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.)