christian is meant to be judged as weak and pathetic, while Cyrano is seen as generous and helpful. | analysis |
Christian, Cyrano, two pages.
CHRISTIAN:
Come to my aid!
CYRANO:
Not I!
CHRISTIAN:
But I shall die,
Unless at once I win back her fair favor.
CYRANO:
And how can I, at once, i' th' devil's name,
Lesson you in. . .
CHRISTIAN (seizing his arm):
Oh, she is there!
(The window of the balcony is now lighted up.)
CYRANO (moved):
Her window!
CHRISTIAN:
Oh! I shall die!
CYRANO:
Speak lower!
CHRISTIAN (in a whisper):
I shall die!
CYRANO:
The night is dark. . .
CHRISTIAN:
Well!
CYRANO:
All can be repaired.
Although you merit not. Stand there, poor wretch!
Fronting the balcony! I'll go beneath
And prompt your words to you. . .
CHRISTIAN:
But. . .
CYRANO:
Hold your tongue!
THE PAGES (reappearing at back--to Cyrano):
Ho!
CYRANO:
Hush!
(He signs to them to speak softly.)
FIRST PAGE (in a low voice):
We've played the serenade you bade
To Montfleury!
CYRANO (quickly, in a low voice):
Go! 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!
SECOND PAGE:
What tune, Sir Gassendist?
CYRANO:
Gay, if a woman comes,--for a man, sad!
(The pages disappear, one at each street corner. To Christian):
Call her!
CHRISTIAN:
Roxane!
CYRANO (picking up stones and throwing them at the window):
Some pebbles! wait awhile!
ROXANE (half-opening the casement):
Who calls me?
CHRISTIAN:
I!
ROXANE:
Who's that?
CHRISTIAN:
Christian!
ROXANE (disdainfully):
Oh! you?
CHRISTIAN:
I would speak with you.
CYRANO (under the balcony--to Christian):
Good. Speak soft and low.
ROXANE:
No, you speak stupidly!
CHRISTIAN:
Oh, pity me!
ROXANE:
No! you love me no more!
CHRISTIAN (prompted by Cyrano):
You say--Great Heaven!
I love no more?--when--I--love more and more!
ROXANE (who was about to shut the casement, pausing):
Hold! 'tis a trifle better! ay, a trifle!
CHRISTIAN (same play):
Love grew apace, rocked by the anxious beating. . .
Of this poor heart, which the cruel wanton boy. . .
Took for a cradle!
ROXANE (coming out on to the balcony):
That is better! But
An if you deem that Cupid be so cruel
You should have stifled baby-love in's cradle!
CHRISTIAN (same play):
Ah, Madame, I assayed, but all in vain
This. . .new-born babe is a young. . .Hercules!
ROXANE:
Still better!
CHRISTIAN (same play):
Thus he strangled in my heart
The. . .serpents twain, of. . .Pride. . .and Doubt!
ROXANE (leaning over the balcony):
Well said!
--But why so faltering? Has mental palsy
Seized on your faculty imaginative?
CYRANO (drawing Christian under the balcony, and slipping into his place):
Give place! This waxes critical!. . .
ROXANE:
To-day. . .
Your words are hesitating.
CYRANO (imitating Christian--in a whisper):
Night has come. . .
In the dusk they grope their way to find your ear.
ROXANE:
But my words find no such impediment.
CYRANO:
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, Madame, and that takes time!
ROXANE:
Meseems that your last words have learned to climb.
CYRANO:
With practice such gymnastic grows less hard!
ROXANE:
In truth, I seem to speak from distant heights!
CYRANO:
True, far above; at such a height 'twere death
If a hard word from you fell on my heart.
ROXANE (moving):
I will come down. . .
CYRANO (hastily):
No!
ROXANE (showing him the bench under the balcony):
Mount then on the bench!
CYRANO (starting back alarmed):
No!
ROXANE:
How, you will not?
CYRANO (more and more moved):
Stay awhile! 'Tis sweet,. . .
The rare occasion, when our hearts can speak
Our selves unseen, unseeing!
ROXANE:
Why--unseen?
CYRANO:
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. . .
ROXANE:
You were!
CYRANO:
Yet never till to-night my speech has sprung
Straight from my heart as now it springs.
ROXANE:
Why not?
CYRANO:
Till now I spoke haphazard. . .
ROXANE:
What?
CYRANO:
Your eyes
Have beams that turn men dizzy!--But to-night
Methinks I shall find speech for the first time!
ROXANE:
'Tis true, your voice rings with a tone that's new.
CYRANO (coming nearer, passionately):
Ay, a new tone! In the tender, sheltering dusk
I dare to be myself for once,--at last!
(He stops, falters):
What say I? I know not!--Oh, pardon me--
It thrills me,--'tis so sweet, so novel. . .
ROXANE:
How?
So novel?
CYRANO (off his balance, trying to find the thread of his sentence):
Ay,--to be at last sincere;
Till now, my chilled heart, fearing to be mocked. . .
ROXANE:
Mocked, and for what?
CYRANO:
For its mad beating!--Ay,
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!
ROXANE:
A wild flower's sweet.
CYRANO:
Ay, but to-night--the star!
ROXANE:
Oh! never have you spoken thus before!
CYRANO:
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!
ROXANE:
But wit?. . .
CYRANO:
If I have used it to arrest you
At the first starting,--now, 'twould be an outrage,
An insult--to the perfumed Night--to Nature--
To speak fine words that garnish vain love-letters!
Look up but at her stars! The quiet Heaven
Will ease our hearts of all things artificial;
I fear lest, 'midst the alchemy we're skilled in
The truth of sentiment dissolve and vanish,--
The soul exhausted by these empty pastimes,
The gain of fine things be the loss of all things!
ROXANE:
But wit? I say. . .
CYRANO:
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!
ROXANE:
Well, if that moment's come for us--suppose it!
What words would serve you?
CYRANO:
All, all, all, whatever
That came to me, e'en as they came, I'd fling them
In a wild cluster, not a careful bouquet.
I love thee! I am mad! I love, I stifle!
Thy name is in my heart as in a sheep-bell,
And as I ever tremble, thinking of thee,
Ever the bell shakes, ever thy name ringeth!
All things of thine I mind, for I love all things;
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--
So, when I quit thy beams, my dazzled vision
Sees upon all things a blonde stain imprinted.
ROXANE (agitated):
Why, this is love indeed!. . .
CYRANO:
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--far off and lonely,--
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? So late, dost understand me?
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!
Too fair! 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,--throned there in the branches?
Ay, like a leaf among the leaves, you tremble!
You tremble! For I feel,--an if you will it,
Or will it not,--your hand's beloved trembling
Thrill through the branches, down your sprays of jasmine!
(He kisses passionately one of the hanging tendrils.)
ROXANE:
Ay! I am trembling, weeping!--I am thine!
Thou hast conquered all of me!
CYRANO:
Then let death come!
'Tis I, 'tis I myself, who conquered thee!
One thing, but one, I dare to ask--
CHRISTIAN (under the balcony):
A kiss!
ROXANE (drawing back):
What?
CYRANO:
Oh!
ROXANE:
You ask. . .?
CYRANO:
I. . .
(To Christian, whispering):
Fool! you go too quick!
CHRISTIAN:
Since she is moved thus--I will profit by it!
CYRANO (to Roxane):
My words sprang thoughtlessly, but now I see--
Shame on me!--I was too presumptuous.
ROXANE (a little chilled):
How quickly you withdraw.
CYRANO:
Yes, I withdraw
Without withdrawing! Hurt I modesty?
If so--the kiss I asked--oh, grant it not.
CHRISTIAN (to Cyrano, pulling him by his cloak):
Why?
CYRANO:
Silence, Christian! Hush!
ROXANE (leaning over):
What whisper you?
CYRANO:
I chid myself for my too bold advances;
Said, 'Silence, Christian!'
(The lutes begin to play):
Hark! Wait awhile,. . .
Steps come!
(Roxane shuts the window. Cyrano listens to the lutes, one of which plays a
merry, the other a melancholy, tune):
Why, they play sad--then gay--then sad! What? Neither man nor woman?--oh!
a monk!
(Enter a capuchin friar, with a lantern. He goes from house to house, looking
at every door.)
| Before Roxane and her governess depart for the meeting at Clomire's, she asks Cyrano to tell Christian to await her return. Cyrano asks Roxane what subject she desires Christian to discuss today. She says that she wants him to speak about love, but Cyrano must not let Christian know. Of course, Cyrano tries to prepare Christian for the speech as usual. This time, however, Christian rebels against presenting a borrowed speech, wanting to express his own thoughts. Roxane soon returns from Clomire's, for she has missed the discourse on tenderness. She invites Christian to sit on the bench outside her house and elaborate on his sentiment of love. He fails miserably. Roxane, thinking he is being foolish, is displeased with him. She leaves Christian alone on the bench and enters her house. Cyrano, who has been eavesdropping, comes up to Christian and sarcastically congratulates him. Christian, in utter despair, asks for Cyrano's help in wooing Roxane; but it is too late to train Christian in an appropriate speech. Cyrano, however, comes up with another plan. Christian should stand under Roxane's balcony. Hiding in the darkness out of sight, Cyrano will whisper to Christian what he should say. Christian agrees to the plan. The musical pages appear with their lutes. Cyrano puts them on guard duty. They are to play a happy melody if a woman is approaching and a sad one if a man appears. Then Cyrano throws some pebbles at Roxane's window and tells Christian to call her. | summary |
Christian, Cyrano, two pages.
CHRISTIAN:
Come to my aid!
CYRANO:
Not I!
CHRISTIAN:
But I shall die,
Unless at once I win back her fair favor.
CYRANO:
And how can I, at once, i' th' devil's name,
Lesson you in. . .
CHRISTIAN (seizing his arm):
Oh, she is there!
(The window of the balcony is now lighted up.)
CYRANO (moved):
Her window!
CHRISTIAN:
Oh! I shall die!
CYRANO:
Speak lower!
CHRISTIAN (in a whisper):
I shall die!
CYRANO:
The night is dark. . .
CHRISTIAN:
Well!
CYRANO:
All can be repaired.
Although you merit not. Stand there, poor wretch!
Fronting the balcony! I'll go beneath
And prompt your words to you. . .
CHRISTIAN:
But. . .
CYRANO:
Hold your tongue!
THE PAGES (reappearing at back--to Cyrano):
Ho!
CYRANO:
Hush!
(He signs to them to speak softly.)
FIRST PAGE (in a low voice):
We've played the serenade you bade
To Montfleury!
CYRANO (quickly, in a low voice):
Go! 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!
SECOND PAGE:
What tune, Sir Gassendist?
CYRANO:
Gay, if a woman comes,--for a man, sad!
(The pages disappear, one at each street corner. To Christian):
Call her!
CHRISTIAN:
Roxane!
CYRANO (picking up stones and throwing them at the window):
Some pebbles! wait awhile!
ROXANE (half-opening the casement):
Who calls me?
CHRISTIAN:
I!
ROXANE:
Who's that?
CHRISTIAN:
Christian!
ROXANE (disdainfully):
Oh! you?
CHRISTIAN:
I would speak with you.
CYRANO (under the balcony--to Christian):
Good. Speak soft and low.
ROXANE:
No, you speak stupidly!
CHRISTIAN:
Oh, pity me!
ROXANE:
No! you love me no more!
CHRISTIAN (prompted by Cyrano):
You say--Great Heaven!
I love no more?--when--I--love more and more!
ROXANE (who was about to shut the casement, pausing):
Hold! 'tis a trifle better! ay, a trifle!
CHRISTIAN (same play):
Love grew apace, rocked by the anxious beating. . .
Of this poor heart, which the cruel wanton boy. . .
Took for a cradle!
ROXANE (coming out on to the balcony):
That is better! But
An if you deem that Cupid be so cruel
You should have stifled baby-love in's cradle!
CHRISTIAN (same play):
Ah, Madame, I assayed, but all in vain
This. . .new-born babe is a young. . .Hercules!
ROXANE:
Still better!
CHRISTIAN (same play):
Thus he strangled in my heart
The. . .serpents twain, of. . .Pride. . .and Doubt!
ROXANE (leaning over the balcony):
Well said!
--But why so faltering? Has mental palsy
Seized on your faculty imaginative?
CYRANO (drawing Christian under the balcony, and slipping into his place):
Give place! This waxes critical!. . .
ROXANE:
To-day. . .
Your words are hesitating.
CYRANO (imitating Christian--in a whisper):
Night has come. . .
In the dusk they grope their way to find your ear.
ROXANE:
But my words find no such impediment.
CYRANO:
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, Madame, and that takes time!
ROXANE:
Meseems that your last words have learned to climb.
CYRANO:
With practice such gymnastic grows less hard!
ROXANE:
In truth, I seem to speak from distant heights!
CYRANO:
True, far above; at such a height 'twere death
If a hard word from you fell on my heart.
ROXANE (moving):
I will come down. . .
CYRANO (hastily):
No!
ROXANE (showing him the bench under the balcony):
Mount then on the bench!
CYRANO (starting back alarmed):
No!
ROXANE:
How, you will not?
CYRANO (more and more moved):
Stay awhile! 'Tis sweet,. . .
The rare occasion, when our hearts can speak
Our selves unseen, unseeing!
ROXANE:
Why--unseen?
CYRANO:
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. . .
ROXANE:
You were!
CYRANO:
Yet never till to-night my speech has sprung
Straight from my heart as now it springs.
ROXANE:
Why not?
CYRANO:
Till now I spoke haphazard. . .
ROXANE:
What?
CYRANO:
Your eyes
Have beams that turn men dizzy!--But to-night
Methinks I shall find speech for the first time!
ROXANE:
'Tis true, your voice rings with a tone that's new.
CYRANO (coming nearer, passionately):
Ay, a new tone! In the tender, sheltering dusk
I dare to be myself for once,--at last!
(He stops, falters):
What say I? I know not!--Oh, pardon me--
It thrills me,--'tis so sweet, so novel. . .
ROXANE:
How?
So novel?
CYRANO (off his balance, trying to find the thread of his sentence):
Ay,--to be at last sincere;
Till now, my chilled heart, fearing to be mocked. . .
ROXANE:
Mocked, and for what?
CYRANO:
For its mad beating!--Ay,
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!
ROXANE:
A wild flower's sweet.
CYRANO:
Ay, but to-night--the star!
ROXANE:
Oh! never have you spoken thus before!
CYRANO:
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!
ROXANE:
But wit?. . .
CYRANO:
If I have used it to arrest you
At the first starting,--now, 'twould be an outrage,
An insult--to the perfumed Night--to Nature--
To speak fine words that garnish vain love-letters!
Look up but at her stars! The quiet Heaven
Will ease our hearts of all things artificial;
I fear lest, 'midst the alchemy we're skilled in
The truth of sentiment dissolve and vanish,--
The soul exhausted by these empty pastimes,
The gain of fine things be the loss of all things!
ROXANE:
But wit? I say. . .
CYRANO:
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!
ROXANE:
Well, if that moment's come for us--suppose it!
What words would serve you?
CYRANO:
All, all, all, whatever
That came to me, e'en as they came, I'd fling them
In a wild cluster, not a careful bouquet.
I love thee! I am mad! I love, I stifle!
Thy name is in my heart as in a sheep-bell,
And as I ever tremble, thinking of thee,
Ever the bell shakes, ever thy name ringeth!
All things of thine I mind, for I love all things;
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--
So, when I quit thy beams, my dazzled vision
Sees upon all things a blonde stain imprinted.
ROXANE (agitated):
Why, this is love indeed!. . .
CYRANO:
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--far off and lonely,--
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? So late, dost understand me?
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!
Too fair! 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,--throned there in the branches?
Ay, like a leaf among the leaves, you tremble!
You tremble! For I feel,--an if you will it,
Or will it not,--your hand's beloved trembling
Thrill through the branches, down your sprays of jasmine!
(He kisses passionately one of the hanging tendrils.)
ROXANE:
Ay! I am trembling, weeping!--I am thine!
Thou hast conquered all of me!
CYRANO:
Then let death come!
'Tis I, 'tis I myself, who conquered thee!
One thing, but one, I dare to ask--
CHRISTIAN (under the balcony):
A kiss!
ROXANE (drawing back):
What?
CYRANO:
Oh!
ROXANE:
You ask. . .?
CYRANO:
I. . .
(To Christian, whispering):
Fool! you go too quick!
CHRISTIAN:
Since she is moved thus--I will profit by it!
CYRANO (to Roxane):
My words sprang thoughtlessly, but now I see--
Shame on me!--I was too presumptuous.
ROXANE (a little chilled):
How quickly you withdraw.
CYRANO:
Yes, I withdraw
Without withdrawing! Hurt I modesty?
If so--the kiss I asked--oh, grant it not.
CHRISTIAN (to Cyrano, pulling him by his cloak):
Why?
CYRANO:
Silence, Christian! Hush!
ROXANE (leaning over):
What whisper you?
CYRANO:
I chid myself for my too bold advances;
Said, 'Silence, Christian!'
(The lutes begin to play):
Hark! Wait awhile,. . .
Steps come!
(Roxane shuts the window. Cyrano listens to the lutes, one of which plays a
merry, the other a melancholy, tune):
Why, they play sad--then gay--then sad! What? Neither man nor woman?--oh!
a monk!
(Enter a capuchin friar, with a lantern. He goes from house to house, looking
at every door.)
| Notes Rostand cleverly reveals the methodology that Christian and Cyrano employ to trick Roxane. Cyrano tries to find out from Roxane what mood she is in and what she would like to discuss with Christian. He then coaches the handsome cadet on what to say. Christian, however, is tired of giving canned speeches to his true love. He rebels and says he wants to talk about the subject of love with Roxane on his own. Not surprisingly, he is a miserable failure. In fact, his performance is so pathetic than he seems almost comic. When Christian cannot express himself, Roxane feels he is being foolish and loses interest in him. Desperate to make amends to her, Christian asks for Cyrano's help. The clever Cyrano, who has no time to coach Christian in an appropriate speech, comes up with an alternative plan. From a hiding place in the darkness, he will whisper to Christian what to say as he stands below Roxane's window. Christian agrees to the plan. The vacillation of Christian's feelings for Cyrano is an effective dramatic device that draws the audience closer to Cyrano. When Christian rejects Cyrano's offer of help in preparing a speech about love, the audience is meant to judge Christian as foolish and unappreciative even though they accept that he is only trying to maintain some measure of self-respect. Then when he grovels and asks for Cyrano's help in winning Roxane back, Christian is meant to be judged as weak and pathetic, while Cyrano is seen as generous and helpful. | analysis |
Cyrano, Christian, a capuchin friar.
CYRANO (to the friar):
What do you, playing at Diogenes?
THE FRIAR:
I seek the house of Madame. . .
CHRISTIAN:
Oh! plague take him!
THE FRIAR:
Madeleine Robin. . .
CHRISTIAN:
What would he?. . .
CYRANO (pointing to a street at the back):
This way!
Straight on. . .
THE FRIAR
I thank you, and, in your intention
Will tell my rosary to its last bead.
(He goes out.)
CYRANO:
Good luck! My blessings rest upon your cowl!
(He goes back to Christian.)
| As planned, Christian stands under Roxane's balcony and repeats the words that Cyrano tells him from his hiding place in the darkness. Although it is a wonderful figurative speech about love and its effects, Roxane is not pleased with its delivery. Christian speaks very haltingly, for he must constantly wait for Cyrano's prompting. Realizing what is happening, Cyrano, still under the cover of darkness, takes over. He imitates Christian's voice and gives full vent to his great passion in brilliant poetic imagery. In the end, he gives a sincere confession of his great love and what he would do for Roxane. She responds by declaring her intoxication for him. At this point, Christian jumps back in and asks for a kiss. Roxane responds by drawing back. The awkwardness of the moment is relieved when suddenly the pages play their warning music. Since it seems to be both a happy and sad tune at once, Cyrano fails to understand whether the person approaching is a man or a woman. He understands, however, when he sees a Capuchin monk, a rather sexless figure, coming towards him. | summary |
Cyrano, Christian, a capuchin friar.
CYRANO (to the friar):
What do you, playing at Diogenes?
THE FRIAR:
I seek the house of Madame. . .
CHRISTIAN:
Oh! plague take him!
THE FRIAR:
Madeleine Robin. . .
CHRISTIAN:
What would he?. . .
CYRANO (pointing to a street at the back):
This way!
Straight on. . .
THE FRIAR
I thank you, and, in your intention
Will tell my rosary to its last bead.
(He goes out.)
CYRANO:
Good luck! My blessings rest upon your cowl!
(He goes back to Christian.)
| Notes This humorous balcony scene, filled with dramatic irony, has become quite famous. Cyrano hides in the darkness marvelously expressing his true emotions for Roxane. His speech is filled with sensory images and comparisons, such as calling his heart a bell. It is Christian, however, who delivers the words of love to Roxane. Of course, since he has to wait for Cyrano's prompting, Christian's delivery of the message is very poor; he continually halts and hesitates. Not able to stand his own words being butchered, Cyrano jumps in. Disguising his voice to sound like Christian, he actually tells Roxane how he feels for her. Roxane, of course, thinks it is Christian speaking. Roxane is intoxicated by Cyrano's lovely words and expresses her feelings of love. Sadly, the words of love are aimed at Christian. The irony of the scene is obvious. Cyrano has longed to woo Roxane, whom he dearly loves, but he is too ashamed of his ugly appearance to approach her. Now he has the golden opportunity to speak his true emotions from the heart - first with Christian as the mouthpiece and then using his own disguised voice. He has dreamed about being able to express his love directly to Roxane, but he never believed it would happen. Now that he is speaking to her, even though it under cover of darkness and hypocrisy, he gets carried away. It is surprising that a close analysis of Cyrano's words reveal that he is skeptical of the ability of language to convey emotions. Half way through his romantic discourse he calls it "daintily sipping stale sentimentality from ornate golden cups" and tries to turn to "fresher things" from the river of love. Rostand, through Cyrano, shows that he is well aware of some of the trite images he has used, and his purpose seems to be as much to educate the audience about pretentious language as to turn Roxane's attention from sentimentality to a deeper more sincere expression of emotion. Just as the scene seems to reach excess, the talented Rostand makes Christian interrupt. He shocks Roxane by asking her for a kiss, which she refuses to give. The awkwardness of the moment is cleverly dispelled by the re-entry of the musical pages. When they see a Capuchin monk approaching, they want to play a musical warning, as they promised they would do; however, since they cannot decide whether to play a happy song, indicating a female, or a sad song, indicating a male, they play a song that is both happy and sad. Cyrano is totally confused until he sees the monk approaching. He then understands the mixed signal of the musicians. | analysis |
Cyrano, Christian.
CHRISTIAN:
Oh! win for me that kiss. . .
CYRANO:
No!
CHRISTIAN:
Soon or late!. . .
CYRANO:
'Tis true! The moment of intoxication--
Of madness,--when your mouths are sure to meet
Thanks to your fair mustache--and her rose lips!
(To himself):
I'd fainer it should come thanks to. . .
(A sound of shutters reopening. Christian goes in again under the balcony.)
| The monk is looking for Roxane's house, but Cyrano coolly and cleverly misdirects him. The monk blesses Cyrano and goes merrily on his way. Christian reminds Cyrano to ask Roxane for a kiss once again. Although the audience realizes that the embrace will be painful for Cyrano, he sees the inevitability of these two attractive young people coming together. He also knows that his words have made their coming together a reality. | summary |
Cyrano, Christian.
CHRISTIAN:
Oh! win for me that kiss. . .
CYRANO:
No!
CHRISTIAN:
Soon or late!. . .
CYRANO:
'Tis true! The moment of intoxication--
Of madness,--when your mouths are sure to meet
Thanks to your fair mustache--and her rose lips!
(To himself):
I'd fainer it should come thanks to. . .
(A sound of shutters reopening. Christian goes in again under the balcony.)
| Notes The Capuchin monk being misdirected and then blessing Cyrano for his guidance is a light, humorous moment in the play. The moment is spoiled with Christian's insistence on receiving a kiss from Roxane. He instructs Cyrano that he needs to again speak in the voice of Christian and ask Roxane for the embrace one more time. Cyrano's resigned tone and his checked hope are both aimed at making the audience sympathize with Cyrano, who is the more deserving person. | analysis |
Cyrano, Christian, Roxane.
ROXANE (coming out on the balcony):
Still there?
We spoke of a. . .
CYRANO:
A kiss! 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!
ROXANE:
Hush! hush!
CYRANO:
A kiss, when all is said,--what is it?
An oath that's ratified,--a sealed promise,
A heart's avowal claiming confirmation,--
A rose-dot on the 'i' of 'adoration,'--
A secret that to mouth, not ear, 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!
ROXANE:
Hush! hush!
CYRANO:
A kiss, Madame, is honorable:
The Queen of France, to a most favored lord
Did grant a kiss--the Queen herself!
ROXANE:
What then?
CYRANO (speaking more warmly):
Buckingham suffered dumbly,--so have I,--
Adored his Queen, as loyally as I,--
Was sad, but faithful,--so am I. . .
ROXANE:
And you
Are fair as Buckingham!
CYRANO (aside--suddenly cooled):
True,--I forgot!
ROXANE:
Must I then bid thee mount to cull this flower?
CYRANO (pushing Christian toward the balcony):
Mount!
ROXANE:
This heart-breathing!. . .
CYRANO:
Mount!
ROXANE:
This brush of bee's wing!. . .
CYRANO:
Mount!
CHRISTIAN (hesitating):
But I feel now, as though 'twere ill done!
ROXANE:
This moment infinite!. . .
CYRANO (still pushing him):
Come, blockhead, mount!
(Christian springs forward, and by means of the bench, the branches, and the
pillars, climbs to the balcony and strides over it.)
CHRISTIAN:
Ah, Roxane!
(He takes her in his arms, and bends over her lips.)
CYRANO:
Aie! Strange pain that wrings my heart!
The kiss, love's feast, so near! I, Lazarus,
Lie at the gate in darkness. Yet to me
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--my words!
(The lutes play):
A sad air,--a gay air: the monk!
(He begins to run as if he came from a long way off, and cries out):
Hola!
ROXANE:
Who is it?
CYRANO:
I--I was but passing by. . .
Is Christian there?
CHRISTIAN (astonished):
Cyrano!
ROXANE:
Good-day, cousin!
CYRANO:
Cousin, good-day!
ROXANE:
I'm coming!
(She disappears into the house. At the back re-enter the friar.)
CHRISTIAN (seeing him):
Back again!
(He follows Roxane.)
| The monk is looking for Roxane's house, but Cyrano coolly and cleverly misdirects him. The monk blesses Cyrano and goes merrily on his way. Christian reminds Cyrano to ask Roxane for a kiss once again. Although the audience realizes that the embrace will be painful for Cyrano, he sees the inevitability of these two attractive young people coming together. He also knows that his words have made their coming together a reality. | summary |
Cyrano, Christian, Roxane.
ROXANE (coming out on the balcony):
Still there?
We spoke of a. . .
CYRANO:
A kiss! 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!
ROXANE:
Hush! hush!
CYRANO:
A kiss, when all is said,--what is it?
An oath that's ratified,--a sealed promise,
A heart's avowal claiming confirmation,--
A rose-dot on the 'i' of 'adoration,'--
A secret that to mouth, not ear, 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!
ROXANE:
Hush! hush!
CYRANO:
A kiss, Madame, is honorable:
The Queen of France, to a most favored lord
Did grant a kiss--the Queen herself!
ROXANE:
What then?
CYRANO (speaking more warmly):
Buckingham suffered dumbly,--so have I,--
Adored his Queen, as loyally as I,--
Was sad, but faithful,--so am I. . .
ROXANE:
And you
Are fair as Buckingham!
CYRANO (aside--suddenly cooled):
True,--I forgot!
ROXANE:
Must I then bid thee mount to cull this flower?
CYRANO (pushing Christian toward the balcony):
Mount!
ROXANE:
This heart-breathing!. . .
CYRANO:
Mount!
ROXANE:
This brush of bee's wing!. . .
CYRANO:
Mount!
CHRISTIAN (hesitating):
But I feel now, as though 'twere ill done!
ROXANE:
This moment infinite!. . .
CYRANO (still pushing him):
Come, blockhead, mount!
(Christian springs forward, and by means of the bench, the branches, and the
pillars, climbs to the balcony and strides over it.)
CHRISTIAN:
Ah, Roxane!
(He takes her in his arms, and bends over her lips.)
CYRANO:
Aie! Strange pain that wrings my heart!
The kiss, love's feast, so near! I, Lazarus,
Lie at the gate in darkness. Yet to me
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--my words!
(The lutes play):
A sad air,--a gay air: the monk!
(He begins to run as if he came from a long way off, and cries out):
Hola!
ROXANE:
Who is it?
CYRANO:
I--I was but passing by. . .
Is Christian there?
CHRISTIAN (astonished):
Cyrano!
ROXANE:
Good-day, cousin!
CYRANO:
Cousin, good-day!
ROXANE:
I'm coming!
(She disappears into the house. At the back re-enter the friar.)
CHRISTIAN (seeing him):
Back again!
(He follows Roxane.)
| Notes The Capuchin monk being misdirected and then blessing Cyrano for his guidance is a light, humorous moment in the play. The moment is spoiled with Christian's insistence on receiving a kiss from Roxane. He instructs Cyrano that he needs to again speak in the voice of Christian and ask Roxane for the embrace one more time. Cyrano's resigned tone and his checked hope are both aimed at making the audience sympathize with Cyrano, who is the more deserving person. | analysis |
Cyrano, Christian, Roxane, the friar, Ragueneau.
THE FRIAR:
'Tis here,--I'm sure of it--Madame Madeleine Robin.
CYRANO:
Why, you said Ro-LIN.
THE FRIAR:
No, not I.
B,I,N,BIN!
ROXANE (appearing on the threshold, followed by Ragueneau, who carries a
lantern, and Christian):
What is't?
THE FRIAR:
A letter.
CHRISTIAN:
What?
THE FRIAR (to Roxane):
Oh, it can boot but a holy business!
'Tis from a worthy lord. . .
ROXANE (to Christian):
De Guiche!
CHRISTIAN:
He dares. . .
ROXANE:
Oh, he will not importune me forever!
(Unsealing the letter):
I love you,--therefore--
(She reads in a low voice by the aid of Ragueneau's lantern):
'Lady,
The drums beat;
My regiment buckles its harness on
And starts; but I,--they deem me gone before--
But I stay. I have dared to disobey
Your mandate. I am here in convent walls.
I come to you to-night. By this poor monk--
A simple fool who knows not what he bears--
I send this missive to apprise your ear.
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,
Receive alone him,--whose great boldness you
Have deigned, I hope, to pardon, ere he asks,--
He who is ever your--et cetera.'
(To the monk):
Father, this is the matter of the letter:--
(All come near her, and she reads aloud):
'Lady,
The Cardinal's wish is law; albeit
It be to you unwelcome. For this cause
I send these lines--to your fair ear addressed--
By a holy man, discreet, intelligent:
It is our will that you receive from him,
In your own house, the marriage
(She turns the page):
benediction
Straightway, this night. Unknown to all the world
Christian becomes your husband. Him we send.
He is abhorrent to your choice. Let be.
Resign yourself, and this obedience
Will be by Heaven well recompensed. Receive,
Fair lady, all assurance of respect,
From him who ever was, and still remains,
Your humble and obliged--et cetera.'
THE FRIAR (with great delight):
O worthy lord! I knew naught was to fear;
It could be but holy business!
ROXANE (to Christian, in a low voice):
Am I not apt at reading letters?
CHRISTIAN:
Hum!
ROXANE (aloud, with despair):
But this is horrible!
THE FRIAR (who has turned his lantern on Cyrano):
'Tis you?
CHRISTIAN:
'Tis I!
THE FRIAR (turning the light on to him, and as if a doubt struck him on seeing
his beauty):
But. . .
ROXANE (quickly):
I have overlooked the postscript--see:--
'Give twenty pistoles for the Convent.'
THE FRIAR:
. . .Oh!
Most worthy lord!
(To Roxane):
Submit you?
ROXANE (with a martyr's look):
I submit!
(While Ragueneau opens the door, and Christian invites the friar to enter, she
whispers to Cyrano):
Oh, keep De Guiche at bay! He will be here!
Let him not enter till. . .
CYRANO:
I understand!
(To the friar):
What time need you to tie the marriage-knot?
THE FRIAR:
A quarter of an hour.
CYRANO (pushing them all toward the house):
Go! I stay.
ROXANE (to Christian):
Come!. . .
(They enter.)
CYRANO:
Now, how to detain De Guiche so long?
(He jumps on the bench, climbs to the balcony by the wall):
Come!. . .up I go!. . .I have my plan!. . .
(The lutes begin to play a very sad air):
What, ho!
(The tremolo grows more and more weird):
It is a man! ay! 'tis a man this time!
(He is on the balcony, pulls his hat over his eyes, takes off his sword, wraps
himself in his cloak, then leans over):
'Tis not too high!
(He strides across the balcony, and drawing to him a long branch of one of the
trees that are by the garden wall, he hangs on to it with both hands, ready to
let himself fall):
I'll shake this atmosphere!
| When Roxane opens the window again, Cyrano resumes talking in Christian's voice, giving a charming dissertation on a kiss. Roxane is so stirred by the words that she wants Christian to immediately come up and give her that "matchless flower... of communion." Cyrano pushes Christian up towards the balcony so Christian can kiss the true love of them both. Cyrano interrupts Roxane and Christian, for the monk is returning, as signaled by the pages. Roxane offers to come down and see the monk, who is angry for being misled by Cyrano. The monk has been trying to find Roxane, for he has a letter for her, written and sent by De Guiche. Roxane reads the letter. De Guiche explains that he has not gone to Arras; instead, he has stayed behind in order to visit with Roxane, who is horrified at the news. She decides to do something rash. She will take advantage of the moment and the monk's presence. She tells the monk that the letter instructs him to marry her to Christian at once, for Cardinal Richelieu has ordered it. She pretends to oppose the idea and seems to be reluctant to go into the house to be married. Of course, she has really masterminded the whole thing. As she enters the house for the wedding, Roxane turns to Cyrano and asks him to delay De Guiche's arrival. | summary |
Cyrano, Christian, Roxane, the friar, Ragueneau.
THE FRIAR:
'Tis here,--I'm sure of it--Madame Madeleine Robin.
CYRANO:
Why, you said Ro-LIN.
THE FRIAR:
No, not I.
B,I,N,BIN!
ROXANE (appearing on the threshold, followed by Ragueneau, who carries a
lantern, and Christian):
What is't?
THE FRIAR:
A letter.
CHRISTIAN:
What?
THE FRIAR (to Roxane):
Oh, it can boot but a holy business!
'Tis from a worthy lord. . .
ROXANE (to Christian):
De Guiche!
CHRISTIAN:
He dares. . .
ROXANE:
Oh, he will not importune me forever!
(Unsealing the letter):
I love you,--therefore--
(She reads in a low voice by the aid of Ragueneau's lantern):
'Lady,
The drums beat;
My regiment buckles its harness on
And starts; but I,--they deem me gone before--
But I stay. I have dared to disobey
Your mandate. I am here in convent walls.
I come to you to-night. By this poor monk--
A simple fool who knows not what he bears--
I send this missive to apprise your ear.
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,
Receive alone him,--whose great boldness you
Have deigned, I hope, to pardon, ere he asks,--
He who is ever your--et cetera.'
(To the monk):
Father, this is the matter of the letter:--
(All come near her, and she reads aloud):
'Lady,
The Cardinal's wish is law; albeit
It be to you unwelcome. For this cause
I send these lines--to your fair ear addressed--
By a holy man, discreet, intelligent:
It is our will that you receive from him,
In your own house, the marriage
(She turns the page):
benediction
Straightway, this night. Unknown to all the world
Christian becomes your husband. Him we send.
He is abhorrent to your choice. Let be.
Resign yourself, and this obedience
Will be by Heaven well recompensed. Receive,
Fair lady, all assurance of respect,
From him who ever was, and still remains,
Your humble and obliged--et cetera.'
THE FRIAR (with great delight):
O worthy lord! I knew naught was to fear;
It could be but holy business!
ROXANE (to Christian, in a low voice):
Am I not apt at reading letters?
CHRISTIAN:
Hum!
ROXANE (aloud, with despair):
But this is horrible!
THE FRIAR (who has turned his lantern on Cyrano):
'Tis you?
CHRISTIAN:
'Tis I!
THE FRIAR (turning the light on to him, and as if a doubt struck him on seeing
his beauty):
But. . .
ROXANE (quickly):
I have overlooked the postscript--see:--
'Give twenty pistoles for the Convent.'
THE FRIAR:
. . .Oh!
Most worthy lord!
(To Roxane):
Submit you?
ROXANE (with a martyr's look):
I submit!
(While Ragueneau opens the door, and Christian invites the friar to enter, she
whispers to Cyrano):
Oh, keep De Guiche at bay! He will be here!
Let him not enter till. . .
CYRANO:
I understand!
(To the friar):
What time need you to tie the marriage-knot?
THE FRIAR:
A quarter of an hour.
CYRANO (pushing them all toward the house):
Go! I stay.
ROXANE (to Christian):
Come!. . .
(They enter.)
CYRANO:
Now, how to detain De Guiche so long?
(He jumps on the bench, climbs to the balcony by the wall):
Come!. . .up I go!. . .I have my plan!. . .
(The lutes begin to play a very sad air):
What, ho!
(The tremolo grows more and more weird):
It is a man! ay! 'tis a man this time!
(He is on the balcony, pulls his hat over his eyes, takes off his sword, wraps
himself in his cloak, then leans over):
'Tis not too high!
(He strides across the balcony, and drawing to him a long branch of one of the
trees that are by the garden wall, he hangs on to it with both hands, ready to
let himself fall):
I'll shake this atmosphere!
| Notes The dramatic irony of the play continues to build in these scenes. While expounding on the meaning of a kiss in Christian's voice, Cyrano is really declaring his own love for Roxane. He states that a kiss is "a seal on the pact that has already been signed" and "a secret told to the mouth rather than the ear." He then speaks of a kiss as "the hush of eternity" and the "fragrance of a flower," word images that reveal how Cyrano can fuse the senses into a total experience of sound and smell. The words of Cyrano, spoken by Christian, are so moving that Roxane calls Christian to come up on her balcony and give her a kiss at once. The kind Cyrano, whose heart must be breaking, gives Christian a boost to get up on the balcony so he can seal his love for Roxane. As the handsome couple embraces, Cyrano vicariously experiences the kiss, knowing that Roxane is rewarding Christian because of Cyrano's words. He also accepts the inevitability of an attraction between this handsome man and woman. Neither Cyrano nor Christian is prepared for what happens next. When the monk returns and gives Roxane a letter from De Guiche, she cleverly comes up with an astounding plan. Although the letter states that De Guiche has not gone to Arras in order to be with Roxane, she tells the monk that the letter states that she should marry Christian immediately, on the orders of Cardinal Richelieu. She proves she is a good actress, for she pretends to be very reluctant to go inside and have the monk carry out the orders. The simple-minded monk is tricked once again. He goes inside to perform the ceremony while Cyrano waits outside to delay De Guiche, as Roxane has asked him to do. It is not perfectly clear why Roxane decides to marry Christian in haste. Although the words of Cyrano and the kiss of Christian have raised her to a feverish pitch, she is normally a clever and intelligent woman. Unless love has totally clouded her mind, it must be assumed that she is frightened by the intentions of De Guiche, whom she knows is a very powerful man who usually gets his way. By marrying Christian, she can put a real roadblock in De Guiche's plans for her. And of course, she has always found Christian extremely attractive, ever since the moment she first laid eyes on him in the theater in the first act. | analysis |
Cyrano, De Guiche.
DE GUICHE (who enters, masked, feeling his way in the dark):
What can that cursed Friar be about?
CYRANO:
The devil!. . .If he knows my voice!
(Letting go with one hand, he pretends to turn an invisible key. Solemnly):
Cric! Crac!
Assume thou, Cyrano, to serve the turn,
The accent of thy native Bergerac!. . .
DE GUICHE (looking at the house):
'Tis there. I see dim,--this mask hinders me!
(He is about to enter, when Cyrano leaps from the balcony, holding on to the
branch, which bends, dropping him between the door and De Guiche; he pretends
to fall heavily, as from a great height, and lies flat on the ground,
motionless, as if stunned. De Guiche starts back):
What's this?
(When he looks up, the branch has sprung back into its place. He sees only
the sky, and is lost in amazement):
Where fell that man from?
CYRANO (sitting up, and speaking with a Gascon accent):
From the moon!
DE GUICHE:
From?. . .
CYRANO (in a dreamy voice):
What's o'clock?
DE GUICHE:
He's lost his mind, for sure!
CYRANO:
What hour? What country this? What month? What day?
DE GUICHE:
But. . .
CYRANO:
I am stupefied!
DE GUICHE:
Sir!
CYRANO:
Like a bomb
I fell from the moon!
DE GUICHE (impatiently):
Come now!
CYRANO (rising, in a terrible voice):
I say,--the moon!
DE GUICHE (recoiling):
Good, good! let it be so!. . .He's raving mad!
CYRANO (walking up to him):
I say from the moon! I mean no metaphor!. . .
DE GUICHE:
But. . .
CYRANO:
Was't a hundred years--a minute, since?
--I cannot guess what time that fall embraced!--
That I was in that saffron-colored ball?
DE GUICHE (shrugging his shoulders):
Good! let me pass!
CYRANO (intercepting him):
Where am I? Tell the truth!
Fear not to tell! Oh, spare me not! Where? where?
Have I fallen like a shooting star?
DE GUICHE:
Morbleu!
CYRANO:
The fall was lightning-quick! no time to choose
Where I should fall--I know not where it be!
Oh, tell me! Is it on a moon or earth,
that my posterior weight has landed me?
DE GUICHE:
I tell you, Sir. . .
CYRANO (with a screech of terror, which makes De Guiche start back):
No? Can it be? I'm on
A planet where men have black faces?
DE GUICHE (putting a hand to his face):
What?
CYRANO (feigning great alarm):
Am I in Africa? A native you?
DE GUICHE (who has remembered his mask):
This mask of mine. . .
CYRANO (pretending to be reassured):
In Venice? ha!--or Rome?
DE GUICHE (trying to pass):
A lady waits. .
CYRANO (quite reassured):
Oh-ho! I am in Paris!
DE GUICHE (smiling in spite of himself):
The fool is comical!
CYRANO:
You laugh?
DE GUICHE:
I laugh,
But would get by!
CYRANO (beaming with joy):
I have shot back to Paris!
(Quite at ease, laughing, dusting himself, bowing):
Come--pardon me--by the last water-spout,
Covered with ether,--accident of travel!
My eyes still full of star-dust, and my spurs
Encumbered by the planets' filaments!
(Picking something off his sleeve):
Ha! on my doublet?--ah, a comet's hair!. . .
(He puffs as if to blow it away.)
DE GUICHE (beside himself):
Sir!. . .
CYRANO (just as he is about to pass, holds out his leg as if to show him
something and stops him):
In my leg--the calf--there is a tooth
Of the Great Bear, and, passing Neptune close,
I would avoid his trident's point, and fell,
Thus sitting, plump, right in the Scales! My weight
Is marked, still registered, up there in heaven!
(Hurriedly preventing De Guiche from passing, and detaining him by the button
of his doublet):
I swear to you that if you squeezed my nose
It would spout milk!
DE GUICHE:
Milk?
CYRANO:
From the Milky Way!
DE GUICHE:
Oh, go to hell!
CYRANO (crossing his arms):
I fall, Sir, out of heaven!
Now, would you credit it, that as I fell
I saw that Sirius wears a nightcap? True!
(Confidentially):
The other Bear is still too small to bite.
(Laughing):
I went through the Lyre, but I snapped a cord;
(Grandiloquent):
I mean to write the whole thing in a book;
The small gold stars, that, wrapped up in my cloak,
I carried safe away at no small risks,
Will serve for asterisks i' the printed page!
DE GUICHE:
Come, make an end! I want. . .
CYRANO:
Oh-ho! You are sly!
DE GUICHE:
Sir!
CYRANO:
You would worm all out of me!--the way
The moon is made, and if men breathe and live
In its rotund cucurbita?
DE GUICHE (angrily):
No, no!
I want. . .
CYRANO:
Ha, ha!--to know how I got up?
Hark, it was by a method all my own.
DE GUICHE (wearied):
He's mad!
CYRANO(contemptuously):
No! not for me the stupid eagle
Of Regiomontanus, nor the timid
Pigeon of Archytas--neither of those!
DE GUICHE:
Ay, 'tis a fool! But 'tis a learned fool!
CYRANO:
No imitator I of other men!
(De Guiche has succeeded in getting by, and goes toward Roxane's door. Cyrano
follows him, ready to stop him by force):
Six novel methods, all, this brain invented!
DE GUICHE (turning round):
Six?
CYRANO (volubly):
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!
DE GUICHE (surprised, making one step toward Cyrano):
Ah! that makes one!
CYRANO (stepping back, and enticing him further away):
And then, the second way,
To generate wind--for my impetus--
To rarefy air, in a cedar case,
By mirrors placed icosahedron-wise.
DE GUICHE (making another step):
Two!
CYRANO (still stepping backward):
Or--for I have some mechanic skill--
To make a grasshopper, with springs of steel,
And launch myself by quick succeeding fires
Saltpeter-fed to the stars' pastures blue!
DE GUICHE (unconsciously following him and counting on his fingers):
Three!
CYRANO:
Or (since fumes have property to mount)--
To charge a globe with fumes, sufficiently
To carry me aloft!
DE GUICHE (same play, more and more astonished):
Well, that makes four!
CYRANO:
Or smear myself with marrow from a bull,
Since, at the lowest point of Zodiac,
Phoebus well loves to suck that marrow up!
DE GUICHE (amazed):
Five!
CYRANO (who, while speaking, had drawn him to the other side of the square
near a bench):
Sitting on an iron platform--thence
To throw a magnet in the air. This is
A method well conceived--the magnet flown,
Infallibly the iron will pursue:
Then quick! relaunch your magnet, and you thus
Can mount and mount unmeasured distances!
DE GUICHE:
Here are six excellent expedients!
Which of the six chose you?
CYRANO:
Why, none!--a seventh!
DE GUICHE:
Astonishing! What was it?
CYRANO:
I'll recount.
DE GUICHE:
This wild eccentric becomes interesting!
CYRANO (making a noise like the waves, with weird gestures):
Houuh! Houuh!
DE GUICHE:
Well.
CYRANO:
You have guessed?
DE GUICHE:
Not I!
CYRANO:
The tide!
I' th' witching hour when the moon woos the wave,
I laid me, fresh from a sea-bath, on the shore--
And, failing not to put head foremost--for
The hair holds the sea-water in its mesh--
I rose in air, straight! straight! like angel's flight,
And mounted, mounted, gently, effortless,. . .
When lo! a sudden shock! Then. . .
