Cyrano de Bergerac Page #2

I dally a while with you..

you jackall.

Just as I end the refrain,

thrust home!

Where shall I skewer my peacock again?

Nay, better for you

to have shunned this brawl.

Here in the heart

or your ribbons, gay,

in the belly

'neath you silken shawl?

Now, come my points floats,

light as the foam

ready to drive you

back to the wall,

and then as I end the refrain,

thrust home.

Oh, for a rhyme.

Why, your fight is fading.

You break.

You cower.

You cringe.

You crawl.

How can I tell

you're allowed to say

something to turn on my head

forestall...

Life with a tunny

death with a scall.

Something to turn on my fancy roam,

free for a time till the rhyme's recall,

then as I end the refrain,

thrust home!

Refrain.

Prince,

pray God that is Lord of all,

pardon you soul,

for your time has come.

Pass! I fling you aslant, asprawl.

Then as I end the refrain,

thrust home!

Ladies and gentlemen,

please, please,

not until the performance is over.

Close the house.

A strike,

but leave the lights.

We rehearse the new

farce tonight.

Wait.

You have only to watch a fight,

or have you ruined

if you listen to them.

Think of the enemies you've made,

Montfleury, the Vicomte,

if he lives,

all those foppish marquis,

the Comte de Guiche.

That politician.

He's the Cardinal's nephew.

There's power there!

And power here.

Young fool!

Take an example from me.

20 years a captain,

while others who know only

how to deploy their

forces at court

now dangle a marshal's baton.

Well, uh, someday

I will avenge you, too.

Impossible.

Come on, let's go to dinner.

Dinner?

No, not I.

Why not?

Because I have no money.

But, the purse of gold.

Farewell paternal pension.

And you have

until the first of next month?

Nothing.

What a fool.

Yes, but, what a moment.

Pardon, Monsieur.

A man ought

never to go hungry.

I have everything here.

Please.

My dear child, I cannot bend this Gascon

pride of mine to accept such a kindness.

But, I...

Yet, for fear that

I may give you pain if I refuse,

I will take something.

A grape.

One only.

And a glass of water.

No, clear.

And, uh,...half a macaroon.

Nothing more?

Why, yes.

Your hand to kiss.

Thank you, sir.

Good night.

Idiot.

Dinner.

Drink.

Desert.

Mon Dieux, I was hungry,

abominably.

Tell me.

Anything.

Why to you hate

this Montfleury?

A very bad actor.

Ah, come now, the real

reason, the truth.

That fat goat who cannot hold

his belly in his arms,

still dreams of being

sweetly dangerous among the women.

Sighs and languishes, making sheep's

eyes out of his great frog's face.

I hate him ever since one day

he dared smile upon...

Oh, my friend, I seemed to see over

some flower a great snail crawling.

Eh, what?

Is it possible?

For me to love?

I love.

Whom?

May I know?

Whom I love?

Think a moment.

Think of me.

Me, whom the plainest

woman would despise.

Me, with this nose of mine that marches

on before me by a quarter of an hour.

Whom shall I love.

Why, of course, it must be the

woman in the world most beautiful.

Most beautiful?

In these eyes of mine...

beyond compare.

Wait.

Your cousin, Roxane.

Yes.

Roxane.

Well?

Why not?

If you love her, tell her so.

My old friend.

Look at me and tell me how

much hope remains for me

with this protuberance.

Ahhh, I have no more illusions.

Now and then I may grow tender

walking alone in the blue of evening

through some garden fresh with flowers

after the benediction of the rain.

My poor big devil of a nose

inhales April.

And I follow with my eyes where

some boy with a girl upon his arm,

passes a patch of silver...

and I feel somehow...

I wish I had a woman, too,

walking with me under the moon,

and holding my arm and smiling.

Then I dream.

I forget.

And then I see the shadow

of my profile on the wall.

My friend.

My friend.

I have my bitter days,

knowing myself so ugly, so alone.

Ah, but your wit, your courage,

why that poor child who just

now offered you your dinner,

your saw it, her eyes

did not avoid you.

That is true.

Well, then, Roxane herself,

watching your duel, pale.

Pale?

Yes, her lips parted.

Her hand at her breast, thus.

I saw it.

Speak to her. Speak, man.

She might laugh at me.

It is the one thing

in this world I fear.

Pardon, Monsieur,

a lady outside asking for you.

Monsieur.

A Duenna.

I have a message for you

from a...a certain lady.

She desires to know when

and where she may see you privately.

She has certain

things to tell you.

Certain...

Things!

She wishes to see me?

We go tomorrow at dawn

to hear mass at St. Rupe

And afterwards, where

would you suggest?

Well, then, I...

- Where?

- Well?

Ah...I am thinking.

And you think?

Where?

The shop at Ragueneau's.

Yes, yes, Ragueneau,

the pastry cook.

Who dwells?

Rue Saint Honore.

Eh...Rue Saint Honore.

We are agreed. At 7 o'clock.

Until then. Adieu.

I'll be there.

Me! To see me!

Ah, not quite so gloomy.

After all, she knows

that I exist.

Imagine, she has

asked to see me!

So, now you're

going to be happy?

Happy. I'm going to be a storm. A flame!

I need to fight whole

armies all alone!

I have ten hearts!

I have a hundred arms!.

I feel too strong

to war with mortals!

BRING ME GIANTS!

Quiet, please, shhh.

We are rehearsing back here.

So sorry.

Ha, ha, ha.

Cyrano.

Cyrano.

Ragueneau.

Oh, thank goodness

you're still here.

Well, what's the matter.

I'm afraid to go home.

Why?

You know those

comic verses I wrote?

About the congregation.

Cyrano, he's hired ruffians.

Bullies.

A hundred, waiting for

me on the way home.

They're gonna beat me.

Cane me!

Please, would you permit me

to spend the night with you?

A hundred men,

is that all?

Ragueneau, you're

going home tonight.

But they're armed.

They're cutthroats!

Take this lantern.

Forward march.

I say that I'll be the man

to see you to your shop.

Not you, I want no help from you.

For even for a hundred,

you're mad.

Those are the odds I want.

Why for this pastry cook?

First, because this

pastry cook is a friend of mine.

Second, because this

pastry cook is also a poet.

And, most important,

if anything should

happen to this pastry cook,

tomorrow morning at seven

his shop will be closed.

Goodnight.

Cyrano. Help!

Look out behind you!

I have been robbed.

There are no hundred here.

It's, it's, it's...

Be quick. Inside.

Bolt the door!

Ah!

Yah!

Ah!

Awk.

Cyrano!

Hold!

Ah.

How do you feel?

Oh, pleasantly exhilarated.

- Come, I know a little tavern not far...

- Where's Ragueneau?

Ragueneau?

Ragueneau!

Little boy, come out.

All's well!

- Is it over?

- All over.

Really?

So soon?

Ha, ha, ha.

Oh, if only I'd had my sword.

How many did we kill?

Oh, about eight.

Eight.

Eight!

Ohhhh.

This...gentleman

begins to annoy me.

No. The sauce and meat must rhyme.

Add a pinch of marigold and thyme.

Your house, of course needs a stronger roof.

Eh? There's proof.

Cyrano.

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