READ STUDY GUIDE: Act I, scenes i–iii |
|
Act I, Scene iii
| The same, all but Ligniere. De Guiche, Valvert, then Montfleury. |
| 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! |
| (Total silence.) |
| 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. |
| LE BRET: |
| Cyrano is not here. |
| 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 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.) |
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