Cyrano's Ballade
Cyrano (with grimaces of anguish):
I must do soemthing to relieve these cramps-
This is what comes of lack of exercise-
Ah!
Valvert:
What is all this?
Cyrano:
My sword has gone to sleep?
Valvert (draws):
So be it!
Cyrano:
You shall die exquisitely.
Valvert (contemptuously)
Poet!
Cyrano:
Why yes, a poet if you will;
So while we fence, I'll make you a Ballade
Extempore.
Valvert:
A Ballade?
Cyrano:
Yes. You knwo what that is?
Valvert:
I-
Cyrano:
The Ballade, sir, is formed
Of three stanzas of eight lines each-
Valvert:
Oh come!
Cyrano:
And a refrain of four.
Valvert:
You-
Cyrano:
I'll compse
One while I fight with you; and at the end
Of the last line- thrust home!
Valvert:
Will you?
Cyrano (declaims):
"Ballade of the duel at the Hotel de Bourgogne
Between de Bergerac and a Boeotian."
Valvert (sneering):
What do you mean by that?
Cyrano:
Oh that? The title.
(Tableau. A ring of interested spectators in the
centre of the floor, the Marquis and the Officers
mingling with teh citizens and common folk.
Pages swarming up on men's shoulders to see
better; the Ladies in teh boxes standing
and leaning over. To the right, De Guiche
and his following; to the left, Le Bret, Cuigy,
Raguneau, and other of Cyrano's friends.)
Cyrano (closes his eyes for an instant):
Stop... Let me choose my rimes... Now!
Here we go-
(He suits the action to the word, throughout
the following.)
Lightly I toss my hat away,
Languidly over my arm let fall
The cloak that covers my bright array-
Then out swords, and to work withal!
A Launcelot, in his Lady's hall...
A Spartacus, at the Hippodrome!...
I dally awhile with you, dear jackal,
Then, as I end the refrain, thrust home!
(The swords cross- the fight is on.)
Where shall I skewer my peacock?... Nay,
Better for you to have shunned this brawl!-
Here, in the heart, thro' your ribbons gay?
-In the belly, under your silken shawl?
Hark, how the steel rights musical!
Mark how my point floats, light as the foam,
Ready to drive you back to the wall,
Then, as I end the refrain, thrust home!
Ho, for a rime!... You are white as whey-
You break, you cower, you cringe, you ... crawl!
Tac!- and I parry your last essay:
So may the turn of the hand forestall
Life with its honey, death with its gall;
So may the turn of my fancy roam
Free, for a time, till the rimes recall,
Then, as I end the refrain, thrust home!
(He announces solemnly)
Refrain:
Prince! Pray God, that is Lord of all,
Pardon your soul, for your time has come!
Beat- pass- fling you aslant, asprawl-
Then as I end the refrain...
(He lunges; Valvert staggers back and falls
into the arms of his friends. Cyrano recovers,
and salutes.)
-Thrust home!
Okay, thazzit. I love it, you don't have to. Head on back to the Cyrano page.