DE GUICHE (overcome by curiosity, sitting down on the bench):
Then?
CYRANO:
Oh! then. . .
(Suddenly returning to his natural voice):
The quarter's gone--I'll hinder you no more:
The marriage-vows are made.
DE GUICHE (springing up):
What? Am I mad?
That voice?
(The house-door opens. Lackeys appear carrying lighted candelabra. Light.
Cyrano gracefully uncovers):
That nose--Cyrano?
CYRANO (bowing):
Cyrano.
While we were chatting, they have plighted troth.
DE GUICHE:
Who?
(He turns round. Tableau. Behind the lackeys appear Roxane and Christian,
holding each other by the hand. The friar follows them, smiling. Ragueneau
also holds a candlestick. The duenna closes the rear, bewildered, having made
a hasty toilet):
Heavens!
| When Roxane opens the window again, Cyrano resumes talking in Christian's voice, giving a charming dissertation on a kiss. Roxane is so stirred by the words that she wants Christian to immediately come up and give her that "matchless flower... of communion." Cyrano pushes Christian up towards the balcony so Christian can kiss the true love of them both. Cyrano interrupts Roxane and Christian, for the monk is returning, as signaled by the pages. Roxane offers to come down and see the monk, who is angry for being misled by Cyrano. The monk has been trying to find Roxane, for he has a letter for her, written and sent by De Guiche. Roxane reads the letter. De Guiche explains that he has not gone to Arras; instead, he has stayed behind in order to visit with Roxane, who is horrified at the news. She decides to do something rash. She will take advantage of the moment and the monk's presence. She tells the monk that the letter instructs him to marry her to Christian at once, for Cardinal Richelieu has ordered it. She pretends to oppose the idea and seems to be reluctant to go into the house to be married. Of course, she has really masterminded the whole thing. As she enters the house for the wedding, Roxane turns to Cyrano and asks him to delay De Guiche's arrival. | summary |
Cyrano, De Guiche.
DE GUICHE (who enters, masked, feeling his way in the dark):
What can that cursed Friar be about?
CYRANO:
The devil!. . .If he knows my voice!
(Letting go with one hand, he pretends to turn an invisible key. Solemnly):
Cric! Crac!
Assume thou, Cyrano, to serve the turn,
The accent of thy native Bergerac!. . .
DE GUICHE (looking at the house):
'Tis there. I see dim,--this mask hinders me!
(He is about to enter, when Cyrano leaps from the balcony, holding on to the
branch, which bends, dropping him between the door and De Guiche; he pretends
to fall heavily, as from a great height, and lies flat on the ground,
motionless, as if stunned. De Guiche starts back):
What's this?
(When he looks up, the branch has sprung back into its place. He sees only
the sky, and is lost in amazement):
Where fell that man from?
CYRANO (sitting up, and speaking with a Gascon accent):
From the moon!
DE GUICHE:
From?. . .
CYRANO (in a dreamy voice):
What's o'clock?
DE GUICHE:
He's lost his mind, for sure!
CYRANO:
What hour? What country this? What month? What day?
DE GUICHE:
But. . .
CYRANO:
I am stupefied!
DE GUICHE:
Sir!
CYRANO:
Like a bomb
I fell from the moon!
DE GUICHE (impatiently):
Come now!
CYRANO (rising, in a terrible voice):
I say,--the moon!
DE GUICHE (recoiling):
Good, good! let it be so!. . .He's raving mad!
CYRANO (walking up to him):
I say from the moon! I mean no metaphor!. . .
DE GUICHE:
But. . .
CYRANO:
Was't a hundred years--a minute, since?
--I cannot guess what time that fall embraced!--
That I was in that saffron-colored ball?
DE GUICHE (shrugging his shoulders):
Good! let me pass!
CYRANO (intercepting him):
Where am I? Tell the truth!
Fear not to tell! Oh, spare me not! Where? where?
Have I fallen like a shooting star?
DE GUICHE:
Morbleu!
CYRANO:
The fall was lightning-quick! no time to choose
Where I should fall--I know not where it be!
Oh, tell me! Is it on a moon or earth,
that my posterior weight has landed me?
DE GUICHE:
I tell you, Sir. . .
CYRANO (with a screech of terror, which makes De Guiche start back):
No? Can it be? I'm on
A planet where men have black faces?
DE GUICHE (putting a hand to his face):
What?
CYRANO (feigning great alarm):
Am I in Africa? A native you?
DE GUICHE (who has remembered his mask):
This mask of mine. . .
CYRANO (pretending to be reassured):
In Venice? ha!--or Rome?
DE GUICHE (trying to pass):
A lady waits. .
CYRANO (quite reassured):
Oh-ho! I am in Paris!
DE GUICHE (smiling in spite of himself):
The fool is comical!
CYRANO:
You laugh?
DE GUICHE:
I laugh,
But would get by!
CYRANO (beaming with joy):
I have shot back to Paris!
(Quite at ease, laughing, dusting himself, bowing):
Come--pardon me--by the last water-spout,
Covered with ether,--accident of travel!
My eyes still full of star-dust, and my spurs
Encumbered by the planets' filaments!
(Picking something off his sleeve):
Ha! on my doublet?--ah, a comet's hair!. . .
(He puffs as if to blow it away.)
DE GUICHE (beside himself):
Sir!. . .
CYRANO (just as he is about to pass, holds out his leg as if to show him
something and stops him):
In my leg--the calf--there is a tooth
Of the Great Bear, and, passing Neptune close,
I would avoid his trident's point, and fell,
Thus sitting, plump, right in the Scales! My weight
Is marked, still registered, up there in heaven!
(Hurriedly preventing De Guiche from passing, and detaining him by the button
of his doublet):
I swear to you that if you squeezed my nose
It would spout milk!
DE GUICHE:
Milk?
CYRANO:
From the Milky Way!
DE GUICHE:
Oh, go to hell!
CYRANO (crossing his arms):
I fall, Sir, out of heaven!
Now, would you credit it, that as I fell
I saw that Sirius wears a nightcap? True!
(Confidentially):
The other Bear is still too small to bite.
(Laughing):
I went through the Lyre, but I snapped a cord;
(Grandiloquent):
I mean to write the whole thing in a book;
The small gold stars, that, wrapped up in my cloak,
I carried safe away at no small risks,
Will serve for asterisks i' the printed page!
DE GUICHE:
Come, make an end! I want. . .
CYRANO:
Oh-ho! You are sly!
DE GUICHE:
Sir!
CYRANO:
You would worm all out of me!--the way
The moon is made, and if men breathe and live
In its rotund cucurbita?
DE GUICHE (angrily):
No, no!
I want. . .
CYRANO:
Ha, ha!--to know how I got up?
Hark, it was by a method all my own.
DE GUICHE (wearied):
He's mad!
CYRANO(contemptuously):
No! not for me the stupid eagle
Of Regiomontanus, nor the timid
Pigeon of Archytas--neither of those!
DE GUICHE:
Ay, 'tis a fool! But 'tis a learned fool!
CYRANO:
No imitator I of other men!
(De Guiche has succeeded in getting by, and goes toward Roxane's door. Cyrano
follows him, ready to stop him by force):
Six novel methods, all, this brain invented!
DE GUICHE (turning round):
Six?
CYRANO (volubly):
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!
DE GUICHE (surprised, making one step toward Cyrano):
Ah! that makes one!
CYRANO (stepping back, and enticing him further away):
And then, the second way,
To generate wind--for my impetus--
To rarefy air, in a cedar case,
By mirrors placed icosahedron-wise.
DE GUICHE (making another step):
Two!
CYRANO (still stepping backward):
Or--for I have some mechanic skill--
To make a grasshopper, with springs of steel,
And launch myself by quick succeeding fires
Saltpeter-fed to the stars' pastures blue!
DE GUICHE (unconsciously following him and counting on his fingers):
Three!
CYRANO:
Or (since fumes have property to mount)--
To charge a globe with fumes, sufficiently
To carry me aloft!
DE GUICHE (same play, more and more astonished):
Well, that makes four!
CYRANO:
Or smear myself with marrow from a bull,
Since, at the lowest point of Zodiac,
Phoebus well loves to suck that marrow up!
DE GUICHE (amazed):
Five!
CYRANO (who, while speaking, had drawn him to the other side of the square
near a bench):
Sitting on an iron platform--thence
To throw a magnet in the air. This is
A method well conceived--the magnet flown,
Infallibly the iron will pursue:
Then quick! relaunch your magnet, and you thus
Can mount and mount unmeasured distances!
DE GUICHE:
Here are six excellent expedients!
Which of the six chose you?
CYRANO:
Why, none!--a seventh!
DE GUICHE:
Astonishing! What was it?
CYRANO:
I'll recount.
DE GUICHE:
This wild eccentric becomes interesting!
CYRANO (making a noise like the waves, with weird gestures):
Houuh! Houuh!
DE GUICHE:
Well.
CYRANO:
You have guessed?
DE GUICHE:
Not I!
CYRANO:
The tide!
I' th' witching hour when the moon woos the wave,
I laid me, fresh from a sea-bath, on the shore--
And, failing not to put head foremost--for
The hair holds the sea-water in its mesh--
I rose in air, straight! straight! like angel's flight,
And mounted, mounted, gently, effortless,. . .
When lo! a sudden shock! Then. . .
DE GUICHE (overcome by curiosity, sitting down on the bench):
Then?
CYRANO:
Oh! then. . .
(Suddenly returning to his natural voice):
The quarter's gone--I'll hinder you no more:
The marriage-vows are made.
DE GUICHE (springing up):
What? Am I mad?
That voice?
(The house-door opens. Lackeys appear carrying lighted candelabra. Light.
Cyrano gracefully uncovers):
That nose--Cyrano?
CYRANO (bowing):
Cyrano.
While we were chatting, they have plighted troth.
DE GUICHE:
Who?
(He turns round. Tableau. Behind the lackeys appear Roxane and Christian,
holding each other by the hand. The friar follows them, smiling. Ragueneau
also holds a candlestick. The duenna closes the rear, bewildered, having made
a hasty toilet):
Heavens!
| Notes The dramatic irony of the play continues to build in these scenes. While expounding on the meaning of a kiss in Christian's voice, Cyrano is really declaring his own love for Roxane. He states that a kiss is "a seal on the pact that has already been signed" and "a secret told to the mouth rather than the ear." He then speaks of a kiss as "the hush of eternity" and the "fragrance of a flower," word images that reveal how Cyrano can fuse the senses into a total experience of sound and smell. The words of Cyrano, spoken by Christian, are so moving that Roxane calls Christian to come up on her balcony and give her a kiss at once. The kind Cyrano, whose heart must be breaking, gives Christian a boost to get up on the balcony so he can seal his love for Roxane. As the handsome couple embraces, Cyrano vicariously experiences the kiss, knowing that Roxane is rewarding Christian because of Cyrano's words. He also accepts the inevitability of an attraction between this handsome man and woman. Neither Cyrano nor Christian is prepared for what happens next. When the monk returns and gives Roxane a letter from De Guiche, she cleverly comes up with an astounding plan. Although the letter states that De Guiche has not gone to Arras in order to be with Roxane, she tells the monk that the letter states that she should marry Christian immediately, on the orders of Cardinal Richelieu. She proves she is a good actress, for she pretends to be very reluctant to go inside and have the monk carry out the orders. The simple-minded monk is tricked once again. He goes inside to perform the ceremony while Cyrano waits outside to delay De Guiche, as Roxane has asked him to do. It is not perfectly clear why Roxane decides to marry Christian in haste. Although the words of Cyrano and the kiss of Christian have raised her to a feverish pitch, she is normally a clever and intelligent woman. Unless love has totally clouded her mind, it must be assumed that she is frightened by the intentions of De Guiche, whom she knows is a very powerful man who usually gets his way. By marrying Christian, she can put a real roadblock in De Guiche's plans for her. And of course, she has always found Christian extremely attractive, ever since the moment she first laid eyes on him in the theater in the first act. | analysis |
The same. Roxane, Christian, the friar, Ragueneau, lackeys, the duenna.
DE GUICHE (to Roxane):
You?
(Recognizing Christian, in amazement):
He?
(Bowing, with admiration, to Roxane):
Cunningly contrived!
(To Cyrano):
My compliments--Sir Apparatus-maker!
Your story would arrest at Peter's gate
Saints eager for their Paradise! Note well
The details. 'Faith! They'd make a stirring book!
CYRANO (bowing):
I shall not fail to follow your advice.
THE FRIAR (showing with satisfaction the two lovers to De Guiche):
A handsome couple, son, made one by you!
DE GUICHE (with a freezing look):
Ay!
(To Roxane):
Bid your bridegroom, Madame, fond farewell.
ROXANE:
Why so?
DE GUICHE (to Christian):
Even now the regiment departs.
Join it!
ROXANE:
It goes to battle?
DE GUICHE:
Without doubt.
ROXANE:
But the Cadets go not?
DE GUICHE:
Oh ay! they go.
(Drawing out the paper he had put in his pocket):
Here is the order.
(To Christian):
Baron, bear it, quick!
ROXANE (throwing herself in Christian's arms):
Christian!
DE GUICHE (sneeringly to Cyrano):
The wedding-night is far, methinks!
CYRANO (aside):
He thinks to give me pain of death by this!
CHRISTIAN (to Roxane):
Oh! once again! Your lips!
CYRANO:
Come, come, enough!
CHRISTIAN (still kissing Roxane):
--'Tis hard to leave her, you know not. . .
CYRANO (trying to draw him away):
I know.
(Sound of drums beating a march in the distance.)
DE GUICHE:
The regiment starts!
ROXANE (To Cyrano, holding back Christian, whom Cyrano is drawing away):
Oh!--I trust him you!
Promise me that no risks shall put his life
In danger!
CYRANO:
I will try my best, but promise. . .
That I cannot!
ROXANE:
But swear he shall be prudent?
CYRANO:
Again, I'll do my best, but. . .
ROXANE:
In the siege
Let him not suffer!
CYRANO:
All that man can do,
I. . .
ROXANE:
That he shall be faithful!
CYRANO:
Doubtless, but. . .
ROXANE:
That he will write oft?
CYRANO (pausing):
That, I promise you!
Curtain.
| While Cyrano sits on the rail of the balcony waiting to divert De Guiche, the lutes begin to play a sinister and mournful tune. When De Guiche arrives in mask, Cyrano swings down and lands between him and the door, pretending to be a lunatic who has fallen from the moon. He keeps De Guiche engaged with his chatter about "six ways to violate the virgin sky" and get to the moon. Throughout this dialogue Cyrano speaks with a Gascon accent and keeps his nose concealed with the brim of his hat in order to hide his identity from De Guiche. When the newly married Roxane and Christian emerge from the house, De Guiche grasps the situation. He acknowledges Roxane's cleverness and Cyrano's powers of invention in keeping him occupied. Wanting revenge, however, De Guiche orders that all the cadets must join the regiment and leave for Arras immediately. The distraught Roxane begs Cyrano to ensure Christian's safety, comfort and fidelity. She also asks for regular letters, which Cyrano promises. | summary |
The same. Roxane, Christian, the friar, Ragueneau, lackeys, the duenna.
DE GUICHE (to Roxane):
You?
(Recognizing Christian, in amazement):
He?
(Bowing, with admiration, to Roxane):
Cunningly contrived!
(To Cyrano):
My compliments--Sir Apparatus-maker!
Your story would arrest at Peter's gate
Saints eager for their Paradise! Note well
The details. 'Faith! They'd make a stirring book!
CYRANO (bowing):
I shall not fail to follow your advice.
THE FRIAR (showing with satisfaction the two lovers to De Guiche):
A handsome couple, son, made one by you!
DE GUICHE (with a freezing look):
Ay!
(To Roxane):
Bid your bridegroom, Madame, fond farewell.
ROXANE:
Why so?
DE GUICHE (to Christian):
Even now the regiment departs.
Join it!
ROXANE:
It goes to battle?
DE GUICHE:
Without doubt.
ROXANE:
But the Cadets go not?
DE GUICHE:
Oh ay! they go.
(Drawing out the paper he had put in his pocket):
Here is the order.
(To Christian):
Baron, bear it, quick!
ROXANE (throwing herself in Christian's arms):
Christian!
DE GUICHE (sneeringly to Cyrano):
The wedding-night is far, methinks!
CYRANO (aside):
He thinks to give me pain of death by this!
CHRISTIAN (to Roxane):
Oh! once again! Your lips!
CYRANO:
Come, come, enough!
CHRISTIAN (still kissing Roxane):
--'Tis hard to leave her, you know not. . .
CYRANO (trying to draw him away):
I know.
(Sound of drums beating a march in the distance.)
DE GUICHE:
The regiment starts!
ROXANE (To Cyrano, holding back Christian, whom Cyrano is drawing away):
Oh!--I trust him you!
Promise me that no risks shall put his life
In danger!
CYRANO:
I will try my best, but promise. . .
That I cannot!
ROXANE:
But swear he shall be prudent?
CYRANO:
Again, I'll do my best, but. . .
ROXANE:
In the siege
Let him not suffer!
CYRANO:
All that man can do,
I. . .
ROXANE:
That he shall be faithful!
CYRANO:
Doubtless, but. . .
ROXANE:
That he will write oft?
CYRANO (pausing):
That, I promise you!
Curtain.
| Notes This scene is filled with intentional pathos. Poor Cyrano is left outside to wait for and delay De Guiche while his true love marries Christian inside the house. When De Guiche arrives in mask, the clever Cyrano chatters to him to delay his entering Roxane's house and discovering the wedding that is in progress. Although Cyrano's conversation is intentionally filled with wit and lunacy in order to trick De Guiche, it also reveals his true interest in science; he talks about the constellations of Great Bear and Orion, about the German astronomer and inventor named Regomontanus, and about six possible ways for man to reach the moon. Cyrano is truly a man of the Enlightenment, interested in and knowledgeable about many varied subjects. The act ends with a tragic-comic-ironic reversal. Cyrano, who loves Roxane dearly, has helped Christian to win her love; she now emerges as Christian's wife, largely due to the efforts of Cyrano. Whenever Christian speaks for himself, Roxane does not like him; however, when Cyrano speaks for Christian, Roxane is enamored by the words. It is clear that she has married the wrong man. The philandering De Guiche is simply upset that she has married, for he had his own designs on the beautiful Roxane. To punish her hastiness, Christian's victory, and Cyrano's craftiness, he orders that all of the cadets, including Christian and Cyrano, immediately report to the regiment to leave for Arras. Poor Christian and Roxane will not be able to spend a moment together as husband and wife. Before her husband departs, Roxane begs Cyrano to watch out for Christian's safety, comfort, and fidelity. She also tells Cyrano to make certain that Christian writes letters regularly. Cyrano, of course, will be the one to pen the letters. The thought of writing his true love delights him, even if he cannot sign the letters as his own. | analysis |
Christian, Carbon de Castel-Jaloux, Le Bret, the cadets, then Cyrano.
LE BRET:
'Tis terrible.
CARBON:
Not a morsel left.
LE BRET:
Mordioux!
CARBON (making a sign that he should speak lower):
Curse under your breath. You will awake them.
(To the cadets):
Hush! Sleep on.
(To Le Bret):
He who sleeps, dines!
LE BRET:
But that is sorry comfort for the sleepless!. . .
What starvation!
(Firing is heard in the distance.)
CARBON:
Oh, plague take their firing! 'Twill wake my sons.
(To the cadets, who lift up their heads):
Sleep on!
(Firing is again heard, nearer this time.)
A CADET (moving):
The devil!. . .Again.
CARBON:
'Tis nothing! 'Tis Cyrano coming back!
(Those who have lifted up their heads prepare to sleep again.)
A SENTINEL (from without):
Ventrebieu! Who goes there?
THE VOICE Of CYRANO:
Bergerac.
The SENTINEL (who is on the redoubt):
Ventrebieu! Who goes there?
CYRANO (appearing at the top):
Bergerac, idiot!
(He comes down; Le Bret advances anxiously to meet him.)
LE BRET:
Heavens!
CYRANO (making signs that he should not awake the others):
Hush!
LE BRET:
Wounded?
CYRANO:
Oh! you know it has become their custom to shoot at me every morning and to
miss me.
LE BRET:
This passes all! To take letters at each day's dawn. To risk. . .
CYRANO (stopping before Christian):
I promised he should write often.
(He looks at him):
He sleeps. How pale he is! But how handsome still, despite his sufferings.
If his poor little lady-love knew that he is dying of hunger. . .
LE BRET:
Get you quick to bed.
CYRANO:
Nay, never scold, Le Bret. I ran but little risk. I have found me a spot
to pass the Spanish lines, where each night they lie drunk.
LE BRET:
You should try to bring us back provision.
CYRANO:
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!
LE BRET:
Oh!. . .tell me!. . .
CYRANO:
Nay, not yet. I am not certain. . .You will see!
CARBON:
It is disgraceful that we should starve while we're besieging!
LE BRET:
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.
CYRANO:
It were well done if he should be besieged in his turn.
LE BRET:
I am in earnest.
CYRANO:
Oh! indeed!
LE BRET:
To think you risk a life so precious. . .for the sake of a letter. .
.Thankless one.
(Seeing him turning to enter the tent):
Where are you going?
CYRANO:
I am going to write another.
(He enters the tent and disappears.)
| While Cyrano sits on the rail of the balcony waiting to divert De Guiche, the lutes begin to play a sinister and mournful tune. When De Guiche arrives in mask, Cyrano swings down and lands between him and the door, pretending to be a lunatic who has fallen from the moon. He keeps De Guiche engaged with his chatter about "six ways to violate the virgin sky" and get to the moon. Throughout this dialogue Cyrano speaks with a Gascon accent and keeps his nose concealed with the brim of his hat in order to hide his identity from De Guiche. When the newly married Roxane and Christian emerge from the house, De Guiche grasps the situation. He acknowledges Roxane's cleverness and Cyrano's powers of invention in keeping him occupied. Wanting revenge, however, De Guiche orders that all the cadets must join the regiment and leave for Arras immediately. The distraught Roxane begs Cyrano to ensure Christian's safety, comfort and fidelity. She also asks for regular letters, which Cyrano promises. | summary |
Christian, Carbon de Castel-Jaloux, Le Bret, the cadets, then Cyrano.
LE BRET:
'Tis terrible.
CARBON:
Not a morsel left.
LE BRET:
Mordioux!
CARBON (making a sign that he should speak lower):
Curse under your breath. You will awake them.
(To the cadets):
Hush! Sleep on.
(To Le Bret):
He who sleeps, dines!
LE BRET:
But that is sorry comfort for the sleepless!. . .
What starvation!
(Firing is heard in the distance.)
CARBON:
Oh, plague take their firing! 'Twill wake my sons.
(To the cadets, who lift up their heads):
Sleep on!
(Firing is again heard, nearer this time.)
A CADET (moving):
The devil!. . .Again.
CARBON:
'Tis nothing! 'Tis Cyrano coming back!
(Those who have lifted up their heads prepare to sleep again.)
A SENTINEL (from without):
Ventrebieu! Who goes there?
THE VOICE Of CYRANO:
Bergerac.
The SENTINEL (who is on the redoubt):
Ventrebieu! Who goes there?
CYRANO (appearing at the top):
Bergerac, idiot!
(He comes down; Le Bret advances anxiously to meet him.)
LE BRET:
Heavens!
CYRANO (making signs that he should not awake the others):
Hush!
LE BRET:
Wounded?
CYRANO:
Oh! you know it has become their custom to shoot at me every morning and to
miss me.
LE BRET:
This passes all! To take letters at each day's dawn. To risk. . .
CYRANO (stopping before Christian):
I promised he should write often.
(He looks at him):
He sleeps. How pale he is! But how handsome still, despite his sufferings.
If his poor little lady-love knew that he is dying of hunger. . .
LE BRET:
Get you quick to bed.
CYRANO:
Nay, never scold, Le Bret. I ran but little risk. I have found me a spot
to pass the Spanish lines, where each night they lie drunk.
LE BRET:
You should try to bring us back provision.
CYRANO:
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!
LE BRET:
Oh!. . .tell me!. . .
CYRANO:
Nay, not yet. I am not certain. . .You will see!
CARBON:
It is disgraceful that we should starve while we're besieging!
LE BRET:
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.
CYRANO:
It were well done if he should be besieged in his turn.
LE BRET:
I am in earnest.
CYRANO:
Oh! indeed!
LE BRET:
To think you risk a life so precious. . .for the sake of a letter. .
.Thankless one.
(Seeing him turning to enter the tent):
Where are you going?
CYRANO:
I am going to write another.
(He enters the tent and disappears.)
| Notes This scene is filled with intentional pathos. Poor Cyrano is left outside to wait for and delay De Guiche while his true love marries Christian inside the house. When De Guiche arrives in mask, the clever Cyrano chatters to him to delay his entering Roxane's house and discovering the wedding that is in progress. Although Cyrano's conversation is intentionally filled with wit and lunacy in order to trick De Guiche, it also reveals his true interest in science; he talks about the constellations of Great Bear and Orion, about the German astronomer and inventor named Regomontanus, and about six possible ways for man to reach the moon. Cyrano is truly a man of the Enlightenment, interested in and knowledgeable about many varied subjects. The act ends with a tragic-comic-ironic reversal. Cyrano, who loves Roxane dearly, has helped Christian to win her love; she now emerges as Christian's wife, largely due to the efforts of Cyrano. Whenever Christian speaks for himself, Roxane does not like him; however, when Cyrano speaks for Christian, Roxane is enamored by the words. It is clear that she has married the wrong man. The philandering De Guiche is simply upset that she has married, for he had his own designs on the beautiful Roxane. To punish her hastiness, Christian's victory, and Cyrano's craftiness, he orders that all of the cadets, including Christian and Cyrano, immediately report to the regiment to leave for Arras. Poor Christian and Roxane will not be able to spend a moment together as husband and wife. Before her husband departs, Roxane begs Cyrano to watch out for Christian's safety, comfort, and fidelity. She also tells Cyrano to make certain that Christian writes letters regularly. Cyrano, of course, will be the one to pen the letters. The thought of writing his true love delights him, even if he cannot sign the letters as his own. | analysis |
Mother Marguerite, Sister Martha, Sister Claire, other sisters.
SISTER MARTHA (to Mother Marguerite):
Sister Claire glanced in the mirror, once--nay, twice, to see if her coif
suited.
MOTHER MARGUERITE (to Sister Claire):
'Tis not well.
SISTER CLAIRE:
But I saw Sister Martha take a plum
Out of the tart.
MOTHER MARGUERITE (to Sister Martha):
That was ill done, my sister.
SISTER CLAIRE:
A little glance!
SISTER MARTHA:
And such a little plum!
MOTHER MARGUERITE:
I shall tell this to Monsieur Cyrano.
SISTER CLAIRE:
Nay, prithee do not!--he will mock!
SISTER MARTHA:
He'll say we nuns are vain!
SISTER CLAIRE:
And greedy!
MOTHER MARGUERITE (smiling):
Ay, and kind!
SISTER CLAIRE:
Is it not true, pray, Mother Marguerite,
That he has come, each week, on Saturday
For ten years, to the convent?
MOTHER MARGUERITE:
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!
SISTER MARTHA:
He only has the skill to turn her mind
From grief--unsoftened yet by Time--unhealed!
ALL THE SISTERS:
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!
SISTER MARTHA:
But, he is not a faithful Catholic!
SISTER CLAIRE:
We will convert him!
THE SISTERS:
Yes! Yes!
MOTHER MARGUERITE:
I forbid,
My daughters, you attempt that subject. Nay,
Weary him not--he might less oft come here!
SISTER MARTHA:
But. . .God. . .
MOTHER MARGUERITE:
Nay, never fear! God knows him well!
SISTER MARTHA:
But--every Saturday, when he arrives,
He tells me, 'Sister, I eat meat on Friday!'
MOTHER MARGUERITE:
Ah! says he so? Well, the last time he came
Food had not passed his lips for two whole days!
SISTER MARTHA:
Mother!
MOTHER MARGUERITE:
He's poor.
SISTER MARTHA:
Who told you so, dear Mother?
MOTHER MARGUERITE:
Monsieur Le Bret.
SISTER MARTHA:
None help him?
MOTHER MARGUERITE:
He permits not.
(In an alley at the back Roxane appears, dressed in black, with a widow's coif
and veil. De Guiche, imposing-looking and visibly aged, walks by her side.
They saunter slowly. Mother Marguerite rises):
'Tis time we go in; Madame Madeleine
Walks in the garden with a visitor.
SISTER MARTHA (to Sister Claire, in a low voice):
The Marshal of Grammont?
SISTER CLAIRE (looking at him):
'Tis he, I think.
SISTER MARTHA:
'Tis many months now since he came to see her.
THE SISTERS:
He is so busy!--The Court,--the camp!. . .
SISTER CLAIRE:
The world!
(They go out. De Guiche and Roxane come forward in silence, and stop close to
the embroidery frame.)
| The scene is set in the evening at a post outside of Arras. It opens with a dialogue between Captain Carbon de Castel-Jaloux and Le Bret in which they indicate that the besieged French troops are miserable, depressed, and hungry. Since the Spanish troops have cut off their supplies, the French have no food. Cyrano seems to be the only one in camp that is not miserable. He is still awake even though most of the cadets are sleeping, for he has just traveled through the Spanish line in order to dispatch a letter to Roxane, as he does everyday. The letters that he writes give him great pleasure. | summary |
Mother Marguerite, Sister Martha, Sister Claire, other sisters.
SISTER MARTHA (to Mother Marguerite):
Sister Claire glanced in the mirror, once--nay, twice, to see if her coif
suited.
MOTHER MARGUERITE (to Sister Claire):
'Tis not well.
SISTER CLAIRE:
But I saw Sister Martha take a plum
Out of the tart.
MOTHER MARGUERITE (to Sister Martha):
That was ill done, my sister.
SISTER CLAIRE:
A little glance!
SISTER MARTHA:
And such a little plum!
MOTHER MARGUERITE:
I shall tell this to Monsieur Cyrano.
SISTER CLAIRE:
Nay, prithee do not!--he will mock!
SISTER MARTHA:
He'll say we nuns are vain!
SISTER CLAIRE:
And greedy!
MOTHER MARGUERITE (smiling):
Ay, and kind!
SISTER CLAIRE:
Is it not true, pray, Mother Marguerite,
That he has come, each week, on Saturday
For ten years, to the convent?
MOTHER MARGUERITE:
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!
SISTER MARTHA:
He only has the skill to turn her mind
From grief--unsoftened yet by Time--unhealed!
ALL THE SISTERS:
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!
SISTER MARTHA:
But, he is not a faithful Catholic!
SISTER CLAIRE:
We will convert him!
THE SISTERS:
Yes! Yes!
MOTHER MARGUERITE:
I forbid,
My daughters, you attempt that subject. Nay,
Weary him not--he might less oft come here!
SISTER MARTHA:
But. . .God. . .
MOTHER MARGUERITE:
Nay, never fear! God knows him well!
SISTER MARTHA:
But--every Saturday, when he arrives,
He tells me, 'Sister, I eat meat on Friday!'
MOTHER MARGUERITE:
Ah! says he so? Well, the last time he came
Food had not passed his lips for two whole days!
SISTER MARTHA:
Mother!
MOTHER MARGUERITE:
He's poor.
SISTER MARTHA:
Who told you so, dear Mother?
MOTHER MARGUERITE:
Monsieur Le Bret.
SISTER MARTHA:
None help him?
MOTHER MARGUERITE:
He permits not.
(In an alley at the back Roxane appears, dressed in black, with a widow's coif
and veil. De Guiche, imposing-looking and visibly aged, walks by her side.
They saunter slowly. Mother Marguerite rises):
'Tis time we go in; Madame Madeleine
Walks in the garden with a visitor.
SISTER MARTHA (to Sister Claire, in a low voice):
The Marshal of Grammont?
SISTER CLAIRE (looking at him):
'Tis he, I think.
SISTER MARTHA:
'Tis many months now since he came to see her.
THE SISTERS:
He is so busy!--The Court,--the camp!. . .
SISTER CLAIRE:
The world!
(They go out. De Guiche and Roxane come forward in silence, and stop close to
the embroidery frame.)
| Notes This scene is a total contrast to the earlier light, humorous scenes. It gives Background Information about what has happened at Arras between the time of the last scene, set at Roxane's house, and this scene, set at the Gascon camp outside of Arras. The Spanish troops have encircled the French and cut off their supplies, including food. The French soldiers are now miserable and hungry, and Carbon and Le Bret look particularly weak. Cyrano alone manages to be his usual self because he gets satisfaction in writing to Roxane. He also finds excitement in risking his life by crossing the enemy line in order to mail the letters back to Roxane. The irony is that the letters are supposedly written by Christian, so Cyrano gets no credit for them. | analysis |
The same, all but Cyrano. The day is breaking in a rosy light. The town of
Arras is golden in the horizon. The report of cannon is heard in the
distance, followed immediately by the beating of drums far away to the left.
Other drums are heard much nearer. Sounds of stirring in the camp. Voices of
officers in the distance.
CARBON (sighing):
The reveille!
(The cadets move and stretch themselves):
Nourishing sleep! Thou art at an end!. . .I know well what will be their
first cry!
A CADET (sitting up):
I am so hungry!
ANOTHER:
I am dying of hunger.
TOGETHER:
Oh!
CARBON:
Up with you!
THIRD CADET:
--Cannot move a limb.
FOURTH CADET:
Nor can I.
THE FIRST (looking at himself in a bit of armor):
My tongue is yellow. The air at this season of the year is hard to digest.
ANOTHER:
My coronet for a bit of Chester!
ANOTHER:
If none can furnish to my gaster wherewith to make a pint of chyle, I shall
retire to my tent--like Achilles!
ANOTHER:
Oh! something! were it but a crust!
CARBON (going to the tent and calling softly):
Cyrano!
ALL THE CADETS:
We are dying!
CARBON (continuing to speak under his breath at the opening of the tent):
Come to my aid, you, who have the art of quick retort and gay jest. Come,
hearten them up.
SECOND CADET (rushing toward another who is munching something):
What are you crunching there?
FIRST CADET:
Cannon-wads soaked in axle-grease! 'Tis poor hunting round about Arras!
A CADET (entering):
I have been after game.
ANOTHER (following him):
And I after fish.
ALL (rushing to the two newcomers):
Well! what have you brought?--a pheasant?--a carp?--Come, show us quick!
THE ANGLER:
A gudgeon!
THE SPORTSMAN:
A sparrow!
ALL TOGETHER (beside themselves):
'Tis more than can be borne! We will mutiny!
CARBON:
Cyrano! Come to my help.
(The daylight has now come.)
| When they rise the next morning, the cadets complain of their hunger and threaten to mutiny. Captain Carbon appeals to Cyrano to come forth from his tent and handle the situation. Cyrano obliges. He tries to joke about the Cadet's hunger by punning on their complaints and offering them The Iliad, which he is reading, as food for thought. When he realizes that is wit is not helping to cheer up the cadets, he calls the regiment piper to play Gascon tunes. Carbon protests, saying the songs about home will make the cadets weep. Cyrano explains that it is more noble to weep from homesickness than from hunger. When a drum roll is heard, the cadets become excited. When Cyrano sees that De Guiche is approaching, he warns the cadets not to let this man, whom they mock as a mere courtier and not a soldier, see how miserable they are. | summary |
The same, all but Cyrano. The day is breaking in a rosy light. The town of
Arras is golden in the horizon. The report of cannon is heard in the
distance, followed immediately by the beating of drums far away to the left.
Other drums are heard much nearer. Sounds of stirring in the camp. Voices of
officers in the distance.
CARBON (sighing):
The reveille!
(The cadets move and stretch themselves):
Nourishing sleep! Thou art at an end!. . .I know well what will be their
first cry!
A CADET (sitting up):
I am so hungry!
ANOTHER:
I am dying of hunger.
TOGETHER:
Oh!
CARBON:
Up with you!
THIRD CADET:
--Cannot move a limb.
FOURTH CADET:
Nor can I.
THE FIRST (looking at himself in a bit of armor):
My tongue is yellow. The air at this season of the year is hard to digest.
ANOTHER:
My coronet for a bit of Chester!
ANOTHER:
If none can furnish to my gaster wherewith to make a pint of chyle, I shall
retire to my tent--like Achilles!
ANOTHER:
Oh! something! were it but a crust!
CARBON (going to the tent and calling softly):
Cyrano!
ALL THE CADETS:
We are dying!
CARBON (continuing to speak under his breath at the opening of the tent):
Come to my aid, you, who have the art of quick retort and gay jest. Come,
hearten them up.
SECOND CADET (rushing toward another who is munching something):
What are you crunching there?
FIRST CADET:
Cannon-wads soaked in axle-grease! 'Tis poor hunting round about Arras!
A CADET (entering):
I have been after game.
ANOTHER (following him):
And I after fish.
ALL (rushing to the two newcomers):
Well! what have you brought?--a pheasant?--a carp?--Come, show us quick!
THE ANGLER:
A gudgeon!
THE SPORTSMAN:
A sparrow!
ALL TOGETHER (beside themselves):
'Tis more than can be borne! We will mutiny!
CARBON:
Cyrano! Come to my help.
(The daylight has now come.)
| Notes When the cadets wake and threaten mutiny, Cyrano is called to calm them. His interaction with the cadets reveals his natural leadership and his keen wit. To try and cheer the cadets, he gives French proverbs about hunger and wittily comments on them. When the wit fails to work on the cadets, he orders the piper to play folk songs from the homeland, hoping to inspire the cadets with a desire to fight and live so that they can eventually return home. Although the cadets weep at the sound of the songs, Cyrano declares it is better to weep from homesickness than from hunger. It is interesting that Cyrano is reading The Iliad, a classic text about the Trojan War, and offers to the cadets as food for thought to alleviate their hunger. In that war, the Greeks besieged the city of Troy for a very long time before the action started and that is the obvious parallel here, for the cadets wait for the fighting to begin. It is also interesting to note that in World War I, Cyrano de Bergerac was the favorite thing to read among the French troops. | analysis |
The SAME. Cyrano.
CYRANO (appearing from the tent, very calm, with a pen stuck behind his ear
and a book in his hand):
What is wrong?
(Silence. To the first cadet):
Why drag you your legs so sorrowfully?
THE CADET:
I have something in my heels which weighs them down.
CYRANO:
And what may that be?
THE CADET:
My stomach!
CYRANO:
So have I, 'faith!
THE CADET:
It must be in your way?
CYRANO:
Nay, I am all the taller.
A THIRD:
My stomach's hollow.
CYRANO:
'Faith, 'twill make a fine drum to sound the assault.
ANOTHER:
I have a ringing in my ears.
CYRANO:
No, no, 'tis false; a hungry stomach has no ears.
ANOTHER:
Oh, to eat something--something oily!
CYRANO (pulling off the cadet's helmet and holding it out to him):
Behold your salad!
ANOTHER:
What, in God's name, can we devour?
CYRANO (throwing him the book which he is carrying):
The 'Iliad'.
ANOTHER:
The first minister in Paris has his four meals a day!
CYRANO:
'Twere courteous an he sent you a few partridges!
THE SAME:
And why not? with wine, too!
CYRANO:
A little Burgundy. Richelieu, s'il vous plait!
THE SAME:
He could send it by one of his friars.
CYRANO:
Ay! by His Eminence Joseph himself.
ANOTHER:
I am as ravenous as an ogre!
CYRANO:
Eat your patience, then.
THE FIRST CADET (shrugging his shoulders):
Always your pointed word!
CYRANO:
Ay, pointed words!
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.
CRIES FROM ALL:
I'm hungry!
CYRANO (crossing his arms):
All your thoughts of meat and drink!
Bertrand the fifer!--you were shepherd once,--
Draw from its double leathern case your fife,
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!. . .
(The old man seats himself, and gets his flute ready):
Your flute was now a warrior in durance;
But on its stem your fingers are a-dancing
A bird-like minuet! O flute! Remember
That flutes were made of reeds first, not laburnum;
Make us a music pastoral days recalling--
The soul-time of your youth, in country pastures!. . .
(The old man begins to play the airs of Languedoc):
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!. . .
Hark!. . .'tis the valley, the wet landes, the forest,
The sunburnt shepherd-boy with scarlet beret,
The dusk of evening on the Dordogne river,--
'Tis Gascony! Hark, Gascons, to the music!
(The cadets sit with bowed heads; their eyes have a far-off look as if
dreaming, and they surreptitiously wipe away their tears with their cuffs and
the corner of their cloaks.)
CARBON (to Cyrano in a whisper):
But you make them weep!
CYRANO:
Ay, for homesickness. A nobler pain than hunger,--'tis of the soul, not of
the body! I am well pleased to see their pain change its viscera. Heart-ache
is better than stomach-ache.
CARBON:
But you weaken their courage by playing thus on their heart-strings!
CYRANO (making a sign to a drummer to approach):
Not I. The hero that sleeps in Gascon blood is ever ready to awake in them.
'Twould suffice. . .
(He makes a signal; the drum beats.)
ALL THE CADETS (stand up and rush to take arms):
What? What is it?
CYRANO (smiling):
You see! One roll of the drum is enough! Good-by dreams, regrets, native
land, love. . .All that the pipe called forth the drum has chased away!
A CADET (looking toward the back of the stage):
Ho! here comes Monsieur de Guiche.
ALL THE CADETS (muttering):
Ugh!. . .Ugh!. . .
CYRANO (smiling):
A flattering welcome!
A CADET:
We are sick to death of him!
ANOTHER CADET:
--With his lace collar over his armor, playing the fine gentleman!
ANOTHER:
As if one wore linen over steel!
THE FIRST:
It were good for a bandage had he boils on his neck.
THE SECOND:
Another plotting courtier!
ANOTHER CADET:
His uncle's own nephew!
CARBON:
For all that--a Gascon.
THE FIRST:
Ay, false Gascon!. . .trust him not. . .
Gascons should ever be crack-brained. . .
Naught more dangerous than a rational Gascon.
LE BRET:
How pale he is!
ANOTHER:
Oh! 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.
CYRANO (hurriedly):
Let us not seem to suffer either! Out with your cards, pipes, and dice. . .
(All begin spreading out the games on the drums, the stools, the ground, and
on their cloaks, and light long pipes):
And I shall read Descartes.
(He walks up and down, reading a little book which he has drawn from his
pocket. Tableau. Enter De Guiche. All appear absorbed and happy. He is
very pale. He goes up to Carbon.)
| When they rise the next morning, the cadets complain of their hunger and threaten to mutiny. Captain Carbon appeals to Cyrano to come forth from his tent and handle the situation. Cyrano obliges. He tries to joke about the Cadet's hunger by punning on their complaints and offering them The Iliad, which he is reading, as food for thought. When he realizes that is wit is not helping to cheer up the cadets, he calls the regiment piper to play Gascon tunes. Carbon protests, saying the songs about home will make the cadets weep. Cyrano explains that it is more noble to weep from homesickness than from hunger. When a drum roll is heard, the cadets become excited. When Cyrano sees that De Guiche is approaching, he warns the cadets not to let this man, whom they mock as a mere courtier and not a soldier, see how miserable they are. | summary |
The SAME. Cyrano.
CYRANO (appearing from the tent, very calm, with a pen stuck behind his ear
and a book in his hand):
What is wrong?
(Silence. To the first cadet):
Why drag you your legs so sorrowfully?
THE CADET:
I have something in my heels which weighs them down.
CYRANO:
And what may that be?
THE CADET:
My stomach!
CYRANO:
So have I, 'faith!
THE CADET:
It must be in your way?
CYRANO:
Nay, I am all the taller.
A THIRD:
My stomach's hollow.
CYRANO:
'Faith, 'twill make a fine drum to sound the assault.
ANOTHER:
I have a ringing in my ears.
CYRANO:
No, no, 'tis false; a hungry stomach has no ears.
ANOTHER:
Oh, to eat something--something oily!
CYRANO (pulling off the cadet's helmet and holding it out to him):
Behold your salad!
ANOTHER:
What, in God's name, can we devour?
CYRANO (throwing him the book which he is carrying):
The 'Iliad'.
ANOTHER:
The first minister in Paris has his four meals a day!
CYRANO:
'Twere courteous an he sent you a few partridges!
THE SAME:
And why not? with wine, too!
CYRANO:
A little Burgundy. Richelieu, s'il vous plait!
THE SAME:
He could send it by one of his friars.
CYRANO:
Ay! by His Eminence Joseph himself.
ANOTHER:
I am as ravenous as an ogre!
CYRANO:
Eat your patience, then.
THE FIRST CADET (shrugging his shoulders):
Always your pointed word!
CYRANO:
Ay, pointed words!
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.
CRIES FROM ALL:
I'm hungry!
CYRANO (crossing his arms):
All your thoughts of meat and drink!
Bertrand the fifer!--you were shepherd once,--
Draw from its double leathern case your fife,
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!. . .
(The old man seats himself, and gets his flute ready):
Your flute was now a warrior in durance;
But on its stem your fingers are a-dancing
A bird-like minuet! O flute! Remember
That flutes were made of reeds first, not laburnum;
Make us a music pastoral days recalling--
The soul-time of your youth, in country pastures!. . .
(The old man begins to play the airs of Languedoc):
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!. . .
Hark!. . .'tis the valley, the wet landes, the forest,
The sunburnt shepherd-boy with scarlet beret,
The dusk of evening on the Dordogne river,--
'Tis Gascony! Hark, Gascons, to the music!
(The cadets sit with bowed heads; their eyes have a far-off look as if
dreaming, and they surreptitiously wipe away their tears with their cuffs and
the corner of their cloaks.)
CARBON (to Cyrano in a whisper):
But you make them weep!
CYRANO:
Ay, for homesickness. A nobler pain than hunger,--'tis of the soul, not of
the body! I am well pleased to see their pain change its viscera. Heart-ache
is better than stomach-ache.
CARBON:
But you weaken their courage by playing thus on their heart-strings!
CYRANO (making a sign to a drummer to approach):
Not I. The hero that sleeps in Gascon blood is ever ready to awake in them.
'Twould suffice. . .
(He makes a signal; the drum beats.)
ALL THE CADETS (stand up and rush to take arms):
What? What is it?
CYRANO (smiling):
You see! One roll of the drum is enough! Good-by dreams, regrets, native
land, love. . .All that the pipe called forth the drum has chased away!
A CADET (looking toward the back of the stage):
Ho! here comes Monsieur de Guiche.
ALL THE CADETS (muttering):
Ugh!. . .Ugh!. . .
CYRANO (smiling):
A flattering welcome!
A CADET:
We are sick to death of him!
ANOTHER CADET:
--With his lace collar over his armor, playing the fine gentleman!
ANOTHER:
As if one wore linen over steel!
THE FIRST:
It were good for a bandage had he boils on his neck.
THE SECOND:
Another plotting courtier!
ANOTHER CADET:
His uncle's own nephew!
CARBON:
For all that--a Gascon.
THE FIRST:
Ay, false Gascon!. . .trust him not. . .
