Act 2 — SCENE III.
Charles Renauld translation
RAGUENEAU, LISE, CYRANO, then A MUSKETEER.
CYRANO.
What time is it?
RAGUENEAU (bowing low to him).
Six o'clock.
CYRANO (excited).
In one hour!
(Walks to and fro through the shop.)
RAGUENEAU (following him).
Bravo! I witnessed....
CYRANO.
What?
RAGUENEAU.
Your fight.
CYRANO.
Which one?
RAGUENEAU.
The one at the Hôtel de Bourgogne.
CYRANO (disdainfully).
Oh!.... that duel!....
RAGUENEAU (admiringly).
Yes, your duel in verse.
LISE (aside).
In verse!.... His mouth seems to him too small for the words!
CYRANO (to Ragueneau).
Ah!.... So much the better!
RAGUENEAU (lunging with the spit he has seized).
"For, when I close th' Envoy, I'll touch!...." "For, when I close th' Envoy, I'll touch!...." How beautiful!.... (with growing enthusiasm). "For, when I close th' Envoy,...."
CYRANO.
Ragueneau, what time is it?
RAGUENEAU (remaining with arm and leg outstretched, simply turning his head to look at the clock).
Five minutes after six!....
"I touch!"
(He rises.)
Oh! to write a ballade!
LISE (to Cyrano, who, on passing near her, has absent-mindedly shaken hands with her).
Why! what is the matter with your hand?
CYRANO.
Oh! nothing! A scratch.
RAGUENEAU.
Were you exposed to any peril?
CYRANO.
No peril!
LISE (threatening him with her finger).
I fear you are not telling the truth!
CYRANO.
What! Did my nose move? What an enormous lie that would indicate! (becoming serious). I expect somebody here. If that somebody comes—you never can tell,—please leave us here alone.
RAGUENEAU.
That is hardly possible; my rimesters[13] are coming....
LISE (ironical).
For their first meal.
CYRANO.
You will have to take them away when I make a sign to you.... What time is it?
RAGUENEAU.
Ten minutes after six.
CYRANO (sitting down nervously at Ragueneau's table, and taking some paper).
A pen, please!....
RAGUENEAU (offering him the one that he has behind his ear).
A swan quill.
A MUSKETEER (with an enormous mustache and stentorian voice) enters.
Good morning!
(Lise goes rapidly up to him.)
CYRANO (turning around).
Who is this?
RAGUENEAU.
A friend of my wife's. A terrible warrior,—at least so he says!....
CYRANO (taking up the pen and motioning away Ragueneau).
Silence!.... write—fold,—(to himself) hand it to her,—and run away....
(throwing away the pen). Coward!....But may I die if I dare speak to her, even a single word....
(to Ragueneau). What time is it?
RAGUENEAU.
A quarter past six!....
CYRANO (striking his breast).
But I have plenty of words here, and by writing....
(Takes up the pen.)
So be it then! I'll write.—This letter fraught With love, I've thought it out a hundred times; It's ready, and, to close it, I have but To read my soul, and copy what I read.
(He writes. Behind the glazed door, a movement of lean and hesitating forms.)