Cyrano de Bergerac (English translation) | Page 5

the people who are coming into the boxes): There is the wife of the Chief-Justice.
THE BUFFET-GIRL: Oranges, milk. . .
THE VIOLINISTS (tuning up): La--la--
CUIGY (to Christian, pointing to the hall, which is filling fast): 'Tis crowded.
CHRISTIAN: Yes, indeed.
FIRST MARQUIS: All the great world!
(They recognize and name the different elegantly dressed ladies who enter the boxes, bowing low to them. The ladies send smiles in answer.)
SECOND MARQUIS: Madame de Guemenee.
CUIGY: Madame de Bois-Dauphin.
FIRST MARQUIS: Adored by us all!
BRISSAILLE: Madame de Chavigny. . .
SECOND MARQUIS: Who sports with our poor hearts!. . .
LIGNIERE: Ha! so Monsieur de Corneille has come back from Rouen!
THE YOUNG MAN (to his father): Is the Academy here?
THE BURGHER: Oh, ay, I see several of them. There is Boudu, Boissat, and Cureau de la Chambre, Porcheres, Colomby, Bourzeys, Bourdon, Arbaud. . .all names that will live! 'Tis fine!
FIRST MARQUIS: Attention! Here come our precieuses; Barthenoide, Urimedonte, Cassandace, Felixerie. . .
SECOND MARQUIS: Ah! How exquisite their fancy names are! Do you know them all, Marquis?
FIRST MARQUIS: Ay, Marquis, I do, every one!
LIGNIERE (drawing Christian aside): Friend, I but came here to give you pleasure. The lady comes not. I will betake me again to my pet vice.
CHRISTIAN (persuasively): No, no! You, who are ballad-maker to Court and City alike, can tell me better than any who the lady is for whom I die of love. Stay yet awhile.
THE FIRST VIOLIN (striking his bow on the desk): Gentlemen violinists!
(He raises his bow.)
THE BUFFET-GIRL: Macaroons, lemon-drink. . .
(The violins begin to play.)
CHRISTIAN: Ah! I fear me she is coquettish, and over nice and fastidious! I, who am so poor of wit, how dare I speak to her--how address her? This language that they speak to-day--ay, and write--confounds me; I am but an honest soldier, and timid withal. She has ever her place, there, on the right--the empty box, see you!
LIGNIERE (making as if to go): I must go.
CHRISTIAN (detaining him): Nay, stay.
LIGNIERE: I cannot. D'Assoucy waits me at the tavern, and here one dies of thirst.
THE BUFFET-GIRL (passing before him with a tray): Orange drink?
LIGNIERE: Ugh!
THE BUFFET-GIRL: Milk?
LIGNIERE: Pah!
THE BUFFET-GIRL: Rivesalte?
LIGNIERE: Stay. (To Christian): I will remain awhile.--Let me taste this rivesalte.
(He sits by the buffet; the girl pours some out for him.)
CRIES (from all the audience, at the entrance of a plump little man, joyously excited): Ah! Ragueneau!
LIGNIERE (to Christian): 'Tis the famous tavern-keeper Ragueneau.
RAGUENEAU (dressed in the Sunday clothes of a pastry-cook, going up quickly to Ligniere): Sir, have you seen Monsieur de Cyrano?
LIGNIERE (introducing him to Christian): The pastry-cook of the actors and the poets!
RAGUENEAU (overcome): You do me too great honor. . .
LIGNIERE: Nay, hold your peace, Maecenas that you are!
RAGUENEAU: True, these gentlemen employ me. . .
LIGNIERE: On credit! He is himself a poet of a pretty talent. . .
RAGUENEAU: So they tell me.
LIGNIERE: --Mad after poetry!
RAGUENEAU: 'Tis true that, for a little ode. . .
LIGNIERE: You give a tart. . .
RAGUENEAU: Oh!--a tartlet!
LIGNIERE: Brave fellow! He would fain fain excuse himself! --And for a triolet, now, did you not give in exchange. . .
RAGUENEAU: Some little rolls!
LIGNIERE (severely): They were milk-rolls! And as for the theater, which you love?
RAGUENEAU: Oh! to distraction!
LIGNIERE: How pay you your tickets, ha?--with cakes. Your place, to-night, come tell me in my ear, what did it cost you?
RAGUENEAU: Four custards, and fifteen cream-puffs. (He looks around on all sides): Monsieur de Cyrano is not here? 'Tis strange.
LIGNIERE: Why so?
RAGUENEAU: Montfleury plays!
LIGNIERE: Ay, 'tis true that that old wine-barrel is to take Phedon's part to-night; but what matter is that to Cyrano?
RAGUENEAU: How? Know you not? He has got a hot hate for Montfleury, and so!--has forbid him strictly to show his face on the stage 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