Gascons should ever be crack-brained. . .
Naught more dangerous than a rational Gascon.
LE BRET:
How pale he is!
ANOTHER:
Oh! 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.
CYRANO (hurriedly):
Let us not seem to suffer either! Out with your cards, pipes, and dice. . .
(All begin spreading out the games on the drums, the stools, the ground, and
on their cloaks, and light long pipes):
And I shall read Descartes.
(He walks up and down, reading a little book which he has drawn from his
pocket. Tableau. Enter De Guiche. All appear absorbed and happy. He is
very pale. He goes up to Carbon.)
| Notes When the cadets wake and threaten mutiny, Cyrano is called to calm them. His interaction with the cadets reveals his natural leadership and his keen wit. To try and cheer the cadets, he gives French proverbs about hunger and wittily comments on them. When the wit fails to work on the cadets, he orders the piper to play folk songs from the homeland, hoping to inspire the cadets with a desire to fight and live so that they can eventually return home. Although the cadets weep at the sound of the songs, Cyrano declares it is better to weep from homesickness than from hunger. It is interesting that Cyrano is reading The Iliad, a classic text about the Trojan War, and offers to the cadets as food for thought to alleviate their hunger. In that war, the Greeks besieged the city of Troy for a very long time before the action started and that is the obvious parallel here, for the cadets wait for the fighting to begin. It is also interesting to note that in World War I, Cyrano de Bergerac was the favorite thing to read among the French troops. | analysis |
The same. De Guiche.
DE GUICHE (to Carbon):
Good-day!
(They examine each other. Aside, with satisfaction):
He's green.
CARBON (aside):
He has nothing left but eyes.
DE GUICHE (looking at the cadets):
Here are the rebels! 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, and barons of Perigord,
Scarce find for me--their Colonel--a disdain
Sufficient! call me plotter, wily courtier!
It does not please their mightiness to see
A point-lace collar on my steel cuirass,--
And they enrage, because a man, in sooth,
May be no ragged-robin, yet a Gascon!
(Silence. All smoke and play):
Shall I command your Captain punish you?
No.
CARBON:
I am free, moreover,--will not punish--
DE GUICHE:
Ah!
CARBON:
I have paid my company--'tis mine.
I bow but to headquarters.
DE GUICHE:
So?--in faith!
That will suffice.
(Addressing himself to the cadets):
I can despise your taunts
'Tis well known how I bear me in the war;
At Bapaume, yesterday, they saw the rage
With which I beat back the Count of Bucquoi;
Assembling my own men, I fell on his,
And charged three separate times!
CYRANO (without lifting his eyes from his book):
And your white scarf?
DE GUICHE (surprised and gratified):
You know that detail?. . .Troth! It happened thus:
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?
(The cadets pretend not to be listening, but the cards and the dice-boxes
remain suspended in their hands, the smoke of their pipes in their cheeks.
They wait.)
CYRANO:
I say, that Henri Quatre
Had not, by any dangerous odds, been forced
To strip himself of his white helmet plume.
(Silent delight. The cards fall, the dice rattle. The smoke is puffed.)
DE GUICHE:
The ruse succeeded, though!
(Same suspension of play, etc.)
CYRANO:
Oh, may be! But
One does not lightly abdicate the honor
To serve as target to the enemy
(Cards, dice, fall again, and the cadets smoke with evident delight):
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.
DE GUICHE:
Oh, ay! Another Gascon boast!
CYRANO:
A boast?
Lend it to me. I pledge myself, to-night,
--With it across my breast,--to lead th' assault.
DE GUICHE:
Another Gascon vaunt! You know the scarf
Lies with the enemy, upon the brink
Of the stream,. . .the place is riddled now with shot,--
No one can fetch it hither!
CYRANO (drawing the scarf from his pocket, and holding it out to him):
Here it is.
(Silence. The cadets stifle their laughter in their cards and dice-boxes. De
Guiche turns and looks at them; they instantly become grave, and set to play.
One of them whistles indifferently the air just played by the fifer.)
DE GUICHE (taking the scarf):
I thank you. It will now enable me
To make a signal,--that I had forborne
To make--till now.
(He goes to the rampart, climbs it, and waves the scarf thrice.)
ALL:
What's that?
THE SENTINEL (from the top of the rampart):
See you yon man
Down there, who runs?. . .
DE GUICHE (descending):
'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!
CYRANO:
Scoundrel!
DE GUICHE (carelessly knotting on his scarf):
'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!
CARBON:
Ay, if the Spaniards knew, 'twere ill for us,
But they know nothing of it?
DE GUICHE:
Oh! they know.
They will attack us.
CARBON:
Ah!
DE GUICHE:
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.'
CARBON (to cadets):
Make ready!
(All rise; sounds of swords and belts being buckled.)
DE GUICHE:
'Twill be in an hour.
FIRST CADET:
Good!. . .
(They all sit down again and take up their games.)
DE GUICHE (to Carbon):
Time must be gained. The Marshal will return.
CARBON:
How gain it?
DE GUICHE:
You will all be good enough
To let yourselves to be killed.
CYRANO:
Vengeance! oho!
DE GUICHE:
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.
CYRANO:
Permit that I express my gratitude. . .
DE GUICHE:
I know you love to fight against five score;
You will not now complain of paltry odds.
(He goes up with Carbon.)
CYRANO (to the cadets):
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!
(De Guiche speaks in a low voice with Carbon at the back. Orders are given.
Preparations go forward. Cyrano goes up to Christian, who stands with crossed
arms.)
CYRANO (putting his hand on Christian's shoulder):
Christian!
CHRISTIAN (shaking his head):
Roxane!
CYRANO:
Alas!
CHRISTIAN:
At least, I'd send
My heart's farewell to her in a fair letter!. . .
CYRANO:
I had suspicion it would be to-day,
(He draws a letter out of his doublet):
And had already writ. . .
CHRISTIAN:
Show!
CYRANO:
Will you. . .?
CHRISTIAN (taking the letter):
Ay!
(He opens and reads it):
Hold!
CYRANO:
What?
CHRISTIAN:
This little spot!
CYRANO (taking the letter, with an innocent look):
A spot?
CHRISTIAN:
A tear!
CYRANO:
Poets, at last,--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!
CHRISTIAN:
Wept? why?
CYRANO:
Oh!. . .death itself is hardly terrible,. . .
--But, ne'er to see her more! That is death's sting!
--For. . .I shall never. . .
(Christian looks at him):
We shall. . .
(Quickly):
I mean, you. . .
CHRISTIAN (snatching the letter from him):
Give me that letter!
(A rumor, far off in the camp.)
VOICE Of SENTINEL:
Who goes there? Halloo!
(Shots--voices--carriage-bells.)
CARBON:
What is it?
A SENTINEL (on the rampart):
'Tis a carriage!
(All rush to see.)
CRIES:
In the camp?
It enters!--It comes from the enemy!
--Fire!--No!--The coachman cries!--What does he say?
--'On the King's service!'
(Everyone is on the rampart, staring. The bells come nearer.)
DE GUICHE:
The King's service? How?
(All descend and draw up in line.)
CARBON:
Uncover, all!
DE GUICHE:
The King's! Draw up in line!
Let him describe his curve as it befits!
(The carriage enters at full speed covered with dust and mud. The curtains
are drawn close. Two lackeys behind. It is pulled up suddenly.)
CARBON:
Beat a salute!
(A roll of drums. The cadets uncover.)
DE GUICHE:
Lower the carriage-steps!
(Two cadets rush forward. The door opens.)
ROXANE (jumping down from the carriage):
Good-day!
(All are bowing to the ground, but at the sound of a woman's voice every head
is instantly raised.)
| De Guiche enters and the cadets ignore him, for they do not want him to see their misery. Carbon and De Guiche greet each other and are pleased to see that each of them is reduced to skin and bone, proof that no one is escaping the suffering and misery. De Guiche, however, complains that Carbon's cadets hold him in contempt because he is a courtier and not a typical ragged Gascon. He goes on to claim his own great courage, as shown the day before in attacking the troops of Count de Bucquoi at Bapaume. The perceptive and clever Cyrano interrupts to ask about the white scarf of an officer that is in his possession. It belongs to De Guiche. He was wearing it at the attack the day before. When things started going badly, De Guiche removed the white scarf and threw it on the ground, hoping the enemy would not recognize him as an officer and take him captive. Seeing the act of De Guiche's cowardice, Cyrano picked up the scarf and now produces it, embarrassing De Guiche and proving that he is not courageous as he claimed. De Guiche tries to convince everyone that he dropped the scarf so that he could flee and regroup his men for another attack. No one believes him. De Guiche takes the scarf and waves it to a Spanish spy, who is waiting some distance away. This double agent is now to inform the Spaniards to attack the cadet's post in order to draw attention away from the French Marshall, who has gone to Dourlens to find some food for himself and his troops. By placing Cyrano and the cadets in the enemy line of fire, De Guiche is being vindictive towards them, as well as trying to protect the marshal on his return. As the cadets prepare to fight, Cyrano grows excited over the thought of battle. Christian, however, is stunned and wants to take time to write a farewell letter to Roxane. Cyrano has already prepared one, which he gives to Christian to read. The letter explains that dying is not nearly so difficult as never seeing Roxane again. As he reads, Christian is startled to see Cyrano's tears on letter. Cyrano explains that the words were so beautiful that they brought tears to his eyes. Suddenly a carriage is announced. De Guiche thinks it might be the king, and the cadets line up and bow in expectation. Instead of royalty, it is Roxane. Her appearance stuns everyone completely. | summary |
The same. Roxane.
DE GUICHE:
On the King's service! You?
ROXANE:
Ay,--King Love's! What other king?
CYRANO:
Great God!
CHRISTIAN (rushing forward):
Why have you come?
ROXANE:
This siege--'tis too long!
CHRISTIAN:
But why?. . .
ROXANE:
I will tell you all!
CYRANO (who, at the sound of her voice, has stood still, rooted to the ground,
afraid to raise his eyes):
My God! dare I look at her?
DE GUICHE:
You cannot remain here!
ROXANE (merrily):
But I say yes! Who will push a drum hither for me?
(She seats herself on the drum they roll forward):
So! I thank you.
(She laughs):
My carriage was fired at
(proudly):
by the patrol! Look! would you not think 'twas made of a pumpkin, like
Cinderella's chariot in the tale,--and the footmen out of rats?
(Sending a kiss with her lips to Christian):
Good-morrow!
(Examining them all):
You look not merry, any of you! Ah! know you that 'tis a long road to get
to Arras?
(Seeing Cyrano):
Cousin, delighted!
CYRANO (coming up to her):
But how, in Heaven's name?. . .
ROXANE:
How found I the way to the army? It was simple enough, for I had but to
pass on and on, as far as I saw the country laid waste. Ah, what horrors were
there! Had I not seen, then I could never have believed it! Well, gentlemen,
if such be the service of your King, I would fainer serve mine!
CYRANO:
But 'tis sheer madness! Where in the fiend's name did you get through?
ROXANE:
Where? Through the Spanish lines.
FIRST CADET:
--For subtle craft, give me a woman!
DE GUICHE:
But how did you pass through their lines?
LE BRET:
Faith! that must have been a hard matter!. . .
ROXANE:
None too hard. I but drove quietly forward in my carriage, and when some
hidalgo of haughty mien would have stayed me, lo! I showed at the window my
sweetest smile, and these Senors being (with no disrespect to you) the most
gallant gentlemen in the world,--I passed on!
CARBON:
True, that smile is a passport! But you must have been asked frequently to
give an account of where you were going, Madame?
ROXANE:
Yes, frequently. Then I would answer, 'I go to see my lover.' At that word
the very fiercest Spaniard of them all would gravely shut the carriage-door,
and, with a gesture that a king might envy, make signal to his men to lower
the muskets leveled at me;--then, with melancholy but withal very graceful
dignity--his beaver held to the wind that the plumes might flutter bravely, he
would bow low, saying to me, 'Pass on, Senorita!'
CHRISTIAN:
But, Roxane. . .
ROXANE:
Forgive me that I said, 'my lover!' But bethink you, had I said 'my
husband,' not one of them had let me pass!
CHRISTIAN:
But. . .
ROXANE:
What ails you?
DE GUICHE:
You must leave this place!
ROXANE:
I?
CYRANO:
And that instantly!
LE BRET:
No time to lose.
CHRISTIAN:
Indeed, you must.
ROXANE:
But wherefore must I?
CHRISTIAN (embarrassed):
'Tis that. . .
CYRANO (the same):
--In three quarters of an hour. . .
DE GUICHE (the same):
--Or for. . .
CARBON (the same):
It were best. . .
LE BRET (the same):
You might. . .
ROXANE:
You are going to fight?--I stay here.
ALL:
No, no!
ROXANE:
He is my husband!
(She throws herself into Christian's arms):
They shall kill us both together!
CHRISTIAN:
Why do you look at me thus?
ROXANE:
I will tell you why!
DE GUICHE (in despair):
'Tis a post of mortal danger!
ROXANE (turning round):
Mortal danger!
CYRANO:
Proof enough, that he has put us here!
ROXANE (to De Guiche):
So, Sir, you would have made a widow of me?
DE GUICHE:
Nay, on my oath. . .
ROXANE:
I will not go! I am reckless now, and I shall not stir from here!--Besides,
'tis amusing!
CYRANO:
Oh-ho! So our precieuse is a heroine!
ROXANE:
Monsieur de Bergerac, I am your cousin.
A CADET:
We will defend you well!
ROXANE (more and more excited):
I have no fear of that, my friends!
ANOTHER (in ecstasy):
The whole camp smells sweet of orris-root!
ROXANE:
And, by good luck, I have chosen a hat that will suit well with the
battlefield!
(Looking at De Guiche):
But were it not wisest that the Count retire?
They may begin the attack.
DE GUICHE:
That is not to be brooked! I go to inspect the cannon, and shall return.
You have still time--think better of it!
ROXANE:
Never!
(De Guiche goes out.)
| Roxane has passed through the ravages of war in the service of her king, which is love. Using her smile as a passport and telling the gallant Spaniards that she was going to see her lover, she has charmed her way through enemy lines. No one can believe she has risked her life to come here; and everyone wants her to leave at once. No one, however, dares to tell here that they will soon be going into battle. When she deduces the situation, she claims that she wants to stay and die with Christian. She also accuses De Guiche of trying to make her a widow, by having her husband killed in the battle. The cadets are filled with admiration for her courage and stirred to battle to defend her. | summary |
The same. Roxane.
DE GUICHE:
On the King's service! You?
ROXANE:
Ay,--King Love's! What other king?
CYRANO:
Great God!
CHRISTIAN (rushing forward):
Why have you come?
ROXANE:
This siege--'tis too long!
CHRISTIAN:
But why?. . .
ROXANE:
I will tell you all!
CYRANO (who, at the sound of her voice, has stood still, rooted to the ground,
afraid to raise his eyes):
My God! dare I look at her?
DE GUICHE:
You cannot remain here!
ROXANE (merrily):
But I say yes! Who will push a drum hither for me?
(She seats herself on the drum they roll forward):
So! I thank you.
(She laughs):
My carriage was fired at
(proudly):
by the patrol! Look! would you not think 'twas made of a pumpkin, like
Cinderella's chariot in the tale,--and the footmen out of rats?
(Sending a kiss with her lips to Christian):
Good-morrow!
(Examining them all):
You look not merry, any of you! Ah! know you that 'tis a long road to get
to Arras?
(Seeing Cyrano):
Cousin, delighted!
CYRANO (coming up to her):
But how, in Heaven's name?. . .
ROXANE:
How found I the way to the army? It was simple enough, for I had but to
pass on and on, as far as I saw the country laid waste. Ah, what horrors were
there! Had I not seen, then I could never have believed it! Well, gentlemen,
if such be the service of your King, I would fainer serve mine!
CYRANO:
But 'tis sheer madness! Where in the fiend's name did you get through?
ROXANE:
Where? Through the Spanish lines.
FIRST CADET:
--For subtle craft, give me a woman!
DE GUICHE:
But how did you pass through their lines?
LE BRET:
Faith! that must have been a hard matter!. . .
ROXANE:
None too hard. I but drove quietly forward in my carriage, and when some
hidalgo of haughty mien would have stayed me, lo! I showed at the window my
sweetest smile, and these Senors being (with no disrespect to you) the most
gallant gentlemen in the world,--I passed on!
CARBON:
True, that smile is a passport! But you must have been asked frequently to
give an account of where you were going, Madame?
ROXANE:
Yes, frequently. Then I would answer, 'I go to see my lover.' At that word
the very fiercest Spaniard of them all would gravely shut the carriage-door,
and, with a gesture that a king might envy, make signal to his men to lower
the muskets leveled at me;--then, with melancholy but withal very graceful
dignity--his beaver held to the wind that the plumes might flutter bravely, he
would bow low, saying to me, 'Pass on, Senorita!'
CHRISTIAN:
But, Roxane. . .
ROXANE:
Forgive me that I said, 'my lover!' But bethink you, had I said 'my
husband,' not one of them had let me pass!
CHRISTIAN:
But. . .
ROXANE:
What ails you?
DE GUICHE:
You must leave this place!
ROXANE:
I?
CYRANO:
And that instantly!
LE BRET:
No time to lose.
CHRISTIAN:
Indeed, you must.
ROXANE:
But wherefore must I?
CHRISTIAN (embarrassed):
'Tis that. . .
CYRANO (the same):
--In three quarters of an hour. . .
DE GUICHE (the same):
--Or for. . .
CARBON (the same):
It were best. . .
LE BRET (the same):
You might. . .
ROXANE:
You are going to fight?--I stay here.
ALL:
No, no!
ROXANE:
He is my husband!
(She throws herself into Christian's arms):
They shall kill us both together!
CHRISTIAN:
Why do you look at me thus?
ROXANE:
I will tell you why!
DE GUICHE (in despair):
'Tis a post of mortal danger!
ROXANE (turning round):
Mortal danger!
CYRANO:
Proof enough, that he has put us here!
ROXANE (to De Guiche):
So, Sir, you would have made a widow of me?
DE GUICHE:
Nay, on my oath. . .
ROXANE:
I will not go! I am reckless now, and I shall not stir from here!--Besides,
'tis amusing!
CYRANO:
Oh-ho! So our precieuse is a heroine!
ROXANE:
Monsieur de Bergerac, I am your cousin.
A CADET:
We will defend you well!
ROXANE (more and more excited):
I have no fear of that, my friends!
ANOTHER (in ecstasy):
The whole camp smells sweet of orris-root!
ROXANE:
And, by good luck, I have chosen a hat that will suit well with the
battlefield!
(Looking at De Guiche):
But were it not wisest that the Count retire?
They may begin the attack.
DE GUICHE:
That is not to be brooked! I go to inspect the cannon, and shall return.
You have still time--think better of it!
ROXANE:
Never!
(De Guiche goes out.)
| Notes At the end of the last scene, the Cadets have all lined up, bowing low in expectation of the arrival of the king. They are fully shocked when Roxane emerges from the carriage. They are not expecting a beautiful woman in their midst. They respond by stating that the camp suddenly smells of irises and by promising to defend her. The scene reveals new facets of Roxane. Her impulsiveness in coming and her ability to charm the Spanish soldiers are not surprising, for she has been previously pictured as charming and impulsive; but now her keen sense of adventure and her courage are also seen, for she has risked her life to come to the Gascon camp. Since these latter qualities are not thought to be appropriate for fine ladies of intelligence, Rostand tempers her actions by her explanation that the driving force for her has been love. Roxane then further proves her courage by accusing De Guiche of casting the cadets into battle in order to make her a widow. Through her bold actions, she shows that she has everything it takes to be a successful Gascon fighter; only her sex prevents her from being given that opportunity. She still says, however, that she will not leave the battlefield, for she wants to die with her husband. | analysis |
The same, all but De Guiche.
CHRISTIAN (entreatingly):
Roxane!
ROXANE:
No!
FIRST CADET (to the others):
She stays!
ALL (hurrying, hustling each other, tidying themselves):
A comb!--Soap!--My uniform is torn!--A needle!--A ribbon!--Lend your
mirror!--My cuffs!--Your curling-iron!--A razor!. . .
ROXANE (to Cyrano, who still pleads with her):
No! Naught shall make me stir from this spot!
CARBON (who, like the others, has been buckling, dusting, brushing his hat,
settling his plume, and drawing on his cuffs, advances to Roxane, and
ceremoniously):
It is perchance more seemly, since things are thus, that I present to you
some of these gentlemen who are about to have the honor of dying before your
eyes.
(Roxane bows, and stands leaning on Christian's arm, while Carbon introduces
the cadets to her):
Baron de Peyrescous de Colignac!
THE CADET (with a low reverence):
Madame. . .
CARBON (continuing):
Baron de Casterac de Cahuzac,--Vidame de Malgouyre Estressac Lesbas
d'Escarabiot, Chevalier d'Antignac-Juzet, Baron Hillot de Blagnac-Salechan de
Castel Crabioules. . .
ROXANE:
But how many names have you each?
BARON HILLOT:
Scores!
CARBON (to Roxane):
Pray, upon the hand that holds your kerchief.
ROXANE (opens her hand, and the handkerchief falls):
Why?
(The whole company start forward to pick it up.)
CARBON (quickly raising it):
My company had no flag. But now, by my faith, they will have the fairest in
all the camp!
ROXANE (smiling):
'Tis somewhat small.
CARBON (tying the handkerchief on the staff of his lance):
But--'tis of lace!
A CADET (to the rest):
I could die happy, having seen so sweet a face, if I had something in my
stomach--were it but a nut!
CARBON (who has overheard, indignantly):
Shame on you! What, talk of eating when a lovely woman!. . .
ROXANE:
But your camp air is keen; I myself am famished. Pasties, cold fricassee,
old wines--there is my bill of fare? Pray bring it all here.
(Consternation.)
A CADET:
All that?
ANOTHER:
But where on earth find it?
ROXANE (quietly):
In my carriage.
ALL:
How?
ROXANE:
Now serve up--carve! Look a little closer at my coachman, gentlemen, and
you will recognize a man most welcome. All the sauces can be sent to table
hot, if we will!
THE CADETS (rushing pellmell to the carriage):
'Tis Ragueneau!
(Acclamations):
Oh, oh!
ROXANE (looking after them):
Poor fellows!
CYRANO (kissing her hand):
Kind fairy!
RAGUENEAU (standing on the box like a quack doctor at a fair):
Gentlemen!. . .
(General delight.)
THE CADETS:
Bravo! bravo!
RAGUENEAU:
. . .The Spaniards, gazing on a lady so dainty fair, overlooked the fare so
dainty!. . .
(Applause.)
CYRANO (in a whisper to Christian):
Hark, Christian!
RAGUENEAU:
. . .And, occupied with gallantry, perceived not--
(His draws a plate from under the seat, and holds it up):
--The galantine!. . .
(Applause. The galantine passes from hand to hand.)
CYRANO (still whispering to Christian):
Prythee, one word!
RAGUENEAU:
And Venus so attracted their eyes that Diana could secretly pass by with--
(He holds up a shoulder of mutton):
--her fawn!
(Enthusiasm. Twenty hands are held out to seize the shoulder of mutton.)
CYRANO (in a low whisper to Christian):
I must speak to you!
ROXANE (to the cadets, who come down, their arms laden with food):
Put it all on the ground!
(She lays all out on the grass, aided by the two imperturbable lackeys who
were behind the carriage.)
ROXANE (to Christian, just as Cyrano is drawing him apart):
Come, make yourself of use!
(Christian comes to help her. Cyrano's uneasiness increases.)
RAGUENEAU:
Truffled peacock!
FIRST CADET (radiant, coming down, cutting a big slice of ham):
By the mass! We shall not brave the last hazard without having had a
gullet-full!--
(quickly correcting himself on seeing Roxane):
--Pardon! A Balthazar feast!
RAGUENEAU (throwing down the carriage cushions):
The cushions are stuffed with ortolans!
(Hubbub. They tear open and turn out the contents of the cushions. Bursts of
laughter--merriment.)
THIRD CADET:
Ah! Viedaze!
RAGUENEAU (throwing down to the cadets bottles of red wine):
Flasks of rubies!--
(and white wine):
--Flasks of topaz!
ROXANE (throwing a folded tablecloth at Cyrano's head):
Unfold me that napkin!--Come, come! be nimble!
RAGUENEAU (waving a lantern):
Each of the carriage-lamps is a little larder!
CYRANO (in a low voice to Christian, as they arrange the cloth together):
I must speak with you ere you speak to her.
RAGUENEAU:
My whip-handle is an Arles sausage!
ROXANE (pouring out wine, helping):
Since we are to die, let the rest of the army shift for itself. All for the
Gascons! And mark! if De Guiche comes, let no one invite him!
(Going from one to the other):
There! there! You have time enough! Do not eat too fast!--Drink a little.-
-Why are you crying?
FIRST CADET:
It is all so good!. . .
ROXANE:
Tut!--Red or white?--Some bread for Monsieur de Carbon!--a knife! Pass your
plate!--a little of the crust? Some more? Let me help you!--Some champagne?-
-A wing?
CYRANO (who follows her, his arms laden with dishes, helping her to wait on
everybody):
How I worship her!
ROXANE (going up to Christian):
What will you?
CHRISTIAN:
Nothing.
ROXANE:
Nay, nay, take this biscuit, steeped in muscat; come!. . .but two drops!
CHRISTIAN (trying to detain her):
Oh! tell me why you came?
ROXANE:
Wait; my first duty is to these poor fellows.--Hush! In a few minutes. . .
LE BRET (who had gone up to pass a loaf on the end of a lance to the sentry on
the rampart):
De Guiche!
CYRANO:
Quick! hide flasks, plates, pie-dishes, game-baskets! Hurry!--Let us all
look unconscious!
(To Ragueneau):
Up on your seat!--Is everything covered up?
(In an instant all has been pushed into the tents, or hidden under doublets,
cloaks, and beavers. De Guiche enters hurriedly--stops suddenly, sniffing the
air. Silence.)
| When Carbon introduces Roxane to the Cadets, he asks her to give up her lace handkerchief to serve as the banner of the cadets; she gladly obliges. When one of the men mentions his hunger to her, she tells them that she has brought food and sends them to the carriage. While Ragueneau, serving as the coachman, takes out the edible delicacies, Roxane distributes them to the cadets. Cyrano urgently draws Christian aside to talk to him, but the latter is called away to help with the food. While he carves the meat, he presses Roxane about her real reason for coming; however, she will not talk to him until after the feast is over. When De Guiche re-enters the camp, the food is quickly hidden from view. As a result, he is amazed by the gaiety that he perceives. He has come to bring the cadets a cannon, but he warns them about its recoil action. He also asks Roxane if she really intends to stay on at the camp. When she gives her positive response, he calls for a musket and says that he will stay and protect her. The cadets are so impressed by his offer that they give him the remaining food from the feast. Although he is tempted by his hunger, De Guiche is too proud to accept it. He is then applauded by all as a true Gascon. When Carbon asks De Guiche to inspect the pikeman, he asks Roxane to accompany him. This gives Cyrano the opportunity to warn Christian that he must acknowledge having written the letters that Roxane has received. Christian is amazed at the news and questions him about the letters and their dispatch. When Cyrano explains how he has crossed enemy lines to get the letters to Roxane, Christian sarcastically remarks that writing them must have been an intoxicating experience, for Cyrano was willing to risk death for them; there is a touch of jealousy in his criticism. Roxane's return, however, suspends their conversation. | summary |
The same, all but De Guiche.
CHRISTIAN (entreatingly):
Roxane!
ROXANE:
No!
FIRST CADET (to the others):
She stays!
ALL (hurrying, hustling each other, tidying themselves):
A comb!--Soap!--My uniform is torn!--A needle!--A ribbon!--Lend your
mirror!--My cuffs!--Your curling-iron!--A razor!. . .
ROXANE (to Cyrano, who still pleads with her):
No! Naught shall make me stir from this spot!
CARBON (who, like the others, has been buckling, dusting, brushing his hat,
settling his plume, and drawing on his cuffs, advances to Roxane, and
ceremoniously):
It is perchance more seemly, since things are thus, that I present to you
some of these gentlemen who are about to have the honor of dying before your
eyes.
(Roxane bows, and stands leaning on Christian's arm, while Carbon introduces
the cadets to her):
Baron de Peyrescous de Colignac!
THE CADET (with a low reverence):
Madame. . .
CARBON (continuing):
Baron de Casterac de Cahuzac,--Vidame de Malgouyre Estressac Lesbas
d'Escarabiot, Chevalier d'Antignac-Juzet, Baron Hillot de Blagnac-Salechan de
Castel Crabioules. . .
ROXANE:
But how many names have you each?
BARON HILLOT:
Scores!
CARBON (to Roxane):
Pray, upon the hand that holds your kerchief.
ROXANE (opens her hand, and the handkerchief falls):
Why?
(The whole company start forward to pick it up.)
CARBON (quickly raising it):
My company had no flag. But now, by my faith, they will have the fairest in
all the camp!
ROXANE (smiling):
'Tis somewhat small.
CARBON (tying the handkerchief on the staff of his lance):
But--'tis of lace!
A CADET (to the rest):
I could die happy, having seen so sweet a face, if I had something in my
stomach--were it but a nut!
CARBON (who has overheard, indignantly):
Shame on you! What, talk of eating when a lovely woman!. . .
ROXANE:
But your camp air is keen; I myself am famished. Pasties, cold fricassee,
old wines--there is my bill of fare? Pray bring it all here.
(Consternation.)
A CADET:
All that?
ANOTHER:
But where on earth find it?
ROXANE (quietly):
In my carriage.
ALL:
How?
ROXANE:
Now serve up--carve! Look a little closer at my coachman, gentlemen, and
you will recognize a man most welcome. All the sauces can be sent to table
hot, if we will!
THE CADETS (rushing pellmell to the carriage):
'Tis Ragueneau!
(Acclamations):
Oh, oh!
ROXANE (looking after them):
Poor fellows!
CYRANO (kissing her hand):
Kind fairy!
RAGUENEAU (standing on the box like a quack doctor at a fair):
Gentlemen!. . .
(General delight.)
THE CADETS:
Bravo! bravo!
RAGUENEAU:
. . .The Spaniards, gazing on a lady so dainty fair, overlooked the fare so
dainty!. . .
(Applause.)
CYRANO (in a whisper to Christian):
Hark, Christian!
RAGUENEAU:
. . .And, occupied with gallantry, perceived not--
(His draws a plate from under the seat, and holds it up):
--The galantine!. . .
(Applause. The galantine passes from hand to hand.)
CYRANO (still whispering to Christian):
Prythee, one word!
RAGUENEAU:
And Venus so attracted their eyes that Diana could secretly pass by with--
(He holds up a shoulder of mutton):
--her fawn!
(Enthusiasm. Twenty hands are held out to seize the shoulder of mutton.)
CYRANO (in a low whisper to Christian):
I must speak to you!
ROXANE (to the cadets, who come down, their arms laden with food):
Put it all on the ground!
(She lays all out on the grass, aided by the two imperturbable lackeys who
were behind the carriage.)
ROXANE (to Christian, just as Cyrano is drawing him apart):
Come, make yourself of use!
(Christian comes to help her. Cyrano's uneasiness increases.)
RAGUENEAU:
Truffled peacock!
FIRST CADET (radiant, coming down, cutting a big slice of ham):
By the mass! We shall not brave the last hazard without having had a
gullet-full!--
(quickly correcting himself on seeing Roxane):
--Pardon! A Balthazar feast!
RAGUENEAU (throwing down the carriage cushions):
The cushions are stuffed with ortolans!
(Hubbub. They tear open and turn out the contents of the cushions. Bursts of
laughter--merriment.)
THIRD CADET:
Ah! Viedaze!
RAGUENEAU (throwing down to the cadets bottles of red wine):
Flasks of rubies!--
(and white wine):
--Flasks of topaz!
ROXANE (throwing a folded tablecloth at Cyrano's head):
Unfold me that napkin!--Come, come! be nimble!
RAGUENEAU (waving a lantern):
Each of the carriage-lamps is a little larder!
CYRANO (in a low voice to Christian, as they arrange the cloth together):
I must speak with you ere you speak to her.
RAGUENEAU:
My whip-handle is an Arles sausage!
ROXANE (pouring out wine, helping):
Since we are to die, let the rest of the army shift for itself. All for the
Gascons! And mark! if De Guiche comes, let no one invite him!
(Going from one to the other):
There! there! You have time enough! Do not eat too fast!--Drink a little.-
-Why are you crying?
FIRST CADET:
It is all so good!. . .
ROXANE:
Tut!--Red or white?--Some bread for Monsieur de Carbon!--a knife! Pass your
plate!--a little of the crust? Some more? Let me help you!--Some champagne?-
-A wing?
CYRANO (who follows her, his arms laden with dishes, helping her to wait on
everybody):
How I worship her!
ROXANE (going up to Christian):
What will you?
CHRISTIAN:
Nothing.
ROXANE:
Nay, nay, take this biscuit, steeped in muscat; come!. . .but two drops!
CHRISTIAN (trying to detain her):
Oh! tell me why you came?
ROXANE:
Wait; my first duty is to these poor fellows.--Hush! In a few minutes. . .
LE BRET (who had gone up to pass a loaf on the end of a lance to the sentry on
the rampart):
De Guiche!
CYRANO:
Quick! hide flasks, plates, pie-dishes, game-baskets! Hurry!--Let us all
look unconscious!
(To Ragueneau):
Up on your seat!--Is everything covered up?
(In an instant all has been pushed into the tents, or hidden under doublets,
cloaks, and beavers. De Guiche enters hurriedly--stops suddenly, sniffing the
air. Silence.)
| Notes Scenes 5 through 7 are probably the weakest ones in the play, for they border on the totally ridiculous and unbelievable. It is hard to imagine that a woman, even an impulsive and determined one like Roxane, would risk her life to come to the front and be successful in charming the Spanish soldiers to let her through enemy lines. The irony is that she has been spurred to come in order to see Christian, her new husband, because of letters she has been receiving, supposedly written by him. In truth, it is Cyrano's poetic words that have drawn her to the front. When Roxane does succeed in arriving, it is not surprising that she has an immediate effect on everyone. Not only does she bring the smell of iris to the camp, her arrival causes the unkempt cadets to rush and try to make themselves presentable. Her presence is not just an inspiration but a civilizing influence on these soldiers who are soon going to be cannon fodder. Even De Guiche is impressed with Roxane's courage. When she says she is going to stay on in the camp during the battle, he calls for a musket and promises to remain and defend her. When one of the cadets mentions his hunger, Roxane reveals that she has brought a feast with her. It serves as a type of last supper for the cadets. It also proves Roxane's kindness and inventiveness; she has managed to conceal the food in the strangest places. A sausage has even been hidden in the coachman's whip. The feast, largely prepared by Ragueneau, the former pastry chef who is now in Roxane's service, gives him an opportunity to provide some poetry; as always, his metaphors are trite, comparing Roxane to Venus and wine flasks to rubies. In spite of the general merriment in the camp, Cyrano is a bag of nerves. He has has never informed Christian about the numerous letters that he has sent to Roxane in Christian's name. When he first tries to explain what he has done, Christian is called away to carve the meat. Later he has the opportunity to make his confession when De Guiche asks Roxane to accompany him on his inspection of the pikeman. At the end of scene 7, Christian's vehement outburst to Cyrano suggests that his jealousy has at last found an object. The strong reaction is a first step by Rostand of alienating the audience from the handsome cadet and solidifying support for Cyrano, the protagonist. | analysis |
The same. De Guiche.
DE GUICHE:
It smells good here.
A CADET (humming):
Lo! Lo-lo!
DE GUICHE (looking at him):
What is the matter?--You are very red.
THE CADET:
The matter?--Nothing!--'Tis my blood--boiling at the thought of the coming
battle!
ANOTHER:
Poum, poum--poum. . .
DE GUICHE (turning round):
What's that?
THE CADET (slightly drunk):
Nothing!. . .'Tis a song!--a little. . .
DE GUICHE:
You are merry, my friend!
THE CADET:
The approach of danger is intoxicating!
DE GUICHE (calling Carbon de Castel-Jaloux, to give him an order):
Captain! I. . .
(He stops short on seeing him):
Plague take me! but you look bravely, too!
CARBON (crimson in the face, hiding a bottle behind his back, with an evasive
movement):
Oh!. . .
DE GUICHE:
I have one cannon left, and have had it carried there--
(he points behind the scenes):
--in that corner. . .Your men can use it in case of need.
A CADET (reeling slightly):
Charming attention!
ANOTHER (with a gracious smile):
Kind solicitude!
DE GUICHE:
How? they are all gone crazy?
(Drily):
As you are not used to cannon, beware of the recoil.
FIRST CADET:
Pooh!
DE GUICHE (furious, going up to him):
But. . .
THE CADET:
Gascon cannons never recoil!
DE GUICHE (taking him by the arm and shaking him):
You are tipsy!--but what with?
THE CADET (grandiloquently):
--With the smell of powder!
DE GUICHE (shrugging his shoulders and pushing him away, then going quickly to
Roxane):
Briefly, Madame, what decision do you deign to take?
ROXANE:
I stay here.
DE GUICHE:
You must fly!
ROXANE:
No! I will stay.
DE GUICHE:
Since things are thus, give me a musket, one of you!
CARBON:
Wherefore?
DE GUICHE:
Because I too--mean to remain.
CYRANO:
At last! This is true valor, Sir!
FIRST CADET:
Then you are Gascon after all, spite of your lace collar?
ROXANE:
What is all this?
DE GUICHE:
I leave no woman in peril.
SECOND CADET (to the first):
Hark you! Think you not we might give him something to eat?
(All the viands reappear as if by magic.)
DE GUICHE (whose eyes sparkle):
Victuals!
THE THIRD CADET:
Yes, you'll see them coming from under every coat!
DE GUICHE (controlling himself, haughtily):
Do you think I will eat your leavings?
CYRANO (saluting him):
You make progress.
DE GUICHE (proudly, with a light touch of accent on the word 'breaking'):
I will fight without br-r-eaking my fast!
FIRST CADET (with wild delight):
Br-r-r-eaking! He has got the accent!
DE GUICHE (laughing):
I?
THE CADET:
'Tis a Gascon!
(All begin to dance.)
CARBON DE CASTEL-JALOUX (who had disappeared behind the rampart, reappearing
on the ridge):
I have drawn my pikemen up in line. They are a resolute troop.
(He points to a row of pikes, the tops of which are seen over the ridge.)
DE GUICHE (bowing to Roxane):
Will you accept my hand, and accompany me while I review them?
(She takes it, and they go up toward the rampart. All uncover and follow
them.)
CHRISTIAN (going to Cyrano, eagerly):
Tell me quickly!
(As Roxane appears on the ridge, the tops of the lances disappear, lowered for
the salute, and a shout is raised. She bows.)
THE PIKEMEN (outside):
Vivat!
CHRISTIAN:
What is this secret?
CYRANO:
If Roxane should. . .
CHRISTIAN:
Should?. . .
CYRANO:
Speak of the letters?. . .
CHRISTIAN:
Yes, I know!. . .
CYRANO:
Do not spoil all by seeming surprised. . .
CHRISTIAN:
At what?
CYRANO:
I must explain to you!. . .Oh! 'tis no great matter--I but thought of it to-
day on seeing her. You have. . .
CHRISTIAN:
Tell quickly!
CYRANO:
You have. . .written to her oftener than you think. . .
CHRISTIAN:
How so?
CYRANO:
Thus, 'faith! I had taken it in hand to express your flame for you!. . .At
times I wrote without saying, 'I am writing!'
CHRISTIAN:
Ah!. . .
CYRANO:
'Tis simple enough!
CHRISTIAN:
But how did you contrive, since we have been cut off, thus. . .to?. . .
CYRANO:
. . .Oh! before dawn. . .I was able to get through. . .
CHRISTIAN (folding his arms):
That was simple, too? And how oft, pray you, have I written?. . .Twice in
the week?. . .Three times?. . .Four?. . .
CYRANO:
More often still.
CHRISTIAN:
What! Every day?
CYRANO:
Yes, every day,--twice.
CHRISTIAN (violently):
And that became so mad a joy for you, that you braved death. . .
CYRANO (seeing Roxane returning):
Hush! Not before her!
(He goes hurriedly into his tent.)
| When Carbon introduces Roxane to the Cadets, he asks her to give up her lace handkerchief to serve as the banner of the cadets; she gladly obliges. When one of the men mentions his hunger to her, she tells them that she has brought food and sends them to the carriage. While Ragueneau, serving as the coachman, takes out the edible delicacies, Roxane distributes them to the cadets. Cyrano urgently draws Christian aside to talk to him, but the latter is called away to help with the food. While he carves the meat, he presses Roxane about her real reason for coming; however, she will not talk to him until after the feast is over. When De Guiche re-enters the camp, the food is quickly hidden from view. As a result, he is amazed by the gaiety that he perceives. He has come to bring the cadets a cannon, but he warns them about its recoil action. He also asks Roxane if she really intends to stay on at the camp. When she gives her positive response, he calls for a musket and says that he will stay and protect her. The cadets are so impressed by his offer that they give him the remaining food from the feast. Although he is tempted by his hunger, De Guiche is too proud to accept it. He is then applauded by all as a true Gascon. When Carbon asks De Guiche to inspect the pikeman, he asks Roxane to accompany him. This gives Cyrano the opportunity to warn Christian that he must acknowledge having written the letters that Roxane has received. Christian is amazed at the news and questions him about the letters and their dispatch. When Cyrano explains how he has crossed enemy lines to get the letters to Roxane, Christian sarcastically remarks that writing them must have been an intoxicating experience, for Cyrano was willing to risk death for them; there is a touch of jealousy in his criticism. Roxane's return, however, suspends their conversation. | summary |
The same. De Guiche.
DE GUICHE:
It smells good here.
A CADET (humming):
Lo! Lo-lo!
DE GUICHE (looking at him):
What is the matter?--You are very red.
THE CADET:
The matter?--Nothing!--'Tis my blood--boiling at the thought of the coming
battle!
ANOTHER:
Poum, poum--poum. . .
DE GUICHE (turning round):
What's that?
THE CADET (slightly drunk):
Nothing!. . .'Tis a song!--a little. . .
DE GUICHE:
You are merry, my friend!
THE CADET:
The approach of danger is intoxicating!
DE GUICHE (calling Carbon de Castel-Jaloux, to give him an order):
Captain! I. . .
(He stops short on seeing him):
Plague take me! but you look bravely, too!
CARBON (crimson in the face, hiding a bottle behind his back, with an evasive
movement):
Oh!. . .
DE GUICHE:
I have one cannon left, and have had it carried there--
(he points behind the scenes):
--in that corner. . .Your men can use it in case of need.
A CADET (reeling slightly):
Charming attention!
ANOTHER (with a gracious smile):
Kind solicitude!
DE GUICHE:
How? they are all gone crazy?
(Drily):
As you are not used to cannon, beware of the recoil.
FIRST CADET:
Pooh!
DE GUICHE (furious, going up to him):
But. . .
THE CADET:
Gascon cannons never recoil!
DE GUICHE (taking him by the arm and shaking him):
You are tipsy!--but what with?
THE CADET (grandiloquently):
--With the smell of powder!
DE GUICHE (shrugging his shoulders and pushing him away, then going quickly to
Roxane):
Briefly, Madame, what decision do you deign to take?
ROXANE:
I stay here.
DE GUICHE:
You must fly!
ROXANE:
No! I will stay.
DE GUICHE:
Since things are thus, give me a musket, one of you!
CARBON:
Wherefore?
DE GUICHE:
Because I too--mean to remain.
CYRANO:
At last! This is true valor, Sir!
FIRST CADET:
Then you are Gascon after all, spite of your lace collar?
ROXANE:
What is all this?
DE GUICHE:
I leave no woman in peril.
SECOND CADET (to the first):
Hark you! Think you not we might give him something to eat?
(All the viands reappear as if by magic.)
DE GUICHE (whose eyes sparkle):
Victuals!
THE THIRD CADET:
Yes, you'll see them coming from under every coat!
DE GUICHE (controlling himself, haughtily):
Do you think I will eat your leavings?
CYRANO (saluting him):
You make progress.
DE GUICHE (proudly, with a light touch of accent on the word 'breaking'):
I will fight without br-r-eaking my fast!
FIRST CADET (with wild delight):
Br-r-r-eaking! He has got the accent!
DE GUICHE (laughing):
I?
THE CADET:
'Tis a Gascon!
(All begin to dance.)
CARBON DE CASTEL-JALOUX (who had disappeared behind the rampart, reappearing
on the ridge):
I have drawn my pikemen up in line. They are a resolute troop.
(He points to a row of pikes, the tops of which are seen over the ridge.)
DE GUICHE (bowing to Roxane):
Will you accept my hand, and accompany me while I review them?
(She takes it, and they go up toward the rampart. All uncover and follow
them.)
CHRISTIAN (going to Cyrano, eagerly):
Tell me quickly!
(As Roxane appears on the ridge, the tops of the lances disappear, lowered for
the salute, and a shout is raised. She bows.)
THE PIKEMEN (outside):
Vivat!
CHRISTIAN:
What is this secret?
CYRANO:
If Roxane should. . .
CHRISTIAN:
Should?. . .
CYRANO:
Speak of the letters?. . .
CHRISTIAN:
Yes, I know!. . .
CYRANO:
Do not spoil all by seeming surprised. . .
CHRISTIAN:
At what?
CYRANO:
I must explain to you!. . .Oh! 'tis no great matter--I but thought of it to-
day on seeing her. You have. . .
CHRISTIAN:
Tell quickly!
CYRANO:
You have. . .written to her oftener than you think. . .
CHRISTIAN:
How so?
CYRANO:
Thus, 'faith! I had taken it in hand to express your flame for you!. . .At
times I wrote without saying, 'I am writing!'
CHRISTIAN:
Ah!. . .
CYRANO:
'Tis simple enough!
CHRISTIAN:
But how did you contrive, since we have been cut off, thus. . .to?. . .
CYRANO:
. . .Oh! before dawn. . .I was able to get through. . .
CHRISTIAN (folding his arms):
That was simple, too? And how oft, pray you, have I written?. . .Twice in
the week?. . .Three times?. . .Four?. . .
CYRANO:
More often still.
CHRISTIAN:
What! Every day?
CYRANO:
Yes, every day,--twice.
CHRISTIAN (violently):
And that became so mad a joy for you, that you braved death. . .
CYRANO (seeing Roxane returning):
Hush! Not before her!
