Cyrano de Bergerac [20]
twirls his mustache, and throws back his shoulders): Wait!. . .You shall see!
DE GUICHE (to whom Cuigy has spoken in a low voice): In feats of arms, already your career Abounded.--You serve with those crazy pates Of Gascons?
CYRANO: Ay, with the Cadets.
A CADET (in a terrible voice): With us!
DE GUICHE (looking at the cadets, ranged behind Cyrano): Ah!. . .All these gentlemen of haughty mien, Are they the famous?. . .
CARBON: Cyrano!
CYRANO: Ay, Captain!
CARBON: Since all my company's assembled here, Pray favor me,--present them to my lord!
CYRANO (making two steps toward De Guiche): My Lord de Guiche, permit that I present-- (pointing to the cadets): The bold Cadets of Gascony, Of Carbon of Castel-Jaloux! Brawling and swaggering boastfully, The bold Cadets of Gascony! Spouting of Armory, Heraldry, Their veins a-brimming with blood so blue, The bold Cadets of Gascony, Of Carbon of Castel-Jaloux:
Eagle-eye, and spindle-shanks, Fierce mustache, and wolfish tooth! Slash-the-rabble and scatter-their-ranks; Eagle-eye and spindle-shanks, With a flaming feather that gayly pranks, Hiding the holes in their hats, forsooth! Eagle-eye and spindle-shanks, Fierce mustache, and wolfish tooth!
'Pink-your-Doublet' and 'Slit-your-Trunk' Are their gentlest sobriquets; With Fame and Glory their soul is drunk! 'Pink-your-Doublet' and 'Slit-your-Trunk,' In brawl and skirmish they show their spunk, Give rendezvous in broil and fray; 'Pink-your-Doublet' and 'Slit-your-Trunk' Are their gentlest sobriquets!
What, ho! Cadets of Gascony! All jealous lovers are sport for you! O Woman! dear divinity! What, ho! Cadets of Gascony! Whom scowling husbands quake to see. Blow, 'taratara,' and cry 'Cuckoo.' What, ho! Cadets of Gascony! Husbands and lovers are game for you!
DE GUICHE (seated with haughty carelessness in an armchair brought quickly by Ragueneau): A poet! 'Tis the fashion of the hour! --Will you be mine?
CYRANO: No, Sir,--no man's!
DE GUICHE: Last night Your fancy pleased my uncle Richelieu. I'll gladly say a word to him for you.
LE BRET (overjoyed): Great Heavens!
DE GUICHE: I imagine you have rhymed Five acts, or so?
LE BRET (in Cyrano's ear): Your play!--your 'Agrippine!' You'll see it staged at last!
DE GUICHE: Take them to him.
CYRANO (beginning to be tempted and attracted): In sooth,--I would. . .
DE GUICHE: He is a critic skilled: He may correct a line or two, at most.
CYRANO (whose face stiffens at once): Impossible! My blood congeals to think That other hand should change a comma's dot.
DE GUICHE: But when a verse approves itself to him He pays it dear, good friend.
CYRANO: He pays less dear Than I myself; when a verse pleases me I pay myself, and sing it to myself!
DE GUICHE: You are proud.
CYRANO: Really? You have noticed that?
A CADET (entering, with a string of old battered plumed beaver hats, full of holes, slung on his sword): See, Cyrano,--this morning, on the quay What strange bright-feathered game we caught! The hats O' the fugitives. . .
CARBON: 'Spolia opima!'
ALL (laughing): Ah! ah! ah!
CUIGY: He who laid that ambush, 'faith! Must curse and swear!
BRISSAILLE: Who was it?
DE GUICHE: I myself. (The laughter stops): I charged them--work too dirty for my sword, To punish and chastise a rhymster sot.
(Constrained silence.)
The CADET (in a low voice, to Cyrano, showing him the beavers): What do with them? They're full of grease!--a stew?
CYRANO (taking the sword and, with a salute, dropping the hats at De Guiche's feet): Sir, pray be good enough to render them Back to your friends.
DE GUICHE (rising, sharply): My chair there--quick!--I go! (To Cyrano passionately): As to you, sirrah!. . .
VOICE (in the street): Porters for my lord De Guiche!
DE GUICHE (who has controlled himself--smiling): Have you read 'Don Quixote'?
