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Chapter: 36 The Sunday Cab One morning, as Jerry had just put me into the shafts and was fastening the traces, a gentleman walked into the yard. "Your servant, sir," said Jerry. "Good-morning, Mr. Barker," said the gentleman. "I should be glad to make some arrangements with you for taking Mrs. Briggs regularly to church on Sunday mornings. We go to the New Church now, and that is rather further than she can walk." "Thank you, sir," said Jerry, "but I have only taken out a six-days' license,* and therefore I could not take a fare on a Sunday; it would not be legal." * A few years since the annual charge for a cab license was very much reduced, and the difference between the six and seven days' cabs was abolished. "Oh!" said the other, "I did not know yours was a six-days' cab; but of course it would be very easy to alter your license. I would see that you did not lose by it; the fact is, Mrs. Briggs very much prefers you to drive her." "I should be glad to oblige the lady, sir, but I had a seven-days' license once, and the work was too hard for me, and too hard for my horses. Year in and year out, not a day's rest, and never a Sunday with my wife and children; and never able to go to a place of worship, which I had always been used to do before I took to the driving box. So for the last five years I have only taken a six-days' license, and I find it better all the way round." "Well, of course," replied Mr. Briggs, "it is very proper that every person should have rest, and be able to go to church on Sundays, but I should have thought you would not have minded such a short distance for the horse, and only once a day; you would have all the afternoon and evening for yourself, and we are very good customers, you know." "Yes, sir, that is true, and I am grateful for all favors, I am sure; and anything that I could do to oblige you, or the lady, I should be proud and happy to do; but I can't give up my Sundays, sir, indeed I can't. I read that God made man, and he made horses and all the other beasts, and as soon as He had made them He made a day of rest, and bade that all should rest one day in seven; and I think, sir, He must have known what was good for them, and I am sure it is good for me; I am stronger and healthier altogether, now that I have a day of rest; the horses are fresh too, and do not wear up nearly so fast. The six-day drivers all tell me the same, and I have laid by more money in the savings bank than ever I did before; and as for the wife and children, sir, why, heart alive! they would not go back to the seven days for all they could see." "Oh, very well," said the gentleman. "Don't trouble yourself, Mr. Barker, any further. I will inquire somewhere else," and he walked away. "Well," says Jerry to me, "we can't help it, Jack, old boy; we must have our Sundays." "Polly!" he shouted, "Polly! come here." She was there in a minute. "What is it all about, Jerry?" "Why, my dear, Mr. Briggs wants me to take Mrs. Briggs to church every Sunday morning. I say I have only a six-days' license. He says, 'Get a seven-days' license, and I'll make it worth your while;' and you know, Polly, they are very good customers to us. Mrs. Briggs often goes out shopping for hours, or making calls, and then she pays down fair and honorable like a lady; there's no beating down or making three hours into two hours and a half, as some folks do; and it is easy work for the horses; not like tearing along to catch trains for people that are always a quarter of an hour too late; and if I don't oblige her in this matter it is very likely we shall lose them altogether. What do you say, little woman?" "I say, Jerry," says she, speaking very slowly, "I say, if Mrs. Briggs would give you a sovereign every Sunday morning, I would not have you a seven-days' cabman again. We have known what it was to have no Sundays, and now we know what it is to call them our own. Thank God, you earn enough to keep us, though it is sometimes close work to pay for all the oats and hay, the license, and the rent besides; but Harry will soon be earning something, and I would rather struggle on harder than we do than go back to those horrid times when you hardly had a minute to look at your own children, and we never could go to a place of worship together, or have a happy, quiet day. God forbid that we should ever turn back to those times; that's what I say, Jerry." "And that is just what I told Mr. Briggs, my dear," said Jerry, "and what I mean to stick to. So don't go and fret yourself, Polly" (for she had begun to cry); "I would not go back to the old times if I earned twice as much, so that is settled, little woman. Now, cheer up, and I'll be off to the stand." Three weeks had passed away after this conversation, and no order had come from Mrs. Briggs; so there was nothing but taking jobs from the stand. Jerry took it to heart a good deal, for of course the work was harder for horse and man. But Polly would always cheer him up, and say, "Never mind, father, never, mind. "'Do your best, And leave the rest, 'Twill all come right Some day or night.'" It soon became known that Jerry had lost his best customer, and for what reason. Most of the men said he was a fool, but two or three took his part. "If workingmen don't stick to their Sunday," said Truman, "they'll soon have none left; it is every man's right and every beast's right. By God's law we have a day of rest, and by the law of England we have a day of rest; and I say we ought to hold to the rights these laws give us and keep them for our children." "All very well for you religious chaps to talk so," said Larry; "but I'll turn a shilling when I can. I don't believe in religion, for I don't see that your religious people are any better than the rest." "If they are not better," put in Jerry, "it is because they are not religious. You might as well say that our country's laws are not good because some people break them. If a man gives way to his temper, and speaks evil of his neighbor, and does not pay his debts, he is not religious, I don't care how much he goes to church. If some men are shams and humbugs, that does not make religion untrue. Real religion is the best and truest thing in the world, and the only thing that can make a man really happy or make the world we live in any better." "If religion was good for anything," said Jones, "it would prevent your religious people from making us work on Sundays, as you know many of them do, and that's why I say religion is nothing but a sham; why, if it was not for the church and chapel-goers it would be hardly worth while our coming out on a Sunday. But they have their privileges, as they call them, and I go without. I shall expect them to answer for my soul, if I can't get a chance of saving it." Several of the men applauded this, till Jerry said: "That may sound well enough, but it won't do; every man must look after his own soul; you can't lay it down at another man's door like a foundling and expect him to take care of it; and don't you see, if you are always sitting on your box waiting for a fare, they will say, 'If we don't take him some one else will, and he does not look for any Sunday.' Of course, they don't go to the bottom of it, or they would see if they never came for a cab it would be no use your standing there; but people don't always like to go to the bottom of things; it may not be convenient to do it; but if you Sunday drivers would all strike for a day of rest the thing would be done." "And what would all the good people do if they could not get to their favorite preachers?" said Larry. "'Tis not for me to lay down plans for other people," said Jerry, "but if they can't walk so far they can go to what is nearer; and if it should rain they can put on their mackintoshes as they do on a week-day. If a thing is right it can be done, and if it is wrong it can be done without; and a good man will find a way. And that is as true for us cabmen as it is for the church-goers." Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A: One morning, a man approaches Jerry at the stable and asks if he could hire Jerry regularly to drive to church on Sundays since his wife can't walk that far. Jerry tells him he doesn't have the right sort of driving license, and the man--Mr. Briggs, we're assuming--tells Jerry that it wouldn't be a problem, and "Mrs. Briggs very much prefers you to drive her" . Jerry insists that a seven-day license is too exhausting, but Mr. Briggs continues to press Jerry, so Jerry busts out a lengthy, Bible-quoting explanation of why he won't drive on Sundays. At last, Briggs gives up. Jerry calls for his wife and tells her what's just happened, and asks her if he should have sacrificed his Sunday rule for this particular customer. Polly says she'd rather have him home on Sundays, even if Briggs agreed to give Jerry a sovereign once a week. She starts to get upset, and Jerry assures her he's told Briggs he'd never do it. This results in Jerry losing Mr. Briggs, who was his best customer, so his work gets a little bit harder. Which leads to a lively debate among the cab drivers about the merits of religion and working on Sundays. Jerry says religion is all about the way you behave, saying, "Real religion is the best and truest thing in the world and the only thing that can make a man really happy, or make the world any better" .

Chapter: 36 The Sunday Cab One morning, as Jerry had just put me into the shafts and was fastening the traces, a gentleman walked into the yard. "Your servant, sir," said Jerry. "Good-morning, Mr. Barker," said the gentleman. "I should be glad to make some arrangements with you for taking Mrs. Briggs regularly to church on Sunday mornings. We go to the New Church now, and that is rather further than she can walk." "Thank you, sir," said Jerry, "but I have only taken out a six-days' license,* and therefore I could not take a fare on a Sunday; it would not be legal." * A few years since the annual charge for a cab license was very much reduced, and the difference between the six and seven days' cabs was abolished. "Oh!" said the other, "I did not know yours was a six-days' cab; but of course it would be very easy to alter your license. I would see that you did not lose by it; the fact is, Mrs. Briggs very much prefers you to drive her." "I should be glad to oblige the lady, sir, but I had a seven-days' license once, and the work was too hard for me, and too hard for my horses. Year in and year out, not a day's rest, and never a Sunday with my wife and children; and never able to go to a place of worship, which I had always been used to do before I took to the driving box. So for the last five years I have only taken a six-days' license, and I find it better all the way round." "Well, of course," replied Mr. Briggs, "it is very proper that every person should have rest, and be able to go to church on Sundays, but I should have thought you would not have minded such a short distance for the horse, and only once a day; you would have all the afternoon and evening for yourself, and we are very good customers, you know." "Yes, sir, that is true, and I am grateful for all favors, I am sure; and anything that I could do to oblige you, or the lady, I should be proud and happy to do; but I can't give up my Sundays, sir, indeed I can't. I read that God made man, and he made horses and all the other beasts, and as soon as He had made them He made a day of rest, and bade that all should rest one day in seven; and I think, sir, He must have known what was good for them, and I am sure it is good for me; I am stronger and healthier altogether, now that I have a day of rest; the horses are fresh too, and do not wear up nearly so fast. The six-day drivers all tell me the same, and I have laid by more money in the savings bank than ever I did before; and as for the wife and children, sir, why, heart alive! they would not go back to the seven days for all they could see." "Oh, very well," said the gentleman. "Don't trouble yourself, Mr. Barker, any further. I will inquire somewhere else," and he walked away. "Well," says Jerry to me, "we can't help it, Jack, old boy; we must have our Sundays." "Polly!" he shouted, "Polly! come here." She was there in a minute. "What is it all about, Jerry?" "Why, my dear, Mr. Briggs wants me to take Mrs. Briggs to church every Sunday morning. I say I have only a six-days' license. He says, 'Get a seven-days' license, and I'll make it worth your while;' and you know, Polly, they are very good customers to us. Mrs. Briggs often goes out shopping for hours, or making calls, and then she pays down fair and honorable like a lady; there's no beating down or making three hours into two hours and a half, as some folks do; and it is easy work for the horses; not like tearing along to catch trains for people that are always a quarter of an hour too late; and if I don't oblige her in this matter it is very likely we shall lose them altogether. What do you say, little woman?" "I say, Jerry," says she, speaking very slowly, "I say, if Mrs. Briggs would give you a sovereign every Sunday morning, I would not have you a seven-days' cabman again. We have known what it was to have no Sundays, and now we know what it is to call them our own. Thank God, you earn enough to keep us, though it is sometimes close work to pay for all the oats and hay, the license, and the rent besides; but Harry will soon be earning something, and I would rather struggle on harder than we do than go back to those horrid times when you hardly had a minute to look at your own children, and we never could go to a place of worship together, or have a happy, quiet day. God forbid that we should ever turn back to those times; that's what I say, Jerry." "And that is just what I told Mr. Briggs, my dear," said Jerry, "and what I mean to stick to. So don't go and fret yourself, Polly" (for she had begun to cry); "I would not go back to the old times if I earned twice as much, so that is settled, little woman. Now, cheer up, and I'll be off to the stand." Three weeks had passed away after this conversation, and no order had come from Mrs. Briggs; so there was nothing but taking jobs from the stand. Jerry took it to heart a good deal, for of course the work was harder for horse and man. But Polly would always cheer him up, and say, "Never mind, father, never, mind. "'Do your best, And leave the rest, 'Twill all come right Some day or night.'" It soon became known that Jerry had lost his best customer, and for what reason. Most of the men said he was a fool, but two or three took his part. "If workingmen don't stick to their Sunday," said Truman, "they'll soon have none left; it is every man's right and every beast's right. By God's law we have a day of rest, and by the law of England we have a day of rest; and I say we ought to hold to the rights these laws give us and keep them for our children." "All very well for you religious chaps to talk so," said Larry; "but I'll turn a shilling when I can. I don't believe in religion, for I don't see that your religious people are any better than the rest." "If they are not better," put in Jerry, "it is because they are not religious. You might as well say that our country's laws are not good because some people break them. If a man gives way to his temper, and speaks evil of his neighbor, and does not pay his debts, he is not religious, I don't care how much he goes to church. If some men are shams and humbugs, that does not make religion untrue. Real religion is the best and truest thing in the world, and the only thing that can make a man really happy or make the world we live in any better." "If religion was good for anything," said Jones, "it would prevent your religious people from making us work on Sundays, as you know many of them do, and that's why I say religion is nothing but a sham; why, if it was not for the church and chapel-goers it would be hardly worth while our coming out on a Sunday. But they have their privileges, as they call them, and I go without. I shall expect them to answer for my soul, if I can't get a chance of saving it." Several of the men applauded this, till Jerry said: "That may sound well enough, but it won't do; every man must look after his own soul; you can't lay it down at another man's door like a foundling and expect him to take care of it; and don't you see, if you are always sitting on your box waiting for a fare, they will say, 'If we don't take him some one else will, and he does not look for any Sunday.' Of course, they don't go to the bottom of it, or they would see if they never came for a cab it would be no use your standing there; but people don't always like to go to the bottom of things; it may not be convenient to do it; but if you Sunday drivers would all strike for a day of rest the thing would be done." "And what would all the good people do if they could not get to their favorite preachers?" said Larry. "'Tis not for me to lay down plans for other people," said Jerry, "but if they can't walk so far they can go to what is nearer; and if it should rain they can put on their mackintoshes as they do on a week-day. If a thing is right it can be done, and if it is wrong it can be done without; and a good man will find a way. And that is as true for us cabmen as it is for the church-goers." Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A:

One morning, a man approaches Jerry at the stable and asks if he could hire Jerry regularly to drive to church on Sundays since his wife can't walk that far. Jerry tells him he doesn't have the right sort of driving license, and the man--Mr. Briggs, we're assuming--tells Jerry that it wouldn't be a problem, and "Mrs. Briggs very much prefers you to drive her" . Jerry insists that a seven-day license is too exhausting, but Mr. Briggs continues to press Jerry, so Jerry busts out a lengthy, Bible-quoting explanation of why he won't drive on Sundays. At last, Briggs gives up. Jerry calls for his wife and tells her what's just happened, and asks her if he should have sacrificed his Sunday rule for this particular customer. Polly says she'd rather have him home on Sundays, even if Briggs agreed to give Jerry a sovereign once a week. She starts to get upset, and Jerry assures her he's told Briggs he'd never do it. This results in Jerry losing Mr. Briggs, who was his best customer, so his work gets a little bit harder. Which leads to a lively debate among the cab drivers about the merits of religion and working on Sundays. Jerry says religion is all about the way you behave, saying, "Real religion is the best and truest thing in the world and the only thing that can make a man really happy, or make the world any better" .

Chapter: 37 The Golden Rule Two or three weeks after this, as we came into the yard rather late in the evening, Polly came running across the road with the lantern (she always brought it to him if it was not very wet). "It has all come right, Jerry; Mrs. Briggs sent her servant this afternoon to ask you to take her out to-morrow at eleven o'clock. I said, 'Yes, I thought so, but we supposed she employed some one else now.'" "'Well,' said he, 'the real fact is, master was put out because Mr. Barker refused to come on Sundays, and he has been trying other cabs, but there's something wrong with them all; some drive too fast, and some too slow, and the mistress says there is not one of them so nice and clean as yours, and nothing will suit her but Mr. Barker's cab again.'" Polly was almost out of breath, and Jerry broke out into a merry laugh. "''Twill all come right some day or night': you were right, my dear; you generally are. Run in and get the supper, and I'll have Jack's harness off and make him snug and happy in no time." After this Mrs. Briggs wanted Jerry's cab quite as often as before, never, however, on a Sunday; but there came a day when we had Sunday work, and this was how it happened. We had all come home on the Saturday night very tired, and very glad to think that the next day would be all rest, but so it was not to be. On Sunday morning Jerry was cleaning me in the yard, when Polly stepped up to him, looking very full of something. "What is it?" said Jerry. "Well, my dear," she said, "poor Dinah Brown has just had a letter brought to say that her mother is dangerously ill, and that she must go directly if she wishes to see her alive. The place is more than ten miles away from here, out in the country, and she says if she takes the train she should still have four miles to walk; and so weak as she is, and the baby only four weeks old, of course that would be impossible; and she wants to know if you would take her in your cab, and she promises to pay you faithfully, as she can get the money." "Tut, tut! we'll see about that. It was not the money I was thinking about, but of losing our Sunday; the horses are tired, and I am tired, too--that's where it pinches." "It pinches all round, for that matter," said Polly, "for it's only half Sunday without you, but you know we should do to other people as we should like they should do to us; and I know very well what I should like if my mother was dying; and Jerry, dear, I am sure it won't break the Sabbath; for if pulling a poor beast or donkey out of a pit would not spoil it, I am quite sure taking poor Dinah would not do it." "Why, Polly, you are as good as the minister, and so, as I've had my Sunday-morning sermon early to-day, you may go and tell Dinah that I'll be ready for her as the clock strikes ten; but stop--just step round to butcher Braydon's with my compliments, and ask him if he would lend me his light trap; I know he never uses it on the Sunday, and it would make a wonderful difference to the horse." Away she went, and soon returned, saying that he could have the trap and welcome. "All right," said he; "now put me up a bit of bread and cheese, and I'll be back in the afternoon as soon as I can." "And I'll have the meat pie ready for an early tea instead of for dinner," said Polly; and away she went, while he made his preparations to the tune of "Polly's the woman and no mistake", of which tune he was very fond. I was selected for the journey, and at ten o'clock we started, in a light, high-wheeled gig, which ran so easily that after the four-wheeled cab it seemed like nothing. It was a fine May day, and as soon as we were out of the town, the sweet air, the smell of the fresh grass, and the soft country roads were as pleasant as they used to be in the old times, and I soon began to feel quite fresh. Dinah's family lived in a small farmhouse, up a green lane, close by a meadow with some fine shady trees; there were two cows feeding in it. A young man asked Jerry to bring his trap into the meadow, and he would tie me up in the cowshed; he wished he had a better stable to offer. "If your cows would not be offended," said Jerry, "there is nothing my horse would like so well as to have an hour or two in your beautiful meadow; he's quiet, and it would be a rare treat for him." "Do, and welcome," said the young man; "the best we have is at your service for your kindness to my sister; we shall be having some dinner in an hour, and I hope you'll come in, though with mother so ill we are all out of sorts in the house." Jerry thanked him kindly, but said as he had some dinner with him there was nothing he should like so well as walking about in the meadow. When my harness was taken off I did not know what I should do first--whether to eat the grass, or roll over on my back, or lie down and rest, or have a gallop across the meadow out of sheer spirits at being free; and I did all by turns. Jerry seemed to be quite as happy as I was; he sat down by a bank under a shady tree, and listened to the birds, then he sang himself, and read out of the little brown book he is so fond of, then wandered round the meadow, and down by a little brook, where he picked the flowers and the hawthorn, and tied them up with long sprays of ivy; then he gave me a good feed of the oats which he had brought with him; but the time seemed all too short--I had not been in a field since I left poor Ginger at Earlshall. We came home gently, and Jerry's first words were, as we came into the yard, "Well, Polly, I have not lost my Sunday after all, for the birds were singing hymns in every bush, and I joined in the service; and as for Jack, he was like a young colt." When he handed Dolly the flowers she jumped about for joy. Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A: In a perfect example of good karma, Mrs. Briggs sends a message to Jerry in a few weeks asking for a cab ride. The servant says they've been trying other cabs, but "there's something wrong with them all" . After that, Mr. Briggs is back on the good customer list, although he never again asks for a Sunday ride. However, Jerry does go out once on a Sunday, which Beauty explains. One Sunday Polly comes to Jerry with the news that her friend Dinah Brown's mother is seriously ill, and Dinah " must go directly if she wishes to see her alive" . Problem is, Dinah's mother lives ten miles out of town, a long walk from any train station, plus Dinah has a four-week-old baby. Polly asks Jerry to go, quoting the Golden Rule at him--"you know we should do to other people as we should like they should do to us" --so Jerry agrees, saying that Polly is "as good as the Minister" . They ride out of town to deliver Dinah on a beautiful May day. When they arrive, Jerry asks if Beauty can spend some time in the meadow. Beauty is ecstatic. They spend a blissful afternoon at the field, and it's been ages since Beauty's been in one--since Earlshall, in fact. At the end of the day, Jerry brings his daughter some flowers and comments on how happy Beauty was in the field.

Chapter: 37 The Golden Rule Two or three weeks after this, as we came into the yard rather late in the evening, Polly came running across the road with the lantern (she always brought it to him if it was not very wet). "It has all come right, Jerry; Mrs. Briggs sent her servant this afternoon to ask you to take her out to-morrow at eleven o'clock. I said, 'Yes, I thought so, but we supposed she employed some one else now.'" "'Well,' said he, 'the real fact is, master was put out because Mr. Barker refused to come on Sundays, and he has been trying other cabs, but there's something wrong with them all; some drive too fast, and some too slow, and the mistress says there is not one of them so nice and clean as yours, and nothing will suit her but Mr. Barker's cab again.'" Polly was almost out of breath, and Jerry broke out into a merry laugh. "''Twill all come right some day or night': you were right, my dear; you generally are. Run in and get the supper, and I'll have Jack's harness off and make him snug and happy in no time." After this Mrs. Briggs wanted Jerry's cab quite as often as before, never, however, on a Sunday; but there came a day when we had Sunday work, and this was how it happened. We had all come home on the Saturday night very tired, and very glad to think that the next day would be all rest, but so it was not to be. On Sunday morning Jerry was cleaning me in the yard, when Polly stepped up to him, looking very full of something. "What is it?" said Jerry. "Well, my dear," she said, "poor Dinah Brown has just had a letter brought to say that her mother is dangerously ill, and that she must go directly if she wishes to see her alive. The place is more than ten miles away from here, out in the country, and she says if she takes the train she should still have four miles to walk; and so weak as she is, and the baby only four weeks old, of course that would be impossible; and she wants to know if you would take her in your cab, and she promises to pay you faithfully, as she can get the money." "Tut, tut! we'll see about that. It was not the money I was thinking about, but of losing our Sunday; the horses are tired, and I am tired, too--that's where it pinches." "It pinches all round, for that matter," said Polly, "for it's only half Sunday without you, but you know we should do to other people as we should like they should do to us; and I know very well what I should like if my mother was dying; and Jerry, dear, I am sure it won't break the Sabbath; for if pulling a poor beast or donkey out of a pit would not spoil it, I am quite sure taking poor Dinah would not do it." "Why, Polly, you are as good as the minister, and so, as I've had my Sunday-morning sermon early to-day, you may go and tell Dinah that I'll be ready for her as the clock strikes ten; but stop--just step round to butcher Braydon's with my compliments, and ask him if he would lend me his light trap; I know he never uses it on the Sunday, and it would make a wonderful difference to the horse." Away she went, and soon returned, saying that he could have the trap and welcome. "All right," said he; "now put me up a bit of bread and cheese, and I'll be back in the afternoon as soon as I can." "And I'll have the meat pie ready for an early tea instead of for dinner," said Polly; and away she went, while he made his preparations to the tune of "Polly's the woman and no mistake", of which tune he was very fond. I was selected for the journey, and at ten o'clock we started, in a light, high-wheeled gig, which ran so easily that after the four-wheeled cab it seemed like nothing. It was a fine May day, and as soon as we were out of the town, the sweet air, the smell of the fresh grass, and the soft country roads were as pleasant as they used to be in the old times, and I soon began to feel quite fresh. Dinah's family lived in a small farmhouse, up a green lane, close by a meadow with some fine shady trees; there were two cows feeding in it. A young man asked Jerry to bring his trap into the meadow, and he would tie me up in the cowshed; he wished he had a better stable to offer. "If your cows would not be offended," said Jerry, "there is nothing my horse would like so well as to have an hour or two in your beautiful meadow; he's quiet, and it would be a rare treat for him." "Do, and welcome," said the young man; "the best we have is at your service for your kindness to my sister; we shall be having some dinner in an hour, and I hope you'll come in, though with mother so ill we are all out of sorts in the house." Jerry thanked him kindly, but said as he had some dinner with him there was nothing he should like so well as walking about in the meadow. When my harness was taken off I did not know what I should do first--whether to eat the grass, or roll over on my back, or lie down and rest, or have a gallop across the meadow out of sheer spirits at being free; and I did all by turns. Jerry seemed to be quite as happy as I was; he sat down by a bank under a shady tree, and listened to the birds, then he sang himself, and read out of the little brown book he is so fond of, then wandered round the meadow, and down by a little brook, where he picked the flowers and the hawthorn, and tied them up with long sprays of ivy; then he gave me a good feed of the oats which he had brought with him; but the time seemed all too short--I had not been in a field since I left poor Ginger at Earlshall. We came home gently, and Jerry's first words were, as we came into the yard, "Well, Polly, I have not lost my Sunday after all, for the birds were singing hymns in every bush, and I joined in the service; and as for Jack, he was like a young colt." When he handed Dolly the flowers she jumped about for joy. Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A:

In a perfect example of good karma, Mrs. Briggs sends a message to Jerry in a few weeks asking for a cab ride. The servant says they've been trying other cabs, but "there's something wrong with them all" . After that, Mr. Briggs is back on the good customer list, although he never again asks for a Sunday ride. However, Jerry does go out once on a Sunday, which Beauty explains. One Sunday Polly comes to Jerry with the news that her friend Dinah Brown's mother is seriously ill, and Dinah " must go directly if she wishes to see her alive" . Problem is, Dinah's mother lives ten miles out of town, a long walk from any train station, plus Dinah has a four-week-old baby. Polly asks Jerry to go, quoting the Golden Rule at him--"you know we should do to other people as we should like they should do to us" --so Jerry agrees, saying that Polly is "as good as the Minister" . They ride out of town to deliver Dinah on a beautiful May day. When they arrive, Jerry asks if Beauty can spend some time in the meadow. Beauty is ecstatic. They spend a blissful afternoon at the field, and it's been ages since Beauty's been in one--since Earlshall, in fact. At the end of the day, Jerry brings his daughter some flowers and comments on how happy Beauty was in the field.

Chapter: 38 Dolly and a Real Gentleman Winter came in early, with a great deal of cold and wet. There was snow, or sleet, or rain almost every day for weeks, changing only for keen driving winds or sharp frosts. The horses all felt it very much. When it is a dry cold a couple of good thick rugs will keep the warmth in us; but when it is soaking rain they soon get wet through and are no good. Some of the drivers had a waterproof cover to throw over, which was a fine thing; but some of the men were so poor that they could not protect either themselves or their horses, and many of them suffered very much that winter. When we horses had worked half the day we went to our dry stables, and could rest, while they had to sit on their boxes, sometimes staying out as late as one or two o'clock in the morning if they had a party to wait for. When the streets were slippery with frost or snow that was the worst of all for us horses. One mile of such traveling, with a weight to draw and no firm footing, would take more out of us than four on a good road; every nerve and muscle of our bodies is on the strain to keep our balance; and, added to this, the fear of falling is more exhausting than anything else. If the roads are very bad indeed our shoes are roughed, but that makes us feel nervous at first. When the weather was very bad many of the men would go and sit in the tavern close by, and get some one to watch for them; but they often lost a fare in that way, and could not, as Jerry said, be there without spending money. He never went to the Rising Sun; there was a coffee-shop near, where he now and then went, or he bought of an old man, who came to our rank with tins of hot coffee and pies. It was his opinion that spirits and beer made a man colder afterward, and that dry clothes, good food, cheerfulness, and a comfortable wife at home, were the best things to keep a cabman warm. Polly always supplied him with something to eat when he could not get home, and sometimes he would see little Dolly peeping from the corner of the street, to make sure if "father" was on the stand. If she saw him she would run off at full speed and soon come back with something in a tin or basket, some hot soup or pudding Polly had ready. It was wonderful how such a little thing could get safely across the street, often thronged with horses and carriages; but she was a brave little maid, and felt it quite an honor to bring "father's first course", as he used to call it. She was a general favorite on the stand, and there was not a man who would not have seen her safely across the street, if Jerry had not been able to do it. One cold windy day Dolly had brought Jerry a basin of something hot, and was standing by him while he ate it. He had scarcely begun when a gentleman, walking toward us very fast, held up his umbrella. Jerry touched his hat in return, gave the basin to Dolly, and was taking off my cloth, when the gentleman, hastening up, cried out, "No, no, finish your soup, my friend; I have not much time to spare, but I can wait till you have done, and set your little girl safe on the pavement." So saying, he seated himself in the cab. Jerry thanked him kindly, and came back to Dolly. "There, Dolly, that's a gentleman; that's a real gentleman, Dolly; he has got time and thought for the comfort of a poor cabman and a little girl." Jerry finished his soup, set the child across, and then took his orders to drive to Clapham Rise. Several times after that the same gentleman took our cab. I think he was very fond of dogs and horses, for whenever we took him to his own door two or three dogs would come bounding out to meet him. Sometimes he came round and patted me, saying in his quiet, pleasant way, "This horse has got a good master, and he deserves it." It was a very rare thing for any one to notice the horse that had been working for him. I have known ladies to do it now and then, and this gentleman, and one or two others have given me a pat and a kind word; but ninety-nine persons out of a hundred would as soon think of patting the steam engine that drew the train. The gentleman was not young, and there was a forward stoop in his shoulders as if he was always going at something. His lips were thin and close shut, though they had a very pleasant smile; his eye was keen, and there was something in his jaw and the motion of his head that made one think he was very determined in anything he set about. His voice was pleasant and kind; any horse would trust that voice, though it was just as decided as everything else about him. One day he and another gentleman took our cab; they stopped at a shop in R---- Street, and while his friend went in he stood at the door. A little ahead of us on the other side of the street a cart with two very fine horses was standing before some wine vaults; the carter was not with them, and I cannot tell how long they had been standing, but they seemed to think they had waited long enough, and began to move off. Before they had gone many paces the carter came running out and caught them. He seemed furious at their having moved, and with whip and rein punished them brutally, even beating them about the head. Our gentleman saw it all, and stepping quickly across the street, said in a decided voice: "If you don't stop that directly, I'll have you arrested for leaving your horses, and for brutal conduct." The man, who had clearly been drinking, poured forth some abusive language, but he left off knocking the horses about, and taking the reins, got into his cart; meantime our friend had quietly taken a note-book from his pocket, and looking at the name and address painted on the cart, he wrote something down. "What do you want with that?" growled the carter, as he cracked his whip and was moving on. A nod and a grim smile was the only answer he got. On returning to the cab our friend was joined by his companion, who said laughingly, "I should have thought, Wright, you had enough business of your own to look after, without troubling yourself about other people's horses and servants." Our friend stood still for a moment, and throwing his head a little back, "Do you know why this world is as bad as it is?" "No," said the other. "Then I'll tell you. It is because people think only about their own business, and won't trouble themselves to stand up for the oppressed, nor bring the wrongdoer to light. I never see a wicked thing like this without doing what I can, and many a master has thanked me for letting him know how his horses have been used." "I wish there were more gentlemen like you, sir," said Jerry, "for they are wanted badly enough in this city." After this we continued our journey, and as they got out of the cab our friend was saying, "My doctrine is this, that if we see cruelty or wrong that we have the power to stop, and do nothing, we make ourselves sharers in the guilt." Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A: Winter in London is brutal and especially hard for cab horses since they have to wait outside for hours for their fares to return from parties and other events. The weather doesn't make things easy: "When the streets were slippery with frost or snow, that was the worst of all for us horses" . Some of the cab drivers go to pubs to wait, but Jerry prefers sitting in a coffee shop since he doesn't drink. "It was his opinion that spirits and beer made a man colder afterwards, and that dry clothes, good food, cheerfulness, and a comfortable wife at home were the best things to keep a cabman warm" , Beauty says of his master. Polly and Dolly do their best to make sure Jerry has warm food on cold days, and little Dolly often crosses the street to deliver it. One day, a man looking to hire Jerry's cab sees Dolly cross the street, and waits to make sure Jerry gets Dolly across the street safely before they leave. Jerry tells Dolly, "...that's a gentleman; that's a real gentleman, Dolly. He has got time and thought for the comfort of a poor cabman and a little girl" . This gentleman becomes a regular customer, and they discover he owns several dogs and is fond of horses. As Beauty remarks, "It was a very rare thing for any one to notice the horse that had been working for him" . On one outing, the gentleman comes out of a shop to see a man whip his horses for moving forward at the wrong time. The kind gentleman tells the man to stop and threatens to get him arrested. After the man rudely departs, Beauty's gentleman takes down his license number . When his friend asks him why he bothered, the gentleman says, "My doctrine is this, that if we see cruelty or wrong that we have the power to stop, and do nothing, we make ourselves sharers in the guilt" . Deep stuff for a cab ride.

