"Our repertoire is sadly reduced, you know. Tragedies, and even the
better class of comedies, would be all Greek to the stupid rustics,
utterly ignorant as they are of history or fable, and scarcely even
understanding the French language. The only thing to give them would be
a roaring farce, with plenty of funny by-play, resounding blows, kicks
and cuffs, ridiculous tumbles, and absurdities within their limited
comprehension. The Rodomontades of Captain Matamore would be the very
thing; but that is out of our power now that poor Matamore is dead."
When Scapin paused, de Sigognac made a sign with his hand that he wished
to speak, and all the company turned respectfully towards him to listen
to what he had to say. A little flush spread itself over his pale
countenance, and it was only after a brief but sharp struggle with
himself that he opened his tightly compressed lips, and addressed
his expectant audience, as follows: "Although I do not possess poor
Matamore's talent, I can almost rival him in thinness, and I will take
his role, and do the best I can with it. I am your comrade, and I want
to do my part in this strait we find ourselves in. I should be ashamed
to share your prosperity, as I have done, and not aid you, so far as
lies in my power, in your adversity, and this is the only way in which
I can assist you.
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