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