Chapter: 38 Dolly and a Real Gentleman Winter came in early, with a great deal of cold and wet. There was snow, or sleet, or rain almost every day for weeks, changing only for keen driving winds or sharp frosts. The horses all felt it very much. When it is a dry cold a couple of good thick rugs will keep the warmth in us; but when it is soaking rain they soon get wet through and are no good. Some of the drivers had a waterproof cover to throw over, which was a fine thing; but some of the men were so poor that they could not protect either themselves or their horses, and many of them suffered very much that winter. When we horses had worked half the day we went to our dry stables, and could rest, while they had to sit on their boxes, sometimes staying out as late as one or two o'clock in the morning if they had a party to wait for. When the streets were slippery with frost or snow that was the worst of all for us horses. One mile of such traveling, with a weight to draw and no firm footing, would take more out of us than four on a good road; every nerve and muscle of our bodies is on the strain to keep our balance; and, added to this, the fear of falling is more exhausting than anything else. If the roads are very bad indeed our shoes are roughed, but that makes us feel nervous at first. When the weather was very bad many of the men would go and sit in the tavern close by, and get some one to watch for them; but they often lost a fare in that way, and could not, as Jerry said, be there without spending money. He never went to the Rising Sun; there was a coffee-shop near, where he now and then went, or he bought of an old man, who came to our rank with tins of hot coffee and pies. It was his opinion that spirits and beer made a man colder afterward, and that dry clothes, good food, cheerfulness, and a comfortable wife at home, were the best things to keep a cabman warm. Polly always supplied him with something to eat when he could not get home, and sometimes he would see little Dolly peeping from the corner of the street, to make sure if "father" was on the stand. If she saw him she would run off at full speed and soon come back with something in a tin or basket, some hot soup or pudding Polly had ready. It was wonderful how such a little thing could get safely across the street, often thronged with horses and carriages; but she was a brave little maid, and felt it quite an honor to bring "father's first course", as he used to call it. She was a general favorite on the stand, and there was not a man who would not have seen her safely across the street, if Jerry had not been able to do it. One cold windy day Dolly had brought Jerry a basin of something hot, and was standing by him while he ate it. He had scarcely begun when a gentleman, walking toward us very fast, held up his umbrella. Jerry touched his hat in return, gave the basin to Dolly, and was taking off my cloth, when the gentleman, hastening up, cried out, "No, no, finish your soup, my friend; I have not much time to spare, but I can wait till you have done, and set your little girl safe on the pavement." So saying, he seated himself in the cab. Jerry thanked him kindly, and came back to Dolly. "There, Dolly, that's a gentleman; that's a real gentleman, Dolly; he has got time and thought for the comfort of a poor cabman and a little girl." Jerry finished his soup, set the child across, and then took his orders to drive to Clapham Rise. Several times after that the same gentleman took our cab. I think he was very fond of dogs and horses, for whenever we took him to his own door two or three dogs would come bounding out to meet him. Sometimes he came round and patted me, saying in his quiet, pleasant way, "This horse has got a good master, and he deserves it." It was a very rare thing for any one to notice the horse that had been working for him. I have known ladies to do it now and then, and this gentleman, and one or two others have given me a pat and a kind word; but ninety-nine persons out of a hundred would as soon think of patting the steam engine that drew the train. The gentleman was not young, and there was a forward stoop in his shoulders as if he was always going at something. His lips were thin and close shut, though they had a very pleasant smile; his eye was keen, and there was something in his jaw and the motion of his head that made one think he was very determined in anything he set about. His voice was pleasant and kind; any horse would trust that voice, though it was just as decided as everything else about him. One day he and another gentleman took our cab; they stopped at a shop in R---- Street, and while his friend went in he stood at the door. A little ahead of us on the other side of the street a cart with two very fine horses was standing before some wine vaults; the carter was not with them, and I cannot tell how long they had been standing, but they seemed to think they had waited long enough, and began to move off. Before they had gone many paces the carter came running out and caught them. He seemed furious at their having moved, and with whip and rein punished them brutally, even beating them about the head. Our gentleman saw it all, and stepping quickly across the street, said in a decided voice: "If you don't stop that directly, I'll have you arrested for leaving your horses, and for brutal conduct." The man, who had clearly been drinking, poured forth some abusive language, but he left off knocking the horses about, and taking the reins, got into his cart; meantime our friend had quietly taken a note-book from his pocket, and looking at the name and address painted on the cart, he wrote something down. "What do you want with that?" growled the carter, as he cracked his whip and was moving on. A nod and a grim smile was the only answer he got. On returning to the cab our friend was joined by his companion, who said laughingly, "I should have thought, Wright, you had enough business of your own to look after, without troubling yourself about other people's horses and servants." Our friend stood still for a moment, and throwing his head a little back, "Do you know why this world is as bad as it is?" "No," said the other. "Then I'll tell you. It is because people think only about their own business, and won't trouble themselves to stand up for the oppressed, nor bring the wrongdoer to light. I never see a wicked thing like this without doing what I can, and many a master has thanked me for letting him know how his horses have been used." "I wish there were more gentlemen like you, sir," said Jerry, "for they are wanted badly enough in this city." After this we continued our journey, and as they got out of the cab our friend was saying, "My doctrine is this, that if we see cruelty or wrong that we have the power to stop, and do nothing, we make ourselves sharers in the guilt." Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A:

Winter in London is brutal and especially hard for cab horses since they have to wait outside for hours for their fares to return from parties and other events. The weather doesn't make things easy: "When the streets were slippery with frost or snow, that was the worst of all for us horses" . Some of the cab drivers go to pubs to wait, but Jerry prefers sitting in a coffee shop since he doesn't drink. "It was his opinion that spirits and beer made a man colder afterwards, and that dry clothes, good food, cheerfulness, and a comfortable wife at home were the best things to keep a cabman warm" , Beauty says of his master. Polly and Dolly do their best to make sure Jerry has warm food on cold days, and little Dolly often crosses the street to deliver it. One day, a man looking to hire Jerry's cab sees Dolly cross the street, and waits to make sure Jerry gets Dolly across the street safely before they leave. Jerry tells Dolly, "...that's a gentleman; that's a real gentleman, Dolly. He has got time and thought for the comfort of a poor cabman and a little girl" . This gentleman becomes a regular customer, and they discover he owns several dogs and is fond of horses. As Beauty remarks, "It was a very rare thing for any one to notice the horse that had been working for him" . On one outing, the gentleman comes out of a shop to see a man whip his horses for moving forward at the wrong time. The kind gentleman tells the man to stop and threatens to get him arrested. After the man rudely departs, Beauty's gentleman takes down his license number . When his friend asks him why he bothered, the gentleman says, "My doctrine is this, that if we see cruelty or wrong that we have the power to stop, and do nothing, we make ourselves sharers in the guilt" . Deep stuff for a cab ride.

Chapter: 39 Seedy Sam I should say that for a cab-horse I was very well off indeed; my driver was my owner, and it was his interest to treat me well and not overwork me, even had he not been so good a man as he was; but there were a great many horses which belonged to the large cab-owners, who let them out to their drivers for so much money a day. As the horses did not belong to these men the only thing they thought of was how to get their money out of them, first, to pay the master, and then to provide for their own living; and a dreadful time some of these horses had of it. Of course, I understood but little, but it was often talked over on the stand, and the governor, who was a kind-hearted man and fond of horses, would sometimes speak up if one came in very much jaded or ill-used. One day a shabby, miserable-looking driver, who went by the name of "Seedy Sam", brought in his horse looking dreadfully beat, and the governor said: "You and your horse look more fit for the police station than for this rank." The man flung his tattered rug over the horse, turned full round upon the Governor and said in a voice that sounded almost desperate: "If the police have any business with the matter it ought to be with the masters who charge us so much, or with the fares that are fixed so low. If a man has to pay eighteen shillings a day for the use of a cab and two horses, as many of us have to do in the season, and must make that up before we earn a penny for ourselves I say 'tis more than hard work; nine shillings a day to get out of each horse before you begin to get your own living. You know that's true, and if the horses don't work we must starve, and I and my children have known what that is before now. I've six of 'em, and only one earns anything; I am on the stand fourteen or sixteen hours a day, and I haven't had a Sunday these ten or twelve weeks; you know Skinner never gives a day if he can help it, and if I don't work hard, tell me who does! I want a warm coat and a mackintosh, but with so many to feed how can a man get it? I had to pledge my clock a week ago to pay Skinner, and I shall never see it again." Some of the other drivers stood round nodding their heads and saying he was right. The man went on: "You that have your own horses and cabs, or drive for good masters, have a chance of getting on and a chance of doing right; I haven't. We can't charge more than sixpence a mile after the first, within the four-mile radius. This very morning I had to go a clear six miles and only took three shillings. I could not get a return fare, and had to come all the way back; there's twelve miles for the horse and three shillings for me. After that I had a three-mile fare, and there were bags and boxes enough to have brought in a good many twopences if they had been put outside; but you know how people do; all that could be piled up inside on the front seat were put in and three heavy boxes went on the top. That was sixpence, and the fare one and sixpence; then I got a return for a shilling. Now that makes eighteen miles for the horse and six shillings for me; there's three shillings still for that horse to earn and nine shillings for the afternoon horse before I touch a penny. Of course, it is not always so bad as that, but you know it often is, and I say 'tis a mockery to tell a man that he must not overwork his horse, for when a beast is downright tired there's nothing but the whip that will keep his legs a-going; you can't help yourself--you must put your wife and children before the horse; the masters must look to that, we can't. I don't ill-use my horse for the sake of it; none of you can say I do. There's wrong lays somewhere--never a day's rest, never a quiet hour with the wife and children. I often feel like an old man, though I'm only forty-five. You know how quick some of the gentry are to suspect us of cheating and overcharging; why, they stand with their purses in their hands counting it over to a penny and looking at us as if we were pickpockets. I wish some of 'em had got to sit on my box sixteen hours a day and get a living out of it and eighteen shillings beside, and that in all weathers; they would not be so uncommon particular never to give us a sixpence over or to cram all the luggage inside. Of course, some of 'em tip us pretty handsome now and then, or else we could not live; but you can't depend upon that." The men who stood round much approved this speech, and one of them said, "It is desperate hard, and if a man sometimes does what is wrong it is no wonder, and if he gets a dram too much who's to blow him up?" Jerry had taken no part in this conversation, but I never saw his face look so sad before. The governor had stood with both his hands in his pockets; now he took his handkerchief out of his hat and wiped his forehead. "You've beaten me, Sam," he said, "for it's all true, and I won't cast it up to you any more about the police; it was the look in that horse's eye that came over me. It is hard lines for man and it is hard lines for beast, and who's to mend it I don't know: but anyway you might tell the poor beast that you were sorry to take it out of him in that way. Sometimes a kind word is all we can give 'em, poor brutes, and 'tis wonderful what they do understand." A few mornings after this talk a new man came on the stand with Sam's cab. "Halloo!" said one, "what's up with Seedy Sam?" "He's ill in bed," said the man; "he was taken last night in the yard, and could scarcely crawl home. His wife sent a boy this morning to say his father was in a high fever and could not get out, so I'm here instead." The next morning the same man came again. "How is Sam?" inquired the governor. "He's gone," said the man. "What, gone? You don't mean to say he's dead?" "Just snuffed out," said the other; "he died at four o'clock this morning; all yesterday he was raving--raving about Skinner, and having no Sundays. 'I never had a Sunday's rest,' these were his last words." No one spoke for a while, and then the governor said, "I'll tell you what, mates, this is a warning for us." Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A: Beauty takes a minute to explain that his life with Jerry is much better than the lives of many other cab horses. Jerry owns Beauty, and thus it's in his best interest to treat Beauty well. But other drivers who don't own their horses don't behave the same way--" the only thing they thought of was how to get their money out of them" . But Jerry and Governor Grey are both kind and concerned when it comes to horses. One day a "shabby, miserable-looking" driver, by the name of "Seedy Sam" , brings in a sad, unhealthy-looking horse. The Governor comments that Sam belongs in the police station, and Sam gives a surprising response: He describes the desperate conditions of cab driving, the high cost of renting a horse and cab, the fixed low fares, and the incredibly long hours. "I am on the stand fourteen or sixteen hours a day" , Sam explains--what's more, he has six kids to feed. Sam continues to detail the difficulties of making money as a cab driver, ranting, " I say 'tis a mockery to tell a man that he must not overwork his horse, for when a beast is downright tired, there's nothing but the whip that will keep his legs a-going you must put your wife and children before the horse" . The Governor and Jerry are pretty sad after Sam's speech, and admit that Sam's right. "It is hard lines for man, and hard lines for beast, and who's to mend it I don't know" , the Governor says. But he asks Sam to spare a kind word for his horse once in a while. A few days later, a new man shows up with Sam's cab, and says that Sam is ill. And the next day, he comes back and says Sam is dead. Sam's last words? "I never had a Sunday's rest" . Poor Sam. The Governor says that Sam's death is a warning to the rest of the cabbies. But what are they supposed to do about it? We're not sure.

Chapter: 39 Seedy Sam I should say that for a cab-horse I was very well off indeed; my driver was my owner, and it was his interest to treat me well and not overwork me, even had he not been so good a man as he was; but there were a great many horses which belonged to the large cab-owners, who let them out to their drivers for so much money a day. As the horses did not belong to these men the only thing they thought of was how to get their money out of them, first, to pay the master, and then to provide for their own living; and a dreadful time some of these horses had of it. Of course, I understood but little, but it was often talked over on the stand, and the governor, who was a kind-hearted man and fond of horses, would sometimes speak up if one came in very much jaded or ill-used. One day a shabby, miserable-looking driver, who went by the name of "Seedy Sam", brought in his horse looking dreadfully beat, and the governor said: "You and your horse look more fit for the police station than for this rank." The man flung his tattered rug over the horse, turned full round upon the Governor and said in a voice that sounded almost desperate: "If the police have any business with the matter it ought to be with the masters who charge us so much, or with the fares that are fixed so low. If a man has to pay eighteen shillings a day for the use of a cab and two horses, as many of us have to do in the season, and must make that up before we earn a penny for ourselves I say 'tis more than hard work; nine shillings a day to get out of each horse before you begin to get your own living. You know that's true, and if the horses don't work we must starve, and I and my children have known what that is before now. I've six of 'em, and only one earns anything; I am on the stand fourteen or sixteen hours a day, and I haven't had a Sunday these ten or twelve weeks; you know Skinner never gives a day if he can help it, and if I don't work hard, tell me who does! I want a warm coat and a mackintosh, but with so many to feed how can a man get it? I had to pledge my clock a week ago to pay Skinner, and I shall never see it again." Some of the other drivers stood round nodding their heads and saying he was right. The man went on: "You that have your own horses and cabs, or drive for good masters, have a chance of getting on and a chance of doing right; I haven't. We can't charge more than sixpence a mile after the first, within the four-mile radius. This very morning I had to go a clear six miles and only took three shillings. I could not get a return fare, and had to come all the way back; there's twelve miles for the horse and three shillings for me. After that I had a three-mile fare, and there were bags and boxes enough to have brought in a good many twopences if they had been put outside; but you know how people do; all that could be piled up inside on the front seat were put in and three heavy boxes went on the top. That was sixpence, and the fare one and sixpence; then I got a return for a shilling. Now that makes eighteen miles for the horse and six shillings for me; there's three shillings still for that horse to earn and nine shillings for the afternoon horse before I touch a penny. Of course, it is not always so bad as that, but you know it often is, and I say 'tis a mockery to tell a man that he must not overwork his horse, for when a beast is downright tired there's nothing but the whip that will keep his legs a-going; you can't help yourself--you must put your wife and children before the horse; the masters must look to that, we can't. I don't ill-use my horse for the sake of it; none of you can say I do. There's wrong lays somewhere--never a day's rest, never a quiet hour with the wife and children. I often feel like an old man, though I'm only forty-five. You know how quick some of the gentry are to suspect us of cheating and overcharging; why, they stand with their purses in their hands counting it over to a penny and looking at us as if we were pickpockets. I wish some of 'em had got to sit on my box sixteen hours a day and get a living out of it and eighteen shillings beside, and that in all weathers; they would not be so uncommon particular never to give us a sixpence over or to cram all the luggage inside. Of course, some of 'em tip us pretty handsome now and then, or else we could not live; but you can't depend upon that." The men who stood round much approved this speech, and one of them said, "It is desperate hard, and if a man sometimes does what is wrong it is no wonder, and if he gets a dram too much who's to blow him up?" Jerry had taken no part in this conversation, but I never saw his face look so sad before. The governor had stood with both his hands in his pockets; now he took his handkerchief out of his hat and wiped his forehead. "You've beaten me, Sam," he said, "for it's all true, and I won't cast it up to you any more about the police; it was the look in that horse's eye that came over me. It is hard lines for man and it is hard lines for beast, and who's to mend it I don't know: but anyway you might tell the poor beast that you were sorry to take it out of him in that way. Sometimes a kind word is all we can give 'em, poor brutes, and 'tis wonderful what they do understand." A few mornings after this talk a new man came on the stand with Sam's cab. "Halloo!" said one, "what's up with Seedy Sam?" "He's ill in bed," said the man; "he was taken last night in the yard, and could scarcely crawl home. His wife sent a boy this morning to say his father was in a high fever and could not get out, so I'm here instead." The next morning the same man came again. "How is Sam?" inquired the governor. "He's gone," said the man. "What, gone? You don't mean to say he's dead?" "Just snuffed out," said the other; "he died at four o'clock this morning; all yesterday he was raving--raving about Skinner, and having no Sundays. 'I never had a Sunday's rest,' these were his last words." No one spoke for a while, and then the governor said, "I'll tell you what, mates, this is a warning for us." Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A:

Beauty takes a minute to explain that his life with Jerry is much better than the lives of many other cab horses. Jerry owns Beauty, and thus it's in his best interest to treat Beauty well. But other drivers who don't own their horses don't behave the same way--" the only thing they thought of was how to get their money out of them" . But Jerry and Governor Grey are both kind and concerned when it comes to horses. One day a "shabby, miserable-looking" driver, by the name of "Seedy Sam" , brings in a sad, unhealthy-looking horse. The Governor comments that Sam belongs in the police station, and Sam gives a surprising response: He describes the desperate conditions of cab driving, the high cost of renting a horse and cab, the fixed low fares, and the incredibly long hours. "I am on the stand fourteen or sixteen hours a day" , Sam explains--what's more, he has six kids to feed. Sam continues to detail the difficulties of making money as a cab driver, ranting, " I say 'tis a mockery to tell a man that he must not overwork his horse, for when a beast is downright tired, there's nothing but the whip that will keep his legs a-going you must put your wife and children before the horse" . The Governor and Jerry are pretty sad after Sam's speech, and admit that Sam's right. "It is hard lines for man, and hard lines for beast, and who's to mend it I don't know" , the Governor says. But he asks Sam to spare a kind word for his horse once in a while. A few days later, a new man shows up with Sam's cab, and says that Sam is ill. And the next day, he comes back and says Sam is dead. Sam's last words? "I never had a Sunday's rest" . Poor Sam. The Governor says that Sam's death is a warning to the rest of the cabbies. But what are they supposed to do about it? We're not sure.

Chapter: 40 Poor Ginger One day, while our cab and many others were waiting outside one of the parks where music was playing, a shabby old cab drove up beside ours. The horse was an old worn-out chestnut, with an ill-kept coat, and bones that showed plainly through it, the knees knuckled over, and the fore-legs were very unsteady. I had been eating some hay, and the wind rolled a little lock of it that way, and the poor creature put out her long thin neck and picked it up, and then turned and looked about for more. There was a hopeless look in the dull eye that I could not help noticing, and then, as I was thinking where I had seen that horse before, she looked full at me and said, "Black Beauty, is that you?" It was Ginger! but how changed! The beautifully arched and glossy neck was now straight, and lank, and fallen in; the clean straight legs and delicate fetlocks were swelled; the joints were grown out of shape with hard work; the face, that was once so full of spirit and life, was now full of suffering, and I could tell by the heaving of her sides, and her frequent cough, how bad her breath was. Our drivers were standing together a little way off, so I sidled up to her a step or two, that we might have a little quiet talk. It was a sad tale that she had to tell. After a twelvemonth's run off at Earlshall, she was considered to be fit for work again, and was sold to a gentleman. For a little while she got on very well, but after a longer gallop than usual the old strain returned, and after being rested and doctored she was again sold. In this way she changed hands several times, but always getting lower down. "And so at last," said she, "I was bought by a man who keeps a number of cabs and horses, and lets them out. You look well off, and I am glad of it, but I could not tell you what my life has been. When they found out my weakness they said I was not worth what they gave for me, and that I must go into one of the low cabs, and just be used up; that is what they are doing, whipping and working with never one thought of what I suffer--they paid for me, and must get it out of me, they say. The man who hires me now pays a deal of money to the owner every day, and so he has to get it out of me too; and so it's all the week round and round, with never a Sunday rest." I said, "You used to stand up for yourself if you were ill-used." "Ah!" she said, "I did once, but it's no use; men are strongest, and if they are cruel and have no feeling, there is nothing that we can do, but just bear it--bear it on and on to the end. I wish the end was come, I wish I was dead. I have seen dead horses, and I am sure they do not suffer pain; I wish I may drop down dead at my work, and not be sent off to the knackers." I was very much troubled, and I put my nose up to hers, but I could say nothing to comfort her. I think she was pleased to see me, for she said, "You are the only friend I ever had." Just then her driver came up, and with a tug at her mouth backed her out of the line and drove off, leaving me very sad indeed. A short time after this a cart with a dead horse in it passed our cab-stand. The head hung out of the cart-tail, the lifeless tongue was slowly dropping with blood; and the sunken eyes! but I can't speak of them, the sight was too dreadful. It was a chestnut horse with a long, thin neck. I saw a white streak down the forehead. I believe it was Ginger; I hoped it was, for then her troubles would be over. Oh! if men were more merciful they would shoot us before we came to such misery. Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A: Beauty's world is starting to look a little bit grim. One day, another cab pulls up next to Beauty's, and the horse pulling it is " an old worn-out chestnut, with an ill-kept coat, and bones that showed plainly through it" . This unrecognizable horse looks at Beauty and says, "Black Beauty, is that you?" . Guess who it is? It's Beauty's old friend Ginger. Beauty reflects that she looks terrible, and they're able to talk for a minute. Ginger tells Beauty that she's been sold several times, but she's always moving down the ranks. At last she was bought by a man who rents out horses and cabs, who declared her worthless and has put her to work until she's "used up" . Oh, Ginger. Poor Ginger tells Beauty she wishes she were dead. Beauty is very upset, and puts his nose to hers, but can't think of a way to comfort her. Ginger tells him, "You are the only friend I ever had" , and then she drives off. Some time later, Beauty sees a cart with a dead horse on it and describes the terrible sight of that horse. And sadly, the horse is familiar--a chestnut horse with a thin neck and a white streak on its forehead. Beauty says, "I believe it was Ginger; I hoped it was, for then her troubles would be over" . If our hearts weren't broken before, they are now.

Chapter: 40 Poor Ginger One day, while our cab and many others were waiting outside one of the parks where music was playing, a shabby old cab drove up beside ours. The horse was an old worn-out chestnut, with an ill-kept coat, and bones that showed plainly through it, the knees knuckled over, and the fore-legs were very unsteady. I had been eating some hay, and the wind rolled a little lock of it that way, and the poor creature put out her long thin neck and picked it up, and then turned and looked about for more. There was a hopeless look in the dull eye that I could not help noticing, and then, as I was thinking where I had seen that horse before, she looked full at me and said, "Black Beauty, is that you?" It was Ginger! but how changed! The beautifully arched and glossy neck was now straight, and lank, and fallen in; the clean straight legs and delicate fetlocks were swelled; the joints were grown out of shape with hard work; the face, that was once so full of spirit and life, was now full of suffering, and I could tell by the heaving of her sides, and her frequent cough, how bad her breath was. Our drivers were standing together a little way off, so I sidled up to her a step or two, that we might have a little quiet talk. It was a sad tale that she had to tell. After a twelvemonth's run off at Earlshall, she was considered to be fit for work again, and was sold to a gentleman. For a little while she got on very well, but after a longer gallop than usual the old strain returned, and after being rested and doctored she was again sold. In this way she changed hands several times, but always getting lower down. "And so at last," said she, "I was bought by a man who keeps a number of cabs and horses, and lets them out. You look well off, and I am glad of it, but I could not tell you what my life has been. When they found out my weakness they said I was not worth what they gave for me, and that I must go into one of the low cabs, and just be used up; that is what they are doing, whipping and working with never one thought of what I suffer--they paid for me, and must get it out of me, they say. The man who hires me now pays a deal of money to the owner every day, and so he has to get it out of me too; and so it's all the week round and round, with never a Sunday rest." I said, "You used to stand up for yourself if you were ill-used." "Ah!" she said, "I did once, but it's no use; men are strongest, and if they are cruel and have no feeling, there is nothing that we can do, but just bear it--bear it on and on to the end. I wish the end was come, I wish I was dead. I have seen dead horses, and I am sure they do not suffer pain; I wish I may drop down dead at my work, and not be sent off to the knackers." I was very much troubled, and I put my nose up to hers, but I could say nothing to comfort her. I think she was pleased to see me, for she said, "You are the only friend I ever had." Just then her driver came up, and with a tug at her mouth backed her out of the line and drove off, leaving me very sad indeed. A short time after this a cart with a dead horse in it passed our cab-stand. The head hung out of the cart-tail, the lifeless tongue was slowly dropping with blood; and the sunken eyes! but I can't speak of them, the sight was too dreadful. It was a chestnut horse with a long, thin neck. I saw a white streak down the forehead. I believe it was Ginger; I hoped it was, for then her troubles would be over. Oh! if men were more merciful they would shoot us before we came to such misery. Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A:

Beauty's world is starting to look a little bit grim. One day, another cab pulls up next to Beauty's, and the horse pulling it is " an old worn-out chestnut, with an ill-kept coat, and bones that showed plainly through it" . This unrecognizable horse looks at Beauty and says, "Black Beauty, is that you?" . Guess who it is? It's Beauty's old friend Ginger. Beauty reflects that she looks terrible, and they're able to talk for a minute. Ginger tells Beauty that she's been sold several times, but she's always moving down the ranks. At last she was bought by a man who rents out horses and cabs, who declared her worthless and has put her to work until she's "used up" . Oh, Ginger. Poor Ginger tells Beauty she wishes she were dead. Beauty is very upset, and puts his nose to hers, but can't think of a way to comfort her. Ginger tells him, "You are the only friend I ever had" , and then she drives off. Some time later, Beauty sees a cart with a dead horse on it and describes the terrible sight of that horse. And sadly, the horse is familiar--a chestnut horse with a thin neck and a white streak on its forehead. Beauty says, "I believe it was Ginger; I hoped it was, for then her troubles would be over" . If our hearts weren't broken before, they are now.

Chapter: 41 The Butcher I saw a great deal of trouble among the horses in London, and much of it might have been prevented by a little common sense. We horses do not mind hard work if we are treated reasonably, and I am sure there are many driven by quite poor men who have a happier life than I had when I used to go in the Countess of W----'s carriage, with my silver-mounted harness and high feeding. It often went to my heart to see how the little ponies were used, straining along with heavy loads or staggering under heavy blows from some low, cruel boy. Once I saw a little gray pony with a thick mane and a pretty head, and so much like Merrylegs that if I had not been in harness I should have neighed to him. He was doing his best to pull a heavy cart, while a strong rough boy was cutting him under the belly with his whip and chucking cruelly at his little mouth. Could it be Merrylegs? It was just like him; but then Mr. Blomefield was never to sell him, and I think he would not do it; but this might have been quite as good a little fellow, and had as happy a place when he was young. I often noticed the great speed at which butchers' horses were made to go, though I did not know why it was so till one day when we had to wait some time in St. John's Wood. There was a butcher's shop next door, and as we were standing a butcher's cart came dashing up at a great pace. The horse was hot and much exhausted; he hung his head down, while his heaving sides and trembling legs showed how hard he had been driven. The lad jumped out of the cart and was getting the basket when the master came out of the shop much displeased. After looking at the horse he turned angrily to the lad. "How many times shall I tell you not to drive in this way? You ruined the last horse and broke his wind, and you are going to ruin this in the same way. If you were not my own son I would dismiss you on the spot; it is a disgrace to have a horse brought to the shop in a condition like that; you are liable to be taken up by the police for such driving, and if you are you need not look to me for bail, for I have spoken to you till I'm tired; you must look out for yourself." During this speech the boy had stood by, sullen and dogged, but when his father ceased he broke out angrily. It wasn't his fault, and he wouldn't take the blame; he was only going by orders all the time. "You always say, 'Now be quick; now look sharp!' and when I go to the houses one wants a leg of mutton for an early dinner and I must be back with it in a quarter of an hour; another cook has forgotten to order the beef; I must go and fetch it and be back in no time, or the mistress will scold; and the housekeeper says they have company coming unexpectedly and must have some chops sent up directly; and the lady at No. 4, in the Crescent, never orders her dinner till the meat comes in for lunch, and it's nothing but hurry, hurry, all the time. If the gentry would think of what they want, and order their meat the day before, there need not be this blow up!" "I wish to goodness they would," said the butcher; "'twould save me a wonderful deal of harass, and I could suit my customers much better if I knew beforehand--But there! what's the use of talking--who ever thinks of a butcher's convenience or a butcher's horse! Now, then, take him in and look to him well; mind, he does not go out again to-day, and if anything else is wanted you must carry it yourself in the basket." With that he went in, and the horse was led away. But all boys are not cruel. I have seen some as fond of their pony or donkey as if it had been a favorite dog, and the little creatures have worked away as cheerfully and willingly for their young drivers as I work for Jerry. It may be hard work sometimes, but a friend's hand and voice make it easy. There was a young coster-boy who came up our street with greens and potatoes; he had an old pony, not very handsome, but the cheerfullest and pluckiest little thing I ever saw, and to see how fond those two were of each other was a treat. The pony followed his master like a dog, and when he got into his cart would trot off without a whip or a word, and rattle down the street as merrily as if he had come out of the queen's stables. Jerry liked the boy, and called him "Prince Charlie", for he said he would make a king of drivers some day. There was an old man, too, who used to come up our street with a little coal cart; he wore a coal-heaver's hat, and looked rough and black. He and his old horse used to plod together along the street, like two good partners who understood each other; the horse would stop of his own accord at the doors where they took coal of him; he used to keep one ear bent toward his master. The old man's cry could be heard up the street long before he came near. I never knew what he said, but the children called him "Old Ba-a-ar Hoo", for it sounded like that. Polly took her coal of him, and was very friendly, and Jerry said it was a comfort to think how happy an old horse might be in a poor place. Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A: Beauty says he's seen a lot of trouble with London horses, " and much of it that might have been prevented by a little common sense" . It's hard for him to watch little ponies that are made to pull heavy loads--one day he sees one that reminds him of Merrylegs being whipped and mistreated. He notices that butcher's horses are driven particularly fast, and doesn't know why until he waits next to a butcher's shop one day. He watches the butcher berate his young son for driving their horse too hard, but the son tells him he's always told to rush, especially when delivering last-minute orders of fresh meat. "If the gentry would think of what they want, and order their meat the day before, there need not be this blow up!" , the young boy laments. So he's basically the pizza delivery guy of Victorian London. Beauty does say that some boys seem to treat their horses kindly, in particular one boy who sells vegetables with an old pony. "The pony followed his master like a dog and rattle down the street as merrily as if he had come out of the Queen's stables" , Beauty says. Jerry calls the boy "Prince Charlie," saying he " would make a king of drivers someday" . Beauty also describes an old man with a coal cart who has a very close relationship with his old horse, and Jerry says, " it was a comfort to think how happy an old horse might be in a poor place" . So basically, money isn't necessarily the key to a horse's happiness.

Chapter: 41 The Butcher I saw a great deal of trouble among the horses in London, and much of it might have been prevented by a little common sense. We horses do not mind hard work if we are treated reasonably, and I am sure there are many driven by quite poor men who have a happier life than I had when I used to go in the Countess of W----'s carriage, with my silver-mounted harness and high feeding. It often went to my heart to see how the little ponies were used, straining along with heavy loads or staggering under heavy blows from some low, cruel boy. Once I saw a little gray pony with a thick mane and a pretty head, and so much like Merrylegs that if I had not been in harness I should have neighed to him. He was doing his best to pull a heavy cart, while a strong rough boy was cutting him under the belly with his whip and chucking cruelly at his little mouth. Could it be Merrylegs? It was just like him; but then Mr. Blomefield was never to sell him, and I think he would not do it; but this might have been quite as good a little fellow, and had as happy a place when he was young. I often noticed the great speed at which butchers' horses were made to go, though I did not know why it was so till one day when we had to wait some time in St. John's Wood. There was a butcher's shop next door, and as we were standing a butcher's cart came dashing up at a great pace. The horse was hot and much exhausted; he hung his head down, while his heaving sides and trembling legs showed how hard he had been driven. The lad jumped out of the cart and was getting the basket when the master came out of the shop much displeased. After looking at the horse he turned angrily to the lad. "How many times shall I tell you not to drive in this way? You ruined the last horse and broke his wind, and you are going to ruin this in the same way. If you were not my own son I would dismiss you on the spot; it is a disgrace to have a horse brought to the shop in a condition like that; you are liable to be taken up by the police for such driving, and if you are you need not look to me for bail, for I have spoken to you till I'm tired; you must look out for yourself." During this speech the boy had stood by, sullen and dogged, but when his father ceased he broke out angrily. It wasn't his fault, and he wouldn't take the blame; he was only going by orders all the time. "You always say, 'Now be quick; now look sharp!' and when I go to the houses one wants a leg of mutton for an early dinner and I must be back with it in a quarter of an hour; another cook has forgotten to order the beef; I must go and fetch it and be back in no time, or the mistress will scold; and the housekeeper says they have company coming unexpectedly and must have some chops sent up directly; and the lady at No. 4, in the Crescent, never orders her dinner till the meat comes in for lunch, and it's nothing but hurry, hurry, all the time. If the gentry would think of what they want, and order their meat the day before, there need not be this blow up!" "I wish to goodness they would," said the butcher; "'twould save me a wonderful deal of harass, and I could suit my customers much better if I knew beforehand--But there! what's the use of talking--who ever thinks of a butcher's convenience or a butcher's horse! Now, then, take him in and look to him well; mind, he does not go out again to-day, and if anything else is wanted you must carry it yourself in the basket." With that he went in, and the horse was led away. But all boys are not cruel. I have seen some as fond of their pony or donkey as if it had been a favorite dog, and the little creatures have worked away as cheerfully and willingly for their young drivers as I work for Jerry. It may be hard work sometimes, but a friend's hand and voice make it easy. There was a young coster-boy who came up our street with greens and potatoes; he had an old pony, not very handsome, but the cheerfullest and pluckiest little thing I ever saw, and to see how fond those two were of each other was a treat. The pony followed his master like a dog, and when he got into his cart would trot off without a whip or a word, and rattle down the street as merrily as if he had come out of the queen's stables. Jerry liked the boy, and called him "Prince Charlie", for he said he would make a king of drivers some day. There was an old man, too, who used to come up our street with a little coal cart; he wore a coal-heaver's hat, and looked rough and black. He and his old horse used to plod together along the street, like two good partners who understood each other; the horse would stop of his own accord at the doors where they took coal of him; he used to keep one ear bent toward his master. The old man's cry could be heard up the street long before he came near. I never knew what he said, but the children called him "Old Ba-a-ar Hoo", for it sounded like that. Polly took her coal of him, and was very friendly, and Jerry said it was a comfort to think how happy an old horse might be in a poor place. Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A:

Beauty says he's seen a lot of trouble with London horses, " and much of it that might have been prevented by a little common sense" . It's hard for him to watch little ponies that are made to pull heavy loads--one day he sees one that reminds him of Merrylegs being whipped and mistreated. He notices that butcher's horses are driven particularly fast, and doesn't know why until he waits next to a butcher's shop one day. He watches the butcher berate his young son for driving their horse too hard, but the son tells him he's always told to rush, especially when delivering last-minute orders of fresh meat. "If the gentry would think of what they want, and order their meat the day before, there need not be this blow up!" , the young boy laments. So he's basically the pizza delivery guy of Victorian London. Beauty does say that some boys seem to treat their horses kindly, in particular one boy who sells vegetables with an old pony. "The pony followed his master like a dog and rattle down the street as merrily as if he had come out of the Queen's stables" , Beauty says. Jerry calls the boy "Prince Charlie," saying he " would make a king of drivers someday" . Beauty also describes an old man with a coal cart who has a very close relationship with his old horse, and Jerry says, " it was a comfort to think how happy an old horse might be in a poor place" . So basically, money isn't necessarily the key to a horse's happiness.

Chapter: 42 The Election As we came into the yard one afternoon Polly came out. "Jerry! I've had Mr. B---- here asking about your vote, and he wants to hire your cab for the election; he will call for an answer." "Well, Polly, you may say that my cab will be otherwise engaged. I should not like to have it pasted over with their great bills, and as to making Jack and Captain race about to the public-houses to bring up half-drunken voters, why, I think 'twould be an insult to the horses. No, I shan't do it." "I suppose you'll vote for the gentleman? He said he was of your politics." "So he is in some things, but I shall not vote for him, Polly; you know what his trade is?" "Yes." "Well, a man who gets rich by that trade may be all very well in some ways, but he is blind as to what workingmen want; I could not in my conscience send him up to make the laws. I dare say they'll be angry, but every man must do what he thinks to be the best for his country." On the morning before the election, Jerry was putting me into the shafts, when Dolly came into the yard sobbing and crying, with her little blue frock and white pinafore spattered all over with mud. "Why, Dolly, what is the matter?" "Those naughty boys," she sobbed, "have thrown the dirt all over me, and called me a little raga--raga--" "They called her a little 'blue' ragamuffin, father," said Harry, who ran in looking very angry; "but I have given it to them; they won't insult my sister again. I have given them a thrashing they will remember; a set of cowardly, rascally 'orange' blackguards." Jerry kissed the child and said, "Run in to mother, my pet, and tell her I think you had better stay at home to-day and help her." Then turning gravely to Harry: "My boy, I hope you will always defend your sister, and give anybody who insults her a good thrashing--that is as it should be; but mind, I won't have any election blackguarding on my premises. There are as many 'blue' blackguards as there are 'orange', and as many white as there are purple, or any other color, and I won't have any of my family mixed up with it. Even women and children are ready to quarrel for the sake of a color, and not one in ten of them knows what it is about." "Why, father, I thought blue was for Liberty." "My boy, Liberty does not come from colors, they only show party, and all the liberty you can get out of them is, liberty to get drunk at other people's expense, liberty to ride to the poll in a dirty old cab, liberty to abuse any one that does not wear your color, and to shout yourself hoarse at what you only half-understand--that's your liberty!" "Oh, father, you are laughing." "No, Harry, I am serious, and I am ashamed to see how men go on who ought to know better. An election is a very serious thing; at least it ought to be, and every man ought to vote according to his conscience, and let his neighbor do the same." Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A: One afternoon Polly tells Jerry that someone named Mr. B wants to hire the cab for the election, meaning he's looking to advertise and wants a place to put his posters. Jerry refuses, saying, "I should not like to have it pasted all over with their great bills" . Polly asks Jerry if he'll vote for Mr. B, but Jerry says no because the guy has no clue about the wants and needs of workers. Jerry is kind of an opinionated guy, it seems. On the day before the election, Dolly comes home crying, saying that boys have taunted her, calling her a "ragamuffin." Her brother, Harry, says he's defended her, and has " given them a thrashing they will remember" . Jerry lectures Harry, saying he hopes Harry will always defend Dolly, but that he won't tolerate any "election blackguarding" . And what's "blackguarding"? Taunting and ridicule. Jerry's basically saying no political arguments in the house. Jerry wraps up his political lecture by saying, "An election is a very serious thing; at least it ought to be, and every man ought to vote according to his conscience, and let his neighbour do the same" .

