Читать книгу Cyrano de Bergerac - Edmond Rostand - Страница 9

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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.)