must be an eclipse.
THE PIT (_amused_).
Ah! Good!
CYRANO (_striking his hands together_).
One!
MONTFLEURY.
But I ....
A VOICE (_from the boxes_).
Stay, Montfleury!
THE PIT.
Will stay, will not! Will stay, will not!
MONTFLEURY.
I believe, gentlemen ....
CYRANO.
Two!
MONTFLEURY.
It would be far better ....
CYRANO.
Three!
(_Montfleury disappears as if by magic. General laughter,
whistling, etc._)
CYRANO (_leaning back in his chair, and crossing
his legs_).
Let him return if he dares!
THE AUDIENCE.
The company's orator!
(_Bellerose advances and bows._)
THE BOXES.
Ah! here is Bellerose!
BELLEROSE (_with great elegance_).
Noble lords ....
THE PIT.
No! No! Jodelet!
JODELET (_with a nasal twang_).
Disturbers of the peace! The heavy tragedian whose bulk suits your
fancy, felt....
THE PIT.
He is a coward!
JODELET.
Suddenly unwell ... and was compelled to retire.
THE PIT.
Let him return!--No!--Yes!--
A YOUNG MAN (_to Cyrano_).
But, after all, Sir, what reason is there for your hating Montfleury?
CYRANO (_very courteous, still seated_).
Young gosling, there are two, either one of which is sufficient in
itself. First: he is a bad actor; he rants, and seems to lift with a
derrick lines that have wings of their own. Second: but that is _my_
secret.
TRADESMAN (_behind Cyrano_).
But, Sir, you deprive us of the pleasure of hearing "La Clorise." I
insist....
CYRANO (_turning in his chair toward the
tradesman respectfully_).
Venerable mule, Baro's verse is worthless. I interrupt without the
slightest remorse.
THE "PRÉCIEUSES" (_in the boxes_).
Baro! Our Baro! Heavens! Is it possible?
CYRANO (_turning his chair to the boxes, with
great courtesy_).
Fair beings ....
Irradiate and bloom, be Hebes, all,
Dispensing dream; with smile make death a feast
To us----inspire verse.... but judge it not!
BELLEROSE.
How about the money we'll have to return?
CYRANO (_turning his chair toward the stage_).
Bellerose, you have said the only intelligent thing yet heard to-day. I
would not for the world make holes in the cloak of Thespis.
(_He rises and throws a small bag upon the stage_).
Catch this purse and hold your tongue!
THE AUDIENCE (_bewildered_).
Ah!.... Oh!....
JODELET (_picking up the purse and weighing it_).
For the same price, Sir, you may daily prevent the performance of "La
Clorise"!....
THE AUDIENCE.
Hu!.... Hu!....
JODELET.
Even if we are to be hooted .... Clear the house!
(_The audience begins to leave. Cyrano looks on with great
satisfaction. The crowd, however, soon stops as the following
discussion begins. The ladies in the boxes, who had already risen
to go, and put on their wraps, resume their seats_).
LE BRET (_to Cyrano_).
You are insane!
AN INTRUDER (_who has come up to Cyrano_).
A comedian like Montfleury! Scandalous! Why! He is a favourite of the
Duke de Candale's! What powerful patron have you?
CYRANO.
None!
THE INTRUDER.
No patron?
CYRANO.
No!
THE INTRUDER.
What! no high-born gentleman whose name can shield you?
CYRANO (_impatient_).
I've said No twice already. A third time: No! I've no protector....
(_his hand on his sword_) but this!
THE INTRUDER.
You are going to leave town, then?
CYRANO.
Hardly probable.
THE INTRUDER.
But the Duke has a long reach!
CYRANO.
Not so long as mine .... (_showing his sword_) with this extension! Now,
go about your business.
THE INTRUDER.
But allow me....
CYRANO.
Go! Or, rather, tell me why you look so sharply at my nose.
THE INTRUDER (_abashed_).
What! I....
CYRANO.
Is there anything extraordinary about it?
THE INTRUDER.
Your lordship mistakes....
CYRANO.
Is it soft and swinging like an elephant's trunk?
THE INTRUDER.
I did not say....
CYRANO.
Or crooked like the beak of an owl?
THE INTRUDER.
No; I....
CYRANO.
Is there a wart on the end of it? Or a fly? What's amiss with it? Or is
it a phenomenon?
THE INTRUDER.
Why, I didn't even look at it!
CYRANO.
Why shouldn't you look at it? Is it repulsive?
