Cut short the verbiage. What do you want?
COCARDASSE: Three thousand pistoles.
PEYROLLES: Agreed.
COCARDASSE: Is that enough, my pebble?
PASSEPOIL: Yes.
COCARDASSE: The little fellow says yes.
PEYROLLLES: That’s lucky.
COCARDASSE: Deal done.
PEYROLLES: Shake.
(Cocardasse looks at his hand without taking it; then he raps his hand on his sword, gesture by Peyrolles)
COCARDASSE: There’s the scrivener who answers to me for you, my good man.
(he bows affectedly, all imitate him)
PEYROLLES: (ready to leave) If you fail, you get nothing
COCARDASSE: That goes without saying.
(Peyrolles leaves, everyone bursts out laughing)
COCARDASSE: Wine! Something to drink!
(Staupitz, Pinto, and Faenza have accompanied Peyrolles to the door, making an ironic bow)
SHOUTS (outside) Help! Help!
COCARDASSE: What’s that?
STAUPITZ: Those are partisans coming to forage in the moats of the Castle.
COCARDASSE: Those clowns are bold. How many are they?
STAUPITZ: (at the door, counting) Three, Four, Six, Eight.
COCARDASSE: Exactly as many as us. We could laugh a bit.
PASSEPOIL: Exactly. I’m beginning to get bored. There they are.
CARRIGUE: This way, gentlemen.
COCARDASSE: My masters, I think it’s time to unhook your rapiers. (they gird on their swords) Now we will be in ranks. (they go back to the table, all elbows are touching)
CARRIGUE (outside) There’s one thing.
CORCADASSE: We say the best way to keep on guard is a left handed provost.
CARRIGUE: (in the doorway) Holá! The inn is full. It must be emptied. (they enter) There, beat it, and fast; there’s only room here for volunteers of the king. (all the bravos want to leave; Cocardasse stops them)
COCARDASSE: Stay put. Let’s be sociable and make these gentleman volunteers of the king dance in tune. (they rise and bow with excessive politeness)
CARRIGUE: Can’t you see we need your tables and your stools!
COCARDASSE: Have no fear. We’re going to give you all that, my pretties.
(taking a jug and breaking it over Carrigue’s head) These gentlemen are served.
CARRIGUE & HIS MEN: Forward! Lagardère! Lagardère!
(Cocardasse and Passepoil let their swords fall)
COCARDASSE Down with your weapons everybody!
PASSEPOIL: What was it you said?
COCARDASSE: Whose name did you utter?
STAUPITZ: We were going to gobble them up like sparrows.
COCARDASSE: Peace! Why did you shout Lagardère?
CARRIGUE: Because Lagardère is our captain.
COCARDASSE: The Chevalier Henri de Lagardère?
CARRIGUE: Yes.
COCARDASSE: Our Parisian?
PASSEPOIL: Our jewel?
COCARDASSE: One moment; no confusion. We left Lagardère in Paris, Light Cavalry-Man of the King.
CARRIGUE: Yes, but he was bored being a light cavalry man. All he’s kept is the uniform and he commands a company of royal volunteers here in the valley.
COCARDESSE: Then stop, swords in scabbards. Long live God! Friends of the Parisian and ours, and we are all going to drink together to the first blade in the universe! To table!
ALL: To table!
COCARDASSE: Hey! I don’t feel any joy! Wine. (to Passepoil) Hang on! (to Carrigue) I have the honor of presenting to you my apprentice, Passepoil, who—be it said without offending you, is going to demonstrate to you a maneuver of which you haven’t the least notion. (Passepoil bows)
PASSEPOIL: My noble friend, Cocardasse Junior, the most humble admirer, after myself of Mr. de Lagardère.
COCARDASSE: And I boast of it, sonofabitch! It’s I who gave him his first lesson in arms. Ah! He gave me promise, but Jove, how he turned out!
A CHEVALIER: (to Carrigue) Hey, Commandant, look down there!
CARRIGUE: By God, it’s that little wise guy who got our horses breathless in his pursuit. He’s going to pass under this window. Grab him and bring him here. (Two men leave) This domain of Caylus is near Rambouillet where Mr. d’Orléans often hunts. And this little fellow could be a poacher.
(The Page is brought in by two cavaliers)
CARRIGUE: Come here, little wise guy.
COCARDASSE : Have no fear. We won’t skin you alive.
PASSEPOIL: He’s nice this little fellow. He belongs to some lady. Let’s see, little one, to whom are you taking a love letter?
PAGE: Me? I’m not taking anything.
PASSEPOIL: Who do you serve?
PAGE: I don’t serve anyone.
COCARDASSE: Damn it! Do you think we have time to play at guessing games? Come on, by Jove, let him be searched.
PAGE: (pulling a dagger) Don’t touch me!
COCARDASSE: Ah, you bite, little wolf-cub! (They surround the page, knock him down and begin searching him. Lagardère appears, violently pushes Cocardasse to one side and on the other Passepoil who rolls onto his companions.)
COCARDASSE: Sonofabitch!
PASSEPOIL: Cunt! (recognizing Lagardère) Heaven!
COCARDASSE:
