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 actresses the demands of his Corsican producers the jealousy of his wife the stories of his best friend's heart and the lack of enthusiasm of all those around him Edmond starts writing this piece which nobody believes. For now he has only the title: "Cyrano de Bergerac".