THE INTRUDER.
My dear Sir....
CYRANO.
In colour unhealthy? In shape indecent?
THE INTRUDER.
Not at all!
CYRANO.
Why, then, seem to revile it? Perhaps the gentleman finds it rather
large?
THE INTRUDER (_stammering_).
I find it small, very, very small.
CYRANO.
How small? Ridiculously then? My nose small! Why, my nose is enormous!
Remember, vile flat-nose and flat-head, that I am proud of such an
appendix! For a large nose properly indicates a man that is affable,
kind, courteous, witty, liberal and brave, such as I am, and such as
you, miserable knave! can never be; for the inglorious face that my hand
is about to seek above your collar is as destitute ..... (_he slaps
intruder's face_).
THE INTRUDER.
Oh!
CYRANO.
Of pride, of flight, of poesy, of picturesqueness, of fire, of
magnificence, of Nose, in fact, as the one.... (_Cyrano seizes the
Intruder by the shoulders and kicks him in the seat_) that my boot now
reaches at the base of your back.
THE INTRUDER (_escaping_).
Help! Guards!
CYRANO.
Fair warning, then, to idle lookers on
Who criticise the centre of my face!
The critic, if a gentleman, will get,--
Before he flies,--in front and higher too,
My custom's such, some steel instead of leather!
GUICHE (_who with the marquises, has come down
from the stage_).
The gentleman is getting very tiresome!
VICOMTE DE VALVERT (_shrugging his shoulders_).
He is a braggart!
GUICHE.
And no one answers him?....
THE VICOMTE.
No one? Just wait. Such a retort as I'm going to send him!
(_He advances toward Cyrano, who has been looking at him, and draws
himself up with an air of foppish vanity._)
You.... you have a nose.... hum! a nose, Sir, that is.... very large.
CYRANO (_very quietly and seriously_).
Very large, indeed!
VICOMTE (_laughing_).
Ha! Ha!
CYRANO (_with great self-possession_).
Is that all?
VICOMTE.
Well, I....
CYRANO.
No, no, that's a little too short, young man! You might have said....
Well.... many things.... in different keys. For instance, listen:
_Aggressive_: "I, Sir, had I such a nose, would at once have it
amputated."--_Friendly_: "It must dip into your glass. To drink with
comfort, you should have a hanap constructed!"--_Descriptive_: "It is a
rock!... a peak!!.... a headland!!! More than a headland, a whole
peninsula!"--_Inquisitive_: "What may this oblong thing be used for? A
writing-desk or a tool-chest?"--_Pleasant_: "Do you love birds so much
that you feel bound to offer them so comfortable a resting
place?"--_Fierce_: "When you use tobacco, Sir, can you emit smoke from
that nose without your neighbours' crying that there is a chimney on
fire?"--_Thoughtful_: "Be careful; so much top-hamper might cause you to
fall!"--_Affectionate_: "Have a parasol made for it; the sun might fade
its colour!"--_Pedantic_: "For so much flesh on so much bone beneath the
forehead, we must go back, Sir, to the animal Aristophanes calls
Hippocampelephantocamelos!"--_Flippant_: "Why! man, is that the fashion
for hooks? Certainly convenient for hanging up a hat!"--_Emphatic_:
"Masterly nose, no wind can make you catch aught but a fractional cold!
None but a northern hurricane!"--_Dramatic_: "When it bleeds, we have
the Red Sea!"--_Admiringly_: "For a perfumer, what a sign!"--_Lyric_:
"Is it a shell trumpet, and are you a triton?"--_Innocent_: "When is
this monument open to visitors?"--_Respectful_: "This is really owning a
mansion with a gable on it!"--_Countrylike_: "That be not a nose, but a
big turnip, or a young melon!"--_Military_: "Point against
cavalry!"--_Practical_: "Will you put it up in a lottery? It will surely
be the largest prize!"--Finally, to parody the grief of Pyramus:
So here we have the nose that on its master came
To ruin harmony! The traitor's red for shame!
That is about what you might have said, dear boy, if you had a
sprinkling of letters and a bit of humour. Of humour, though, lamentable
being, you never had an atom; and, as to letters, you never had but the
four that spell the word Fool!--Some invention is requisite for
extravagant jests before such an audience, but, even if you had it, you
could not have uttered a quarter of the half of the beginning of what I
said; for I may be willing to serve such sport myself, but I allow
nobody to serve it to _me_.
