Come to my help, my lords!
Go on! Go on!
Fat man, take warning! If you go on, I Shall feel myself constrained to cuff your face!
Have done!
And if these lords hold not their tongue Shall feel constrained to make them taste my cane!
Enough!. . .Montfleury. . .
If he goes not quick I will cut off his ears and slit him up!
But. . .
Out he goes!
Yet. . .
Is he not gone yet?
[(He makes the gesture of turning up his cuffs)]Good! I shall mount the stage now, buffet-wise, To carve this fine Italian sausage -- thus!
You outrage Thalia in insulting me!
If that Muse, Sir, who knows you not at all, Could claim acquaintance with you -- oh, believe (Seeing how urn-like, fat, and slow you are) That she would make you taste her buskin's sole!
Montfleury! Montfleury! Come -- Baro's play!
I pray you have a care! If you go on My scabbard soon will render up its blade!
[(The circle round him widens.)]Take care!
Leave the stage!
Oh! --
Did some one speak?
[(They draw back again.)]Monsieur de Cyrano Displays his tyrannies A fig for tyrants! What, ho! Come! Play us 'La Clorise!'
'La Clorise!' 'La Clorise!'. . .
Let me but hear once more that foolish rhyme, I slaughter every man of you.
Oh! Samson?
Yes Samson! Will you lend your jawbone, Sir?
Outrageous!
Scandalous!
'Tis most annoying!
Fair good sport!
Kss! -- Montfleury. . .Cyrano!
Silence!
Ho-o-o-o-h! Quack! Cock-a-doodle-doo!
I order --
Miow!
I order silence, all! And challenge the whole pit collectively! -- I write your names! -- Approach, young heroes, here! Each in his turn! I cry the numbers out! -- Now which of you will come to ope the lists? You, Sir? No! You? No! The first duellist Shall be dispatched by me with honors due! Let all who long for death hold up their hands!
[(A silence)]Modest? You fear to see my naked blade? Not one name? -- Not one hand? -- Good, I proceed!
[(Turning toward the stage, where Montfleury waits in an agony)]The theater's too full, congested, -- I Would clear it out. . .If not. . .
[(Puts his hand on his sword)]The knife must act!
I. . .
I will clap my hands thrice, thus -- full moon! At the third clap, eclipse yourself!
Ah!
One!
I. . .
Stay!
He stays. . .he goes. . .he stays. . .
I think. . .Gentlemen,. . .
Two!
I think 'twere wisest. . .
Three!
[(Montfleury disappears as through a trap. Tempest of laughs, whistling cries, etc.)]Coward. . .come back!
Come back an if you dare!
Call for the orator!
[(Bellerose comes forward and bows.)]Ah! here's Bellerose!
My noble lords. . .
No! no! Jodelet!
Calves!
Ah! bravo! good! go on!
No bravos, Sirs! The fat tragedian whom you all love Felt. . .
Coward!
. . .was obliged to go.
Come back!
No!
Yes!
But pray, Sir, for what reason, say, Hate you Montfleury?
Youthful gander, know I have two reasons -- either will suffice. Primo. An actor villainous! who mouths, And heaves up like a bucket from a well The verses that should, bird-like, fly! Secundo -- That is my secret. . .
Shameful! You deprive us Of the 'Clorise!' I must insist. . .
Old mule! The verses of old Baro are not worth A doit! I'm glad to interrupt. . .
Our Baro! -- My dear! How dares he venture!. . .
Fairest ones, Radiate, bloom, hold to our lips the cup Of dreams intoxicating, Hebe-like! Or, when death strikes, charm death with your sweet smiles; Inspire our verse, but -- criticise it not!
We must give back the entrance fees!
Bellerose, You make the first intelligent remark! Would I rend Thespis' sacred mantle? Nay! (He rises and throws a bag on the stage) Catch then the purse I throw, and hold your peace!
Ah! Oh!
At this price, you've authority To come each night, and stop 'Clorise,' Sir!
Ho!. . .Ho! Ho!. . .
E'en if you chase us in a pack!. . .
Clear out the hall!. . .
Get you all gone at once!
[(The people begin to go out, while Cyrano looks on with satisfaction. But the crowd soon stop on hearing the following scene, and remain where they are. The women, who, with their mantles on, are already standing up in the boxes, stop to listen, and finally reseat themselves.)]'Tis mad!. . .
The actor Montfleury! 'Tis shameful! Why, he's protected by the Duke of Candal! Have you a patron?
No!
No patron?. . .
None!
What! no great lord to shield you with his name?
No, I have told you twice! Must I repeat? No! no protector. . .
[(His hand on his sword)]A protectress. . .here!
But you must leave the town?
Well, that depends!
The Duke has a long arm!
But not so long As mine, when it is lengthened out. . .
[(Shows his sword)]As thus!
You think not to contend?
'Tis my idea!
But. . .
Show your heels! now!
But I. . .
Or tell me why you stare so at my nose!
I. . .
Well, what is there strange?
Your Grace mistakes!
How now? Is't soft and dangling, like a trunk?. . .
I never. . .
Is it crook'd, like an owl's beak?
I. . .
Do you see a wart upon the tip?
Nay. . .
Or a fly, that takes the air there? What Is there to stare at?
Oh. . .
What do you see?
But I was careful not to look -- knew better.
And why not look at it, an if you please?
I was. . .
Oh! it disgusts you!
Sir!
Its hue Unwholesome seems to you?
Sir!
Or its shape?
No, on the contrary!. . .
Why then that air Disparaging? -- perchance you think it large?
No, small, quite small -- minute!
Minute! What now? Accuse me of a thing ridiculous! Small -- my nose?
Heaven help me!
'Tis enormous! Old Flathead, empty-headed meddler, know That I am proud possessing such appendice. 'Tis well known, a big nose is indicative Of a soul affable, and kind, and courteous, Liberal, brave, just like myself, and such As you can never dare to dream yourself, Rascal contemptible! For that witless face That my hand soon will come to cuff -- is all As empty. . .
[(He cuffs him.)]Aie!
-- of pride, of aspiration, Of feeling, poetry -- of godlike spark Of all that appertains to my big nose, (He turns him by the shoulders, suiting the action to the word) As. . .what my boot will shortly come and kick!
Help! Call the Guard!
Take notice, boobies all, Who find my visage's center ornament A thing to jest at -- that it is my wont -- An if the jester's noble -- ere we part To let him taste my steel, and not my boot!
But he becomes a nuisance!
Swaggerer!
Will no one put him down?. . .
No one? But wait! I'll treat him to. . .one of my quips!. . .See here!. . . (He goes up to Cyrano, who is watching him, and with a conceited air) Sir, your nose is. . .hmm. . .it is. . .very big!
Very!
Ha!
Is that all?. . .
What do you mean?
Ah no! young blade! That was a trifle short! You might have said at least a hundred things By varying the tone. . .like this, suppose,. . . Aggressive: 'Sir, if I had such a nose I'd amputate it!' Friendly: 'When you sup It must annoy you, dipping in your cup; You need a drinking-bowl of special shape!' Descriptive: ''Tis a rock!. . .a peak!. . .a cape! -- A cape, forsooth! 'Tis a peninsular!' Curious: 'How serves that oblong capsular? For scissor-sheath? Or pot to hold your ink?' Gracious: 'You love the little birds, I think? I see you've managed with a fond research To find their tiny claws a roomy perch!' Truculent: 'When you smoke your pipe. . .suppose That the tobacco-smoke spouts from your nose -- Do not the neighbors, as the fumes rise higher, Cry terror-struck: "The chimney is afire"?' Considerate: 'Take care,. . .your head bowed low By such a weight. . .lest head o'er heels you go!' Tender: 'Pray get a small umbrella made, Lest its bright color in the sun should fade!'
Come away, Viscount!
Hear his arrogance! A country lout who. . .who. . .has got no gloves! Who goes out without sleeve-knots, ribbons, lace!
