THIRD PAGE (from above):
Ay, have we, and peas withal!

(He blows, and peppers them with peas.)

THE YOUNG MAN (to his father):
What piece do they give us?

THE BURGHER:
'Clorise.'

THE YOUNG MAN:
Who may the author be?

THE BURGHER:
Master Balthazar Baro. It is a play!. . .

(He goes arm-in-arm with his son.)

THE PICKPOCKET (to his pupils):
Have a care, above all, of the lace knee-ruffles--cut them off!

A SPECTATOR (to another, showing him a corner in the gallery):
I was up there, the first night of the 'Cid.'

THE PICKPOCKET (making with his fingers the gesture of filching):
Thus for watches--

THE BURGHER (coming down again with his son):
Ah! You shall presently see some renowned actors. . .

THE PICKPOCKET (making the gestures of one who pulls something stealthily, with little jerks):
Thus for handkerchiefs--

THE BURGHER:
Montfleury. . .

SOME ONE (shouting from the upper gallery):
Light up, below there!

THE BURGHER:
. . .Bellerose, L'Epy, La Beaupre, Jodelet!

A PAGE (in the pit):
Here comes the buffet-girl!

THE BUFFET-GIRL (taking her place behind the buffet):
Oranges, milk, raspberry-water, cedar bitters!

(A hubbub outside the door is heard.)

A FALSETTO VOICE:
Make place, brutes!

A LACKEY (astonished):
The Marquises!--in the pit?. . .

ANOTHER LACKEY:
Oh! only for a minute or two!

(Enter a band of young marquises.)

A MARQUIS (seeing that the hall is half empty):
What now! So we make our entrance like a pack of woolen-drapers!
Peaceably, without disturbing the folk, or treading on their toes!--Oh, fie!
Fie!
(Recognizing some other gentlemen who have entered a little before him):
Cuigy! Brissaille!

(Greetings and embraces.)

CUIGY:
True to our word!. . .Troth, we are here before the candles are lit.

THE MARQUIS:
Ay, indeed! Enough! I am of an ill humor.

ANOTHER:
Nay, nay, Marquis! see, for your consolation, they are coming to light up!

ALL THE AUDIENCE (welcoming the entrance of the lighter):
Ah!. . .

(They form in groups round the lusters as they are lit. Some people have taken their seats in the galleries. Ligniere, a distinguished-looking roue, with disordered shirt-front arm-in-arm with christian de Neuvillette. Christian, who is dressed elegantly, but rather behind the fashion, seems preoccupied, and keeps looking at the boxes.)

Scene 1.II.

The same. Christian, Ligniere, then Ragueneau and Le Bret.

CUIGY:
Ligniere!

BRISSAILLE (laughing):
Not drunk as yet?

LIGNIERE (aside to Christian):
I may introduce you?
(Christian nods in assent):
Baron de Neuvillette.

(Bows.)

THE AUDIENCE (applauding as the first luster is lighted and drawn up):
Ah!

CUIGY (to Brissaille, looking at Christian):
'Tis a pretty fellow!

FIRST MARQUIS (who has overheard):
Pooh!

LIGNIERE (introducing them to Christian):
My lords De Cuigy. De Brissaille. . .

CHRISTIAN (bowing):
Delighted!. . .

FIRST MARQUIS (to second):
He is not ill to look at, but certes, he is not costumed in the latest mode.

LIGNIERE (to Cuigy):
This gentleman comes from Touraine.

CHRISTIAN:
Yes, I have scarce been twenty days in Paris; tomorrow I join the Guards, in
the Cadets.

FIRST MARQUIS (watching 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