Part 3
THE DUENNA: To-morrow, at the early blush of dawn, We go to hear mass at St. Roch.
CYRANO (leaning against Le Bret): My God!
THE DUENNA: After--what place for a few minutes' speech?
CYRANO (confused): Where? Ah!. . .but. . .Ah, my God!. . .
THE DUENNA: Say!
CYRANO: I reflect!. . .
THE DUENNA: Where?
CYRANO: At--the pastry-house of Ragueneau.
THE DUENNA: Where lodges he?
CYRANO: The Rue--God!--St. Honore!
THE DUENNA (going): Good. Be you there. At seven.
CYRANO: Without fail.
(The duenna goes out.)
## Scene 1.VII.
Cyrano, Le Bret. Then actors, actresses, Cuigy, Brissaille, Lignière, the porter, the violinists.
CYRANO (falling into Le Bret's arms): A rendezvous. . .from her!. . .
LE BRET: You're sad no more!
CYRANO: Ah! Let the world go burn! She knows I live!
LE BRET: Now you'll be calm, I hope?
CYRANO (beside himself for joy): Calm? I now calm? I'll be frenetic, frantic,--raving mad! Oh, for an army to attack!--a host! I've ten hearts in my breast; a score of arms; No dwarfs to cleave in twain!. . . (Wildly): No! Giants now!
(For a few moments the shadows of the actors have been moving on the stage, whispers are heard--the rehearsal is beginning. The violinists are in their places.)
A VOICE FROM THE STAGE: Hollo there! Silence! We rehearse!
CYRANO (laughing): We go!
(He moves away. By the big door enter Cuigy, Brissaille, and some officers, holding up Lignière, who is drunk.)
CUIGY: Cyrano!
CYRANO: Well, what now?
CUIGY: A lusty thrush They're bringing you!
CYRANO (recognizing him): Lignière!. . .What has chanced?
CUIGY: He seeks you!
BRISSAILLE: He dare not go home!
CYRANO: Why not?
LIGNIÈRE (in a husky voice, showing him a crumpled letter): This letter warns me. . .that a hundred men. . . Revenge that threatens me. . .that song, you know-- At the Porte de Nesle. To get to my own house I must pass there. . .I dare not!. . .Give me leave To sleep to-night beneath your roof! Allow. . .
CYRANO: A hundred men? You'll sleep in your own bed!
LIGNIÈRE (frightened): But--
CYRANO (in a terrible voice, showing him the lighted lantern held by the porter, who is listening curiously): Take the lantern. (Lignière seizes it): Let us start! I swear That I will make your bed to-night myself! (To the officers): Follow; some stay behind, as witnesses!
CUIGY: A hundred!. . .
CYRANO: Less, to-night--would be too few!
(The actors and actresses, in their costumes, have come down from the stage, and are listening.)
LE BRET: But why embroil yourself?
CYRANO: Le Bret who scolds!
LE BRET: That worthless drunkard!--
CYRANO (slapping Lignière on the shoulder): Wherefore? For this cause;-- This wine-barrel, this cask of Burgundy, Did, on a day, an action full of grace; As he was leaving church, he saw his love Take holy water--he, who is affeared At water's taste, ran quickly to the stoup, And drank it all, to the last drop!. . .
AN ACTRESS: Indeed, that was a graceful thing!
CYRANO: Ay, was it not?
THE ACTRESS (to the others): But why a hundred men 'gainst one poor rhymer?
CYRANO: March! (To the officers): Gentlemen, when you shall see me charge, Bear me no succor, none, whate'er the odds!
ANOTHER ACTRESS (jumping from the stage): Oh! I shall come and see!
CYRANO: Come, then!
ANOTHER (jumping down--to an old actor): And you?. . .
CYRANO: Come all--the Doctor, Isabel, Leander, Come, for you shall add, in a motley swarm, The farce Italian to this Spanish drama!
ALL THE WOMEN (dancing for joy): Bravo!--a mantle, quick!--my hood!
JODELET: Come on!
CYRANO: Play us a march, gentlemen of the band! (The violinists join the procession, which is forming. They take the footlights, and divide them for torches): Brave officers! next, women in costume, And, twenty paces on-- (He takes his place): I all alone, Beneath the plume that Glory lends, herself, To deck my beaver--proud as Scipio!. . . --You hear me?--I forbid you succor me!-- One, two three! Porter, open wide the doors! (The porter opens the doors; a view of old Paris in the moonlight is seen): Ah!. . .Paris wrapped in night! half nebulous: The moonlight streams o'er the blue-shadowed roofs; A lovely frame for this wild battle-scene; Beneath the vapor's floating scarves, the Seine Trembles, mysterious, like a magic mirror, And, shortly, you shall see what you shall see!
ALL: To the Porte de Nesle!
CYRANO (standing on the threshold): Ay, to the Porte de Nesle! (Turning to the actress): Did you not ask, young lady, for what cause Against this rhymer fivescore men were sent? (He draws his sword; then, calmly): 'Twas that they knew him for a friend of mine!
(He goes out. Lignière staggers first after him, then the actresses on the officers' arms--the actors. The procession starts to the sound of the violins and in the faint light of the candles.)
Curtain.
## Act II.
The Poet's Eating-House.
Ragueneau's cook and pastry-shop. A large kitchen at the corner of the Rue St. Honore and the Rue de l'Arbre Sec, which are seen in the background through the glass door, in the gray dawn.
On the left, in the foreground, a counter, surmounted by a stand in forged iron, on which are hung geese, ducks, and water peacocks. In great china vases are tall bouquets of simple flowers, principally yellow sunflowers.
On the same side, farther back, an immense open fireplace, in front of which, between monster firedogs, on each of which hangs a little saucepan; the roasts are dripping into the pans.
On the right, foreground with door.
Farther back, staircase leading to a little room under the roof, the entrance of which is visible through the open shutter. In this room a table is laid. A small Flemish luster is alight. It is a place for eating and drinking. A wooden gallery, continuing the staircase, apparently leads to other similar little rooms.
In the middle of the shop an iron hoop is suspended from the ceiling by a string with which it can be drawn up and down, and big game is hung around it.
The ovens in the darkness under the stairs give forth a red glow. The copper pans shine. The spits are turning. Heaps of food formed into pyramids. Hams suspended. It is the busy hour of the morning. Bustle and hurry of scullions, fat cooks, and diminutive apprentices, their caps profusely decorated with cock's feathers and wings of guinea-fowl.
On metal and wicker plates they are bringing in piles of cakes and tarts.
Tables laden with rolls and dishes of food. Other tables surrounded with chairs are ready for the consumers.
A small table in a corner covered with papers, at which Ragueneau is seated writing on the rising of the curtain.
## Scene 2.I.
Ragueneau, pastry-cooks, then Lise. Ragueneau is writing, with an inspired air, at a small table, and counting on his fingers.
FIRST PASTRY-COOK (bringing in an elaborate fancy dish): Fruits in nougat!
SECOND PASTRY-COOK (bringing another dish): Custard!
THIRD PASTRY-COOK (bringing a roast, decorated with feathers): Peacock!
FOURTH PASTRY-COOK (bringing a batch of cakes on a slab): Rissoles!
FIFTH PASTRY-COOK (bringing a sort of pie-dish): Beef jelly!
RAGUENEAU (ceasing to write, and raising his head): Aurora's silver rays begin to glint e'en now on the copper pans, and thou, O Ragueneau! must perforce stifle in thy breast the God of Song! Anon shall come the hour of the lute!--now 'tis the hour of the oven! (He rises. To a cook): You, make that sauce longer, 'tis too short!
THE COOK: How much too short?
RAGUENEAU: Three feet.
(He passes on farther.)
THE COOK: What means he?
FIRST PASTRY-COOK (showing a dish to Ragueneau): The tart!
SECOND PASTRY-COOK: The pie!
RAGUENEAU (before the fire): My muse, retire, lest thy bright eyes be reddened by the fagot's blaze! (To a cook, showing him some loaves): You have put the cleft o' th' loaves in the wrong place; know you not that the coesura should be between the hemistiches? (To another, showing him an unfinished pasty): To this palace of paste you must add the roof. . . (To a young apprentice, who, seated on the ground, is spitting the fowls): And you, as you put on your lengthy spit the modest fowl and the superb turkey, my son, alternate them, as the old Malherbe loved well to alternate his long lines of verse with the short ones; thus shall your roasts, in strophes, turn before the flame!
ANOTHER APPRENTICE (also coming up with a tray covered by a napkin): Master, I bethought me erewhile of your tastes, and made this, which will please you, I hope.
(He uncovers the tray, and shows a large lyre made of pastry.)
RAGUENEAU (enchanted): A lyre!
THE APPRENTICE: 'Tis of brioche pastry.
RAGUENEAU (touched): With conserved fruits.
THE APPRENTICE: The strings, see, are of sugar.
RAGUENEAU (giving him a coin): Go, drink my health! (Seeing Lise enter): Hush! My wife. Bustle, pass on, and hide that money! (To Lise, showing her the lyre, with a conscious look): Is it not beautiful?
LISE: 'Tis passing silly!
(She puts a pile of papers on the counter.)
RAGUENEAU: Bags? Good. I thank you. (He looks at them): Heavens! my cherished leaves! The poems of my friends! Torn, dismembered, to make bags for holding biscuits and cakes!. . .Ah, 'tis the old tale again. . .Orpheus and the Bacchantes!
LISE (dryly): And am I not free to turn at last to some use the sole thing that your wretched scribblers of halting lines leave behind them by way of payment?
RAGUENEAU: Groveling ant!. . .Insult not the divine grasshoppers, the sweet singers!
LISE: Before you were the sworn comrade of all that crew, my friend, you did not call your wife ant and Bacchante!
RAGUENEAU: To turn fair verse to such a use!
LISE: 'Faith, 'tis all it's good for.
RAGUENEAU: Pray then, madam, to what use would you degrade prose?
## Scene 2.II.
The same. Two children, who have just trotted into the shop.
RAGUENEAU: What would you, little ones?
FIRST CHILD: Three pies.
RAGUENEAU (serving them): See, hot and well browned.
SECOND CHILD: If it please you, Sir, will you wrap them up for us?
RAGUENEAU (aside, distressed): Alas! one of my bags! (To the children): What? Must I wrap them up? (He takes a bag, and just as he is about to put in the pies, he reads): 'Ulysses thus, on leaving fair Penelope. . .' Not that one! (He puts it aside, and takes another, and as he is about to put in the pies, he reads): 'The gold-locked Phoebus. . .' Nay, nor that one!. . .
(Same play.)
LISE (impatiently): What are you dallying for?
RAGUENEAU: Here! here! here (He chooses a third, resignedly): The sonnet to Phillis!. . .but 'tis hard to part with it!
LISE: By good luck he has made up his mind at last! (Shrugging her shoulders): Nicodemus!
(She mounts on a chair, and begins to range plates on a dresser.)
RAGUENEAU (taking advantage of the moment she turns her back, calls back the children, who are already at the door): Hist! children!. . .render me back the sonnet to Phillis, and you shall have six pies instead of three.
(The children give him back the bag, seize the cakes quickly, and go out.)
RAGUENEAU (smoothing out the paper, begins to declaim): 'Phillis!. . .' On that sweet name a smear of butter! 'Phillis!. . .'
(Cyrano enters hurriedly.)
## Scene 2.III.
Ragueneau, Lise, Cyrano, then the musketeer.
CYRANO: What's o'clock?
RAGUENEAU (bowing low): Six o'clock.
CYRANO (with emotion): In one hour's time!
(He paces up and down the shop.)
RAGUENEAU (following him): Bravo! I saw. . .
CYRANO: Well, what saw you, then?
RAGUENEAU: Your combat!. . .
CYRANO: Which?
RAGUENEAU: That in the Burgundy Hotel, 'faith!
CYRANO (contemptuously): Ah!. . .the duel!
RAGUENEAU (admiringly): Ay! the duel in verse!. . .
LISE: He can talk of naught else!
CYRANO: Well! Good! let be!
RAGUENEAU (making passes with a spit that he catches up): 'At the envoi's end, I touch!. . .At the envoi's end, I touch!'. . .'Tis fine, fine! (With increasing enthusiasm): 'At the envoi's end--'
CYRANO: What hour is it now, Ragueneau?
RAGUENEAU (stopping short in the act of thrusting to look at the clock): Five minutes after six!. . .'I touch!' (He straightens himself): . . .Oh! to write a ballade!
LISE (to Cyrano, who, as he passes by the counter, has absently shaken hands with her): What's wrong with your hand?
CYRANO: Naught; a slight cut.
RAGUENEAU: Have you been in some danger?
CYRANO: None in the world.
LISE (shaking her finger at him): Methinks you speak not the truth in saying that!
CYRANO: Did you see my nose quiver when I spoke? 'Faith, it must have been a monstrous lie that should move it! (Changing his tone): I wait some one here. Leave us alone, and disturb us for naught an it were not for crack of doom!
RAGUENEAU: But 'tis impossible; my poets are coming. . .
LISE (ironically): Oh, ay, for their first meal o' the day!
CYRANO: Prythee, take them aside when I shall make you sign to do so. . .What's o'clock?
RAGUENEAU: Ten minutes after six.
CYRANO (nervously seating himself at Ragueneau's table, and drawing some paper toward him): A pen!. . .
RAGUENEAU (giving him the one from behind his ear): Here--a swan's quill.
A MUSKETEER (with fierce mustache, enters, and in a stentorian voice): Good-day!
(Lise goes up to him quickly.)
CYRANO (turning round): Who's that?
RAGUENEAU: 'Tis a friend of my wife--a terrible warrior--at least so says he himself.
CYRANO (taking up the pen, and motioning Ragueneau away): Hush! (To himself): I will write, fold it, give it her, and fly! (Throws down the pen): Coward!. . .But strike me dead if I dare to speak to her,. . .ay, even one single word! (To Ragueneau): What time is it?
RAGUENEAU: A quarter after six!. . .
CYRANO (striking his breast): Ay--a single word of all those here! here! But writing, 'tis easier done. . . (He takes up the pen): Go to, I will write it, that love-letter! Oh! I have writ it and rewrit it in my own mind so oft that it lies there ready for pen and ink; and if I lay but my soul by my letter-sheet, 'tis naught to do but to copy from it.
(He writes. Through the glass of the door the silhouettes of their figures move uncertainly and hesitatingly.)
## Scene 2.IV.
Ragueneau, Lise, the musketeer. Cyrano at the little table writing. The poets, dressed in black, their stockings ungartered, and covered with mud.
LISE (entering, to Ragueneau): Here they come, your mud-bespattered friends!
FIRST POET (entering, to Ragueneau): Brother in art!. . .
SECOND POET (to Ragueneau, shaking his hands): Dear brother!
THIRD POET: High soaring eagle among pastry-cooks! (He sniffs): Marry! it smells good here in your eyrie!
FOURTH POET: 'Tis at Phoebus' own rays that thy roasts turn!
FIFTH POET: Apollo among master-cooks--
RAGUENEAU (whom they surround and embrace): Ah! how quick a man feels at his ease with them!. . .
FIRST POET: We were stayed by the mob; they are crowded all round the Porte de Nesle!. . .
SECOND POET: Eight bleeding brigand carcasses strew the pavements there--all slit open with sword-gashes!
CYRANO (raising his head a minute): Eight?. . .hold, methought seven.
(He goes on writing.)
RAGUENEAU (to Cyrano): Know you who might be the hero of the fray?
CYRANO (carelessly): Not I.
