Cyrano de Bergerac Page #3

I had one left over from a pair,

which a was very attached to.

I left it planted on someone's cheek.

Cad, villain, clod... flat-footed fool!

And I'm Cyrano Savinien Hercule

de Bergerac.

Buffoon!

What is it now?

I must... relieve these cramps.

It's lack of exercise.

Are you all right?

My sword has gone to sleep.

So be it!

With what joy...

she wakens to that sound.

Poet, eh?

Yes, a poet.

Even when rattling ironmongery

I'll compose a ballade extempore.

A ballade?

I'll hit you on the final line.

No!

No?

"Ballade of a Fencing Bout...

"Between de Bergerac

and a Foppish Lout."

What is that doggerel?

It's the title.

Silence!

Quiet!

Wait. Let me choose my rhymes.

Good. Ready.

and slowly...

abandon my cape

Then finally I strip my steel.

A thoroughbred... from head to heel.

Disdainful of the rein or bit.

I pull a lyric wheel

but at the poem's end...

I hit!

Come, be burst... you purple grape.

Come and lose your peel.

Show, you ribboned ape

the fat your folderols conceal.

A pretty peal.

Is that a fly?

Your blood will congeal.

For, when the poem ends, I hit.

I need a rhyme to hole the shape.

I'm going to wind the reel.

My rod is ready to rape.

The sharp tooth awaits its meal.

Not yet.

I stop a bit...

awaiting the deal.

The poem ends and I hit.

Envoy!

Prince, pray to God and kneel.

Will you quit?

I cut, parry...

off you reel!

The poem ended...

and I hit!

Where will your life lead you?

You've so many enemies.

Wonderful.

You gave your gold away.

A year's pay.

All spent on one glorious day.

How will you live now?

I don't know.

A stupid action.

But a glorious gesture.

What rules the life you lead?

I forced myself to play many parts.

That was my way.

And now?

I'll take the simplest

excel in everything, be the best.

So be it. Now tell me

why you hate Montfleury so much.

That paunch!

One night I saw him touch a lady

with his eyes.

Like a slug slithering over a rose.

What? How can that be?

The one I loved.

The one I love.

You never said anything before.

Whom I love?

Just think a moment.

I can never be loved

even by the ugliest.

My nose precedes me

by fifteen minutes. Whom do I love?

It should be clear.

I love the prettiest far and near.

The prettiest?

The finest, the wittiest,

the seetest, the wiset.

It's clear now.

Diaphanously.

Your cousin?

Yes.

Roxane.

Wonderful! Tell her you love her!

Tonight you're with glory covered.

Look and tell me what exuberance

I have with this protuberance.

I'm under no illusion.

True sometimes, bemused by the night

I see far off in the silver light

a lady on the arm of her knight.

I dream of walking out

in the silver glow

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