Ho for the music of clashing steel!
--What now?--A hit? Not much!
'Twill be in the paunch the stroke I steal,
When, at the envoi, I touch.
Oh, for a rhyme, a rhyme in o?--
You wriggle, starch-white, my eel?
A rhyme! a rhyme! The white feather you SHOW!
Tac! I parry the point of your steel;
--The point you hoped to make me feel;
I open the line, now clutch
Your spit, Sir Scullion--slow your zeal!
At the envoi's end, I touch.
(He declaims solemnly):
Envoi.
Prince, pray Heaven for your soul's weal!
I move a pace--lo, such! and such!
Cut over--feint!
(Thrusting):
What ho! You reel?
(The viscount staggers. Cyrano salutes):
At the envoi's end, I touch!
(Acclamations. Applause in the boxes. Flowers and handkerchiefs are thrown down. The officers surround Cyrano, congratulating him. Ragueneau dances for joy. Le Bret is happy, but anxious. The viscount's friends hold him up and bear him away.)
THE CROWD (with one long shout):
Ah!
A TROOPER:
'Tis superb!
A WOMAN:
A pretty stroke!
RAGUENEAU:
A marvel!
A MARQUIS:
A novelty!
LE BRET:
O madman!
THE CROWD (presses round Cyrano. Chorus of):
Compliments!
Bravo! Let me congratulate! … Quite unsurpassed! …
A WOMAN'S VOICE:
There is a hero for you! …
A MUSKETEER (advancing to Cyrano with outstretched hand):
Sir, permit;
Naught could be finer--I'm a judge I think;
I stamped, i' faith!--to show my admiration!
(He goes away.)
CYRANO (to Cuigy):
Who is that gentleman?
CUIGY:
Why--D'Artagnan!
LE BRET (to Cyrano, taking his arm):
A word with you! …
CYRANO:
Wait; let the rabble go! …
(To Bellerose):
May I stay?
BELLEROSE (respectfully):
Without doubt!
(Cries are heard outside.)
JODELET (who has looked out):
They hoot Montfleury!
BELLEROSE (solemnly):
Sic transit! …
(To the porters):
Sweep--close all, but leave the lights.
We sup, but later on we must return,
For a rehearsal of to-morrow's farce.
(Jodelet and Bellerose go out, bowing low to Cyrano.)
THE PORTER (to Cyrano):
You do not dine, Sir?
CYRANO:
No.
(The porter goes out.)
LE BRET:
Because?
CYRANO (proudly):
Because …
(Changing his tone as the porter goes away):
I have no money! …
LE BRET (with the action of throwing a bag):
How! The bag of crowns? …
CYRANO:
Paternal bounty, in a day, thou'rt sped!
LE BRET:
How live the next month? …
CYRANO:
I have nothing left.
LE BRET:
Folly!
CYRANO:
But what a graceful action! Think!
THE BUFFET-GIRL (coughing, behind her counter):
Hum!
(Cyrano and Le Bret turn. She comes timidly forward):
Sir, my heart mislikes to know you fast.
(Showing the buffet):
See, all you need. Serve yourself!
CYRANO (taking off his hat):
Gentle child,
Although my Gascon pride would else forbid
To take the least bestowal from your hands,
My fear of wounding you outweighs that pride,
And bids accept …
(He goes to the buffet):
A trifle! … These few grapes.
(She offers him the whole bunch. He takes a few):
Nay, but this bunch! …
(She tries to give him wine, but he stops her):
A glass of water fair! …
And half a macaroon!
(He gives back the other half.)
LE BRET:
What foolery!
THE BUFFET-GIRL:
Take something else!
CYRANO:
I take your hand to kiss.
(He kisses her hand as though she were a princess.)
THE BUFFET-GIRL:
Thank you, kind Sir!
(She courtesies):
Good-night.
(She goes out.)
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