(He goes hurriedly into his tent.)
| Notes Scenes 5 through 7 are probably the weakest ones in the play, for they border on the totally ridiculous and unbelievable. It is hard to imagine that a woman, even an impulsive and determined one like Roxane, would risk her life to come to the front and be successful in charming the Spanish soldiers to let her through enemy lines. The irony is that she has been spurred to come in order to see Christian, her new husband, because of letters she has been receiving, supposedly written by him. In truth, it is Cyrano's poetic words that have drawn her to the front. When Roxane does succeed in arriving, it is not surprising that she has an immediate effect on everyone. Not only does she bring the smell of iris to the camp, her arrival causes the unkempt cadets to rush and try to make themselves presentable. Her presence is not just an inspiration but a civilizing influence on these soldiers who are soon going to be cannon fodder. Even De Guiche is impressed with Roxane's courage. When she says she is going to stay on in the camp during the battle, he calls for a musket and promises to remain and defend her. When one of the cadets mentions his hunger, Roxane reveals that she has brought a feast with her. It serves as a type of last supper for the cadets. It also proves Roxane's kindness and inventiveness; she has managed to conceal the food in the strangest places. A sausage has even been hidden in the coachman's whip. The feast, largely prepared by Ragueneau, the former pastry chef who is now in Roxane's service, gives him an opportunity to provide some poetry; as always, his metaphors are trite, comparing Roxane to Venus and wine flasks to rubies. In spite of the general merriment in the camp, Cyrano is a bag of nerves. He has has never informed Christian about the numerous letters that he has sent to Roxane in Christian's name. When he first tries to explain what he has done, Christian is called away to carve the meat. Later he has the opportunity to make his confession when De Guiche asks Roxane to accompany him on his inspection of the pikeman. At the end of scene 7, Christian's vehement outburst to Cyrano suggests that his jealousy has at last found an object. The strong reaction is a first step by Rostand of alienating the audience from the handsome cadet and solidifying support for Cyrano, the protagonist. | analysis |
Roxane, Christian. In the distance cadets coming and going. Carbon and De
Guiche give orders.
ROXANE (running up to Christian):
Ah, Christian, at last!. . .
CHRISTIAN (taking her hands):
Now tell me why--
Why, by these fearful paths so perilous--
Across these ranks of ribald soldiery,
You have come?
ROXANE:
Love, your letters brought me here!
CHRISTIAN:
What say you?
ROXANE:
'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!
CHRISTIAN:
What!--for a few
Inconsequent love-letters!
ROXANE:
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--
Ah! ever since I have adored you! Now
Your letters all this whole month long!--meseemed
As if I heard that voice so tender, true,
Sheltering, close! Thy fault, I say! It drew me,
The voice o' th' night! Oh! wise 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!
CHRISTIAN:
But. . .
ROXANE:
I read, read again--grew faint for love;
I was thine utterly. Each separate page
Was like a fluttering flower-petal, loosed
From your own soul, and wafted thus to mine.
Imprinted in each burning word was love
Sincere, all-powerful. . .
CHRISTIAN:
A love sincere!
Can that be felt, Roxane!
ROXANE:
Ay, that it can!
CHRISTIAN:
You come. . .?
ROXANE:
O, Christian, my true lord, I come--
(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!)
--I come to crave your pardon. (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!
CHRISTIAN (horror-stricken):
Roxane!
ROXANE:
And later, love--less frivolous--
Like a bird that spreads its wings, but can not fly--
Arrested by your beauty, by your soul
Drawn close--I loved for both at once!
CHRISTIAN:
And now?
ROXANE:
Ah! you yourself have triumphed o'er yourself,
And now, I love you only for your soul!
CHRISTIAN (stepping backward):
Roxane!
ROXANE:
Be happy. To be loved for beauty--
A poor disguise that time so soon wears threadbare--
Must be to noble souls--to souls aspiring--
A torture. Your dear thoughts have now effaced
That beauty that so won me at the outset.
Now I see clearer--and I no more see it!
CHRISTIAN:
Oh!. . .
ROXANE:
You are doubtful of such victory?
CHRISTIAN (pained):
Roxane!
ROXANE:
I see you cannot yet believe it.
Such love. . .?
CHRISTIAN:
I do not ask such love as that!
I would be loved more simply; for. . .
ROXANE:
For that
Which they have all in turns loved in thee?--
Shame!
Oh! be loved henceforth in a better way!
CHRISTIAN:
No! the first love was best!
ROXANE:
Ah! how you err!
'Tis now that I love best--love well! 'Tis that
Which is thy true self, see!--that I adore!
Were your brilliance dimmed. . .
CHRISTIAN:
Hush!
ROXANE:
I should love still!
Ay, if your beauty should to-day depart. . .
CHRISTIAN:
Say not so!
ROXANE:
Ay, I say it!
CHRISTIAN:
Ugly? How?
ROXANE:
Ugly! I swear I'd love you still!
CHRISTIAN:
My God!
ROXANE:
Are you content at last?
CHRISTIAN (in a choked voice):
Ay!. . .
ROXANE:
What is wrong?
CHRISTIAN (gently pushing her away):
Nothing. . .I have two words to say:--one second. . .
ROXANE:
But?. . .
CHRISTIAN (pointing to the cadets):
Those poor fellows, shortly doomed to death,--
My love deprives them of the sight of you:
Go,--speak to them--smile on them ere they die!
ROXANE (deeply affected):
Dear Christian!. . .
(She goes up to the cadets, who respectfully crowd round her.)
| Roxane now reveals to Christian that it was his beautifully written letters that made her risk her life and come to the front to see him. She claims that she was so overwhelmed by feelings for him that she had to come. She also asks Christian's forgiveness for at first loving him only for his looks. Because of the letters, her love for him has become spiritual, and she has no further thoughts of his appearance. Christian is upset by this confession, making Roxane think that he cannot comprehend her love. As a result, she assures him that she would love him even if he were ugly, a confession that upsets Christian even more. He reacts by sending her away to cheer up the cadets in their last moments. He rushes away to speak with Cyrano. Christian desolately tells Cyrano that because of the letters Roxane now loves only his soul, which really means that she loves Cyrano. He encourages Cyrano to confess his love to her since she has said she would love Christian even if he were ugly. He further reasons that Roxane must be told the truth about the letters. Then she can decide whom she really loves. Christian next leaves to summon Roxane. Cyrano will be left alone to explain to her what has transpired. When Roxane arrives, she tells Cyrano that Christian seemed to doubt that she would love him even if he were physically ugly. Cyrano is then on the point of making his confession when Le Bret interrupts. He tells them that Christian has been seriously wounded by the first shot fired in the battle. When the dying Christian is carried on stage, Cyrano goes to him and tries to convince him that Roxane truly loves him. When Roxane goes to him, she finds a letter addressed to her in his pocket, the one that Cyrano has written and given to Christian. Roxane carefully reads the letter, which is now covered with blood, as well as with the tears of Cyrano. The death of Christian is a cruel irony for both Roxane and Cyrano. She has lost her new husband without ever being able to consummate the marriage. Cyrano has lost hope of ever being able to win Roxane for himself. He knows that he will now never be able to tell her of his love. She must also always believe that Christian had a fine mind as evidenced by the letters that he wrote to her. While the firing continues outside, Cyrano asks Ragueneau to get the carriage ready to take Roxane away. De Guiche enters battled- strained, and Cyrano hands over the care of Roxane to him since he has proven his valor for her. Cyrano goes out to fight and avenge the death of Christian and the loss of his happiness. Never again will he be able to express his feelings for Roxane, even in disguise. | summary |
Christian, Cyrano. At back Roxane talking to Carbon and some cadets.
CHRISTIAN (calling toward Cyrano's tent):
Cyrano!
CYRANO (reappearing, fully armed):
What? Why so pale?
CHRISTIAN:
She does not love me!
CYRANO:
What?
CHRISTIAN:
'Tis you she loves!
CYRANO:
No!
CHRISTIAN:
--For she loves me only for my soul!
CYRANO:
Truly?
CHRISTIAN:
Yes! Thus--you see, that soul is you,. . .
Therefore, 'tis you she loves!--And you--love her!
CYRANO:
I?
CHRISTIAN:
Oh, I know it!
CYRANO:
Ay, 'tis true!
CHRISTIAN:
You love
To madness!
CYRANO:
Ay! and worse!
CHRISTIAN:
Then tell her so!
CYRANO:
No!
CHRISTIAN:
And why not?
CYRANO:
Look at my face!--be answered!
CHRISTIAN:
She'd love me--were I ugly.
CYRANO:
Said she so?
CHRISTIAN:
Ay! in those words!
CYRANO:
I'm glad she told you that!
But pooh!--believe it not! I am well pleased
She thought to tell you. Take it not for truth.
Never grow ugly:--she'd reproach me then!
CHRISTIAN:
That I intend discovering!
CYRANO:
No! I beg!
CHRISTIAN:
Ay! she shall choose between us!--Tell her all!
CYRANO:
No! no! I will not have it! Spare me this!
CHRISTIAN:
Because my face is haply fair, shall I
Destroy your happiness? 'Twere too unjust!
CYRANO:
And I,--because by Nature's freak I have
The gift to say--all that perchance you feel.
Shall I be fatal to your happiness?
CHRISTIAN:
Tell all!
CYRANO:
It is ill done to tempt me thus!
CHRISTIAN:
Too long I've borne about within myself
A rival to myself--I'll make an end!
CYRANO:
Christian!
CHRISTIAN:
Our union, without witness--secret--
Clandestine--can be easily dissolved
If we survive.
CYRANO:
My God!--he still persists!
CHRISTIAN:
I will be loved myself--or not at all!
--I'll go see what they do--there, at the end
Of the post: speak to her, and then let her choose
One of us two!
CYRANO:
It will be you.
CHRISTIAN:
Pray God!
(He calls):
Roxane!
CYRANO:
No! no!
ROXANE (coming up quickly):
What?
CHRISTIAN:
Cyrano has things
Important for your ear. . .
(She hastens to Cyrano. Christian goes out.)
| Roxane now reveals to Christian that it was his beautifully written letters that made her risk her life and come to the front to see him. She claims that she was so overwhelmed by feelings for him that she had to come. She also asks Christian's forgiveness for at first loving him only for his looks. Because of the letters, her love for him has become spiritual, and she has no further thoughts of his appearance. Christian is upset by this confession, making Roxane think that he cannot comprehend her love. As a result, she assures him that she would love him even if he were ugly, a confession that upsets Christian even more. He reacts by sending her away to cheer up the cadets in their last moments. He rushes away to speak with Cyrano. Christian desolately tells Cyrano that because of the letters Roxane now loves only his soul, which really means that she loves Cyrano. He encourages Cyrano to confess his love to her since she has said she would love Christian even if he were ugly. He further reasons that Roxane must be told the truth about the letters. Then she can decide whom she really loves. Christian next leaves to summon Roxane. Cyrano will be left alone to explain to her what has transpired. When Roxane arrives, she tells Cyrano that Christian seemed to doubt that she would love him even if he were physically ugly. Cyrano is then on the point of making his confession when Le Bret interrupts. He tells them that Christian has been seriously wounded by the first shot fired in the battle. When the dying Christian is carried on stage, Cyrano goes to him and tries to convince him that Roxane truly loves him. When Roxane goes to him, she finds a letter addressed to her in his pocket, the one that Cyrano has written and given to Christian. Roxane carefully reads the letter, which is now covered with blood, as well as with the tears of Cyrano. The death of Christian is a cruel irony for both Roxane and Cyrano. She has lost her new husband without ever being able to consummate the marriage. Cyrano has lost hope of ever being able to win Roxane for himself. He knows that he will now never be able to tell her of his love. She must also always believe that Christian had a fine mind as evidenced by the letters that he wrote to her. While the firing continues outside, Cyrano asks Ragueneau to get the carriage ready to take Roxane away. De Guiche enters battled- strained, and Cyrano hands over the care of Roxane to him since he has proven his valor for her. Cyrano goes out to fight and avenge the death of Christian and the loss of his happiness. Never again will he be able to express his feelings for Roxane, even in disguise. | summary |
Roxane, Cyrano. Then Le Bret, Carbon de Castel-Jaloux, the cadets, Ragueneau,
De Guiche, etc.
ROXANE:
Important, how?
CYRANO (in despair. to Roxane):
He's gone! 'Tis naught!--Oh, you know how he sees
Importance in a trifle!
ROXANE (warmly):
Did he doubt
Of what I said?--Ah, yes, I saw he doubted!
CYRANO (taking her hand):
But are you sure you told him all the truth?
ROXANE:
Yes, I would love him were he. . .
(She hesitates.)
CYRANO:
Does that word
Embarrass you before my face, Roxane?
ROXANE:
I. . .
CYRANO (smiling sadly):
'Twill not hurt me! Say it! If he were
Ugly!. . .
ROXANE:
Yes, ugly!
(Musket report outside):
Hark! I hear a shot!
CYRANO (ardently):
Hideous!
ROXANE:
Hideous! yes!
CYRANO:
Disfigured.
ROXANE:
Ay!
CYRANO:
Grotesque?
ROXANE:
He could not be grotesque to me!
CYRANO:
You'd love the same?. . .
ROXANE:
The same--nay, even more!
CYRANO (losing command over himself--aside):
My God! it's true, perchance, love waits me there!
(To Roxane):
I. . .Roxane. . .listen. . .
LE BRET (entering hurriedly--to Cyrano):
Cyrano!
CYRANO (turning round):
What?
LE BRET:
Hush!
(He whispers something to him.)
CYRANO (letting go Roxane's hand and exclaiming):
Ah, God!
ROXANE:
What is it?
CYRANO (to himself--stunned):
All is over now.
(Renewed reports.)
ROXANE:
What is the matter? Hark! another shot!
(She goes up to look outside.)
CYRANO:
It is too late, now I can never tell!
ROXANE (trying to rush out):
What has chanced?
CYRANO (rushing to stop her):
Nothing!
(Some cadets enter, trying to hide something they are carrying, and close
round it to prevent Roxane approaching.)
ROXANE:
And those men?
(Cyrano draws her away):
What were you just about to say before. . .?
CYRANO:
What was I saying? Nothing now, I swear!
(Solemnly):
I swear that Christian's soul, his nature, were. . .
(Hastily correcting himself):
Nay, that they are, the noblest, greatest. . .
ROXANE:
Were?
(With a loud scream):
Oh!
(She rushes up, pushing every one aside.)
CYRANO:
All is over now!
ROXANE (seeing Christian lying on the ground, wrapped in his cloak):
O Christian!
LE BRET (to Cyrano):
Struck by first shot of the enemy!
(Roxane flings herself down by Christian. Fresh reports of cannon--clash of
arms--clamor--beating of drums.)
CARBON (with sword in the air):
O come! Your muskets.
(Followed by the cadets, he passes to the other side of the ramparts.)
ROXANE:
Christian!
THE VOICE OF CARBON (from the other side):
Ho! make haste!
ROXANE:
Christian!
CARBON:
FORM LINE!
ROXANE:
Christian!
CARBON:
HANDLE YOUR MATCH!
(Ragueneau rushes up, bringing water in a helmet.)
CHRISTIAN (in a dying voice):
Roxane!
CYRANO (quickly, whispering into Christian's ear, while Roxane distractedly
tears a piece of linen from his breast, which she dips into the water, trying
to stanch the bleeding):
I told her all. She loves you still.
(Christian closes his eyes.)
ROXANE:
How, my sweet love?
CARBON:
DRAW RAMRODS!
ROXANE (to Cyrano):
He is not dead?
CARBON:
OPEN YOUR CHARGES WITH YOUR TEETH!
ROXANE:
His cheek
Grows cold against my own!
CARBON:
READY! PRESENT!
ROXANE (seeing a letter in Christian's doublet):
A letter!. . .
'Tis for me!
(She opens it.)
CYRANO (aside):
My letter!
CARBON:
FIRE!
(Musket reports--shouts--noise of battle.)
CYRANO (trying to disengage his hand, which Roxane on her knees is holding):
But, Roxane, hark, they fight!
ROXANE (detaining him):
Stay yet awhile.
For he is dead. You knew him, you alone.
(Weeping quietly):
Ah, was not his a beauteous soul, a soul
Wondrous!
CYRANO (standing up--bareheaded):
Ay, Roxane.
ROXANE:
An inspired poet?
CYRANO:
Ay, Roxane.
ROXANE:
And a mind sublime?
CYRANO:
Oh, yes!
ROXANE:
A heart too deep for common minds to plumb,
A spirit subtle, charming?
CYRANO (firmly):
Ay, Roxane.
ROXANE (flinging herself on the dead body):
Dead, my love!
CYRANO (aside--drawing his sword):
Ay, and let me die to-day,
Since, all unconscious, she mourns me--in him!
(Sounds of trumpets in the distance.)
DE GUICHE (appearing on the ramparts--bareheaded--with a wound on his
forehead--in a voice of thunder):
It is the signal! Trumpet flourishes!
The French bring the provisions into camp!
Hold but the place awhile!
ROXANE:
See, there is blood
Upon the letter--tears!
A VOICE (outside--shouting):
Surrender!
VOICE OF CADETS:
No!
RAGUENEAU (standing on the top of his carriage, watches the battle over the
edge of the ramparts):
The danger's ever greater!
CYRANO (to De Guiche--pointing to Roxane):
I will charge!
Take her away!
ROXANE (kissing the letter--in a half-extinguished voice):
O God! his tears! his blood!. . .
RAGUENEAU (jumping down from the carriage and rushing toward her):
She's swooned away!
DE GUICHE (on the rampart--to the cadets--with fury):
Stand fast!
A VOICE (outside):
Lay down your arms!
THE CADETS:
No!
CYRANO (to De Guiche):
Now that you have proved your valor, Sir,
(Pointing to Roxane):
Fly, and save her!
DE GUICHE (rushing to Roxane, and carrying her away in his arms):
So be it! Gain but time,
The victory's ours!
CYRANO:
Good.
(Calling out to Roxane, whom De Guiche, aided by Ragueneau, is bearing away in
a fainting condition):
Farewell, Roxane!
(Tumult. Shouts. Cadets reappear, wounded, falling on the scene. Cyrano,
rushing to the battle, is stopped by Carbon de Castel-Jaloux, who is streaming
with blood.)
CARBON:
We are breaking! I am wounded--wounded twice!
CYRANO (shouting to the Gascons):
GASCONS! HO, GASCONS! NEVER TURN YOUR BACKS!
(To Carbon, whom he is supporting):
Have no fear! I have two deaths to avenge:
My friend who's slain;--and my dead happiness!
(They come down, Cyrano brandishing the lance to which is attached Roxane's
handkerchief):
Float there! laced kerchief broidered with her name!
(He sticks it in the ground and shouts to the cadets):
FALL ON THEM, GASCONS! CRUSH THEM!
(To the fifer):
Fifer, play!
(The fife plays. The wounded try to rise. Some cadets, falling one over the
other down the slope, group themselves round Cyrano and the little flag. The
carriage is crowded with men inside and outside, and, bristling with
arquebuses, is turned into a fortress.)
A CADET (appearing on the crest, beaten backward, but still fighting, cries):
They're climbing the redoubt!
(and falls dead.)
CYRANO:
Let us salute them!
(The rampart is covered instantly by a formidable row of enemies. The
standards of the Imperialists are raised):
Fire!
(General discharge.)
A CRY IN THE ENEMY'S RANKS:
Fire!
(A deadly answering volley. The cadets fall on all sides.)
A SPANISH OFFICER (uncovering):
Who are these men who rush on death?
CYRANO (reciting, erect, amid a storm of bullets):
The bold Cadets of Gascony,
Of Carbon of Castel-Jaloux!
Brawling, swaggering boastfully,
(He rushes forward, followed by a few survivors):
The bold Cadets. . .
(His voice is drowned in the battle.)
Curtain.
| Roxane now reveals to Christian that it was his beautifully written letters that made her risk her life and come to the front to see him. She claims that she was so overwhelmed by feelings for him that she had to come. She also asks Christian's forgiveness for at first loving him only for his looks. Because of the letters, her love for him has become spiritual, and she has no further thoughts of his appearance. Christian is upset by this confession, making Roxane think that he cannot comprehend her love. As a result, she assures him that she would love him even if he were ugly, a confession that upsets Christian even more. He reacts by sending her away to cheer up the cadets in their last moments. He rushes away to speak with Cyrano. Christian desolately tells Cyrano that because of the letters Roxane now loves only his soul, which really means that she loves Cyrano. He encourages Cyrano to confess his love to her since she has said she would love Christian even if he were ugly. He further reasons that Roxane must be told the truth about the letters. Then she can decide whom she really loves. Christian next leaves to summon Roxane. Cyrano will be left alone to explain to her what has transpired. When Roxane arrives, she tells Cyrano that Christian seemed to doubt that she would love him even if he were physically ugly. Cyrano is then on the point of making his confession when Le Bret interrupts. He tells them that Christian has been seriously wounded by the first shot fired in the battle. When the dying Christian is carried on stage, Cyrano goes to him and tries to convince him that Roxane truly loves him. When Roxane goes to him, she finds a letter addressed to her in his pocket, the one that Cyrano has written and given to Christian. Roxane carefully reads the letter, which is now covered with blood, as well as with the tears of Cyrano. The death of Christian is a cruel irony for both Roxane and Cyrano. She has lost her new husband without ever being able to consummate the marriage. Cyrano has lost hope of ever being able to win Roxane for himself. He knows that he will now never be able to tell her of his love. She must also always believe that Christian had a fine mind as evidenced by the letters that he wrote to her. While the firing continues outside, Cyrano asks Ragueneau to get the carriage ready to take Roxane away. De Guiche enters battled- strained, and Cyrano hands over the care of Roxane to him since he has proven his valor for her. Cyrano goes out to fight and avenge the death of Christian and the loss of his happiness. Never again will he be able to express his feelings for Roxane, even in disguise. | summary |
Roxane; the Duke de Grammont, formerly Count de Guiche. Then Le Bret and
Ragueneau.
THE DUKE:
And you stay here still--ever vainly fair,
Ever in weeds?
ROXANE:
Ever.
THE DUKE:
Still faithful?
ROXANE:
Still.
THE DUKE (after a pause):
Am I forgiven?
ROXANE:
Ay, since I am here.
(Another pause.)
THE DUKE:
His was a soul, you say?. . .
ROXANE:
Ah!--when you knew him!
THE DUKE:
Ah, may be!. . .I, perchance, too little knew him!
. . .And his last letter, ever next your heart?
ROXANE:
Hung from this chain, a gentle scapulary.
THE DUKE:
And, dead, you love him still?
ROXANE:
At times,--meseems
He is but partly dead--our hearts still speak,
As if his love, still living, wrapped me round!
THE DUKE (after another pause):
Cyrano comes to see you?
ROXANE:
Often, ay.
Dear, kind old friend! 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. . .
(Le Bret appears on the steps):
Why, here's Le Bret!
(Le Bret descends):
How goes it with our friend?
LE BRET:
Ill!--very ill.
THE DUKE:
How?
ROXANE (to the Duke):
He exaggerates!
LE BRET:
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!
ROXANE:
Ah! but his sword still holds them all in check;
None get the better of him.
THE DUKE (shaking his head):
Time will show!
LE BRET:
Ah, but I fear for him--not man's attack,--
Solitude--hunger--cold December days,
That wolf-like steal into his chamber drear:--
Lo! the assassins that I fear for him!
Each day he tightens by one hole his belt:
That poor nose--tinted like old ivory:
He has retained one shabby suit of serge.
THE DUKE:
Ay, there is one who has no prize of Fortune!--
Yet is not to be pitied!
LE BRET (with a bitter smile):
My Lord Marshal!. . .
THE DUKE:
Pity him not! He has lived out his vows,
Free in his thoughts, as in his actions free!
LE BRET (in the same tone):
My Lord!. . .
THE DUKE (haughtily):
True! I have all, and he has naught;. . .
Yet I were proud to take his hand!
(Bowing to Roxane):
Adieu!
ROXANE:
I go with you.
(The Duke bows to Le Bret, and goes with Roxane toward the steps.)
THE DUKE (pausing, while she goes up):
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,
Mounting the terrace steps, by your mourning robe
Sweeps in its train the dying autumn leaves.
ROXANE (ironically):
You are pensive?
THE DUKE:
True! I am!
(As he is going out, suddenly):
Monsieur Le Bret!
(To Roxane):
A word, with your permission?
(He goes to Le Bret, and in a low voice):
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!
LE BRET (raising his arms to heaven):
Prudent! He!. . .
He's coming here. I'll warn him--but!. . .
ROXANE (who has stayed on the steps, to a sister who comes toward her):
What is it?
THE SISTER:
Ragueneau would see you, Madame.
ROXANE:
Let him come.
(To the Duke and Le Bret):
He comes to tell his troubles. Having been
An author (save the mark!)--poor fellow--now
By turns he's singer. . .
LE BRET:
Bathing-man. . .
ROXANE:
Then actor. . .
LE BRET:
Beadle. . .
ROXANE:
Wig-maker. . .
LE BRET:
Teacher of the lute. . .
ROXANE:
What will he be to-day, by chance?
RAGUENEAU (entering hurriedly):
Ah! Madame!
(He sees Le Bret):
Ah! you here, Sir!
ROXANE (smiling):
Tell all your miseries
To him; I will return anon.
RAGUENEAU:
But, Madame. . .
(Roxane goes out with the Duke. Ragueneau goes toward Le Bret.)
| The scene abruptly switches to the Convent of the Ladies of the Cross, outside of Paris. As the autumn leaves fall, some of the nuns are seated around the Mother Superior . In the course of their conversation, it is revealed that Cyrano is a regular visitor to the convent. He has come every Saturday for over ten years in order to visit his cousin Roxane, now known as Madame Magdalene. Even after ten years, Roxane is still wearing the veil of mourning for her dead husband, Christian. The nuns enjoy the visits of Cyrano because of his wit and humor. They also try to convert him into a good Catholic. Roxane approaches with De Guiche, now known as the Duke of Grammont. He asks about her life of seclusion, her fidelity, and her black veil. She affirms her resolution to be faithful to Christian; she even states that she has Christian's last letter to her fastened close to her heart. When the Duke asks about Cyrano, she informs him that Cyrano comes regularly to give her all the news of the world outside. LeBret then enters. Roxane eagerly asks him about Cyrano. He states that Cyrano's condition is very bad. He remains poor, hungry, and friendless, while making enemies in every quarter. It is assumed that he will soon die of cold or anemia. De Guiche states that he still admires Cyrano for having lived without compromising his principles. As he is leaving, De Guiche contrasts his success with the freedom of Cyrano. He admits that his own success has left him with a sense of uneasiness and a bad taste in his mouth. He has many dead illusions and vague regrets for the past. He also takes Le Bret aside and warns him that Cyrano should be careful of his enemies, for it is rumored that some of them are trying to kill him by some subterfuge. Just as De Guiche is finally leaving, Ragueneau is announced. Roxane declares that the old baker is sure to whine about his miseries since he left her service. In truth, Ragueneau has not faired well. He has tried his hand at a number of jobs, including acting and wigmaking. | summary |
Roxane; the Duke de Grammont, formerly Count de Guiche. Then Le Bret and
Ragueneau.
THE DUKE:
And you stay here still--ever vainly fair,
Ever in weeds?
ROXANE:
Ever.
THE DUKE:
Still faithful?
ROXANE:
Still.
THE DUKE (after a pause):
Am I forgiven?
ROXANE:
Ay, since I am here.
(Another pause.)
THE DUKE:
His was a soul, you say?. . .
ROXANE:
Ah!--when you knew him!
THE DUKE:
Ah, may be!. . .I, perchance, too little knew him!
. . .And his last letter, ever next your heart?
ROXANE:
Hung from this chain, a gentle scapulary.
THE DUKE:
And, dead, you love him still?
ROXANE:
At times,--meseems
He is but partly dead--our hearts still speak,
As if his love, still living, wrapped me round!
THE DUKE (after another pause):
Cyrano comes to see you?
ROXANE:
Often, ay.
Dear, kind old friend! 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. . .
(Le Bret appears on the steps):
Why, here's Le Bret!
(Le Bret descends):
How goes it with our friend?
LE BRET:
Ill!--very ill.
THE DUKE:
How?
ROXANE (to the Duke):
He exaggerates!
LE BRET:
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!
ROXANE:
Ah! but his sword still holds them all in check;
None get the better of him.
THE DUKE (shaking his head):
Time will show!
LE BRET:
Ah, but I fear for him--not man's attack,--
Solitude--hunger--cold December days,
That wolf-like steal into his chamber drear:--
Lo! the assassins that I fear for him!
Each day he tightens by one hole his belt:
That poor nose--tinted like old ivory:
He has retained one shabby suit of serge.
THE DUKE:
Ay, there is one who has no prize of Fortune!--
Yet is not to be pitied!
LE BRET (with a bitter smile):
My Lord Marshal!. . .
THE DUKE:
Pity him not! He has lived out his vows,
Free in his thoughts, as in his actions free!
LE BRET (in the same tone):
My Lord!. . .
THE DUKE (haughtily):
True! I have all, and he has naught;. . .
Yet I were proud to take his hand!
(Bowing to Roxane):
Adieu!
ROXANE:
I go with you.
(The Duke bows to Le Bret, and goes with Roxane toward the steps.)
THE DUKE (pausing, while she goes up):
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,
Mounting the terrace steps, by your mourning robe
Sweeps in its train the dying autumn leaves.
ROXANE (ironically):
You are pensive?
THE DUKE:
True! I am!
(As he is going out, suddenly):
Monsieur Le Bret!
(To Roxane):
A word, with your permission?
(He goes to Le Bret, and in a low voice):
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!
LE BRET (raising his arms to heaven):
Prudent! He!. . .
He's coming here. I'll warn him--but!. . .
ROXANE (who has stayed on the steps, to a sister who comes toward her):
What is it?
THE SISTER:
Ragueneau would see you, Madame.
ROXANE:
Let him come.
(To the Duke and Le Bret):
He comes to tell his troubles. Having been
An author (save the mark!)--poor fellow--now
By turns he's singer. . .
LE BRET:
Bathing-man. . .
ROXANE:
Then actor. . .
LE BRET:
Beadle. . .
ROXANE:
Wig-maker. . .
LE BRET:
Teacher of the lute. . .
ROXANE:
What will he be to-day, by chance?
RAGUENEAU (entering hurriedly):
Ah! Madame!
(He sees Le Bret):
Ah! you here, Sir!
ROXANE (smiling):
Tell all your miseries
To him; I will return anon.
RAGUENEAU:
But, Madame. . .
(Roxane goes out with the Duke. Ragueneau goes toward Le Bret.)
| Notes The last act of the play is set fifteen years after the battle of Arras. The purpose of these opening scenes of the last act is to reveal to the audience what has happened to Cyrano, De Guiche, and Roxane for the last fifteen years. Roxane is still in mourning for her dead husband. She is living in a convent outside of Paris and still wearing a black veil. From her and the nuns, the audience learns that Cyrano comes to visit Roxane once a week. Although he is still filled with wit and humor, Roxane worries about him, for he is poor and friendless; he also has made many enemies. De Guiche has changed little. Having been made a Duke and the Marshall of France, he is as proud and arrogant as ever. He does admit, however, that he has some disillusionment about life and regrets about his past. When Cyrano comes to the convent, the nuns try to make him a better Christian. The biographies about the real Cyrano de Bergerac state that the Mother Superior, Roxane, and Cyrano's aunt, who were really in this convent, all tried so hard to convert him that he had to run away from Paris. Scene two ends on a note of suspense. De Guiche draws Le Bret, the good friend of Cyrano, aside. He warns Le Bret that Cyrano's life may be in danger, for his enemies are plotting against him. | analysis |
Le Bret, Ragueneau.
RAGUENEAU:
Since you are here, 'tis best she should not know!
I was going to your friend just now--was but
A few steps from the house, when I saw him
Go out. I hurried to him. Saw him turn
The corner. . .suddenly, from out a window
Where he was passing--was it chance?. . .may be!
A lackey let fall a large piece of wood.
LE BRET:
Cowards! O Cyrano!
RAGUENEAU:
I ran--I saw. . .
LE BRET:
'Tis hideous!
RAGUENEAU:
Saw our poet, Sir--our friend--
Struck to the ground--a large wound in his head!
LE BRET:
He's dead?
RAGUENEAU:
No--but--I bore him to his room. . .
Ah! his room! What a thing to see!--that garret!
LE BRET:
He suffers?
RAGUENEAU:
No, his consciousness has flown.
LE BRET:
Saw you a doctor?
RAGUENEAU:
One was kind--he came.
LE BRET:
My poor Cyrano!--We must not tell this
To Roxane suddenly.--What said this leech?--
RAGUENEAU:
Said,--what, I know not--fever, meningitis!--
Ah! could you see him--all his head bound up!--
But let us haste!--There's no one by his bed!--
And if he try to rise, Sir, he might die!
LE BRET (dragging him toward the right):
Come! Through the chapel! 'Tis the quickest way!
ROXANE (appearing on the steps, and seeing Le Bret go away by the colonnade
leading to the chapel door):
Monsieur le Bret!
(Le Bret and Ragueneau disappear without answering):
Le Bret goes--when I call!
'Tis some new trouble of good Ragueneau's.
(She descends the steps.)
| Ragueneau tells Le Bret that Cyrano has had a freak accident. While he was walking outside, a lackey dropped a piece of firewood from an upper window. It hit Cyrano on the head, injuring him seriously. Ragueneau states that after the accident, he had carried Cyrano to his room and found a doctor who would treat him out of charity. Since Cyrano is still unconscious, Ragueneau wants Le Bret to go to him immediately. The two of them rush out without saying a word to Roxane. She assumes that Ragueneau is in serious trouble for them to totally ignore her. Roxane stands alone in the park admiring the autumn day. Two nuns come out and place a large armchair in anticipation of Cyrano's weekly visit. When she realizes what time it is, Roxane is surprised, for Cyrano is never late. She assumes that a nun at the gate has stopped him to ask him to repent of his sins. Brushing away a dead leaf, she turns to work on her tapestry in order to pass the time. Soon a nun announces Cyrano's arrival. | summary |
Le Bret, Ragueneau.
RAGUENEAU:
Since you are here, 'tis best she should not know!
I was going to your friend just now--was but
A few steps from the house, when I saw him
Go out. I hurried to him. Saw him turn
The corner. . .suddenly, from out a window
Where he was passing--was it chance?. . .may be!
A lackey let fall a large piece of wood.
LE BRET:
Cowards! O Cyrano!
RAGUENEAU:
I ran--I saw. . .
LE BRET:
'Tis hideous!
RAGUENEAU:
Saw our poet, Sir--our friend--
Struck to the ground--a large wound in his head!
LE BRET:
He's dead?
RAGUENEAU:
No--but--I bore him to his room. . .
Ah! his room! What a thing to see!--that garret!
LE BRET:
He suffers?
RAGUENEAU:
No, his consciousness has flown.
LE BRET:
Saw you a doctor?
RAGUENEAU:
One was kind--he came.
LE BRET:
My poor Cyrano!--We must not tell this
To Roxane suddenly.--What said this leech?--
RAGUENEAU:
Said,--what, I know not--fever, meningitis!--
Ah! could you see him--all his head bound up!--
But let us haste!--There's no one by his bed!--
And if he try to rise, Sir, he might die!
LE BRET (dragging him toward the right):
Come! Through the chapel! 'Tis the quickest way!
ROXANE (appearing on the steps, and seeing Le Bret go away by the colonnade
leading to the chapel door):
Monsieur le Bret!
(Le Bret and Ragueneau disappear without answering):
Le Bret goes--when I call!
'Tis some new trouble of good Ragueneau's.
(She descends the steps.)
| Notes Ragueneau tells Le Bret that Cyrano has been injured. In truth, he has been attacked by a cowardly enemy who orders his servant to drop a piece of firewood on Cyrano's head. The historical Cyrano was injured in the same manner; however, he lived nearly a year after his accident. Both of them die in September. The real Cyrano also suffered from abject poverty, like the protagonist of the play. At the end of scene 4, Cyrano arrives to see Roxane. It is quite in character that the protagonist would not let an injury keep him away from his true love, even though she has greatly changed. She is no longer the sparkling young beauty who married Christian. Now she is the pathetically faithful wife who has grieved over the loss of her husband for too many years. Time has taken away her bright spirits, as seen in scene 3 when she is easily upset because Le Bret does not answer her. The tapestry on which Roxane stitches is symbolic of her self- absorption. She has turned away from the world to create her own version of reality. It is significant that she brushes a dead leaf off the tapestry, a foreshadowing of the darkness to come. | analysis |
Roxane alone. Two sisters, for a moment.
ROXANE:
Ah! what a beauty in September's close!
My sorrow's eased. April's joy dazzled it,
But autumn wins it with her dying calm.
(She seats herself at the embroidery frame. Two sisters come out of the
house, and bring a large armchair under the tree):
There comes the famous armchair where he sits,
Dear faithful friend!
SISTER MARTHA:
It is the parlor's best!
ROXANE:
Thanks, sister.
(The sisters go):
He'll be here now.
(She seats herself. A clock strikes):
The hour strikes.
--My silks?--Why, now, the hour's struck!
How strange
To be behind his time, at last, to-day!
Perhaps the portress--where's my thimble?. . .
Here!--Is preaching to him.
(A pause):
Yes, she must be preaching!
Surely he must come soon!--Ah, a dead leaf!--
(She brushes off the leaf from her work):
Nothing, besides, could--scissors?--In my bag!
--Could hinder him. . .
A SISTER (coming to the steps):
Monsieur de Bergerac.
| Ragueneau tells Le Bret that Cyrano has had a freak accident. While he was walking outside, a lackey dropped a piece of firewood from an upper window. It hit Cyrano on the head, injuring him seriously. Ragueneau states that after the accident, he had carried Cyrano to his room and found a doctor who would treat him out of charity. Since Cyrano is still unconscious, Ragueneau wants Le Bret to go to him immediately. The two of them rush out without saying a word to Roxane. She assumes that Ragueneau is in serious trouble for them to totally ignore her. Roxane stands alone in the park admiring the autumn day. Two nuns come out and place a large armchair in anticipation of Cyrano's weekly visit. When she realizes what time it is, Roxane is surprised, for Cyrano is never late. She assumes that a nun at the gate has stopped him to ask him to repent of his sins. Brushing away a dead leaf, she turns to work on her tapestry in order to pass the time. Soon a nun announces Cyrano's arrival. | summary |
Roxane alone. Two sisters, for a moment.
ROXANE:
Ah! what a beauty in September's close!
My sorrow's eased. April's joy dazzled it,
But autumn wins it with her dying calm.
(She seats herself at the embroidery frame. Two sisters come out of the
house, and bring a large armchair under the tree):
There comes the famous armchair where he sits,
Dear faithful friend!
SISTER MARTHA:
It is the parlor's best!
ROXANE:
Thanks, sister.
(The sisters go):
He'll be here now.
(She seats herself. A clock strikes):
The hour strikes.
--My silks?--Why, now, the hour's struck!
How strange
To be behind his time, at last, to-day!
Perhaps the portress--where's my thimble?. . .
Here!--Is preaching to him.
(A pause):
Yes, she must be preaching!
Surely he must come soon!--Ah, a dead leaf!--
(She brushes off the leaf from her work):
Nothing, besides, could--scissors?--In my bag!
--Could hinder him. . .
A SISTER (coming to the steps):
Monsieur de Bergerac.
| Notes Ragueneau tells Le Bret that Cyrano has been injured. In truth, he has been attacked by a cowardly enemy who orders his servant to drop a piece of firewood on Cyrano's head. The historical Cyrano was injured in the same manner; however, he lived nearly a year after his accident. Both of them die in September. The real Cyrano also suffered from abject poverty, like the protagonist of the play. At the end of scene 4, Cyrano arrives to see Roxane. It is quite in character that the protagonist would not let an injury keep him away from his true love, even though she has greatly changed. She is no longer the sparkling young beauty who married Christian. Now she is the pathetically faithful wife who has grieved over the loss of her husband for too many years. Time has taken away her bright spirits, as seen in scene 3 when she is easily upset because Le Bret does not answer her. The tapestry on which Roxane stitches is symbolic of her self- absorption. She has turned away from the world to create her own version of reality. It is significant that she brushes a dead leaf off the tapestry, a foreshadowing of the darkness to come. | analysis |
Roxane, Cyrano and, for a moment, Sister Martha.
ROXANE (without turning round):
What was I saying?. . .
(She embroiders. Cyrano, very pale, his hat pulled down over his eyes,
appears. The sister who had announced him retires. He descends the steps
slowly, with a visible difficulty in holding himself upright, bearing heavily
on his cane. Roxane still works at her tapestry):
Time has dimmed the tints. . .
How harmonize them now?
(To Cyrano, with playful reproach):
For the first time
Late!--For the first time, all these fourteen years!
CYRANO (who has succeeded in reaching the chair, and has seated himself--in a
lively voice, which is in great contrast with his pale face):
Ay! It is villainous! I raged--was stayed. . .
ROXANE:
By?. . .
CYRANO:
By a bold, unwelcome visitor.
ROXANE (absently, working):
Some creditor?
CYRANO:
Ay, cousin,--the last creditor
Who has a debt to claim from me.
ROXANE:
And you
Have paid it?
CYRANO:
No, not yet! I put it off;
--Said, 'Cry you mercy; this is Saturday,
When I have get a standing rendezvous
That naught defers. Call in an hour's time!'
ROXANE (carelessly):
Oh, well, a creditor can always wait!
I shall not let you go ere twilight falls.
CYRANO:
Haply, perforce, I quit you ere it falls!
(He shuts his eyes, and is silent for a moment. Sister Martha crosses the
park from the chapel to the flight of steps. Roxane, seeing her, signs to her
to approach.)
ROXANE (to Cyrano):
How now? You have not teased the Sister?
CYRANO (hastily opening his eyes):
True!
(In a comically loud voice):
Sister! come here!
(The sister glides up to him):
Ha! ha! What? Those bright eyes
Bent ever on the ground?
SISTER MARTHA (who makes a movement of astonishment on seeing his face):
Oh!
CYRANO (in a whisper, pointing to Roxane):
Hush! 'tis naught!--
(Loudly, in a blustering voice):
I broke fast yesterday!
SISTER MARTHA (aside):
I know, 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?
CYRANO:
Ay, ay!
SISTER MARTHA:
There, see! You are more reasonable to-day!
ROXANE (who hears them whispering):
The Sister would convert you?
SISTER MARTHA:
Nay, not I!
CYRANO:
Hold! but it's true! You preach to me no more,
You, once so glib with holy words! I am
Astonished!. . .
(With burlesque fury):
Stay, I will surprise you too!
Hark! I permit you. . .
(He pretends to be seeking for something to tease her with, and to have found
it):
. . .It is something new!--
To--pray for me, to-night, at chapel-time!
ROXANE:
Oh! oh!
CYRANO (laughing):
Good Sister Martha is struck dumb!
SISTER MARTHA (gently):
I did not wait your leave to pray for you.
(She goes out.)
CYRANO (turning to Roxane, who is still bending over her work):
That tapestry! Beshrew me if my eyes
Will ever see it finished!
ROXANE:
I was sure
To hear that well-known jest!
(A light breeze causes the leaves to fall.)
CYRANO:
The autumn leaves!
ROXANE (lifting her head, and looking down the distant alley):
Soft golden brown, like a Venetian's hair.
--See how they fall!
CYRANO:
Ay, see how brave they fall,
In their last journey downward from the bough,
To rot within the clay; yet, lovely still,
Hiding the horror of the last decay,
With all the wayward grace of careless flight!
ROXANE:
What, melancholy--you?
CYRANO (collecting himself):
Nay, nay, Roxane!
ROXANE:
Then let the dead leaves fall the way they will. . .
And chat. What, have you nothing new to tell,
My Court Gazette?
CYRANO:
Listen.
ROXANE:
Ah!
CYRANO (growing whiter and whiter):
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. . .
ROXANE:
I bid
You hold your tongue, Monsieur de Bergerac!
CYRANO:
Monday--not much--Claire changed protector.
ROXANE:
Oh!
CYRANO (whose face changes more and more):
Tuesday, the Court repaired to Fontainebleau.
Wednesday, the Montglat said to Comte de Fiesque. . .
No! Thursday--Mancini, Queen of France! (almost!)
Friday, the Monglat to Count Fiesque said--'Yes!'
And Saturday the twenty-sixth. . .
(He closes his eyes. His head falls forward. Silence.)
ROXANE (surprised at his voice ceasing, turns round, looks at him, and rising,
terrified):
He swoons!
(She runs toward him crying):
Cyrano!
CYRANO (opening his eyes, in an unconcerned voice):
What is this?
(He sees Roxane bending over him, and, hastily pressing his hat on his head,
and shrinking back in his chair):
Nay, on my word
'Tis nothing! Let me be!
ROXANE:
But. . .
CYRANO:
That old wound
Of Arras, sometimes,--as you know. . .
ROXANE:
Dear friend!
CYRANO:
'Tis nothing, 'twill pass soon;
(He smiles with an effort):
See!--it has passed!
ROXANE:
Each of us has his wound; ay, I have mine,--
Never healed up--not healed yet, my old wound!
(She puts her hand on her breast):
'Tis here, beneath this letter brown with age,
All stained with tear-drops, and still stained with blood.
(Twilight begins to fall.)
CYRANO:
His letter! Ah! you promised me one day
That I should read it.
ROXANE:
What would you?--His letter?
CYRANO:
Yes, I would fain,--to-day. . .
ROXANE (giving the bag hung at her neck):
See! here it is!
CYRANO (taking it):
Have I your leave to open?
ROXANE:
Open--read!
(She comes back to her tapestry frame, folds it up, sorts her wools.)
CYRANO (reading):
'Roxane, adieu! I soon must die!
This very night, beloved; and I
Feel my soul heavy with love untold.
I die! 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!
My heart cries out!--I cry "Farewell"!'
ROXANE:
But how you read that letter! One would think. . .
CYRANO (continuing to read):
'My life, my love, my jewel, my sweet,
My heart has been yours in every beat!'
(The shades of evening fall imperceptibly.)
ROXANE:
You read in such a voice--so strange--and yet--
It is not the first time I hear that voice!
(She comes nearer very softly, without his perceiving it, passes behind his
chair, and, noiselessly leaning over him, looks at the letter. The darkness
deepens.)
CYRANO:
'Here, dying, and there, in the land on high,
I am he who loved, who loves you,--I. . .'
ROXANE (putting her hand on his shoulder):
How can you read? It is too dark to see!
(He starts, turns, sees her close to him. Suddenly alarmed, he holds his head
down. Then in the dusk, which has now completely enfolded them, she says,
very slowly, with clasped hands):
And, fourteen years long, he has played this part
Of the kind old friend who comes to laugh and chat.
CYRANO:
Roxane!
ROXANE:
'Twas you!
CYRANO:
No, never; Roxane, no!
ROXANE:
I should have guessed, each time he said my name!
CYRANO:
No, it was not I!
ROXANE:
It was you!
CYRANO:
I swear!
ROXANE:
I see through all the generous counterfeit--
The letters--you!
CYRANO:
No.
ROXANE:
The sweet, mad love-words!
You!
CYRANO:
No!
ROXANE:
The voice that thrilled the night--you, you!
CYRANO:
I swear you err.
ROXANE:
The soul--it was your soul!
CYRANO:
I loved you not.