LISE (to the musketeer): And you? Know you?
THE MUSKETEER (twirling his mustache): Maybe!
CYRANO (writing a little way off:--he is heard murmuring a word from time to time): 'I love thee!'
FIRST POET: 'Twas one man, say they all, ay, swear to it, one man who, single-handed, put the whole band to the rout!
SECOND POET: 'Twas a strange sight!--pikes and cudgels strewed thick upon the ground.
CYRANO (writing): . . .'Thine eyes'. . .
THIRD POET: And they were picking up hats all the way to the Quai d'Orfevres!
FIRST POET: Sapristi! but he must have been a ferocious. . .
CYRANO (same play): . . .'Thy lips'. . .
FIRST POET: 'Twas a parlous fearsome giant that was the author of such exploits!
CYRANO (same play): . . .'And when I see thee come, I faint for fear.'
SECOND POET (filching a cake): What hast rhymed of late, Ragueneau?
CYRANO (same play): . . .'Who worships thee'. . . (He stops, just as he is about to sign, and gets up, slipping the letter into his doublet): No need I sign, since I give it her myself.
RAGUENEAU (to second poet): I have put a recipe into verse.
THIRD POET (seating himself by a plate of cream-puffs): Go to! Let us hear these verses!
FOURTH POET (looking at a cake which he has taken): Its cap is all a' one side!
(He makes one bite of the top.)
FIRST POET: See how this gingerbread woos the famished rhymer with its almond eyes, and its eyebrows of angelica!
(He takes it.)
SECOND POET: We listen.
THIRD POET (squeezing a cream-puff gently): How it laughs! Till its very cream runs over!
SECOND POET (biting a bit off the great lyre of pastry): This is the first time in my life that ever I drew any means of nourishing me from the lyre!
RAGUENEAU (who has put himself ready for reciting, cleared his throat, settled his cap, struck an attitude): A recipe in verse!. . .
SECOND POET (to first, nudging him): You are breakfasting?
FIRST POET (to second): And you dining, methinks.
RAGUENEAU: How almond tartlets are made.
Beat your eggs up, light and quick; Froth them thick; Mingle with them while you beat Juice of lemon, essence fine; Then combine The burst milk of almonds sweet.
Circle with a custard paste The slim waist Of your tartlet-molds; the top With a skillful finger print, Nick and dint, Round their edge, then, drop by drop, In its little dainty bed Your cream shed: In the oven place each mold: Reappearing, softly browned, The renowned Almond tartlets you behold!
THE POETS (with mouths crammed full): Exquisite! Delicious!
A POET (choking): Homph!
(They go up, eating.)
CYRANO (who has been watching, goes toward Ragueneau): Lulled by your voice, did you see how they were stuffing themselves?
RAGUENEAU (in a low voice, smiling): Oh, ay! I see well enough, but I never will seem to look, fearing to distress them; thus I gain a double pleasure when I recite to them my poems; for I leave those poor fellows who have not breakfasted free to eat, even while I gratify my own dearest foible, see you?
CYRANO (clapping him on the shoulder): Friend, I like you right well!. . . (Ragueneau goes after his friends. Cyrano follows him with his eyes, then, rather sharply): Ho there! Lise! (Lise, who is talking tenderly to the musketeer, starts, and comes down toward Cyrano): So this fine captain is laying siege to you?
LISE (offended): One haughty glance of my eye can conquer any man that should dare venture aught 'gainst my virtue.
CYRANO: Pooh! Conquering eyes, methinks, are oft conquered eyes.
LISE (choking with anger): But--
CYRANO (incisively): I like Ragueneau well, and so--mark me, Dame Lise--I permit not that he be rendered a laughing-stock by any. . .
LISE: But. . .
CYRANO (who has raised his voice so as to be heard by the gallant): A word to the wise. . .
(He bows to the musketeer, and goes to the doorway to watch, after looking at the clock.)
LISE (to the musketeer, who has merely bowed in answer to Cyrano's bow): How now? Is this your courage?. . .Why turn you not a jest on his nose?
