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.) Scene 1.IV. The same. Cyrano, then Bellerose, Jodelet. MONTFLEURY (to the marquises): Come to my help, my lords! A MARQUIS (carelessly): Go on! Go on! CYRANO: Fat man, take warning! If you go on, I Shall feel myself constrained to cuff your face! THE MARQUIS: Have done! CYRANO: And if these lords hold not their tongue Shall feel constrained to make them taste my cane! ALL THE MARQUISES (rising): Enough!. . .Montfleury. . . CYRANO: If he goes not quick I will cut off his ears and slit him up! A VOICE: But. . . CYRANO: Out he goes! ANOTHER VOICE: Yet. . . CYRANO: Is he not gone yet? (He makes the gesture of turning up his cuffs): Good! I shall mount the stage now, buffet-wise, To carve this fine Italian sausage--thus! MONTFLEURY (trying to be dignified): You outrage Thalia in insulting me! CYRANO (very politely): If that Muse, Sir, who knows you not at all, Could claim acquaintance with you--oh, believe (Seeing how urn-like, fat, and slow you are) That she would make you taste her buskin's sole! THE PIT: Montfleury! Montfleury! Come--Baro's play! CYRANO (to those who are calling out): I pray you have a care! If you go on My scabbard soon will render up its blade! (The circle round him widens.) THE CROWD (drawing back): Take care! CYRANO (to Montfleury): Leave the stage! THE CROWD (coming near and grumbling): Oh!-- CYRANO: Did some one speak? (They draw back again.) A VOICE (singing at the back): Monsieur de Cyrano Displays his tyrannies: A fig for tyrants! What, ho! Come! Play us 'La Clorise!' ALL THE PIT (singing): 'La Clorise!' 'La Clorise!'. . . CYRANO: Let me but hear once more that foolish rhyme, I slaughter every man of you. A BURGHER: Oh! Samson? CYRANO: Yes Samson! Will you lend your jawbone, Sir? A LADY (in the boxes): Outrageous! A LORD: Scandalous! A BURGHER: 'Tis most annoying! A PAGE: Fair good sport! THE PIT: Kss!--Montfleury. . .Cyrano! CYRANO: Silence! THE PIT (wildly excited): Ho-o-o-o-h! Quack! Cock-a-doodle-doo! CYRANO: I order-- A PAGE: Miow!