Cyrano de Bergerac is a swashbuckling seventeenth-century swordsman who can do anything... except tell Roxane, the woman he loves, how he feels. He's just too self-conscious about his unusually large nose. Roxane finds romance in words, and Cyrano is full of them, so when he sees the chance to ghostwrite love letters to her from an inarticulate, love-struck cadet, he takes it—but can he ever reveal himself? Could she ever love him for who he is? In turns funny, tender, and self-aware, this classic tale about the exquisite distress of loving from afar will find its way into the hearts of even the most skeptical. Kate Hennig is a playwright, actor, teacher, and director. Her play The Last Wife premiered at the Stratford Festival in 2015 and has since had more than ten productions across Canada and the United States, and will premiere in Sydney, Australia, in September 2019. The Virgin Trial won the 2017 Carol Bolt Award for Best New Play, was shortlisted for the Governor General’s Literary Award for Drama, and has had several subsequent regional productions. For the Shaw Festival, Kate has translated and adapted Cyrano de Bergerac and Oscar Wilde’s stories for children, Wilde Tales . Kate is Associate Artistic Director at the Shaw Festival and resides in Stratford, Ontario. Scène II.VI Cyrano May this moment—​this inexplicable moment—​be blessed: You have ceased to forget my humble existence And have come here to say . . . to tell me . . . ? Roxane (uncovering herself) How courageous your swordplay was yesterday. I thank you so! Because that person you flattened—​ (searching for the word) That smug . . . that droll . . . what word can best describe him? Cyrano Hairpiece ? Roxane (raising her eyes, laughing) Hairpiece! Yes! That’s it! I’m supposed to—​well, a great lord, who loves me—​ Cyrano Monseigneur Le Compte de Guiche. Roxane (looking down) Yes—​ Wants me to . . . to marry that / hairpiece. Cyrano Hairpiece. (praising her) Then in that case, madame, I fought him, not for my villainous nose But for your beautiful eyes. Roxane smiles, meeting his eyes. They both look away. Roxane I’m a little . . . afraid . . . to say what I’ve come here to say. Cyrano Should I be afraid to hear it? Roxane It was so much easier when we were children, wasn’t it? When we played in the park, by the lake. Cyrano Oh God—​you remember? The summers in Bergerac! Roxane How could I forget? You fought with a sword, even then! Cyrano Well . . . two sticks tied together. Roxane My dolls: they only had corn silk for hair. Hah! The games we invented! Cyrano Ohhhh, and do you remember?—​you must—​the tart summer taste of . . . Roxane Yes! Both Sour blackberries!! Roxane You did everything I asked. Cyrano How could I not? Roxane Was I pretty, then? Cyrano You weren’t ugly. Roxane (excitedly) That time you cut your hand climbing! Remember? You ran up to me, and I played the mother: “Why have you hurt yourself again?” She takes his hand. She stops, stunned, seeing his current wound. In a voice trying to be hard: Oh dear! It’s very deep this time: Still wounding yourself at your age? Cyrano tries to remove the hand. No. Show me. Where did you get such a gash? Cyrano Playing games with the big boys. Near the Porte de Nesle. Roxane sits down at a table and dips her handkerchief into a glass of water. Roxane I’ll clean it. Cyrano (also sitting down) Be gentle. Roxane Were the big boys taunting you? Cyrano Not the whole hundred. Roxane A hundred?! Tell me. Cyrano You tell me the thing that you don’t dare to tell me. Roxane (without leaving his hand, and without looking him in the eye) I can dare. In this moment . . . We shared so much then, didn’t we? . . . And now . . . Yes, I dare now. (inhales) I love someone. Cyrano (exhales) Ah . . . Roxane Someone who doesn’t know it. Cyrano Ah . . . Roxane Not yet. Cyrano Ah . . . Roxane But who will know soon enough, if he doesn’t know now. Cyrano Ah . . . Roxane A wistful boy who up to this moment has loved me shyly, Distantly, without daring to say it . . . Cyrano (trying to remove his hand from hers) Ah . . . Roxane No, let me—​ (of the hand) It’s so hot! It’s burning with fever— But I, I saw his trembling lip confessing it. Cyrano Ah . . . Roxane makes him a bandage with her handkerchief. Roxane He has such presence in his face—​hold that . . . Cyrano puts his finger on the knot. Perfect—​such intelligence; Proud, noble, fearless . . . beautiful . . . Cyrano (getting up, quite weak) Beautiful . . . Roxane What? What is it? Cyrano I, nothing. It’s . . . it’s . . . Cyrano shows the hand, with a smile, and a tear falling. It’s this bobo. Roxane I love him. That’s the beginning and the end. Cyrano He’s a worthy man. Roxane A cadet of the guards. Dare I say his name? Cyrano Please. Dare. Roxane (averting her eyes) Baron Christian de Neuvillette.