READ STUDY GUIDE: Act II, scenes i–vi |
|
Act II, Scene 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.) |
|
|
||||
|