GUICHE (_endeavouring to lead away the Vicomte_).
Vicomte, pay no attention to him!
VICOMTE (_overwhelmed_).
Such arrogance! An insignificant little squire .... who .... who ....
doesn't even wear gloves!....and who sallies forth without ribbons, bows
or trimmings!
CYRANO.
'Tis morally I have my elegance,
I do not dress as does a fop, but I
Am better groomed than some more richly clad.
I'd not set forth with traces of neglect
About me, say: an insult left unwashed,
A conscience still confused and half asleep,
My honour soiled, or scruples out of shape.
When I proceed, I do so clean and bright,
With truthful independence for a plume.
'Tis not my form I lace to hold it up,
It is my soul I try to elevate!
The ribbons that I wear are only deeds;
I twist perhaps my wit like a mustache;
But then I cause, as I go through your groups,
Above the clash of spurs, the truth to ring!
VICOMTE.
But, Sir ....
CYRANO.
I have no gloves on?.... What matters it? I did have one left from a
very old pair! One day I found it somewhat in the way .... and I left it
on somebody's face.
VICOMTE.
Knave, puppy, flat-footed ridiculous bully!
CYRANO (_taking off his hat and bowing, as if the
Vicomte had just presented himself_).
Ah! delighted!.... and I: Cyrano, Savinian, Hercules de Bergerac.
(_Laughter around._)
VICOMTE (_exasperated_).
Buffoon!
CYRANO (_uttering a cry as if he had a cramp_).
Ay!....
VICOMTE (_who was leaving, returning_).
What is it now?
CYRANO (_grinning as if in pain_).
I must move it, for it is asleep.... What a mistake to let it remain
inactive.... Ay!....
VICOMTE.
What ails you?
CYRANO.
It's my sword that's tingling!
VICOMTE (_drawing his sword_).
Be it so!
CYRANO.
I'll show you a neat little thrust.
VICOMTE (_disdainfully_).
Poet!
CYRANO.
Yes, Sir, a poet! So much so that, while we play swords here, I
mean--hop!--on the spur of the moment, to improvise for you a ballade.
VICOMTE.
A ballade?
CYRANO.
Yes. I'll wager you do not know what is a ballade.
VICOMTE.
But....
CYRANO (_as if reciting a lesson_).
Well, then, a ballade is composed of three stanzas of eight lines
each....
VICOMTE (_stamping impatiently_).
Oh!
CYRANO (_continuing_).
Plus an Envoy of four lines. Twenty-eight lines in all, with only three
rimes....
VICOMTE.
You....
CYRANO.
I am going to compose one while fighting, and when I come to the last
line, Sir, I'll touch you!
VICOMTE.
You'll not!
CYRANO.
Be sure, I shall!
(_Declaiming._)
Ballade of the Duel Between Monsieur de Bergerac and a Coxcomb.
VICOMTE.
What is that, if you please?
CYRANO.
That is the title.
THE AUDIENCE (_greatly excited_).
Make room there!.... Capital!.... Stand back!.... Be silent!....
(_Tableau.--Circle of lookers-on in the pit,--marquises and
officers, with the tradesmen and common people. Pages on each
others' shoulders for a better view. All the women standing in the
boxes. To the right, Guiche and his followers. To the left, Le
Bret, Ragueneau, Cuigy, etc._).
CYRANO (_closing his eyes for a moment_).
Wait....I'm selecting my rimes....There now, I'm ready!
(_He does as he says while speaking the verses._)
My hat with grace I cast aside;
Next, watch me, please, I slowly free
The cloak in which I'm wont to stride;
And then I draw my sword, you see.
A Celadon[9] you have in me,
A Scaramuccia very much;
But, pygmy, moderate your glee,
For, when I close th' Envoy, I'll touch!
'Twere better you had slept or died.
O goose, where shall I puncture thee?
Beneath the ribs? Above? Decide!
Or through the breast, where ribbons be?
The hilts are ringing. One, two, three!
My sword, beware! is not a crutch.
I'll strike according to decree,
For, when I close th' Envoy, I'll touch!
I seek in vain a rime in _ide_.
You back--and whiten--let's agree
Upon a word, say: trembling hide,
So, tac! I parry, just a wee,
Your vicious thrust. Now finish we!
I open--quart--or something such----
Hold well that spit, you dog, or flee,[10]
For, when I close th' Envoy, I'll touch!
(_He announces with solemnity_).
ENVOY.[11]
Now, Prince, may heaven hear your plea!
