LITMIR.BIZ

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for one whole month.

      LIGNIERE (drinking his fourth glass):

       Well?

      RAGUENEAU:

       Montfleury will play!

      CUIGY:

       He can not hinder that.

      RAGUENEAU:

       Oh! oh! that I have come to see!

      FIRST MARQUIS:

       Who is this Cyrano?

      CUIGY:

       A fellow well skilled in all tricks of fence.

      SECOND MARQUIS:

       Is he of noble birth?

      CUIGY:

       Ay, noble enough. He is a cadet in the Guards.

       (Pointing to a gentleman who is going up and down the hall as if searching for some one):

       But 'tis his friend Le Bret, yonder, who can best tell you.

       (He calls him):

       Le Bret!

       (Le Bret comes towards them):

       Seek you for De Bergerac?

      LE BRET:

       Ay, I am uneasy …

      CUIGY:

       Is it not true that he is the strangest of men?

      LE BRET (tenderly):

       True, that he is the choicest of earthly beings!

      RAGUENEAU:

       Poet!

      CUIGY:

       Soldier!

      BRISSAILLE:

       Philosopher!

      LE BRET:

       Musician!

      LIGNIERE:

       And of how fantastic a presence!

      RAGENEAU:

       Marry, 'twould puzzle even our grim painter Philippe de Champaigne to

       portray him! Methinks, whimsical, wild, comical as he is, only Jacques

       Callot, now dead and gone, had succeeded better, and had made of him the

       maddest fighter of all his visored crew--with his triple-plumed beaver and

       six-pointed doublet--the sword-point sticking up 'neath his mantle like an

       insolent cocktail! He's prouder than all the fierce Artabans of whom Gascony

       has ever been and will ever be the prolific Alma Mater! Above his Toby ruff

       he carries a nose!--ah, good my lords, what a nose is his! When one sees it

       one is fain to cry aloud, 'Nay! 'tis too much! He plays a joke on us!' Then

       one laughs, says 'He will anon take it off.' But no!--Monsieur de Bergerac

       always keeps it on.

      LE BRET (throwing back his head):

       He keeps it on--and cleaves in two any man who dares remark on it!

      RAGUENEAU (proudly):

       His sword--'tis one half of the Fates' shears!

      FIRST MARQUIS (shrugging his shoulders):

       He will not come!

      RAGUENEAU:

       I say he will! and I wager a fowl--a la Ragueneau.

      THE MARQUIS (laughing):

       Good!

      (Murmurs of admiration in hall. Roxane has just appeared in her box. She seats herself in front, the duenna at the back. Christian, who is paying the buffet-girl, does not see her entrance.)

      SECOND MARQUIS (with little cries of joy):

       Ah, gentlemen! she is fearfully--terribly--ravishing!

      FIRST MARQUIS:

       When one looks at her one thinks of a peach smiling at a strawberry!

      SECOND MARQUIS:

       And what freshness! A man approaching her too near might chance to get a

       bad chill at the heart!

      CHRISTIAN (raising his head, sees Roxane, and catches Ligniere by the arm):

       'Tis she!

      LIGNIERE:

       Ah! is it she?

      CHRISTIAN:

       Ay, tell me quick--I am afraid.

      LIGNIERE (tasting his rivesalte in sips):

       Magdaleine Robin--Roxane, so called! A subtle wit--a precieuse.

      CHRISTIAN:

       Woe is me!

      LIGNIERE:

       Free. An orphan. The cousin of Cyrano, of whom we were now speaking.

      (At this moment an elegant nobleman, with blue ribbon across his breast, enters the box, and talks with Roxane, standing.)

      CHRISTIAN (starting):

       Who is yonder man?

      LIGNIERE (who is becoming tipsy, winking at him):

       Ha! ha! Count de Guiche. Enamored of her. But wedded to the niece of

       Armand de Richelieu. Would fain marry Roxane to a certain sorry fellow, one

       Monsieur de Valvert, a viscount--and--accommodating! She will none of that

       bargain; but De Guiche is powerful, and can persecute the daughter of a plain

       untitled gentleman. More by token, I myself have exposed this cunning plan of

       his to the world, in a song which … Ho! he must rage at me! The end hit

       home … Listen!

      (He gets up staggering, and raises his glass, ready to sing.)

      CHRISTIAN:

       No. Good-night.

      LIGNIERE:

       Where go you?

      CHRISTIAN:

       To Monsieur de Valvert!

      LIGNIERE:

       Have a care! It is he who will kill you

       (showing him Roxane by a look):

       Stay where you are--she is looking at you.

      CHRISTIAN:

       It is true!

      (He stands looking at her. The group of pickpockets seeing him thus, head in air and open-mouthed, draw near to him.)

      LIGNIERE:

       'Tis I who am going. I am athirst! And they expect me--in the taverns!

      (He goes out, reeling.)

      LE BRET (who has been all round the hall, coming back to Ragueneau reassured):

       No sign of Cyrano.

      RAGUENEAU (incredulously):

       All the same …

      LE BRET:

       A hope is left to me--that he has not seen the playbill!

      THE AUDIENCE:

       Begin, begin!

Scene 1.III.

       Table of Contents

      The same, all but Ligniere. De Guiche, Valvert, then Montfleury.

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