ROXANE:
You loved me not?
CYRANO:
'Twas he!
ROXANE:
You loved me!
CYRANO:
No!
ROXANE:
See! how you falter now!
CYRANO:
No, my sweet love, I never loved you!
ROXANE:
Ah!
Things dead, long dead, see! how they rise again!
--Why, why keep silence all these fourteen years,
When, on this letter, which he never wrote,
The tears were your tears?
CYRANO (holding out the letter to her):
The bloodstains were his.
ROXANE:
Why, then, that noble silence,--kept so long--
Broken to-day for the first time--why?
CYRANO:
Why?. . .
(Le Bret and Ragueneau enter running.)
| Cyrano approaches, supporting himself with a cane. Although his hat conceals his face, it is obvious that he is pale and weak. Roxane, however, is so absorbed in her work on the tapestry that she does not turn to greet Cyrano; instead, she rebukes him for being late. He responds by saying that he had a visitor, whom he sent away in order to come and visit her. Before falling silent, he hints that he may have to leave early. Sister Marthe, one of the nuns whom Cyrano usually teases, passes by. Cyrano, trying to act normally, calls to her. She is startled by his ill appearance and wants to go and bring him some soup. Cyrano is not worried about himself, but Roxane; he warns the nun not to alarm Roxane about him. He does, however, ask the nun to pray for him. He also states that he will never see Roxane's tapestry finished. He also notices the read autumn leaves as they fall gracefully before him. Roxane wants to hear the news of the Parisian society. For a while, Cyrano rattles off the mundane daily events; but he soon faints from exhaustion. Roxane rushes to him. When he regains consciousness, he pretends it is an effect of a wound he received at Arras, many years ago. Roxane comments about how she was also wounded in Arras and points to the farewell letter over her heart. Cyrano asks her to see the letter, which he recites fluently and beautifully in a voice like the one he had used under Roxane's window. Since it is obvious that Cyrano is not really reading the words, but knows them by heart, she realizes that he is the one who had written the letters on Christian's behalf. She now knows that she has really loved Cyrano, not Christian. When Roxane confronts Cyrano about the deception, he denies it. Before she can discuss it further, Le Bret and Ragueneau enter. They blurt out that Cyrano will kill himself by exertion. Roxane now understands his faintness and demands to know what has happened. Cyrano explains the attack on him and shows her his bandages. He bemoans the irony of fate, which has prevented him from dying a noble death from a sword. He adds that both his life and death have been failures. Roxane states that she is sorry that she is the cause of his unhappiness. Cyrano, however, assures her that he is grateful for her friendship. Cyrano turns to Ragueneau to talk about literature. Ragueneau accuses Moliere of plagiarizing a scene from Cyrano's writing. Cyrano does not seem to mind. He says that he has always provided words and ideas for others. It is an obvious reference to what he did for Christian. Knowing that his death is fast approaching, Cyrano compares his love for Roxane to the love between the beauty and the beast. He then asks Roxane to mourn for him as she had for Christian. He finally stands up, sword in hand, to face his end nobly. He dies, proud of the integrity he has shown in life. | summary |
The same. Le Bret and Ragueneau.
LE BRET:
What madness! Here? I knew it well!
CYRANO (smiling and sitting up):
What now?
LE BRET:
He has brought his death by coming, Madame.
ROXANE:
God!
Ah, then! that faintness of a moment since. . .?
CYRANO:
Why, true! It interrupted the 'Gazette:'
. . .Saturday, twenty-sixth, at dinner-time,
Assassination of De Bergerac.
(He takes off his hat; they see his head bandaged.)
ROXANE:
What says he? Cyrano!--His head all bound!
Ah, what has chanced? How?--Who?. . .
CYRANO:
'To be struck down,
Pierced by sword i' the heart, from a hero's hand!'
That I had dreamed. O mockery of Fate!
--Killed, I! of all men--in an ambuscade!
Struck from behind, and by a lackey's hand!
'Tis very well. I am foiled, foiled in all,
Even in my death.
RAGUENEAU:
Ah, Monsieur!. . .
CYRANO (holding out his hand to him):
Ragueneau,
Weep not so bitterly!. . .What do you now,
Old comrade?
RAGUENEAU (amid his tears):
Trim the lights for Moliere's stage.
CYRANO:
Moliere!
RAGUENEAU:
Yes; but I shall leave to-morrow.
I cannot bear it!--Yesterday, they played
'Scapin'--I saw he'd thieved a scene from you!
LE BRET:
What! a whole scene?
RAGUENEAU:
Oh, yes, indeed, Monsieur,
The famous one, 'Que Diable allait-il faire?'
LE BRET:
Moliere has stolen that?
CYRANO:
Tut! He did well!. . .
(to Ragueneau):
How went the scene? It told--I think it told?
RAGUENEAU (sobbing):
Ah! how they laughed!
CYRANO:
Look you, it was my life
To be the prompter every one forgets!
(To Roxane):
That night when 'neath your window Christian spoke
--Under your balcony, you remember? Well!
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! Here on the threshold drear
Of death, I pay my tribute with the rest,
To Moliere's genius,--Christian's fair face!
(The chapel-bell chimes. The nuns are seen passing down the alley at the
back, to say their office):
Let them go pray, go pray, when the bell rings!
ROXANE (rising and calling):
Sister! Sister!
CYRANO (holding her fast):
Call no one. Leave me not;
When you come back, I should be gone for aye.
(The nuns have all entered the chapel. The organ sounds):
I was somewhat fain for music--hark! 'tis come.
ROXANE:
Live, for I love you!
CYRANO:
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!
ROXANE:
I have marred your life--I, I!
CYRANO:
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.
LE BRET (pointing to the moon, which is seen between the trees):
Your other lady-love is come.
CYRANO (smiling):
I see.
ROXANE:
I loved but once, yet twice I lose my love!
CYRANO:
Hark you, Le Bret! I soon shall reach the moon.
To-night, alone, with no projectile's aid!. . .
LE BRET:
What are you saying?
CYRANO:
I tell you, it is there,
There, that they send me for my Paradise,
There I shall find at last the souls I love,
In exile,--Galileo--Socrates!
LE BRET (rebelliously):
No, no! It is too clumsy, too unjust!
So great a heart! So great a poet! Die
Like this? what, die. . .?
CYRANO:
Hark to Le Bret, who scolds!
LE BRET (weeping):
Dear friend. . .
CYRANO (starting up, his eyes wild):
What ho! Cadets of Gascony!
The elemental mass--ah yes! The hic. . .
LE BRET:
His science still--he raves!
CYRANO:
Copernicus
Said. . .
ROXANE:
Oh!
CYRANO:
Mais que diable allait-il faire,
Mais que diable allait-il faire dans cette galere?. . .
Philosopher, metaphysician,
Rhymer, brawler, and musician,
Famed for his lunar expedition,
And the unnumbered duels he fought,--
And lover also,--by interposition!--
Here lies Hercule Savinien
De Cyrano de Bergerac,
Who was everything, yet was naught.
I cry you pardon, but I may not stay;
See, the moon-ray that comes to call me hence!
(He has fallen back in his chair; the sobs of Roxane recall him to reality; he
looks long at her, and, touching her veil):
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.
ROXANE:
I swear it you!. . .
CYRANO (shivering violently, then suddenly rising):
Not there! what, seated?--no!
(They spring toward him):
Let no one hold me up--
(He props himself against the tree):
Only the tree!
(Silence):
It comes. E'en now my feet have turned to stone,
My hands are gloved with lead!
(He stands erect):
But since Death comes,
I meet him still afoot,
(He draws his sword):
And sword in hand!
LE BRET:
Cyrano!
ROXANE (half fainting):
Cyrano!
(All shrink back in terror.)
CYRANO:
Why, I well believe
He dares to mock my nose? Ho! insolent!
(He raises his sword):
What say you? It is useless? Ay, I know
But who fights ever hoping for success?
I fought for lost cause, and for fruitless quest!
You there, who are you!--You are thousands!
Ah!
I know you now, old enemies of mine!
Falsehood!
(He strikes in air with his sword):
Have at you! Ha! and Compromise!
Prejudice, Treachery!. . .
(He strikes):
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!
(He makes passes in the air, and stops, breathless):
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,
I bear away despite you.
(He springs forward, his sword raised; it falls from his hand; he staggers,
falls back into the arms of Le Bret and Ragueneau.)
ROXANE (bending and kissing his forehead):
'Tis?. . .
CYRANO (opening his eyes, recognizing her, and smiling):
MY PANACHE.
Curtain.
| Cyrano approaches, supporting himself with a cane. Although his hat conceals his face, it is obvious that he is pale and weak. Roxane, however, is so absorbed in her work on the tapestry that she does not turn to greet Cyrano; instead, she rebukes him for being late. He responds by saying that he had a visitor, whom he sent away in order to come and visit her. Before falling silent, he hints that he may have to leave early. Sister Marthe, one of the nuns whom Cyrano usually teases, passes by. Cyrano, trying to act normally, calls to her. She is startled by his ill appearance and wants to go and bring him some soup. Cyrano is not worried about himself, but Roxane; he warns the nun not to alarm Roxane about him. He does, however, ask the nun to pray for him. He also states that he will never see Roxane's tapestry finished. He also notices the read autumn leaves as they fall gracefully before him. Roxane wants to hear the news of the Parisian society. For a while, Cyrano rattles off the mundane daily events; but he soon faints from exhaustion. Roxane rushes to him. When he regains consciousness, he pretends it is an effect of a wound he received at Arras, many years ago. Roxane comments about how she was also wounded in Arras and points to the farewell letter over her heart. Cyrano asks her to see the letter, which he recites fluently and beautifully in a voice like the one he had used under Roxane's window. Since it is obvious that Cyrano is not really reading the words, but knows them by heart, she realizes that he is the one who had written the letters on Christian's behalf. She now knows that she has really loved Cyrano, not Christian. When Roxane confronts Cyrano about the deception, he denies it. Before she can discuss it further, Le Bret and Ragueneau enter. They blurt out that Cyrano will kill himself by exertion. Roxane now understands his faintness and demands to know what has happened. Cyrano explains the attack on him and shows her his bandages. He bemoans the irony of fate, which has prevented him from dying a noble death from a sword. He adds that both his life and death have been failures. Roxane states that she is sorry that she is the cause of his unhappiness. Cyrano, however, assures her that he is grateful for her friendship. Cyrano turns to Ragueneau to talk about literature. Ragueneau accuses Moliere of plagiarizing a scene from Cyrano's writing. Cyrano does not seem to mind. He says that he has always provided words and ideas for others. It is an obvious reference to what he did for Christian. Knowing that his death is fast approaching, Cyrano compares his love for Roxane to the love between the beauty and the beast. He then asks Roxane to mourn for him as she had for Christian. He finally stands up, sword in hand, to face his end nobly. He dies, proud of the integrity he has shown in life. | summary |
Sicilia. The palace of LEONTES
Enter CAMILLO and ARCHIDAMUS
ARCHIDAMUS. If you shall chance, Camillo, to visit Bohemia, on
the
like occasion whereon my services are now on foot, you shall
see,
as I have said, great difference betwixt our Bohemia and your
Sicilia.
CAMILLO. I think this coming summer the King of Sicilia means
to
pay Bohemia the visitation which he justly owes him.
ARCHIDAMUS. Wherein our entertainment shall shame us we will be
justified in our loves; for indeed-
CAMILLO. Beseech you-
ARCHIDAMUS. Verily, I speak it in the freedom of my knowledge:
we
cannot with such magnificence, in so rare- I know not what to
say. We will give you sleepy drinks, that your senses,
unintelligent of our insufficience, may, though they cannot
praise us, as little accuse us.
CAMILLO. You pay a great deal too dear for what's given freely.
ARCHIDAMUS. Believe me, I speak as my understanding instructs
me
and as mine honesty puts it to utterance.
CAMILLO. Sicilia cannot show himself overkind to Bohemia. They
were
train'd together in their childhoods; and there rooted
betwixt
them then such an affection which cannot choose but branch
now.
Since their more mature dignities and royal necessities made
separation of their society, their encounters, though not
personal, have been royally attorneyed with interchange of
gifts,
letters, loving embassies; that they have seem'd to be
together,
though absent; shook hands, as over a vast; and embrac'd as
it
were from the ends of opposed winds. The heavens continue
their
loves!
ARCHIDAMUS. I think there is not in the world either malice or
matter to alter it. You have an unspeakable comfort of your
young
Prince Mamillius; it is a gentleman of the greatest promise
that
ever came into my note.
CAMILLO. I very well agree with you in the hopes of him. It is
a
gallant child; one that indeed physics the subject, makes old
hearts fresh; they that went on crutches ere he was born
desire
yet their life to see him a man.
ARCHIDAMUS. Would they else be content to die?
CAMILLO. Yes; if there were no other excuse why they should
desire
to live.
ARCHIDAMUS. If the King had no son, they would desire to live
on
crutches till he had one.
Exeunt
| Archidamus, a lord of Bohemia, tells Camillo, a lord of Sicilia, that should he ever visit Bohemia that he would find great differences between the two countries. Camillo responds that he thinks his king plans an exchange visit during the coming summer. Archidamus predicts that although their entertainments cannot match Sicilia's, they will manage to express their love. When Camillo protests the apology, Archidamus emphasizes that he knows that his country of Bohemia cannot produce "such magnificence." Archidamus then envisions offering drinks that will drug the visitors; if unable to praise their hosts, they will at least not be able to blame them for inadequate "magnificence." Camillo then tells Archidamus that Leontes is being so generous because of the great love that he has had for the Bohemian king since childhood. All of the formal, diplomatic gifts that the kings have exchanged during the intervening years of separation have maintained the strong friendship that still binds them. Camillo calls for help from the heavens to maintain this love. Archidamus comments that no earthly force could be strong enough to alter that love. Then he praises Leontes' son, Prince Mamillius, as the most promising young man he has ever observed. Camillo agrees, claiming that Leontes' elderly subjects remain alive only for the joy of observing Mamillius when he grows to adulthood. Archidamus, more realistically, states that the elderly would find a reason to continue to survive even if Mamillius did not exist. | summary |
Sicilia. The palace of LEONTES
Enter CAMILLO and ARCHIDAMUS
ARCHIDAMUS. If you shall chance, Camillo, to visit Bohemia, on
the
like occasion whereon my services are now on foot, you shall
see,
as I have said, great difference betwixt our Bohemia and your
Sicilia.
CAMILLO. I think this coming summer the King of Sicilia means
to
pay Bohemia the visitation which he justly owes him.
ARCHIDAMUS. Wherein our entertainment shall shame us we will be
justified in our loves; for indeed-
CAMILLO. Beseech you-
ARCHIDAMUS. Verily, I speak it in the freedom of my knowledge:
we
cannot with such magnificence, in so rare- I know not what to
say. We will give you sleepy drinks, that your senses,
unintelligent of our insufficience, may, though they cannot
praise us, as little accuse us.
CAMILLO. You pay a great deal too dear for what's given freely.
ARCHIDAMUS. Believe me, I speak as my understanding instructs
me
and as mine honesty puts it to utterance.
CAMILLO. Sicilia cannot show himself overkind to Bohemia. They
were
train'd together in their childhoods; and there rooted
betwixt
them then such an affection which cannot choose but branch
now.
Since their more mature dignities and royal necessities made
separation of their society, their encounters, though not
personal, have been royally attorneyed with interchange of
gifts,
letters, loving embassies; that they have seem'd to be
together,
though absent; shook hands, as over a vast; and embrac'd as
it
were from the ends of opposed winds. The heavens continue
their
loves!
ARCHIDAMUS. I think there is not in the world either malice or
matter to alter it. You have an unspeakable comfort of your
young
Prince Mamillius; it is a gentleman of the greatest promise
that
ever came into my note.
CAMILLO. I very well agree with you in the hopes of him. It is
a
gallant child; one that indeed physics the subject, makes old
hearts fresh; they that went on crutches ere he was born
desire
yet their life to see him a man.
ARCHIDAMUS. Would they else be content to die?
CAMILLO. Yes; if there were no other excuse why they should
desire
to live.
ARCHIDAMUS. If the King had no son, they would desire to live
on
crutches till he had one.
Exeunt
| The conversation between Archidamus and Camillo establishes the two main settings of the play and introduces the theme of deep and lasting friendship between the two kings. We can also infer that Leontes possesses natural riches far beyond those of Polixenes . The fact that no single main character appears in this scene forces our initial focus onto the contrasting settings; Sicilia is established as being the preferable location. While Archidamus bemoans the impossibility of matching the hospitality of Sicilia, he introduces a human temptation that will cause great harm throughout the play -- that is, confusing reality with illusion. First, he is stymied by reality: "We cannot with such magnificence -- in so rare -- I know not what to say." Then, he envisions a means to avoid the reality: "We will give you sleepy drinks, that your senses, unintelligent of our insufficience, may, though they cannot praise us, as little accuse us." A little later, Archidamus reverses his vision and returns to reality, when he counters Camillo's claim about Mamillius: "They that went on crutches ere he was born desire yet their life to see him a man." Archidamus doubts that the elderly would die without the inspiration of Mamillius, and he bluntly declares: "If the King had no son, they would desire to live on crutches till he had one." Archidamus then speaks of the long friendship between the two kings, and he says that he doubts if there is "in the world either malice or matter to alter it." In fact, no reality does exist to alter that friendship, but illusion can, and will, alter it. | analysis |
Sicilia. The palace of LEONTES
Enter LEONTES, POLIXENES, HERMIONE, MAMILLIUS, CAMILLO, and
ATTENDANTS
POLIXENES. Nine changes of the wat'ry star hath been
The shepherd's note since we have left our throne
Without a burden. Time as long again
Would be fill'd up, my brother, with our thanks;
And yet we should for perpetuity
Go hence in debt. And therefore, like a cipher,
Yet standing in rich place, I multiply
With one 'We thank you' many thousands moe
That go before it.
LEONTES. Stay your thanks a while,
And pay them when you part.
POLIXENES. Sir, that's to-morrow.
I am question'd by my fears of what may chance
Or breed upon our absence, that may blow
No sneaping winds at home, to make us say
'This is put forth too truly.' Besides, I have stay'd
To tire your royalty.
LEONTES. We are tougher, brother,
Than you can put us to't.
POLIXENES. No longer stay.
LEONTES. One sev'night longer.
POLIXENES. Very sooth, to-morrow.
LEONTES. We'll part the time between's then; and in that
I'll no gainsaying.
POLIXENES. Press me not, beseech you, so.
There is no tongue that moves, none, none i' th' world,
So soon as yours could win me. So it should now,
Were there necessity in your request, although
'Twere needful I denied it. My affairs
Do even drag me homeward; which to hinder
Were in your love a whip to me; my stay
To you a charge and trouble. To save both,
Farewell, our brother.
LEONTES. Tongue-tied, our Queen? Speak you.
HERMIONE. I had thought, sir, to have held my peace until
You had drawn oaths from him not to stay. You, sir,
Charge him too coldly. Tell him you are sure
All in Bohemia's well- this satisfaction
The by-gone day proclaim'd. Say this to him,
He's beat from his best ward.
LEONTES. Well said, Hermione.
HERMIONE. To tell he longs to see his son were strong;
But let him say so then, and let him go;
But let him swear so, and he shall not stay;
We'll thwack him hence with distaffs.
[To POLIXENES] Yet of your royal presence I'll
adventure the borrow of a week. When at Bohemia
You take my lord, I'll give him my commission
To let him there a month behind the gest
Prefix'd for's parting.- Yet, good deed, Leontes,
I love thee not a jar o' th' clock behind
What lady she her lord.- You'll stay?
POLIXENES. No, madam.
HERMIONE. Nay, but you will?
POLIXENES. I may not, verily.
HERMIONE. Verily!
You put me off with limber vows; but I,
Though you would seek t' unsphere the stars with oaths,
Should yet say 'Sir, no going.' Verily,
You shall not go; a lady's 'verily' is
As potent as a lord's. Will go yet?
Force me to keep you as a prisoner,
Not like a guest; so you shall pay your fees
When you depart, and save your thanks. How say you?
My prisoner or my guest? By your dread 'verily,'
One of them you shall be.
POLIXENES. Your guest, then, madam:
To be your prisoner should import offending;
Which is for me less easy to commit
Than you to punish.
HERMIONE. Not your gaoler then,
But your kind. hostess. Come, I'll question you
Of my lord's tricks and yours when you were boys.
You were pretty lordings then!
POLIXENES. We were, fair Queen,
Two lads that thought there was no more behind
But such a day to-morrow as to-day,
And to be boy eternal.
HERMIONE. Was not my lord
The verier wag o' th' two?
POLIXENES. We were as twinn'd lambs that did frisk i' th' sun
And bleat the one at th' other. What we chang'd
Was innocence for innocence; we knew not
The doctrine of ill-doing, nor dream'd
That any did. Had we pursu'd that life,
And our weak spirits ne'er been higher rear'd
With stronger blood, we should have answer'd heaven
Boldly 'Not guilty,' the imposition clear'd
Hereditary ours.
HERMIONE. By this we gather
You have tripp'd since.
POLIXENES. O my most sacred lady,
Temptations have since then been born to 's, for
In those unfledg'd days was my wife a girl;
Your precious self had then not cross'd the eyes
Of my young playfellow.
HERMIONE. Grace to boot!
Of this make no conclusion, lest you say
Your queen and I are devils. Yet, go on;
Th' offences we have made you do we'll answer,
If you first sinn'd with us, and that with us
You did continue fault, and that you slipp'd not
With any but with us.
LEONTES. Is he won yet?
HERMIONE. He'll stay, my lord.
LEONTES. At my request he would not.
Hermione, my dearest, thou never spok'st
To better purpose.
HERMIONE. Never?
LEONTES. Never but once.
HERMIONE. What! Have I twice said well? When was't before?
I prithee tell me; cram's with praise, and make's
As fat as tame things. One good deed dying tongueless
Slaughters a thousand waiting upon that.
Our praises are our wages; you may ride's
With one soft kiss a thousand furlongs ere
With spur we heat an acre. But to th' goal:
My last good deed was to entreat his stay;
What was my first? It has an elder sister,
Or I mistake you. O, would her name were Grace!
But once before I spoke to th' purpose- When?
Nay, let me have't; I long.
LEONTES. Why, that was when
Three crabbed months had sour'd themselves to death,
Ere I could make thee open thy white hand
And clap thyself my love; then didst thou utter
'I am yours for ever.'
HERMIONE. 'Tis Grace indeed.
Why, lo you now, I have spoke to th' purpose twice:
The one for ever earn'd a royal husband;
Th' other for some while a friend.
[Giving her hand to POLIXENES]
LEONTES. [Aside] Too hot, too hot!
To mingle friendship far is mingling bloods.
I have tremor cordis on me; my heart dances,
But not for joy, not joy. This entertainment
May a free face put on; derive a liberty
From heartiness, from bounty, fertile bosom,
And well become the agent. 'T may, I grant;
But to be paddling palms and pinching fingers,
As now they are, and making practis'd smiles
As in a looking-glass; and then to sigh, as 'twere
The mort o' th' deer. O, that is entertainment
My bosom likes not, nor my brows! Mamillius,
Art thou my boy?
MAMILLIUS. Ay, my good lord.
LEONTES. I' fecks!
Why, that's my bawcock. What! hast smutch'd thy nose?
They say it is a copy out of mine. Come, Captain,
We must be neat- not neat, but cleanly, Captain.
And yet the steer, the heifer, and the calf,
Are all call'd neat.- Still virginalling
Upon his palm?- How now, you wanton calf,
Art thou my calf?
MAMILLIUS. Yes, if you will, my lord.
LEONTES. Thou want'st a rough pash and the shoots that I have,
To be full like me; yet they say we are
Almost as like as eggs. Women say so,
That will say anything. But were they false
As o'er-dy'd blacks, as wind, as waters- false
As dice are to be wish'd by one that fixes
No bourn 'twixt his and mine; yet were it true
To say this boy were like me. Come, sir page,
Look on me with your welkin eye. Sweet villain!
Most dear'st! my collop! Can thy dam?- may't be?
Affection! thy intention stabs the centre.
Thou dost make possible things not so held,
Communicat'st with dreams- how can this be?-
With what's unreal thou coactive art,
And fellow'st nothing. Then 'tis very credent
Thou mayst co-join with something; and thou dost-
And that beyond commission; and I find it,
And that to the infection of my brains
And hard'ning of my brows.
POLIXENES. What means Sicilia?
HERMIONE. He something seems unsettled.
POLIXENES. How, my lord!
What cheer? How is't with you, best brother?
HERMIONE. You look
As if you held a brow of much distraction.
Are you mov'd, my lord?
LEONTES. No, in good earnest.
How sometimes nature will betray its folly,
Its tenderness, and make itself a pastime
To harder bosoms! Looking on the lines
Of my boy's face, methoughts I did recoil
Twenty-three years; and saw myself unbreech'd,
In my green velvet coat; my dagger muzzl'd,
Lest it should bite its master and so prove,
As ornaments oft do, too dangerous.
How like, methought, I then was to this kernel,
This squash, this gentleman. Mine honest friend,
Will you take eggs for money?
MAMILLIUS. No, my lord, I'll fight.
LEONTES. You will? Why, happy man be's dole! My brother,
Are you so fond of your young prince as we
Do seem to be of ours?
POLIXENES. If at home, sir,
He's all my exercise, my mirth, my matter;
Now my sworn friend, and then mine enemy;
My parasite, my soldier, statesman, all.
He makes a July's day short as December,
And with his varying childness cures in me
Thoughts that would thick my blood.
LEONTES. So stands this squire
Offic'd with me. We two will walk, my lord,
And leave you to your graver steps. Hermione,
How thou lov'st us show in our brother's welcome;
Let what is dear in Sicily be cheap;
Next to thyself and my young rover, he's
Apparent to my heart.
HERMIONE. If you would seek us,
We are yours i' th' garden. Shall's attend you there?
LEONTES. To your own bents dispose you; you'll be found,
Be you beneath the sky. [Aside] I am angling now,
Though you perceive me not how I give line.
Go to, go to!
How she holds up the neb, the bill to him!
And arms her with the boldness of a wife
To her allowing husband!
Exeunt POLIXENES, HERMIONE, and ATTENDANTS
Gone already!
Inch-thick, knee-deep, o'er head and ears a fork'd one!
Go, play, boy, play; thy mother plays, and I
Play too; but so disgrac'd a part, whose issue
Will hiss me to my grave. Contempt and clamour
Will be my knell. Go, play, boy, play. There have been,
Or I am much deceiv'd, cuckolds ere now;
And many a man there is, even at this present,
Now while I speak this, holds his wife by th' arm
That little thinks she has been sluic'd in's absence,
And his pond fish'd by his next neighbour, by
Sir Smile, his neighbour. Nay, there's comfort in't,
Whiles other men have gates and those gates open'd,
As mine, against their will. Should all despair
That hath revolted wives, the tenth of mankind
Would hang themselves. Physic for't there's none;
It is a bawdy planet, that will strike
Where 'tis predominant; and 'tis pow'rfull, think it,
From east, west, north, and south. Be it concluded,
No barricado for a belly. Know't,
It will let in and out the enemy
With bag and baggage. Many thousand on's
Have the disease, and feel't not. How now, boy!
MAMILLIUS. I am like you, they say.
LEONTES. Why, that's some comfort.
What! Camillo there?
CAMILLO. Ay, my good lord.
LEONTES. Go play, Mamillius; thou'rt an honest man.
Exit MAMILLIUS
Camillo, this great sir will yet stay longer.
CAMILLO. You had much ado to make his anchor hold;
When you cast out, it still came home.
LEONTES. Didst note it?
CAMILLO. He would not stay at your petitions; made
His business more material.
LEONTES. Didst perceive it?
[Aside] They're here with me already; whisp'ring, rounding,
'Sicilia is a so-forth.' 'Tis far gone
When I shall gust it last.- How came't, Camillo,
That he did stay?
CAMILLO. At the good Queen's entreaty.
LEONTES. 'At the Queen's' be't. 'Good' should be pertinent;
But so it is, it is not. Was this taken
By any understanding pate but thine?
For thy conceit is soaking, will draw in
More than the common blocks. Not noted, is't,
But of the finer natures, by some severals
Of head-piece extraordinary? Lower messes
Perchance are to this business purblind? Say.
CAMILLO. Business, my lord? I think most understand
Bohemia stays here longer.
LEONTES. Ha?
CAMILLO. Stays here longer.
LEONTES. Ay, but why?
CAMILLO. To satisfy your Highness, and the entreaties
Of our most gracious mistress.
LEONTES. Satisfy
Th' entreaties of your mistress! Satisfy!
Let that suffice. I have trusted thee, Camillo,
With all the nearest things to my heart, as well
My chamber-councils, wherein, priest-like, thou
Hast cleans'd my bosom- I from thee departed
Thy penitent reform'd; but we have been
Deceiv'd in thy integrity, deceiv'd
In that which seems so.
CAMILLO. Be it forbid, my lord!
LEONTES. To bide upon't: thou art not honest; or,
If thou inclin'st that way, thou art a coward,
Which hoxes honesty behind, restraining
From course requir'd; or else thou must be counted
A servant grafted in my serious trust,
And therein negligent; or else a fool
That seest a game play'd home, the rich stake drawn,
And tak'st it all for jest.
CAMILLO. My gracious lord,
I may be negligent, foolish, and fearful:
In every one of these no man is free
But that his negligence, his folly, fear,
Among the infinite doings of the world,
Sometime puts forth. In your affairs, my lord,
If ever I were wilfull-negligent,
It was my folly; if industriously
I play'd the fool, it was my negligence,
Not weighing well the end; if ever fearful
To do a thing where I the issue doubted,
Whereof the execution did cry out
Against the non-performance, 'twas a fear
Which oft infects the wisest. These, my lord,
Are such allow'd infirmities that honesty
Is never free of. But, beseech your Grace,
Be plainer with me; let me know my trespass
By its own visage; if I then deny it,
'Tis none of mine.
LEONTES. Ha' not you seen, Camillo-
But that's past doubt; you have, or your eye-glass
Is thicker than a cuckold's horn- or heard-
For to a vision so apparent rumour
Cannot be mute- or thought- for cogitation
Resides not in that man that does not think-
My wife is slippery? If thou wilt confess-
Or else be impudently negative,
To have nor eyes nor ears nor thought- then say
My wife's a hobby-horse, deserves a name
As rank as any flax-wench that puts to
Before her troth-plight. Say't and justify't.
CAMILLO. I would not be a stander-by to hear
My sovereign mistress clouded so, without
My present vengeance taken. Shrew my heart!
You never spoke what did become you less
Than this; which to reiterate were sin
As deep as that, though true.
LEONTES. Is whispering nothing?
Is leaning cheek to cheek? Is meeting noses?
Kissing with inside lip? Stopping the career
Of laughter with a sigh?- a note infallible
Of breaking honesty. Horsing foot on foot?
Skulking in corners? Wishing clocks more swift;
Hours, minutes; noon, midnight? And all eyes
Blind with the pin and web but theirs, theirs only,
That would unseen be wicked- is this nothing?
Why, then the world and all that's in't is nothing;
The covering sky is nothing; Bohemia nothing;
My is nothing; nor nothing have these nothings,
If this be nothing.
CAMILLO. Good my lord, be cur'd
Of this diseas'd opinion, and betimes;
For 'tis most dangerous.
LEONTES. Say it be, 'tis true.
CAMILLO. No, no, my lord.
LEONTES. It is; you lie, you lie.
I say thou liest, Camillo, and I hate thee;
Pronounce thee a gross lout, a mindless slave,
Or else a hovering temporizer that
Canst with thine eyes at once see good and evil,
Inclining to them both. Were my wife's liver
Infected as her life, she would not live
The running of one glass.
CAMILLO. Who does her?
LEONTES. Why, he that wears her like her medal, hanging
About his neck, Bohemia; who- if I
Had servants true about me that bare eyes
To see alike mine honour as their profits,
Their own particular thrifts, they would do that
Which should undo more doing. Ay, and thou,
His cupbearer- whom I from meaner form
Have bench'd and rear'd to worship; who mayst see,
Plainly as heaven sees earth and earth sees heaven,
How I am gall'd- mightst bespice a cup
To give mine enemy a lasting wink;
Which draught to me were cordial.
CAMILLO. Sir, my lord,
I could do this; and that with no rash potion,
But with a ling'ring dram that should not work
Maliciously like poison. But I cannot
Believe this crack to be in my dread mistress,
So sovereignly being honourable.
I have lov'd thee-
LEONTES. Make that thy question, and go rot!
Dost think I am so muddy, so unsettled,
To appoint myself in this vexation; sully
The purity and whiteness of my sheets-
Which to preserve is sleep, which being spotted
Is goads, thorns, nettles, tails of wasps;
Give scandal to the blood o' th' Prince, my son-
Who I do think is mine, and love as mine-
Without ripe moving to 't? Would I do this?
Could man so blench?
CAMILLO. I must believe you, sir.
I do; and will fetch off Bohemia for't;
Provided that, when he's remov'd, your Highness
Will take again your queen as yours at first,
Even for your son's sake; and thereby for sealing
The injury of tongues in courts and kingdoms
Known and allied to yours.
LEONTES. Thou dost advise me
Even so as I mine own course have set down.
I'll give no blemish to her honour, none.
CAMILLO. My lord,
Go then; and with a countenance as clear
As friendship wears at feasts, keep with Bohemia
And with your queen. I am his cupbearer;
If from me he have wholesome beverage,
Account me not your servant.
LEONTES. This is all:
Do't, and thou hast the one half of my heart;
Do't not, thou split'st thine own.
CAMILLO. I'll do't, my lord.
LEONTES. I will seem friendly, as thou hast advis'd me. Exit
CAMILLO. O miserable lady! But, for me,
What case stand I in? I must be the poisoner
Of good Polixenes; and my ground to do't
Is the obedience to a master; one
Who, in rebellion with himself, will have
All that are his so too. To do this deed,
Promotion follows. If I could find example
Of thousands that had struck anointed kings
And flourish'd after, I'd not do't; but since
Nor brass, nor stone, nor parchment, bears not one,
Let villainy itself forswear't. I must
Forsake the court. To do't, or no, is certain
To me a break-neck. Happy star reign now!
Here comes Bohemia.
Enter POLIXENES
POLIXENES. This is strange. Methinks
My favour here begins to warp. Not speak?
Good day, Camillo.
CAMILLO. Hail, most royal sir!
POLIXENES. What is the news i' th' court?
CAMILLO. None rare, my lord.
POLIXENES. The King hath on him such a countenance
As he had lost some province, and a region
Lov'd as he loves himself; even now I met him
With customary compliment, when he,
Wafting his eyes to th' contrary and falling
A lip of much contempt, speeds from me;
So leaves me to consider what is breeding
That changes thus his manners.
CAMILLO. I dare not know, my lord.
POLIXENES. How, dare not! Do not. Do you know, and dare not
Be intelligent to me? 'Tis thereabouts;
For, to yourself, what you do know, you must,
And cannot say you dare not. Good Camillo,
Your chang'd complexions are to me a mirror
Which shows me mine chang'd too; for I must be
A party in this alteration, finding
Myself thus alter'd with't.
CAMILLO. There is a sickness
Which puts some of us in distemper; but
I cannot name the disease; and it is caught
Of you that yet are well.
POLIXENES. How! caught of me?
Make me not sighted like the basilisk;
I have look'd on thousands who have sped the better
By my regard, but kill'd none so. Camillo-
As you are certainly a gentleman; thereto
Clerk-like experienc'd, which no less adorns
Our gentry than our parents' noble names,
In whose success we are gentle- I beseech you,
If you know aught which does behove my knowledge
Thereof to be inform'd, imprison't not
In ignorant concealment.
CAMILLO. I may not answer.
POLIXENES. A sickness caught of me, and yet I well?
I must be answer'd. Dost thou hear, Camillo?
I conjure thee, by all the parts of man
Which honour does acknowledge, whereof the least
Is not this suit of mine, that thou declare
What incidency thou dost guess of harm
Is creeping toward me; how far off, how near;
Which way to be prevented, if to be;
If not, how best to bear it.
CAMILLO. Sir, I will tell you;
Since I am charg'd in honour, and by him
That I think honourable. Therefore mark my counsel,
Which must be ev'n as swiftly followed as
I mean to utter it, or both yourself and me
Cry lost, and so goodnight.
POLIXENES. On, good Camillo.
CAMILLO. I am appointed him to murder you.
POLIXENES. By whom, Camillo?
CAMILLO. By the King.
POLIXENES. For what?
CAMILLO. He thinks, nay, with all confidence he swears,
As he had seen 't or been an instrument
To vice you to't, that you have touch'd his queen
Forbiddenly.
POLIXENES. O, then my best blood turn
To an infected jelly, and my name
Be yok'd with his that did betray the Best!
Turn then my freshest reputation to
A savour that may strike the dullest nostril
Where I arrive, and my approach be shunn'd,
Nay, hated too, worse than the great'st infection
That e'er was heard or read!
CAMILLO. Swear his thought over
By each particular star in heaven and
By all their influences, you may as well
Forbid the sea for to obey the moon
As or by oath remove or counsel shake
The fabric of his folly, whose foundation
Is pil'd upon his faith and will continue
The standing of his body.
POLIXENES. How should this grow?
CAMILLO. I know not; but I am sure 'tis safer to
Avoid what's grown than question how 'tis born.
If therefore you dare trust my honesty,
That lies enclosed in this trunk which you
Shall bear along impawn'd, away to-night.
Your followers I will whisper to the business;
And will, by twos and threes, at several posterns,
Clear them o' th' city. For myself, I'll put
My fortunes to your service, which are here
By this discovery lost. Be not uncertain,
For, by the honour of my parents, I
Have utt'red truth; which if you seek to prove,
I dare not stand by; nor shall you be safer
Than one condemn'd by the King's own mouth, thereon
His execution sworn.
POLIXENES. I do believe thee:
I saw his heart in's face. Give me thy hand;
Be pilot to me, and thy places shall
Still neighbour mine. My ships are ready, and
My people did expect my hence departure
Two days ago. This jealousy
Is for a precious creature; as she's rare,
Must it be great; and, as his person's mighty,
Must it be violent; and as he does conceive
He is dishonour'd by a man which ever
Profess'd to him, why, his revenges must
In that be made more bitter. Fear o'ershades me.
Good expedition be my friend, and comfort
The gracious Queen, part of this theme, but nothing
Of his ill-ta'en suspicion! Come, Camillo;
I will respect thee as a father, if
Thou bear'st my life off hence. Let us avoid.
CAMILLO. It is in mine authority to command
The keys of all the posterns. Please your Highness
To take the urgent hour. Come, sir, away. Exeunt
| Leontes, his wife Hermione, Polixenes, Camillo, and a bevy of lords stroll quietly on stage. Polixenes announces that after nine months away from his royal duties, he must return home tomorrow. Leontes urges Polixenes to stay at least another week, but Polixenes insists that he must leave the following day to tend to his duties, although no one could touch him so emotionally as Leontes can. Leontes then urges his wife to speak. Hermione reassures Polixenes that all is surely well in Bohemia; otherwise, he would have heard by now. Thus, he is free to stay. When Polixenes continues to resist the invitation to stay, Hermione declares that he will stay, either as her guest or as her prisoner. Given that choice, Polixenes agrees to stay one more week. Polixenes then enters into a reverie of his boyhood with Leontes. Hermione is curious about Leontes at that age. Polixenes recalls that they were both innocent, as alike as lambs. When teased about their loss of innocence, Polixenes graciously explains that neither of them had yet met the women whom they would eventually wed. Hermione then asks if their wives made them sinners or if they had sinned with others. Noticing the liveliness of their conversation, Leontes calls out: "Is he won yet?" Hermione responds that Polixenes will stay. Leontes congratulates his wife on her power of speaking convincingly, saying that only once before has she spoken so well. Hermione is intrigued and asks when was the other time. Leontes responds that it occurred at the end of their courtship when she said, "I am yours forever." Hermione responds that the first time she spoke well earned her a husband; the second time, a good friend. Hermione extends her hand to Polixenes, and they walk away from the others. Leontes fumes over every small gesture that the couple makes. He interprets impropriety, and he calls his son over and unleashes a mixture of double entendres with dirty innuendos. Enraged by jealousy, Leontes examines his son for signs of illegitimacy. Recognizing his emotional distress, he proclaims "the infection of my brains/ And hardening of my brows." Concerned about the change in Leontes' appearance, Polixenes and Hermione ask him if he is all right. Leontes lies, saying that while he was looking at Mamillius, he was reminded of his own "lost" youth. Leontes then asks Polixenes if he is fond of his son. Polixenes describes both the frustration and the pride of fatherhood, but despite them both, he says that his son means everything to him. Leontes claims that his son means the same to him. He states that he will walk with his son awhile and urges Polixenes and Hermione to walk elsewhere. Hermione says they will walk to the garden where they can be found if Leontes wants them. After watching the couple's actions, Leontes lashes out at his son: "Go play, boy, play. Thy mother plays," adding that she will "hiss" him to his grave. Clearly, the Sicilian king is convinced that his wife is unfaithful -- as are most wives -- in his estimation. Noticing Camillo, Leontes asks him for his version of what has happened. Camillo answers that Polixenes would not stay when Leontes asked him to do so, but changed his mind when Hermione entreated him. Leontes thus assumes that Camillo and others are already whispering about his cuckoldry. But when pressed to confirm Hermione's infidelity, Camillo is shocked, and he criticizes his king. After Leontes attacks Camillo's character and his reliability as a witness for not admitting or noticing that Hermione is "slippery" and a "hobby-horse," Camillo retorts: "You never spoke what did become you less than this." Unable to force Camillo to agree with him, Leontes slips into the role of a tyrant. He orders Camillo to poison Polixenes. Camillo agrees this would be easy enough, especially since he is Polixenes' cupbearer, and he promises to poison Polixenes if Leontes promises to treat Hermione as though nothing has happened -- for the sake of their son and for the purpose of forestalling international gossip. After Leontes agrees, Camillo urges Leontes to join Polixenes and Hermione and to seem to be friendly with them. Camillo then reveals to us that he is all too aware what happens to men who would poison a king. Polixenes enters confused and asks Camillo for an explanation of Leontes' unfriendly behavior; Camillo refers vaguely to a sickness. Polixenes presses Camillo for a clearer explanation, and Camillo finally admits that he has been ordered to poison Polixenes because the king suspects him of philandering with Hermione. At first, Polixenes wants to confront Leontes, face-to-face, with a denial, but he is persuaded by Camillo that this would be as useless as forbidding "the sea . . . to obey the moon." Finally, Polixenes accepts Camillo's plan for them to secretly slip away in small groups, and he promises Camillo asylum in return. As Polixenes remembers the rarity and purity of Hermione, he fears that Leontes' insane jealousy of Polixenes will result in violence. The two men then exit to begin their hasty escape. | summary |
Sicilia. The palace of LEONTES
Enter LEONTES, POLIXENES, HERMIONE, MAMILLIUS, CAMILLO, and
ATTENDANTS
POLIXENES. Nine changes of the wat'ry star hath been
The shepherd's note since we have left our throne
Without a burden. Time as long again
Would be fill'd up, my brother, with our thanks;
And yet we should for perpetuity
Go hence in debt. And therefore, like a cipher,
Yet standing in rich place, I multiply
With one 'We thank you' many thousands moe
That go before it.
LEONTES. Stay your thanks a while,
And pay them when you part.
POLIXENES. Sir, that's to-morrow.
I am question'd by my fears of what may chance
Or breed upon our absence, that may blow
No sneaping winds at home, to make us say
'This is put forth too truly.' Besides, I have stay'd
To tire your royalty.
LEONTES. We are tougher, brother,
Than you can put us to't.
POLIXENES. No longer stay.
LEONTES. One sev'night longer.
POLIXENES. Very sooth, to-morrow.
LEONTES. We'll part the time between's then; and in that
I'll no gainsaying.
POLIXENES. Press me not, beseech you, so.
There is no tongue that moves, none, none i' th' world,
So soon as yours could win me. So it should now,
Were there necessity in your request, although
'Twere needful I denied it. My affairs
Do even drag me homeward; which to hinder
Were in your love a whip to me; my stay
To you a charge and trouble. To save both,
Farewell, our brother.
LEONTES. Tongue-tied, our Queen? Speak you.
HERMIONE. I had thought, sir, to have held my peace until
You had drawn oaths from him not to stay. You, sir,
Charge him too coldly. Tell him you are sure
All in Bohemia's well- this satisfaction
The by-gone day proclaim'd. Say this to him,
He's beat from his best ward.
LEONTES. Well said, Hermione.
HERMIONE. To tell he longs to see his son were strong;
But let him say so then, and let him go;
But let him swear so, and he shall not stay;
We'll thwack him hence with distaffs.
[To POLIXENES] Yet of your royal presence I'll
adventure the borrow of a week. When at Bohemia
You take my lord, I'll give him my commission
To let him there a month behind the gest
Prefix'd for's parting.- Yet, good deed, Leontes,
I love thee not a jar o' th' clock behind
What lady she her lord.- You'll stay?
POLIXENES. No, madam.
HERMIONE. Nay, but you will?
POLIXENES. I may not, verily.
HERMIONE. Verily!
You put me off with limber vows; but I,
Though you would seek t' unsphere the stars with oaths,
Should yet say 'Sir, no going.' Verily,
You shall not go; a lady's 'verily' is
As potent as a lord's. Will go yet?
Force me to keep you as a prisoner,
Not like a guest; so you shall pay your fees
When you depart, and save your thanks. How say you?
My prisoner or my guest? By your dread 'verily,'
One of them you shall be.
POLIXENES. Your guest, then, madam:
To be your prisoner should import offending;
Which is for me less easy to commit
Than you to punish.
HERMIONE. Not your gaoler then,
But your kind. hostess. Come, I'll question you
Of my lord's tricks and yours when you were boys.
You were pretty lordings then!
POLIXENES. We were, fair Queen,
Two lads that thought there was no more behind
But such a day to-morrow as to-day,
And to be boy eternal.
HERMIONE. Was not my lord
The verier wag o' th' two?
POLIXENES. We were as twinn'd lambs that did frisk i' th' sun
And bleat the one at th' other. What we chang'd
Was innocence for innocence; we knew not
The doctrine of ill-doing, nor dream'd
That any did. Had we pursu'd that life,
And our weak spirits ne'er been higher rear'd
With stronger blood, we should have answer'd heaven
Boldly 'Not guilty,' the imposition clear'd
Hereditary ours.
HERMIONE. By this we gather
You have tripp'd since.
POLIXENES. O my most sacred lady,
Temptations have since then been born to 's, for
In those unfledg'd days was my wife a girl;
Your precious self had then not cross'd the eyes
Of my young playfellow.
HERMIONE. Grace to boot!
Of this make no conclusion, lest you say
Your queen and I are devils. Yet, go on;
Th' offences we have made you do we'll answer,
If you first sinn'd with us, and that with us
You did continue fault, and that you slipp'd not
With any but with us.
LEONTES. Is he won yet?
HERMIONE. He'll stay, my lord.
LEONTES. At my request he would not.
Hermione, my dearest, thou never spok'st
To better purpose.
HERMIONE. Never?
LEONTES. Never but once.
HERMIONE. What! Have I twice said well? When was't before?
I prithee tell me; cram's with praise, and make's
As fat as tame things. One good deed dying tongueless
Slaughters a thousand waiting upon that.
Our praises are our wages; you may ride's
With one soft kiss a thousand furlongs ere
With spur we heat an acre. But to th' goal:
My last good deed was to entreat his stay;
What was my first? It has an elder sister,
Or I mistake you. O, would her name were Grace!
But once before I spoke to th' purpose- When?
Nay, let me have't; I long.
LEONTES. Why, that was when
Three crabbed months had sour'd themselves to death,
Ere I could make thee open thy white hand
And clap thyself my love; then didst thou utter
'I am yours for ever.'
HERMIONE. 'Tis Grace indeed.
Why, lo you now, I have spoke to th' purpose twice:
The one for ever earn'd a royal husband;
Th' other for some while a friend.
[Giving her hand to POLIXENES]
LEONTES. [Aside] Too hot, too hot!
To mingle friendship far is mingling bloods.
I have tremor cordis on me; my heart dances,
But not for joy, not joy. This entertainment
May a free face put on; derive a liberty
From heartiness, from bounty, fertile bosom,
And well become the agent. 'T may, I grant;
But to be paddling palms and pinching fingers,
As now they are, and making practis'd smiles
As in a looking-glass; and then to sigh, as 'twere
The mort o' th' deer. O, that is entertainment
My bosom likes not, nor my brows! Mamillius,
Art thou my boy?
MAMILLIUS. Ay, my good lord.
LEONTES. I' fecks!
Why, that's my bawcock. What! hast smutch'd thy nose?
They say it is a copy out of mine. Come, Captain,
We must be neat- not neat, but cleanly, Captain.
And yet the steer, the heifer, and the calf,
Are all call'd neat.- Still virginalling
Upon his palm?- How now, you wanton calf,
Art thou my calf?
MAMILLIUS. Yes, if you will, my lord.
LEONTES. Thou want'st a rough pash and the shoots that I have,
To be full like me; yet they say we are
Almost as like as eggs. Women say so,
That will say anything. But were they false
As o'er-dy'd blacks, as wind, as waters- false
As dice are to be wish'd by one that fixes
No bourn 'twixt his and mine; yet were it true
To say this boy were like me. Come, sir page,
Look on me with your welkin eye. Sweet villain!
Most dear'st! my collop! Can thy dam?- may't be?
Affection! thy intention stabs the centre.
Thou dost make possible things not so held,
Communicat'st with dreams- how can this be?-
With what's unreal thou coactive art,
And fellow'st nothing. Then 'tis very credent
Thou mayst co-join with something; and thou dost-
And that beyond commission; and I find it,
And that to the infection of my brains
And hard'ning of my brows.
POLIXENES. What means Sicilia?
HERMIONE. He something seems unsettled.
POLIXENES. How, my lord!
What cheer? How is't with you, best brother?
HERMIONE. You look
As if you held a brow of much distraction.
Are you mov'd, my lord?
LEONTES. No, in good earnest.
How sometimes nature will betray its folly,
Its tenderness, and make itself a pastime
To harder bosoms! Looking on the lines
Of my boy's face, methoughts I did recoil
Twenty-three years; and saw myself unbreech'd,
In my green velvet coat; my dagger muzzl'd,
Lest it should bite its master and so prove,
As ornaments oft do, too dangerous.
How like, methought, I then was to this kernel,
This squash, this gentleman. Mine honest friend,
Will you take eggs for money?
MAMILLIUS. No, my lord, I'll fight.
LEONTES. You will? Why, happy man be's dole! My brother,
Are you so fond of your young prince as we
Do seem to be of ours?
POLIXENES. If at home, sir,
He's all my exercise, my mirth, my matter;
Now my sworn friend, and then mine enemy;
My parasite, my soldier, statesman, all.
He makes a July's day short as December,
And with his varying childness cures in me
Thoughts that would thick my blood.
LEONTES. So stands this squire
Offic'd with me. We two will walk, my lord,
And leave you to your graver steps. Hermione,
How thou lov'st us show in our brother's welcome;
Let what is dear in Sicily be cheap;
Next to thyself and my young rover, he's
Apparent to my heart.
HERMIONE. If you would seek us,
We are yours i' th' garden. Shall's attend you there?
LEONTES. To your own bents dispose you; you'll be found,
Be you beneath the sky. [Aside] I am angling now,
Though you perceive me not how I give line.
Go to, go to!
How she holds up the neb, the bill to him!
And arms her with the boldness of a wife
To her allowing husband!
Exeunt POLIXENES, HERMIONE, and ATTENDANTS
Gone already!
Inch-thick, knee-deep, o'er head and ears a fork'd one!
Go, play, boy, play; thy mother plays, and I
Play too; but so disgrac'd a part, whose issue
Will hiss me to my grave. Contempt and clamour
Will be my knell. Go, play, boy, play. There have been,
Or I am much deceiv'd, cuckolds ere now;
And many a man there is, even at this present,
Now while I speak this, holds his wife by th' arm
That little thinks she has been sluic'd in's absence,
And his pond fish'd by his next neighbour, by
Sir Smile, his neighbour. Nay, there's comfort in't,
Whiles other men have gates and those gates open'd,
As mine, against their will. Should all despair
That hath revolted wives, the tenth of mankind
Would hang themselves. Physic for't there's none;
It is a bawdy planet, that will strike
Where 'tis predominant; and 'tis pow'rfull, think it,
From east, west, north, and south. Be it concluded,
No barricado for a belly. Know't,
It will let in and out the enemy
With bag and baggage. Many thousand on's
Have the disease, and feel't not. How now, boy!
MAMILLIUS. I am like you, they say.
LEONTES. Why, that's some comfort.
What! Camillo there?
CAMILLO. Ay, my good lord.
LEONTES. Go play, Mamillius; thou'rt an honest man.
Exit MAMILLIUS
Camillo, this great sir will yet stay longer.
CAMILLO. You had much ado to make his anchor hold;
When you cast out, it still came home.
LEONTES. Didst note it?
CAMILLO. He would not stay at your petitions; made
His business more material.
LEONTES. Didst perceive it?
[Aside] They're here with me already; whisp'ring, rounding,
'Sicilia is a so-forth.' 'Tis far gone
When I shall gust it last.- How came't, Camillo,
That he did stay?
CAMILLO. At the good Queen's entreaty.
LEONTES. 'At the Queen's' be't. 'Good' should be pertinent;
But so it is, it is not. Was this taken
By any understanding pate but thine?
For thy conceit is soaking, will draw in
More than the common blocks. Not noted, is't,
But of the finer natures, by some severals
Of head-piece extraordinary? Lower messes
Perchance are to this business purblind? Say.
CAMILLO. Business, my lord? I think most understand
Bohemia stays here longer.
LEONTES. Ha?
CAMILLO. Stays here longer.
LEONTES. Ay, but why?
CAMILLO. To satisfy your Highness, and the entreaties
Of our most gracious mistress.
LEONTES. Satisfy
Th' entreaties of your mistress! Satisfy!
Let that suffice. I have trusted thee, Camillo,
With all the nearest things to my heart, as well
My chamber-councils, wherein, priest-like, thou
Hast cleans'd my bosom- I from thee departed
Thy penitent reform'd; but we have been
Deceiv'd in thy integrity, deceiv'd
In that which seems so.
CAMILLO. Be it forbid, my lord!
LEONTES. To bide upon't: thou art not honest; or,
If thou inclin'st that way, thou art a coward,
Which hoxes honesty behind, restraining
From course requir'd; or else thou must be counted
A servant grafted in my serious trust,
And therein negligent; or else a fool
That seest a game play'd home, the rich stake drawn,
And tak'st it all for jest.
CAMILLO. My gracious lord,
I may be negligent, foolish, and fearful:
In every one of these no man is free
But that his negligence, his folly, fear,
Among the infinite doings of the world,
Sometime puts forth. In your affairs, my lord,
If ever I were wilfull-negligent,
It was my folly; if industriously
I play'd the fool, it was my negligence,
Not weighing well the end; if ever fearful
To do a thing where I the issue doubted,
Whereof the execution did cry out
Against the non-performance, 'twas a fear
Which oft infects the wisest. These, my lord,
Are such allow'd infirmities that honesty
Is never free of. But, beseech your Grace,
Be plainer with me; let me know my trespass
By its own visage; if I then deny it,
'Tis none of mine.
LEONTES. Ha' not you seen, Camillo-
But that's past doubt; you have, or your eye-glass
Is thicker than a cuckold's horn- or heard-
For to a vision so apparent rumour
Cannot be mute- or thought- for cogitation
Resides not in that man that does not think-
My wife is slippery? If thou wilt confess-
Or else be impudently negative,
To have nor eyes nor ears nor thought- then say
My wife's a hobby-horse, deserves a name
As rank as any flax-wench that puts to
Before her troth-plight. Say't and justify't.
CAMILLO. I would not be a stander-by to hear
My sovereign mistress clouded so, without
My present vengeance taken. Shrew my heart!
You never spoke what did become you less
Than this; which to reiterate were sin
As deep as that, though true.
LEONTES. Is whispering nothing?
Is leaning cheek to cheek? Is meeting noses?
Kissing with inside lip? Stopping the career
Of laughter with a sigh?- a note infallible
Of breaking honesty. Horsing foot on foot?
Skulking in corners? Wishing clocks more swift;
Hours, minutes; noon, midnight? And all eyes
Blind with the pin and web but theirs, theirs only,
That would unseen be wicked- is this nothing?
Why, then the world and all that's in't is nothing;
The covering sky is nothing; Bohemia nothing;
My is nothing; nor nothing have these nothings,
If this be nothing.
CAMILLO. Good my lord, be cur'd
Of this diseas'd opinion, and betimes;
For 'tis most dangerous.
LEONTES. Say it be, 'tis true.
CAMILLO. No, no, my lord.
LEONTES. It is; you lie, you lie.
I say thou liest, Camillo, and I hate thee;
Pronounce thee a gross lout, a mindless slave,
Or else a hovering temporizer that
Canst with thine eyes at once see good and evil,
Inclining to them both. Were my wife's liver
Infected as her life, she would not live
The running of one glass.
CAMILLO. Who does her?
LEONTES. Why, he that wears her like her medal, hanging
About his neck, Bohemia; who- if I
Had servants true about me that bare eyes
To see alike mine honour as their profits,
Their own particular thrifts, they would do that
Which should undo more doing. Ay, and thou,
His cupbearer- whom I from meaner form
Have bench'd and rear'd to worship; who mayst see,
Plainly as heaven sees earth and earth sees heaven,
How I am gall'd- mightst bespice a cup
To give mine enemy a lasting wink;
Which draught to me were cordial.
CAMILLO. Sir, my lord,
I could do this; and that with no rash potion,
But with a ling'ring dram that should not work
Maliciously like poison. But I cannot
Believe this crack to be in my dread mistress,
So sovereignly being honourable.
I have lov'd thee-
LEONTES. Make that thy question, and go rot!
Dost think I am so muddy, so unsettled,
To appoint myself in this vexation; sully
The purity and whiteness of my sheets-
Which to preserve is sleep, which being spotted
Is goads, thorns, nettles, tails of wasps;
Give scandal to the blood o' th' Prince, my son-
Who I do think is mine, and love as mine-
Without ripe moving to 't? Would I do this?
Could man so blench?
CAMILLO. I must believe you, sir.
I do; and will fetch off Bohemia for't;
Provided that, when he's remov'd, your Highness
Will take again your queen as yours at first,
Even for your son's sake; and thereby for sealing
The injury of tongues in courts and kingdoms
Known and allied to yours.
LEONTES. Thou dost advise me
Even so as I mine own course have set down.
I'll give no blemish to her honour, none.
CAMILLO. My lord,
Go then; and with a countenance as clear
As friendship wears at feasts, keep with Bohemia
And with your queen. I am his cupbearer;
If from me he have wholesome beverage,
Account me not your servant.
LEONTES. This is all:
Do't, and thou hast the one half of my heart;
Do't not, thou split'st thine own.
CAMILLO. I'll do't, my lord.
LEONTES. I will seem friendly, as thou hast advis'd me. Exit
CAMILLO. O miserable lady! But, for me,
What case stand I in? I must be the poisoner
Of good Polixenes; and my ground to do't
Is the obedience to a master; one
Who, in rebellion with himself, will have
All that are his so too. To do this deed,
Promotion follows. If I could find example
Of thousands that had struck anointed kings
And flourish'd after, I'd not do't; but since
Nor brass, nor stone, nor parchment, bears not one,
Let villainy itself forswear't. I must
Forsake the court. To do't, or no, is certain
To me a break-neck. Happy star reign now!
Here comes Bohemia.
Enter POLIXENES
POLIXENES. This is strange. Methinks
My favour here begins to warp. Not speak?
Good day, Camillo.
CAMILLO. Hail, most royal sir!
POLIXENES. What is the news i' th' court?
CAMILLO. None rare, my lord.
POLIXENES. The King hath on him such a countenance
As he had lost some province, and a region
Lov'd as he loves himself; even now I met him
With customary compliment, when he,
Wafting his eyes to th' contrary and falling
A lip of much contempt, speeds from me;
So leaves me to consider what is breeding
That changes thus his manners.
CAMILLO. I dare not know, my lord.
POLIXENES. How, dare not! Do not. Do you know, and dare not
Be intelligent to me? 'Tis thereabouts;
For, to yourself, what you do know, you must,
And cannot say you dare not. Good Camillo,
Your chang'd complexions are to me a mirror
Which shows me mine chang'd too; for I must be
A party in this alteration, finding
Myself thus alter'd with't.
CAMILLO. There is a sickness
Which puts some of us in distemper; but
I cannot name the disease; and it is caught
Of you that yet are well.
POLIXENES. How! caught of me?
Make me not sighted like the basilisk;
I have look'd on thousands who have sped the better
By my regard, but kill'd none so. Camillo-
As you are certainly a gentleman; thereto
Clerk-like experienc'd, which no less adorns
Our gentry than our parents' noble names,
In whose success we are gentle- I beseech you,
If you know aught which does behove my knowledge
Thereof to be inform'd, imprison't not
In ignorant concealment.
CAMILLO. I may not answer.
POLIXENES. A sickness caught of me, and yet I well?
I must be answer'd. Dost thou hear, Camillo?
I conjure thee, by all the parts of man
Which honour does acknowledge, whereof the least
Is not this suit of mine, that thou declare
What incidency thou dost guess of harm
Is creeping toward me; how far off, how near;
Which way to be prevented, if to be;
If not, how best to bear it.
CAMILLO. Sir, I will tell you;
Since I am charg'd in honour, and by him
That I think honourable. Therefore mark my counsel,
Which must be ev'n as swiftly followed as
I mean to utter it, or both yourself and me
Cry lost, and so goodnight.
POLIXENES. On, good Camillo.
CAMILLO. I am appointed him to murder you.
POLIXENES. By whom, Camillo?
CAMILLO. By the King.
POLIXENES. For what?
CAMILLO. He thinks, nay, with all confidence he swears,
As he had seen 't or been an instrument
To vice you to't, that you have touch'd his queen
Forbiddenly.
POLIXENES. O, then my best blood turn
To an infected jelly, and my name
Be yok'd with his that did betray the Best!
Turn then my freshest reputation to
A savour that may strike the dullest nostril
Where I arrive, and my approach be shunn'd,
Nay, hated too, worse than the great'st infection
That e'er was heard or read!
CAMILLO. Swear his thought over
By each particular star in heaven and
By all their influences, you may as well
Forbid the sea for to obey the moon
As or by oath remove or counsel shake
The fabric of his folly, whose foundation
Is pil'd upon his faith and will continue
The standing of his body.
POLIXENES. How should this grow?
CAMILLO. I know not; but I am sure 'tis safer to
Avoid what's grown than question how 'tis born.
If therefore you dare trust my honesty,
That lies enclosed in this trunk which you
Shall bear along impawn'd, away to-night.
Your followers I will whisper to the business;
And will, by twos and threes, at several posterns,
Clear them o' th' city. For myself, I'll put
My fortunes to your service, which are here
By this discovery lost. Be not uncertain,
For, by the honour of my parents, I
Have utt'red truth; which if you seek to prove,
I dare not stand by; nor shall you be safer
Than one condemn'd by the King's own mouth, thereon
His execution sworn.
POLIXENES. I do believe thee:
I saw his heart in's face. Give me thy hand;
Be pilot to me, and thy places shall
Still neighbour mine. My ships are ready, and
My people did expect my hence departure
Two days ago. This jealousy
Is for a precious creature; as she's rare,
Must it be great; and, as his person's mighty,
Must it be violent; and as he does conceive
He is dishonour'd by a man which ever
Profess'd to him, why, his revenges must
In that be made more bitter. Fear o'ershades me.
Good expedition be my friend, and comfort
The gracious Queen, part of this theme, but nothing
Of his ill-ta'en suspicion! Come, Camillo;
I will respect thee as a father, if
Thou bear'st my life off hence. Let us avoid.
CAMILLO. It is in mine authority to command
The keys of all the posterns. Please your Highness
To take the urgent hour. Come, sir, away. Exeunt
| As hinted by Archidamus in the previous scene, nothing that is real in this world is altering the present situation. Incoherence now even afflicts Leontes: Then 'tis very credent Thou may'st co-join with something; and thou dost, And that beyond commission, and I find it, And that to the infection of my brains And hardening of my brows. Leontes' jealousy in this scene is the key to the quality of the conflict, the probability, and the development of both plot and character throughout the play. The onset of Leontes' jealousy comes without warning, motivation, or justification. Leontes' first jealous reaction is: "At my request he would not," meaning that Polixenes was not swayed by Leontes' entreaties. This statement is reinforced when Leontes reminds Hermione that she had spoken to equally good purpose when she promised him, "I am yours forever." Significantly, since Hermione and Polixenes are both innocent, they both fail to detect the rivalry and the jealousy which Leontes is now displaying. To Leontes, everything that the couple does inflames him; he assumes that they are flaunting their attraction for one another. Most damaging of all to Leontes is his increasing self-seduction by illusion. Observing some innocent courtly handplay, he spits out: "Too hot, too hot!/ To mingle friendship far is mingling blood." Suspecting even the illegitimacy of his son, Mamillius, Leontes imagines the snickering whispers of everyone about his cuckoldry "Inch-thick, knee-deep, o'er head and ears a forked one!" He tells Mamillius, sarcastically, to go "play," like his mother, and then he indulges in his fantasies, telling himself that many men consort with their wives without realizing that "she has been sluiced in's absence." He concludes that the problem must be widespread because there is no medicine, no protection against it: No barricado for a belly: know't; It will let in and out the enemy With bag and baggage. At this stage, the innocent charm of his son and the reality offered by Camillo can no longer link Leontes with reality. Thus, the Sicilian king sinks further and further into illusion: Is whispering nothing? Is leaning cheek to cheek? Is meeting noses? Kissing with inside lip? stopping the career Of laughter with a sigh? -- a note infallible Of breaking honesty; -- horsing foot on foot? Skulking in corners? wishing clocks more swift? In vain, Camillo pleads for Leontes to quickly be cured of this diseased opinion" because of its danger. Here, Leontes turns to tyranny, a transformation that is extremely dangerous because of the power which he commands during his sickness. He commands Camillo to verify the truth of his observations. Camillo refuses. Leontes insists, "It is; you lie, you lie!/ I say thou liest, Camillo, and I hate thee." Stoking his power with anger, he orders Camillo to poison Polixenes. It is no wonder that Camillo perceives himself in a hopeless dilemma and thus turns to Polixenes for help. When Polixenes correctly interprets Camillo's allusion to "a sickness/ Which puts some of us in distemper" , the Bohemian king clearly understands the hopelessness of the situation: This jealousy Is for a precious creature. As she's rare, Must it be great; and as his person's mighty, Must it be violent. Affirming the queen's innocence, Polixenes can only wish her well and flee for his life. The major conflict of the play begins to shape the plot: Leontes has flung himself against reality. He is willing to destroy his richest possessions -- the love and loyalty of his family, his best friend, and his court advisers -- for revenge. We can understand Leontes' tyranny because of our knowledge that human nature, when inflamed by jealousy, is often a cause of murder. In addition, Leontes' extraordinary power increases his capacity to murder. Camillo and Polixenes are sufficiently developed as characters to realize that their interpretations of reality leave them helpless before the sick illusion of the king's jealousy. The protests that the audience might feel because their observations of reality conflict with Leontes' conclusions are contained in the protests of Camillo. Shakespeare's stage and acting directions are superb aids for actors during these scenes. For instance, the friendship between the two kings is keenly illustrated with action: "They have seemed to be together, though absent; shook hands, as over a vast; and embraced, as it were, from the ends of opposed winds." Note, too, Shakespeare's clues for the actions of Hermione and Polixenes are ones that must sufficiently motivate Leontes. Intertwined with the warm sharing of childhood memories, these two must act out an enticing, inciting scene of "paddling palms," "pinching fingers," and laughter cut short. This dramatization increases in significance with the knowledge that Shakespeare altered the truly imprudent behavior of Hermione in his source and substituted, instead, the simple, innocent action of handplay to incite Leontes' jealousy. Although no truly exciting action occurs in this scene, the dramatic pace quickens with the infusion of the king's perverted emotions. Jealousy and then fear shatter the peaceful, sleepy grace of the first scene. One other central idea is subtly introduced in this scene. With the seemingly minor theme of youth, Shakespeare begins building the key theme of rebirth -- one of those concepts which separates this group of final plays from the tragedies. As a brief review, remember that Camillo believes that the elderly subjects of Sicilia stay alive merely to experience the promise of Mamillius' youth; remember also the strength of the bonds formed during the innocent youth of the two kings. More specific to the purpose of resolving Leontes' disease, notice references to the healing power of youth, such as "physics the subject" and "makes old hearts fresh." Later, when Perdita emerges as the symbol of spring and rebirth, she will belong to a tradition within the world of the play. | analysis |
Sicilia. The palace of LEONTES
Enter HERMIONE, MAMILLIUS, and LADIES
HERMIONE. Take the boy to you; he so troubles me,
'Tis past enduring.
FIRST LADY. Come, my gracious lord,
Shall I be your playfellow?
MAMILLIUS. No, I'll none of you.
FIRST LADY. Why, my sweet lord?
MAMILLIUS. You'll kiss me hard, and speak to me as if
I were a baby still. I love you better.
SECOND LADY. And why so, my lord?
MAMILLIUS. Not for because
Your brows are blacker; yet black brows, they say,
Become some women best; so that there be not
Too much hair there, but in a semicircle
Or a half-moon made with a pen.
SECOND LADY. Who taught't this?
MAMILLIUS. I learn'd it out of women's faces. Pray now,
What colour are your eyebrows?
FIRST LADY. Blue, my lord.
MAMILLIUS. Nay, that's a mock. I have seen a lady's nose
That has been blue, but not her eyebrows.
FIRST LADY. Hark ye:
The Queen your mother rounds apace. We shall
Present our services to a fine new prince
One of these days; and then you'd wanton with us,
If we would have you.
SECOND LADY. She is spread of late
Into a goodly bulk. Good time encounter her!
HERMIONE. What wisdom stirs amongst you? Come, sir, now
I am for you again. Pray you sit by us,
And tell's a tale.
MAMILLIUS. Merry or sad shall't be?
HERMIONE. As merry as you will.
MAMILLIUS. A sad tale's best for winter. I have one
Of sprites and goblins.
HERMIONE. Let's have that, good sir.
Come on, sit down; come on, and do your best
To fright me with your sprites; you're pow'rfull at it.
MAMILLIUS. There was a man-
HERMIONE. Nay, come, sit down; then on.
MAMILLIUS. Dwelt by a churchyard- I will tell it softly;
Yond crickets shall not hear it.
HERMIONE. Come on then,
And give't me in mine ear.
Enter LEONTES, ANTIGONUS, LORDS, and OTHERS
LEONTES. he met there? his train? Camillo with him?
FIRST LORD. Behind the tuft of pines I met them; never
Saw I men scour so on their way. I ey'd them
Even to their ships.
LEONTES. How blest am I
In my just censure, in my true opinion!
Alack, for lesser knowledge! How accurs'd
In being so blest! There may be in the cup
A spider steep'd, and one may drink, depart,
And yet partake no venom, for his knowledge
Is not infected; but if one present
Th' abhorr'd ingredient to his eye, make known
How he hath drunk, he cracks his gorge, his sides,
With violent hefts. I have drunk, and seen the spider.
Camillo was his help in this, his pander.
There is a plot against my life, my crown;
All's true that is mistrusted. That false villain
Whom I employ'd was pre-employ'd by him;
He has discover'd my design, and I
Remain a pinch'd thing; yea, a very trick
For them to play at will. How came the posterns
So easily open?
FIRST LORD. By his great authority;
Which often hath no less prevail'd than so
On your command.
LEONTES. I know't too well.
Give me the boy. I am glad you did not nurse him;
Though he does bear some signs of me, yet you
Have too much blood in him.
HERMIONE. What is this? Sport?
LEONTES. Bear the boy hence; he shall not come about her;
Away with him; and let her sport herself
[MAMILLIUS is led out]
With that she's big with- for 'tis Polixenes
Has made thee swell thus.
HERMIONE. But I'd say he had not,
And I'll be sworn you would believe my saying,
Howe'er you lean to th' nayward.
LEONTES. You, my lords,
Look on her, mark her well; be but about
To say 'She is a goodly lady' and
The justice of your hearts will thereto ad
'Tis pity she's not honest- honourable.'
Praise her but for this her without-door form,
Which on my faith deserves high speech, and straight
The shrug, the hum or ha, these petty brands
That calumny doth use- O, I am out!-
That mercy does, for calumny will sear
Virtue itself- these shrugs, these hum's and ha's,
When you have said she's goodly, come between,
Ere you can say she's honest. But be't known,
From him that has most cause to grieve it should be,
She's an adultress.
HERMIONE. Should a villain say so,
The most replenish'd villain in the world,
He were as much more villain: you, my lord,
Do but mistake.
LEONTES. You have mistook, my lady,
Polixenes for Leontes. O thou thing!
Which I'll not call a creature of thy place,
Lest barbarism, making me the precedent,
Should a like language use to all degrees
And mannerly distinguishment leave out
Betwixt the prince and beggar. I have said
She's an adultress; I have said with whom.
More, she's a traitor; and Camillo is
A federary with her, and one that knows
What she should shame to know herself
But with her most vile principal- that she's
A bed-swerver, even as bad as those
That vulgars give bold'st titles; ay, and privy
To this their late escape.
HERMIONE. No, by my life,
Privy to none of this. How will this grieve you,
When you shall come to clearer knowledge, that
You thus have publish'd me! Gentle my lord,
You scarce can right me throughly then to say
You did mistake.
LEONTES. No; if I mistake
In those foundations which I build upon,
The centre is not big enough to bear
A school-boy's top. Away with her to prison.
He who shall speak for her is afar off guilty
But that he speaks.
HERMIONE. There's some ill planet reigns.
I must be patient till the heavens look
With an aspect more favourable. Good my lords,
I am not prone to weeping, as our sex
Commonly are- the want of which vain dew
Perchance shall dry your pities- but I have
That honourable grief lodg'd here which burns
Worse than tears drown. Beseech you all, my lords,
With thoughts so qualified as your charities
Shall best instruct you, measure me; and so
The King's will be perform'd!
LEONTES. [To the GUARD] Shall I be heard?
HERMIONE. Who is't that goes with me? Beseech your highness
My women may be with me, for you see
My plight requires it. Do not weep, good fools;
There is no cause; when you shall know your mistress
Has deserv'd prison, then abound in tears
As I come out: this action I now go on
Is for my better grace. Adieu, my lord.
I never wish'd to see you sorry; now
I trust I shall. My women, come; you have leave.
LEONTES. Go, do our bidding; hence!
Exeunt HERMIONE, guarded, and LADIES
FIRST LORD. Beseech your Highness, call the Queen again.
ANTIGONUS. Be certain what you do, sir, lest your justice
Prove violence, in the which three great ones suffer,
Yourself, your queen, your son.
FIRST LORD. For her, my lord,
I dare my life lay down- and will do't, sir,
Please you t' accept it- that the Queen is spotless
I' th' eyes of heaven and to you- I mean
In this which you accuse her.
ANTIGONUS. If it prove
She's otherwise, I'll keep my stables where
I lodge my wife; I'll go in couples with her;
Than when I feel and see her no farther trust her;
For every inch of woman in the world,
Ay, every dram of woman's flesh is false,
If she be.
LEONTES. Hold your peaces.
FIRST LORD. Good my lord-
ANTIGONUS. It is for you we speak, not for ourselves.
You are abus'd, and by some putter-on
That will be damn'd for't. Would I knew the villain!
I would land-damn him. Be she honour-flaw'd-
I have three daughters: the eldest is eleven;
The second and the third, nine and some five;
If this prove true, they'll pay for 't. By mine honour,
I'll geld 'em all; fourteen they shall not see
To bring false generations. They are co-heirs;
And I had rather glib myself than they
Should not produce fair issue.
LEONTES. Cease; no more.
You smell this business with a sense as cold
As is a dead man's nose; but I do see't and feel't
As you feel doing thus; and see withal
The instruments that feel.
ANTIGONUS. If it be so,
We need no grave to bury honesty;
There's not a grain of it the face to sweeten
Of the whole dungy earth.
LEONTES. What! Lack I credit?
FIRST LORD. I had rather you did lack than I, my lord,
Upon this ground; and more it would content me
To have her honour true than your suspicion,
Be blam'd for't how you might.
LEONTES. Why, what need we
Commune with you of this, but rather follow
Our forceful instigation? Our prerogative
Calls not your counsels; but our natural goodness
Imparts this; which, if you- or stupified
Or seeming so in skill- cannot or will not
Relish a truth like us, inform yourselves
We need no more of your advice. The matter,
The loss, the gain, the ord'ring on't, is all
Properly ours.
ANTIGONUS. And I wish, my liege,
You had only in your silent judgment tried it,
Without more overture.
LEONTES. How could that be?
Either thou art most ignorant by age,
Or thou wert born a fool. Camillo's flight,
Added to their familiarity-
Which was as gross as ever touch'd conjecture,
That lack'd sight only, nought for approbation
But only seeing, all other circumstances
Made up to th' deed- doth push on this proceeding.
Yet, for a greater confirmation-
For, in an act of this importance, 'twere
Most piteous to be wild- I have dispatch'd in post
To sacred Delphos, to Apollo's temple,
Cleomenes and Dion, whom you know
Of stuff'd sufficiency. Now, from the oracle
They will bring all, whose spiritual counsel had,
Shall stop or spur me. Have I done well?
FIRST LORD. Well done, my lord.
LEONTES. Though I am satisfied, and need no more
Than what I know, yet shall the oracle
Give rest to th' minds of others such as he
Whose ignorant credulity will not
Come up to th' truth. So have we thought it good
From our free person she should be confin'd,
Lest that the treachery of the two fled hence
Be left her to perform. Come, follow us;
We are to speak in public; for this business
Will raise us all.
ANTIGONUS. [Aside] To laughter, as I take it,
If the good truth were known.
Exeunt
| Although Hermione and Mamillius enter together, Hermione immediately turns to her ladies-in-waiting and asks them to take the boy. Mamillius immediately engages the ladies with his precocious wit. One lady teases Mamillius about how much he will want their company after the new prince is born. The second lady observes that Hermione appears to be filling out rapidly, and she wishes her a speedy delivery. Hermione asks what they are talking about, then she asks her son to tell her a tale. "Merry or sad?" asks her son. "As merry as you will," Hermione responds. Mamillius decides, "A sad tale's best for winter." Hermione encourages him to try to frighten her with his sprites since he is good at that. Teasingly, he whispers the story to her so that the ladies-in-waiting cannot hear it. Leontes enters with Antigonus and some other lords, just as Leontes is receiving news of the departure of Camillo and Polixenes. He interprets their sudden departure as verification for his accusations, and he says that he finds the knowledge as odious as seeing a spider in a cup from which he has just drunk. Since Camillo was with the departing party, Leontes states that there must indeed be a plot against his life and his crown. In addition, he declares that Camillo must have been employed by Polixenes prior to the plan for poisoning; now, he fears what plots their combined knowledge will inspire them to hatch. Puzzled about how they got through the gates, he is informed that Camillo used his keys. Leontes demands that Hermione give Mamillius to him. Saying that he is glad she did not nurse him, he declares that already she has too much of her blood in him. Astonished, Hermione asks if this is some kind of game. As an answer, Leontes orders Mamillius to be taken out and kept from his mother; cruelly, he adds that Hermione can amuse herself with the child by Polixenes, the one whom she now carries. Hermione denies that the unborn child is Polixenes' and states that she believes her word should be enough to dissuade Leontes from his jealous accusations. Leontes announces to everyone that they may look at her and find her "goodly," but that they cannot find her "honest"; Hermione, he says, is an adulteress. Hermione reacts cautiously. Had a villain said that, she says, he would have become more of a villain, but Leontes is simply mistaken. In response, Leontes escalates his accusation. Not only is Hermione an adulteress, but she is a traitor in consort with Camillo and Polixenes -- and had knowledge of their plan to escape. Gently, Hermione denies the accusations and predicts that Leontes will grieve over his statements when he finally knows the truth. She says that he can make this up to her -- but only by declaring his mistake. Leontes, however, is convinced that he has built truth from facts; he orders her to prison and says that anyone who speaks in her behalf will be judged to be as guilty as she is. Hermione observes that "some ill planet reigns" and decides to be patient until the disorder is corrected. She tells the lords that, although she is not as prone to tears as most females are, she feels an "honorable grief." She asks the lords to judge her feelings but to obey their king. She then requests that her ladies accompany her to prison in order to help her with her pregnancy. Admonishing her ladies not to weep since there is no cause, she advises them to save their tears in the event that she should ever deserve to be sent to prison. As part of her graceful obedience, she tells Leontes that she never wished to see him sorry, but now she realizes that she will see him eventually very sorry. The king orders them out, and Hermione leaves in the company of her ladies and guards. Immediately, the lords begin to argue against the king's order. Antigonus prophesies that Hermione, Leontes, and Mamillius will all suffer for this act. One lord wagers his life that the queen is innocent. Antigonus pledges to keep his wife in the stables if Hermione is proven guilty, because such a sin would mean that no woman could be faithful. Leontes tells them to keep quiet. Antigonus says that he is sure that Leontes has listened to a liar, and he says that in addition to his pledge to keep his wife in the stables, he vows to geld his daughters to prevent any issue -- if Hermione is proven guilty. Leontes again tells them to be quiet. He says that their senses are dead; only he feels and sees the issues clearly. All honesty, Antigonus says, is dead. Leontes is amazed that his lords do not trust his judgment. At this, one of the lords says that he would prefer to disbelieve his king than to accept this judgment; furthermore, he would prefer to believe in Hermione's honor than in Leontes' suspicions. Leontes declares an end to all advice; since his lords do not seem to be able to discern truth, he will have to rely on his own "natural goodness" as judge and counsel. Calling upon royal prerogative, he reminds them that he need not seek their advice in the matter because he has all the power needed to proceed. Then he informs them that he has taken a step to curb any possible rashness; he has sent Cleomenes and Dion to Apollo's temple in Delphos, and he promises to abide by the spiritual counsel of the oracle. When told that he has done well, Leontes quickly adds that he is convinced that he has acted correctly and really needs no more information; he trusts that the oracle will reassure those who cannot now perceive the truth. Meanwhile, Hermione will remain in prison so that she cannot carry out any treasonous plots left undone by the two who fled. Leontes calls on them all to accompany him as he publicly announces the events. | summary |
Sicilia. The palace of LEONTES
Enter HERMIONE, MAMILLIUS, and LADIES
HERMIONE. Take the boy to you; he so troubles me,
'Tis past enduring.
FIRST LADY. Come, my gracious lord,
Shall I be your playfellow?
MAMILLIUS. No, I'll none of you.
FIRST LADY. Why, my sweet lord?
MAMILLIUS. You'll kiss me hard, and speak to me as if
I were a baby still. I love you better.
SECOND LADY. And why so, my lord?
MAMILLIUS. Not for because
Your brows are blacker; yet black brows, they say,
Become some women best; so that there be not
Too much hair there, but in a semicircle
Or a half-moon made with a pen.
SECOND LADY. Who taught't this?
MAMILLIUS. I learn'd it out of women's faces. Pray now,
What colour are your eyebrows?
FIRST LADY. Blue, my lord.
MAMILLIUS. Nay, that's a mock. I have seen a lady's nose
That has been blue, but not her eyebrows.
FIRST LADY. Hark ye:
The Queen your mother rounds apace. We shall
Present our services to a fine new prince
One of these days; and then you'd wanton with us,
If we would have you.
SECOND LADY. She is spread of late
Into a goodly bulk. Good time encounter her!
HERMIONE. What wisdom stirs amongst you? Come, sir, now
I am for you again. Pray you sit by us,
And tell's a tale.
MAMILLIUS. Merry or sad shall't be?
HERMIONE. As merry as you will.
MAMILLIUS. A sad tale's best for winter. I have one
Of sprites and goblins.
HERMIONE. Let's have that, good sir.
Come on, sit down; come on, and do your best
To fright me with your sprites; you're pow'rfull at it.
MAMILLIUS. There was a man-
HERMIONE. Nay, come, sit down; then on.
MAMILLIUS. Dwelt by a churchyard- I will tell it softly;
Yond crickets shall not hear it.
HERMIONE. Come on then,
And give't me in mine ear.
Enter LEONTES, ANTIGONUS, LORDS, and OTHERS
LEONTES. he met there? his train? Camillo with him?
FIRST LORD. Behind the tuft of pines I met them; never
Saw I men scour so on their way. I ey'd them
Even to their ships.
LEONTES. How blest am I
In my just censure, in my true opinion!
Alack, for lesser knowledge! How accurs'd
In being so blest! There may be in the cup
A spider steep'd, and one may drink, depart,
And yet partake no venom, for his knowledge
Is not infected; but if one present
Th' abhorr'd ingredient to his eye, make known
How he hath drunk, he cracks his gorge, his sides,
With violent hefts. I have drunk, and seen the spider.
Camillo was his help in this, his pander.
There is a plot against my life, my crown;
All's true that is mistrusted. That false villain
Whom I employ'd was pre-employ'd by him;
He has discover'd my design, and I
Remain a pinch'd thing; yea, a very trick
For them to play at will. How came the posterns
So easily open?
FIRST LORD. By his great authority;
Which often hath no less prevail'd than so
On your command.
LEONTES. I know't too well.
Give me the boy. I am glad you did not nurse him;
Though he does bear some signs of me, yet you
Have too much blood in him.
HERMIONE. What is this? Sport?
LEONTES. Bear the boy hence; he shall not come about her;
Away with him; and let her sport herself
[MAMILLIUS is led out]
With that she's big with- for 'tis Polixenes
Has made thee swell thus.
HERMIONE. But I'd say he had not,
And I'll be sworn you would believe my saying,
Howe'er you lean to th' nayward.
LEONTES. You, my lords,
Look on her, mark her well; be but about
To say 'She is a goodly lady' and
The justice of your hearts will thereto ad
'Tis pity she's not honest- honourable.'
Praise her but for this her without-door form,
Which on my faith deserves high speech, and straight
The shrug, the hum or ha, these petty brands
That calumny doth use- O, I am out!-
That mercy does, for calumny will sear
Virtue itself- these shrugs, these hum's and ha's,
When you have said she's goodly, come between,
Ere you can say she's honest. But be't known,
From him that has most cause to grieve it should be,
She's an adultress.
HERMIONE. Should a villain say so,
The most replenish'd villain in the world,
He were as much more villain: you, my lord,
Do but mistake.
LEONTES. You have mistook, my lady,
Polixenes for Leontes. O thou thing!
Which I'll not call a creature of thy place,
Lest barbarism, making me the precedent,
Should a like language use to all degrees
And mannerly distinguishment leave out
Betwixt the prince and beggar. I have said
She's an adultress; I have said with whom.
More, she's a traitor; and Camillo is
A federary with her, and one that knows
What she should shame to know herself
But with her most vile principal- that she's
A bed-swerver, even as bad as those
That vulgars give bold'st titles; ay, and privy
To this their late escape.
HERMIONE. No, by my life,
Privy to none of this. How will this grieve you,
When you shall come to clearer knowledge, that
You thus have publish'd me! Gentle my lord,
You scarce can right me throughly then to say
You did mistake.
LEONTES. No; if I mistake
In those foundations which I build upon,
The centre is not big enough to bear
A school-boy's top. Away with her to prison.
He who shall speak for her is afar off guilty
But that he speaks.
HERMIONE. There's some ill planet reigns.
I must be patient till the heavens look
With an aspect more favourable. Good my lords,
I am not prone to weeping, as our sex
Commonly are- the want of which vain dew
Perchance shall dry your pities- but I have
That honourable grief lodg'd here which burns
Worse than tears drown. Beseech you all, my lords,
With thoughts so qualified as your charities
Shall best instruct you, measure me; and so
The King's will be perform'd!
LEONTES. [To the GUARD] Shall I be heard?
HERMIONE. Who is't that goes with me? Beseech your highness
My women may be with me, for you see
My plight requires it. Do not weep, good fools;
There is no cause; when you shall know your mistress
Has deserv'd prison, then abound in tears
As I come out: this action I now go on
Is for my better grace. Adieu, my lord.
I never wish'd to see you sorry; now
I trust I shall. My women, come; you have leave.
LEONTES. Go, do our bidding; hence!
Exeunt HERMIONE, guarded, and LADIES
FIRST LORD. Beseech your Highness, call the Queen again.
ANTIGONUS. Be certain what you do, sir, lest your justice
Prove violence, in the which three great ones suffer,
Yourself, your queen, your son.
FIRST LORD. For her, my lord,
I dare my life lay down- and will do't, sir,
Please you t' accept it- that the Queen is spotless
I' th' eyes of heaven and to you- I mean
In this which you accuse her.
ANTIGONUS. If it prove
She's otherwise, I'll keep my stables where
I lodge my wife; I'll go in couples with her;
Than when I feel and see her no farther trust her;
For every inch of woman in the world,
Ay, every dram of woman's flesh is false,
If she be.
LEONTES. Hold your peaces.
FIRST LORD. Good my lord-
ANTIGONUS. It is for you we speak, not for ourselves.
You are abus'd, and by some putter-on
That will be damn'd for't. Would I knew the villain!
I would land-damn him. Be she honour-flaw'd-
I have three daughters: the eldest is eleven;
The second and the third, nine and some five;
If this prove true, they'll pay for 't. By mine honour,
I'll geld 'em all; fourteen they shall not see
To bring false generations. They are co-heirs;
And I had rather glib myself than they
Should not produce fair issue.
LEONTES. Cease; no more.
You smell this business with a sense as cold
As is a dead man's nose; but I do see't and feel't
As you feel doing thus; and see withal
The instruments that feel.
ANTIGONUS. If it be so,
We need no grave to bury honesty;
There's not a grain of it the face to sweeten
Of the whole dungy earth.
LEONTES. What! Lack I credit?
FIRST LORD. I had rather you did lack than I, my lord,
Upon this ground; and more it would content me
To have her honour true than your suspicion,
Be blam'd for't how you might.
LEONTES. Why, what need we
Commune with you of this, but rather follow
Our forceful instigation? Our prerogative
Calls not your counsels; but our natural goodness
Imparts this; which, if you- or stupified
Or seeming so in skill- cannot or will not
Relish a truth like us, inform yourselves
We need no more of your advice. The matter,
The loss, the gain, the ord'ring on't, is all
Properly ours.
ANTIGONUS. And I wish, my liege,
You had only in your silent judgment tried it,
Without more overture.
LEONTES. How could that be?
Either thou art most ignorant by age,
Or thou wert born a fool. Camillo's flight,
Added to their familiarity-
Which was as gross as ever touch'd conjecture,
That lack'd sight only, nought for approbation
But only seeing, all other circumstances
Made up to th' deed- doth push on this proceeding.
Yet, for a greater confirmation-
For, in an act of this importance, 'twere
Most piteous to be wild- I have dispatch'd in post
To sacred Delphos, to Apollo's temple,
Cleomenes and Dion, whom you know
Of stuff'd sufficiency. Now, from the oracle
They will bring all, whose spiritual counsel had,
Shall stop or spur me. Have I done well?
FIRST LORD. Well done, my lord.
LEONTES. Though I am satisfied, and need no more
Than what I know, yet shall the oracle
Give rest to th' minds of others such as he
Whose ignorant credulity will not
Come up to th' truth. So have we thought it good
From our free person she should be confin'd,
Lest that the treachery of the two fled hence
Be left her to perform. Come, follow us;
We are to speak in public; for this business
Will raise us all.
ANTIGONUS. [Aside] To laughter, as I take it,
If the good truth were known.
Exeunt
| This act's structure is similar to that of Act I. It opens with a sleepy, peaceful pace -- which Leontes will soon shatter. Hermione requests a tale from her son, and Mamillius suggests a sad tale as "best for winter." A "winter's tale" means a story to pass the long evening hours of winter, especially a story that its listeners will enjoy when it is retold. With Leontes' entrance and simultaneous reaction to the report about the escape of Camillo and Polixenes, the season of royal discontent disintegrates quickly into general discontent. Because of the play's title and because of Mamillius' "tale suitable for winter," the situation becomes reminiscent of Richard III's phrase, "the winter of our discontent." In effect, Leontes creates a perpetual winter's death without the hope of spring's rebirth and regeneration. Leontes eliminates the hope of rebirth and rehealing when he rejects his unborn child and when he isolates his son. In these "problem plays," rejection usually leaves only tragedy as the possible consequence of the destructive tyranny that Leontes has initiated. His disease must now progress untreated unless the circumstances change. As Leontes destroyed his friendship with Polixenes in the previous act, he now destroys his family. Again, note that nothing that exists in their world justifies altering those relationships: illusion motivates Leontes. He alters everything to suit his sense of 'Justice," justice which he metes out unfairly because of misconstrued events. With his jealous imagination still gnawing at him, Leontes leaps to an even more serious accusation against Hermione -- treason. The facts from which he draws this conclusion, however, do not influence others to deduce the same conclusion. A lord reports that he saw Camillo, Polixenes, and Polixenes' attendants rushing to their ships. Immediately, Leontes exclaims: "How blest am I/ In my just censure, in my true opinion!" But Leontes fails to remember his own wicked, recently conceived poison plot! Pausing only to regret the knowledge he now has, he declares, with no further information: Camillo was his help in this, his pander. There is a plot against my life, my crown. All's true that is mistrusted. That false villain Whom I employed was pre-employed by him. As Polixenes predicted, Leontes' jealousy "for a precious creature" is enormous, and because of his powerful position, that jealousy now turns "violent." In fact, Leontes becomes increasingly paranoid. The disruption of his senses seems alarmingly probable. Declaring that sometimes it's better not to know unpleasant facts, Leontes illustrates this "truth" with fevered imagery similar to an unbalanced Lear: There may be in the cup A spider steeped, and one may drink, depart, And yet partake no venom, for his knowledge Is not infected; but if one present The abhorred ingredient to his eye, make known How he hath drunk, he cracks his gorge, his sides, With violent hefts. I have drunk, and seen the spider. This chilling image provides a clue to Leontes' insane -- like disturbances. Later, Leontes decides that Hermione is also involved in the nonexistent plot against him. I have saidShe's an adultress, I have said with whom;More, she's a traitor, and Camillo isA fedary with her . . . To Leontes, the causal sequences of Camillo's departure with Polixenes -- immediately after Leontes' accusation that Polixenes committed adultery with Hermione -- are proof enough that all three of them are involved in a treasonous plot. Of course, Leontes can provide no reasonable motivation for such a plot, and the audience is well aware that they have seen nothing to substantiate the accusation. Again, probability is maintained because the audience's evidence is firmly, unanimously supported by the arguing lords of Sicilia. Leontes now escalates the tyranny that he first exhibited when he conspired with Camillo. As in the scene with Camillo, Leontes is suspicious of anyone who will not substantiate his illusions: thus, he unknowingly denies himself the benefit of more accurate, more truthful observations. Leontes refuses to listen to any opposing opinions. He even exhibits a streak of meanness when he pinches Antigonus; then he reveals even more of his evil nature when he forbids anyone to offer an opposing opinion as he sends Hermione to prison. After it becomes clear that the lords will not cease arguing, he calmly declares: Why, what need we Commune with you of this, but rather follow Our forceful instigation? Our prerogative Calls not your counsels, but our natural goodness Imparts this; which if you, or stupefied Or seeming so in skill, cannot or will not Relish a truth like us, inform yourselves We need no more of your advice. With this speech, Leontes now isolates himself with his insanity. Confused because no one will accept his "evidence" or authority, his speech disintegrates into short, violent outbursts, sometimes barely coherent. With everyone and every fact arguing against his actions, Leontes is clearly abusing and misusing Free Will. Hermione, in fact, concludes that "some ill planet" reigns; thus, she resigns herself to being patient until the heavens look with a more favorable aspect upon her. All of this is the dramatic basis for the major conflict. We have witnessed the jealous, tyrannical Leontes as he flung his distorted illusions against reality. We watched Leontes escalate the willful destruction of his richest possessions. As a protagonist, he has severed his ties with his family and has isolated them; then he escalated his own isolation from the loyal advice of all who could have helped him see the truth. He has isolated himself from all objective communication, and finally he is left with only his own wrong illusions. Suitably, the setting increasingly becomes a series of confined, isolated fragments. Hermione moves to prison, Mamillius is confined to his quarters, and Leontes places himself apart from anyone who disagrees with him. Characterization is of secondary interest in this scene. Leontes is developed almost as a stereotype to "Human Nature disrupted by Insanity." On the other hand, Hermione's goodness comes close to being unbelievable, were it not for the fact that we see her growing stronger, more self-sufficient, and patient -- as do many pregnant women confronted with emergencies. Perhaps her unshakable pureness and goodness are essential in order to motivate all the underlings to argue with their king, but the audience may well wonder whether such a rare creature could actually exist beyond the stage of this play. The age of Mamillius remains a mystery. Shakespeare portrays him as a spirited, flirtatious, proud and secretive youth -- perhaps a young teenager. But his ties to his mother seem to indicate a much younger child. He lives, and soon dies, and he remains largely an inscrutable mystery. | analysis |
Sicilia. A prison
Enter PAULINA, a GENTLEMAN, and ATTENDANTS
PAULINA. The keeper of the prison- call to him;
Let him have knowledge who I am. Exit GENTLEMAN
Good lady!
No court in Europe is too good for thee;
What dost thou then in prison?
Re-enter GENTLEMAN with the GAOLER
Now, good sir,
You know me, do you not?
GAOLER. For a worthy lady,
And one who much I honour.
PAULINA. Pray you, then,
Conduct me to the Queen.
GAOLER. I may not, madam;
To the contrary I have express commandment.
PAULINA. Here's ado, to lock up honesty and honour from
Th' access of gentle visitors! Is't lawful, pray you,
To see her women- any of them? Emilia?
GAOLER. So please you, madam,
To put apart these your attendants,
Shall bring Emilia forth.
PAULINA. I pray now, call her.
Withdraw yourselves. Exeunt ATTENDANTS
GAOLER. And, madam,
I must be present at your conference.
PAULINA. Well, be't so, prithee. Exit GAOLER
Here's such ado to make no stain a stain
As passes colouring.
Re-enter GAOLER, with EMILIA
Dear gentlewoman,
How fares our gracious lady?
EMILIA. As well as one so great and so forlorn
May hold together. On her frights and griefs,
Which never tender lady hath borne greater,
She is, something before her time, deliver'd.
PAULINA. A boy?
EMILIA. A daughter, and a goodly babe,
Lusty, and like to live. The Queen receives
Much comfort in't; says 'My poor prisoner,
I am as innocent as you.'
PAULINA. I dare be sworn.
These dangerous unsafe lunes i' th' King, beshrew them!
He must be told on't, and he shall. The office
Becomes a woman best; I'll take't upon me;
If I prove honey-mouth'd, let my tongue blister,
And never to my red-look'd anger be
The trumpet any more. Pray you, Emilia,
Commend my best obedience to the Queen;
If she dares trust me with her little babe,
I'll show't the King, and undertake to be
Her advocate to th' loud'st. We do not know
How he may soften at the sight o' th' child:
The silence often of pure innocence
Persuades when speaking fails.
EMILIA. Most worthy madam,
Your honour and your goodness is so evident
That your free undertaking cannot miss
A thriving issue; there is no lady living
So meet for this great errand. Please your ladyship
To visit the next room, I'll presently
Acquaint the Queen of your most noble offer
Who but to-day hammer'd of this design,
But durst not tempt a minister of honour,
Lest she should be denied.
PAULINA. Tell her, Emilia,
I'll use that tongue I have; if wit flow from't
As boldness from my bosom, let't not be doubted
I shall do good.
EMILIA. Now be you blest for it!
I'll to the Queen. Please you come something nearer.
GAOLER. Madam, if't please the Queen to send the babe,
I know not what I shall incur to pass it,
Having no warrant.
PAULINA. You need not fear it, sir.
This child was prisoner to the womb, and is
By law and process of great Nature thence
Freed and enfranchis'd- not a party to
The anger of the King, nor guilty of,
If any be, the trespass of the Queen.
GAOLER. I do believe it.
PAULINA. Do not you fear. Upon mine honour, I
Will stand betwixt you and danger. Exeunt
| Paulina and her attendants appear at the prison to request a visit with Hermione. The gaoler replies that he has orders not to allow visitors. Paulina then requests a chance to speak to one of the queen's ladies, Emilia if possible. The gaoler agrees to bring Emilia to Paulina if she dismisses her attendants, and if he himself can attend the conference. Paulina cooperates, but she expresses in asides the building fury that she feels about her good queen's imprisonment. Emilia reports that Hermione is doing as well as one "so great and so forlorn" might expect in her situation. Blaming the fears and sadnesses that weigh upon the queen, Emilia reports the premature delivery of a daughter. In spite of the "dangerous unsafe lunes i' the king," Paulina decides to show Leontes his infant daughter, and she pledges a blistering advocacy for the queen. If Hermione will trust her with the infant, Paulina feels that the sight of the innocent baby will persuade Leontes to change his attitude toward the queen. Emilia praises Paulina as the most suitable woman to undertake the brave errand. In fact, she says, Hermione had thought of the same plan but had rejected it because she feared that anyone whom she might ask to do so would turn her down. When Emilia exits to ask for the baby, the gaoler tells Paulina that he cannot allow the baby to leave the prison unless he sees a warrant. Paulina convinces him that the baby entered the prison as an innocent in her mother's womb and therefore needs no warrant in order to leave. This argument easily sways the simple gaoler, but Paulina further soothes his fears by pledging to stand between him and any danger from Leontes. | summary |
Sicilia. A prison
Enter PAULINA, a GENTLEMAN, and ATTENDANTS
PAULINA. The keeper of the prison- call to him;
Let him have knowledge who I am. Exit GENTLEMAN
Good lady!
No court in Europe is too good for thee;
What dost thou then in prison?
Re-enter GENTLEMAN with the GAOLER
Now, good sir,
You know me, do you not?
GAOLER. For a worthy lady,
And one who much I honour.
PAULINA. Pray you, then,
Conduct me to the Queen.
GAOLER. I may not, madam;
To the contrary I have express commandment.
PAULINA. Here's ado, to lock up honesty and honour from
Th' access of gentle visitors! Is't lawful, pray you,
To see her women- any of them? Emilia?
GAOLER. So please you, madam,
To put apart these your attendants,
Shall bring Emilia forth.
PAULINA. I pray now, call her.
Withdraw yourselves. Exeunt ATTENDANTS
GAOLER. And, madam,
I must be present at your conference.
PAULINA. Well, be't so, prithee. Exit GAOLER
Here's such ado to make no stain a stain
As passes colouring.
Re-enter GAOLER, with EMILIA
Dear gentlewoman,
How fares our gracious lady?
EMILIA. As well as one so great and so forlorn
May hold together. On her frights and griefs,
Which never tender lady hath borne greater,
She is, something before her time, deliver'd.
PAULINA. A boy?
EMILIA. A daughter, and a goodly babe,
Lusty, and like to live. The Queen receives
Much comfort in't; says 'My poor prisoner,
I am as innocent as you.'
PAULINA. I dare be sworn.
These dangerous unsafe lunes i' th' King, beshrew them!
He must be told on't, and he shall. The office
Becomes a woman best; I'll take't upon me;
If I prove honey-mouth'd, let my tongue blister,
And never to my red-look'd anger be
The trumpet any more. Pray you, Emilia,
Commend my best obedience to the Queen;
If she dares trust me with her little babe,
I'll show't the King, and undertake to be
Her advocate to th' loud'st. We do not know
How he may soften at the sight o' th' child:
The silence often of pure innocence
Persuades when speaking fails.
EMILIA. Most worthy madam,
Your honour and your goodness is so evident
That your free undertaking cannot miss
A thriving issue; there is no lady living
So meet for this great errand. Please your ladyship
To visit the next room, I'll presently
Acquaint the Queen of your most noble offer
Who but to-day hammer'd of this design,
But durst not tempt a minister of honour,
Lest she should be denied.
PAULINA. Tell her, Emilia,
I'll use that tongue I have; if wit flow from't
As boldness from my bosom, let't not be doubted
I shall do good.
EMILIA. Now be you blest for it!
I'll to the Queen. Please you come something nearer.
GAOLER. Madam, if't please the Queen to send the babe,
I know not what I shall incur to pass it,
Having no warrant.
PAULINA. You need not fear it, sir.
This child was prisoner to the womb, and is
By law and process of great Nature thence
Freed and enfranchis'd- not a party to
The anger of the King, nor guilty of,
If any be, the trespass of the Queen.
GAOLER. I do believe it.
PAULINA. Do not you fear. Upon mine honour, I
Will stand betwixt you and danger. Exeunt
| Compared to Hermione's gentle, obedient reaction to Leontes' tyranny, Paulina's rage is graphically gathering as she prepares to confront her king. Obviously she has no intention of using the diplomatic ploys of Camillo or the other advisers; she will voice only her own absolute outrage at the mistreatment of the innocent. Well aware of the "lunes" that now control Leontes, Paulina determines that a direct attack of Truth will shake him loose from his insanity. And clearly, Leontes' actions can be called insane for they have destroyed a peaceful court life and a happy family life. The scene is focused on Hermione's hard and unjust imprisonment and Paulina's resulting rebellion: "Here's ado,/ To lock up honesty and honor from/ The access of gentle visitors." Paulina must claw her way into a position to argue the queen's case. She is not only a singular volunteer, but she is the most qualified person to do so, according to Emilia: "There is no lady living/ So meet for this great errand." Paulina believes that she knows what Leontes really wants, and what truly motivates him. She believes that he wants to love his wife and child, but needs a new cause to do so. She is correct, but only after many tragedies and many years will this be proven. At present, Paulina chooses her own dangerous, unswerving course. | analysis |
Sicilia. The palace of LEONTES
Enter LEONTES, ANTIGONUS, LORDS, and SERVANTS
LEONTES. Nor night nor day no rest! It is but weakness
To bear the matter thus- mere weakness. If
The cause were not in being- part o' th' cause,
She, th' adultress; for the harlot king
Is quite beyond mine arm, out of the blank
And level of my brain, plot-proof; but she
I can hook to me- say that she were gone,
Given to the fire, a moiety of my rest
Might come to me again. Who's there?
FIRST SERVANT. My lord?
LEONTES. How does the boy?
FIRST SERVANT. He took good rest to-night;
'Tis hop'd his sickness is discharg'd.
LEONTES. To see his nobleness!
Conceiving the dishonour of his mother,
He straight declin'd, droop'd, took it deeply,
Fasten'd and fix'd the shame on't in himself,
Threw off his spirit, his appetite, his sleep,
And downright languish'd. Leave me solely. Go,
See how he fares. [Exit SERVANT] Fie, fie! no thought of
him!
The very thought of my revenges that way
Recoil upon me- in himself too mighty,
And in his parties, his alliance. Let him be,
Until a time may serve; for present vengeance,
Take it on her. Camillo and Polixenes
Laugh at me, make their pastime at my sorrow.
They should not laugh if I could reach them; nor
Shall she, within my pow'r.
Enter PAULINA, with a CHILD
FIRST LORD. You must not enter.
PAULINA. Nay, rather, good my lords, be second to me.
Fear you his tyrannous passion more, alas,
Than the Queen's life? A gracious innocent soul,
More free than he is jealous.
ANTIGONUS. That's enough.
SECOND SERVANT. Madam, he hath not slept to-night; commanded
None should come at him.
PAULINA. Not so hot, good sir;
I come to bring him sleep. 'Tis such as you,
That creep like shadows by him, and do sigh
At each his needless heavings- such as you
Nourish the cause of his awaking: I
Do come with words as medicinal as true,
Honest as either, to purge him of that humour
That presses him from sleep.
LEONTES. What noise there, ho?
PAULINA. No noise, my lord; but needful conference
About some gossips for your Highness.
LEONTES. How!
Away with that audacious lady! Antigonus,
I charg'd thee that she should not come about me;
I knew she would.
ANTIGONUS. I told her so, my lord,
On your displeasure's peril, and on mine,
She should not visit you.
LEONTES. What, canst not rule her?
PAULINA. From all dishonesty he can: in this,
Unless he take the course that you have done-
Commit me for committing honour- trust it,
He shall not rule me.
ANTIGONUS. La you now, you hear!
When she will take the rein, I let her run;
But she'll not stumble.
PAULINA. Good my liege, I come-
And I beseech you hear me, who professes
Myself your loyal servant, your physician,
Your most obedient counsellor; yet that dares
Less appear so, in comforting your evils,
Than such as most seem yours- I say I come
From your good Queen.
LEONTES. Good Queen!
PAULINA. Good Queen, my lord, good Queen- I say good Queen;
And would by combat make her good, so were I
A man, the worst about you.
LEONTES. Force her hence.
PAULINA. Let him that makes but trifles of his eyes
First hand me. On mine own accord I'll off;
But first I'll do my errand. The good Queen,
For she is good, hath brought you forth a daughter;
Here 'tis; commends it to your blessing.
[Laying down the child]
LEONTES. Out!
A mankind witch! Hence with her, out o' door!
A most intelligencing bawd!
PAULINA. Not so.
I am as ignorant in that as you
In so entitling me; and no less honest
Than you are mad; which is enough, I'll warrant,
As this world goes, to pass for honest.
LEONTES. Traitors!
Will you not push her out? Give her the bastard.
[To ANTIGONUS] Thou dotard, thou art woman-tir'd, unroosted
By thy Dame Partlet here. Take up the bastard;
Take't up, I say; give't to thy crone.
PAULINA. For ever
Unvenerable be thy hands, if thou
Tak'st up the Princess by that forced baseness
Which he has put upon't!
LEONTES. He dreads his wife.
PAULINA. So I would you did; then 'twere past all doubt
You'd call your children yours.
LEONTES. A nest of traitors!
ANTIGONUS. I am none, by this good light.
PAULINA. Nor I; nor any
But one that's here; and that's himself; for he
The sacred honour of himself, his Queen's,
His hopeful son's, his babe's, betrays to slander,
Whose sting is sharper than the sword's; and will not-
For, as the case now stands, it is a curse
He cannot be compell'd to 't- once remove
The root of his opinion, which is rotten
As ever oak or stone was sound.
LEONTES. A callat
Of boundless tongue, who late hath beat her husband,
And now baits me! This brat is none of mine;
It is the issue of Polixenes.
Hence with it, and together with the dam
Commit them to the fire.
PAULINA. It is yours.
And, might we lay th' old proverb to your charge,
So like you 'tis the worse. Behold, my lords,
Although the print be little, the whole matter
And copy of the father- eye, nose, lip,
The trick of's frown, his forehead; nay, the valley,
The pretty dimples of his chin and cheek; his smiles;
The very mould and frame of hand, nail, finger.
And thou, good goddess Nature, which hast made it
So like to him that got it, if thou hast
The ordering of the mind too, 'mongst all colours
No yellow in't, lest she suspect, as he does,
Her children not her husband's!
LEONTES. A gross hag!
And, lozel, thou art worthy to be hang'd
That wilt not stay her tongue.
ANTIGONUS. Hang all the husbands
That cannot do that feat, you'll leave yourself
Hardly one subject.
LEONTES. Once more, take her hence.
PAULINA. A most unworthy and unnatural lord
Can do no more.
LEONTES. I'll ha' thee burnt.
PAULINA. I care not.
It is an heretic that makes the fire,
Not she which burns in't. I'll not call you tyrant
But this most cruel usage of your Queen-
Not able to produce more accusation
Than your own weak-hing'd fancy- something savours
Of tyranny, and will ignoble make you,
Yea, scandalous to the world.
LEONTES. On your allegiance,
Out of the chamber with her! Were I a tyrant,
Where were her life? She durst not call me so,
If she did know me one. Away with her!
PAULINA. I pray you, do not push me; I'll be gone.
Look to your babe, my lord; 'tis yours. Jove send her
A better guiding spirit! What needs these hands?
You that are thus so tender o'er his follies
Will never do him good, not one of you.
So, so. Farewell; we are gone. Exit
LEONTES. Thou, traitor, hast set on thy wife to this.
My child! Away with't. Even thou, that hast
A heart so tender o'er it, take it hence,
And see it instantly consum'd with fire;
Even thou, and none but thou. Take it up straight.
Within this hour bring me word 'tis done,
And by good testimony, or I'll seize thy life,
With that thou else call'st thine. If thou refuse,
And wilt encounter with my wrath, say so;
The bastard brains with these my proper hands
Shall I dash out. Go, take it to the fire;
For thou set'st on thy wife.
ANTIGONUS. I did not, sir.
These lords, my noble fellows, if they please,
Can clear me in't.
LORDS. We can. My royal liege,
He is not guilty of her coming hither.
LEONTES. You're liars all.
FIRST LORD. Beseech your Highness, give us better credit.
We have always truly serv'd you; and beseech
So to esteem of us; and on our knees we beg,
As recompense of our dear services
Past and to come, that you do change this purpose,
Which being so horrible, so bloody, must
Lead on to some foul issue. We all kneel.
LEONTES. I am a feather for each wind that blows.
Shall I live on to see this bastard kneel
And call me father? Better burn it now
Than curse it then. But be it; let it live.
It shall not neither. [To ANTIGONUS] You, Sir, come you
hither.
You that have been so tenderly officious
With Lady Margery, your midwife there,
To save this bastard's life- for 'tis a bastard,
So sure as this beard's grey- what will you adventure
To save this brat's life?
ANTIGONUS. Anything, my lord,
That my ability may undergo,
And nobleness impose. At least, thus much:
I'll pawn the little blood which I have left
To save the innocent- anything possible.
LEONTES. It shall be possible. Swear by this sword
Thou wilt perform my bidding.
ANTIGONUS. I will, my lord.
LEONTES. Mark, and perform it- seest thou? For the fail
Of any point in't shall not only be
Death to thyself, but to thy lewd-tongu'd wife,
Whom for this time we pardon. We enjoin thee,
As thou art liegeman to us, that thou carry
This female bastard hence; and that thou bear it
To some remote and desert place, quite out
Of our dominions; and that there thou leave it,
Without more mercy, to it own protection
And favour of the climate. As by strange fortune
It came to us, I do in justice charge thee,
On thy soul's peril and thy body's torture,
That thou commend it strangely to some place
Where chance may nurse or end it. Take it up.
ANTIGONUS. I swear to do this, though a present death
Had been more merciful. Come on, poor babe.
Some powerful spirit instruct the kites and ravens
To be thy nurses! Wolves and bears, they say,
Casting their savageness aside, have done
Like offices of pity. Sir, be prosperous
In more than this deed does require! And blessing
Against this cruelty fight on thy side,
Poor thing, condemn'd to loss! Exit with the child
LEONTES. No, I'll not rear
Another's issue.
Enter a SERVANT
SERVANT. Please your Highness, posts
From those you sent to th' oracle are come
An hour since. Cleomenes and Dion,
Being well arriv'd from Delphos, are both landed,
Hasting to th' court.
FIRST LORD. So please you, sir, their speed
Hath been beyond account.
LEONTES. Twenty-three days
They have been absent; 'tis good speed; foretells
The great Apollo suddenly will have
The truth of this appear. Prepare you, lords;
Summon a session, that we may arraign
Our most disloyal lady; for, as she hath
Been publicly accus'd, so shall she have
A just and open trial. While she lives,
My heart will be a burden to me. Leave me;
And think upon my bidding. Exeunt
| Leontes enters with a group of lords and servants -- captives, really, who must listen to his ravings. He complains, first, that his inability to punish the traitors is causing him to suffer from insomnia. The "harlot king" -- Polixenes -- is out of reach, but at least Hermione is under control; now, if he could permanently free himself of her threat, he says, he believes that he might at least rest a little. He considers burning his wife. When a servant reports that Mamillius may be finally recovering from his illness, Leontes says that the boy's problem is guilt about his mother's dishonor. The king then sends the servant to check on the prince and begins to rage about the power and the distance which make it impossible to revenge himself upon Polixenes and Camillo. He imagines at this moment that they are probably laughing at him. At this moment, however, Paulina enters with the baby. When warned that the king has not slept and should not be approached, Paulina argues for the queen and for the truth that shall set the king free. Leontes suddenly explodes at Antigonus for not controlling his wife. Paulina retorts that Antigonus can control her dishonesty, but not her honesty. Paulina pronounces herself a physician and a "counsellor." She champions Leontes' "good queen" and presents him with his baby. Leontes reacts with a tantrum. He orders Paulina and "the bastard" removed. No one obeys, and so Leontes denounces all in the room as "traitors." Antigonus and Paulina both object to the charge. Paulina retorts that Leontes is cursed by his own slanders. Again, Leontes ridicules Antigonus as being henpecked. He then orders the baby and Hermione to be thrown into a fire. Paulina calls upon all present to mark the baby's resemblance to Leontes. In a frenzy, the king calls for Antigonus to be hanged because he cannot control his wife's speech. Antigonus replies that nearly all the husbands in the kingdom would have to die -- if that is the punishment for a man who cannot control his wife. Leontes then threatens to burn Paulina. She retorts: "I care not;/ It is an heretic that makes the fire) Not she which burns in't." Careful to state that she is not accusing Leontes of being a tyrant, Paulina berates him for his "cruel usage of your queen,/ Not able to produce more accusation/ Than your own weak-hinged fancy"; she says that he is "ignoble" and "scandalous to the world." Leontes orders Paulina to be taken out of the chamber, then he defends his reputation by claiming that if he were a tyrant he would have killed her. As she is pushed from the chamber, Paulina gives the baby to Leontes and tells everyone that humoring Leontes only makes his madness worse. Freed from Paulina's attacks at last, Leontes penalizes Antigonus for not controlling his wife by ordering him to burn the baby within the hour, or Antigonus and all his family will die. Should Antigonus refuse, Leontes promises to "dash out" the brains of the baby. Antigonus and all the lords swear that Antigonus did not send Paulina to attack Leontes. The king, however, declares them all liars. The lords kneel and beg Leontes to repay their past loyal service by refusing to carry through his terrible plan. At first, Leontes contends that it will be better to burn the baby than to later resent her. But he gives Antigonus a chance to offer something in exchange for the baby's life. Antigonus offers anything "that my ability may undergo/ And nobleness impose." He even offers what "little blood" he has "to save the innocent." Leontes presents a sword on which Antigonus is to swear that he will do anything ordered. Antigonus does so. Telling Antigonus to listen carefully because failure at any point will forfeit his own life and Paulina's, Leontes orders the old man to carry "the female bastard" to a remote place far from Sicilia where the baby must be abandoned. This action will leave the baby's life to Fate and circumstance. Antigonus promises to do the king's bidding although instant death might be more merciful, he says. As he picks the baby up, he calls for "some powerful spirit" to instruct wild birds and beasts to nurse her and to bless this tiny innocent who is used so cruelly. As soon as Antigonus exits with the baby, Leontes mutters, "No, I'll not rear/ Another's issue." A messenger announces the return of Cleomenes and Dion from the oracle at Delphos. All are amazed at the brevity of the twenty-three-day round trip. Leontes takes this as a sign that the oracle's message will support the truth that only he has deduced. He confidently orders the lords to prepare a "just and open trial" for Hermione during which the "truth" of his public accusations will be verified. | summary |
Sicilia. The palace of LEONTES
Enter LEONTES, ANTIGONUS, LORDS, and SERVANTS
LEONTES. Nor night nor day no rest! It is but weakness
To bear the matter thus- mere weakness. If
The cause were not in being- part o' th' cause,
She, th' adultress; for the harlot king
Is quite beyond mine arm, out of the blank
And level of my brain, plot-proof; but she
I can hook to me- say that she were gone,
Given to the fire, a moiety of my rest
Might come to me again. Who's there?
FIRST SERVANT. My lord?
LEONTES. How does the boy?
FIRST SERVANT. He took good rest to-night;
'Tis hop'd his sickness is discharg'd.
LEONTES. To see his nobleness!
Conceiving the dishonour of his mother,
He straight declin'd, droop'd, took it deeply,
Fasten'd and fix'd the shame on't in himself,
Threw off his spirit, his appetite, his sleep,
And downright languish'd. Leave me solely. Go,
See how he fares. [Exit SERVANT] Fie, fie! no thought of
him!
The very thought of my revenges that way
Recoil upon me- in himself too mighty,
And in his parties, his alliance. Let him be,
Until a time may serve; for present vengeance,
Take it on her. Camillo and Polixenes
Laugh at me, make their pastime at my sorrow.
They should not laugh if I could reach them; nor
Shall she, within my pow'r.
Enter PAULINA, with a CHILD
FIRST LORD. You must not enter.
PAULINA. Nay, rather, good my lords, be second to me.
Fear you his tyrannous passion more, alas,
Than the Queen's life? A gracious innocent soul,
More free than he is jealous.
ANTIGONUS. That's enough.
SECOND SERVANT. Madam, he hath not slept to-night; commanded
None should come at him.
PAULINA. Not so hot, good sir;
I come to bring him sleep. 'Tis such as you,
That creep like shadows by him, and do sigh
At each his needless heavings- such as you
Nourish the cause of his awaking: I
Do come with words as medicinal as true,
Honest as either, to purge him of that humour
That presses him from sleep.
LEONTES. What noise there, ho?
PAULINA. No noise, my lord; but needful conference
About some gossips for your Highness.
LEONTES. How!
Away with that audacious lady! Antigonus,
I charg'd thee that she should not come about me;
I knew she would.
ANTIGONUS. I told her so, my lord,
On your displeasure's peril, and on mine,
She should not visit you.
LEONTES. What, canst not rule her?
PAULINA. From all dishonesty he can: in this,
Unless he take the course that you have done-
Commit me for committing honour- trust it,
He shall not rule me.
ANTIGONUS. La you now, you hear!
When she will take the rein, I let her run;
But she'll not stumble.
PAULINA. Good my liege, I come-
And I beseech you hear me, who professes
Myself your loyal servant, your physician,
Your most obedient counsellor; yet that dares
Less appear so, in comforting your evils,
Than such as most seem yours- I say I come
From your good Queen.
LEONTES. Good Queen!
PAULINA. Good Queen, my lord, good Queen- I say good Queen;
And would by combat make her good, so were I
A man, the worst about you.
LEONTES. Force her hence.
PAULINA. Let him that makes but trifles of his eyes
First hand me. On mine own accord I'll off;
But first I'll do my errand. The good Queen,
For she is good, hath brought you forth a daughter;
Here 'tis; commends it to your blessing.
[Laying down the child]
LEONTES. Out!
A mankind witch! Hence with her, out o' door!
A most intelligencing bawd!
PAULINA. Not so.
I am as ignorant in that as you
In so entitling me; and no less honest
Than you are mad; which is enough, I'll warrant,
As this world goes, to pass for honest.
LEONTES. Traitors!
Will you not push her out? Give her the bastard.
[To ANTIGONUS] Thou dotard, thou art woman-tir'd, unroosted
By thy Dame Partlet here. Take up the bastard;
Take't up, I say; give't to thy crone.
PAULINA. For ever
Unvenerable be thy hands, if thou
Tak'st up the Princess by that forced baseness
Which he has put upon't!
LEONTES. He dreads his wife.
PAULINA. So I would you did; then 'twere past all doubt
You'd call your children yours.
LEONTES. A nest of traitors!
ANTIGONUS. I am none, by this good light.
PAULINA. Nor I; nor any
But one that's here; and that's himself; for he
The sacred honour of himself, his Queen's,
His hopeful son's, his babe's, betrays to slander,
Whose sting is sharper than the sword's; and will not-
For, as the case now stands, it is a curse
He cannot be compell'd to 't- once remove
The root of his opinion, which is rotten
As ever oak or stone was sound.
LEONTES. A callat
Of boundless tongue, who late hath beat her husband,
And now baits me! This brat is none of mine;
It is the issue of Polixenes.
Hence with it, and together with the dam
Commit them to the fire.
PAULINA. It is yours.
And, might we lay th' old proverb to your charge,
So like you 'tis the worse. Behold, my lords,
Although the print be little, the whole matter
And copy of the father- eye, nose, lip,
The trick of's frown, his forehead; nay, the valley,
The pretty dimples of his chin and cheek; his smiles;
The very mould and frame of hand, nail, finger.
And thou, good goddess Nature, which hast made it
So like to him that got it, if thou hast
The ordering of the mind too, 'mongst all colours
No yellow in't, lest she suspect, as he does,
Her children not her husband's!
LEONTES. A gross hag!
And, lozel, thou art worthy to be hang'd
That wilt not stay her tongue.
ANTIGONUS. Hang all the husbands
That cannot do that feat, you'll leave yourself
Hardly one subject.
LEONTES. Once more, take her hence.
PAULINA. A most unworthy and unnatural lord
Can do no more.
LEONTES. I'll ha' thee burnt.
PAULINA. I care not.
It is an heretic that makes the fire,
Not she which burns in't. I'll not call you tyrant
But this most cruel usage of your Queen-
Not able to produce more accusation
Than your own weak-hing'd fancy- something savours
Of tyranny, and will ignoble make you,
Yea, scandalous to the world.
LEONTES. On your allegiance,
Out of the chamber with her! Were I a tyrant,
Where were her life? She durst not call me so,
If she did know me one. Away with her!
PAULINA. I pray you, do not push me; I'll be gone.
Look to your babe, my lord; 'tis yours. Jove send her
A better guiding spirit! What needs these hands?
You that are thus so tender o'er his follies
Will never do him good, not one of you.
So, so. Farewell; we are gone. Exit
LEONTES. Thou, traitor, hast set on thy wife to this.
My child! Away with't. Even thou, that hast
A heart so tender o'er it, take it hence,
And see it instantly consum'd with fire;
Even thou, and none but thou. Take it up straight.
Within this hour bring me word 'tis done,
And by good testimony, or I'll seize thy life,
With that thou else call'st thine. If thou refuse,
And wilt encounter with my wrath, say so;
The bastard brains with these my proper hands
Shall I dash out. Go, take it to the fire;
For thou set'st on thy wife.
ANTIGONUS. I did not, sir.
These lords, my noble fellows, if they please,
Can clear me in't.
LORDS. We can. My royal liege,
He is not guilty of her coming hither.
LEONTES. You're liars all.
FIRST LORD. Beseech your Highness, give us better credit.
We have always truly serv'd you; and beseech
So to esteem of us; and on our knees we beg,
As recompense of our dear services
Past and to come, that you do change this purpose,
Which being so horrible, so bloody, must
Lead on to some foul issue. We all kneel.
LEONTES. I am a feather for each wind that blows.
Shall I live on to see this bastard kneel
And call me father? Better burn it now
Than curse it then. But be it; let it live.
It shall not neither. [To ANTIGONUS] You, Sir, come you
hither.
You that have been so tenderly officious
With Lady Margery, your midwife there,
To save this bastard's life- for 'tis a bastard,
So sure as this beard's grey- what will you adventure
To save this brat's life?
ANTIGONUS. Anything, my lord,
That my ability may undergo,
And nobleness impose. At least, thus much:
I'll pawn the little blood which I have left
To save the innocent- anything possible.
LEONTES. It shall be possible. Swear by this sword
Thou wilt perform my bidding.
ANTIGONUS. I will, my lord.
LEONTES. Mark, and perform it- seest thou? For the fail
Of any point in't shall not only be
Death to thyself, but to thy lewd-tongu'd wife,
Whom for this time we pardon. We enjoin thee,
As thou art liegeman to us, that thou carry
This female bastard hence; and that thou bear it
To some remote and desert place, quite out
Of our dominions; and that there thou leave it,
Without more mercy, to it own protection
And favour of the climate. As by strange fortune
It came to us, I do in justice charge thee,
On thy soul's peril and thy body's torture,
That thou commend it strangely to some place
Where chance may nurse or end it. Take it up.
ANTIGONUS. I swear to do this, though a present death
Had been more merciful. Come on, poor babe.
Some powerful spirit instruct the kites and ravens
To be thy nurses! Wolves and bears, they say,
Casting their savageness aside, have done
Like offices of pity. Sir, be prosperous
In more than this deed does require! And blessing
Against this cruelty fight on thy side,
Poor thing, condemn'd to loss! Exit with the child
LEONTES. No, I'll not rear
Another's issue.
Enter a SERVANT
SERVANT. Please your Highness, posts
From those you sent to th' oracle are come
An hour since. Cleomenes and Dion,
Being well arriv'd from Delphos, are both landed,
Hasting to th' court.
FIRST LORD. So please you, sir, their speed
Hath been beyond account.
LEONTES. Twenty-three days
They have been absent; 'tis good speed; foretells
The great Apollo suddenly will have
The truth of this appear. Prepare you, lords;
Summon a session, that we may arraign
Our most disloyal lady; for, as she hath
Been publicly accus'd, so shall she have
A just and open trial. While she lives,
My heart will be a burden to me. Leave me;
And think upon my bidding. Exeunt
| Conflict never abates in this scene. Tensions build as everyone on stage contributes to the many attempts to resolve the complications. Leontes, however, continues to speak for illusion, while all the others speak for reality. Leontes, the only character blinded by illusion, wants to throw Hermione, Paulina, and the baby into a cleansing fire. Already desperate from lack of sleep and absence of resolution, he cannot tolerate what is thrust at him by Paulina. In desperation, he orders her hauled from the chambers. That leaves only the baby to punish. He cruelly orders that the baby must be abandoned in a desolate spot where Fate may decide whether or not she lives or dies. These compromises on the lives of Paulina and the baby weaken the illusion that Leontes craves, so he looks forward to the proof that he believes will be contained in the oracle's message. Paulina characterizes herself as a physician and counselor, one who has come to heal the torments caused by Leontes' illusions. She urges the king's advisers to realize that their tolerance of his moods only exacerbates the problem. Leontes, of course, finds Paulina intolerable. She increases his frenzy, and she cures nothing. However, she does prove that her brave confrontations with truth at least can curb the king's tyranny, for he cannot exercise his cruel orders until Paulina is removed from the scene. Unfortunately for the king's family and his subjects, none of the lords follow her example. They continue to appeal to a reasoning power that no longer operates within him. In a final attempt to resolve Leontes' mad conflict, they kneel and beg for him to reward their past faithful service by sparing the life of the baby. Antigonus desperately promises to do anything to spare the baby's life. Their begging, however, inspires only more tyranny. All the focus on the baby, however, does cause Leontes to change his order about her fate, but he does not really alter his cruel tyranny, and he manages to punish Antigonus for supporting his brave and loyal wife, as well as conceiving a cruel death for the innocent baby. At this point, Leontes seems hopelessly desperate. He is insanely irrational; he wants revenge because he needs control. Instead of gaining control, however, every step he takes increases his own frenzy and diminishes all chances for help. Only by accepting reality, including his own contributions to the events, can Leontes regain emotional control of himself and his court. Although the honesty of Camillo, Hermione, and Paulina prevent total mad tyranny, Leontes' frenzy increases. Leontes' "nature" can no longer tolerate any limits. He trusts no judgment but his own; thus, he blurts out: "You're liars all." The Elizabethan notion of the Order of the Universe that Leontes should be absolutely duty-bound to imitate has disintegrated before his mad illusions. Only the oracle's message offers hope for resolution of the conflict. | analysis |
Sicilia. On the road to the Capital
Enter CLEOMENES and DION
CLEOMENES. The climate's delicate, the air most sweet,
Fertile the isle, the temple much surpassing
The common praise it bears.
DION. I shall report,
For most it caught me, the celestial habits-
Methinks I so should term them- and the reverence
Of the grave wearers. O, the sacrifice!
How ceremonious, solemn, and unearthly,
It was i' th' off'ring!
CLEOMENES. But of all, the burst
And the ear-deaf'ning voice o' th' oracle,
Kin to Jove's thunder, so surpris'd my sense
That I was nothing.
DION. If th' event o' th' journey
Prove as successful to the Queen- O, be't so!-
As it hath been to us rare, pleasant, speedy,
The time is worth the use on't.
CLEOMENES. Great Apollo
Turn all to th' best! These proclamations,
So forcing faults upon Hermione,
I little like.
DION. The violent carriage of it
Will clear or end the business. When the oracle-
Thus by Apollo's great divine seal'd up-
Shall the contents discover, something rare
Even then will rush to knowledge. Go; fresh horses.
And gracious be the issue! Exeunt
| Walking through the streets of a Sicilian town, Cleomenes and Dion exchange their impressions of the general appearance and, especially, the religious atmosphere that they observed on the "island of Delphos ." Cleomenes remembers vividly the thundering voice of the oracle; Dion says that he hopes that the trip will prove as successful for the queen as it has for them. Both messengers are certain that Apollo's divination will clear up all doubts surrounding the accusations against Hermione. The two messengers exit to mount fresh horses in order to speed their delivery of the sealed message. | summary |
Sicilia. On the road to the Capital
Enter CLEOMENES and DION
CLEOMENES. The climate's delicate, the air most sweet,
Fertile the isle, the temple much surpassing
The common praise it bears.
DION. I shall report,
For most it caught me, the celestial habits-
Methinks I so should term them- and the reverence
Of the grave wearers. O, the sacrifice!
How ceremonious, solemn, and unearthly,
It was i' th' off'ring!
CLEOMENES. But of all, the burst
And the ear-deaf'ning voice o' th' oracle,
Kin to Jove's thunder, so surpris'd my sense
That I was nothing.
DION. If th' event o' th' journey
Prove as successful to the Queen- O, be't so!-
As it hath been to us rare, pleasant, speedy,
The time is worth the use on't.
CLEOMENES. Great Apollo
Turn all to th' best! These proclamations,
So forcing faults upon Hermione,
I little like.
DION. The violent carriage of it
Will clear or end the business. When the oracle-
Thus by Apollo's great divine seal'd up-
Shall the contents discover, something rare
Even then will rush to knowledge. Go; fresh horses.
And gracious be the issue! Exeunt
| At first glance, this brief scene seems to serve only as extraneous travelogue. It serves this purpose, but more important, it adds to the dramatic tension as preparations are being made for Hermione's trial. By verifying the "religious" authenticity of their visit to Delphos and by anticipating the divine perception of Hermione's innocence, the messengers seem now to bear an unimpeachable testimony against Leontes' tyranny. As was mentioned earlier, the scene also employs the license that is recognizable in the Pastoral Romance genre when Delphos is described as an island. | analysis |
Sicilia. A court of justice
Enter LEONTES, LORDS, and OFFICERS
LEONTES. This sessions, to our great grief we pronounce,
Even pushes 'gainst our heart- the party tried,
The daughter of a king, our wife, and one
Of us too much belov'd. Let us be clear'd
Of being tyrannous, since we so openly
Proceed in justice, which shall have due course,
Even to the guilt or the purgation.
Produce the prisoner.
OFFICER. It is his Highness' pleasure that the Queen
Appear in person here in court.
Enter HERMIONE, as to her trial, PAULINA, and LADIES
Silence!
LEONTES. Read the indictment.
OFFICER. [Reads] 'Hermione, Queen to the worthy Leontes, King
of
Sicilia, thou art here accused and arraigned of high treason,
in
committing adultery with Polixenes, King of Bohemia; and
conspiring with Camillo to take away the life of our
sovereign
lord the King, thy royal husband: the pretence whereof being
by
circumstances partly laid open, thou, Hermione, contrary to
the
faith and allegiance of true subject, didst counsel and aid
them,
for their better safety, to fly away by night.'
HERMIONE. Since what I am to say must be but that
Which contradicts my accusation, and
The testimony on my part no other
But what comes from myself, it shall scarce boot me
To say 'Not guilty.' Mine integrity
Being counted falsehood shall, as I express it,
Be so receiv'd. But thus- if pow'rs divine
Behold our human actions, as they do,
I doubt not then but innocence shall make
False accusation blush, and tyranny
Tremble at patience. You, my lord, best know-
Who least will seem to do so- my past life
Hath been as continent, as chaste, as true,
As I am now unhappy; which is more
Than history can pattern, though devis'd
And play'd to take spectators; for behold me-
A fellow of the royal bed, which owe
A moiety of the throne, a great king's daughter,
The mother to a hopeful prince- here standing
To prate and talk for life and honour fore
Who please to come and hear. For life, I prize it
As I weigh grief, which I would spare; for honour,
'Tis a derivative from me to mine,
And only that I stand for. I appeal
To your own conscience, sir, before Polixenes
Came to your court, how I was in your grace,
How merited to be so; since he came,
With what encounter so uncurrent I
Have strain'd t' appear thus; if one jot beyond
The bound of honour, or in act or will
That way inclining, hard'ned be the hearts
Of all that hear me, and my near'st of kin
Cry fie upon my grave!
LEONTES. I ne'er heard yet
That any of these bolder vices wanted
Less impudence to gainsay what they did
Than to perform it first.
HERMIONE. That's true enough;
Though 'tis a saying, sir, not due to me.
LEONTES. You will not own it.
HERMIONE. More than mistress of
Which comes to me in name of fault, I must not
At all acknowledge. For Polixenes,
With whom I am accus'd, I do confess
I lov'd him as in honour he requir'd;
With such a kind of love as might become
A lady like me; with a love even such,
So and no other, as yourself commanded;
Which not to have done, I think had been in me
Both disobedience and ingratitude
To you and toward your friend; whose love had spoke,
Ever since it could speak, from an infant, freely,
That it was yours. Now for conspiracy:
I know not how it tastes, though it be dish'd
For me to try how; all I know of it
Is that Camillo was an honest man;
And why he left your court, the gods themselves,
Wotting no more than I, are ignorant.
LEONTES. You knew of his departure, as you know
What you have underta'en to do in's absence.
HERMIONE. Sir,
You speak a language that I understand not.
My life stands in the level of your dreams,
Which I'll lay down.
LEONTES. Your actions are my dreams.
You had a bastard by Polixenes,
And I but dream'd it. As you were past all shame-
Those of your fact are so- so past all truth;
Which to deny concerns more than avails; for as
Thy brat hath been cast out, like to itself,
No father owning it- which is indeed
More criminal in thee than it- so thou
Shalt feel our justice; in whose easiest passage
Look for no less than death.
HERMIONE. Sir, spare your threats.
The bug which you would fright me with I seek.
To me can life be no commodity.
The crown and comfort of my life, your favour,
I do give lost, for I do feel it gone,
But know not how it went; my second joy
And first fruits of my body, from his presence
I am barr'd, like one infectious; my third comfort,
Starr'd most unluckily, is from my breast-
The innocent milk in it most innocent mouth-
Hal'd out to murder; myself on every post
Proclaim'd a strumpet; with immodest hatred
The child-bed privilege denied, which 'longs
To women of all fashion; lastly, hurried
Here to this place, i' th' open air, before
I have got strength of limit. Now, my liege,
Tell me what blessings I have here alive
That I should fear to die. Therefore proceed.
But yet hear this- mistake me not: no life,
I prize it not a straw, but for mine honour
Which I would free- if I shall be condemn'd
Upon surmises, all proofs sleeping else
But what your jealousies awake, I tell you
'Tis rigour, and not law. Your honours all,
I do refer me to the oracle:
Apollo be my judge!
FIRST LORD. This your request
Is altogether just. Therefore, bring forth,
And in Apollo's name, his oracle.
Exeunt certain OFFICERS
HERMIONE. The Emperor of Russia was my father;
O that he were alive, and here beholding
His daughter's trial! that he did but see
The flatness of my misery; yet with eyes
Of pity, not revenge!
Re-enter OFFICERS, with CLEOMENES and DION
OFFICER. You here shall swear upon this sword of justice
That you, Cleomenes and Dion, have
Been both at Delphos, and from thence have brought
This seal'd-up oracle, by the hand deliver'd
Of great Apollo's priest; and that since then
You have not dar'd to break the holy seal
Nor read the secrets in't.
CLEOMENES, DION. All this we swear.
LEONTES. Break up the seals and read.
OFFICER. [Reads] 'Hermione is chaste; Polixenes blameless;
Camillo a true subject; Leontes a jealous tyrant; his
innocent
babe truly begotten; and the King shall live without an heir,
if
that which is lost be not found.'
LORDS. Now blessed be the great Apollo!
HERMIONE. Praised!
LEONTES. Hast thou read truth?
OFFICER. Ay, my lord; even so
As it is here set down.
LEONTES. There is no truth at all i' th' oracle.