THE MUSKETEER: On his nose?. . .ay, ay. . .his nose.
(He goes quickly farther away; Lise follows him.)
CYRANO (from the doorway, signing to Ragueneau to draw the poets away): Hist!. . .
RAGUENEAU (showing them the door on the right): We shall be more private there. . .
CYRANO (impatiently): Hist! Hist!. . .
RAGUENEAU (drawing them farther): To read poetry, 'tis better here. . .
FIRST POET (despairingly, with his mouth full): What! leave the cakes?. . .
SECOND POET: Never! Let's take them with us!
(They all follow Ragueneau in procession, after sweeping all the cakes off the trays.)
## Scene 2.V.
Cyrano, Roxane, the duenna.
CYRANO: Ah! if I see but the faint glimmer of hope, then I draw out my letter! (Roxane, masked, followed by the duenna, appears at the glass pane of the door. He opens quickly): Enter!. . . (Walking up to the duenna): Two words with you, Duenna.
THE DUENNA: Four, Sir, an it like you.
CYRANO: Are you fond of sweet things?
THE DUENNA: Ay, I could eat myself sick on them!
CYRANO (catching up some of the paper bags from the counter): Good. See you these two sonnets of Monsieur Beuserade. . .
THE DUENNA: Hey?
CYRANO: . . .Which I fill for you with cream cakes!
THE DUENNA (changing her expression): Ha.
CYRANO: What say you to the cake they call a little puff?
THE DUENNA: If made with cream, Sir, I love them passing well.
CYRANO: Here I plunge six for your eating into the bosom of a poem by Saint Amant! And in these verses of Chapelain I glide a lighter morsel. Stay, love you hot cakes?
THE DUENNA: Ay, to the core of my heart!
CYRANO (filling her arms with the bags): Pleasure me then; go eat them all in the street.
THE DUENNA: But. . .
CYRANO (pushing her out): And come not back till the very last crumb be eaten!
(He shuts the door, comes down toward Roxane, and, uncovering, stands at a respectful distance from her.)
## Scene 2.VI.
Cyrano, Roxane.
CYRANO: Blessed be the moment when you condescend-- Remembering that humbly I exist-- To come to meet me, and to say. . .to tell?. . .
ROXANE (who has unmasked): To thank you first of all. That dandy count, Whom you checkmated in brave sword-play Last night,. . .he is the man whom a great lord, Desirous of my favor. . .
CYRANO: Ha, De Guiche?
ROXANE (casting down her eyes): Sought to impose on me. . .for husband. . .
CYRANO: Ay! Husband!--dupe-husband!. . .Husband a la mode! (Bowing): Then I fought, happy chance! sweet lady, not For my ill favor--but your favors fair!
ROXANE: Confession next!. . .But, ere I make my shrift, You must be once again that brother-friend With whom I used to play by the lake-side!. . .
CYRANO: Ay, you would come each spring to Bergerac!
ROXANE: Mind you the reeds you cut to make your swords?. . .
CYRANO: While you wove corn-straw plaits for your dolls' hair!
ROXANE: Those were the days of games!. . .
CYRANO: And blackberries!. . .
ROXANE: In those days you did everything I bid!. . .
CYRANO: Roxane, in her short frock, was Madeleine. . .
ROXANE: Was I fair then?
CYRANO: You were not ill to see!
ROXANE: Ofttimes, with hands all bloody from a fall, You'd run to me! Then--aping mother-ways-- I, in a voice would-be severe, would chide,-- (She takes his hand): 'What is this scratch, again, that I see here?' (She starts, surprised): Oh! 'Tis too much! What's this? (Cyrano tries to draw away his hand): No, let me see! At your age, fie! Where did you get that scratch?
CYRANO: I got it--playing at the Porte de Nesle.
ROXANE (seating herself by the table, and dipping her handkerchief in a glass of water): Give here!
CYRANO (sitting by her): So soft! so gay maternal-sweet!