Chapter: 42 The Election As we came into the yard one afternoon Polly came out. "Jerry! I've had Mr. B---- here asking about your vote, and he wants to hire your cab for the election; he will call for an answer." "Well, Polly, you may say that my cab will be otherwise engaged. I should not like to have it pasted over with their great bills, and as to making Jack and Captain race about to the public-houses to bring up half-drunken voters, why, I think 'twould be an insult to the horses. No, I shan't do it." "I suppose you'll vote for the gentleman? He said he was of your politics." "So he is in some things, but I shall not vote for him, Polly; you know what his trade is?" "Yes." "Well, a man who gets rich by that trade may be all very well in some ways, but he is blind as to what workingmen want; I could not in my conscience send him up to make the laws. I dare say they'll be angry, but every man must do what he thinks to be the best for his country." On the morning before the election, Jerry was putting me into the shafts, when Dolly came into the yard sobbing and crying, with her little blue frock and white pinafore spattered all over with mud. "Why, Dolly, what is the matter?" "Those naughty boys," she sobbed, "have thrown the dirt all over me, and called me a little raga--raga--" "They called her a little 'blue' ragamuffin, father," said Harry, who ran in looking very angry; "but I have given it to them; they won't insult my sister again. I have given them a thrashing they will remember; a set of cowardly, rascally 'orange' blackguards." Jerry kissed the child and said, "Run in to mother, my pet, and tell her I think you had better stay at home to-day and help her." Then turning gravely to Harry: "My boy, I hope you will always defend your sister, and give anybody who insults her a good thrashing--that is as it should be; but mind, I won't have any election blackguarding on my premises. There are as many 'blue' blackguards as there are 'orange', and as many white as there are purple, or any other color, and I won't have any of my family mixed up with it. Even women and children are ready to quarrel for the sake of a color, and not one in ten of them knows what it is about." "Why, father, I thought blue was for Liberty." "My boy, Liberty does not come from colors, they only show party, and all the liberty you can get out of them is, liberty to get drunk at other people's expense, liberty to ride to the poll in a dirty old cab, liberty to abuse any one that does not wear your color, and to shout yourself hoarse at what you only half-understand--that's your liberty!" "Oh, father, you are laughing." "No, Harry, I am serious, and I am ashamed to see how men go on who ought to know better. An election is a very serious thing; at least it ought to be, and every man ought to vote according to his conscience, and let his neighbor do the same." Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A:

One afternoon Polly tells Jerry that someone named Mr. B wants to hire the cab for the election, meaning he's looking to advertise and wants a place to put his posters. Jerry refuses, saying, "I should not like to have it pasted all over with their great bills" . Polly asks Jerry if he'll vote for Mr. B, but Jerry says no because the guy has no clue about the wants and needs of workers. Jerry is kind of an opinionated guy, it seems. On the day before the election, Dolly comes home crying, saying that boys have taunted her, calling her a "ragamuffin." Her brother, Harry, says he's defended her, and has " given them a thrashing they will remember" . Jerry lectures Harry, saying he hopes Harry will always defend Dolly, but that he won't tolerate any "election blackguarding" . And what's "blackguarding"? Taunting and ridicule. Jerry's basically saying no political arguments in the house. Jerry wraps up his political lecture by saying, "An election is a very serious thing; at least it ought to be, and every man ought to vote according to his conscience, and let his neighbour do the same" .

Chapter: 43 A Friend in Need The election day came at last; there was no lack of work for Jerry and me. First came a stout puffy gentleman with a carpet bag; he wanted to go to the Bishopsgate station; then we were called by a party who wished to be taken to the Regent's Park; and next we were wanted in a side street where a timid, anxious old lady was waiting to be taken to the bank; there we had to stop to take her back again, and just as we had set her down a red-faced gentleman, with a handful of papers, came running up out of breath, and before Jerry could get down he had opened the door, popped himself in, and called out, "Bow Street Police Station, quick!" so off we went with him, and when after another turn or two we came back, there was no other cab on the stand. Jerry put on my nose-bag, for as he said, "We must eat when we can on such days as these; so munch away, Jack, and make the best of your time, old boy." I found I had a good feed of crushed oats wetted up with a little bran; this would be a treat any day, but very refreshing then. Jerry was so thoughtful and kind--what horse would not do his best for such a master? Then he took out one of Polly's meat pies, and standing near me, he began to eat it. The streets were very full, and the cabs, with the candidates' colors on them, were dashing about through the crowd as if life and limb were of no consequence; we saw two people knocked down that day, and one was a woman. The horses were having a bad time of it, poor things! but the voters inside thought nothing of that; many of them were half-drunk, hurrahing out of the cab windows if their own party came by. It was the first election I had seen, and I don't want to be in another, though I have heard things are better now. Jerry and I had not eaten many mouthfuls before a poor young woman, carrying a heavy child, came along the street. She was looking this way and that way, and seemed quite bewildered. Presently she made her way up to Jerry and asked if he could tell her the way to St. Thomas' Hospital, and how far it was to get there. She had come from the country that morning, she said, in a market cart; she did not know about the election, and was quite a stranger in London. She had got an order for the hospital for her little boy. The child was crying with a feeble, pining cry. "Poor little fellow!" she said, "he suffers a deal of pain; he is four years old and can't walk any more than a baby; but the doctor said if I could get him into the hospital he might get well; pray, sir, how far is it; and which way is it?" "Why, missis," said Jerry, "you can't get there walking through crowds like this! why, it is three miles away, and that child is heavy." "Yes, bless him, he is; but I am strong, thank God, and if I knew the way I think I should get on somehow; please tell me the way." "You can't do it," said Jerry, "you might be knocked down and the child be run over. Now look here, just get into this cab, and I'll drive you safe to the hospital. Don't you see the rain is coming on?" "No, sir, no; I can't do that, thank you, I have only just money enough to get back with. Please tell me the way." "Look you here, missis," said Jerry, "I've got a wife and dear children at home, and I know a father's feelings; now get you into that cab, and I'll take you there for nothing. I'd be ashamed of myself to let a woman and a sick child run a risk like that." "Heaven bless you!" said the woman, and burst into tears. "There, there, cheer up, my dear, I'll soon take you there; come, let me put you inside." As Jerry went to open the door two men, with colors in their hats and buttonholes, ran up calling out, "Cab!" "Engaged," cried Jerry; but one of the men, pushing past the woman, sprang into the cab, followed by the other. Jerry looked as stern as a policeman. "This cab is already engaged, gentlemen, by that lady." "Lady!" said one of them; "oh! she can wait; our business is very important, besides we were in first, it is our right, and we shall stay in." A droll smile came over Jerry's face as he shut the door upon them. "All right, gentlemen, pray stay in as long as it suits you; I can wait while you rest yourselves." And turning his back upon them he walked up to the young woman, who was standing near me. "They'll soon be gone," he said, laughing; "don't trouble yourself, my dear." And they soon were gone, for when they understood Jerry's dodge they got out, calling him all sorts of bad names and blustering about his number and getting a summons. After this little stoppage we were soon on our way to the hospital, going as much as possible through by-streets. Jerry rung the great bell and helped the young woman out. "Thank you a thousand times," she said; "I could never have got here alone." "You're kindly welcome, and I hope the dear child will soon be better." He watched her go in at the door, and gently he said to himself, "Inasmuch as ye have done it to one of the least of these." Then he patted my neck, which was always his way when anything pleased him. The rain was now coming down fast, and just as we were leaving the hospital the door opened again, and the porter called out, "Cab!" We stopped, and a lady came down the steps. Jerry seemed to know her at once; she put back her veil and said, "Barker! Jeremiah Barker, is it you? I am very glad to find you here; you are just the friend I want, for it is very difficult to get a cab in this part of London to-day." "I shall be proud to serve you, ma'am; I am right glad I happened to be here. Where may I take you to, ma'am?" "To the Paddington Station, and then if we are in good time, as I think we shall be, you shall tell me all about Mary and the children." We got to the station in good time, and being under shelter the lady stood a good while talking to Jerry. I found she had been Polly's mistress, and after many inquiries about her she said: "How do you find the cab work suit you in winter? I know Mary was rather anxious about you last year." "Yes, ma'am, she was; I had a bad cough that followed me up quite into the warm weather, and when I am kept out late she does worry herself a good deal. You see, ma'am, it is all hours and all weathers, and that does try a man's constitution; but I am getting on pretty well, and I should feel quite lost if I had not horses to look after. I was brought up to it, and I am afraid I should not do so well at anything else." "Well, Barker," she said, "it would be a great pity that you should seriously risk your health in this work, not only for your own but for Mary's and the children's sake; there are many places where good drivers or good grooms are wanted, and if ever you think you ought to give up this cab work let me know." Then sending some kind messages to Mary she put something into his hand, saying, "There is five shillings each for the two children; Mary will know how to spend it." Jerry thanked her and seemed much pleased, and turning out of the station we at last reached home, and I, at least, was tired. Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A: Election day is incredibly busy for Beauty and Jerry since people are rushing all over the city. Jerry's prepared a special portable lunch for Beauty to get them through the busy time, and Beauty again comments on what an outstanding master he is. Beauty eats his lunch and watches the general chaos as people rush about. Before long a young woman carrying a child crosses the street. She asks Jerry for directions to St. Thomas's Hospital. She's from the country, very lost, and had no idea about the election; her child is sick, and needs to go to the hospital. Jerry tells her there's no way she's walking there through the crazy election crowds: "Now look here, just get into this cab, and I'll drive you safe to the hospital" , he says. We would have expected this from Jerry. The woman argues with him, but Jerry tells her he has a wife and kids at home, and he will take her there for nothing, saying, "I'd be ashamed of myself to let a woman and a sick child run a risk like that" . The woman bursts into tears of gratitude. As the woman is getting into the cab, two men run up and try to get in also. Jerry tells them the cab is already engaged. They refuse to get out, so Jerry shuts them in and refuses to drive. He laughs and tells the woman that they'll be gone soon. And of course he's right; they leave, calling him bad names, but Jerry could care less. As soon as they're gone, he drives the woman to the hospital. It's pouring by the time they drop the woman off, but as they're leaving, a woman leaving the hospital calls out to them and seems to know Jerry. He agrees to take her to Paddington Station, and the woman talks to Jerry for a long time once they get there. Apparently she was once Polly's mistress. The woman asks how Jerry is dealing with the awful winter weather as a cab driver, and Jerry says he's doing okay, but he does get sick--however, he loves his job working with horses. Polly's mistress tells him that " it would be a great pity that you should seriously risk your health in this work, not only for your own, but for Mary and the children's sake" . She drops a heavy hint, saying that if Jerry ever decides to give up cab driving, to get in touch. She then leaves them with a hefty tip and good wishes for Jerry's family.

Chapter: 43 A Friend in Need The election day came at last; there was no lack of work for Jerry and me. First came a stout puffy gentleman with a carpet bag; he wanted to go to the Bishopsgate station; then we were called by a party who wished to be taken to the Regent's Park; and next we were wanted in a side street where a timid, anxious old lady was waiting to be taken to the bank; there we had to stop to take her back again, and just as we had set her down a red-faced gentleman, with a handful of papers, came running up out of breath, and before Jerry could get down he had opened the door, popped himself in, and called out, "Bow Street Police Station, quick!" so off we went with him, and when after another turn or two we came back, there was no other cab on the stand. Jerry put on my nose-bag, for as he said, "We must eat when we can on such days as these; so munch away, Jack, and make the best of your time, old boy." I found I had a good feed of crushed oats wetted up with a little bran; this would be a treat any day, but very refreshing then. Jerry was so thoughtful and kind--what horse would not do his best for such a master? Then he took out one of Polly's meat pies, and standing near me, he began to eat it. The streets were very full, and the cabs, with the candidates' colors on them, were dashing about through the crowd as if life and limb were of no consequence; we saw two people knocked down that day, and one was a woman. The horses were having a bad time of it, poor things! but the voters inside thought nothing of that; many of them were half-drunk, hurrahing out of the cab windows if their own party came by. It was the first election I had seen, and I don't want to be in another, though I have heard things are better now. Jerry and I had not eaten many mouthfuls before a poor young woman, carrying a heavy child, came along the street. She was looking this way and that way, and seemed quite bewildered. Presently she made her way up to Jerry and asked if he could tell her the way to St. Thomas' Hospital, and how far it was to get there. She had come from the country that morning, she said, in a market cart; she did not know about the election, and was quite a stranger in London. She had got an order for the hospital for her little boy. The child was crying with a feeble, pining cry. "Poor little fellow!" she said, "he suffers a deal of pain; he is four years old and can't walk any more than a baby; but the doctor said if I could get him into the hospital he might get well; pray, sir, how far is it; and which way is it?" "Why, missis," said Jerry, "you can't get there walking through crowds like this! why, it is three miles away, and that child is heavy." "Yes, bless him, he is; but I am strong, thank God, and if I knew the way I think I should get on somehow; please tell me the way." "You can't do it," said Jerry, "you might be knocked down and the child be run over. Now look here, just get into this cab, and I'll drive you safe to the hospital. Don't you see the rain is coming on?" "No, sir, no; I can't do that, thank you, I have only just money enough to get back with. Please tell me the way." "Look you here, missis," said Jerry, "I've got a wife and dear children at home, and I know a father's feelings; now get you into that cab, and I'll take you there for nothing. I'd be ashamed of myself to let a woman and a sick child run a risk like that." "Heaven bless you!" said the woman, and burst into tears. "There, there, cheer up, my dear, I'll soon take you there; come, let me put you inside." As Jerry went to open the door two men, with colors in their hats and buttonholes, ran up calling out, "Cab!" "Engaged," cried Jerry; but one of the men, pushing past the woman, sprang into the cab, followed by the other. Jerry looked as stern as a policeman. "This cab is already engaged, gentlemen, by that lady." "Lady!" said one of them; "oh! she can wait; our business is very important, besides we were in first, it is our right, and we shall stay in." A droll smile came over Jerry's face as he shut the door upon them. "All right, gentlemen, pray stay in as long as it suits you; I can wait while you rest yourselves." And turning his back upon them he walked up to the young woman, who was standing near me. "They'll soon be gone," he said, laughing; "don't trouble yourself, my dear." And they soon were gone, for when they understood Jerry's dodge they got out, calling him all sorts of bad names and blustering about his number and getting a summons. After this little stoppage we were soon on our way to the hospital, going as much as possible through by-streets. Jerry rung the great bell and helped the young woman out. "Thank you a thousand times," she said; "I could never have got here alone." "You're kindly welcome, and I hope the dear child will soon be better." He watched her go in at the door, and gently he said to himself, "Inasmuch as ye have done it to one of the least of these." Then he patted my neck, which was always his way when anything pleased him. The rain was now coming down fast, and just as we were leaving the hospital the door opened again, and the porter called out, "Cab!" We stopped, and a lady came down the steps. Jerry seemed to know her at once; she put back her veil and said, "Barker! Jeremiah Barker, is it you? I am very glad to find you here; you are just the friend I want, for it is very difficult to get a cab in this part of London to-day." "I shall be proud to serve you, ma'am; I am right glad I happened to be here. Where may I take you to, ma'am?" "To the Paddington Station, and then if we are in good time, as I think we shall be, you shall tell me all about Mary and the children." We got to the station in good time, and being under shelter the lady stood a good while talking to Jerry. I found she had been Polly's mistress, and after many inquiries about her she said: "How do you find the cab work suit you in winter? I know Mary was rather anxious about you last year." "Yes, ma'am, she was; I had a bad cough that followed me up quite into the warm weather, and when I am kept out late she does worry herself a good deal. You see, ma'am, it is all hours and all weathers, and that does try a man's constitution; but I am getting on pretty well, and I should feel quite lost if I had not horses to look after. I was brought up to it, and I am afraid I should not do so well at anything else." "Well, Barker," she said, "it would be a great pity that you should seriously risk your health in this work, not only for your own but for Mary's and the children's sake; there are many places where good drivers or good grooms are wanted, and if ever you think you ought to give up this cab work let me know." Then sending some kind messages to Mary she put something into his hand, saying, "There is five shillings each for the two children; Mary will know how to spend it." Jerry thanked her and seemed much pleased, and turning out of the station we at last reached home, and I, at least, was tired. Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A:

Election day is incredibly busy for Beauty and Jerry since people are rushing all over the city. Jerry's prepared a special portable lunch for Beauty to get them through the busy time, and Beauty again comments on what an outstanding master he is. Beauty eats his lunch and watches the general chaos as people rush about. Before long a young woman carrying a child crosses the street. She asks Jerry for directions to St. Thomas's Hospital. She's from the country, very lost, and had no idea about the election; her child is sick, and needs to go to the hospital. Jerry tells her there's no way she's walking there through the crazy election crowds: "Now look here, just get into this cab, and I'll drive you safe to the hospital" , he says. We would have expected this from Jerry. The woman argues with him, but Jerry tells her he has a wife and kids at home, and he will take her there for nothing, saying, "I'd be ashamed of myself to let a woman and a sick child run a risk like that" . The woman bursts into tears of gratitude. As the woman is getting into the cab, two men run up and try to get in also. Jerry tells them the cab is already engaged. They refuse to get out, so Jerry shuts them in and refuses to drive. He laughs and tells the woman that they'll be gone soon. And of course he's right; they leave, calling him bad names, but Jerry could care less. As soon as they're gone, he drives the woman to the hospital. It's pouring by the time they drop the woman off, but as they're leaving, a woman leaving the hospital calls out to them and seems to know Jerry. He agrees to take her to Paddington Station, and the woman talks to Jerry for a long time once they get there. Apparently she was once Polly's mistress. The woman asks how Jerry is dealing with the awful winter weather as a cab driver, and Jerry says he's doing okay, but he does get sick--however, he loves his job working with horses. Polly's mistress tells him that " it would be a great pity that you should seriously risk your health in this work, not only for your own, but for Mary and the children's sake" . She drops a heavy hint, saying that if Jerry ever decides to give up cab driving, to get in touch. She then leaves them with a hefty tip and good wishes for Jerry's family.

Chapter: 44 Old Captain and His Successor Captain and I were great friends. He was a noble old fellow, and he was very good company. I never thought that he would have to leave his home and go down the hill; but his turn came, and this was how it happened. I was not there, but I heard all about it. He and Jerry had taken a party to the great railway station over London Bridge, and were coming back, somewhere between the bridge and the monument, when Jerry saw a brewer's empty dray coming along, drawn by two powerful horses. The drayman was lashing his horses with his heavy whip; the dray was light, and they started off at a furious rate; the man had no control over them, and the street was full of traffic. One young girl was knocked down and run over, and the next moment they dashed up against our cab; both the wheels were torn off and the cab was thrown over. Captain was dragged down, the shafts splintered, and one of them ran into his side. Jerry, too, was thrown, but was only bruised; nobody could tell how he escaped; he always said 'twas a miracle. When poor Captain was got up he was found to be very much cut and knocked about. Jerry led him home gently, and a sad sight it was to see the blood soaking into his white coat and dropping from his side and shoulder. The drayman was proved to be very drunk, and was fined, and the brewer had to pay damages to our master; but there was no one to pay damages to poor Captain. The farrier and Jerry did the best they could to ease his pain and make him comfortable. The fly had to be mended, and for several days I did not go out, and Jerry earned nothing. The first time we went to the stand after the accident the governor came up to hear how Captain was. "He'll never get over it," said Jerry, "at least not for my work, so the farrier said this morning. He says he may do for carting, and that sort of work. It has put me out very much. Carting, indeed! I've seen what horses come to at that work round London. I only wish all the drunkards could be put in a lunatic asylum instead of being allowed to run foul of sober people. If they would break their own bones, and smash their own carts, and lame their own horses, that would be their own affair, and we might let them alone, but it seems to me that the innocent always suffer; and then they talk about compensation! You can't make compensation; there's all the trouble, and vexation, and loss of time, besides losing a good horse that's like an old friend--it's nonsense talking of compensation! If there's one devil that I should like to see in the bottomless pit more than another, it's the drink devil." "I say, Jerry," said the governor, "you are treading pretty hard on my toes, you know; I'm not so good as you are, more shame to me; I wish I was." "Well," said Jerry, "why don't you cut with it, governor? You are too good a man to be the slave of such a thing." "I'm a great fool, Jerry, but I tried once for two days, and I thought I should have died; how did you do?" "I had hard work at it for several weeks; you see I never did get drunk, but I found that I was not my own master, and that when the craving came on it was hard work to say 'no'. I saw that one of us must knock under, the drink devil or Jerry Barker, and I said that it should not be Jerry Barker, God helping me; but it was a struggle, and I wanted all the help I could get, for till I tried to break the habit I did not know how strong it was; but then Polly took such pains that I should have good food, and when the craving came on I used to get a cup of coffee, or some peppermint, or read a bit in my book, and that was a help to me; sometimes I had to say over and over to myself, 'Give up the drink or lose your soul! Give up the drink or break Polly's heart!' But thanks be to God, and my dear wife, my chains were broken, and now for ten years I have not tasted a drop, and never wish for it." "I've a great mind to try at it," said Grant, "for 'tis a poor thing not to be one's own master." "Do, governor, do, you'll never repent it, and what a help it would be to some of the poor fellows in our rank if they saw you do without it. I know there's two or three would like to keep out of that tavern if they could." At first Captain seemed to do well, but he was a very old horse, and it was only his wonderful constitution, and Jerry's care, that had kept him up at the cab work so long; now he broke down very much. The farrier said he might mend up enough to sell for a few pounds, but Jerry said, no! a few pounds got by selling a good old servant into hard work and misery would canker all the rest of his money, and he thought the kindest thing he could do for the fine old fellow would be to put a sure bullet through his head, and then he would never suffer more; for he did not know where to find a kind master for the rest of his days. The day after this was decided Harry took me to the forge for some new shoes; when I returned Captain was gone. I and the family all felt it very much. Jerry had now to look out for another horse, and he soon heard of one through an acquaintance who was under-groom in a nobleman's stables. He was a valuable young horse, but he had run away, smashed into another carriage, flung his lordship out, and so cut and blemished himself that he was no longer fit for a gentleman's stables, and the coachman had orders to look round, and sell him as well as he could. "I can do with high spirits," said Jerry, "if a horse is not vicious or hard-mouthed." "There is not a bit of vice in him," said the man; "his mouth is very tender, and I think myself that was the cause of the accident; you see he had just been clipped, and the weather was bad, and he had not had exercise enough, and when he did go out he was as full of spring as a balloon. Our governor (the coachman, I mean) had him harnessed in as tight and strong as he could, with the martingale, and the check-rein, a very sharp curb, and the reins put in at the bottom bar. It is my belief that it made the horse mad, being tender in the mouth and so full of spirit." "Likely enough; I'll come and see him," said Jerry. The next day Hotspur, that was his name, came home; he was a fine brown horse, without a white hair in him, as tall as Captain, with a very handsome head, and only five years old. I gave him a friendly greeting by way of good fellowship, but did not ask him any questions. The first night he was very restless. Instead of lying down, he kept jerking his halter rope up and down through the ring, and knocking the block about against the manger till I could not sleep. However, the next day, after five or six hours in the cab, he came in quiet and sensible. Jerry patted and talked to him a good deal, and very soon they understood each other, and Jerry said that with an easy bit and plenty of work he would be as gentle as a lamb; and that it was an ill wind that blew nobody good, for if his lordship had lost a hundred-guinea favorite, the cabman had gained a good horse with all his strength in him. Hotspur thought it a great come-down to be a cab-horse, and was disgusted at standing in the rank, but he confessed to me at the end of the week that an easy mouth and a free head made up for a great deal, and after all, the work was not so degrading as having one's head and tail fastened to each other at the saddle. In fact, he settled in well, and Jerry liked him very much. Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A: Beauty's friend and companion, Captain, soon leaves Jerry's, and Beauty explains how it happened: Captain and Jerry were coming home over London Bridge when another empty carriage came toward them, pulled by two huge horses. The man driving the horses was whipping them hard, and they were speeding across the bridge, out of control. They collided with Jerry's cab, tearing off both wheels and tipping it over: "Captain was dragged down, the shafts splintered, and one of them ran into his side" . It turns out this was a case of drunk driving, and the man who hit them was fined, but Captain is badly hurt. Jerry tells Governor Gray that Captain will never recover, and rants, "I only wish all the drunkards could be put in a lunatic asylum, instead of being allowed to run foul of sober people" . Looks like drunk driving isn't exactly a modern problem... Governor tells Jerry that he couldn't give up drinking, and Jerry says it was tough, but he gave up drinking himself at one point. With the help of his wife, Jerry's been sober for ten years. Good man. Jerry can't bear to sell Captain for work as a cart horse, so he decides to shoot him instead, thinking that " the kindest thing he could do for the fine old fellow would be to put a sure bullet through his heart, and then he would never suffer more, for he did not know where to find a kind master for the rest of his days" . Harry takes Beauty out for new shoes the day after this, and when Beauty comes back, Captain is gone. "I and the family all felt it very much" , Beauty says. Jerry finds a new horse, a well-bred young horse who had run away and ended up with scars that made him undesirable for a fancy family. The new horse is apparently high-spirited with a very tender mouth, and the man selling the horse guesses that a bearing rein caused the sensitive young horse to freak out. Jerry buys this new horse, called Hotspur, who's only five. Hotspur is nervous and high-strung at first, but after some time with Jerry he starts to settle down. At first, "Hotspur thought it a great come-down to be a cab horse" , but realizes that Jerry's a good master and soon decides this new life isn't so bad.

Chapter: 44 Old Captain and His Successor Captain and I were great friends. He was a noble old fellow, and he was very good company. I never thought that he would have to leave his home and go down the hill; but his turn came, and this was how it happened. I was not there, but I heard all about it. He and Jerry had taken a party to the great railway station over London Bridge, and were coming back, somewhere between the bridge and the monument, when Jerry saw a brewer's empty dray coming along, drawn by two powerful horses. The drayman was lashing his horses with his heavy whip; the dray was light, and they started off at a furious rate; the man had no control over them, and the street was full of traffic. One young girl was knocked down and run over, and the next moment they dashed up against our cab; both the wheels were torn off and the cab was thrown over. Captain was dragged down, the shafts splintered, and one of them ran into his side. Jerry, too, was thrown, but was only bruised; nobody could tell how he escaped; he always said 'twas a miracle. When poor Captain was got up he was found to be very much cut and knocked about. Jerry led him home gently, and a sad sight it was to see the blood soaking into his white coat and dropping from his side and shoulder. The drayman was proved to be very drunk, and was fined, and the brewer had to pay damages to our master; but there was no one to pay damages to poor Captain. The farrier and Jerry did the best they could to ease his pain and make him comfortable. The fly had to be mended, and for several days I did not go out, and Jerry earned nothing. The first time we went to the stand after the accident the governor came up to hear how Captain was. "He'll never get over it," said Jerry, "at least not for my work, so the farrier said this morning. He says he may do for carting, and that sort of work. It has put me out very much. Carting, indeed! I've seen what horses come to at that work round London. I only wish all the drunkards could be put in a lunatic asylum instead of being allowed to run foul of sober people. If they would break their own bones, and smash their own carts, and lame their own horses, that would be their own affair, and we might let them alone, but it seems to me that the innocent always suffer; and then they talk about compensation! You can't make compensation; there's all the trouble, and vexation, and loss of time, besides losing a good horse that's like an old friend--it's nonsense talking of compensation! If there's one devil that I should like to see in the bottomless pit more than another, it's the drink devil." "I say, Jerry," said the governor, "you are treading pretty hard on my toes, you know; I'm not so good as you are, more shame to me; I wish I was." "Well," said Jerry, "why don't you cut with it, governor? You are too good a man to be the slave of such a thing." "I'm a great fool, Jerry, but I tried once for two days, and I thought I should have died; how did you do?" "I had hard work at it for several weeks; you see I never did get drunk, but I found that I was not my own master, and that when the craving came on it was hard work to say 'no'. I saw that one of us must knock under, the drink devil or Jerry Barker, and I said that it should not be Jerry Barker, God helping me; but it was a struggle, and I wanted all the help I could get, for till I tried to break the habit I did not know how strong it was; but then Polly took such pains that I should have good food, and when the craving came on I used to get a cup of coffee, or some peppermint, or read a bit in my book, and that was a help to me; sometimes I had to say over and over to myself, 'Give up the drink or lose your soul! Give up the drink or break Polly's heart!' But thanks be to God, and my dear wife, my chains were broken, and now for ten years I have not tasted a drop, and never wish for it." "I've a great mind to try at it," said Grant, "for 'tis a poor thing not to be one's own master." "Do, governor, do, you'll never repent it, and what a help it would be to some of the poor fellows in our rank if they saw you do without it. I know there's two or three would like to keep out of that tavern if they could." At first Captain seemed to do well, but he was a very old horse, and it was only his wonderful constitution, and Jerry's care, that had kept him up at the cab work so long; now he broke down very much. The farrier said he might mend up enough to sell for a few pounds, but Jerry said, no! a few pounds got by selling a good old servant into hard work and misery would canker all the rest of his money, and he thought the kindest thing he could do for the fine old fellow would be to put a sure bullet through his head, and then he would never suffer more; for he did not know where to find a kind master for the rest of his days. The day after this was decided Harry took me to the forge for some new shoes; when I returned Captain was gone. I and the family all felt it very much. Jerry had now to look out for another horse, and he soon heard of one through an acquaintance who was under-groom in a nobleman's stables. He was a valuable young horse, but he had run away, smashed into another carriage, flung his lordship out, and so cut and blemished himself that he was no longer fit for a gentleman's stables, and the coachman had orders to look round, and sell him as well as he could. "I can do with high spirits," said Jerry, "if a horse is not vicious or hard-mouthed." "There is not a bit of vice in him," said the man; "his mouth is very tender, and I think myself that was the cause of the accident; you see he had just been clipped, and the weather was bad, and he had not had exercise enough, and when he did go out he was as full of spring as a balloon. Our governor (the coachman, I mean) had him harnessed in as tight and strong as he could, with the martingale, and the check-rein, a very sharp curb, and the reins put in at the bottom bar. It is my belief that it made the horse mad, being tender in the mouth and so full of spirit." "Likely enough; I'll come and see him," said Jerry. The next day Hotspur, that was his name, came home; he was a fine brown horse, without a white hair in him, as tall as Captain, with a very handsome head, and only five years old. I gave him a friendly greeting by way of good fellowship, but did not ask him any questions. The first night he was very restless. Instead of lying down, he kept jerking his halter rope up and down through the ring, and knocking the block about against the manger till I could not sleep. However, the next day, after five or six hours in the cab, he came in quiet and sensible. Jerry patted and talked to him a good deal, and very soon they understood each other, and Jerry said that with an easy bit and plenty of work he would be as gentle as a lamb; and that it was an ill wind that blew nobody good, for if his lordship had lost a hundred-guinea favorite, the cabman had gained a good horse with all his strength in him. Hotspur thought it a great come-down to be a cab-horse, and was disgusted at standing in the rank, but he confessed to me at the end of the week that an easy mouth and a free head made up for a great deal, and after all, the work was not so degrading as having one's head and tail fastened to each other at the saddle. In fact, he settled in well, and Jerry liked him very much. Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A:

Beauty's friend and companion, Captain, soon leaves Jerry's, and Beauty explains how it happened: Captain and Jerry were coming home over London Bridge when another empty carriage came toward them, pulled by two huge horses. The man driving the horses was whipping them hard, and they were speeding across the bridge, out of control. They collided with Jerry's cab, tearing off both wheels and tipping it over: "Captain was dragged down, the shafts splintered, and one of them ran into his side" . It turns out this was a case of drunk driving, and the man who hit them was fined, but Captain is badly hurt. Jerry tells Governor Gray that Captain will never recover, and rants, "I only wish all the drunkards could be put in a lunatic asylum, instead of being allowed to run foul of sober people" . Looks like drunk driving isn't exactly a modern problem... Governor tells Jerry that he couldn't give up drinking, and Jerry says it was tough, but he gave up drinking himself at one point. With the help of his wife, Jerry's been sober for ten years. Good man. Jerry can't bear to sell Captain for work as a cart horse, so he decides to shoot him instead, thinking that " the kindest thing he could do for the fine old fellow would be to put a sure bullet through his heart, and then he would never suffer more, for he did not know where to find a kind master for the rest of his days" . Harry takes Beauty out for new shoes the day after this, and when Beauty comes back, Captain is gone. "I and the family all felt it very much" , Beauty says. Jerry finds a new horse, a well-bred young horse who had run away and ended up with scars that made him undesirable for a fancy family. The new horse is apparently high-spirited with a very tender mouth, and the man selling the horse guesses that a bearing rein caused the sensitive young horse to freak out. Jerry buys this new horse, called Hotspur, who's only five. Hotspur is nervous and high-strung at first, but after some time with Jerry he starts to settle down. At first, "Hotspur thought it a great come-down to be a cab horse" , but realizes that Jerry's a good master and soon decides this new life isn't so bad.