I follow, though you break and clutch.
I cut--I feint--Be ready--Hee! (_He lunges._)
(_Vicomte staggers; Cyrano bows._)
For now I close th' Envoy.... (_pointing to Vicomte_)
I touch!
(_Applause in boxes. Flowers and handkerchiefs are thrown. Officers
surround and congratulate Cyrano. Ragueneau dances for joy. Le Bret
seems both overjoyed and dejected. The Vicomte's friends support
him and bear him off._)
A MUSKETEER (_most cordially shaking Cyrano's hand_).
Allow an expert to congratulate you, Sir, most heartily.
(_He leaves._)
CYRANO (_to Cuigy_).
Who is this gentleman?
CUIGY.
D'Artagnan!
LE BRET (_passing his arm through Cyrano's_).
Now let us talk!....
CYRANO.
Wait till the crowd has left.
(_to Bellerose_).
May we stay a while?
BELLEROSE (_to Cyrano_).
Certainly, Sir.
(_giving orders to Janitor_).
Close the house, but do not put out the lights. We'll return after
dinner for a rehearsal.
(_Jodelet and Bellerose bow to Cyrano, then exeunt._)
JANITOR (_to Cyrano_).
You are not going to dinner, Sir?
CYRANO.
I?.... No.
(_Exit Janitor._)
LE BRET (_to Cyrano_).
Why not?
CYRANO (_proudly_).
Because....
(_changing his tone, when he sees that the Janitor has gone_).
Because I have no money!....
LE BRET (_as if throwing a purse_).
How about that bag of coin?
CYRANO.
Monthly allowance, thou wert short lived! One day!
LE BRET.
For a whole month, then....
CYRANO.
I have nothing left.
LE BRET.
To throw away thus your purse, what folly!
CYRANO.
Yes, but what a gesture!
THE WAITING-GIRL (_behind the counter_).
Hum!
(_Cyrano and Le Bret turn around. She advances timidly._)
Sir .... I cannot bear.... to see you fast.... (_Showing the buffet_). I
have here several things.... Take some!
CYRANO (_taking off his hat_).
My dear child, Gascon pride forbids my accepting from you the smallest
of your delicacies. But, on the other hand, I would not for the whole
world offend you, as my refusal might do. So I will with pleasure
accept....
(_Goes up to the buffet and chooses._)
Oh! the smallest thing!.... ah! one grape from this bunch.
(_She tries to make him take the bunch, but he picks out a single
grape._)
Only one.... a glass of water....
(_She tries to pour some wine, but he prevents her._)
Pure water!.... and half a maccaroon.
(_He breaks a maccaroon in two, and returns one of the pieces._)
LE BRET.
What nonsense!
WAITING-GIRL.
Do have something more!
CYRANO.
Yes, your hand to kiss.
(_He kisses her hand as if she were a princess._)
WAITING-GIRL.
Thank you, Sir!
(_Curtsies._)
A very good evening!
(_Exit waiting-girl._)
[9] Note.--One of the translations that have appeared in the New York
daily press renders "Céladon" by reference to Lord Chesterfield!
The time of action (first four acts) of "Cyrano de Bergerac" is
1640, and Lord Chesterfield was _born_ only 54 years _later_.
[10] Note.--In the original, Cyrano calls his opponent "Laridon." This
is the name of a degenerate _dog_. See fables of La Fontaine
("L'Education").
[11] Note.--"L'Envoi," as often written, supposedly in French, is
incorrect. It is, in French, when heading the last four lines of
a ballade, "Envoi," without the article, l' (le).
_SCENE V._
CYRANO, LE BRET, _later_ JANITOR.
CYRANO (_to Le Bret_).
Now, I'll listen to you.
(_He goes to the buffet, on which he places the half maccaroon._)
Dinner!
(_Then the glass of water._)
Drink!
(_And the one grape from the bunch._)
Dessert!
(_Takes a seat by the buffet._)
Now for the feast! My dear friend, I feel very hungry.... (_Eating_)
Well? You were saying?....
LE BRET.
That all these bellicose doings and the admiration they elicit will warp
your judgment. Go ask people of sense what they think of this last prank
of yours, of its effect.
CYRANO (_finishing his half maccaroon_).
Enormous!....
LE BRET.
The Cardinal!....
CYRANO (_beaming with delight_).
He was there? The Cardinal?
LE BRET.
Yes, and he must have found you....
CYRANO.
Anything but commonplace.
LE BRET.
Nevertheless....
CYRANO.
He's an author. And he must have enjoyed seeing another's play crushed.
LE BRET.
You are, really, making too many enemies!
CYRANO (_munching his one grape_).
How many do you estimate I have made to-day?
LE BRET.
Forty-eight, without counting the women.
CYRANO.
Enumerate them.
LE BRET.
Montfleury, the tradesman, Guiche, the Vicomte, Baro, the Academy....
CYRANO.
You give me infinite joy!
LE BRET.
What will all this lead you to? What system is yours?
CYRANO.
I was really meandering, and I found so many conclusions to adopt,
through so many complications, that I came to this decision....
LE BRET.
Which is?....
CYRANO.
Oh! the simplest of all, by far. I decided to show myself admirable in
all, and for all!
LE BRET (_shrugging his shoulders_).
So be it!.... But come now, tell me, tell _me_, the true reason of your
hatred for Montfleury.
CYRANO (_rising_).
This Silenus, with a stomach like a hogshead, still believes himself a
danger to womankind. See him, while he stammers on the stage, ogling
like a carp, with his frog's eyes! I hate him since he dared, once, to
set those eyes of his upon her.... Oh! I felt as if I saw a long slug
crawling over a flower!
LE BRET (_astounded_).
What, is it possible?....
CYRANO (_with a bitter laugh_).
That I love?
(_changing to a solemn tone_).
I do love.
LE BRET.
Whom? May I enquire? You never told me.
CYRANO.
Whom I love? Come now, reflect. The dream of being loved, even by a
homely girl, is one forbidden me. Forbidden by this nose of mine that
precedes me everywhere by fifteen minutes. So, then, I love .... Whom?
Why! it is most natural! I love .... it could not be otherwise, the
loveliest of the lovely!
LE BRET.
The loveliest?....
CYRANO.
Exactly .... in the world! The most brilliant, the most exquisite,
(_crushed_) the blondest!
LE BRET.
This woman is?....
CYRANO.
A deadly danger, though
She knows it not; a snare that Nature made
Unconscious, like a sweetly budding rose
Whose leaves conceal,--in ambush lurking, love.
Who sees her smile knows what perfection is:
Her slightest touch engenders loveliness;
She moves as if all heaven's grace were hers,
And Venus ne'er embarked in any shell,
Nor did Diana tread the sylvan paths
As my adored can step into a chair!
LE BRET.
I understand! Quite clear.
CYRANO.
Transparent, say.
LE BRET.
It's Magdeleine, your cousin?
CYRANO.
Yes, Roxane.
LE BRET.
Well, where's the harm? You love her? Tell her so!
She witnessed here just now your valiant deed!
CYRANO.
Why! Look at me, good friend, and say what hope
There can be with .... such a protuberance!
I clearly see the truth. But, then, of course,
My heart will beat, perchance, at eventide,
If, with this nose, I scent the breath of spring.
Or else, I see, along some moonlit path,
A whisp'ring pair of lovers slowly move;
And then I think what rapture would be mine
If on my arm a gentle creature leaned.
I dream: but suddenly, I'm brought to sense.
By what? Alas! My profile on the wall!
LE BRET.
Dear friend!....
CYRANO.
Yes, friend, it's hard indeed to feel
So homely and forlorn at times....
LE BRET (_taking his hand_).
You weep!
CYRANO.
Weep? Never! Oh! a sorry sight, indeed,
If down this nose a tear should take its course!
I will not have, so long as I command,
The saintliness of tears polluted by
This homeliness of mine. Remember, friend,
That nothing's more sublime than flowing tears.
So would I not allow a single one
To cause a laugh, or seem ridiculous!
LE BRET.
Come, come, do not be sad. In love there is hazard, remember.
CYRANO (_shaking his hand_).
No! I love Cleopatra: do I resemble a Cæsar? I adore Berenice: do I look
like a Titus?
LE BRET.
But, friend, your bravery, intelligence and wit!.... Take that girl
there who just now offered you your dinner. Did her eyes seem to detest
you?
CYRANO (_struck_).
It's a fact.
LE BRET.
Well, then, hope!.... Why! Roxane was pale and trembling, ghastly pale,
while she followed your duel here!....
CYRANO.
Ghastly pale?
LE BRET.
Her heart and mind were certainly struck. Pick up courage and speak to
her, so that....
CYRANO.
So that she bursts out laughing into my face .... under my very nose?
