Scene 2.X.

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.)





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