Chapter: 45 Jerry's New Year For some people Christmas and the New Year are very merry times; but for cabmen and cabmen's horses it is no holiday, though it may be a harvest. There are so many parties, balls, and places of amusement open that the work is hard and often late. Sometimes driver and horse have to wait for hours in the rain or frost, shivering with the cold, while the merry people within are dancing away to the music. I wonder if the beautiful ladies ever think of the weary cabman waiting on his box, and his patient beast standing, till his legs get stiff with cold. I had now most of the evening work, as I was well accustomed to standing, and Jerry was also more afraid of Hotspur taking cold. We had a great deal of late work in the Christmas week, and Jerry's cough was bad; but however late we were, Polly sat up for him, and came out with a lantern to meet him, looking anxious and troubled. On the evening of the New Year we had to take two gentlemen to a house in one of the West End Squares. We set them down at nine o'clock, and were told to come again at eleven, "but," said one, "as it is a card party, you may have to wait a few minutes, but don't be late." As the clock struck eleven we were at the door, for Jerry was always punctual. The clock chimed the quarters, one, two, three, and then struck twelve, but the door did not open. The wind had been very changeable, with squalls of rain during the day, but now it came on sharp, driving sleet, which seemed to come all the way round; it was very cold, and there was no shelter. Jerry got off his box and came and pulled one of my cloths a little more over my neck; then he took a turn or two up and down, stamping his feet; then he began to beat his arms, but that set him off coughing; so he opened the cab door and sat at the bottom with his feet on the pavement, and was a little sheltered. Still the clock chimed the quarters, and no one came. At half-past twelve he rang the bell and asked the servant if he would be wanted that night. "Oh, yes, you'll be wanted safe enough," said the man; "you must not go, it will soon be over," and again Jerry sat down, but his voice was so hoarse I could hardly hear him. At a quarter past one the door opened, and the two gentlemen came out; they got into the cab without a word, and told Jerry where to drive, that was nearly two miles. My legs were numb with cold, and I thought I should have stumbled. When the men got out they never said they were sorry to have kept us waiting so long, but were angry at the charge; however, as Jerry never charged more than was his due, so he never took less, and they had to pay for the two hours and a quarter waiting; but it was hard-earned money to Jerry. At last we got home; he could hardly speak, and his cough was dreadful. Polly asked no questions, but opened the door and held the lantern for him. "Can't I do something?" she said. "Yes; get Jack something warm, and then boil me some gruel." This was said in a hoarse whisper; he could hardly get his breath, but he gave me a rub-down as usual, and even went up into the hayloft for an extra bundle of straw for my bed. Polly brought me a warm mash that made me comfortable, and then they locked the door. It was late the next morning before any one came, and then it was only Harry. He cleaned us and fed us, and swept out the stalls, then he put the straw back again as if it was Sunday. He was very still, and neither whistled nor sang. At noon he came again and gave us our food and water; this time Dolly came with him; she was crying, and I could gather from what they said that Jerry was dangerously ill, and the doctor said it was a bad case. So two days passed, and there was great trouble indoors. We only saw Harry, and sometimes Dolly. I think she came for company, for Polly was always with Jerry, and he had to be kept very quiet. On the third day, while Harry was in the stable, a tap came at the door, and Governor Grant came in. "I wouldn't go to the house, my boy," he said, "but I want to know how your father is." "He is very bad," said Harry, "he can't be much worse; they call it 'bronchitis'; the doctor thinks it will turn one way or another to-night." "That's bad, very bad," said Grant, shaking his head; "I know two men who died of that last week; it takes 'em off in no time; but while there's life there's hope, so you must keep up your spirits." "Yes," said Harry quickly, "and the doctor said that father had a better chance than most men, because he didn't drink. He said yesterday the fever was so high that if father had been a drinking man it would have burned him up like a piece of paper; but I believe he thinks he will get over it; don't you think he will, Mr. Grant?" The governor looked puzzled. "If there's any rule that good men should get over these things, I'm sure he will, my boy; he's the best man I know. I'll look in early to-morrow." Early next morning he was there. "Well?" said he. "Father is better," said Harry. "Mother hopes he will get over it." "Thank God!" said the governor, "and now you must keep him warm, and keep his mind easy, and that brings me to the horses; you see Jack will be all the better for the rest of a week or two in a warm stable, and you can easily take him a turn up and down the street to stretch his legs; but this young one, if he does not get work, he will soon be all up on end, as you may say, and will be rather too much for you; and when he does go out there'll be an accident." "It is like that now," said Harry. "I have kept him short of corn, but he's so full of spirit I don't know what to do with him." "Just so," said Grant. "Now look here, will you tell your mother that if she is agreeable I will come for him every day till something is arranged, and take him for a good spell of work, and whatever he earns, I'll bring your mother half of it, and that will help with the horses' feed. Your father is in a good club, I know, but that won't keep the horses, and they'll be eating their heads off all this time; I'll come at noon and hear what she says," and without waiting for Harry's thanks he was gone. At noon I think he went and saw Polly, for he and Harry came to the stable together, harnessed Hotspur, and took him out. For a week or more he came for Hotspur, and when Harry thanked him or said anything about his kindness, he laughed it off, saying it was all good luck for him, for his horses were wanting a little rest which they would not otherwise have had. Jerry grew better steadily, but the doctor said that he must never go back to the cab work again if he wished to be an old man. The children had many consultations together about what father and mother would do, and how they could help to earn money. One afternoon Hotspur was brought in very wet and dirty. "The streets are nothing but slush," said the governor; "it will give you a good warming, my boy, to get him clean and dry." "All right, governor," said Harry, "I shall not leave him till he is; you know I have been trained by my father." "I wish all the boys had been trained like you," said the governor. While Harry was sponging off the mud from Hotspur's body and legs Dolly came in, looking very full of something. "Who lives at Fairstowe, Harry? Mother has got a letter from Fairstowe; she seemed so glad, and ran upstairs to father with it." "Don't you know? Why, it is the name of Mrs. Fowler's place--mother's old mistress, you know--the lady that father met last summer, who sent you and me five shillings each." "Oh! Mrs. Fowler. Of course, I know all about her. I wonder what she is writing to mother about." "Mother wrote to her last week," said Harry; "you know she told father if ever he gave up the cab work she would like to know. I wonder what she says; run in and see, Dolly." Harry scrubbed away at Hotspur with a huish! huish! like any old hostler. In a few minutes Dolly came dancing into the stable. "Oh! Harry, there never was anything so beautiful; Mrs. Fowler says we are all to go and live near her. There is a cottage now empty that will just suit us, with a garden and a henhouse, and apple-trees, and everything! and her coachman is going away in the spring, and then she will want father in his place; and there are good families round, where you can get a place in the garden or the stable, or as a page-boy; and there's a good school for me; and mother is laughing and crying by turns, and father does look so happy!" "That's uncommon jolly," said Harry, "and just the right thing, I should say; it will suit father and mother both; but I don't intend to be a page-boy with tight clothes and rows of buttons. I'll be a groom or a gardener." It was quickly settled that as soon as Jerry was well enough they should remove to the country, and that the cab and horses should be sold as soon as possible. This was heavy news for me, for I was not young now, and could not look for any improvement in my condition. Since I left Birtwick I had never been so happy as with my dear master Jerry; but three years of cab work, even under the best conditions, will tell on one's strength, and I felt that I was not the horse that I had been. Grant said at once that he would take Hotspur, and there were men on the stand who would have bought me; but Jerry said I should not go to cab work again with just anybody, and the governor promised to find a place for me where I should be comfortable. The day came for going away. Jerry had not been allowed to go out yet, and I never saw him after that New Year's eve. Polly and the children came to bid me good-by. "Poor old Jack! dear old Jack! I wish we could take you with us," she said, and then laying her hand on my mane she put her face close to my neck and kissed me. Dolly was crying and kissed me too. Harry stroked me a great deal, but said nothing, only he seemed very sad, and so I was led away to my new place. Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A: The holiday season is a busy time for cab drivers, and not a lot of fun, although they do get tons of work. The weather is also a problem: "Sometimes driver and horse have to wait for hours in the rain or frost, shivering with cold, whilst the merry people within are dancing away to the music" , Beauty says. Beauty takes most of the evening shifts because Hotspur's still new to the job. Jerry starts to get sick, and his cough gets worse; Polly waits up for him to come home each night. On New Year's Eve, Jerry and Beauty drive two men to a party and are told to come back at eleven. They arrive on time, but the men are late getting back to them, and Beauty and Jerry are forced to wait in the rain and sleet until 1:15AM. The men never apologize, and are angry at having to pay for Jerry's time waiting. When Beauty and Jerry finally get home, Jerry's seriously ill, but he still takes the time to care for Beauty before he goes inside. The next day, Harry and Dolly come to see Beauty, and Beauty finds out that Jerry is "dangerously ill" . Oh no... Governor Grant comes to visit, and Harry explains that Jerry has bronchitis, and that it's a good thing Jerry doesn't drink because the doctor says that will give Jerry a better chance of living through it. Still, it's a scary situation. The next day, the Governor visits again, and Beauty hears that Jerry will pull through. The Governor advises the family that although Beauty will be okay after a few days of rest, Hotspur will become dangerously restless, and needs exercise. Harry agrees, saying, " he's so full of spirit I don't know what to do with him" . The Governor arranges to take Hotspur out in his own cab and give Jerry part of the earnings. For over a week he takes Hotspur out, with Jerry's family thanking him for his gesture. One day Dolly brings news of a letter from a place called Fairstowe, where Polly's old mistress, Mrs. Fowler, lives. Mrs. Fowler has written in response to Polly--who asked if any jobs were available for Jerry. Turns out that Mrs. Fowler's coachman is leaving, and she offers Jerry a job to replace him at her house out in the country, which will be a huge improvement for the family. They decide to sell the cab and horses immediately; it's the second time Beauty's been displaced by someone's illness. He's understandably upset by this news, saying, "I was not young now, and could not look for any improvement in my condition. Since I left Birtwick I had never been so happy as with my dear master Jerry" . Grant agrees to take Hotspur, and although other cabbies offer to take Beauty, Jerry wants to find him a better place. Beauty says he never sees Jerry again after his illness, but his family comes to say a very sad, tearful goodbye.

Chapter: 45 Jerry's New Year For some people Christmas and the New Year are very merry times; but for cabmen and cabmen's horses it is no holiday, though it may be a harvest. There are so many parties, balls, and places of amusement open that the work is hard and often late. Sometimes driver and horse have to wait for hours in the rain or frost, shivering with the cold, while the merry people within are dancing away to the music. I wonder if the beautiful ladies ever think of the weary cabman waiting on his box, and his patient beast standing, till his legs get stiff with cold. I had now most of the evening work, as I was well accustomed to standing, and Jerry was also more afraid of Hotspur taking cold. We had a great deal of late work in the Christmas week, and Jerry's cough was bad; but however late we were, Polly sat up for him, and came out with a lantern to meet him, looking anxious and troubled. On the evening of the New Year we had to take two gentlemen to a house in one of the West End Squares. We set them down at nine o'clock, and were told to come again at eleven, "but," said one, "as it is a card party, you may have to wait a few minutes, but don't be late." As the clock struck eleven we were at the door, for Jerry was always punctual. The clock chimed the quarters, one, two, three, and then struck twelve, but the door did not open. The wind had been very changeable, with squalls of rain during the day, but now it came on sharp, driving sleet, which seemed to come all the way round; it was very cold, and there was no shelter. Jerry got off his box and came and pulled one of my cloths a little more over my neck; then he took a turn or two up and down, stamping his feet; then he began to beat his arms, but that set him off coughing; so he opened the cab door and sat at the bottom with his feet on the pavement, and was a little sheltered. Still the clock chimed the quarters, and no one came. At half-past twelve he rang the bell and asked the servant if he would be wanted that night. "Oh, yes, you'll be wanted safe enough," said the man; "you must not go, it will soon be over," and again Jerry sat down, but his voice was so hoarse I could hardly hear him. At a quarter past one the door opened, and the two gentlemen came out; they got into the cab without a word, and told Jerry where to drive, that was nearly two miles. My legs were numb with cold, and I thought I should have stumbled. When the men got out they never said they were sorry to have kept us waiting so long, but were angry at the charge; however, as Jerry never charged more than was his due, so he never took less, and they had to pay for the two hours and a quarter waiting; but it was hard-earned money to Jerry. At last we got home; he could hardly speak, and his cough was dreadful. Polly asked no questions, but opened the door and held the lantern for him. "Can't I do something?" she said. "Yes; get Jack something warm, and then boil me some gruel." This was said in a hoarse whisper; he could hardly get his breath, but he gave me a rub-down as usual, and even went up into the hayloft for an extra bundle of straw for my bed. Polly brought me a warm mash that made me comfortable, and then they locked the door. It was late the next morning before any one came, and then it was only Harry. He cleaned us and fed us, and swept out the stalls, then he put the straw back again as if it was Sunday. He was very still, and neither whistled nor sang. At noon he came again and gave us our food and water; this time Dolly came with him; she was crying, and I could gather from what they said that Jerry was dangerously ill, and the doctor said it was a bad case. So two days passed, and there was great trouble indoors. We only saw Harry, and sometimes Dolly. I think she came for company, for Polly was always with Jerry, and he had to be kept very quiet. On the third day, while Harry was in the stable, a tap came at the door, and Governor Grant came in. "I wouldn't go to the house, my boy," he said, "but I want to know how your father is." "He is very bad," said Harry, "he can't be much worse; they call it 'bronchitis'; the doctor thinks it will turn one way or another to-night." "That's bad, very bad," said Grant, shaking his head; "I know two men who died of that last week; it takes 'em off in no time; but while there's life there's hope, so you must keep up your spirits." "Yes," said Harry quickly, "and the doctor said that father had a better chance than most men, because he didn't drink. He said yesterday the fever was so high that if father had been a drinking man it would have burned him up like a piece of paper; but I believe he thinks he will get over it; don't you think he will, Mr. Grant?" The governor looked puzzled. "If there's any rule that good men should get over these things, I'm sure he will, my boy; he's the best man I know. I'll look in early to-morrow." Early next morning he was there. "Well?" said he. "Father is better," said Harry. "Mother hopes he will get over it." "Thank God!" said the governor, "and now you must keep him warm, and keep his mind easy, and that brings me to the horses; you see Jack will be all the better for the rest of a week or two in a warm stable, and you can easily take him a turn up and down the street to stretch his legs; but this young one, if he does not get work, he will soon be all up on end, as you may say, and will be rather too much for you; and when he does go out there'll be an accident." "It is like that now," said Harry. "I have kept him short of corn, but he's so full of spirit I don't know what to do with him." "Just so," said Grant. "Now look here, will you tell your mother that if she is agreeable I will come for him every day till something is arranged, and take him for a good spell of work, and whatever he earns, I'll bring your mother half of it, and that will help with the horses' feed. Your father is in a good club, I know, but that won't keep the horses, and they'll be eating their heads off all this time; I'll come at noon and hear what she says," and without waiting for Harry's thanks he was gone. At noon I think he went and saw Polly, for he and Harry came to the stable together, harnessed Hotspur, and took him out. For a week or more he came for Hotspur, and when Harry thanked him or said anything about his kindness, he laughed it off, saying it was all good luck for him, for his horses were wanting a little rest which they would not otherwise have had. Jerry grew better steadily, but the doctor said that he must never go back to the cab work again if he wished to be an old man. The children had many consultations together about what father and mother would do, and how they could help to earn money. One afternoon Hotspur was brought in very wet and dirty. "The streets are nothing but slush," said the governor; "it will give you a good warming, my boy, to get him clean and dry." "All right, governor," said Harry, "I shall not leave him till he is; you know I have been trained by my father." "I wish all the boys had been trained like you," said the governor. While Harry was sponging off the mud from Hotspur's body and legs Dolly came in, looking very full of something. "Who lives at Fairstowe, Harry? Mother has got a letter from Fairstowe; she seemed so glad, and ran upstairs to father with it." "Don't you know? Why, it is the name of Mrs. Fowler's place--mother's old mistress, you know--the lady that father met last summer, who sent you and me five shillings each." "Oh! Mrs. Fowler. Of course, I know all about her. I wonder what she is writing to mother about." "Mother wrote to her last week," said Harry; "you know she told father if ever he gave up the cab work she would like to know. I wonder what she says; run in and see, Dolly." Harry scrubbed away at Hotspur with a huish! huish! like any old hostler. In a few minutes Dolly came dancing into the stable. "Oh! Harry, there never was anything so beautiful; Mrs. Fowler says we are all to go and live near her. There is a cottage now empty that will just suit us, with a garden and a henhouse, and apple-trees, and everything! and her coachman is going away in the spring, and then she will want father in his place; and there are good families round, where you can get a place in the garden or the stable, or as a page-boy; and there's a good school for me; and mother is laughing and crying by turns, and father does look so happy!" "That's uncommon jolly," said Harry, "and just the right thing, I should say; it will suit father and mother both; but I don't intend to be a page-boy with tight clothes and rows of buttons. I'll be a groom or a gardener." It was quickly settled that as soon as Jerry was well enough they should remove to the country, and that the cab and horses should be sold as soon as possible. This was heavy news for me, for I was not young now, and could not look for any improvement in my condition. Since I left Birtwick I had never been so happy as with my dear master Jerry; but three years of cab work, even under the best conditions, will tell on one's strength, and I felt that I was not the horse that I had been. Grant said at once that he would take Hotspur, and there were men on the stand who would have bought me; but Jerry said I should not go to cab work again with just anybody, and the governor promised to find a place for me where I should be comfortable. The day came for going away. Jerry had not been allowed to go out yet, and I never saw him after that New Year's eve. Polly and the children came to bid me good-by. "Poor old Jack! dear old Jack! I wish we could take you with us," she said, and then laying her hand on my mane she put her face close to my neck and kissed me. Dolly was crying and kissed me too. Harry stroked me a great deal, but said nothing, only he seemed very sad, and so I was led away to my new place. Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A:

The holiday season is a busy time for cab drivers, and not a lot of fun, although they do get tons of work. The weather is also a problem: "Sometimes driver and horse have to wait for hours in the rain or frost, shivering with cold, whilst the merry people within are dancing away to the music" , Beauty says. Beauty takes most of the evening shifts because Hotspur's still new to the job. Jerry starts to get sick, and his cough gets worse; Polly waits up for him to come home each night. On New Year's Eve, Jerry and Beauty drive two men to a party and are told to come back at eleven. They arrive on time, but the men are late getting back to them, and Beauty and Jerry are forced to wait in the rain and sleet until 1:15AM. The men never apologize, and are angry at having to pay for Jerry's time waiting. When Beauty and Jerry finally get home, Jerry's seriously ill, but he still takes the time to care for Beauty before he goes inside. The next day, Harry and Dolly come to see Beauty, and Beauty finds out that Jerry is "dangerously ill" . Oh no... Governor Grant comes to visit, and Harry explains that Jerry has bronchitis, and that it's a good thing Jerry doesn't drink because the doctor says that will give Jerry a better chance of living through it. Still, it's a scary situation. The next day, the Governor visits again, and Beauty hears that Jerry will pull through. The Governor advises the family that although Beauty will be okay after a few days of rest, Hotspur will become dangerously restless, and needs exercise. Harry agrees, saying, " he's so full of spirit I don't know what to do with him" . The Governor arranges to take Hotspur out in his own cab and give Jerry part of the earnings. For over a week he takes Hotspur out, with Jerry's family thanking him for his gesture. One day Dolly brings news of a letter from a place called Fairstowe, where Polly's old mistress, Mrs. Fowler, lives. Mrs. Fowler has written in response to Polly--who asked if any jobs were available for Jerry. Turns out that Mrs. Fowler's coachman is leaving, and she offers Jerry a job to replace him at her house out in the country, which will be a huge improvement for the family. They decide to sell the cab and horses immediately; it's the second time Beauty's been displaced by someone's illness. He's understandably upset by this news, saying, "I was not young now, and could not look for any improvement in my condition. Since I left Birtwick I had never been so happy as with my dear master Jerry" . Grant agrees to take Hotspur, and although other cabbies offer to take Beauty, Jerry wants to find him a better place. Beauty says he never sees Jerry again after his illness, but his family comes to say a very sad, tearful goodbye.

Chapter: Part IV. 46 Jakes and the Lady I was sold to a corn dealer and baker, whom Jerry knew, and with him he thought I should have good food and fair work. In the first he was quite right, and if my master had always been on the premises I do not think I should have been overloaded, but there was a foreman who was always hurrying and driving every one, and frequently when I had quite a full load he would order something else to be taken on. My carter, whose name was Jakes, often said it was more than I ought to take, but the other always overruled him. "'Twas no use going twice when once would do, and he chose to get business forward." Jakes, like the other carters, always had the check-rein up, which prevented me from drawing easily, and by the time I had been there three or four months I found the work telling very much on my strength. One day I was loaded more than usual, and part of the road was a steep uphill. I used all my strength, but I could not get on, and was obliged continually to stop. This did not please my driver, and he laid his whip on badly. "Get on, you lazy fellow," he said, "or I'll make you." Again I started the heavy load, and struggled on a few yards; again the whip came down, and again I struggled forward. The pain of that great cart whip was sharp, but my mind was hurt quite as much as my poor sides. To be punished and abused when I was doing my very best was so hard it took the heart out of me. A third time he was flogging me cruelly, when a lady stepped quickly up to him, and said in a sweet, earnest voice: "Oh! pray do not whip your good horse any more; I am sure he is doing all he can, and the road is very steep; I am sure he is doing his best." "If doing his best won't get this load up he must do something more than his best; that's all I know, ma'am," said Jakes. "But is it not a heavy load?" she said. "Yes, yes, too heavy," he said; "but that's not my fault; the foreman came just as we were starting, and would have three hundredweight more put on to save him trouble, and I must get on with it as well as I can." He was raising the whip again, when the lady said: "Pray, stop; I think I can help you if you will let me." The man laughed. "You see," she said, "you do not give him a fair chance; he cannot use all his power with his head held back as it is with that check-rein; if you would take it off I am sure he would do better--do try it," she said persuasively, "I should be very glad if you would." "Well, well," said Jakes, with a short laugh, "anything to please a lady, of course. How far would you wish it down, ma'am?" "Quite down, give him his head altogether." The rein was taken off, and in a moment I put my head down to my very knees. What a comfort it was! Then I tossed it up and down several times to get the aching stiffness out of my neck. "Poor fellow! that is what you wanted," said she, patting and stroking me with her gentle hand; "and now if you will speak kindly to him and lead him on I believe he will be able to do better." Jakes took the rein. "Come on, Blackie." I put down my head, and threw my whole weight against the collar; I spared no strength; the load moved on, and I pulled it steadily up the hill, and then stopped to take breath. The lady had walked along the footpath, and now came across into the road. She stroked and patted my neck, as I had not been patted for many a long day. "You see he was quite willing when you gave him the chance; I am sure he is a fine-tempered creature, and I dare say has known better days. You won't put that rein on again, will you?" for he was just going to hitch it up on the old plan. "Well, ma'am, I can't deny that having his head has helped him up the hill, and I'll remember it another time, and thank you, ma'am; but if he went without a check-rein I should be the laughing-stock of all the carters; it is the fashion, you see." "Is it not better," she said, "to lead a good fashion than to follow a bad one? A great many gentlemen do not use check-reins now; our carriage horses have not worn them for fifteen years, and work with much less fatigue than those who have them; besides," she added in a very serious voice, "we have no right to distress any of God's creatures without a very good reason; we call them dumb animals, and so they are, for they cannot tell us how they feel, but they do not suffer less because they have no words. But I must not detain you now; I thank you for trying my plan with your good horse, and I am sure you will find it far better than the whip. Good-day," and with another soft pat on my neck she stepped lightly across the path, and I saw her no more. "That was a real lady, I'll be bound for it," said Jakes to himself; "she spoke just as polite as if I was a gentleman, and I'll try her plan, uphill, at any rate;" and I must do him the justice to say that he let my rein out several holes, and going uphill after that, he always gave me my head; but the heavy loads went on. Good feed and fair rest will keep up one's strength under full work, but no horse can stand against overloading; and I was getting so thoroughly pulled down from this cause that a younger horse was bought in my place. I may as well mention here what I suffered at this time from another cause. I had heard horses speak of it, but had never myself had experience of the evil; this was a badly-lighted stable; there was only one very small window at the end, and the consequence was that the stalls were almost dark. Besides the depressing effect this had on my spirits, it very much weakened my sight, and when I was suddenly brought out of the darkness into the glare of daylight it was very painful to my eyes. Several times I stumbled over the threshold, and could scarcely see where I was going. I believe, had I stayed there very long, I should have become purblind, and that would have been a great misfortune, for I have heard men say that a stone-blind horse was safer to drive than one which had imperfect sight, as it generally makes them very timid. However, I escaped without any permanent injury to my sight, and was sold to a large cab owner. Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A: Beauty's next owner is a corn dealer and baker, whom Jerry picked thinking Beauty would have "good food and fair work" . Well, he's... almost right. Beauty's new master is decent enough, but unfortunately the foreman who's around more often is a very harsh taskmaster. Beauty's carter Jakes "often said that it was more than ought to take, but the others always overruled him" . At this new place, they use a bearing rein. By now, we know all about the torture of bearing reins--and that people who use them are rarely particularly good to their horses. One day Beauty's given a very heavy load and a steep uphill route. He struggles to pull the cart, but it's too much, and his driver starts to whip him. "The pain of that great cart whip was sharp, but my mind was hurt quite as much as my poor sides. To be punished and abused when I was doing my very best was so hard it took the heart out of me" , Beauty reveals. A passing lady pleads with Jakes, asking him not to flog Beauty. Jakes explains to her that he has no choice, he has to do his job--and he wasn't the one who overloaded the cart. The lady asks Jakes if she can help, and suggests he take off the bearing rein so that Beauty can put his head down. "The rein was taken off, and in a moment I put my head down to my very knees. What a comfort it was" , Beauty says. The lady suggests that Jakes speak kindly to Beauty , and Beauty responds by putting his head down and pulling with all his might until they make it up the hill. The lady implores Jakes not to put the bearing rein back on, but he says all the carters will laugh at him if he doesn't. She argues with him, saying, "Is it not better to lead a good fashion than to follow a bad one?" . She makes a pretty good point, right? Jakes decides to take off the bearing rein while going uphill, and does loosen it, but unfortunately he doesn't remove it completely. Beauty is quickly worn out by overloaded carts, and a younger horse is brought in to take his place. As an aside, Beauty lets us know that his stable was very poorly lit, which weakened his sight. "I believe, had I stayed there very long, I should have become purblind, and that would have been a great misfortune" , he says. However, he's no longer any use to the corn dealer, so he's sold to a large cab owner.

Chapter: Part IV. 46 Jakes and the Lady I was sold to a corn dealer and baker, whom Jerry knew, and with him he thought I should have good food and fair work. In the first he was quite right, and if my master had always been on the premises I do not think I should have been overloaded, but there was a foreman who was always hurrying and driving every one, and frequently when I had quite a full load he would order something else to be taken on. My carter, whose name was Jakes, often said it was more than I ought to take, but the other always overruled him. "'Twas no use going twice when once would do, and he chose to get business forward." Jakes, like the other carters, always had the check-rein up, which prevented me from drawing easily, and by the time I had been there three or four months I found the work telling very much on my strength. One day I was loaded more than usual, and part of the road was a steep uphill. I used all my strength, but I could not get on, and was obliged continually to stop. This did not please my driver, and he laid his whip on badly. "Get on, you lazy fellow," he said, "or I'll make you." Again I started the heavy load, and struggled on a few yards; again the whip came down, and again I struggled forward. The pain of that great cart whip was sharp, but my mind was hurt quite as much as my poor sides. To be punished and abused when I was doing my very best was so hard it took the heart out of me. A third time he was flogging me cruelly, when a lady stepped quickly up to him, and said in a sweet, earnest voice: "Oh! pray do not whip your good horse any more; I am sure he is doing all he can, and the road is very steep; I am sure he is doing his best." "If doing his best won't get this load up he must do something more than his best; that's all I know, ma'am," said Jakes. "But is it not a heavy load?" she said. "Yes, yes, too heavy," he said; "but that's not my fault; the foreman came just as we were starting, and would have three hundredweight more put on to save him trouble, and I must get on with it as well as I can." He was raising the whip again, when the lady said: "Pray, stop; I think I can help you if you will let me." The man laughed. "You see," she said, "you do not give him a fair chance; he cannot use all his power with his head held back as it is with that check-rein; if you would take it off I am sure he would do better--do try it," she said persuasively, "I should be very glad if you would." "Well, well," said Jakes, with a short laugh, "anything to please a lady, of course. How far would you wish it down, ma'am?" "Quite down, give him his head altogether." The rein was taken off, and in a moment I put my head down to my very knees. What a comfort it was! Then I tossed it up and down several times to get the aching stiffness out of my neck. "Poor fellow! that is what you wanted," said she, patting and stroking me with her gentle hand; "and now if you will speak kindly to him and lead him on I believe he will be able to do better." Jakes took the rein. "Come on, Blackie." I put down my head, and threw my whole weight against the collar; I spared no strength; the load moved on, and I pulled it steadily up the hill, and then stopped to take breath. The lady had walked along the footpath, and now came across into the road. She stroked and patted my neck, as I had not been patted for many a long day. "You see he was quite willing when you gave him the chance; I am sure he is a fine-tempered creature, and I dare say has known better days. You won't put that rein on again, will you?" for he was just going to hitch it up on the old plan. "Well, ma'am, I can't deny that having his head has helped him up the hill, and I'll remember it another time, and thank you, ma'am; but if he went without a check-rein I should be the laughing-stock of all the carters; it is the fashion, you see." "Is it not better," she said, "to lead a good fashion than to follow a bad one? A great many gentlemen do not use check-reins now; our carriage horses have not worn them for fifteen years, and work with much less fatigue than those who have them; besides," she added in a very serious voice, "we have no right to distress any of God's creatures without a very good reason; we call them dumb animals, and so they are, for they cannot tell us how they feel, but they do not suffer less because they have no words. But I must not detain you now; I thank you for trying my plan with your good horse, and I am sure you will find it far better than the whip. Good-day," and with another soft pat on my neck she stepped lightly across the path, and I saw her no more. "That was a real lady, I'll be bound for it," said Jakes to himself; "she spoke just as polite as if I was a gentleman, and I'll try her plan, uphill, at any rate;" and I must do him the justice to say that he let my rein out several holes, and going uphill after that, he always gave me my head; but the heavy loads went on. Good feed and fair rest will keep up one's strength under full work, but no horse can stand against overloading; and I was getting so thoroughly pulled down from this cause that a younger horse was bought in my place. I may as well mention here what I suffered at this time from another cause. I had heard horses speak of it, but had never myself had experience of the evil; this was a badly-lighted stable; there was only one very small window at the end, and the consequence was that the stalls were almost dark. Besides the depressing effect this had on my spirits, it very much weakened my sight, and when I was suddenly brought out of the darkness into the glare of daylight it was very painful to my eyes. Several times I stumbled over the threshold, and could scarcely see where I was going. I believe, had I stayed there very long, I should have become purblind, and that would have been a great misfortune, for I have heard men say that a stone-blind horse was safer to drive than one which had imperfect sight, as it generally makes them very timid. However, I escaped without any permanent injury to my sight, and was sold to a large cab owner. Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A:

Beauty's next owner is a corn dealer and baker, whom Jerry picked thinking Beauty would have "good food and fair work" . Well, he's... almost right. Beauty's new master is decent enough, but unfortunately the foreman who's around more often is a very harsh taskmaster. Beauty's carter Jakes "often said that it was more than ought to take, but the others always overruled him" . At this new place, they use a bearing rein. By now, we know all about the torture of bearing reins--and that people who use them are rarely particularly good to their horses. One day Beauty's given a very heavy load and a steep uphill route. He struggles to pull the cart, but it's too much, and his driver starts to whip him. "The pain of that great cart whip was sharp, but my mind was hurt quite as much as my poor sides. To be punished and abused when I was doing my very best was so hard it took the heart out of me" , Beauty reveals. A passing lady pleads with Jakes, asking him not to flog Beauty. Jakes explains to her that he has no choice, he has to do his job--and he wasn't the one who overloaded the cart. The lady asks Jakes if she can help, and suggests he take off the bearing rein so that Beauty can put his head down. "The rein was taken off, and in a moment I put my head down to my very knees. What a comfort it was" , Beauty says. The lady suggests that Jakes speak kindly to Beauty , and Beauty responds by putting his head down and pulling with all his might until they make it up the hill. The lady implores Jakes not to put the bearing rein back on, but he says all the carters will laugh at him if he doesn't. She argues with him, saying, "Is it not better to lead a good fashion than to follow a bad one?" . She makes a pretty good point, right? Jakes decides to take off the bearing rein while going uphill, and does loosen it, but unfortunately he doesn't remove it completely. Beauty is quickly worn out by overloaded carts, and a younger horse is brought in to take his place. As an aside, Beauty lets us know that his stable was very poorly lit, which weakened his sight. "I believe, had I stayed there very long, I should have become purblind, and that would have been a great misfortune" , he says. However, he's no longer any use to the corn dealer, so he's sold to a large cab owner.

Chapter: 47 Hard Times My new master I shall never forget; he had black eyes and a hooked nose, his mouth was as full of teeth as a bull-dog's, and his voice was as harsh as the grinding of cart wheels over graveled stones. His name was Nicholas Skinner, and I believe he was the man that poor Seedy Sam drove for. I have heard men say that seeing is believing; but I should say that feeling is believing; for much as I had seen before, I never knew till now the utter misery of a cab-horse's life. Skinner had a low set of cabs and a low set of drivers; he was hard on the men, and the men were hard on the horses. In this place we had no Sunday rest, and it was in the heat of summer. Sometimes on a Sunday morning a party of fast men would hire the cab for the day; four of them inside and another with the driver, and I had to take them ten or fifteen miles out into the country, and back again; never would any of them get down to walk up a hill, let it be ever so steep, or the day ever so hot--unless, indeed, when the driver was afraid I should not manage it, and sometimes I was so fevered and worn that I could hardly touch my food. How I used to long for the nice bran mash with niter in it that Jerry used to give us on Saturday nights in hot weather, that used to cool us down and make us so comfortable. Then we had two nights and a whole day for unbroken rest, and on Monday morning we were as fresh as young horses again; but here there was no rest, and my driver was just as hard as his master. He had a cruel whip with something so sharp at the end that it sometimes drew blood, and he would even whip me under the belly, and flip the lash out at my head. Indignities like these took the heart out of me terribly, but still I did my best and never hung back; for, as poor Ginger said, it was no use; men are the strongest. My life was now so utterly wretched that I wished I might, like Ginger, drop down dead at my work and be out of my misery, and one day my wish very nearly came to pass. I went on the stand at eight in the morning, and had done a good share of work, when we had to take a fare to the railway. A long train was just expected in, so my driver pulled up at the back of some of the outside cabs to take the chance of a return fare. It was a very heavy train, and as all the cabs were soon engaged ours was called for. There was a party of four; a noisy, blustering man with a lady, a little boy and a young girl, and a great deal of luggage. The lady and the boy got into the cab, and while the man ordered about the luggage the young girl came and looked at me. "Papa," she said, "I am sure this poor horse cannot take us and all our luggage so far, he is so very weak and worn up. Do look at him." "Oh! he's all right, miss," said my driver, "he's strong enough." The porter, who was pulling about some heavy boxes, suggested to the gentleman, as there was so much luggage, whether he would not take a second cab. "Can your horse do it, or can't he?" said the blustering man. "Oh! he can do it all right, sir; send up the boxes, porter; he could take more than that;" and he helped to haul up a box so heavy that I could feel the springs go down. "Papa, papa, do take a second cab," said the young girl in a beseeching tone. "I am sure we are wrong, I am sure it is very cruel." "Nonsense, Grace, get in at once, and don't make all this fuss; a pretty thing it would be if a man of business had to examine every cab-horse before he hired it--the man knows his own business of course; there, get in and hold your tongue!" My gentle friend had to obey, and box after box was dragged up and lodged on the top of the cab or settled by the side of the driver. At last all was ready, and with his usual jerk at the rein and slash of the whip he drove out of the station. The load was very heavy and I had had neither food nor rest since morning; but I did my best, as I always had done, in spite of cruelty and injustice. I got along fairly till we came to Ludgate Hill; but there the heavy load and my own exhaustion were too much. I was struggling to keep on, goaded by constant chucks of the rein and use of the whip, when in a single moment--I cannot tell how--my feet slipped from under me, and I fell heavily to the ground on my side; the suddenness and the force with which I fell seemed to beat all the breath out of my body. I lay perfectly still; indeed, I had no power to move, and I thought now I was going to die. I heard a sort of confusion round me, loud, angry voices, and the getting down of the luggage, but it was all like a dream. I thought I heard that sweet, pitiful voice saying, "Oh! that poor horse! it is all our fault." Some one came and loosened the throat strap of my bridle, and undid the traces which kept the collar so tight upon me. Some one said, "He's dead, he'll never get up again." Then I could hear a policeman giving orders, but I did not even open my eyes; I could only draw a gasping breath now and then. Some cold water was thrown over my head, and some cordial was poured into my mouth, and something was covered over me. I cannot tell how long I lay there, but I found my life coming back, and a kind-voiced man was patting me and encouraging me to rise. After some more cordial had been given me, and after one or two attempts, I staggered to my feet, and was gently led to some stables which were close by. Here I was put into a well-littered stall, and some warm gruel was brought to me, which I drank thankfully. In the evening I was sufficiently recovered to be led back to Skinner's stables, where I think they did the best for me they could. In the morning Skinner came with a farrier to look at me. He examined me very closely and said: "This is a case of overwork more than disease, and if you could give him a run off for six months he would be able to work again; but now there is not an ounce of strength left in him." "Then he must just go to the dogs," said Skinner. "I have no meadows to nurse sick horses in--he might get well or he might not; that sort of thing don't suit my business; my plan is to work 'em as long as they'll go, and then sell 'em for what they'll fetch, at the knacker's or elsewhere." "If he was broken-winded," said the farrier, "you had better have him killed out of hand, but he is not; there is a sale of horses coming off in about ten days; if you rest him and feed him up he may pick up, and you may get more than his skin is worth, at any rate." Upon this advice Skinner, rather unwillingly, I think, gave orders that I should be well fed and cared for, and the stable man, happily for me, carried out the orders with a much better will than his master had in giving them. Ten days of perfect rest, plenty of good oats, hay, bran mashes, with boiled linseed mixed in them, did more to get up my condition than anything else could have done; those linseed mashes were delicious, and I began to think, after all, it might be better to live than go to the dogs. When the twelfth day after the accident came, I was taken to the sale, a few miles out of London. I felt that any change from my present place must be an improvement, so I held up my head, and hoped for the best. Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A: And now things take a turn for the horrible. Beauty's new master is as evil as they come: Nicholas Skinner, whose "black eyes and hooked nose" call to mind a classic Disney villain, was poor deceased Seedy Sam's boss. Are you getting the picture? Beauty is now truly miserable. Skinner is a hard-driving boss, and the horses have no day of rest, even in summer heat. Beauty thinks fondly of the kind treatment he had with Jerry, in contrast to the hellish life he has at Skinner's. Beauty's driver is " just as hard as his master. He had a cruel whip with something so sharp at the end that it sometimes drew blood, and he would even whip me under the belly, and flip the lash out at my head" . Ouch. Beauty thinks of Ginger now, saying, "My life was now so utterly wretched that I wished I might, like Ginger, drop down dead at my work, and be out of my misery" . One day, Beauty's wish nearly comes true. His cab is called to take a "noisy, blustering" man with his family and lots of luggage. The man's young daughter asks if Beauty is up to the job, saying that he looks very weak, but the driver assures her that Beauty is fine. The girl again asks her father to pay for a second cab, but he refuses. Beauty attempts to pull the cart, although he hasn't had food or rest all day. Now there's a hero. Beauty tries his best, but at last he slips and falls badly. The fall knocks the wind out of him and he's sure he's about to die. In his dream-like state, he hears the little girl lament that it's their fault, and someone else says, "He's dead, he'll never get up again" . Somehow Beauty is given whatever emergency treatment is available for horses, and he's eventually able to get up and walk to a nearby stable, and then finally makes it back to Skinner's that evening. At Skinner's, a farrier examines Beauty and says he's overworked. Skinner declares that Beauty " must just go to the dogs" , since he doesn't have any place to nurse sick horses. The farrier insists that if Beauty gets a few days' rest, though, Skinner might be able to sell him off at an upcoming sale. In a stroke of good luck, Skinner actually follows this advice, and Beauty gets ten days of rest and good food. He goes off to the horse sale hoping for some kind of improvement--because anything would be better than Skinner.

