Ne zaman birisinin bir şeyle dalga geçerken zekâdan, nüktedanlıktan nasibini alamadığını görsem aklıma Cyrano de Bergerac‘ın meşhur tiradı gelir. Şu anda tek üzüntüm Gutenberg Projesi arşvilerinde metnin Türkçe çevirisini bulamamış olmam. Oysa Sabri Esat Siyavuşgil’in dilinden okumak ne büyük zevktir o coşku ve yaratıcılık dolu satırları:
Burnunuz ne kocaman!..
Evet… Pek kocaman!…
Hepsi bu mu?
Bu kadarı az delikanlı! Halbuki neler, neler bulunmaz söylenecek! Asıl iş edada. Mesela bak,
“Burnum böyle olsaydı, mösyö, mutlak dibinden kestirirdim!”
“Yana yatmaz mı? Senden önce davranıp kadehine batmaz mı?”
“Burun değil bir kere, coğrafyada böylesine dağ denir, dağ değil, yarımada!”
“Acaba neye yarar bu alet? Makas kutusu mudur, divit midir, izah et!”
“Kuşları sevdiğiniz besbelli! Yorulmasın diye yavrucaklar, temelli bir tünek kurmuşsunuz!”
İlk fırsatta Edmond Rostand‘ın Cyrano de Bergerac üstüne kurulu oyunu Cyrano de Bergerac‘ı tekrar tekrar okumalı (ve belki o bölümün tamamını buraya bir yere not etmeli daha sonra göndermede bulunmak amacı ile, ne de olsa Cyrano’nun dalga geçtiği türden eleştiri müptelaları eksik olmaz, gelirler aşk ile) 😉
Will no one put him down?. . .
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!
THE VISCOUNT (laughing):
Is that all?. . .
What do you mean?
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
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!’
Military: ‘Point against cavalry!’
Practical: ‘Put it in a lottery!
Assuredly ‘twould be the biggest prize!’
Or. . .parodying Pyramus’ sighs. . .
‘Behold the nose that mars the harmony
Of its master’s phiz! blushing its treachery!’
–Such, my dear sir, is what you might have said,
Had you of wit or letters the least jot:
But, O most lamentable man!–of wit
You never had an atom, and of letters
You have three letters only!–they spell Ass!
And–had you had the necessary wit,
To serve me all the pleasantries I quote
Before this noble audience. . .e’en so,
You would not have been let to utter one–
Nay, not the half or quarter of such jest!
I take them from myself all in good part,
But not from any other man that breathes!
DE GUICHE (trying to draw away the dismayed viscount):
Come away, Viscount!
THE VISCOUNT (choking with rage):
Hear his arrogance!
A country lout who. . .who. . .has got no gloves!
Who goes out without sleeve-knots, ribbons, lace!
True; all my elegances are within.
I do not prank myself out, puppy-like;
My toilet is more thorough, if less gay;
I would not sally forth–a half-washed-out
Affront upon my cheek–a conscience
Yellow-eyed, bilious, from its sodden sleep,
A ruffled honor,. . .scruples grimed and dull!
I show no bravery of shining gems.
Truth, Independence, are my fluttering plumes.
‘Tis not my form I lace to make me slim,
But brace my soul with efforts as with stays,
Covered with exploits, not with ribbon-knots,
My spirit bristling high like your mustaches,
I, traversing the crowds and chattering groups
Make Truth ring bravely out like clash of spurs!
But, Sir. . .
I wear no gloves? And what of that?
I had one,. . .remnant of an old worn pair,
And, knowing not what else to do with it,
I threw it in the face of. . .some young fool.
Base scoundrel! Rascally flat-footed lout!
CYRANO (taking off his hat, and bowing as if the viscount had introduced
Ah?. . .and I, Cyrano Savinien
Hercule de Bergerac
THE VISCOUNT (angrily):
CYRANO (calling out as if he had been seized with the cramp):
THE VISCOUNT (who was going away, turns back):
What on earth is the fellow saying now?
CYRANO (with grimaces of pain):
It must be moved–it’s getting stiff, I vow,
–This comes of leaving it in idleness!
Aie!. . .
What ails you?
The cramp! cramp in my sword!
THE VISCOUNT (drawing his sword):
You shall feel a charming little stroke!
THE VISCOUNT (contemptuously):
Poet!. . .
Ay, poet, Sir! In proof of which,
While we fence, presto! all extempore
I will compose a ballade.
Belike you know not what a ballade is.
But. . .
CYRANO (reciting, as if repeating a lesson):
Know then that the ballade should contain
Three eight-versed couplets. . .
THE VISCOUNT (stamping):
CYRANO (still reciting):
And an envoi
Of four lines. . .
You. . .
I’ll make one while we fight;
And touch you at the final line.
The duel in Hotel of Burgundy–fought
By De Bergerac and a good-for-naught!
What may that be, an if you please?