Cyrano de Bergerac (English translation) | Page 8

lieu solitaire, Se prescrit a
soi-meme un exil volontaire, Et qui, lorsque Zephire a souffle sur les
bois. . .'
A VOICE (from the middle of the pit): Villain! Did I not forbid you to
show your face here for month?
(General stupor. Every one turns round. Murmurs.)
DIFFERENT VOICES: Hey?--What?--What is't?. . .
(The people stand up in the boxes to look.)
CUIGY: 'Tis he!
LE BRET (terrified): Cyrano!
THE VOICE: King of clowns! Leave the stage this instant!
ALL THE AUDIENCE (indignantly): Oh!
MONTFLEURY: But. . .
THE VOICE: Do you dare defy me?
DIFFERENT VOICES (from the pit and the boxes): Peace!
Enough!--Play on, Montfleury--fear nothing!
MONTFLEURY (in a trembling voice): 'Heureux qui loin des cours,
dans un lieu sol--'
THE VOICE (more fiercely): Well! Chief of all the blackguards, must I
come and give you a taste of my cane?
(A hand holding a cane starts up over the heads of the spectators.)
MONTFLEURY (in a voice that trembles more and more): 'Heureux
qui. . .'
(The cane is shaken.)
THE VOICE: Off the stage!

THE PIT: Oh!
MONTFLEURY (choking): 'Heureux qui loin des cours. . .'
CYRANO (appearing suddenly in the pit, standing on a chair, his arms
crossed, his beaver cocked fiercely, his mustache bristling, his nose
terrible to see): Ah! I shall be angry in a minute!. . .
(Sensation.)

Scene 1.IV.
The same. Cyrano, then Bellerose, Jodelet.
MONTFLEURY (to the marquises): Come to my help, my lords!
A MARQUIS (carelessly): Go on! Go on!
CYRANO: Fat man, take warning! If you go on, I Shall feel myself
constrained to cuff your face!
THE MARQUIS: Have done!
CYRANO: And if these lords hold not their tongue Shall feel
constrained to make them taste my cane!
ALL THE MARQUISES (rising): Enough!. . .Montfleury. . .
CYRANO: If he goes not quick I will cut off his ears and slit him up!
A VOICE: But. . .
CYRANO: Out he goes!
ANOTHER VOICE: Yet. . .
CYRANO: 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!
MONTFLEURY (trying to be dignified): You outrage Thalia in
insulting me!
CYRANO (very politely): 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!
THE PIT: Montfleury! Montfleury! Come--Baro's play!
CYRANO (to those who are calling out): I pray you have a care! If you
go on My scabbard soon will render up its blade!
(The circle round him widens.)
THE CROWD (drawing back): Take care!
CYRANO (to Montfleury): Leave the stage!
THE CROWD (coming near and grumbling): Oh!--
CYRANO: Did some one speak?

(They draw back again.)
A VOICE (singing at the back): Monsieur de Cyrano Displays his
tyrannies: A fig for tyrants! What, ho! Come! Play us 'La Clorise!'
ALL THE PIT (singing): 'La Clorise!' 'La Clorise!'. . .
CYRANO: Let me but hear once more that foolish rhyme, I slaughter
every man of you.
A BURGHER: Oh! Samson?
CYRANO: Yes Samson! Will you lend your jawbone, Sir?
A LADY (in the boxes): Outrageous!
A LORD: Scandalous!
A BURGHER: 'Tis most annoying!
A PAGE: Fair good sport!
THE PIT: Kss!--Montfleury. . .Cyrano!
CYRANO: Silence!
THE PIT (wildly excited): Ho-o-o-o-h! Quack! Cock-a-doodle-doo!
CYRANO: I order--
A PAGE: Miow!
CYRANO: 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!
MONTFLEURY: I. . .
CYRANO (leaves his chair, and settles himself in the middle of the
circle which has formed): I will clap my hands thrice, thus--full moon!
At the third clap, eclipse yourself!
THE PIT (amused): Ah!
CYRANO (clapping his hands): One!
MONTFLEURY: I. . .
A VOICE (in the boxes): Stay!
THE PIT: He stays. . .he goes. . .he stays. . .
MONTFLEURY: I think. . .Gentlemen,. . .

CYRANO: Two!
MONTFLEURY: I think 'twere wisest. . .
CYRANO: Three!
(Montfleury disappears as through a trap. Tempest of laughs, whistling
cries, etc.)
THE WHOLE HOUSE: Coward. . .come back!
CYRANO (delighted, sits back in his chair, arms crossed): Come back
an if you