Chapter: 47 Hard Times My new master I shall never forget; he had black eyes and a hooked nose, his mouth was as full of teeth as a bull-dog's, and his voice was as harsh as the grinding of cart wheels over graveled stones. His name was Nicholas Skinner, and I believe he was the man that poor Seedy Sam drove for. I have heard men say that seeing is believing; but I should say that feeling is believing; for much as I had seen before, I never knew till now the utter misery of a cab-horse's life. Skinner had a low set of cabs and a low set of drivers; he was hard on the men, and the men were hard on the horses. In this place we had no Sunday rest, and it was in the heat of summer. Sometimes on a Sunday morning a party of fast men would hire the cab for the day; four of them inside and another with the driver, and I had to take them ten or fifteen miles out into the country, and back again; never would any of them get down to walk up a hill, let it be ever so steep, or the day ever so hot--unless, indeed, when the driver was afraid I should not manage it, and sometimes I was so fevered and worn that I could hardly touch my food. How I used to long for the nice bran mash with niter in it that Jerry used to give us on Saturday nights in hot weather, that used to cool us down and make us so comfortable. Then we had two nights and a whole day for unbroken rest, and on Monday morning we were as fresh as young horses again; but here there was no rest, and my driver was just as hard as his master. He had a cruel whip with something so sharp at the end that it sometimes drew blood, and he would even whip me under the belly, and flip the lash out at my head. Indignities like these took the heart out of me terribly, but still I did my best and never hung back; for, as poor Ginger said, it was no use; men are the strongest. My life was now so utterly wretched that I wished I might, like Ginger, drop down dead at my work and be out of my misery, and one day my wish very nearly came to pass. I went on the stand at eight in the morning, and had done a good share of work, when we had to take a fare to the railway. A long train was just expected in, so my driver pulled up at the back of some of the outside cabs to take the chance of a return fare. It was a very heavy train, and as all the cabs were soon engaged ours was called for. There was a party of four; a noisy, blustering man with a lady, a little boy and a young girl, and a great deal of luggage. The lady and the boy got into the cab, and while the man ordered about the luggage the young girl came and looked at me. "Papa," she said, "I am sure this poor horse cannot take us and all our luggage so far, he is so very weak and worn up. Do look at him." "Oh! he's all right, miss," said my driver, "he's strong enough." The porter, who was pulling about some heavy boxes, suggested to the gentleman, as there was so much luggage, whether he would not take a second cab. "Can your horse do it, or can't he?" said the blustering man. "Oh! he can do it all right, sir; send up the boxes, porter; he could take more than that;" and he helped to haul up a box so heavy that I could feel the springs go down. "Papa, papa, do take a second cab," said the young girl in a beseeching tone. "I am sure we are wrong, I am sure it is very cruel." "Nonsense, Grace, get in at once, and don't make all this fuss; a pretty thing it would be if a man of business had to examine every cab-horse before he hired it--the man knows his own business of course; there, get in and hold your tongue!" My gentle friend had to obey, and box after box was dragged up and lodged on the top of the cab or settled by the side of the driver. At last all was ready, and with his usual jerk at the rein and slash of the whip he drove out of the station. The load was very heavy and I had had neither food nor rest since morning; but I did my best, as I always had done, in spite of cruelty and injustice. I got along fairly till we came to Ludgate Hill; but there the heavy load and my own exhaustion were too much. I was struggling to keep on, goaded by constant chucks of the rein and use of the whip, when in a single moment--I cannot tell how--my feet slipped from under me, and I fell heavily to the ground on my side; the suddenness and the force with which I fell seemed to beat all the breath out of my body. I lay perfectly still; indeed, I had no power to move, and I thought now I was going to die. I heard a sort of confusion round me, loud, angry voices, and the getting down of the luggage, but it was all like a dream. I thought I heard that sweet, pitiful voice saying, "Oh! that poor horse! it is all our fault." Some one came and loosened the throat strap of my bridle, and undid the traces which kept the collar so tight upon me. Some one said, "He's dead, he'll never get up again." Then I could hear a policeman giving orders, but I did not even open my eyes; I could only draw a gasping breath now and then. Some cold water was thrown over my head, and some cordial was poured into my mouth, and something was covered over me. I cannot tell how long I lay there, but I found my life coming back, and a kind-voiced man was patting me and encouraging me to rise. After some more cordial had been given me, and after one or two attempts, I staggered to my feet, and was gently led to some stables which were close by. Here I was put into a well-littered stall, and some warm gruel was brought to me, which I drank thankfully. In the evening I was sufficiently recovered to be led back to Skinner's stables, where I think they did the best for me they could. In the morning Skinner came with a farrier to look at me. He examined me very closely and said: "This is a case of overwork more than disease, and if you could give him a run off for six months he would be able to work again; but now there is not an ounce of strength left in him." "Then he must just go to the dogs," said Skinner. "I have no meadows to nurse sick horses in--he might get well or he might not; that sort of thing don't suit my business; my plan is to work 'em as long as they'll go, and then sell 'em for what they'll fetch, at the knacker's or elsewhere." "If he was broken-winded," said the farrier, "you had better have him killed out of hand, but he is not; there is a sale of horses coming off in about ten days; if you rest him and feed him up he may pick up, and you may get more than his skin is worth, at any rate." Upon this advice Skinner, rather unwillingly, I think, gave orders that I should be well fed and cared for, and the stable man, happily for me, carried out the orders with a much better will than his master had in giving them. Ten days of perfect rest, plenty of good oats, hay, bran mashes, with boiled linseed mixed in them, did more to get up my condition than anything else could have done; those linseed mashes were delicious, and I began to think, after all, it might be better to live than go to the dogs. When the twelfth day after the accident came, I was taken to the sale, a few miles out of London. I felt that any change from my present place must be an improvement, so I held up my head, and hoped for the best. Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A:

And now things take a turn for the horrible. Beauty's new master is as evil as they come: Nicholas Skinner, whose "black eyes and hooked nose" call to mind a classic Disney villain, was poor deceased Seedy Sam's boss. Are you getting the picture? Beauty is now truly miserable. Skinner is a hard-driving boss, and the horses have no day of rest, even in summer heat. Beauty thinks fondly of the kind treatment he had with Jerry, in contrast to the hellish life he has at Skinner's. Beauty's driver is " just as hard as his master. He had a cruel whip with something so sharp at the end that it sometimes drew blood, and he would even whip me under the belly, and flip the lash out at my head" . Ouch. Beauty thinks of Ginger now, saying, "My life was now so utterly wretched that I wished I might, like Ginger, drop down dead at my work, and be out of my misery" . One day, Beauty's wish nearly comes true. His cab is called to take a "noisy, blustering" man with his family and lots of luggage. The man's young daughter asks if Beauty is up to the job, saying that he looks very weak, but the driver assures her that Beauty is fine. The girl again asks her father to pay for a second cab, but he refuses. Beauty attempts to pull the cart, although he hasn't had food or rest all day. Now there's a hero. Beauty tries his best, but at last he slips and falls badly. The fall knocks the wind out of him and he's sure he's about to die. In his dream-like state, he hears the little girl lament that it's their fault, and someone else says, "He's dead, he'll never get up again" . Somehow Beauty is given whatever emergency treatment is available for horses, and he's eventually able to get up and walk to a nearby stable, and then finally makes it back to Skinner's that evening. At Skinner's, a farrier examines Beauty and says he's overworked. Skinner declares that Beauty " must just go to the dogs" , since he doesn't have any place to nurse sick horses. The farrier insists that if Beauty gets a few days' rest, though, Skinner might be able to sell him off at an upcoming sale. In a stroke of good luck, Skinner actually follows this advice, and Beauty gets ten days of rest and good food. He goes off to the horse sale hoping for some kind of improvement--because anything would be better than Skinner.

Chapter: 48 Farmer Thoroughgood and His Grandson Willie At this sale, of course I found myself in company with the old broken-down horses--some lame, some broken-winded, some old, and some that I am sure it would have been merciful to shoot. The buyers and sellers, too, many of them, looked not much better off than the poor beasts they were bargaining about. There were poor old men, trying to get a horse or a pony for a few pounds, that might drag about some little wood or coal cart. There were poor men trying to sell a worn-out beast for two or three pounds, rather than have the greater loss of killing him. Some of them looked as if poverty and hard times had hardened them all over; but there were others that I would have willingly used the last of my strength in serving; poor and shabby, but kind and human, with voices that I could trust. There was one tottering old man who took a great fancy to me, and I to him, but I was not strong enough--it was an anxious time! Coming from the better part of the fair, I noticed a man who looked like a gentleman farmer, with a young boy by his side; he had a broad back and round shoulders, a kind, ruddy face, and he wore a broad-brimmed hat. When he came up to me and my companions he stood still and gave a pitiful look round upon us. I saw his eye rest on me; I had still a good mane and tail, which did something for my appearance. I pricked my ears and looked at him. "There's a horse, Willie, that has known better days." "Poor old fellow!" said the boy, "do you think, grandpapa, he was ever a carriage horse?" "Oh, yes! my boy," said the farmer, coming closer, "he might have been anything when he was young; look at his nostrils and his ears, the shape of his neck and shoulder; there's a deal of breeding about that horse." He put out his hand and gave me a kind pat on the neck. I put out my nose in answer to his kindness; the boy stroked my face. "Poor old fellow! see, grandpapa, how well he understands kindness. Could not you buy him and make him young again as you did with Ladybird?" "My dear boy, I can't make all old horses young; besides, Ladybird was not so very old, as she was run down and badly used." "Well, grandpapa, I don't believe that this one is old; look at his mane and tail. I wish you would look into his mouth, and then you could tell; though he is so very thin, his eyes are not sunk like some old horses'." The old gentleman laughed. "Bless the boy! he is as horsey as his old grandfather." "But do look at his mouth, grandpapa, and ask the price; I am sure he would grow young in our meadows." The man who had brought me for sale now put in his word. "The young gentleman's a real knowing one, sir. Now the fact is, this 'ere hoss is just pulled down with overwork in the cabs; he's not an old one, and I heerd as how the vetenary should say, that a six months' run off would set him right up, being as how his wind was not broken. I've had the tending of him these ten days past, and a gratefuller, pleasanter animal I never met with, and 'twould be worth a gentleman's while to give a five-pound note for him, and let him have a chance. I'll be bound he'd be worth twenty pounds next spring." The old gentleman laughed, and the little boy looked up eagerly. "Oh, grandpapa, did you not say the colt sold for five pounds more than you expected? You would not be poorer if you did buy this one." The farmer slowly felt my legs, which were much swelled and strained; then he looked at my mouth. "Thirteen or fourteen, I should say; just trot him out, will you?" I arched my poor thin neck, raised my tail a little, and threw out my legs as well as I could, for they were very stiff. "What is the lowest you will take for him?" said the farmer as I came back. "Five pounds, sir; that was the lowest price my master set." "'Tis a speculation," said the old gentleman, shaking his head, but at the same time slowly drawing out his purse, "quite a speculation! Have you any more business here?" he said, counting the sovereigns into his hand. "No, sir, I can take him for you to the inn, if you please." "Do so, I am now going there." They walked forward, and I was led behind. The boy could hardly control his delight, and the old gentleman seemed to enjoy his pleasure. I had a good feed at the inn, and was then gently ridden home by a servant of my new master's, and turned into a large meadow with a shed in one corner of it. Mr. Thoroughgood, for that was the name of my benefactor, gave orders that I should have hay and oats every night and morning, and the run of the meadow during the day, and, "you, Willie," said he, "must take the oversight of him; I give him in charge to you." The boy was proud of his charge, and undertook it in all seriousness. There was not a day when he did not pay me a visit; sometimes picking me out from among the other horses, and giving me a bit of carrot, or something good, or sometimes standing by me while I ate my oats. He always came with kind words and caresses, and of course I grew very fond of him. He called me Old Crony, as I used to come to him in the field and follow him about. Sometimes he brought his grandfather, who always looked closely at my legs. "This is our point, Willie," he would say; "but he is improving so steadily that I think we shall see a change for the better in the spring." The perfect rest, the good food, the soft turf, and gentle exercise, soon began to tell on my condition and my spirits. I had a good constitution from my mother, and I was never strained when I was young, so that I had a better chance than many horses who have been worked before they came to their full strength. During the winter my legs improved so much that I began to feel quite young again. The spring came round, and one day in March Mr. Thoroughgood determined that he would try me in the phaeton. I was well pleased, and he and Willie drove me a few miles. My legs were not stiff now, and I did the work with perfect ease. "He's growing young, Willie; we must give him a little gentle work now, and by mid-summer he will be as good as Ladybird. He has a beautiful mouth and good paces; they can't be better." "Oh, grandpapa, how glad I am you bought him!" "So am I, my boy; but he has to thank you more than me; we must now be looking out for a quiet, genteel place for him, where he will be valued." Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A: This horse sale is a depressing place: "I found myself in company with the old broken-down horses--some lame, some broken-winded, some old, and some that I am sure it would have been merciful to shoot" , Beauty says. The patrons at the sale aren't much better, many of them poor and desperate, and Beauty really hopes it will work out with a "tottering old man that took a great fancy to me, and I to him" . But alas, no dice. Beauty then notices a kind-looking farmer who's there with a young boy. Beauty tries to look alert when they come by, and the farmer comments that Beauty is a horse " that has known better days" . The farmer tells the boy, Willie, that he guesses Beauty was once a carriage horse--he can tell Beauty is well-bred. Beauty puts out his nose affectionately when the man pats him, and the boy asks if they can buy him " and make him young again" . The farmer declines, thinking Beauty's too old, but his grandson argues that Beauty's mane and tail make him seem like a younger horse, and asks his grandfather to look into Beauty's mouth so they can tell how old he is. The man selling Beauty says that Willie is right--Beauty's just been overworked. They examine Beauty, the boy still pleading to bring him home, and then they negotiate until the farmer buys Beauty for five pounds. The boy is ecstatic, and Beauty is ridden to his new home by a servant and brought to a large meadow. Beauty's new master is named Mr. Thoroughgood--another telling name, wouldn't you say?--and he puts Willie in charge of Beauty's care, which is mostly good food and rest. Willie is an excellent caretaker, though he calls Beauty "Old Crony," which is an unfortunate step backwards in naming. But what can you do? With rest, food, and exercise, Beauty improves rapidly, and by springtime, he's able to pull a phaeton--a light, open carriage. Thoroughgood comments that Beauty is "growing young" , and expects that he will be able to do some work by summertime. They're thrilled that they bought him, and Thoroughgood wants to look for a permanent home for Beauty where he will be well cared for. We don't want to be too hopeful, but it seems like things are looking up at last.

Chapter: 48 Farmer Thoroughgood and His Grandson Willie At this sale, of course I found myself in company with the old broken-down horses--some lame, some broken-winded, some old, and some that I am sure it would have been merciful to shoot. The buyers and sellers, too, many of them, looked not much better off than the poor beasts they were bargaining about. There were poor old men, trying to get a horse or a pony for a few pounds, that might drag about some little wood or coal cart. There were poor men trying to sell a worn-out beast for two or three pounds, rather than have the greater loss of killing him. Some of them looked as if poverty and hard times had hardened them all over; but there were others that I would have willingly used the last of my strength in serving; poor and shabby, but kind and human, with voices that I could trust. There was one tottering old man who took a great fancy to me, and I to him, but I was not strong enough--it was an anxious time! Coming from the better part of the fair, I noticed a man who looked like a gentleman farmer, with a young boy by his side; he had a broad back and round shoulders, a kind, ruddy face, and he wore a broad-brimmed hat. When he came up to me and my companions he stood still and gave a pitiful look round upon us. I saw his eye rest on me; I had still a good mane and tail, which did something for my appearance. I pricked my ears and looked at him. "There's a horse, Willie, that has known better days." "Poor old fellow!" said the boy, "do you think, grandpapa, he was ever a carriage horse?" "Oh, yes! my boy," said the farmer, coming closer, "he might have been anything when he was young; look at his nostrils and his ears, the shape of his neck and shoulder; there's a deal of breeding about that horse." He put out his hand and gave me a kind pat on the neck. I put out my nose in answer to his kindness; the boy stroked my face. "Poor old fellow! see, grandpapa, how well he understands kindness. Could not you buy him and make him young again as you did with Ladybird?" "My dear boy, I can't make all old horses young; besides, Ladybird was not so very old, as she was run down and badly used." "Well, grandpapa, I don't believe that this one is old; look at his mane and tail. I wish you would look into his mouth, and then you could tell; though he is so very thin, his eyes are not sunk like some old horses'." The old gentleman laughed. "Bless the boy! he is as horsey as his old grandfather." "But do look at his mouth, grandpapa, and ask the price; I am sure he would grow young in our meadows." The man who had brought me for sale now put in his word. "The young gentleman's a real knowing one, sir. Now the fact is, this 'ere hoss is just pulled down with overwork in the cabs; he's not an old one, and I heerd as how the vetenary should say, that a six months' run off would set him right up, being as how his wind was not broken. I've had the tending of him these ten days past, and a gratefuller, pleasanter animal I never met with, and 'twould be worth a gentleman's while to give a five-pound note for him, and let him have a chance. I'll be bound he'd be worth twenty pounds next spring." The old gentleman laughed, and the little boy looked up eagerly. "Oh, grandpapa, did you not say the colt sold for five pounds more than you expected? You would not be poorer if you did buy this one." The farmer slowly felt my legs, which were much swelled and strained; then he looked at my mouth. "Thirteen or fourteen, I should say; just trot him out, will you?" I arched my poor thin neck, raised my tail a little, and threw out my legs as well as I could, for they were very stiff. "What is the lowest you will take for him?" said the farmer as I came back. "Five pounds, sir; that was the lowest price my master set." "'Tis a speculation," said the old gentleman, shaking his head, but at the same time slowly drawing out his purse, "quite a speculation! Have you any more business here?" he said, counting the sovereigns into his hand. "No, sir, I can take him for you to the inn, if you please." "Do so, I am now going there." They walked forward, and I was led behind. The boy could hardly control his delight, and the old gentleman seemed to enjoy his pleasure. I had a good feed at the inn, and was then gently ridden home by a servant of my new master's, and turned into a large meadow with a shed in one corner of it. Mr. Thoroughgood, for that was the name of my benefactor, gave orders that I should have hay and oats every night and morning, and the run of the meadow during the day, and, "you, Willie," said he, "must take the oversight of him; I give him in charge to you." The boy was proud of his charge, and undertook it in all seriousness. There was not a day when he did not pay me a visit; sometimes picking me out from among the other horses, and giving me a bit of carrot, or something good, or sometimes standing by me while I ate my oats. He always came with kind words and caresses, and of course I grew very fond of him. He called me Old Crony, as I used to come to him in the field and follow him about. Sometimes he brought his grandfather, who always looked closely at my legs. "This is our point, Willie," he would say; "but he is improving so steadily that I think we shall see a change for the better in the spring." The perfect rest, the good food, the soft turf, and gentle exercise, soon began to tell on my condition and my spirits. I had a good constitution from my mother, and I was never strained when I was young, so that I had a better chance than many horses who have been worked before they came to their full strength. During the winter my legs improved so much that I began to feel quite young again. The spring came round, and one day in March Mr. Thoroughgood determined that he would try me in the phaeton. I was well pleased, and he and Willie drove me a few miles. My legs were not stiff now, and I did the work with perfect ease. "He's growing young, Willie; we must give him a little gentle work now, and by mid-summer he will be as good as Ladybird. He has a beautiful mouth and good paces; they can't be better." "Oh, grandpapa, how glad I am you bought him!" "So am I, my boy; but he has to thank you more than me; we must now be looking out for a quiet, genteel place for him, where he will be valued." Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A:

This horse sale is a depressing place: "I found myself in company with the old broken-down horses--some lame, some broken-winded, some old, and some that I am sure it would have been merciful to shoot" , Beauty says. The patrons at the sale aren't much better, many of them poor and desperate, and Beauty really hopes it will work out with a "tottering old man that took a great fancy to me, and I to him" . But alas, no dice. Beauty then notices a kind-looking farmer who's there with a young boy. Beauty tries to look alert when they come by, and the farmer comments that Beauty is a horse " that has known better days" . The farmer tells the boy, Willie, that he guesses Beauty was once a carriage horse--he can tell Beauty is well-bred. Beauty puts out his nose affectionately when the man pats him, and the boy asks if they can buy him " and make him young again" . The farmer declines, thinking Beauty's too old, but his grandson argues that Beauty's mane and tail make him seem like a younger horse, and asks his grandfather to look into Beauty's mouth so they can tell how old he is. The man selling Beauty says that Willie is right--Beauty's just been overworked. They examine Beauty, the boy still pleading to bring him home, and then they negotiate until the farmer buys Beauty for five pounds. The boy is ecstatic, and Beauty is ridden to his new home by a servant and brought to a large meadow. Beauty's new master is named Mr. Thoroughgood--another telling name, wouldn't you say?--and he puts Willie in charge of Beauty's care, which is mostly good food and rest. Willie is an excellent caretaker, though he calls Beauty "Old Crony," which is an unfortunate step backwards in naming. But what can you do? With rest, food, and exercise, Beauty improves rapidly, and by springtime, he's able to pull a phaeton--a light, open carriage. Thoroughgood comments that Beauty is "growing young" , and expects that he will be able to do some work by summertime. They're thrilled that they bought him, and Thoroughgood wants to look for a permanent home for Beauty where he will be well cared for. We don't want to be too hopeful, but it seems like things are looking up at last.

Chapter: 49 My Last Home One day during this summer the groom cleaned and dressed me with such extraordinary care that I thought some new change must be at hand; he trimmed my fetlocks and legs, passed the tarbrush over my hoofs, and even parted my forelock. I think the harness had an extra polish. Willie seemed half-anxious, half-merry, as he got into the chaise with his grandfather. "If the ladies take to him," said the old gentleman, "they'll be suited and he'll be suited. We can but try." At the distance of a mile or two from the village we came to a pretty, low house, with a lawn and shrubbery at the front and a drive up to the door. Willie rang the bell, and asked if Miss Blomefield or Miss Ellen was at home. Yes, they were. So, while Willie stayed with me, Mr. Thoroughgood went into the house. In about ten minutes he returned, followed by three ladies; one tall, pale lady, wrapped in a white shawl, leaned on a younger lady, with dark eyes and a merry face; the other, a very stately-looking person, was Miss Blomefield. They all came and looked at me and asked questions. The younger lady--that was Miss Ellen--took to me very much; she said she was sure she should like me, I had such a good face. The tall, pale lady said that she should always be nervous in riding behind a horse that had once been down, as I might come down again, and if I did she should never get over the fright. "You see, ladies," said Mr. Thoroughgood, "many first-rate horses have had their knees broken through the carelessness of their drivers without any fault of their own, and from what I see of this horse I should say that is his case; but of course I do not wish to influence you. If you incline you can have him on trial, and then your coachman will see what he thinks of him." "You have always been such a good adviser to us about our horses," said the stately lady, "that your recommendation would go a long way with me, and if my sister Lavinia sees no objection we will accept your offer of a trial, with thanks." It was then arranged that I should be sent for the next day. In the morning a smart-looking young man came for me. At first he looked pleased; but when he saw my knees he said in a disappointed voice: "I didn't think, sir, you would have recommended my ladies a blemished horse like that." "'Handsome is that handsome does'," said my master; "you are only taking him on trial, and I am sure you will do fairly by him, young man. If he is not as safe as any horse you ever drove send him back." I was led to my new home, placed in a comfortable stable, fed, and left to myself. The next day, when the groom was cleaning my face, he said: "That is just like the star that 'Black Beauty' had; he is much the same height, too. I wonder where he is now." A little further on he came to the place in my neck where I was bled and where a little knot was left in the skin. He almost started, and began to look me over carefully, talking to himself. "White star in the forehead, one white foot on the off side, this little knot just in that place;" then looking at the middle of my back--"and, as I am alive, there is that little patch of white hair that John used to call 'Beauty's three-penny bit'. It must be 'Black Beauty'! Why, Beauty! Beauty! do you know me?--little Joe Green, that almost killed you?" And he began patting and patting me as if he was quite overjoyed. I could not say that I remembered him, for now he was a fine grown young fellow, with black whiskers and a man's voice, but I was sure he knew me, and that he was Joe Green, and I was very glad. I put my nose up to him, and tried to say that we were friends. I never saw a man so pleased. "Give you a fair trial! I should think so indeed! I wonder who the rascal was that broke your knees, my old Beauty! you must have been badly served out somewhere; well, well, it won't be my fault if you haven't good times of it now. I wish John Manly was here to see you." In the afternoon I was put into a low park chair and brought to the door. Miss Ellen was going to try me, and Green went with her. I soon found that she was a good driver, and she seemed pleased with my paces. I heard Joe telling her about me, and that he was sure I was Squire Gordon's old "Black Beauty". When we returned the other sisters came out to hear how I had behaved myself. She told them what she had just heard, and said: "I shall certainly write to Mrs. Gordon, and tell her that her favorite horse has come to us. How pleased she will be!" After this I was driven every day for a week or so, and as I appeared to be quite safe, Miss Lavinia at last ventured out in the small close carriage. After this it was quite decided to keep me and call me by my old name of "Black Beauty". I have now lived in this happy place a whole year. Joe is the best and kindest of grooms. My work is easy and pleasant, and I feel my strength and spirits all coming back again. Mr. Thoroughgood said to Joe the other day: "In your place he will last till he is twenty years old--perhaps more." Willie always speaks to me when he can, and treats me as his special friend. My ladies have promised that I shall never be sold, and so I have nothing to fear; and here my story ends. My troubles are all over, and I am at home; and often before I am quite awake, I fancy I am still in the orchard at Birtwick, standing with my old friends under the apple-trees. Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A: One summer day, Beauty is cleaned and prepared very carefully, and Willie and his grandfather take him to a house just outside a nearby village. They pay a visit to three ladies, among them Miss Blomefield and Miss Ellen. Miss Ellen likes Beauty right away, immediately taking to his sweet expression, but the third lady says she would always be afraid of using a horse that had fallen once. The ladies agree to take Beauty on a trial basis, although they do complain about his broken-looking knees. When a groom from their house comes to pick Beauty up, Thoroughgood reminds him, "Handsome is as handsome does" . Translation? Don't judge a book by its cover. The next day at Beauty's potential new home, the groom notices Beauty's white star while cleaning his face, and says, "That is just like the star that Black Beauty had; he is much the same height, too. I wonder where he is now" . Wow... Who can this be? Next, the groom comes across the spot on Beauty's neck where he was bled during his long-ago illness at Birtwick--and recognizes it, too. He recognizes a few other markings, and exclaims with great joy, "Beauty! Beauty! Do you know me? little Joe Green that almost killed you?" . It is Joe Green, from Birtwick, and he's overjoyed at seeing Beauty again. We're a little weepy over here, too. Beauty never would have recognized grown-up Joe, but he's equally happy, and tries to let Joe know. Joe says he wishes John Manly were there to see Beauty. We do too, Joe, we do, too. Later that day, Miss Ellen takes Beauty out, and Joe tells her that he knows Beauty, who once belonged to Squire Gordon. Miss Ellen is very pleased with him, and says, "I shall certainly write to Mrs. Gordon and tell her that her favourite horse has come to us" . After they drive Beauty every day for a week, they decide to keep him, calling him Black Beauty once again. At last Beauty has found his forever home. Joe Green is his groom, and Beauty calls him " the best and kindest" . He feels his strength returning, and Mr. Thoroughgood thinks Beauty will live a long time. Willie still comes to visit frequently, and the ladies have promised Beauty that he will never be sold. "My troubles are all over, and I am at home" , Beauty says. Sometimes, when he's waking up, he imagines he's back at Birtwick with his old friends. And so, although it didn't seem possible for a while there, Black Beauty lives happily ever after.

Chapter: 49 My Last Home One day during this summer the groom cleaned and dressed me with such extraordinary care that I thought some new change must be at hand; he trimmed my fetlocks and legs, passed the tarbrush over my hoofs, and even parted my forelock. I think the harness had an extra polish. Willie seemed half-anxious, half-merry, as he got into the chaise with his grandfather. "If the ladies take to him," said the old gentleman, "they'll be suited and he'll be suited. We can but try." At the distance of a mile or two from the village we came to a pretty, low house, with a lawn and shrubbery at the front and a drive up to the door. Willie rang the bell, and asked if Miss Blomefield or Miss Ellen was at home. Yes, they were. So, while Willie stayed with me, Mr. Thoroughgood went into the house. In about ten minutes he returned, followed by three ladies; one tall, pale lady, wrapped in a white shawl, leaned on a younger lady, with dark eyes and a merry face; the other, a very stately-looking person, was Miss Blomefield. They all came and looked at me and asked questions. The younger lady--that was Miss Ellen--took to me very much; she said she was sure she should like me, I had such a good face. The tall, pale lady said that she should always be nervous in riding behind a horse that had once been down, as I might come down again, and if I did she should never get over the fright. "You see, ladies," said Mr. Thoroughgood, "many first-rate horses have had their knees broken through the carelessness of their drivers without any fault of their own, and from what I see of this horse I should say that is his case; but of course I do not wish to influence you. If you incline you can have him on trial, and then your coachman will see what he thinks of him." "You have always been such a good adviser to us about our horses," said the stately lady, "that your recommendation would go a long way with me, and if my sister Lavinia sees no objection we will accept your offer of a trial, with thanks." It was then arranged that I should be sent for the next day. In the morning a smart-looking young man came for me. At first he looked pleased; but when he saw my knees he said in a disappointed voice: "I didn't think, sir, you would have recommended my ladies a blemished horse like that." "'Handsome is that handsome does'," said my master; "you are only taking him on trial, and I am sure you will do fairly by him, young man. If he is not as safe as any horse you ever drove send him back." I was led to my new home, placed in a comfortable stable, fed, and left to myself. The next day, when the groom was cleaning my face, he said: "That is just like the star that 'Black Beauty' had; he is much the same height, too. I wonder where he is now." A little further on he came to the place in my neck where I was bled and where a little knot was left in the skin. He almost started, and began to look me over carefully, talking to himself. "White star in the forehead, one white foot on the off side, this little knot just in that place;" then looking at the middle of my back--"and, as I am alive, there is that little patch of white hair that John used to call 'Beauty's three-penny bit'. It must be 'Black Beauty'! Why, Beauty! Beauty! do you know me?--little Joe Green, that almost killed you?" And he began patting and patting me as if he was quite overjoyed. I could not say that I remembered him, for now he was a fine grown young fellow, with black whiskers and a man's voice, but I was sure he knew me, and that he was Joe Green, and I was very glad. I put my nose up to him, and tried to say that we were friends. I never saw a man so pleased. "Give you a fair trial! I should think so indeed! I wonder who the rascal was that broke your knees, my old Beauty! you must have been badly served out somewhere; well, well, it won't be my fault if you haven't good times of it now. I wish John Manly was here to see you." In the afternoon I was put into a low park chair and brought to the door. Miss Ellen was going to try me, and Green went with her. I soon found that she was a good driver, and she seemed pleased with my paces. I heard Joe telling her about me, and that he was sure I was Squire Gordon's old "Black Beauty". When we returned the other sisters came out to hear how I had behaved myself. She told them what she had just heard, and said: "I shall certainly write to Mrs. Gordon, and tell her that her favorite horse has come to us. How pleased she will be!" After this I was driven every day for a week or so, and as I appeared to be quite safe, Miss Lavinia at last ventured out in the small close carriage. After this it was quite decided to keep me and call me by my old name of "Black Beauty". I have now lived in this happy place a whole year. Joe is the best and kindest of grooms. My work is easy and pleasant, and I feel my strength and spirits all coming back again. Mr. Thoroughgood said to Joe the other day: "In your place he will last till he is twenty years old--perhaps more." Willie always speaks to me when he can, and treats me as his special friend. My ladies have promised that I shall never be sold, and so I have nothing to fear; and here my story ends. My troubles are all over, and I am at home; and often before I am quite awake, I fancy I am still in the orchard at Birtwick, standing with my old friends under the apple-trees. Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A:

One summer day, Beauty is cleaned and prepared very carefully, and Willie and his grandfather take him to a house just outside a nearby village. They pay a visit to three ladies, among them Miss Blomefield and Miss Ellen. Miss Ellen likes Beauty right away, immediately taking to his sweet expression, but the third lady says she would always be afraid of using a horse that had fallen once. The ladies agree to take Beauty on a trial basis, although they do complain about his broken-looking knees. When a groom from their house comes to pick Beauty up, Thoroughgood reminds him, "Handsome is as handsome does" . Translation? Don't judge a book by its cover. The next day at Beauty's potential new home, the groom notices Beauty's white star while cleaning his face, and says, "That is just like the star that Black Beauty had; he is much the same height, too. I wonder where he is now" . Wow... Who can this be? Next, the groom comes across the spot on Beauty's neck where he was bled during his long-ago illness at Birtwick--and recognizes it, too. He recognizes a few other markings, and exclaims with great joy, "Beauty! Beauty! Do you know me? little Joe Green that almost killed you?" . It is Joe Green, from Birtwick, and he's overjoyed at seeing Beauty again. We're a little weepy over here, too. Beauty never would have recognized grown-up Joe, but he's equally happy, and tries to let Joe know. Joe says he wishes John Manly were there to see Beauty. We do too, Joe, we do, too. Later that day, Miss Ellen takes Beauty out, and Joe tells her that he knows Beauty, who once belonged to Squire Gordon. Miss Ellen is very pleased with him, and says, "I shall certainly write to Mrs. Gordon and tell her that her favourite horse has come to us" . After they drive Beauty every day for a week, they decide to keep him, calling him Black Beauty once again. At last Beauty has found his forever home. Joe Green is his groom, and Beauty calls him " the best and kindest" . He feels his strength returning, and Mr. Thoroughgood thinks Beauty will live a long time. Willie still comes to visit frequently, and the ladies have promised Beauty that he will never be sold. "My troubles are all over, and I am at home" , Beauty says. Sometimes, when he's waking up, he imagines he's back at Birtwick with his old friends. And so, although it didn't seem possible for a while there, Black Beauty lives happily ever after.