The sessions shall proceed. This is mere falsehood.
Enter a SERVANT
SERVANT. My lord the King, the King!
LEONTES. What is the business?
SERVANT. O sir, I shall be hated to report it:
The Prince your son, with mere conceit and fear
Of the Queen's speed, is gone.
LEONTES. How! Gone?
SERVANT. Is dead.
LEONTES. Apollo's angry; and the heavens themselves
Do strike at my injustice. [HERMIONE swoons]
How now, there!
PAULINA. This news is mortal to the Queen. Look down
And see what death is doing.
LEONTES. Take her hence.
Her heart is but o'ercharg'd; she will recover.
I have too much believ'd mine own suspicion.
Beseech you tenderly apply to her
Some remedies for life.
Exeunt PAULINA and LADIES with HERMIONE
Apollo, pardon
My great profaneness 'gainst thine oracle.
I'll reconcile me to Polixenes,
New woo my queen, recall the good Camillo-
Whom I proclaim a man of truth, of mercy.
For, being transported by my jealousies
To bloody thoughts and to revenge, I chose
Camillo for the minister to poison
My friend Polixenes; which had been done
But that the good mind of Camillo tardied
My swift command, though I with death and with
Reward did threaten and encourage him,
Not doing it and being done. He, most humane
And fill'd with honour, to my kingly guest
Unclasp'd my practice, quit his fortunes here,
Which you knew great, and to the certain hazard
Of all incertainties himself commended,
No richer than his honour. How he glisters
Thorough my rust! And how his piety
Does my deeds make the blacker!
Re-enter PAULINA
PAULINA. Woe the while!
O, cut my lace, lest my heart, cracking it,
Break too!
FIRST LORD. What fit is this, good lady?
PAULINA. What studied torments, tyrant, hast for me?
What wheels, racks, fires? what flaying, boiling
In leads or oils? What old or newer torture
Must I receive, whose every word deserves
To taste of thy most worst? Thy tyranny
Together working with thy jealousies,
Fancies too weak for boys, too green and idle
For girls of nine- O, think what they have done,
And then run mad indeed, stark mad; for all
Thy by-gone fooleries were but spices of it.
That thou betray'dst Polixenes, 'twas nothing;
That did but show thee, of a fool, inconstant,
And damnable ingrateful. Nor was't much
Thou wouldst have poison'd good Camillo's honour,
To have him kill a king- poor trespasses,
More monstrous standing by; whereof I reckon
The casting forth to crows thy baby daughter
To be or none or little, though a devil
Would have shed water out of fire ere done't;
Nor is't directly laid to thee, the death
Of the young Prince, whose honourable thoughts-
Thoughts high for one so tender- cleft the heart
That could conceive a gross and foolish sire
Blemish'd his gracious dam. This is not, no,
Laid to thy answer; but the last- O lords,
When I have said, cry 'Woe!'- the Queen, the Queen,
The sweet'st, dear'st creature's dead; and vengeance
For't not dropp'd down yet.
FIRST LORD. The higher pow'rs forbid!
PAULINA. I say she's dead; I'll swear't. If word nor oath
Prevail not, go and see. If you can bring
Tincture or lustre in her lip, her eye,
Heat outwardly or breath within, I'll serve you
As I would do the gods. But, O thou tyrant!
Do not repent these things, for they are heavier
Than all thy woes can stir; therefore betake thee
To nothing but despair. A thousand knees
Ten thousand years together, naked, fasting,
Upon a barren mountain, and still winter
In storm perpetual, could not move the gods
To look that way thou wert.
LEONTES. Go on, go on.
Thou canst not speak too much; I have deserv'd
All tongues to talk their bitt'rest.
FIRST LORD. Say no more;
Howe'er the business goes, you have made fault
I' th' boldness of your speech.
PAULINA. I am sorry for't.
All faults I make, when I shall come to know them.
I do repent. Alas, I have show'd too much
The rashness of a woman! He is touch'd
To th' noble heart. What's gone and what's past help
Should be past grief. Do not receive affliction
At my petition; I beseech you, rather
Let me be punish'd that have minded you
Of what you should forget. Now, good my liege,
Sir, royal sir, forgive a foolish woman.
The love I bore your queen- lo, fool again!
I'll speak of her no more, nor of your children;
I'll not remember you of my own lord,
Who is lost too. Take your patience to you,
And I'll say nothing.
LEONTES. Thou didst speak but well
When most the truth; which I receive much better
Than to be pitied of thee. Prithee, bring me
To the dead bodies of my queen and son.
One grave shall be for both. Upon them shall
The causes of their death appear, unto
Our shame perpetual. Once a day I'll visit
The chapel where they lie; and tears shed there
Shall be my recreation. So long as nature
Will bear up with this exercise, so long
I daily vow to use it. Come, and lead me
To these sorrows. Exeunt
| Leontes expresses his grief to the lords and officers who enter the scene of the trial. Describing the accused Hermione as the daughter of a king, his wife, and also as someone who is "too much beloved," he urges the beginning of an open trial which can both clear him of all charges of tyranny and can determine Hermione's guilt or innocence. After an officer opens the trial by announcing Hermione's personal appearance, the queen enters with Paulina and her faithful ladies-in-waiting. On Leontes' command, the officer reads the indictment. Hermione is formally "accused and arraigned of high treason" for committing adultery with Polixenes, conspiring with Camillo to kill Leontes, and then both advising and aiding "them, for their better safety, to fly away by night." Hermione responds that, so accused, she can do little but deny the accusations. She realizes that a plea of "not guilty" will serve little purpose since her integrity has already been "counted falsehood." Instead, she builds this hypothesis into her argument: If powers divine Behold our human actions, as they do, I doubt not then but innocence shall make False accusation blush, and tyranny Tremble at patience. She calls upon Leontes to remember, as the one who best can, her years of true and faithful behavior. Hermione cites her credentials the daughter of a great king, and the mother of a "hopeful prince" and in contrast to the humiliation of pleading publicly for her life and honor, she says that as much as she values life and honor, she willingly risks both by requesting specific proof from Leontes in this public forum, to cite even one incident from her life before -- or during Polixenes' visit, which justifies the charges. Leontes mutters about the general impudence of criminals. True, agrees Hermione, but she cannot agree that the generality applies to her. You just won't admit it, answers Leontes. Hermione says that she admits only the facts. First, she loved Polixenes in a way suitable to their rank and honor, as Leontes had commanded her to do. Refusal to do so would have been classified as "disobedience and ingratitude" toward both him and his childhood friend. Second, she has no experience in treason. She knows only that Camillo was an honest man. If the gods know no more about his departure than she does, even they must be able to guess why. Again, Leontes responds with generalities. Hermione despairs of understanding him. "My life stands in the level of your dreams) Which I'll lay down." Leontes rants, "Your actions are my dreams." Again, he voices his jealousy, disguised as a legal charge: Hermione has a bastard daughter by Polixenes; thus, she is past shame or truth. As surely as the infant was cast out, shamed because no father would claim it, so shall Hermione suffer the pangs of justice. The easiest of her punishments will be death. Hermione requests respite from Leontes' taunts. The death threat with which he tries to frighten her is the very thing she now wants. Life holds no comfort now that her most worthwhile achievement, his favor, is clearly lost, although the reason for the loss is not clear. Also lost is her second joy, the company of their son, and her third joy, the innocent baby daughter who was murdered before she was weaned. Hermione then lists other experiences that now make death attractive to her. She has suffered from public accusations about her immorality and from the cruel denial of care during childbirth, for which women of all classes yearn. Finally, before she has recovered from childbirth, she has been rushed to this open-air public trial. Accordingly, what lure of life should cause her to fear death? However, as willing as Hermione is for Leontes to proceed with the death sentence, she still yearns for the honorable memory that she deserves: If I shall be condemnedUpon surmises, all proofs sleeping elseBut what your jealousies awake, I tell you'Tis rigour and not law. In a ringing challenge to all who judge her, she exhorts: "Apollo be my judge!" One of the lords agrees that her request is just, so he calls for the oracle's message. During the bustle of officers leaving the trial to fetch Cleomenes and Dion, Hermione expresses how much she yearns for the presence of her dead father, the Emperor of Russia, so that someone would regard her with "pity, not revenge." An officer then swears in Cleomenes and Dion, who attest to the condition of the untampered, sealed message from Delphos. Leontes orders the breaking of the seal and the reading of the message. An officer reads: "Hermione is chaste; Polixenes blameless; Camilio a true subject; Leontes a jealous tyrant; his innocent babe truly begotten; and the King shall live without an heir, if that which is lost be not found." The lords and Hermione praise Apollo. Leontes asks: "Hast thou read truth?" The officer confirms it. Then, Leontes declares, "There is no truth at all i' th' oracle./ The sessions shall proceed; this is mere falsehood." A servant bursts in to announce, reluctantly, that Mamillius has just died from anxious conjecture about his mother's fate. Leontes cries out: "Apollo's angry; and the heavens themselves/ Do strike at my injustice." Hermione faints. Paulina examines her, then commands Leontes to watch as Hermione dies. Leontes orders that Hermione receive tender care until she recovers. Remorsefully, he confesses that he has "too much believed mine own suspicion." After a party carries Hermione out, Leontes beseeches Apollo to forgive his profanity of the oracle. In a burst of clarity, Leontes promises to earn again the love of Hermione and to restore Camillo to office. Recognizing the damage done by his jealous quest for revenge as well as the probability that Camillo fled because of Leontes' command to poison Polixenes, Leontes praises the glowing honor of Camillo: "How he glisters/ Through my dark rust!" Immediately after Leontes' confession, Paulina enters, consumed with hysterical grief. She confronts the "tyrant": the consequences of Leontes' jealousy should cause him to flee in despair. Paulina then catalogs the harm caused: betraying Polixenes, dishonoring Camillo for refusing to poison Polixenes, casting his baby daughter to the crows, and causing his young son to die. And now, the good, sweet queen has died. When a lord protests the news, Paulina swears to it and then boldly challenges any of them to bring Hermione to life. Paulina berates Leontes. For this death, repentance is useless; only unending despair can be his future. Leontes urges her to continue. He feels that he deserves every syllable of her bitter, unceasing criticism. A lord chastises Paulina for the bold speech which he deems unsuitable under any circumstances, and Paulina apologizes finally for showing "the rashness of a woman" when she observes Leontes' grief. "What's gone and what's past help/ Should be past grief." Again, she requests punishment but, this time, for her error since she caused him to grieve about a matter that he should forget. Paulina asks for the king's forgiveness and promises to stop reminding him about their dead queen, his dead children, or her own lost husband. Clearly, Leontes prefers her truthful speech to her pity. He asks Paulina to lead him to the bodies of his son and wife. After he views them, Leontes wants them to share the same grave, which shall be marked by the shameful causes of their deaths. He promises daily, penitent visits to the chapel where they will be buried. | summary |
Sicilia. A court of justice
Enter LEONTES, LORDS, and OFFICERS
LEONTES. This sessions, to our great grief we pronounce,
Even pushes 'gainst our heart- the party tried,
The daughter of a king, our wife, and one
Of us too much belov'd. Let us be clear'd
Of being tyrannous, since we so openly
Proceed in justice, which shall have due course,
Even to the guilt or the purgation.
Produce the prisoner.
OFFICER. It is his Highness' pleasure that the Queen
Appear in person here in court.
Enter HERMIONE, as to her trial, PAULINA, and LADIES
Silence!
LEONTES. Read the indictment.
OFFICER. [Reads] 'Hermione, Queen to the worthy Leontes, King
of
Sicilia, thou art here accused and arraigned of high treason,
in
committing adultery with Polixenes, King of Bohemia; and
conspiring with Camillo to take away the life of our
sovereign
lord the King, thy royal husband: the pretence whereof being
by
circumstances partly laid open, thou, Hermione, contrary to
the
faith and allegiance of true subject, didst counsel and aid
them,
for their better safety, to fly away by night.'
HERMIONE. Since what I am to say must be but that
Which contradicts my accusation, and
The testimony on my part no other
But what comes from myself, it shall scarce boot me
To say 'Not guilty.' Mine integrity
Being counted falsehood shall, as I express it,
Be so receiv'd. But thus- if pow'rs divine
Behold our human actions, as they do,
I doubt not then but innocence shall make
False accusation blush, and tyranny
Tremble at patience. You, my lord, best know-
Who least will seem to do so- my past life
Hath been as continent, as chaste, as true,
As I am now unhappy; which is more
Than history can pattern, though devis'd
And play'd to take spectators; for behold me-
A fellow of the royal bed, which owe
A moiety of the throne, a great king's daughter,
The mother to a hopeful prince- here standing
To prate and talk for life and honour fore
Who please to come and hear. For life, I prize it
As I weigh grief, which I would spare; for honour,
'Tis a derivative from me to mine,
And only that I stand for. I appeal
To your own conscience, sir, before Polixenes
Came to your court, how I was in your grace,
How merited to be so; since he came,
With what encounter so uncurrent I
Have strain'd t' appear thus; if one jot beyond
The bound of honour, or in act or will
That way inclining, hard'ned be the hearts
Of all that hear me, and my near'st of kin
Cry fie upon my grave!
LEONTES. I ne'er heard yet
That any of these bolder vices wanted
Less impudence to gainsay what they did
Than to perform it first.
HERMIONE. That's true enough;
Though 'tis a saying, sir, not due to me.
LEONTES. You will not own it.
HERMIONE. More than mistress of
Which comes to me in name of fault, I must not
At all acknowledge. For Polixenes,
With whom I am accus'd, I do confess
I lov'd him as in honour he requir'd;
With such a kind of love as might become
A lady like me; with a love even such,
So and no other, as yourself commanded;
Which not to have done, I think had been in me
Both disobedience and ingratitude
To you and toward your friend; whose love had spoke,
Ever since it could speak, from an infant, freely,
That it was yours. Now for conspiracy:
I know not how it tastes, though it be dish'd
For me to try how; all I know of it
Is that Camillo was an honest man;
And why he left your court, the gods themselves,
Wotting no more than I, are ignorant.
LEONTES. You knew of his departure, as you know
What you have underta'en to do in's absence.
HERMIONE. Sir,
You speak a language that I understand not.
My life stands in the level of your dreams,
Which I'll lay down.
LEONTES. Your actions are my dreams.
You had a bastard by Polixenes,
And I but dream'd it. As you were past all shame-
Those of your fact are so- so past all truth;
Which to deny concerns more than avails; for as
Thy brat hath been cast out, like to itself,
No father owning it- which is indeed
More criminal in thee than it- so thou
Shalt feel our justice; in whose easiest passage
Look for no less than death.
HERMIONE. Sir, spare your threats.
The bug which you would fright me with I seek.
To me can life be no commodity.
The crown and comfort of my life, your favour,
I do give lost, for I do feel it gone,
But know not how it went; my second joy
And first fruits of my body, from his presence
I am barr'd, like one infectious; my third comfort,
Starr'd most unluckily, is from my breast-
The innocent milk in it most innocent mouth-
Hal'd out to murder; myself on every post
Proclaim'd a strumpet; with immodest hatred
The child-bed privilege denied, which 'longs
To women of all fashion; lastly, hurried
Here to this place, i' th' open air, before
I have got strength of limit. Now, my liege,
Tell me what blessings I have here alive
That I should fear to die. Therefore proceed.
But yet hear this- mistake me not: no life,
I prize it not a straw, but for mine honour
Which I would free- if I shall be condemn'd
Upon surmises, all proofs sleeping else
But what your jealousies awake, I tell you
'Tis rigour, and not law. Your honours all,
I do refer me to the oracle:
Apollo be my judge!
FIRST LORD. This your request
Is altogether just. Therefore, bring forth,
And in Apollo's name, his oracle.
Exeunt certain OFFICERS
HERMIONE. The Emperor of Russia was my father;
O that he were alive, and here beholding
His daughter's trial! that he did but see
The flatness of my misery; yet with eyes
Of pity, not revenge!
Re-enter OFFICERS, with CLEOMENES and DION
OFFICER. You here shall swear upon this sword of justice
That you, Cleomenes and Dion, have
Been both at Delphos, and from thence have brought
This seal'd-up oracle, by the hand deliver'd
Of great Apollo's priest; and that since then
You have not dar'd to break the holy seal
Nor read the secrets in't.
CLEOMENES, DION. All this we swear.
LEONTES. Break up the seals and read.
OFFICER. [Reads] 'Hermione is chaste; Polixenes blameless;
Camillo a true subject; Leontes a jealous tyrant; his
innocent
babe truly begotten; and the King shall live without an heir,
if
that which is lost be not found.'
LORDS. Now blessed be the great Apollo!
HERMIONE. Praised!
LEONTES. Hast thou read truth?
OFFICER. Ay, my lord; even so
As it is here set down.
LEONTES. There is no truth at all i' th' oracle.
The sessions shall proceed. This is mere falsehood.
Enter a SERVANT
SERVANT. My lord the King, the King!
LEONTES. What is the business?
SERVANT. O sir, I shall be hated to report it:
The Prince your son, with mere conceit and fear
Of the Queen's speed, is gone.
LEONTES. How! Gone?
SERVANT. Is dead.
LEONTES. Apollo's angry; and the heavens themselves
Do strike at my injustice. [HERMIONE swoons]
How now, there!
PAULINA. This news is mortal to the Queen. Look down
And see what death is doing.
LEONTES. Take her hence.
Her heart is but o'ercharg'd; she will recover.
I have too much believ'd mine own suspicion.
Beseech you tenderly apply to her
Some remedies for life.
Exeunt PAULINA and LADIES with HERMIONE
Apollo, pardon
My great profaneness 'gainst thine oracle.
I'll reconcile me to Polixenes,
New woo my queen, recall the good Camillo-
Whom I proclaim a man of truth, of mercy.
For, being transported by my jealousies
To bloody thoughts and to revenge, I chose
Camillo for the minister to poison
My friend Polixenes; which had been done
But that the good mind of Camillo tardied
My swift command, though I with death and with
Reward did threaten and encourage him,
Not doing it and being done. He, most humane
And fill'd with honour, to my kingly guest
Unclasp'd my practice, quit his fortunes here,
Which you knew great, and to the certain hazard
Of all incertainties himself commended,
No richer than his honour. How he glisters
Thorough my rust! And how his piety
Does my deeds make the blacker!
Re-enter PAULINA
PAULINA. Woe the while!
O, cut my lace, lest my heart, cracking it,
Break too!
FIRST LORD. What fit is this, good lady?
PAULINA. What studied torments, tyrant, hast for me?
What wheels, racks, fires? what flaying, boiling
In leads or oils? What old or newer torture
Must I receive, whose every word deserves
To taste of thy most worst? Thy tyranny
Together working with thy jealousies,
Fancies too weak for boys, too green and idle
For girls of nine- O, think what they have done,
And then run mad indeed, stark mad; for all
Thy by-gone fooleries were but spices of it.
That thou betray'dst Polixenes, 'twas nothing;
That did but show thee, of a fool, inconstant,
And damnable ingrateful. Nor was't much
Thou wouldst have poison'd good Camillo's honour,
To have him kill a king- poor trespasses,
More monstrous standing by; whereof I reckon
The casting forth to crows thy baby daughter
To be or none or little, though a devil
Would have shed water out of fire ere done't;
Nor is't directly laid to thee, the death
Of the young Prince, whose honourable thoughts-
Thoughts high for one so tender- cleft the heart
That could conceive a gross and foolish sire
Blemish'd his gracious dam. This is not, no,
Laid to thy answer; but the last- O lords,
When I have said, cry 'Woe!'- the Queen, the Queen,
The sweet'st, dear'st creature's dead; and vengeance
For't not dropp'd down yet.
FIRST LORD. The higher pow'rs forbid!
PAULINA. I say she's dead; I'll swear't. If word nor oath
Prevail not, go and see. If you can bring
Tincture or lustre in her lip, her eye,
Heat outwardly or breath within, I'll serve you
As I would do the gods. But, O thou tyrant!
Do not repent these things, for they are heavier
Than all thy woes can stir; therefore betake thee
To nothing but despair. A thousand knees
Ten thousand years together, naked, fasting,
Upon a barren mountain, and still winter
In storm perpetual, could not move the gods
To look that way thou wert.
LEONTES. Go on, go on.
Thou canst not speak too much; I have deserv'd
All tongues to talk their bitt'rest.
FIRST LORD. Say no more;
Howe'er the business goes, you have made fault
I' th' boldness of your speech.
PAULINA. I am sorry for't.
All faults I make, when I shall come to know them.
I do repent. Alas, I have show'd too much
The rashness of a woman! He is touch'd
To th' noble heart. What's gone and what's past help
Should be past grief. Do not receive affliction
At my petition; I beseech you, rather
Let me be punish'd that have minded you
Of what you should forget. Now, good my liege,
Sir, royal sir, forgive a foolish woman.
The love I bore your queen- lo, fool again!
I'll speak of her no more, nor of your children;
I'll not remember you of my own lord,
Who is lost too. Take your patience to you,
And I'll say nothing.
LEONTES. Thou didst speak but well
When most the truth; which I receive much better
Than to be pitied of thee. Prithee, bring me
To the dead bodies of my queen and son.
One grave shall be for both. Upon them shall
The causes of their death appear, unto
Our shame perpetual. Once a day I'll visit
The chapel where they lie; and tears shed there
Shall be my recreation. So long as nature
Will bear up with this exercise, so long
I daily vow to use it. Come, and lead me
To these sorrows. Exeunt
| In this scene, Leontes speaks of the contrasts between his reputation for tyranny and Hermione's reputation for noble innocence. Although he claims that he wants the guilt or innocence of Hermione to be proven, obviously the only way that Leontes can be found innocent of the accusations of tyranny would be to prove Hermione is guilty. Determining her guilt or her innocence, however, is a potentially exclusive proposition. Leontes is using a single motivation -- jealousy -- to prove Hermione guilty in order to prove that he has acted correctly from his sense of "natural goodness." Therefore, Apollo's message will be unacceptable. The trial itself dramatizes the conflict between "reality" and Leontes' "nature," but this is not a matter of guilt or innocence. This is clearly illustrated in an exchange between Hermione and Leontes. In despair after trying to elicit facts, Hermione says, "My life stands in the level of your dreams." Leontes retorts: "Your actions are my dreams." Within this structure, the climax of the scene cannot occur with Apollo's message because Leontes must push for his original motivation. Neither facts, as requested by Hermione, nor truth, as delivered from Apollo, will dissuade Leontes. Leontes is not yet ready for redemption. Although his tyranny has been curbed, he has not earned trust from Hermione and Paulina, who must feel certain that Leontes is now stable enough to be trusted. Hermione has already asked Apollo to control Leontes' sick illusions, and Apollo said that "the king shall live without an heir" , emphasizing if , "that which is lost be not found." This message clearly cannot reassure the ladies. So, this critical scene sets up the turning point of the plot by requiring the important subplot of rebirth through the healing power of youth. Only then will Order be restored to the Universe. While the plot is maturing, characterization is also developing. For example, Leontes must suffer for his monumental mistake. He realizes that fact as soon as Mamillius dies: "the heavens themselves/ Do strike at my injustice." Consequently, he realizes that after he destroyed his family and kingdom, he began to destroy the natural Order of the Universe. Realizing that altering the Order will not be treated lightly, the king encourages Paulina to remind him of why he suffers throughout his long years of penance. This realization helps focus on the major motivation for Leontes; that is, he needs to renew his love for his wife and child. Thus, this motivation overrides the one which opened this scene -- that is, his vow to prove Hermione guilty. Although the message from Apollo does not change Leontes' jealousy, the news of his son's death shocks him into a realization that he has been wrong and that he has done great harm. This shock climaxes when Paulina announces Hermione's death. Trapped midway between reality and illusion, and shocked by the tragic consequences of his tyranny, Leontes pledges a morbid expression of deep atonement: Once a day I'll visit The chapel where they lie, and tears shed there Shall be my recreation. So long as nature Will bear up with this exercise . . . Thus, Leontes must yet learn the full dimension of love and how to express it. Paulina devotes her life to speaking for the honor of the queen. Interestingly, she seems to recognize the power of subtlety because unlike her previous confrontation with Leontes, here she quickly asks forgiveness for her boldness and rashness with no intention of quitting needling him, as she promises to do. | analysis |
Bohemia. The sea-coast
Enter ANTIGONUS with the CHILD, and a MARINER
ANTIGONUS. Thou art perfect then our ship hath touch'd upon
The deserts of Bohemia?
MARINER. Ay, my lord, and fear
We have landed in ill time; the skies look grimly
And threaten present blusters. In my conscience,
The heavens with that we have in hand are angry
And frown upon 's.
ANTIGONUS. Their sacred wills be done! Go, get aboard;
Look to thy bark. I'll not be long before
I call upon thee.
MARINER. Make your best haste; and go not
Too far i' th' land; 'tis like to be loud weather;
Besides, this place is famous for the creatures
Of prey that keep upon't.
ANTIGONUS. Go thou away;
I'll follow instantly.
MARINER. I am glad at heart
To be so rid o' th' business. Exit
ANTIGONUS. Come, poor babe.
I have heard, but not believ'd, the spirits o' th' dead
May walk again. If such thing be, thy mother
Appear'd to me last night; for ne'er was dream
So like a waking. To me comes a creature,
Sometimes her head on one side some another-
I never saw a vessel of like sorrow,
So fill'd and so becoming; in pure white robes,
Like very sanctity, she did approach
My cabin where I lay; thrice bow'd before me;
And, gasping to begin some speech, her eyes
Became two spouts; the fury spent, anon
Did this break from her: 'Good Antigonus,
Since fate, against thy better disposition,
Hath made thy person for the thrower-out
Of my poor babe, according to thine oath,
Places remote enough are in Bohemia,
There weep, and leave it crying; and, for the babe
Is counted lost for ever, Perdita
I prithee call't. For this ungentle business,
Put on thee by my lord, thou ne'er shalt see
Thy wife Paulina more.' so, with shrieks,
She melted into air. Affrighted much,
I did in time collect myself, and thought
This was so and no slumber. Dreams are toys;
Yet, for this once, yea, superstitiously,
I will be squar'd by this. I do believe
Hermione hath suffer'd death, and that
Apollo would, this being indeed the issue
Of King Polixenes, it should here be laid,
Either for life or death, upon the earth
Of its right father. Blossom, speed thee well!
[Laying down the child]
There lie, and there thy character; there these
[Laying down a bundle]
Which may, if fortune please, both breed thee, pretty,
And still rest thine. The storm begins. Poor wretch,
That for thy mother's fault art thus expos'd
To loss and what may follow! Weep I cannot,
But my heart bleeds; and most accurs'd am I
To be by oath enjoin'd to this. Farewell!
The day frowns more and more. Thou'rt like to have
A lullaby too rough; I never saw
The heavens so dim by day. [Noise of hunt within] A savage
clamour!
Well may I get aboard! This is the chase;
I am gone for ever. Exit, pursued by a bear
Enter an old SHEPHERD
SHEPHERD. I would there were no age between ten and three and
twenty, or that youth would sleep out the rest; for there is
nothing in the between but getting wenches with child,
wronging
the ancientry, stealing, fighting- [Horns] Hark you now!
Would
any but these boil'd brains of nineteen and two and twenty
hunt
this weather? They have scar'd away two of my best sheep,
which I
fear the wolf will sooner find than the master. If any where
I
have them, 'tis by the sea-side, browsing of ivy. Good luck,
an't
be thy will! What have we here? [Taking up the child] Mercy
on's, a barne! A very pretty barne. A boy or a child, I
wonder? A
pretty one; a very pretty one- sure, some scape. Though I am
not
bookish, yet I can read waiting-gentlewoman in the scape.
This
has been some stair-work, some trunk-work, some
behind-door-work;
they were warmer that got this than the poor thing is here.
I'll
take it up for pity; yet I'll tarry till my son come; he
halloo'd
but even now. Whoa-ho-hoa!
Enter CLOWN
CLOWN. Hilloa, loa!
SHEPHERD. What, art so near? If thou'lt see a thing to talk on
when
thou art dead and rotten, come hither. What ail'st thou, man?
CLOWN. I have seen two such sights, by sea and by land! But I
am
not to say it is a sea, for it is now the sky; betwixt the
firmament and it you cannot thrust a bodkin's point.
SHEPHERD. Why, boy, how is it?
CLOWN. I would you did but see how it chafes, how it rages, how
it
takes up the shore! But that's not to the point. O, the most
piteous cry of the poor souls! Sometimes to see 'em, and not
to
see 'em; now the ship boring the moon with her mainmast, and
anon
swallowed with yeast and froth, as you'd thrust a cork into a
hogshead. And then for the land service- to see how the bear
tore
out his shoulder-bone; how he cried to me for help, and said
his
name was Antigonus, a nobleman! But to make an end of the
ship-
to see how the sea flap-dragon'd it; but first, how the poor
souls roared, and the sea mock'd them; and how the poor
gentleman
roared, and the bear mock'd him, both roaring louder than the
sea
or weather.
SHEPHERD. Name of mercy, when was this, boy?
CLOWN. Now, now; I have not wink'd since I saw these sights;
the
men are not yet cold under water, nor the bear half din'd on
the
gentleman; he's at it now.
SHEPHERD. Would I had been by to have help'd the old man!
CLOWN. I would you had been by the ship-side, to have help'd
her;
there your charity would have lack'd footing.
SHEPHERD. Heavy matters, heavy matters! But look thee here,
boy.
Now bless thyself; thou met'st with things dying, I with
things
new-born. Here's a sight for thee; look thee, a bearing-cloth
for
a squire's child! Look thee here; take up, take up, boy;
open't.
So, let's see- it was told me I should be rich by the
fairies.
This is some changeling. Open't. What's within, boy?
CLOWN. You're a made old man; if the sins of your youth are
forgiven you, you're well to live. Gold! all gold!
SHEPHERD. This is fairy gold, boy, and 'twill prove so. Up
with't,
keep it close. Home, home, the next way! We are lucky, boy;
and
to be so still requires nothing but secrecy. Let my sheep go.
Come, good boy, the next way home.
CLOWN. Go you the next way with your findings. I'll go see if
the
bear be gone from the gentleman, and how much he hath eaten.
They
are never curst but when they are hungry. If there be any of
him
left, I'll bury it.
SHEPHERD. That's a good deed. If thou mayest discern by that
which
is left of him what he is, fetch me to th' sight of him.
CLOWN. Marry, will I; and you shall help to put him i' th'
ground.
SHEPHERD. 'Tis a lucky day, boy; and we'll do good deeds on't.
Exeunt
| Antigonus, who is carrying the hapless royal infant, asks his mariner if they have landed upon "the deserts of Bohemia." The mariner confirms that they have, but he worries about an approaching storm that he interprets as a punishment by the angry heavens. Antigonus orders the mariner to return to take care of the ship and promises to hurry back. The mariner urges Antigonus to stay close to the shore and to hurry and avoid the wild beasts that lurk inland. As Antigonus leaves, the mariner says he will be glad to be finished with this assignment. Meanwhile, Antigonus talks to the infant about a dream he had the night before. Believing Hermione to be dead, Antigonus describes a nightmarish appearance of the queen's spirit. Like a beautiful "vessel of . . . sorrow," the white-robed spirit approached him, bowed three times, then emitted fury, as a configuration of two spouts projected from her eyes. This dream figure acknowledged that a "fate, against thy better disposition,/ Hath made thy person for the thrower-out/ Of my poor babe." She requested that Antigonus leave the baby in Bohemia and name her Perdita, which means "the lost one." Because of the unpleasant duty that Antigonus had pledged to do, Antigonus will never again see Paulina. Then the spectral figure of Hermione disappeared amidst frightening shrieks. Antigonus confesses both his fright and his belief that the events seem too real to be called only a dream. Giving full rein to superstition, he interprets that Hermione is dead and that Apollo has directed the baby to the homeland of her real father, Polixenes. But he is not certain of the fate for the baby. So, he blesses her and tenderly lays her down with her few belongings. At that instant, the storm begins. Poor wretch,That for thy mother's fault art thus exposedTo loss and what may follow! Weep I cannot,But my heart bleeds; and most accursed am ITo be by oath enjoined to this. Farewell! Then, seemingly in confirmation of the dream-prophecy, the storm bursts, and a bear chases Antigonus off the stage. A shepherd enters, grumbling about the useless aggravation caused by boys between the ages of ten and twenty-three. Apparently, he suspects that some youths with the 'boiled brains" of this age group have been hunting in the storm and have scared off two of his best sheep. Suddenly he sees the "very pretty" child, Hermione's daughter. Having already said that boys do nothing but harm, including "getting wenches with child," he assumes this child was born of just such an escapade. Overwhelmed by pity, the shepherd decides to take the baby home. But first, he calls his son, "the clown," to see it: "What, art so near? If thou'lt see a thing to talk on when thou art dead and rotten, come hither." The shepherd notices that his son is upset, so he asks what is wrong. Two different disasters have shaken the boy. First, during a storm that he describes as encompassing the sea and the sky, he heard the screams and watched the deaths of the entire crew aboard a wrecked ship. Then, someone named Antigonus begged for help as a "bear tore out his shoulder-bone." As the sailors yelled for help, "the sea mocked them," and as Antigonus screamed for help, "the bear mocked him"; eventually, the clown says, all of the victims were "roaring louder than the sea or weather." The shepherd asks when this happened. Just now, responds his son, too soon for the men to be chilled in the sea or the bear to be "half dined on the gentleman." Both men are distraught at their helplessness. So in contrast, the shepherd draws the clown's attention to "things new-born," and points out "a bearing-cloth for a Squire's child." The shepherd speculates that this baby is a changeling, given to him by fairies to fulfill an old prediction that someday he would be rich. The clown declares that his father will be rich from the gold which is tucked in the baby's wrapping, but the shepherd warns his son to keep the "fairy gold" a secret; he wants to hasten home without bothering to search any longer for his missing sheep. The clown tells his father to take everything home; he will return to the place where Antigonus was killed. Reasoning that if the bear ate until it was sated, it will no longer be dangerous; the boy wants to see if there is enough left of Antigonus to bury. After commending his son for his goodness, the shepherd asks to be brought to the scene so that he himself can see if enough is left on Antigonus to identify his origins. As they exit, the shepherd says cheerfully, "'Tis a lucky day, boy, and we'll do good deeds on I." | summary |
Bohemia. The sea-coast
Enter ANTIGONUS with the CHILD, and a MARINER
ANTIGONUS. Thou art perfect then our ship hath touch'd upon
The deserts of Bohemia?
MARINER. Ay, my lord, and fear
We have landed in ill time; the skies look grimly
And threaten present blusters. In my conscience,
The heavens with that we have in hand are angry
And frown upon 's.
ANTIGONUS. Their sacred wills be done! Go, get aboard;
Look to thy bark. I'll not be long before
I call upon thee.
MARINER. Make your best haste; and go not
Too far i' th' land; 'tis like to be loud weather;
Besides, this place is famous for the creatures
Of prey that keep upon't.
ANTIGONUS. Go thou away;
I'll follow instantly.
MARINER. I am glad at heart
To be so rid o' th' business. Exit
ANTIGONUS. Come, poor babe.
I have heard, but not believ'd, the spirits o' th' dead
May walk again. If such thing be, thy mother
Appear'd to me last night; for ne'er was dream
So like a waking. To me comes a creature,
Sometimes her head on one side some another-
I never saw a vessel of like sorrow,
So fill'd and so becoming; in pure white robes,
Like very sanctity, she did approach
My cabin where I lay; thrice bow'd before me;
And, gasping to begin some speech, her eyes
Became two spouts; the fury spent, anon
Did this break from her: 'Good Antigonus,
Since fate, against thy better disposition,
Hath made thy person for the thrower-out
Of my poor babe, according to thine oath,
Places remote enough are in Bohemia,
There weep, and leave it crying; and, for the babe
Is counted lost for ever, Perdita
I prithee call't. For this ungentle business,
Put on thee by my lord, thou ne'er shalt see
Thy wife Paulina more.' so, with shrieks,
She melted into air. Affrighted much,
I did in time collect myself, and thought
This was so and no slumber. Dreams are toys;
Yet, for this once, yea, superstitiously,
I will be squar'd by this. I do believe
Hermione hath suffer'd death, and that
Apollo would, this being indeed the issue
Of King Polixenes, it should here be laid,
Either for life or death, upon the earth
Of its right father. Blossom, speed thee well!
[Laying down the child]
There lie, and there thy character; there these
[Laying down a bundle]
Which may, if fortune please, both breed thee, pretty,
And still rest thine. The storm begins. Poor wretch,
That for thy mother's fault art thus expos'd
To loss and what may follow! Weep I cannot,
But my heart bleeds; and most accurs'd am I
To be by oath enjoin'd to this. Farewell!
The day frowns more and more. Thou'rt like to have
A lullaby too rough; I never saw
The heavens so dim by day. [Noise of hunt within] A savage
clamour!
Well may I get aboard! This is the chase;
I am gone for ever. Exit, pursued by a bear
Enter an old SHEPHERD
SHEPHERD. I would there were no age between ten and three and
twenty, or that youth would sleep out the rest; for there is
nothing in the between but getting wenches with child,
wronging
the ancientry, stealing, fighting- [Horns] Hark you now!
Would
any but these boil'd brains of nineteen and two and twenty
hunt
this weather? They have scar'd away two of my best sheep,
which I
fear the wolf will sooner find than the master. If any where
I
have them, 'tis by the sea-side, browsing of ivy. Good luck,
an't
be thy will! What have we here? [Taking up the child] Mercy
on's, a barne! A very pretty barne. A boy or a child, I
wonder? A
pretty one; a very pretty one- sure, some scape. Though I am
not
bookish, yet I can read waiting-gentlewoman in the scape.
This
has been some stair-work, some trunk-work, some
behind-door-work;
they were warmer that got this than the poor thing is here.
I'll
take it up for pity; yet I'll tarry till my son come; he
halloo'd
but even now. Whoa-ho-hoa!
Enter CLOWN
CLOWN. Hilloa, loa!
SHEPHERD. What, art so near? If thou'lt see a thing to talk on
when
thou art dead and rotten, come hither. What ail'st thou, man?
CLOWN. I have seen two such sights, by sea and by land! But I
am
not to say it is a sea, for it is now the sky; betwixt the
firmament and it you cannot thrust a bodkin's point.
SHEPHERD. Why, boy, how is it?
CLOWN. I would you did but see how it chafes, how it rages, how
it
takes up the shore! But that's not to the point. O, the most
piteous cry of the poor souls! Sometimes to see 'em, and not
to
see 'em; now the ship boring the moon with her mainmast, and
anon
swallowed with yeast and froth, as you'd thrust a cork into a
hogshead. And then for the land service- to see how the bear
tore
out his shoulder-bone; how he cried to me for help, and said
his
name was Antigonus, a nobleman! But to make an end of the
ship-
to see how the sea flap-dragon'd it; but first, how the poor
souls roared, and the sea mock'd them; and how the poor
gentleman
roared, and the bear mock'd him, both roaring louder than the
sea
or weather.
SHEPHERD. Name of mercy, when was this, boy?
CLOWN. Now, now; I have not wink'd since I saw these sights;
the
men are not yet cold under water, nor the bear half din'd on
the
gentleman; he's at it now.
SHEPHERD. Would I had been by to have help'd the old man!
CLOWN. I would you had been by the ship-side, to have help'd
her;
there your charity would have lack'd footing.
SHEPHERD. Heavy matters, heavy matters! But look thee here,
boy.
Now bless thyself; thou met'st with things dying, I with
things
new-born. Here's a sight for thee; look thee, a bearing-cloth
for
a squire's child! Look thee here; take up, take up, boy;
open't.
So, let's see- it was told me I should be rich by the
fairies.
This is some changeling. Open't. What's within, boy?
CLOWN. You're a made old man; if the sins of your youth are
forgiven you, you're well to live. Gold! all gold!
SHEPHERD. This is fairy gold, boy, and 'twill prove so. Up
with't,
keep it close. Home, home, the next way! We are lucky, boy;
and
to be so still requires nothing but secrecy. Let my sheep go.
Come, good boy, the next way home.
CLOWN. Go you the next way with your findings. I'll go see if
the
bear be gone from the gentleman, and how much he hath eaten.
They
are never curst but when they are hungry. If there be any of
him
left, I'll bury it.
SHEPHERD. That's a good deed. If thou mayest discern by that
which
is left of him what he is, fetch me to th' sight of him.
CLOWN. Marry, will I; and you shall help to put him i' th'
ground.
SHEPHERD. 'Tis a lucky day, boy; and we'll do good deeds on't.
Exeunt
| This scene is structured on irony and laced with sardonic humor. Dramatic irony is first evident when Antigonus swears to faithfully carry out the king's order to abandon the baby; the audience, you should remember, knows full well that Leontes has now repented of his tyranny. There is additional irony here because of the old shepherd's vituperative attacks on young men; obviously, his son does not conform to the shepherd's notion of the norm. Consider also the many tragedies that preceded the shepherd's finding the baby, contrasted with his simple belief that the fairies dropped both the baby and gold in his pathway in order to make him rich. From this point until the end of the play, comedy will be threaded throughout the central plot, which focuses primarily on poetic justice. The comedy here is based on Shakespeare's incorporating the astounding and incredible. Consider that in this scene alone, Shakespeare includes noisy thunder, ghosts, an attacking bear, slapstick humor, fairies, and a rags-to-riches myth! Another use of the astounding that contributes to the plot involves the fate of Antigonus, of Perdita, and that of the mariners. Antigonus and the crew, of course, must die so that no one can report to Bohemia who the infant is, and no one can bring news to Sicilia where the infant was abandoned. Since Antigonus did not select Bohemia as his destination prior to embarking from Sicilia, Perdita is now completely abandoned to Fate. As with all Pastoral Romances, the events in this scene can flourish without insistence upon absolute truth. On the way to the "deserts of Bohemia," Antigonus believes that he experiences a supernatural vision which he incorrectly interprets as proof that Hermione has died and that Perdita was fathered by Polixenes. Equally as confused as Antigonus, the old shepherd irrationally believes that something supernatural guided the fairies to leave him a changeling and the gold for his own fortune. Another element that is consistent with the genre of Pastoral Romance is Shakespeare's moral lessons about virtue and vice. Both Antigonus and the mariner worry about retribution by the heavens for their participation in the heartless, unwarranted punishment of the infant. And this retribution occurs just after Antigonus leaves the infant, stating "most accursed am L" A hungry bear chases Antigonus off the stage at the very moment that the thunderstorm breaks. This storm would most certainly have been viewed by Elizabethan audiences as a disruption of the Heavenly Order. Shakespeare's humor softens this horror when the shepherd and clown bury Antigonus because "'Tis a lucky day" which calls for "good deeds." Clearly, these two characters are characterized by their rewards for virtue as surely as Leontes is characterized by his punishment for the absence of such virtue. Significantly, all the fantastic elements are used to save Perdita for the healing role that she must play in order for the major conflict to be resolved. Realism, here, is achieved through characterization. Antigonus, already established as a kind of man who is reluctant to carry out the king's orders, contributes to the possible survival of the infant by wrapping a substantial amount of gold in her blankets. The gold must have been his own; certainly, it was not provided by the crazed Leontes. Antigonus' foresight does attract the attention of the shepherd, and although he believes the superstitious possibility that the baby is a changeling , the shepherd is also a good man who never considers killing the baby -- only keeping the gold. He unwaveringly accepts the responsibility to raise the baby -- initially, when he thought it was an abandoned bastard and, later, when he thought that it was an instrument of the fairies. Probability in the plot depends upon the acceptance of illusion: If Perdita were in the hands of these characters on a seacoast of a place called Bohemia where wild bears roamed at the very moment a vicious storm broke, then this might follow. Modern audiences will all surely recognize and forgive this perceived breach of probability. The scene balances comedy and tragedy nicely, introduces new major characters, and it saves the baby for the resolution of renewal and rebirth. Its final dramatic result is that it places Perdita in the very middle of illusion and reality. | analysis |
Enter TIME, the CHORUS
TIME. I, that please some, try all, both joy and terror
Of good and bad, that makes and unfolds error,
Now take upon me, in the name of Time,
To use my wings. Impute it not a crime
To me or my swift passage that I slide
O'er sixteen years, and leave the growth untried
Of that wide gap, since it is in my pow'r
To o'erthrow law, and in one self-born hour
To plant and o'erwhelm custom. Let me pass
The same I am, ere ancient'st order was
Or what is now receiv'd. I witness to
The times that brought them in; so shall I do
To th' freshest things now reigning, and make stale
The glistering of this present, as my tale
Now seems to it. Your patience this allowing,
I turn my glass, and give my scene such growing
As you had slept between. Leontes leaving-
Th' effects of his fond jealousies so grieving
That he shuts up himself- imagine me,
Gentle spectators, that I now may be
In fair Bohemia; and remember well
I mention'd a son o' th' King's, which Florizel
I now name to you; and with speed so pace
To speak of Perdita, now grown in grace
Equal with wond'ring. What of her ensues
I list not prophesy; but let Time's news
Be known when 'tis brought forth. A shepherd's daughter,
And what to her adheres, which follows after,
Is th' argument of Time. Of this allow,
If ever you have spent time worse ere now;
If never, yet that Time himself doth say
He wishes earnestly you never may. Exit
| A Chorus symbolizing Time announces that sixteen years have passed. During those years, Leontes has replaced his jealousy with seclusion, while Florizel and Perdita have grown up and matured in Bohemia. | summary |
Enter TIME, the CHORUS
TIME. I, that please some, try all, both joy and terror
Of good and bad, that makes and unfolds error,
Now take upon me, in the name of Time,
To use my wings. Impute it not a crime
To me or my swift passage that I slide
O'er sixteen years, and leave the growth untried
Of that wide gap, since it is in my pow'r
To o'erthrow law, and in one self-born hour
To plant and o'erwhelm custom. Let me pass
The same I am, ere ancient'st order was
Or what is now receiv'd. I witness to
The times that brought them in; so shall I do
To th' freshest things now reigning, and make stale
The glistering of this present, as my tale
Now seems to it. Your patience this allowing,
I turn my glass, and give my scene such growing
As you had slept between. Leontes leaving-
Th' effects of his fond jealousies so grieving
That he shuts up himself- imagine me,
Gentle spectators, that I now may be
In fair Bohemia; and remember well
I mention'd a son o' th' King's, which Florizel
I now name to you; and with speed so pace
To speak of Perdita, now grown in grace
Equal with wond'ring. What of her ensues
I list not prophesy; but let Time's news
Be known when 'tis brought forth. A shepherd's daughter,
And what to her adheres, which follows after,
Is th' argument of Time. Of this allow,
If ever you have spent time worse ere now;
If never, yet that Time himself doth say
He wishes earnestly you never may. Exit
| As in ancient Greek plays, a Chorus substitutes narrative for dramatic action. In addition to preparing the audience for an adult Florizel and Perdita, when next we see them, the narrative transcends the focus from the actions of Leontes to the actions of the Bohemian cast of characters. | analysis |