December 1897, Paris. Edmond Rostand is not yet thirty but already two children and a lot of anxieties. He has not written anything for two years. 

In desperation, he offers the great Constant Coquelin a new play, a heroic comedy, in verse, for the holidays. Only concern: it is not written yet. 

Ignoring the whims of the actresses, the demands of his Corsican producers, the jealousy of his wife, the love stories of his best friend and the lack of enthusiasm of all his entourage, Edmond starts writing this piece which nobody believes. For the moment, it only has the title: “Cyrano de Bergerac”.

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