Chapter: The public, arriving by degrees. Troopers, burghers, lackeys, pages, a pickpocket, the doorkeeper, etc., followed by the marquises. Cuigy, Brissaille, the buffet-girl, the violinists, etc. (A confusion of loud voices is heard outside the door. A trooper enters hastily.) THE DOORKEEPER (following him): Hollo! You there! Your money! THE TROOPER: I enter gratis. THE DOORKEEPER: Why? THE TROOPER: Why? I am of the King's Household Cavalry, 'faith! THE DOORKEEPER (to another trooper who enters): And you? SECOND TROOPER: I pay nothing. THE DOORKEEPER: How so? SECOND TROOPER: I am a musketeer. FIRST TROOPER (to the second): The play will not begin till two. The pit is empty. Come, a bout with the foils to pass the time. (They fence with the foils they have brought.) A LACKEY (entering): Pst. . .Flanquin. . .! ANOTHER (already there): Champagne?. . . THE FIRST (showing him cards and dice which he takes from his doublet): See, here be cards and dice. (He seats himself on the floor): Let's play. THE SECOND (doing the same): Good; I am with you, villain! FIRST LACKEY (taking from his pocket a candle-end, which he lights, and sticks on the floor): I made free to provide myself with light at my master's expense! A GUARDSMAN (to a shop-girl who advances): 'Twas prettily done to come before the lights were lit! (He takes her round the waist.) ONE OF THE FENCERS (receiving a thrust): A hit! ONE OF THE CARD-PLAYERS: Clubs! THE GUARDSMAN (following the girl): A kiss! THE SHOP-GIRL (struggling to free herself): They're looking! THE GUARDSMAN (drawing her to a dark corner): No fear! No one can see! A MAN (sitting on the ground with others, who have brought their provisions): By coming early, one can eat in comfort. A BURGHER (conducting his son): Let us sit here, son. A CARD-PLAYER: Triple ace! A MAN (taking a bottle from under his cloak, and also seating himself on the floor): A tippler may well quaff his Burgundy (he drinks): in the Burgundy Hotel! THE BURGHER (to his son): 'Faith! A man might think he had fallen in a bad house here! (He points with his cane to the drunkard): What with topers! (One of the fencers in breaking off, jostles him): brawlers! (He stumbles into the midst of the card-players): gamblers! THE GUARDSMAN (behind him, still teasing the shop-girl): Come, one kiss! THE BURGHER (hurriedly pulling his son away): By all the holies! And this, my boy, is the theater where they played Rotrou erewhile. THE YOUNG MAN: Ay, and Corneille! A TROOP OF PAGES (hand-in-hand, enter dancing the farandole, and singing): Tra' a la, la, la, la, la, la, la, lere. . . THE DOORKEEPER (sternly, to the pages): You pages there, none of your tricks!. . . FIRST PAGE (with an air of wounded dignity): Oh, sir!--such a suspicion!. . . (Briskly, to the second page, the moment the doorkeeper's back is turned): Have you string? THE SECOND: Ay, and a fish-hook with it. FIRST PAGE: We can angle for wigs, then, up there i' th' gallery. A PICKPOCKET (gathering about him some evil-looking youths): Hark ye, young cut-purses, lend an ear, while I give you your first lesson in thieving. SECOND PAGE (calling up to others in the top galleries): You there! Have you peashooters? 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.) Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A: The curtain rises to show the interior of a dimly lighted theater. Some cavaliers enter without paying and practice fencing; they are followed by two lackeys who sit on the floor and begin gambling; a middle-class man and his son enter; then a pickpocket and his accomplices come in. Through conversations we learn that this is the theater where Corneille's Le Cid was first performed, and that the play tonight is Baro's Clorise, and that its star is Montfleury.

Chapter: The public, arriving by degrees. Troopers, burghers, lackeys, pages, a pickpocket, the doorkeeper, etc., followed by the marquises. Cuigy, Brissaille, the buffet-girl, the violinists, etc. (A confusion of loud voices is heard outside the door. A trooper enters hastily.) THE DOORKEEPER (following him): Hollo! You there! Your money! THE TROOPER: I enter gratis. THE DOORKEEPER: Why? THE TROOPER: Why? I am of the King's Household Cavalry, 'faith! THE DOORKEEPER (to another trooper who enters): And you? SECOND TROOPER: I pay nothing. THE DOORKEEPER: How so? SECOND TROOPER: I am a musketeer. FIRST TROOPER (to the second): The play will not begin till two. The pit is empty. Come, a bout with the foils to pass the time. (They fence with the foils they have brought.) A LACKEY (entering): Pst. . .Flanquin. . .! ANOTHER (already there): Champagne?. . . THE FIRST (showing him cards and dice which he takes from his doublet): See, here be cards and dice. (He seats himself on the floor): Let's play. THE SECOND (doing the same): Good; I am with you, villain! FIRST LACKEY (taking from his pocket a candle-end, which he lights, and sticks on the floor): I made free to provide myself with light at my master's expense! A GUARDSMAN (to a shop-girl who advances): 'Twas prettily done to come before the lights were lit! (He takes her round the waist.) ONE OF THE FENCERS (receiving a thrust): A hit! ONE OF THE CARD-PLAYERS: Clubs! THE GUARDSMAN (following the girl): A kiss! THE SHOP-GIRL (struggling to free herself): They're looking! THE GUARDSMAN (drawing her to a dark corner): No fear! No one can see! A MAN (sitting on the ground with others, who have brought their provisions): By coming early, one can eat in comfort. A BURGHER (conducting his son): Let us sit here, son. A CARD-PLAYER: Triple ace! A MAN (taking a bottle from under his cloak, and also seating himself on the floor): A tippler may well quaff his Burgundy (he drinks): in the Burgundy Hotel! THE BURGHER (to his son): 'Faith! A man might think he had fallen in a bad house here! (He points with his cane to the drunkard): What with topers! (One of the fencers in breaking off, jostles him): brawlers! (He stumbles into the midst of the card-players): gamblers! THE GUARDSMAN (behind him, still teasing the shop-girl): Come, one kiss! THE BURGHER (hurriedly pulling his son away): By all the holies! And this, my boy, is the theater where they played Rotrou erewhile. THE YOUNG MAN: Ay, and Corneille! A TROOP OF PAGES (hand-in-hand, enter dancing the farandole, and singing): Tra' a la, la, la, la, la, la, la, lere. . . THE DOORKEEPER (sternly, to the pages): You pages there, none of your tricks!. . . FIRST PAGE (with an air of wounded dignity): Oh, sir!--such a suspicion!. . . (Briskly, to the second page, the moment the doorkeeper's back is turned): Have you string? THE SECOND: Ay, and a fish-hook with it. FIRST PAGE: We can angle for wigs, then, up there i' th' gallery. A PICKPOCKET (gathering about him some evil-looking youths): Hark ye, young cut-purses, lend an ear, while I give you your first lesson in thieving. SECOND PAGE (calling up to others in the top galleries): You there! Have you peashooters? 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.) Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A:

The curtain rises to show the interior of a dimly lighted theater. Some cavaliers enter without paying and practice fencing; they are followed by two lackeys who sit on the floor and begin gambling; a middle-class man and his son enter; then a pickpocket and his accomplices come in. Through conversations we learn that this is the theater where Corneille's Le Cid was first performed, and that the play tonight is Baro's Clorise, and that its star is Montfleury.

Chapter: 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 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 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! The same, all but Ligniere. De Guiche, Valvert, then Montfleury. A marquis (watching De Guiche, who comes down from Roxane's box, and crosses the pit surrounded by obsequious noblemen, among them the Viscount de Valvert): He pays a fine court, your De Guiche! ANOTHER: Faugh!. . .Another Gascon! THE FIRST: Ay, but the cold, supple Gascon--that is the stuff success is made of! Believe me, we had best make our bow to him. (They go toward De Guiche.) SECOND MARQUIS: What fine ribbons! How call you the color, Count de Guiche? 'Kiss me, my darling,' or 'Timid Fawn?' DE GUICHE: 'Tis the color called 'Sick Spaniard.' FIRST MARQUIS: 'Faith! The color speaks truth, for, thanks to your valor, things will soon go ill for Spain in Flanders. DE GUICHE: I go on the stage! Will you come? (He goes toward the stage, followed by the marquises and gentlemen. Turning, he calls): Come you Valvert! CHRISTIAN (who is watching and listening, starts on hearing this name): The Viscount! Ah! I will throw full in his face my. . . (He puts his hand in his pocket, and finds there the hand of a pickpocket who is about to rob him. He turns round): Hey? THE PICKPOCKET: Oh! CHRISTIAN (holding him tightly): I was looking for a glove. THE PICKPOCKET (smiling piteously): And you find a hand. (Changing his tone, quickly and in a whisper): Let me but go, and I will deliver you a secret. CHRISTIAN (still holding him): What is it? THE PICKPOCKET: Ligniere. . .he who has just left you. . . CHRISTIAN (same play): Well? THE PICKPOCKET: His life is in peril. A song writ by him has given offense in high places-- and a hundred men--I am of them--are posted to-night. . . CHRISTIAN: A hundred men! By whom posted? THE PICKPOCKET: I may not say--a secret. . . CHRISTIAN (shrugging his shoulders): Oh! THE PICKPOCKET (with great dignity): . . .Of the profession. CHRISTIAN: Where are they posted? THE PICKPOCKET: At the Porte de Nesle. On his way homeward. Warn him. CHRISTIAN (letting go of his wrists): But where can I find him? THE PICKPOCKET: Run round to all the taverns--The Golden Wine Press, the Pine Cone, The Belt that Bursts, The Two Torches, The Three Funnels, and at each leave a word that shall put him on his guard. CHRISTIAN: Good--I fly! Ah, the scoundrels! A hundred men 'gainst one! (Looking lovingly at Roxane): Ah, to leave her!. . . (looking with rage at Valvert): and him!. . .But save Ligniere I must! (He hurries out. De Guiche, the viscount, the marquises, have all disappeared behind the curtain to take their places on the benches placed on the stage. The pit is quite full; the galleries and boxes are also crowded.) THE AUDIENCE: Begin! A BURGHER (whose wig is drawn up on the end of a string by a page in the upper gallery): My wig! CRIES OF DELIGHT: He is bald! Bravo, pages--ha! ha! ha!. . . THE BURGHER (furious, shaking his fist): Young villain! LAUGHTER AND CRIES (beginning very loud, and dying gradually away): Ha! ha! ha! ha! ha! ha! (Total silence.) LE BRET (astonished): What means this sudden silence?. . . (A spectator says something to him in a low voice): Is't true? THE SPECTATOR: I have just heard it on good authority. MURMURS (spreading through the hall): Hush! Is it he? No! Ay, I say! In the box with the bars in front! The Cardinal! The Cardinal! The Cardinal! A PAGE: The devil! We shall have to behave ourselves. . . (A knock is heard upon the stage. Every one is motionless. A pause.) THE VOICE OF A MARQUIS (in the silence, behind the curtain): Snuff that candle! ANOTHER MARQUIS (putting his head through the opening in the curtain): A chair! (A chair is passed from hand to hand, over the heads of the spectators. The marquis takes it and disappears, after blowing some kisses to the boxes.) A SPECTATOR: Silence! (Three knocks are heard on the stage. The curtain opens in the centre Tableau. The marquises in insolent attitudes seated on each side of the stage. The scene represents a pastoral landscape. Four little lusters light the stage; the violins play softly.) LE BRET (in a low voice to Ragueneau): Montfleury comes on the scene? RAGUENEAU (also in a low voice): Ay, 'tis he who begins. LE BRET: Cyrano is not here. RAGUENEAU: I have lost my wager. LE BRET: 'Tis all the better! (An air on the drone-pipes is heard, and Montfleury enters, enormously stout, in an Arcadian shepherd's dress, a hat wreathed with roses drooping over one ear, blowing into a ribboned drone pipe.) THE PIT (applauding): Bravo, Montfleury! Montfleury! MONTFLEURY (after bowing low, begins the part of Phedon): 'Heureux qui loin des cours, dans un lieu solitaire, Se prescrit a soi-meme un exil volontaire, Et qui, lorsque Zephire a souffle sur les bois. . .' A VOICE (from the middle of the pit): Villain! Did I not forbid you to show your face here for month? (General stupor. Every one turns round. Murmurs.) DIFFERENT VOICES: Hey?--What?--What is't?. . . (The people stand up in the boxes to look.) CUIGY: 'Tis he! LE BRET (terrified): Cyrano! THE VOICE: King of clowns! Leave the stage this instant! ALL THE AUDIENCE (indignantly): Oh! MONTFLEURY: But. . . THE VOICE: Do you dare defy me? DIFFERENT VOICES (from the pit and the boxes): Peace! Enough!--Play on, Montfleury--fear nothing! MONTFLEURY (in a trembling voice): 'Heureux qui loin des cours, dans un lieu sol--' THE VOICE (more fiercely): Well! Chief of all the blackguards, must I come and give you a taste of my cane? (A hand holding a cane starts up over the heads of the spectators.) MONTFLEURY (in a voice that trembles more and more): 'Heureux qui. . .' (The cane is shaken.) THE VOICE: Off the stage! THE PIT: Oh! MONTFLEURY (choking): 'Heureux qui loin des cours. . .' CYRANO (appearing suddenly in the pit, standing on a chair, his arms crossed, his beaver cocked fiercely, his mustache bristling, his nose terrible to see): Ah! I shall be angry in a minute!. . . (Sensation.) Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A: Christian is introduced in Scene 2 by the poet, Ligniere. The poet/baker, Ragueneau, enters dressed in his Sunday best, and talks with Ligniere. He asks about Cyrano, who has forbidden Montfleury to act, but who has not yet appeared. Ragueneau describes Cyrano's nose as well as his reputation as a swordsman. When Roxane enters the theater, Ligniere tells Christian, who has fallen in love with her without knowing her identity, who the lady is. He also tells Christian that De Guiche, who is married to Richelieu's niece and is very powerful, wants Roxane to marry a complaisant courtier, Valvert, so that De Guiche can make her his own mistress. In Ligniere's opinion, Christian hasn't a chance with the lady. After Ligniere leaves the theater, Christian learns from a pickpocket that Ligniere has written a poem that has offended some powerful person. This highly placed man plans to have the poet killed and has hired a hundred armed men to waylay Ligniere on his way home. Christian goes off to find Ligniere and warn him. Montfleury goes onto the stage and begins his first speech, the prologue of the play, but he is interrupted by the voice of Cyrano telling him to stop. He makes several attempts to continue his speech, but is interrupted by Cyrano each time.

Chapter: 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 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 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! The same, all but Ligniere. De Guiche, Valvert, then Montfleury. A marquis (watching De Guiche, who comes down from Roxane's box, and crosses the pit surrounded by obsequious noblemen, among them the Viscount de Valvert): He pays a fine court, your De Guiche! ANOTHER: Faugh!. . .Another Gascon! THE FIRST: Ay, but the cold, supple Gascon--that is the stuff success is made of! Believe me, we had best make our bow to him. (They go toward De Guiche.) SECOND MARQUIS: What fine ribbons! How call you the color, Count de Guiche? 'Kiss me, my darling,' or 'Timid Fawn?' DE GUICHE: 'Tis the color called 'Sick Spaniard.' FIRST MARQUIS: 'Faith! The color speaks truth, for, thanks to your valor, things will soon go ill for Spain in Flanders. DE GUICHE: I go on the stage! Will you come? (He goes toward the stage, followed by the marquises and gentlemen. Turning, he calls): Come you Valvert! CHRISTIAN (who is watching and listening, starts on hearing this name): The Viscount! Ah! I will throw full in his face my. . . (He puts his hand in his pocket, and finds there the hand of a pickpocket who is about to rob him. He turns round): Hey? THE PICKPOCKET: Oh! CHRISTIAN (holding him tightly): I was looking for a glove. THE PICKPOCKET (smiling piteously): And you find a hand. (Changing his tone, quickly and in a whisper): Let me but go, and I will deliver you a secret. CHRISTIAN (still holding him): What is it? THE PICKPOCKET: Ligniere. . .he who has just left you. . . CHRISTIAN (same play): Well? THE PICKPOCKET: His life is in peril. A song writ by him has given offense in high places-- and a hundred men--I am of them--are posted to-night. . . CHRISTIAN: A hundred men! By whom posted? THE PICKPOCKET: I may not say--a secret. . . CHRISTIAN (shrugging his shoulders): Oh! THE PICKPOCKET (with great dignity): . . .Of the profession. CHRISTIAN: Where are they posted? THE PICKPOCKET: At the Porte de Nesle. On his way homeward. Warn him. CHRISTIAN (letting go of his wrists): But where can I find him? THE PICKPOCKET: Run round to all the taverns--The Golden Wine Press, the Pine Cone, The Belt that Bursts, The Two Torches, The Three Funnels, and at each leave a word that shall put him on his guard. CHRISTIAN: Good--I fly! Ah, the scoundrels! A hundred men 'gainst one! (Looking lovingly at Roxane): Ah, to leave her!. . . (looking with rage at Valvert): and him!. . .But save Ligniere I must! (He hurries out. De Guiche, the viscount, the marquises, have all disappeared behind the curtain to take their places on the benches placed on the stage. The pit is quite full; the galleries and boxes are also crowded.) THE AUDIENCE: Begin! A BURGHER (whose wig is drawn up on the end of a string by a page in the upper gallery): My wig! CRIES OF DELIGHT: He is bald! Bravo, pages--ha! ha! ha!. . . THE BURGHER (furious, shaking his fist): Young villain! LAUGHTER AND CRIES (beginning very loud, and dying gradually away): Ha! ha! ha! ha! ha! ha! (Total silence.) LE BRET (astonished): What means this sudden silence?. . . (A spectator says something to him in a low voice): Is't true? THE SPECTATOR: I have just heard it on good authority. MURMURS (spreading through the hall): Hush! Is it he? No! Ay, I say! In the box with the bars in front! The Cardinal! The Cardinal! The Cardinal! A PAGE: The devil! We shall have to behave ourselves. . . (A knock is heard upon the stage. Every one is motionless. A pause.) THE VOICE OF A MARQUIS (in the silence, behind the curtain): Snuff that candle! ANOTHER MARQUIS (putting his head through the opening in the curtain): A chair! (A chair is passed from hand to hand, over the heads of the spectators. The marquis takes it and disappears, after blowing some kisses to the boxes.) A SPECTATOR: Silence! (Three knocks are heard on the stage. The curtain opens in the centre Tableau. The marquises in insolent attitudes seated on each side of the stage. The scene represents a pastoral landscape. Four little lusters light the stage; the violins play softly.) LE BRET (in a low voice to Ragueneau): Montfleury comes on the scene? RAGUENEAU (also in a low voice): Ay, 'tis he who begins. LE BRET: Cyrano is not here. RAGUENEAU: I have lost my wager. LE BRET: 'Tis all the better! (An air on the drone-pipes is heard, and Montfleury enters, enormously stout, in an Arcadian shepherd's dress, a hat wreathed with roses drooping over one ear, blowing into a ribboned drone pipe.) THE PIT (applauding): Bravo, Montfleury! Montfleury! MONTFLEURY (after bowing low, begins the part of Phedon): 'Heureux qui loin des cours, dans un lieu solitaire, Se prescrit a soi-meme un exil volontaire, Et qui, lorsque Zephire a souffle sur les bois. . .' A VOICE (from the middle of the pit): Villain! Did I not forbid you to show your face here for month? (General stupor. Every one turns round. Murmurs.) DIFFERENT VOICES: Hey?--What?--What is't?. . . (The people stand up in the boxes to look.) CUIGY: 'Tis he! LE BRET (terrified): Cyrano! THE VOICE: King of clowns! Leave the stage this instant! ALL THE AUDIENCE (indignantly): Oh! MONTFLEURY: But. . . THE VOICE: Do you dare defy me? DIFFERENT VOICES (from the pit and the boxes): Peace! Enough!--Play on, Montfleury--fear nothing! MONTFLEURY (in a trembling voice): 'Heureux qui loin des cours, dans un lieu sol--' THE VOICE (more fiercely): Well! Chief of all the blackguards, must I come and give you a taste of my cane? (A hand holding a cane starts up over the heads of the spectators.) MONTFLEURY (in a voice that trembles more and more): 'Heureux qui. . .' (The cane is shaken.) THE VOICE: Off the stage! THE PIT: Oh! MONTFLEURY (choking): 'Heureux qui loin des cours. . .' CYRANO (appearing suddenly in the pit, standing on a chair, his arms crossed, his beaver cocked fiercely, his mustache bristling, his nose terrible to see): Ah! I shall be angry in a minute!. . . (Sensation.) Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A:

Christian is introduced in Scene 2 by the poet, Ligniere. The poet/baker, Ragueneau, enters dressed in his Sunday best, and talks with Ligniere. He asks about Cyrano, who has forbidden Montfleury to act, but who has not yet appeared. Ragueneau describes Cyrano's nose as well as his reputation as a swordsman. When Roxane enters the theater, Ligniere tells Christian, who has fallen in love with her without knowing her identity, who the lady is. He also tells Christian that De Guiche, who is married to Richelieu's niece and is very powerful, wants Roxane to marry a complaisant courtier, Valvert, so that De Guiche can make her his own mistress. In Ligniere's opinion, Christian hasn't a chance with the lady. After Ligniere leaves the theater, Christian learns from a pickpocket that Ligniere has written a poem that has offended some powerful person. This highly placed man plans to have the poet killed and has hired a hundred armed men to waylay Ligniere on his way home. Christian goes off to find Ligniere and warn him. Montfleury goes onto the stage and begins his first speech, the prologue of the play, but he is interrupted by the voice of Cyrano telling him to stop. He makes several attempts to continue his speech, but is interrupted by Cyrano each time.

Chapter: The same. Cyrano, then Bellerose, Jodelet. MONTFLEURY (to the marquises): Come to my help, my lords! A MARQUIS (carelessly): Go on! Go on! CYRANO: Fat man, take warning! If you go on, I Shall feel myself constrained to cuff your face! THE MARQUIS: Have done! CYRANO: And if these lords hold not their tongue Shall feel constrained to make them taste my cane! ALL THE MARQUISES (rising): Enough!. . .Montfleury. . . CYRANO: If he goes not quick I will cut off his ears and slit him up! A VOICE: But. . . CYRANO: Out he goes! ANOTHER VOICE: Yet. . . CYRANO: Is he not gone yet? (He makes the gesture of turning up his cuffs): Good! I shall mount the stage now, buffet-wise, To carve this fine Italian sausage--thus! MONTFLEURY (trying to be dignified): You outrage Thalia in insulting me! CYRANO (very politely): If that Muse, Sir, who knows you not at all, Could claim acquaintance with you--oh, believe (Seeing how urn-like, fat, and slow you are) That she would make you taste her buskin's sole! THE PIT: Montfleury! Montfleury! Come--Baro's play! CYRANO (to those who are calling out): I pray you have a care! If you go on My scabbard soon will render up its blade! (The circle round him widens.) THE CROWD (drawing back): Take care! CYRANO (to Montfleury): Leave the stage! THE CROWD (coming near and grumbling): Oh!-- CYRANO: Did some one speak? (They draw back again.) A VOICE (singing at the back): Monsieur de Cyrano Displays his tyrannies: A fig for tyrants! What, ho! Come! Play us 'La Clorise!' ALL THE PIT (singing): 'La Clorise!' 'La Clorise!'. . . CYRANO: Let me but hear once more that foolish rhyme, I slaughter every man of you. A BURGHER: Oh! Samson? CYRANO: Yes Samson! Will you lend your jawbone, Sir? A LADY (in the boxes): Outrageous! A LORD: Scandalous! A BURGHER: 'Tis most annoying! A PAGE: Fair good sport! THE PIT: Kss!--Montfleury. . .Cyrano! CYRANO: Silence! THE PIT (wildly excited): Ho-o-o-o-h! Quack! Cock-a-doodle-doo! CYRANO: I order-- A PAGE: Miow! CYRANO: I order silence, all! And challenge the whole pit collectively!-- I write your names!--Approach, young heroes, here! Each in his turn! I cry the numbers out!-- Now which of you will come to ope the lists? You, Sir? No! You? No! The first duellist Shall be dispatched by me with honors due! Let all who long for death hold up their hands! (A silence): Modest? You fear to see my naked blade? Not one name?--Not one hand?--Good, I proceed! (Turning toward the stage, where Montfleury waits in an agony): The theater's too full, congested,--I Would clear it out. . .If not. . . (Puts his hand on his sword): The knife must act! MONTFLEURY: I. . . CYRANO (leaves his chair, and settles himself in the middle of the circle which has formed): I will clap my hands thrice, thus--full moon! At the third clap, eclipse yourself! THE PIT (amused): Ah! CYRANO (clapping his hands): One! MONTFLEURY: I. . . A VOICE (in the boxes): Stay! THE PIT: He stays. . .he goes. . .he stays. . . MONTFLEURY: I think. . .Gentlemen,. . . CYRANO: Two! MONTFLEURY: I think 'twere wisest. . . CYRANO: Three! (Montfleury disappears as through a trap. Tempest of laughs, whistling cries, etc.) THE WHOLE HOUSE: Coward. . .come back! CYRANO (delighted, sits back in his chair, arms crossed): Come back an if you dare! A BURGHER: Call for the orator! (Bellerose comes forward and bows.) THE BOXES: Ah! here's Bellerose! BELLEROSE (elegantly): My noble lords. . . THE PIT: No! no! Jodelet! JODELET (advancing, speaking through his nose): Calves! THE PIT: Ah! bravo! good! go on! JODELET: No bravos, Sirs! The fat tragedian whom you all love Felt. . . THE PIT: Coward! JODELET: . . .was obliged to go. THE PIT: Come back! SOME: No! OTHERS: Yes! A YOUNG MAN (to Cyrano): But pray, Sir, for what reason, say, Hate you Montfleury? CYRANO (graciously, still seated): Youthful gander, know I have two reasons--either will suffice. Primo. An actor villainous! who mouths, And heaves up like a bucket from a well The verses that should, bird-like, fly! Secundo-- That is my secret. . . THE OLD BURGHER (behind him): Shameful! You deprive us Of the 'Clorise!' I must insist. . . CYRANO (turning his chair toward the burgher, respectfully): Old mule! The verses of old Baro are not worth A doit! I'm glad to interrupt. . . THE PRECIEUSES (in the boxes): Our Baro!-- My dear! How dares he venture!. . . CYRANO (turning his chair toward the boxes gallantly): Fairest ones, Radiate, bloom, hold to our lips the cup Of dreams intoxicating, Hebe-like! Or, when death strikes, charm death with your sweet smiles; Inspire our verse, but--criticise it not! BELLEROSE: We must give back the entrance fees! CYRANO (turning his chair toward the stage): Bellerose, You make the first intelligent remark! Would I rend Thespis' sacred mantle? Nay! (He rises and throws a bag on the stage): Catch then the purse I throw, and hold your peace! THE HOUSE (dazzled): Ah! Oh! JODELET (catching the purse dexterously and weighing it): At this price, you've authority To come each night, and stop 'Clorise,' Sir! THE PIT: Ho!. . .Ho! Ho!. . . JODELET: E'en if you chase us in a pack!. . . BELLEROSE: Clear out the hall!. . . JODELET: Get you all gone at once! (The people begin to go out, while Cyrano looks on with satisfaction. But the crowd soon stop on hearing the following scene, and remain where they are. The women, who, with their mantles on, are already standing up in the boxes, stop to listen, and finally reseat themselves.) LE BRET (to Cyrano): 'Tis mad!. . . A BORE (coming up to Cyrano): The actor Montfleury! 'Tis shameful! Why, he's protected by the Duke of Candal! Have you a patron? CYRANO: No! THE BORE: No patron?. . . CYRANO: None! THE BORE: What! no great lord to shield you with his name? CYRANO (irritated): No, I have told you twice! Must I repeat? No! no protector. . . (His hand on his sword): A protectress. . .here! THE BORE: But you must leave the town? CYRANO: Well, that depends! THE BORE: The Duke has a long arm! CYRANO: But not so long As mine, when it is lengthened out. . . (Shows his sword): As thus! THE BORE: You think not to contend? CYRANO: 'Tis my idea! THE BORE: But. . . CYRANO: Show your heels! now! THE BORE: But I. . . CYRANO: Or tell me why you stare so at my nose! THE BORE (staggered): I. . . CYRANO (walking straight up to him): Well, what is there strange? THE BORE (drawing back): Your Grace mistakes! CYRANO: How now? Is't soft and dangling, like a trunk?. . . THE BORE (same play): I never. . . CYRANO: Is it crook'd, like an owl's beak? THE BORE: I. . . CYRANO: Do you see a wart upon the tip? THE BORE: Nay. . . CYRANO: Or a fly, that takes the air there? What Is there to stare at? THE BORE: Oh. . . CYRANO: What do you see? THE BORE: But I was careful not to look--knew better. CYRANO: And why not look at it, an if you please? THE BORE: I was. . . CYRANO: Oh! it disgusts you! THE BORE: Sir! CYRANO: Its hue Unwholesome seems to you? THE BORE: Sir! CYRANO: Or its shape? THE BORE: No, on the contrary!. . . CYRANO: Why then that air Disparaging?--perchance you think it large? THE BORE (stammering): No, small, quite small--minute! CYRANO: Minute! What now? Accuse me of a thing ridiculous! Small--my nose? THE BORE: Heaven help me! CYRANO: 'Tis enormous! Old Flathead, empty-headed meddler, know That I am proud possessing such appendice. 'Tis well known, a big nose is indicative Of a soul affable, and kind, and courteous, Liberal, brave, just like myself, and such As you can never dare to dream yourself, Rascal contemptible! For that witless face That my hand soon will come to cuff--is all As empty. . . (He cuffs him.) THE BORE: Aie! CYRANO: --of pride, of aspiration, Of feeling, poetry--of godlike spark Of all that appertains to my big nose, (He turns him by the shoulders, suiting the action to the word): As. . .what my boot will shortly come and kick! THE BORE (running away): Help! Call the Guard! CYRANO: Take notice, boobies all, Who find my visage's center ornament A thing to jest at--that it is my wont-- An if the jester's noble--ere we part To let him taste my steel, and not my boot! DE GUICHE (who, with the marquises, has come down from the stage): But he becomes a nuisance! THE VISCOUNT DE VALVERT (shrugging his shoulders): Swaggerer! DE GUICHE: Will no one put him down?. . . THE VISCOUNT: No one? But wait! I'll treat him to. . .one of my quips!. . .See here!. . . (He goes up to Cyrano, who is watching him, and with a conceited air): Sir, your nose is. . .hmm. . .it is. . .very big! CYRANO (gravely): Very! THE VISCOUNT (laughing): Ha! CYRANO (imperturbably): Is that all?. . . THE VISCOUNT: What do you mean? CYRANO: Ah no! young blade! That was a trifle short! You might have said at least a hundred things By varying the tone. . .like this, suppose,. . . Aggressive: 'Sir, if I had such a nose I'd amputate it!' Friendly: 'When you sup It must annoy you, dipping in your cup; You need a drinking-bowl of special shape!' Descriptive: ''Tis a rock!. . .a peak!. . .a cape! --A cape, forsooth! 'Tis a peninsular!' Curious: 'How serves that oblong capsular? For scissor-sheath? Or pot to hold your ink?' Gracious: 'You love the little birds, I think? I see you've managed with a fond research To find their tiny claws a roomy perch!' Truculent: 'When you smoke your pipe. . .suppose That the tobacco-smoke spouts from your nose-- Do not the neighbors, as the fumes rise higher, Cry terror-struck: "The chimney is afire"?' Considerate: 'Take care,. . .your head bowed low By such a weight. . .lest head o'er heels you go!' Tender: 'Pray get a small umbrella made, Lest its bright color in the sun should fade!' Pedantic: 'That beast Aristophanes Names Hippocamelelephantoles Must have possessed just such a solid lump Of flesh and bone, beneath his forehead's bump!' Cavalier: 'The last fashion, friend, that hook? To hang your hat on? 'Tis a useful crook!' Emphatic: 'No wind, O majestic nose, Can give THEE cold!--save when the mistral blows!' Dramatic: 'When it bleeds, what a Red Sea!' Admiring: 'Sign for a perfumery!' Lyric: 'Is this a conch?. . .a Triton you?' Simple: 'When is the monument on view?' Rustic: 'That thing a nose? Marry-come-up! 'Tis a dwarf pumpkin, or a prize turnip!' Military: 'Point against cavalry!' Practical: 'Put it in a lottery! Assuredly 'twould be the biggest prize!' Or. . .parodying Pyramus' sighs. . . 'Behold the nose that mars the harmony Of its master's phiz! blushing its treachery!' --Such, my dear sir, is what you might have said, Had you of wit or letters the least jot: But, O most lamentable man!--of wit You never had an atom, and of letters You have three letters only!--they spell Ass! And--had you had the necessary wit, To serve me all the pleasantries I quote Before this noble audience. . .e'en so, You would not have been let to utter one-- Nay, not the half or quarter of such jest! I take them from myself all in good part, But not from any other man that breathes! DE GUICHE (trying to draw away the dismayed viscount): Come away, Viscount! THE VISCOUNT (choking with rage): Hear his arrogance! A country lout who. . .who. . .has got no gloves! Who goes out without sleeve-knots, ribbons, lace! CYRANO: True; all my elegances are within. I do not prank myself out, puppy-like; My toilet is more thorough, if less gay; I would not sally forth--a half-washed-out Affront upon my cheek--a conscience Yellow-eyed, bilious, from its sodden sleep, A ruffled honor,. . .scruples grimed and dull! I show no bravery of shining gems. Truth, Independence, are my fluttering plumes. 'Tis not my form I lace to make me slim, But brace my soul with efforts as with stays, Covered with exploits, not with ribbon-knots, My spirit bristling high like your mustaches, I, traversing the crowds and chattering groups Make Truth ring bravely out like clash of spurs! THE VISCOUNT: But, Sir. . . CYRANO: I wear no gloves? And what of that? I had one,. . .remnant of an old worn pair, And, knowing not what else to do with it, I threw it in the face of. . .some young fool. THE VISCOUNT: Base scoundrel! Rascally flat-footed lout! CYRANO (taking off his hat, and bowing as if the viscount had introduced himself): Ah?. . .and I, Cyrano Savinien Hercule de Bergerac (Laughter.) THE VISCOUNT (angrily): Buffoon! CYRANO (calling out as if he had been seized with the cramp): Aie! Aie! THE VISCOUNT (who was going away, turns back): What on earth is the fellow saying now? CYRANO (with grimaces of pain): It must be moved--it's getting stiff, I vow, --This comes of leaving it in idleness! Aie!. . . THE VISCOUNT: What ails you? CYRANO: The cramp! cramp in my sword! THE VISCOUNT (drawing his sword): Good! CYRANO: You shall feel a charming little stroke! THE VISCOUNT (contemptuously): Poet!. . . CYRANO: Ay, poet, Sir! In proof of which, While we fence, presto! all extempore I will compose a ballade. THE VISCOUNT: A ballade? CYRANO: Belike you know not what a ballade is. THE VISCOUNT: But. . . CYRANO (reciting, as if repeating a lesson): Know then that the ballade should contain Three eight-versed couplets. . . THE VISCOUNT (stamping): Oh! CYRANO (still reciting): And an envoi Of four lines. . . THE VISCOUNT: You. . . CYRANO: I'll make one while we fight; And touch you at the final line. THE VISCOUNT: No! CYRANO: No? (declaiming): The duel in Hotel of Burgundy--fought By De Bergerac and a good-for-naught! THE VISCOUNT: What may that be, an if you please? CYRANO: The title. THE HOUSE (in great excitement): Give room!--Good sport!--Make place!--Fair play!--No noise! (Tableau. A circle of curious spectators in the pit; the marquises and officers mingled with the common people; the pages climbing on each other's shoulders to see better. All the women standing up in the boxes. To the right, De Guiche and his retinue. Left, Le Bret, Ragueneau, Cyrano, etc.) CYRANO (shutting his eyes for a second): Wait while I choose my rhymes. . .I have them now! (He suits the action to each word): I gayly doff my beaver low, And, freeing hand and heel, My heavy mantle off I throw, And I draw my polished steel; Graceful as Phoebus, round I wheel, Alert as Scaramouch, A word in your ear, Sir Spark, I steal-- At the envoi's end, I touch! (They engage): Better for you had you lain low; Where skewer my cock? In the heel?-- In the heart, your ribbon blue below?-- In the hip, and make you kneel? Ho for the music of clashing steel! --What now?--A hit? Not much! 'Twill be in the paunch the stroke I steal, When, at the envoi, I touch. Oh, for a rhyme, a rhyme in o?-- You wriggle, starch-white, my eel? A rhyme! a rhyme! The white feather you SHOW! Tac! I parry the point of your steel; --The point you hoped to make me feel; I open the line, now clutch Your spit, Sir Scullion--slow your zeal! At the envoi's end, I touch. (He declaims solemnly): Envoi. Prince, pray Heaven for your soul's weal! I move a pace--lo, such! and such! Cut over--feint! (Thrusting): What ho! You reel? (The viscount staggers. Cyrano salutes): At the envoi's end, I touch! (Acclamations. Applause in the boxes. Flowers and handkerchiefs are thrown down. The officers surround Cyrano, congratulating him. Ragueneau dances for joy. Le Bret is happy, but anxious. The viscount's friends hold him up and bear him away.) THE CROWD (with one long shout): Ah! A TROOPER: 'Tis superb! A WOMAN: A pretty stroke! RAGUENEAU: A marvel! A MARQUIS: A novelty! LE BRET: O madman! THE CROWD (presses round Cyrano. Chorus of): Compliments! Bravo! Let me congratulate!. . .Quite unsurpassed!. . . A WOMAN'S VOICE: There is a hero for you!. . . A MUSKETEER (advancing to Cyrano with outstretched hand): Sir, permit; Naught could be finer--I'm a judge I think; I stamped, i' faith!--to show my admiration! (He goes away.) CYRANO (to Cuigy): Who is that gentleman? CUIGY: Why--D'Artagnan! LE BRET (to Cyrano, taking his arm): A word with you!. . . CYRANO: Wait; let the rabble go!. . . (To Bellerose): May I stay? BELLEROSE (respectfully): Without doubt! (Cries are heard outside.) JODELET (who has looked out): They hoot Montfleury! BELLEROSE (solemnly): Sic transit!. . . (To the porters): Sweep--close all, but leave the lights. We sup, but later on we must return, For a rehearsal of to-morrow's farce. (Jodelet and Bellerose go out, bowing low to Cyrano.) THE PORTER (to Cyrano): You do not dine, Sir? CYRANO: No. (The porter goes out.) LE BRET: Because? CYRANO (proudly): Because. . . (Changing his tone as the porter goes away): I have no money!. . . LE BRET (with the action of throwing a bag): How! The bag of crowns?. . . CYRANO: Paternal bounty, in a day, thou'rt sped! LE BRET: How live the next month?. . . CYRANO: I have nothing left. LE BRET: Folly! CYRANO: But what a graceful action! Think! THE BUFFET-GIRL (coughing, behind her counter): Hum! (Cyrano and Le Bret turn. She comes timidly forward): Sir, my heart mislikes to know you fast. (Showing the buffet): See, all you need. Serve yourself! CYRANO (taking off his hat): Gentle child, Although my Gascon pride would else forbid To take the least bestowal from your hands, My fear of wounding you outweighs that pride, And bids accept. . . (He goes to the buffet): A trifle!. . .These few grapes. (She offers him the whole bunch. He takes a few): Nay, but this bunch!. . . (She tries to give him wine, but he stops her): A glass of water fair!. . . And half a macaroon! (He gives back the other half.) LE BRET: What foolery! THE BUFFET-GIRL: Take something else! CYRANO: I take your hand to kiss. (He kisses her hand as though she were a princess.) THE BUFFET-GIRL: Thank you, kind Sir! (She courtesies): Good-night. (She goes out.) Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A: Montfleury tries to continue his speech, but is repeatedly interrupted by Cyrano. The audience jeers Cyrano, who offers to fight anyone who will come forward in Montfleury's defense, but no one comes. Montfleury leaves the stage. The theater manager points out to Cyrano that if he does not allow the play to proceed, the manager will have to refund the money to the patrons. Cyrano tosses a sack of gold to him, which is obviously more than adequate to cover the loss. Cyrano is not worried by the fact that Montfleury has a powerful patron who may be angry at Cyrano's preventing the performance. The vicomte, Valvert, says to Cyrano, "Your nose is, hmm ... is ... very ... hmm ... big." This leads to one of the memorable moments of the play in which Cyrano, with great wit and charm, suggests what many types of people might say about his nose. After this tirade by Cyrano, De Guiche tries to lead the vicomte away, but the foolish man delays long enough to sneer at Cyrano for not wearing gloves. Cyrano replies that his elegances are moral ones. Then he announces that he will fight a duel with the vicomte and that, while they are fighting, he will compose a ballade . At the end of the refrain, he says, he will end the duel with a thrust. He does exactly as he has promised. When the hall is almost empty, Le Bret asks why Cyrano has not eaten dinner. He confesses that he has no money. Le Bret asks about the sack of gold that Cyrano threw to the theater manager, and Cyrano confesses that that was his month's income -- he has nothing left. "What foolishness," says Le Bret. "But what a beautiful gesture!" Cyrano replies.