CYRANO: I have!
DE GUICHE (to whom Cuigy has spoken in a low voice): In feats of arms, already your career Abounded.--You serve with those crazy pates Of Gascons?
CYRANO: Ay, with the Cadets.
A CADET (in a terrible voice): With us!
DE GUICHE (looking at the cadets, ranged behind Cyrano): Ah!. . .All these gentlemen of haughty mien, Are they the famous?. . .
CARBON: Cyrano!
CYRANO: Ay, Captain!
CARBON: Since all my company's assembled here, Pray favor me,--present them to my lord!
CYRANO (making two steps toward De Guiche): My Lord de Guiche, permit that I present-- (pointing to the cadets): The bold Cadets of Gascony, Of Carbon of Castel-Jaloux! Brawling and swaggering boastfully, The bold Cadets of Gascony! Spouting of Armory, Heraldry, Their veins a-brimming with blood so blue, The bold Cadets of Gascony, Of Carbon of Castel-Jaloux:
Eagle-eye, and spindle-shanks, Fierce mustache, and wolfish tooth! Slash-the-rabble and scatter-their-ranks; Eagle-eye and spindle-shanks, With a flaming feather that gayly pranks, Hiding the holes in their hats, forsooth! Eagle-eye and spindle-shanks, Fierce mustache, and wolfish tooth!
'Pink-your-Doublet' and 'Slit-your-Trunk' Are their gentlest sobriquets; With Fame and Glory their soul is drunk! 'Pink-your-Doublet' and 'Slit-your-Trunk,' In brawl and skirmish they show their spunk, Give rendezvous in broil and fray; 'Pink-your-Doublet' and 'Slit-your-Trunk' Are their gentlest sobriquets!
What, ho! Cadets of Gascony! All jealous lovers are sport for you! O Woman! dear divinity! What, ho! Cadets of Gascony! Whom scowling husbands quake to see. Blow, 'taratara,' and cry 'Cuckoo.' What, ho! Cadets of Gascony! Husbands and lovers are game for you!
DE GUICHE (seated with haughty carelessness in an armchair brought quickly by Ragueneau): A poet! 'Tis the fashion of the hour! --Will you be mine?
CYRANO: No, Sir,--no man's!
DE GUICHE: Last night Your fancy pleased my uncle Richelieu. I'll gladly say a word to him for you.
LE BRET (overjoyed): Great Heavens!
DE GUICHE: I imagine you have rhymed Five acts, or so?
LE BRET (in Cyrano's ear): Your play!--your 'Agrippine!' You'll see it staged at last!
DE GUICHE: Take them to him.
CYRANO (beginning to be tempted and attracted): In sooth,--I would. . .
DE GUICHE: He is a critic skilled: He may correct a line or two, at most.
CYRANO (whose face stiffens at once): Impossible! My blood congeals to think That other hand should change a comma's dot.
DE GUICHE: But when a verse approves itself to him He pays it dear, good friend.
CYRANO: He pays less dear Than I myself; when a verse pleases me I pay myself, and sing it to myself!
DE GUICHE: You are proud.
CYRANO: Really? You have noticed that?
A CADET (entering, with a string of old battered plumed beaver hats, full of holes, slung on his sword): See, Cyrano,--this morning, on the quay What strange bright-feathered game we caught! The hats O' the fugitives. . .
CARBON: 'Spolia opima!'
ALL (laughing): Ah! ah! ah!
CUIGY: He who laid that ambush, 'faith! Must curse and swear!
BRISSAILLE: Who was it?
DE GUICHE: I myself. (The laughter stops): I charged them--work too dirty for my sword, To punish and chastise a rhymster sot.
(Constrained silence.)
The CADET (in a low voice, to Cyrano, showing him the beavers): What do with them? They're full of grease!--a stew?
CYRANO (taking the sword and, with a salute, dropping the hats at De Guiche's feet): Sir, pray be good enough to render them Back to your friends.
DE GUICHE (rising, sharply): My chair there--quick!--I go! (To Cyrano passionately): As to you, sirrah!. . .
VOICE (in the street): Porters for my lord De Guiche!
DE GUICHE (who has controlled himself--smiling): Have you read 'Don Quixote'?
CYRANO: I have!