No, no!.... That is the only thing in the world that I fear!
THE JANITOR (_bringing in the duenna, to Cyrano_).
Somebody for you, Sir.
CYRANO (_seeing the duenna_).
Great heavens! Her duenna!
_SCENE VI._
CYRANO, LE BRET, THE DUENNA.
THE DUENNA (_with a long curtsy_).
A fair cousin would like to know where a valiant cousin can be seen, in
private.
CYRANO (_greatly disturbed_).
I be seen, in private?
DUENNA (_with another curtsy_).
Yes, be seen. There are things to be said.
CYRANO.
There are things....
DUENNA (_another curtsy_).
To be said.
CYRANO (_staggering_).
Heavens!
DUENNA.
We'll hear to-morrow early mass, at the church of Saint-Roch.
CYRANO (_leaning on Le Bret_).
Heavens!
DUENNA.
As we go out, we can chat a bit, I fancy.
CYRANO (_bewildered_).
Where?.... I .... But .... Heavens!
DUENNA.
Decide.
CYRANO.
I'm thinking....
DUENNA.
Where?....
CYRANO.
At.... at.... Ragueneau's.... the pastry-cook's....
DUENNA.
Where's that?....
CYRANO.
Rue.... Rue.... Heavens! Rue St.-Honoré!
DUENNA (_leaving_).
We'll be there by seven sharp. Be punctual.
CYRANO.
I shall!
(_Exit Duenna._)
_SCENE VII._
CYRANO, LE BRET, THE COMEDIANS _and_ COMEDIENNES, CUIGY, BRISSAILLE,
LIGNIÈRE, THE JANITOR, THE VIOLINS.
CYRANO (_falling into the arms of Le Bret_).
I!.... She.... An appointment!....
LE BRET.
So, now your sadness is no more?
CYRANO.
No! for, whatever the reason, she knows that I exist!
LE BRET.
And now you will be cool?
CYRANO (_beside himself_).
No, I'll be frantic and invincible! I would I had an army to defeat! I
have ten hearts and twenty arms. What are dwarfs to me?.... (_He
shouts._) I must have giants to vanquish!
(_For the last few minutes, on the stage, in the rear, actors and
actresses have been going and coming: a rehearsal is on. The
violins have taken their seats._)
A VOICE (_from the stage_).
Silence there, please! We're rehearsing.
CYRANO (_laughing_).
Very well. We're leaving.
(_As Cyrano is about going, enter, by the wide door in the rear,
Cuigy, Brissaille, and several officers, supporting Lignière, who
is completely intoxicated._)
CUIGY.
Cyrano!
CYRANO.
What is it?
CUIGY.
A friend of yours.
CYRANO (_recognising Lignière_).
Lignière!.... Why! what is the matter?
CUIGY.
He was looking for you.
BRISSAILLE.
He cannot get home.
CYRANO.
Why not?
LIGNIÈRE (_thick-tongued, showing a note soiled
and torn_).
This note warns me .... a hundred men are posted .... on account of a
song .... I'll be murdered .... at the Porte de Nesle .... there I must
pass .... to get home .... Offer me shelter .... under your roof!
CYRANO.
One hundred men, you say? You'll sleep under your own roof.
LIGNIÈRE (_terrified_).
But how can I?....
CYRANO (_in fierce tones, showing him the lighted
lantern held by the Janitor, who has been listening_).
Take that lantern!
(_Lignière seizes the lantern._)
And walk on boldly. I swear to you that I to-night will make your bed
for you. (_To the officers._) You, gentlemen, be good enough to follow
.... at a distance. You'll be witnesses.
CUIGY.
Yes, but one hundred men!....
CYRANO.
To-night I would not have them fewer by a single man!
(_The comedians and comediennes, who have, in their costumes, come
down from the stage into the pit, crowd around Cyrano._)
LE BRET.
But why protect this....
CYRANO.
There's Le Bret grumbling again!
LE BRET.
This commonplace drunkard?....
CYRANO (_playfully striking Lignière on the
shoulder_).
Because this drunkard, this cask of Muscatel, this barrel of Rossoli,
once did something exceedingly handsome: his lady-love, as she was
leaving church, after mass, having properly dipped her dainty finger
into the holy water near the door, he, though he has a horror for water,
ran up to the stoup, leaned over it and drank it dry!
COMEDIENNE (_in soubrette's dress_).
A pretty deed, I think.
CYRANO.
Was it not, soubrette?