Chapter: The same. Cyrano, then Bellerose, Jodelet. MONTFLEURY (to the marquises): Come to my help, my lords! A MARQUIS (carelessly): Go on! Go on! CYRANO: Fat man, take warning! If you go on, I Shall feel myself constrained to cuff your face! THE MARQUIS: Have done! CYRANO: And if these lords hold not their tongue Shall feel constrained to make them taste my cane! ALL THE MARQUISES (rising): Enough!. . .Montfleury. . . CYRANO: If he goes not quick I will cut off his ears and slit him up! A VOICE: But. . . CYRANO: Out he goes! ANOTHER VOICE: Yet. . . CYRANO: Is he not gone yet? (He makes the gesture of turning up his cuffs): Good! I shall mount the stage now, buffet-wise, To carve this fine Italian sausage--thus! MONTFLEURY (trying to be dignified): You outrage Thalia in insulting me! CYRANO (very politely): If that Muse, Sir, who knows you not at all, Could claim acquaintance with you--oh, believe (Seeing how urn-like, fat, and slow you are) That she would make you taste her buskin's sole! THE PIT: Montfleury! Montfleury! Come--Baro's play! CYRANO (to those who are calling out): I pray you have a care! If you go on My scabbard soon will render up its blade! (The circle round him widens.) THE CROWD (drawing back): Take care! CYRANO (to Montfleury): Leave the stage! THE CROWD (coming near and grumbling): Oh!-- CYRANO: Did some one speak? (They draw back again.) A VOICE (singing at the back): Monsieur de Cyrano Displays his tyrannies: A fig for tyrants! What, ho! Come! Play us 'La Clorise!' ALL THE PIT (singing): 'La Clorise!' 'La Clorise!'. . . CYRANO: Let me but hear once more that foolish rhyme, I slaughter every man of you. A BURGHER: Oh! Samson? CYRANO: Yes Samson! Will you lend your jawbone, Sir? A LADY (in the boxes): Outrageous! A LORD: Scandalous! A BURGHER: 'Tis most annoying! A PAGE: Fair good sport! THE PIT: Kss!--Montfleury. . .Cyrano! CYRANO: Silence! THE PIT (wildly excited): Ho-o-o-o-h! Quack! Cock-a-doodle-doo! CYRANO: I order-- A PAGE: Miow! CYRANO: I order silence, all! And challenge the whole pit collectively!-- I write your names!--Approach, young heroes, here! Each in his turn! I cry the numbers out!-- Now which of you will come to ope the lists? You, Sir? No! You? No! The first duellist Shall be dispatched by me with honors due! Let all who long for death hold up their hands! (A silence): Modest? You fear to see my naked blade? Not one name?--Not one hand?--Good, I proceed! (Turning toward the stage, where Montfleury waits in an agony): The theater's too full, congested,--I Would clear it out. . .If not. . . (Puts his hand on his sword): The knife must act! MONTFLEURY: I. . . CYRANO (leaves his chair, and settles himself in the middle of the circle which has formed): I will clap my hands thrice, thus--full moon! At the third clap, eclipse yourself! THE PIT (amused): Ah! CYRANO (clapping his hands): One! MONTFLEURY: I. . . A VOICE (in the boxes): Stay! THE PIT: He stays. . .he goes. . .he stays. . . MONTFLEURY: I think. . .Gentlemen,. . . CYRANO: Two! MONTFLEURY: I think 'twere wisest. . . CYRANO: Three! (Montfleury disappears as through a trap. Tempest of laughs, whistling cries, etc.) THE WHOLE HOUSE: Coward. . .come back! CYRANO (delighted, sits back in his chair, arms crossed): Come back an if you dare! A BURGHER: Call for the orator! (Bellerose comes forward and bows.) THE BOXES: Ah! here's Bellerose! BELLEROSE (elegantly): My noble lords. . . THE PIT: No! no! Jodelet! JODELET (advancing, speaking through his nose): Calves! THE PIT: Ah! bravo! good! go on! JODELET: No bravos, Sirs! The fat tragedian whom you all love Felt. . . THE PIT: Coward! JODELET: . . .was obliged to go. THE PIT: Come back! SOME: No! OTHERS: Yes! A YOUNG MAN (to Cyrano): But pray, Sir, for what reason, say, Hate you Montfleury? CYRANO (graciously, still seated): Youthful gander, know I have two reasons--either will suffice. Primo. An actor villainous! who mouths, And heaves up like a bucket from a well The verses that should, bird-like, fly! Secundo-- That is my secret. . . THE OLD BURGHER (behind him): Shameful! You deprive us Of the 'Clorise!' I must insist. . . CYRANO (turning his chair toward the burgher, respectfully): Old mule! The verses of old Baro are not worth A doit! I'm glad to interrupt. . . THE PRECIEUSES (in the boxes): Our Baro!-- My dear! How dares he venture!. . . CYRANO (turning his chair toward the boxes gallantly): Fairest ones, Radiate, bloom, hold to our lips the cup Of dreams intoxicating, Hebe-like! Or, when death strikes, charm death with your sweet smiles; Inspire our verse, but--criticise it not! BELLEROSE: We must give back the entrance fees! CYRANO (turning his chair toward the stage): Bellerose, You make the first intelligent remark! Would I rend Thespis' sacred mantle? Nay! (He rises and throws a bag on the stage): Catch then the purse I throw, and hold your peace! THE HOUSE (dazzled): Ah! Oh! JODELET (catching the purse dexterously and weighing it): At this price, you've authority To come each night, and stop 'Clorise,' Sir! THE PIT: Ho!. . .Ho! Ho!. . . JODELET: E'en if you chase us in a pack!. . . BELLEROSE: Clear out the hall!. . . JODELET: Get you all gone at once! (The people begin to go out, while Cyrano looks on with satisfaction. But the crowd soon stop on hearing the following scene, and remain where they are. The women, who, with their mantles on, are already standing up in the boxes, stop to listen, and finally reseat themselves.) LE BRET (to Cyrano): 'Tis mad!. . . A BORE (coming up to Cyrano): The actor Montfleury! 'Tis shameful! Why, he's protected by the Duke of Candal! Have you a patron? CYRANO: No! THE BORE: No patron?. . . CYRANO: None! THE BORE: What! no great lord to shield you with his name? CYRANO (irritated): No, I have told you twice! Must I repeat? No! no protector. . . (His hand on his sword): A protectress. . .here! THE BORE: But you must leave the town? CYRANO: Well, that depends! THE BORE: The Duke has a long arm! CYRANO: But not so long As mine, when it is lengthened out. . . (Shows his sword): As thus! THE BORE: You think not to contend? CYRANO: 'Tis my idea! THE BORE: But. . . CYRANO: Show your heels! now! THE BORE: But I. . . CYRANO: Or tell me why you stare so at my nose! THE BORE (staggered): I. . . CYRANO (walking straight up to him): Well, what is there strange? THE BORE (drawing back): Your Grace mistakes! CYRANO: How now? Is't soft and dangling, like a trunk?. . . THE BORE (same play): I never. . . CYRANO: Is it crook'd, like an owl's beak? THE BORE: I. . . CYRANO: Do you see a wart upon the tip? THE BORE: Nay. . . CYRANO: Or a fly, that takes the air there? What Is there to stare at? THE BORE: Oh. . . CYRANO: What do you see? THE BORE: But I was careful not to look--knew better. CYRANO: And why not look at it, an if you please? THE BORE: I was. . . CYRANO: Oh! it disgusts you! THE BORE: Sir! CYRANO: Its hue Unwholesome seems to you? THE BORE: Sir! CYRANO: Or its shape? THE BORE: No, on the contrary!. . . CYRANO: Why then that air Disparaging?--perchance you think it large? THE BORE (stammering): No, small, quite small--minute! CYRANO: Minute! What now? Accuse me of a thing ridiculous! Small--my nose? THE BORE: Heaven help me! CYRANO: 'Tis enormous! Old Flathead, empty-headed meddler, know That I am proud possessing such appendice. 'Tis well known, a big nose is indicative Of a soul affable, and kind, and courteous, Liberal, brave, just like myself, and such As you can never dare to dream yourself, Rascal contemptible! For that witless face That my hand soon will come to cuff--is all As empty. . . (He cuffs him.) THE BORE: Aie! CYRANO: --of pride, of aspiration, Of feeling, poetry--of godlike spark Of all that appertains to my big nose, (He turns him by the shoulders, suiting the action to the word): As. . .what my boot will shortly come and kick! THE BORE (running away): Help! Call the Guard! CYRANO: Take notice, boobies all, Who find my visage's center ornament A thing to jest at--that it is my wont-- An if the jester's noble--ere we part To let him taste my steel, and not my boot! DE GUICHE (who, with the marquises, has come down from the stage): But he becomes a nuisance! THE VISCOUNT DE VALVERT (shrugging his shoulders): Swaggerer! DE GUICHE: Will no one put him down?. . . THE VISCOUNT: No one? But wait! I'll treat him to. . .one of my quips!. . .See here!. . . (He goes up to Cyrano, who is watching him, and with a conceited air): Sir, your nose is. . .hmm. . .it is. . .very big! CYRANO (gravely): Very! THE VISCOUNT (laughing): Ha! CYRANO (imperturbably): Is that all?. . . THE VISCOUNT: What do you mean? CYRANO: Ah no! young blade! That was a trifle short! You might have said at least a hundred things By varying the tone. . .like this, suppose,. . . Aggressive: 'Sir, if I had such a nose I'd amputate it!' Friendly: 'When you sup It must annoy you, dipping in your cup; You need a drinking-bowl of special shape!' Descriptive: ''Tis a rock!. . .a peak!. . .a cape! --A cape, forsooth! 'Tis a peninsular!' Curious: 'How serves that oblong capsular? For scissor-sheath? Or pot to hold your ink?' Gracious: 'You love the little birds, I think? I see you've managed with a fond research To find their tiny claws a roomy perch!' Truculent: 'When you smoke your pipe. . .suppose That the tobacco-smoke spouts from your nose-- Do not the neighbors, as the fumes rise higher, Cry terror-struck: "The chimney is afire"?' Considerate: 'Take care,. . .your head bowed low By such a weight. . .lest head o'er heels you go!' Tender: 'Pray get a small umbrella made, Lest its bright color in the sun should fade!' Pedantic: 'That beast Aristophanes Names Hippocamelelephantoles Must have possessed just such a solid lump Of flesh and bone, beneath his forehead's bump!' Cavalier: 'The last fashion, friend, that hook? To hang your hat on? 'Tis a useful crook!' Emphatic: 'No wind, O majestic nose, Can give THEE cold!--save when the mistral blows!' Dramatic: 'When it bleeds, what a Red Sea!' Admiring: 'Sign for a perfumery!' Lyric: 'Is this a conch?. . .a Triton you?' Simple: 'When is the monument on view?' Rustic: 'That thing a nose? Marry-come-up! 'Tis a dwarf pumpkin, or a prize turnip!' Military: 'Point against cavalry!' Practical: 'Put it in a lottery! Assuredly 'twould be the biggest prize!' Or. . .parodying Pyramus' sighs. . . 'Behold the nose that mars the harmony Of its master's phiz! blushing its treachery!' --Such, my dear sir, is what you might have said, Had you of wit or letters the least jot: But, O most lamentable man!--of wit You never had an atom, and of letters You have three letters only!--they spell Ass! And--had you had the necessary wit, To serve me all the pleasantries I quote Before this noble audience. . .e'en so, You would not have been let to utter one-- Nay, not the half or quarter of such jest! I take them from myself all in good part, But not from any other man that breathes! DE GUICHE (trying to draw away the dismayed viscount): Come away, Viscount! THE VISCOUNT (choking with rage): Hear his arrogance! A country lout who. . .who. . .has got no gloves! Who goes out without sleeve-knots, ribbons, lace! CYRANO: True; all my elegances are within. I do not prank myself out, puppy-like; My toilet is more thorough, if less gay; I would not sally forth--a half-washed-out Affront upon my cheek--a conscience Yellow-eyed, bilious, from its sodden sleep, A ruffled honor,. . .scruples grimed and dull! I show no bravery of shining gems. Truth, Independence, are my fluttering plumes. 'Tis not my form I lace to make me slim, But brace my soul with efforts as with stays, Covered with exploits, not with ribbon-knots, My spirit bristling high like your mustaches, I, traversing the crowds and chattering groups Make Truth ring bravely out like clash of spurs! THE VISCOUNT: But, Sir. . . CYRANO: I wear no gloves? And what of that? I had one,. . .remnant of an old worn pair, And, knowing not what else to do with it, I threw it in the face of. . .some young fool. THE VISCOUNT: Base scoundrel! Rascally flat-footed lout! CYRANO (taking off his hat, and bowing as if the viscount had introduced himself): Ah?. . .and I, Cyrano Savinien Hercule de Bergerac (Laughter.) THE VISCOUNT (angrily): Buffoon! CYRANO (calling out as if he had been seized with the cramp): Aie! Aie! THE VISCOUNT (who was going away, turns back): What on earth is the fellow saying now? CYRANO (with grimaces of pain): It must be moved--it's getting stiff, I vow, --This comes of leaving it in idleness! Aie!. . . THE VISCOUNT: What ails you? CYRANO: The cramp! cramp in my sword! THE VISCOUNT (drawing his sword): Good! CYRANO: You shall feel a charming little stroke! THE VISCOUNT (contemptuously): Poet!. . . CYRANO: Ay, poet, Sir! In proof of which, While we fence, presto! all extempore I will compose a ballade. THE VISCOUNT: A ballade? CYRANO: Belike you know not what a ballade is. THE VISCOUNT: But. . . CYRANO (reciting, as if repeating a lesson): Know then that the ballade should contain Three eight-versed couplets. . . THE VISCOUNT (stamping): Oh! CYRANO (still reciting): And an envoi Of four lines. . . THE VISCOUNT: You. . . CYRANO: I'll make one while we fight; And touch you at the final line. THE VISCOUNT: No! CYRANO: No? (declaiming): The duel in Hotel of Burgundy--fought By De Bergerac and a good-for-naught! THE VISCOUNT: What may that be, an if you please? CYRANO: The title. THE HOUSE (in great excitement): Give room!--Good sport!--Make place!--Fair play!--No noise! (Tableau. A circle of curious spectators in the pit; the marquises and officers mingled with the common people; the pages climbing on each other's shoulders to see better. All the women standing up in the boxes. To the right, De Guiche and his retinue. Left, Le Bret, Ragueneau, Cyrano, etc.) CYRANO (shutting his eyes for a second): Wait while I choose my rhymes. . .I have them now! (He suits the action to each word): I gayly doff my beaver low, And, freeing hand and heel, My heavy mantle off I throw, And I draw my polished steel; Graceful as Phoebus, round I wheel, Alert as Scaramouch, A word in your ear, Sir Spark, I steal-- At the envoi's end, I touch! (They engage): Better for you had you lain low; Where skewer my cock? In the heel?-- In the heart, your ribbon blue below?-- In the hip, and make you kneel? Ho for the music of clashing steel! --What now?--A hit? Not much! 'Twill be in the paunch the stroke I steal, When, at the envoi, I touch. Oh, for a rhyme, a rhyme in o?-- You wriggle, starch-white, my eel? A rhyme! a rhyme! The white feather you SHOW! Tac! I parry the point of your steel; --The point you hoped to make me feel; I open the line, now clutch Your spit, Sir Scullion--slow your zeal! At the envoi's end, I touch. (He declaims solemnly): Envoi. Prince, pray Heaven for your soul's weal! I move a pace--lo, such! and such! Cut over--feint! (Thrusting): What ho! You reel? (The viscount staggers. Cyrano salutes): At the envoi's end, I touch! (Acclamations. Applause in the boxes. Flowers and handkerchiefs are thrown down. The officers surround Cyrano, congratulating him. Ragueneau dances for joy. Le Bret is happy, but anxious. The viscount's friends hold him up and bear him away.) THE CROWD (with one long shout): Ah! A TROOPER: 'Tis superb! A WOMAN: A pretty stroke! RAGUENEAU: A marvel! A MARQUIS: A novelty! LE BRET: O madman! THE CROWD (presses round Cyrano. Chorus of): Compliments! Bravo! Let me congratulate!. . .Quite unsurpassed!. . . A WOMAN'S VOICE: There is a hero for you!. . . A MUSKETEER (advancing to Cyrano with outstretched hand): Sir, permit; Naught could be finer--I'm a judge I think; I stamped, i' faith!--to show my admiration! (He goes away.) CYRANO (to Cuigy): Who is that gentleman? CUIGY: Why--D'Artagnan! LE BRET (to Cyrano, taking his arm): A word with you!. . . CYRANO: Wait; let the rabble go!. . . (To Bellerose): May I stay? BELLEROSE (respectfully): Without doubt! (Cries are heard outside.) JODELET (who has looked out): They hoot Montfleury! BELLEROSE (solemnly): Sic transit!. . . (To the porters): Sweep--close all, but leave the lights. We sup, but later on we must return, For a rehearsal of to-morrow's farce. (Jodelet and Bellerose go out, bowing low to Cyrano.) THE PORTER (to Cyrano): You do not dine, Sir? CYRANO: No. (The porter goes out.) LE BRET: Because? CYRANO (proudly): Because. . . (Changing his tone as the porter goes away): I have no money!. . . LE BRET (with the action of throwing a bag): How! The bag of crowns?. . . CYRANO: Paternal bounty, in a day, thou'rt sped! LE BRET: How live the next month?. . . CYRANO: I have nothing left. LE BRET: Folly! CYRANO: But what a graceful action! Think! THE BUFFET-GIRL (coughing, behind her counter): Hum! (Cyrano and Le Bret turn. She comes timidly forward): Sir, my heart mislikes to know you fast. (Showing the buffet): See, all you need. Serve yourself! CYRANO (taking off his hat): Gentle child, Although my Gascon pride would else forbid To take the least bestowal from your hands, My fear of wounding you outweighs that pride, And bids accept. . . (He goes to the buffet): A trifle!. . .These few grapes. (She offers him the whole bunch. He takes a few): Nay, but this bunch!. . . (She tries to give him wine, but he stops her): A glass of water fair!. . . And half a macaroon! (He gives back the other half.) LE BRET: What foolery! THE BUFFET-GIRL: Take something else! CYRANO: I take your hand to kiss. (He kisses her hand as though she were a princess.) THE BUFFET-GIRL: Thank you, kind Sir! (She courtesies): Good-night. (She goes out.) Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A:

Montfleury tries to continue his speech, but is repeatedly interrupted by Cyrano. The audience jeers Cyrano, who offers to fight anyone who will come forward in Montfleury's defense, but no one comes. Montfleury leaves the stage. The theater manager points out to Cyrano that if he does not allow the play to proceed, the manager will have to refund the money to the patrons. Cyrano tosses a sack of gold to him, which is obviously more than adequate to cover the loss. Cyrano is not worried by the fact that Montfleury has a powerful patron who may be angry at Cyrano's preventing the performance. The vicomte, Valvert, says to Cyrano, "Your nose is, hmm ... is ... very ... hmm ... big." This leads to one of the memorable moments of the play in which Cyrano, with great wit and charm, suggests what many types of people might say about his nose. After this tirade by Cyrano, De Guiche tries to lead the vicomte away, but the foolish man delays long enough to sneer at Cyrano for not wearing gloves. Cyrano replies that his elegances are moral ones. Then he announces that he will fight a duel with the vicomte and that, while they are fighting, he will compose a ballade . At the end of the refrain, he says, he will end the duel with a thrust. He does exactly as he has promised. When the hall is almost empty, Le Bret asks why Cyrano has not eaten dinner. He confesses that he has no money. Le Bret asks about the sack of gold that Cyrano threw to the theater manager, and Cyrano confesses that that was his month's income -- he has nothing left. "What foolishness," says Le Bret. "But what a beautiful gesture!" Cyrano replies.

Chapter: Cyrano, Le Bret. CYRANO (to Le Bret): Now talk--I listen. (He stands at the buffet, and placing before him first the macaroon): Dinner!. . . (then the grapes): Dessert!. . . (then the glass of water): Wine!. . . (he seats himself): So! And now to table! Ah! I was hungry, friend, nay, ravenous! (eating): You said--? LE BRET: These fops, would-be belligerent, Will, if you heed them only, turn your head!. . . Ask people of good sense if you would know The effect of your fine insolence-- CYRANO (finishing his macaroon): Enormous! LE BRET: The Cardinal. . . CYRANO (radiant): The Cardinal--was there? LE BRET: Must have thought it. . . CYRANO: Original, i' faith! LE BRET: But. . . CYRANO: He's an author. 'Twill not fail to please him That I should mar a brother-author's play. LE BRET: You make too many enemies by far! CYRANO (eating his grapes): How many think you I have made to-night? LE BRET: Forty, no less, not counting ladies. CYRANO: Count! LE BRET: Montfleury first, the bourgeois, then De Guiche, The Viscount, Baro, the Academy. . . CYRANO: Enough! I am o'erjoyed! LE BRET: But these strange ways, Where will they lead you, at the end? Explain Your system--come! CYRANO: I in a labyrinth Was lost--too many different paths to choose; I took. . . LE BRET: Which? CYRANO: Oh! by far the simplest path. . . Decided to be admirable in all! LE BRET (shrugging his shoulders): So be it! But the motive of your hate To Montfleury--come, tell me! CYRANO (rising): This Silenus, Big-bellied, coarse, still deems himself a peril-- A danger to the love of lovely ladies, And, while he sputters out his actor's part, Makes sheep's eyes at their boxes--goggling frog! I hate him since the evening he presumed To raise his eyes to hers. . .Meseemed I saw A slug crawl slavering o'er a flower's petals! LE BRET (stupefied): How now? What? Can it be. . .? CYRANO (laughing bitterly): That I should love?. . . (Changing his tone, gravely): I love. LE BRET: And may I know?. . .You never said. . . CYRANO: Come now, bethink you!. . .The fond hope to be Beloved, e'en by some poor graceless lady, Is, by this nose of mine for aye bereft me; --This lengthy nose which, go where'er I will, Pokes yet a quarter-mile ahead of me; But I may love--and who? 'Tis Fate's decree I love the fairest--how were't otherwise? LE BRET: The fairest?. . . CYRANO: Ay, the fairest of the world, Most brilliant--most refined--most golden-haired! LE BRET: Who is this lady? CYRANO: She's a danger mortal, All unsuspicious--full of charms unconscious, Like a sweet perfumed rose--a snare of nature, Within whose petals Cupid lurks in ambush! He who has seen her smile has known perfection, --Instilling into trifles grace's essence, Divinity in every careless gesture; Not Venus' self can mount her conch blown sea-ward, As she can step into her chaise a porteurs, Nor Dian fleet across the woods spring-flowered, Light as my Lady o'er the stones of Paris!. . . LE BRET: Sapristi! all is clear! CYRANO: As spiderwebs! LE BRET: Your cousin, Madeleine Robin? CYRANO: Roxane! LE BRET: Well, but so much the better! Tell her so! She saw your triumph here this very night! CYRANO: Look well at me--then tell me, with what hope This vile protuberance can inspire my heart! I do not lull me with illusions--yet At times I'm weak: in evening hours dim I enter some fair pleasance, perfumed sweet; With my poor ugly devil of a nose I scent spring's essence--in the silver rays I see some knight--a lady on his arm, And think 'To saunter thus 'neath the moonshine, I were fain to have my lady, too, beside!' Thought soars to ecstasy. . .O sudden fall! --The shadow of my profile on the wall! LE BRET (tenderly): My friend!. . . CYRANO: My friend, at times 'tis hard, 'tis bitter, To feel my loneliness--my own ill-favor. . . LE BRET (taking his hand): You weep? CYRANO: No, never! Think, how vilely suited Adown this nose a tear its passage tracing! I never will, while of myself I'm master, let the divinity of tears--their beauty Be wedded to such common ugly grossness. Nothing more solemn than a tear--sublimer; And I would not by weeping turn to laughter The grave emotion that a tear engenders! LE BRET: Never be sad! What's love?--a chance of Fortune! CYRANO (shaking his head): Look I a Caesar to woo Cleopatra? A Tito to aspire to Berenice? LE BRET: Your courage and your wit!--The little maid Who offered you refreshment even now, Her eyes did not abhor you--you saw well! CYRANO (impressed): True! LE BRET: Well, how then?. . .I saw Roxane herself Was death-pale as she watched the duel. CYRANO: Pale? LE BRET: Her heart, her fancy, are already caught! Put it to th' touch! CYRANO: That she may mock my face? That is the one thing on this earth I fear! THE PORTER (introducing some one to Cyrano): Sir, some one asks for you. . . CYRANO (seeing the duenna): God! her duenna! Cyrano, Le Bret, the duenna. THE DUENNA (with a low bow): I was bid ask you where a certain lady Could see her valiant cousin--but in secret. CYRANO (overwhelmed): See me? THE DUENNA (courtesying): Ay, Sir! She has somewhat to tell. CYRANO: Somewhat?. . . THE DUENNA (still courtesying): Ay, private matters! CYRANO (staggering): Ah, my God! THE DUENNA: To-morrow, at the early blush of dawn, We go to hear mass at St. Roch. CYRANO (leaning against Le Bret): My God! THE DUENNA: After--what place for a few minutes' speech? CYRANO (confused): Where? Ah!. . .but. . .Ah, my God!. . . THE DUENNA: Say! CYRANO: I reflect!. . . THE DUENNA: Where? CYRANO: At--the pastry-house of Ragueneau. THE DUENNA: Where lodges he? CYRANO: The Rue--God!--St. Honore! THE DUENNA (going): Good. Be you there. At seven. CYRANO: Without fail. (The duenna goes out.) Cyrano, Le Bret. Then actors, actresses, Cuigy, Brissaille, Ligniere, the porter, the violinists. CYRANO (falling into Le Bret's arms): A rendezvous. . .from her!. . . LE BRET: You're sad no more! CYRANO: Ah! Let the world go burn! She knows I live! LE BRET: Now you'll be calm, I hope? CYRANO (beside himself for joy): Calm? I now calm? I'll be frenetic, frantic,--raving mad! Oh, for an army to attack!--a host! I've ten hearts in my breast; a score of arms; No dwarfs to cleave in twain!. . . (Wildly): No! Giants now! (For a few moments the shadows of the actors have been moving on the stage, whispers are heard--the rehearsal is beginning. The violinists are in their places.) A VOICE FROM THE STAGE: Hollo there! Silence! We rehearse! CYRANO (laughing): We go! (He moves away. By the big door enter Cuigy, Brissaille, and some officers, holding up Ligniere, who is drunk.) CUIGY: Cyrano! CYRANO: Well, what now? CUIGY: A lusty thrush They're bringing you! CYRANO (recognizing him): Ligniere!. . .What has chanced? CUIGY: He seeks you! BRISSAILLE: He dare not go home! CYRANO: Why not? LIGNIERE (in a husky voice, showing him a crumpled letter): This letter warns me. . .that a hundred men. . . Revenge that threatens me. . .that song, you know-- At the Porte de Nesle. To get to my own house I must pass there. . .I dare not!. . .Give me leave To sleep to-night beneath your roof! Allow. . . CYRANO: A hundred men? You'll sleep in your own bed! LIGNIERE (frightened): But-- CYRANO (in a terrible voice, showing him the lighted lantern held by the porter, who is listening curiously): Take the lantern. (Ligniere seizes it): Let us start! I swear That I will make your bed to-night myself! (To the officers): Follow; some stay behind, as witnesses! CUIGY: A hundred!. . . CYRANO: Less, to-night--would be too few! (The actors and actresses, in their costumes, have come down from the stage, and are listening.) LE BRET: But why embroil yourself? CYRANO: Le Bret who scolds! LE BRET: That worthless drunkard!-- CYRANO (slapping Ligniere on the shoulder): Wherefore? For this cause;-- This wine-barrel, this cask of Burgundy, Did, on a day, an action full of grace; As he was leaving church, he saw his love Take holy water--he, who is affeared At water's taste, ran quickly to the stoup, And drank it all, to the last drop!. . . AN ACTRESS: Indeed, that was a graceful thing! CYRANO: Ay, was it not? THE ACTRESS (to the others): But why a hundred men 'gainst one poor rhymer? CYRANO: March! (To the officers): Gentlemen, when you shall see me charge, Bear me no succor, none, whate'er the odds! ANOTHER ACTRESS (jumping from the stage): Oh! I shall come and see! CYRANO: Come, then! ANOTHER (jumping down--to an old actor): And you?. . . CYRANO: Come all--the Doctor, Isabel, Leander, Come, for you shall add, in a motley swarm, The farce Italian to this Spanish drama! ALL THE WOMEN (dancing for joy): Bravo!--a mantle, quick!--my hood! JODELET: Come on! CYRANO: Play us a march, gentlemen of the band! (The violinists join the procession, which is forming. They take the footlights, and divide them for torches): Brave officers! next, women in costume, And, twenty paces on-- (He takes his place): I all alone, Beneath the plume that Glory lends, herself, To deck my beaver--proud as Scipio!. . . --You hear me?--I forbid you succor me!-- One, two three! Porter, open wide the doors! (The porter opens the doors; a view of old Paris in the moonlight is seen): Ah!. . .Paris wrapped in night! half nebulous: The moonlight streams o'er the blue-shadowed roofs; A lovely frame for this wild battle-scene; Beneath the vapor's floating scarves, the Seine Trembles, mysterious, like a magic mirror, And, shortly, you shall see what you shall see! ALL: To the Porte de Nesle! CYRANO (standing on the threshold): Ay, to the Porte de Nesle! (Turning to the actress): Did you not ask, young lady, for what cause Against this rhymer fivescore men were sent? (He draws his sword; then, calmly): 'Twas that they knew him for a friend of mine! (He goes out. Ligniere staggers first after him, then the actresses on the officers' arms--the actors. The procession starts to the sound of the violins and in the faint light of the candles.) Curtain. Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A: As Cyrano eats the frugal "meal" provided by the adoring little orange girl, Le Bret warns him that his rash actions are making powerful enemies, but Cyrano refuses to be seriously concerned. He says, "I have decided to be admirable in everything." He then confesses that he is in love with his cousin Roxane, but that he is so ugly that he is afraid to try to win her hand. The only thing he fears is having his nose laughed at; for her to laugh at him would be a blow he dare not risk. In Scene 6, Roxane's duenna enters the theater and asks Cyrano to meet Roxane. Elated, he makes an appointment to meet her at Ragueneau's pastry shop the next morning at seven o'clock. Cyrano is ecstatic; he feels invincible; he feels that he needs to fight whole armies. Brissaille enters with the drunken Ligniere, saying that Ligniere, is in trouble. Ligniere explains that his poem has gotten him into difficulties; Cyrano orders his entourage to follow and watch, but not to interfere. He will defend Ligniere himself because he once saw his friend perform a lovely romantic gesture. Cyrano leaves the stage twenty paces ahead of the rest -- officers, comedians, actresses, and musicians -- pausing only to explain that it was necessary to send a hundred men to kill Ligniere because it is well known that he is a friend of Cyrano's.