True; all my elegances are within. I do not prank myself out, puppy-like; My toilet is more thorough, if less gay; I would not sally forth -- a half-washed-out Affront upon my cheek -- a conscience Yellow-eyed, bilious, from its sodden sleep, A ruffled honor,. . .scruples grimed and dull! I show no bravery of shining gems. Truth, Independence, are my fluttering plumes. 'Tis not my form I lace to make me slim, But brace my soul with efforts as with stays, Covered with exploits, not with ribbon-knots, My spirit bristling high like your mustaches, I, traversing the crowds and chattering groups Make Truth ring bravely out like clash of spurs!
But, Sir. . .
I wear no gloves? And what of that? I had one,. . .remnant of an old worn pair, And, knowing not what else to do with it, I threw it in the face of. . .some young fool.
Base scoundrel! Rascally flat-footed lout!
Ah?. . .and I, Cyrano Savinien Hercule de Bergerac
[(Laughter.)]Buffoon!
Aie! Aie!
What on earth is the fellow saying now?
It must be moved -- it's getting stiff, I vow, -- This comes of leaving it in idleness! Aie!. . .
What ails you?
The cramp! cramp in my sword!
Good!
You shall feel a charming little stroke!
Poet!. . .
Ay, poet, Sir! In proof of which, While we fence, presto! all extempore I will compose a ballade.
A ballade?
Belike you know not what a ballade is.
But. . .
Know then that the ballade should contain Three eight-versed couplets. . .
Oh!
And an envoi Of four lines. . .
You. . .
I'll make one while we fight; And touch you at the final line.
No!
No?
[(declaiming)]The duel in Hotel of Burgundy -- fought By De Bergerac and a good-for-naught!
What may that be, an if you please?
The title.
Give room! -- Good sport! -- Make place! -- Fair play! -- No noise!
[(Tableau. A circle of curious spectators in the pit; the marquises and officers mingled with the common people; the pages climbing on each other's shoulders to see better. All the women standing up in the boxes. To the right, De Guiche and his retinue. Left, Le Bret, Ragueneau, Cyrano, etc.)]Wait while I choose my rhymes. . .I have them now!
[(He suits the action to each word)]Envoi.
Ah!
'Tis superb!
A pretty stroke!
A marvel!
A novelty!
O madman!
Compliments! Bravo! Let me congratulate!. . .Quite unsurpassed!. . .
There is a hero for you!. . .
Sir, permit; Naught could be finer -- I'm a judge I think; I stamped, i' faith! -- to show my admiration!
[(He goes away.)]Who is that gentleman?
Why -- D'Artagnan!
A word with you!. . .
Wait; let the rabble go!. . .
[(To Bellerose)]May I stay?
Without doubt!
[(Cries are heard outside.)]They hoot Montfleury!
Sic transit!. . .
[(To the porters)]Sweep -- close all, but leave the lights. We sup, but later on we must return, For a rehearsal of to-morrow's farce.
[(Jodelet and Bellerose go out, bowing low to Cyrano.)]You do not dine, Sir?
No.
[(The porter goes out.)]Because?
Because. . .
[(Changing his tone as the porter goes away)]I have no money!. . .
How! The bag of crowns?. . .
Paternal bounty, in a day, thou'rt sped!
How live the next month?. . .
I have nothing left.
Folly!
But what a graceful action! Think!
Hum!
[(Cyrano and Le Bret turn. She comes timidly forward)]Sir, my heart mislikes to know you fast.
[(Showing the buffet)]See, all you need. Serve yourself!
Gentle child, Although my Gascon pride would else forbid To take the least bestowal from your hands, My fear of wounding you outweighs that pride, And bids accept. . .
[(He goes to the buffet)]A trifle!. . .These few grapes.
[(She offers him the whole bunch. He takes a few)]Nay, but this bunch!. . .
[(She tries to give him wine, but he stops her)]A glass of water fair!. . . And half a macaroon!
[(He gives back the other half.)]What foolery!
Take something else!
I take your hand to kiss.
[(He kisses her hand as though she were a princess.)]Thank you, kind Sir!
[(She courtesies)]Good-night.
[(She goes out.)]