No! no! Jodelet!

JODELET (advancing, speaking through his nose):
Calves!

THE PIT:
Ah! bravo! good! go on!

JODELET:
No bravos, Sirs!
The fat tragedian whom you all love
Felt. . .

THE PIT:
Coward!

JODELET:
. . .was obliged to go.

THE PIT:
Come back!

SOME:
No!

OTHERS:
Yes!

A YOUNG MAN (to Cyrano):
But pray, Sir, for what reason, say,
Hate you Montfleury?

CYRANO (graciously, still seated):
Youthful gander, know
I have two reasons--either will suffice.
Primo. An actor villainous! who mouths,
And heaves up like a bucket from a well
The verses that should, bird-like, fly! Secundo--
That is my secret. . .

THE OLD BURGHER (behind him):
Shameful! You deprive us
Of the 'Clorise!' I must insist. . .

CYRANO (turning his chair toward the burgher, respectfully):
Old mule!
The verses of old Baro are not worth
A doit! I'm glad to interrupt. . .

THE PRECIEUSES (in the boxes):
Our Baro!--
My dear! How dares he venture!. . .

CYRANO (turning his chair toward the boxes gallantly):
Fairest ones,
Radiate, bloom, hold to our lips the cup
Of dreams intoxicating, Hebe-like!
Or, when death strikes, charm death with your sweet smiles;
Inspire our verse, but--criticise it not!

BELLEROSE:
We must give back the entrance fees!

CYRANO (turning his chair toward the stage):
Bellerose,
You make the first intelligent remark!
Would I rend Thespis' sacred mantle? Nay!
(He rises and throws a bag on the stage):
Catch then the purse I throw, and hold your peace!

THE HOUSE (dazzled):
Ah! Oh!

JODELET (catching the purse dexterously and weighing it):
At this price, you've authority
To come each night, and stop 'Clorise,' Sir!

THE PIT:
Ho!. . .Ho! Ho!. . .

JODELET:
E'en if you chase us in a pack!. . .

BELLEROSE:
Clear out the hall!. . .

JODELET:
Get you all gone at once!

(The people begin to go out, while Cyrano looks on with satisfaction. But the crowd soon stop on hearing the following scene, and remain where they are. The women, who, with their mantles on, are already standing up in the boxes, stop to listen, and finally reseat themselves.)

LE BRET (to Cyrano):
'Tis mad!. . .

A BORE (coming up to Cyrano):
The actor Montfleury! 'Tis shameful!
Why, he's protected by the Duke of Candal!
Have you a patron?

CYRANO:
No!

THE BORE:
No patron?. . .

CYRANO:
None!

THE BORE:
What! no great lord to shield you with his name?

CYRANO (irritated):
No, I have told you twice! Must I repeat?
No! no protector. . .
(His hand on his sword):
A protectress. . .here!

THE BORE:
But you must leave the town?

CYRANO:
Well, that depends!

THE BORE:
The Duke has a long arm!

CYRANO:
But not so long
As mine, when it is lengthened out. . .
(Shows his sword):
As thus!

THE BORE:
You think not to contend?

CYRANO:
'Tis my idea!

THE BORE:
But. . .

CYRANO:
Show your heels! now!

THE BORE:
But I. . .

CYRANO:
Or tell me why you stare so at my nose!

THE BORE (staggered):
I. . .

CYRANO (walking straight up to him):
Well, what is there strange?

THE BORE (drawing back):
Your Grace mistakes!

CYRANO:
How now? Is't soft and dangling, like a trunk?. . .

THE BORE (same play):
I never. . .

CYRANO:
Is it crook'd, like an owl's beak?

THE BORE:
I. . .

CYRANO:
Do you see a wart upon the tip?

THE BORE:
Nay. . .

CYRANO:
Or a fly, that takes the air there? What
Is there to stare at?

THE BORE:
Oh. . .

CYRANO:
What do you see?

THE BORE:
But I was careful not to look--knew better.

