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:
