He pays a fine court, your De Guiche!
Faugh!. . .Another Gascon!
Ay, but the cold, supple Gascon -- that is the stuff success is made of! Believe me, we had best make our bow to him.
[(They go toward De Guiche.)]What fine ribbons! How call you the color, Count de Guiche? 'Kiss me, my darling,' or 'Timid Fawn?'
'Tis the color called 'Sick Spaniard.'
'Faith! The color speaks truth, for, thanks to your valor, things will soon go ill for Spain in Flanders.
I go on the stage! Will you come?
[(He goes toward the stage, followed by the marquises and gentlemen. Turning, he calls)]Come you Valvert!
The Viscount! Ah! I will throw full in his face my. . .
[(He puts his hand in his pocket, and finds there the hand of a pickpocket who is about to rob him. He turns round)]Hey?
Oh!
I was looking for a glove.
And you find a hand.
[(Changing his tone, quickly and in a whisper)]Let me but go, and I will deliver you a secret.
What is it?
Ligniere. . .he who has just left you. . .
Well?
His life is in peril. A song writ by him has given offense in high places -- and a hundred men -- I am of them -- are posted to-night. . .
A hundred men! By whom posted?
I may not say -- a secret. . .
Oh!
. . .Of the profession.
Where are they posted?
At the Porte de Nesle. On his way homeward. Warn him.
But where can I find him?
Run round to all the taverns -- The Golden Wine Press, the Pine Cone, The Belt that Bursts, The Two Torches, The Three Funnels, and at each leave a word that shall put him on his guard.
Good -- I fly! Ah, the scoundrels! A hundred men 'gainst one!
[(Looking lovingly at Roxane)]Ah, to leave her!. . .
[(looking with rage at Valvert)]and him!. . .But save Ligniere I must!
[(He hurries out. De Guiche, the viscount, the marquises, have all disappeared behind the curtain to take their places on the benches placed on the stage. The pit is quite full; the galleries and boxes are also crowded.)]Begin!
My wig!
He is bald! Bravo, pages -- ha! ha! ha!. . .
Young villain!
Ha! ha! ha! ha! ha! ha!
[(Total silence.)]What means this sudden silence?. . .
[(A spectator says something to him in a low voice)]Is't true?
I have just heard it on good authority.
Hush! Is it he? No! Ay, I say! In the box with the bars in front! The Cardinal! The Cardinal! The Cardinal!
The devil! We shall have to behave ourselves. . .
[(A knock is heard upon the stage. Every one is motionless. A pause.)]Snuff that candle!
A chair!
[(A chair is passed from hand to hand, over the heads of the spectators. The marquis takes it and disappears, after blowing some kisses to the boxes.)]Silence!
[(Three knocks are heard on the stage. The curtain opens in the centre Tableau. The marquises in insolent attitudes seated on each side of the stage. The scene represents a pastoral landscape. Four little lusters light the stage; the violins play softly.)]Montfleury comes on the scene?
Ay, 'tis he who begins.
Cyrano is not here.
I have lost my wager.
'Tis all the better!
[(An air on the drone-pipes is heard, and Montfleury enters, enormously stout, in an Arcadian shepherd's dress, a hat wreathed with roses drooping over one ear, blowing into a ribboned drone pipe.)]Bravo, Montfleury! Montfleury!
'Heureux qui loin des cours, dans un lieu solitaire, Se prescrit a soi-meme un exil volontaire, Et qui, lorsque Zephire a souffle sur les bois. . .'
Villain! Did I not forbid you to show your face here for month?
[(General stupor. Every one turns round. Murmurs.)]Hey? -- What? -- What is't?. . .
[(The people stand up in the boxes to look.)]'Tis he!
Cyrano!
King of clowns! Leave the stage this instant!
Oh!
But. . .
Do you dare defy me?
Peace! Enough! -- Play on, Montfleury -- fear nothing!
'Heureux qui loin des cours, dans un lieu sol -- '
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.)]'Heureux qui. . .'
[(The cane is shaken.)]Off the stage!
Oh!
'Heureux qui loin des cours. . .'
Ah! I shall be angry in a minute!. . .
[(Sensation.)]