CYRANO:
And why not look at it, an if you please?

THE BORE:
I was. . .

CYRANO:
Oh! it disgusts you!

THE BORE:
Sir!

CYRANO:
Its hue
Unwholesome seems to you?

THE BORE:
Sir!

CYRANO:
Or its shape?

THE BORE:
No, on the contrary!. . .

CYRANO:
Why then that air
Disparaging?--perchance you think it large?

THE BORE (stammering):
No, small, quite small--minute!

CYRANO:
Minute! What now?
Accuse me of a thing ridiculous!
Small--my nose?

THE BORE:
Heaven help me!

CYRANO:
'Tis enormous!
Old Flathead, empty-headed meddler, know
That I am proud possessing such appendice.
'Tis well known, a big nose is indicative
Of a soul affable, and kind, and courteous,
Liberal, brave, just like myself, and such
As you can never dare to dream yourself,
Rascal contemptible! For that witless face
That my hand soon will come to cuff--is all
As empty. . .

(He cuffs him.)

THE BORE:
Aie!

CYRANO:
--of pride, of aspiration,
Of feeling, poetry--of godlike spark
Of all that appertains to my big nose,
(He turns him by the shoulders, suiting the action to the word):
As. . .what my boot will shortly come and kick!

THE BORE (running away):
Help! Call the Guard!

CYRANO:
Take notice, boobies all,
Who find my visage's center ornament
A thing to jest at--that it is my wont--
An if the jester's noble--ere we part
To let him taste my steel, and not my boot!

DE GUICHE (who, with the marquises, has come down from the stage):
But he becomes a nuisance!

THE VISCOUNT DE VALVERT (shrugging his shoulders):
Swaggerer!

DE GUICHE:
Will no one put him down?. . .

THE VISCOUNT:
No one? But wait!
I'll treat him to. . .one of my quips!. . .See here!. . .
(He goes up to Cyrano, who is watching him, and with a conceited air):
Sir, your nose is. . .hmm. . .it is. . .very big!

CYRANO (gravely):
Very!

THE VISCOUNT (laughing):
Ha!

CYRANO (imperturbably):
Is that all?. . .

THE VISCOUNT:
What do you mean?

CYRANO:
Ah no! young blade! That was a trifle short!
You might have said at least a hundred things
By varying the tone. . .like this, suppose,. . .
Aggressive: 'Sir, if I had such a nose
I'd amputate it!' Friendly: 'When you sup
It must annoy you, dipping in your cup;
You need a drinking-bowl of special shape!'
Descriptive: ''Tis a rock!. . .a peak!. . .a cape!
--A cape, forsooth! 'Tis a peninsular!'
Curious: 'How serves that oblong capsular?
For scissor-sheath? Or pot to hold your ink?'
Gracious: 'You love the little birds, I think?
I see you've managed with a fond research
To find their tiny claws a roomy perch!'
Truculent: 'When you smoke your pipe. . .suppose
That the tobacco-smoke spouts from your nose--
Do not the neighbors, as the fumes rise higher,
Cry terror-struck: "The chimney is afire"?'
Considerate: 'Take care,. . .your head bowed low
By such a weight. . .lest head o'er heels you go!'
Tender: 'Pray get a small umbrella made,
Lest its bright color in the sun should fade!'
Pedantic: 'That beast Aristophanes
Names Hippocamelelephantoles
Must have possessed just such a solid lump
Of flesh and bone, beneath his forehead's bump!'
Cavalier: 'The last fashion, friend, that hook?
To hang your hat on? 'Tis a useful crook!'
Emphatic: 'No wind, O majestic nose,
Can give THEE cold!--save when the mistral blows!'
Dramatic: 'When it bleeds, what a Red Sea!'
Admiring: 'Sign for a perfumery!'
Lyric: 'Is this a conch?. . .a Triton you?'
Simple: 'When is the monument on view?'
Rustic: 'That thing a nose? Marry-come-up!
'Tis a dwarf pumpkin, or a prize turnip!'