Act I, Scene iii | A marquis (watching De Guiche, who comes down from Roxane's box, and crosses | | the pit surrounded by obsequious noblemen, among them the Viscount de | | Valvert): |  He pays a fine court, your De Guiche! |
| ANOTHER: | | Faugh!. . .Another Gascon! |
| THE FIRST: | | 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.) |
| SECOND MARQUIS: | | What fine ribbons! How call you the color, Count de Guiche? 'Kiss me, my | | darling,' or 'Timid Fawn?' |
| DE GUICHE: | | 'Tis the color called 'Sick Spaniard.' |
| FIRST MARQUIS: | | 'Faith! The color speaks truth, for, thanks to your valor, things will soon | | go ill for Spain in Flanders. |
| DE GUICHE: | | 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! |
| CHRISTIAN (who is watching and listening, starts on hearing this name): | | 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? |
| THE PICKPOCKET: | | Oh! |
| CHRISTIAN (holding him tightly): | | I was looking for a glove. |
| THE PICKPOCKET (smiling piteously): | | And you find a hand. | | (Changing his tone, quickly and in a whisper): | | Let me but go, and I will deliver you a secret. |
| CHRISTIAN (still holding him): | | What is it? |
| THE PICKPOCKET: | | Ligniere. . .he who has just left you. . . |
| CHRISTIAN (same play): | | Well? |
| THE PICKPOCKET: | | 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. . . |
| CHRISTIAN: | | A hundred men! By whom posted? |
| THE PICKPOCKET: | | I may not say—a secret. . . |
| CHRISTIAN (shrugging his shoulders): | | Oh! |
| THE PICKPOCKET (with great dignity): | | . . .Of the profession. |
| CHRISTIAN: | | Where are they posted? |
| THE PICKPOCKET: | | At the Porte de Nesle. On his way homeward. Warn him. |
| CHRISTIAN (letting go of his wrists): | | But where can I find him? |
| THE PICKPOCKET: | | 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. |
| CHRISTIAN: | | 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.) |
| THE AUDIENCE: | | Begin! |
| A BURGHER (whose wig is drawn up on the end of a string by a page in the upper | | gallery): | | My wig! |
| CRIES OF DELIGHT: | | He is bald! Bravo, pages—ha! ha! ha!. . . |
| THE BURGHER (furious, shaking his fist): | | Young villain! |
| LAUGHTER AND CRIES (beginning very loud, and dying gradually away): | | Ha! ha! ha! ha! ha! ha! |
| LE BRET (astonished): | | What means this sudden silence?. . . | | (A spectator says something to him in a low voice): | | Is't true? |
| THE SPECTATOR: | | I have just heard it on good authority. |
| MURMURS (spreading through the hall): | | Hush! Is it he? No! Ay, I say! In the box with the bars in front! The | | Cardinal! The Cardinal! The Cardinal! |
| A PAGE: | | The devil! We shall have to behave ourselves. . . |
| (A knock is heard upon the stage. Every one is motionless. A pause.) |
| THE VOICE OF A MARQUIS (in the silence, behind the curtain): | | Snuff that candle! |
| ANOTHER MARQUIS (putting his head through the opening in the curtain): | | 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.) |
| A SPECTATOR: | | 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.) |
| LE BRET (in a low voice to Ragueneau): | | Montfleury comes on the scene? |
| RAGUENEAU (also in a low voice): | | Ay, 'tis he who begins. |
| RAGUENEAU: | | I have lost my wager. |
| LE BRET: | | '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.) |
| THE PIT (applauding): | | Bravo, Montfleury! Montfleury! |
| MONTFLEURY (after bowing low, begins the part of Phedon): | | '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. . .' |
| 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 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!. . . |
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Master the AP English Language exam in just five days with AP Power Packs.
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Read the complete texts of Shakespeare's plays along with an easy to understand translation.
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