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.)





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