Chapter: Cyrano, Le Bret. CYRANO (to Le Bret): Now talk--I listen. (He stands at the buffet, and placing before him first the macaroon): Dinner!. . . (then the grapes): Dessert!. . . (then the glass of water): Wine!. . . (he seats himself): So! And now to table! Ah! I was hungry, friend, nay, ravenous! (eating): You said--? LE BRET: These fops, would-be belligerent, Will, if you heed them only, turn your head!. . . Ask people of good sense if you would know The effect of your fine insolence-- CYRANO (finishing his macaroon): Enormous! LE BRET: The Cardinal. . . CYRANO (radiant): The Cardinal--was there? LE BRET: Must have thought it. . . CYRANO: Original, i' faith! LE BRET: But. . . CYRANO: He's an author. 'Twill not fail to please him That I should mar a brother-author's play. LE BRET: You make too many enemies by far! CYRANO (eating his grapes): How many think you I have made to-night? LE BRET: Forty, no less, not counting ladies. CYRANO: Count! LE BRET: Montfleury first, the bourgeois, then De Guiche, The Viscount, Baro, the Academy. . . CYRANO: Enough! I am o'erjoyed! LE BRET: But these strange ways, Where will they lead you, at the end? Explain Your system--come! CYRANO: I in a labyrinth Was lost--too many different paths to choose; I took. . . LE BRET: Which? CYRANO: Oh! by far the simplest path. . . Decided to be admirable in all! LE BRET (shrugging his shoulders): So be it! But the motive of your hate To Montfleury--come, tell me! CYRANO (rising): This Silenus, Big-bellied, coarse, still deems himself a peril-- A danger to the love of lovely ladies, And, while he sputters out his actor's part, Makes sheep's eyes at their boxes--goggling frog! I hate him since the evening he presumed To raise his eyes to hers. . .Meseemed I saw A slug crawl slavering o'er a flower's petals! LE BRET (stupefied): How now? What? Can it be. . .? CYRANO (laughing bitterly): That I should love?. . . (Changing his tone, gravely): I love. LE BRET: And may I know?. . .You never said. . . CYRANO: Come now, bethink you!. . .The fond hope to be Beloved, e'en by some poor graceless lady, Is, by this nose of mine for aye bereft me; --This lengthy nose which, go where'er I will, Pokes yet a quarter-mile ahead of me; But I may love--and who? 'Tis Fate's decree I love the fairest--how were't otherwise? LE BRET: The fairest?. . . CYRANO: Ay, the fairest of the world, Most brilliant--most refined--most golden-haired! LE BRET: Who is this lady? CYRANO: She's a danger mortal, All unsuspicious--full of charms unconscious, Like a sweet perfumed rose--a snare of nature, Within whose petals Cupid lurks in ambush! He who has seen her smile has known perfection, --Instilling into trifles grace's essence, Divinity in every careless gesture; Not Venus' self can mount her conch blown sea-ward, As she can step into her chaise a porteurs, Nor Dian fleet across the woods spring-flowered, Light as my Lady o'er the stones of Paris!. . . LE BRET: Sapristi! all is clear! CYRANO: As spiderwebs! LE BRET: Your cousin, Madeleine Robin? CYRANO: Roxane! LE BRET: Well, but so much the better! Tell her so! She saw your triumph here this very night! CYRANO: Look well at me--then tell me, with what hope This vile protuberance can inspire my heart! I do not lull me with illusions--yet At times I'm weak: in evening hours dim I enter some fair pleasance, perfumed sweet; With my poor ugly devil of a nose I scent spring's essence--in the silver rays I see some knight--a lady on his arm, And think 'To saunter thus 'neath the moonshine, I were fain to have my lady, too, beside!' Thought soars to ecstasy. . .O sudden fall! --The shadow of my profile on the wall! LE BRET (tenderly): My friend!. . . CYRANO: My friend, at times 'tis hard, 'tis bitter, To feel my loneliness--my own ill-favor. . . LE BRET (taking his hand): You weep? CYRANO: No, never! Think, how vilely suited Adown this nose a tear its passage tracing! I never will, while of myself I'm master, let the divinity of tears--their beauty Be wedded to such common ugly grossness. Nothing more solemn than a tear--sublimer; And I would not by weeping turn to laughter The grave emotion that a tear engenders! LE BRET: Never be sad! What's love?--a chance of Fortune! CYRANO (shaking his head): Look I a Caesar to woo Cleopatra? A Tito to aspire to Berenice? LE BRET: Your courage and your wit!--The little maid Who offered you refreshment even now, Her eyes did not abhor you--you saw well! CYRANO (impressed): True! LE BRET: Well, how then?. . .I saw Roxane herself Was death-pale as she watched the duel. CYRANO: Pale? LE BRET: Her heart, her fancy, are already caught! Put it to th' touch! CYRANO: That she may mock my face? That is the one thing on this earth I fear! THE PORTER (introducing some one to Cyrano): Sir, some one asks for you. . . CYRANO (seeing the duenna): God! her duenna! Cyrano, Le Bret, the duenna. THE DUENNA (with a low bow): I was bid ask you where a certain lady Could see her valiant cousin--but in secret. CYRANO (overwhelmed): See me? THE DUENNA (courtesying): Ay, Sir! She has somewhat to tell. CYRANO: Somewhat?. . . THE DUENNA (still courtesying): Ay, private matters! CYRANO (staggering): Ah, my God! THE DUENNA: To-morrow, at the early blush of dawn, We go to hear mass at St. Roch. CYRANO (leaning against Le Bret): My God! THE DUENNA: After--what place for a few minutes' speech? CYRANO (confused): Where? Ah!. . .but. . .Ah, my God!. . . THE DUENNA: Say! CYRANO: I reflect!. . . THE DUENNA: Where? CYRANO: At--the pastry-house of Ragueneau. THE DUENNA: Where lodges he? CYRANO: The Rue--God!--St. Honore! THE DUENNA (going): Good. Be you there. At seven. CYRANO: Without fail. (The duenna goes out.) Cyrano, Le Bret. Then actors, actresses, Cuigy, Brissaille, Ligniere, the porter, the violinists. CYRANO (falling into Le Bret's arms): A rendezvous. . .from her!. . . LE BRET: You're sad no more! CYRANO: Ah! Let the world go burn! She knows I live! LE BRET: Now you'll be calm, I hope? CYRANO (beside himself for joy): Calm? I now calm? I'll be frenetic, frantic,--raving mad! Oh, for an army to attack!--a host! I've ten hearts in my breast; a score of arms; No dwarfs to cleave in twain!. . . (Wildly): No! Giants now! (For a few moments the shadows of the actors have been moving on the stage, whispers are heard--the rehearsal is beginning. The violinists are in their places.) A VOICE FROM THE STAGE: Hollo there! Silence! We rehearse! CYRANO (laughing): We go! (He moves away. By the big door enter Cuigy, Brissaille, and some officers, holding up Ligniere, who is drunk.) CUIGY: Cyrano! CYRANO: Well, what now? CUIGY: A lusty thrush They're bringing you! CYRANO (recognizing him): Ligniere!. . .What has chanced? CUIGY: He seeks you! BRISSAILLE: He dare not go home! CYRANO: Why not? LIGNIERE (in a husky voice, showing him a crumpled letter): This letter warns me. . .that a hundred men. . . Revenge that threatens me. . .that song, you know-- At the Porte de Nesle. To get to my own house I must pass there. . .I dare not!. . .Give me leave To sleep to-night beneath your roof! Allow. . . CYRANO: A hundred men? You'll sleep in your own bed! LIGNIERE (frightened): But-- CYRANO (in a terrible voice, showing him the lighted lantern held by the porter, who is listening curiously): Take the lantern. (Ligniere seizes it): Let us start! I swear That I will make your bed to-night myself! (To the officers): Follow; some stay behind, as witnesses! CUIGY: A hundred!. . . CYRANO: Less, to-night--would be too few! (The actors and actresses, in their costumes, have come down from the stage, and are listening.) LE BRET: But why embroil yourself? CYRANO: Le Bret who scolds! LE BRET: That worthless drunkard!-- CYRANO (slapping Ligniere on the shoulder): Wherefore? For this cause;-- This wine-barrel, this cask of Burgundy, Did, on a day, an action full of grace; As he was leaving church, he saw his love Take holy water--he, who is affeared At water's taste, ran quickly to the stoup, And drank it all, to the last drop!. . . AN ACTRESS: Indeed, that was a graceful thing! CYRANO: Ay, was it not? THE ACTRESS (to the others): But why a hundred men 'gainst one poor rhymer? CYRANO: March! (To the officers): Gentlemen, when you shall see me charge, Bear me no succor, none, whate'er the odds! ANOTHER ACTRESS (jumping from the stage): Oh! I shall come and see! CYRANO: Come, then! ANOTHER (jumping down--to an old actor): And you?. . . CYRANO: Come all--the Doctor, Isabel, Leander, Come, for you shall add, in a motley swarm, The farce Italian to this Spanish drama! ALL THE WOMEN (dancing for joy): Bravo!--a mantle, quick!--my hood! JODELET: Come on! CYRANO: Play us a march, gentlemen of the band! (The violinists join the procession, which is forming. They take the footlights, and divide them for torches): Brave officers! next, women in costume, And, twenty paces on-- (He takes his place): I all alone, Beneath the plume that Glory lends, herself, To deck my beaver--proud as Scipio!. . . --You hear me?--I forbid you succor me!-- One, two three! Porter, open wide the doors! (The porter opens the doors; a view of old Paris in the moonlight is seen): Ah!. . .Paris wrapped in night! half nebulous: The moonlight streams o'er the blue-shadowed roofs; A lovely frame for this wild battle-scene; Beneath the vapor's floating scarves, the Seine Trembles, mysterious, like a magic mirror, And, shortly, you shall see what you shall see! ALL: To the Porte de Nesle! CYRANO (standing on the threshold): Ay, to the Porte de Nesle! (Turning to the actress): Did you not ask, young lady, for what cause Against this rhymer fivescore men were sent? (He draws his sword; then, calmly): 'Twas that they knew him for a friend of mine! (He goes out. Ligniere staggers first after him, then the actresses on the officers' arms--the actors. The procession starts to the sound of the violins and in the faint light of the candles.) Curtain. Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A:

As Cyrano eats the frugal "meal" provided by the adoring little orange girl, Le Bret warns him that his rash actions are making powerful enemies, but Cyrano refuses to be seriously concerned. He says, "I have decided to be admirable in everything." He then confesses that he is in love with his cousin Roxane, but that he is so ugly that he is afraid to try to win her hand. The only thing he fears is having his nose laughed at; for her to laugh at him would be a blow he dare not risk. In Scene 6, Roxane's duenna enters the theater and asks Cyrano to meet Roxane. Elated, he makes an appointment to meet her at Ragueneau's pastry shop the next morning at seven o'clock. Cyrano is ecstatic; he feels invincible; he feels that he needs to fight whole armies. Brissaille enters with the drunken Ligniere, saying that Ligniere, is in trouble. Ligniere explains that his poem has gotten him into difficulties; Cyrano orders his entourage to follow and watch, but not to interfere. He will defend Ligniere himself because he once saw his friend perform a lovely romantic gesture. Cyrano leaves the stage twenty paces ahead of the rest -- officers, comedians, actresses, and musicians -- pausing only to explain that it was necessary to send a hundred men to kill Ligniere because it is well known that he is a friend of Cyrano's.

Chapter: Ragueneau, pastry-cooks, then Lise. Ragueneau is writing, with an inspired air, at a small table, and counting on his fingers. FIRST PASTRY-COOK (bringing in an elaborate fancy dish): Fruits in nougat! SECOND PASTRY-COOK (bringing another dish): Custard! THIRD PASTRY-COOK (bringing a roast, decorated with feathers): Peacock! FOURTH PASTRY-COOK (bringing a batch of cakes on a slab): Rissoles! FIFTH PASTRY-COOK (bringing a sort of pie-dish): Beef jelly! RAGUENEAU (ceasing to write, and raising his head): Aurora's silver rays begin to glint e'en now on the copper pans, and thou, O Ragueneau! must perforce stifle in thy breast the God of Song! Anon shall come the hour of the lute!--now 'tis the hour of the oven! (He rises. To a cook): You, make that sauce longer, 'tis too short! THE COOK: How much too short? RAGUENEAU: Three feet. (He passes on farther.) THE COOK: What means he? FIRST PASTRY-COOK (showing a dish to Ragueneau): The tart! SECOND PASTRY-COOK: The pie! RAGUENEAU (before the fire): My muse, retire, lest thy bright eyes be reddened by the fagot's blaze! (To a cook, showing him some loaves): You have put the cleft o' th' loaves in the wrong place; know you not that the coesura should be between the hemistiches? (To another, showing him an unfinished pasty): To this palace of paste you must add the roof. . . (To a young apprentice, who, seated on the ground, is spitting the fowls): And you, as you put on your lengthy spit the modest fowl and the superb turkey, my son, alternate them, as the old Malherbe loved well to alternate his long lines of verse with the short ones; thus shall your roasts, in strophes, turn before the flame! ANOTHER APPRENTICE (also coming up with a tray covered by a napkin): Master, I bethought me erewhile of your tastes, and made this, which will please you, I hope. (He uncovers the tray, and shows a large lyre made of pastry.) RAGUENEAU (enchanted): A lyre! THE APPRENTICE: 'Tis of brioche pastry. RAGUENEAU (touched): With conserved fruits. THE APPRENTICE: The strings, see, are of sugar. RAGUENEAU (giving him a coin): Go, drink my health! (Seeing Lise enter): Hush! My wife. Bustle, pass on, and hide that money! (To Lise, showing her the lyre, with a conscious look): Is it not beautiful? LISE: 'Tis passing silly! (She puts a pile of papers on the counter.) RAGUENEAU: Bags? Good. I thank you. (He looks at them): Heavens! my cherished leaves! The poems of my friends! Torn, dismembered, to make bags for holding biscuits and cakes!. . .Ah, 'tis the old tale again. . .Orpheus and the Bacchantes! LISE (dryly): And am I not free to turn at last to some use the sole thing that your wretched scribblers of halting lines leave behind them by way of payment? RAGUENEAU: Groveling ant!. . .Insult not the divine grasshoppers, the sweet singers! LISE: Before you were the sworn comrade of all that crew, my friend, you did not call your wife ant and Bacchante! RAGUENEAU: To turn fair verse to such a use! LISE: 'Faith, 'tis all it's good for. RAGUENEAU: Pray then, madam, to what use would you degrade prose? The same. Two children, who have just trotted into the shop. RAGUENEAU: What would you, little ones? FIRST CHILD: Three pies. RAGUENEAU (serving them): See, hot and well browned. SECOND CHILD: If it please you, Sir, will you wrap them up for us? RAGUENEAU (aside, distressed): Alas! one of my bags! (To the children): What? Must I wrap them up? (He takes a bag, and just as he is about to put in the pies, he reads): 'Ulysses thus, on leaving fair Penelope. . .' Not that one! (He puts it aside, and takes another, and as he is about to put in the pies, he reads): 'The gold-locked Phoebus. . .' Nay, nor that one!. . . (Same play.) LISE (impatiently): What are you dallying for? RAGUENEAU: Here! here! here (He chooses a third, resignedly): The sonnet to Phillis!. . .but 'tis hard to part with it! LISE: By good luck he has made up his mind at last! (Shrugging her shoulders): Nicodemus! (She mounts on a chair, and begins to range plates on a dresser.) RAGUENEAU (taking advantage of the moment she turns her back, calls back the children, who are already at the door): Hist! children!. . .render me back the sonnet to Phillis, and you shall have six pies instead of three. (The children give him back the bag, seize the cakes quickly, and go out.) RAGUENEAU (smoothing out the paper, begins to declaim): 'Phillis!. . .' On that sweet name a smear of butter! 'Phillis!. . .' (Cyrano enters hurriedly.) Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A: Act II takes place in the pastry shop owned by Ragueneau, who was introduced in Act I. Ragueneau's wife, Lise, has more business sense and less love of poetry than her husband-she has made sacks out of the poems his friends have left in payment for food. Two children make a small purchase, and Lise wraps their pastries in the pages of poetry. When his wife is not looking, Ragueneau calls the children back and trades them three more pastries for the poems.

Chapter: Ragueneau, pastry-cooks, then Lise. Ragueneau is writing, with an inspired air, at a small table, and counting on his fingers. FIRST PASTRY-COOK (bringing in an elaborate fancy dish): Fruits in nougat! SECOND PASTRY-COOK (bringing another dish): Custard! THIRD PASTRY-COOK (bringing a roast, decorated with feathers): Peacock! FOURTH PASTRY-COOK (bringing a batch of cakes on a slab): Rissoles! FIFTH PASTRY-COOK (bringing a sort of pie-dish): Beef jelly! RAGUENEAU (ceasing to write, and raising his head): Aurora's silver rays begin to glint e'en now on the copper pans, and thou, O Ragueneau! must perforce stifle in thy breast the God of Song! Anon shall come the hour of the lute!--now 'tis the hour of the oven! (He rises. To a cook): You, make that sauce longer, 'tis too short! THE COOK: How much too short? RAGUENEAU: Three feet. (He passes on farther.) THE COOK: What means he? FIRST PASTRY-COOK (showing a dish to Ragueneau): The tart! SECOND PASTRY-COOK: The pie! RAGUENEAU (before the fire): My muse, retire, lest thy bright eyes be reddened by the fagot's blaze! (To a cook, showing him some loaves): You have put the cleft o' th' loaves in the wrong place; know you not that the coesura should be between the hemistiches? (To another, showing him an unfinished pasty): To this palace of paste you must add the roof. . . (To a young apprentice, who, seated on the ground, is spitting the fowls): And you, as you put on your lengthy spit the modest fowl and the superb turkey, my son, alternate them, as the old Malherbe loved well to alternate his long lines of verse with the short ones; thus shall your roasts, in strophes, turn before the flame! ANOTHER APPRENTICE (also coming up with a tray covered by a napkin): Master, I bethought me erewhile of your tastes, and made this, which will please you, I hope. (He uncovers the tray, and shows a large lyre made of pastry.) RAGUENEAU (enchanted): A lyre! THE APPRENTICE: 'Tis of brioche pastry. RAGUENEAU (touched): With conserved fruits. THE APPRENTICE: The strings, see, are of sugar. RAGUENEAU (giving him a coin): Go, drink my health! (Seeing Lise enter): Hush! My wife. Bustle, pass on, and hide that money! (To Lise, showing her the lyre, with a conscious look): Is it not beautiful? LISE: 'Tis passing silly! (She puts a pile of papers on the counter.) RAGUENEAU: Bags? Good. I thank you. (He looks at them): Heavens! my cherished leaves! The poems of my friends! Torn, dismembered, to make bags for holding biscuits and cakes!. . .Ah, 'tis the old tale again. . .Orpheus and the Bacchantes! LISE (dryly): And am I not free to turn at last to some use the sole thing that your wretched scribblers of halting lines leave behind them by way of payment? RAGUENEAU: Groveling ant!. . .Insult not the divine grasshoppers, the sweet singers! LISE: Before you were the sworn comrade of all that crew, my friend, you did not call your wife ant and Bacchante! RAGUENEAU: To turn fair verse to such a use! LISE: 'Faith, 'tis all it's good for. RAGUENEAU: Pray then, madam, to what use would you degrade prose? The same. Two children, who have just trotted into the shop. RAGUENEAU: What would you, little ones? FIRST CHILD: Three pies. RAGUENEAU (serving them): See, hot and well browned. SECOND CHILD: If it please you, Sir, will you wrap them up for us? RAGUENEAU (aside, distressed): Alas! one of my bags! (To the children): What? Must I wrap them up? (He takes a bag, and just as he is about to put in the pies, he reads): 'Ulysses thus, on leaving fair Penelope. . .' Not that one! (He puts it aside, and takes another, and as he is about to put in the pies, he reads): 'The gold-locked Phoebus. . .' Nay, nor that one!. . . (Same play.) LISE (impatiently): What are you dallying for? RAGUENEAU: Here! here! here (He chooses a third, resignedly): The sonnet to Phillis!. . .but 'tis hard to part with it! LISE: By good luck he has made up his mind at last! (Shrugging her shoulders): Nicodemus! (She mounts on a chair, and begins to range plates on a dresser.) RAGUENEAU (taking advantage of the moment she turns her back, calls back the children, who are already at the door): Hist! children!. . .render me back the sonnet to Phillis, and you shall have six pies instead of three. (The children give him back the bag, seize the cakes quickly, and go out.) RAGUENEAU (smoothing out the paper, begins to declaim): 'Phillis!. . .' On that sweet name a smear of butter! 'Phillis!. . .' (Cyrano enters hurriedly.) Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A:

Act II takes place in the pastry shop owned by Ragueneau, who was introduced in Act I. Ragueneau's wife, Lise, has more business sense and less love of poetry than her husband-she has made sacks out of the poems his friends have left in payment for food. Two children make a small purchase, and Lise wraps their pastries in the pages of poetry. When his wife is not looking, Ragueneau calls the children back and trades them three more pastries for the poems.

Chapter: Ragueneau, Lise, Cyrano, then the musketeer. CYRANO: What's o'clock? RAGUENEAU (bowing low): Six o'clock. CYRANO (with emotion): In one hour's time! (He paces up and down the shop.) RAGUENEAU (following him): Bravo! I saw. . . CYRANO: Well, what saw you, then? RAGUENEAU: Your combat!. . . CYRANO: Which? RAGUENEAU: That in the Burgundy Hotel, 'faith! CYRANO (contemptuously): Ah!. . .the duel! RAGUENEAU (admiringly): Ay! the duel in verse!. . . LISE: He can talk of naught else! CYRANO: Well! Good! let be! RAGUENEAU (making passes with a spit that he catches up): 'At the envoi's end, I touch!. . .At the envoi's end, I touch!'. . .'Tis fine, fine! (With increasing enthusiasm): 'At the envoi's end--' CYRANO: What hour is it now, Ragueneau? RAGUENEAU (stopping short in the act of thrusting to look at the clock): Five minutes after six!. . .'I touch!' (He straightens himself): . . .Oh! to write a ballade! LISE (to Cyrano, who, as he passes by the counter, has absently shaken hands with her): What's wrong with your hand? CYRANO: Naught; a slight cut. RAGUENEAU: Have you been in some danger? CYRANO: None in the world. LISE (shaking her finger at him): Methinks you speak not the truth in saying that! CYRANO: Did you see my nose quiver when I spoke? 'Faith, it must have been a monstrous lie that should move it! (Changing his tone): I wait some one here. Leave us alone, and disturb us for naught an it were not for crack of doom! RAGUENEAU: But 'tis impossible; my poets are coming. . . LISE (ironically): Oh, ay, for their first meal o' the day! CYRANO: Prythee, take them aside when I shall make you sign to do so. . .What's o'clock? RAGUENEAU: Ten minutes after six. CYRANO (nervously seating himself at Ragueneau's table, and drawing some paper toward him): A pen!. . . RAGUENEAU (giving him the one from behind his ear): Here--a swan's quill. A MUSKETEER (with fierce mustache, enters, and in a stentorian voice): Good-day! (Lise goes up to him quickly.) CYRANO (turning round): Who's that? RAGUENEAU: 'Tis a friend of my wife--a terrible warrior--at least so says he himself. CYRANO (taking up the pen, and motioning Ragueneau away): Hush! (To himself): I will write, fold it, give it her, and fly! (Throws down the pen): Coward!. . .But strike me dead if I dare to speak to her,. . .ay, even one single word! (To Ragueneau): What time is it? RAGUENEAU: A quarter after six!. . . CYRANO (striking his breast): Ay--a single word of all those here! here! But writing, 'tis easier done. . . (He takes up the pen): Go to, I will write it, that love-letter! Oh! I have writ it and rewrit it in my own mind so oft that it lies there ready for pen and ink; and if I lay but my soul by my letter-sheet, 'tis naught to do but to copy from it. (He writes. Through the glass of the door the silhouettes of their figures move uncertainly and hesitatingly.) Ragueneau, Lise, the musketeer. Cyrano at the little table writing. The poets, dressed in black, their stockings ungartered, and covered with mud. LISE (entering, to Ragueneau): Here they come, your mud-bespattered friends! FIRST POET (entering, to Ragueneau): Brother in art!. . . SECOND POET (to Ragueneau, shaking his hands): Dear brother! THIRD POET: High soaring eagle among pastry-cooks! (He sniffs): Marry! it smells good here in your eyrie! FOURTH POET: 'Tis at Phoebus' own rays that thy roasts turn! FIFTH POET: Apollo among master-cooks-- RAGUENEAU (whom they surround and embrace): Ah! how quick a man feels at his ease with them!. . . FIRST POET: We were stayed by the mob; they are crowded all round the Porte de Nesle!. . . SECOND POET: Eight bleeding brigand carcasses strew the pavements there--all slit open with sword-gashes! CYRANO (raising his head a minute): Eight?. . .hold, methought seven. (He goes on writing.) RAGUENEAU (to Cyrano): Know you who might be the hero of the fray? CYRANO (carelessly): Not I. LISE (to the musketeer): And you? Know you? THE MUSKETEER (twirling his mustache): Maybe! CYRANO (writing a little way off:--he is heard murmuring a word from time to time): 'I love thee!' FIRST POET: 'Twas one man, say they all, ay, swear to it, one man who, single-handed, put the whole band to the rout! SECOND POET: 'Twas a strange sight!--pikes and cudgels strewed thick upon the ground. CYRANO (writing): . . .'Thine eyes'. . . THIRD POET: And they were picking up hats all the way to the Quai d'Orfevres! FIRST POET: Sapristi! but he must have been a ferocious. . . CYRANO (same play): . . .'Thy lips'. . . FIRST POET: 'Twas a parlous fearsome giant that was the author of such exploits! CYRANO (same play): . . .'And when I see thee come, I faint for fear.' SECOND POET (filching a cake): What hast rhymed of late, Ragueneau? CYRANO (same play): . . .'Who worships thee'. . . (He stops, just as he is about to sign, and gets up, slipping the letter into his doublet): No need I sign, since I give it her myself. RAGUENEAU (to second poet): I have put a recipe into verse. THIRD POET (seating himself by a plate of cream-puffs): Go to! Let us hear these verses! FOURTH POET (looking at a cake which he has taken): Its cap is all a' one side! (He makes one bite of the top.) FIRST POET: See how this gingerbread woos the famished rhymer with its almond eyes, and its eyebrows of angelica! (He takes it.) SECOND POET: We listen. THIRD POET (squeezing a cream-puff gently): How it laughs! Till its very cream runs over! SECOND POET (biting a bit off the great lyre of pastry): This is the first time in my life that ever I drew any means of nourishing me from the lyre! RAGUENEAU (who has put himself ready for reciting, cleared his throat, settled his cap, struck an attitude): A recipe in verse!. . . SECOND POET (to first, nudging him): You are breakfasting? FIRST POET (to second): And you dining, methinks. RAGUENEAU: How almond tartlets are made. Beat your eggs up, light and quick; Froth them thick; Mingle with them while you beat Juice of lemon, essence fine; Then combine The burst milk of almonds sweet. Circle with a custard paste The slim waist Of your tartlet-molds; the top With a skillful finger print, Nick and dint, Round their edge, then, drop by drop, In its little dainty bed Your cream shed: In the oven place each mold: Reappearing, softly browned, The renowned Almond tartlets you behold! THE POETS (with mouths crammed full): Exquisite! Delicious! A POET (choking): Homph! (They go up, eating.) CYRANO (who has been watching, goes toward Ragueneau): Lulled by your voice, did you see how they were stuffing themselves? RAGUENEAU (in a low voice, smiling): Oh, ay! I see well enough, but I never will seem to look, fearing to distress them; thus I gain a double pleasure when I recite to them my poems; for I leave those poor fellows who have not breakfasted free to eat, even while I gratify my own dearest foible, see you? CYRANO (clapping him on the shoulder): Friend, I like you right well!. . . (Ragueneau goes after his friends. Cyrano follows him with his eyes, then, rather sharply): Ho there! Lise! (Lise, who is talking tenderly to the musketeer, starts, and comes down toward Cyrano): So this fine captain is laying siege to you? LISE (offended): One haughty glance of my eye can conquer any man that should dare venture aught 'gainst my virtue. CYRANO: Pooh! Conquering eyes, methinks, are oft conquered eyes. LISE (choking with anger): But-- CYRANO (incisively): I like Ragueneau well, and so--mark me, Dame Lise--I permit not that he be rendered a laughing-stock by any. . . LISE: But. . . CYRANO (who has raised his voice so as to be heard by the gallant): A word to the wise. . . (He bows to the musketeer, and goes to the doorway to watch, after looking at the clock.) LISE (to the musketeer, who has merely bowed in answer to Cyrano's bow): How now? Is this your courage?. . .Why turn you not a jest on his nose? THE MUSKETEER: On his nose?. . .ay, ay. . .his nose. (He goes quickly farther away; Lise follows him.) CYRANO (from the doorway, signing to Ragueneau to draw the poets away): Hist!. . . RAGUENEAU (showing them the door on the right): We shall be more private there. . . CYRANO (impatiently): Hist! Hist!. . . RAGUENEAU (drawing them farther): To read poetry, 'tis better here. . . FIRST POET (despairingly, with his mouth full): What! leave the cakes?. . . SECOND POET: Never! Let's take them with us! (They all follow Ragueneau in procession, after sweeping all the cakes off the trays.) Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A: Cyrano enters and Ragueneau congratulates him on the duel in the theater the night before. But Cyrano is not interested in anything except his meeting with Roxane. He asks Ragueneau to clear the place out when he gives the signal, and Ragueneau agrees. A musketeer enters who will be mentioned again later. The poets come in, for their "first meal," as Lise says. They are all excited about the feat of the evening before -- one man against a hundred, and no one knows who the brave one was. Cyrano is writing a love letter to Roxane and is not at all interested in the conversation around him. He does not sign the letter, because he plans to give it to Roxane himself. The poets flatter Ragueneau by asking for his latest poetic effort -- a recipe in rhyme. Cyrano constantly asks the time, and the hour finally arrives for his meeting with Roxane. The poets are rushed to another room so that Cyrano can see her alone.

Chapter: Ragueneau, Lise, Cyrano, then the musketeer. CYRANO: What's o'clock? RAGUENEAU (bowing low): Six o'clock. CYRANO (with emotion): In one hour's time! (He paces up and down the shop.) RAGUENEAU (following him): Bravo! I saw. . . CYRANO: Well, what saw you, then? RAGUENEAU: Your combat!. . . CYRANO: Which? RAGUENEAU: That in the Burgundy Hotel, 'faith! CYRANO (contemptuously): Ah!. . .the duel! RAGUENEAU (admiringly): Ay! the duel in verse!. . . LISE: He can talk of naught else! CYRANO: Well! Good! let be! RAGUENEAU (making passes with a spit that he catches up): 'At the envoi's end, I touch!. . .At the envoi's end, I touch!'. . .'Tis fine, fine! (With increasing enthusiasm): 'At the envoi's end--' CYRANO: What hour is it now, Ragueneau? RAGUENEAU (stopping short in the act of thrusting to look at the clock): Five minutes after six!. . .'I touch!' (He straightens himself): . . .Oh! to write a ballade! LISE (to Cyrano, who, as he passes by the counter, has absently shaken hands with her): What's wrong with your hand? CYRANO: Naught; a slight cut. RAGUENEAU: Have you been in some danger? CYRANO: None in the world. LISE (shaking her finger at him): Methinks you speak not the truth in saying that! CYRANO: Did you see my nose quiver when I spoke? 'Faith, it must have been a monstrous lie that should move it! (Changing his tone): I wait some one here. Leave us alone, and disturb us for naught an it were not for crack of doom! RAGUENEAU: But 'tis impossible; my poets are coming. . . LISE (ironically): Oh, ay, for their first meal o' the day! CYRANO: Prythee, take them aside when I shall make you sign to do so. . .What's o'clock? RAGUENEAU: Ten minutes after six. CYRANO (nervously seating himself at Ragueneau's table, and drawing some paper toward him): A pen!. . . RAGUENEAU (giving him the one from behind his ear): Here--a swan's quill. A MUSKETEER (with fierce mustache, enters, and in a stentorian voice): Good-day! (Lise goes up to him quickly.) CYRANO (turning round): Who's that? RAGUENEAU: 'Tis a friend of my wife--a terrible warrior--at least so says he himself. CYRANO (taking up the pen, and motioning Ragueneau away): Hush! (To himself): I will write, fold it, give it her, and fly! (Throws down the pen): Coward!. . .But strike me dead if I dare to speak to her,. . .ay, even one single word! (To Ragueneau): What time is it? RAGUENEAU: A quarter after six!. . . CYRANO (striking his breast): Ay--a single word of all those here! here! But writing, 'tis easier done. . . (He takes up the pen): Go to, I will write it, that love-letter! Oh! I have writ it and rewrit it in my own mind so oft that it lies there ready for pen and ink; and if I lay but my soul by my letter-sheet, 'tis naught to do but to copy from it. (He writes. Through the glass of the door the silhouettes of their figures move uncertainly and hesitatingly.) Ragueneau, Lise, the musketeer. Cyrano at the little table writing. The poets, dressed in black, their stockings ungartered, and covered with mud. LISE (entering, to Ragueneau): Here they come, your mud-bespattered friends! FIRST POET (entering, to Ragueneau): Brother in art!. . . SECOND POET (to Ragueneau, shaking his hands): Dear brother! THIRD POET: High soaring eagle among pastry-cooks! (He sniffs): Marry! it smells good here in your eyrie! FOURTH POET: 'Tis at Phoebus' own rays that thy roasts turn! FIFTH POET: Apollo among master-cooks-- RAGUENEAU (whom they surround and embrace): Ah! how quick a man feels at his ease with them!. . . FIRST POET: We were stayed by the mob; they are crowded all round the Porte de Nesle!. . . SECOND POET: Eight bleeding brigand carcasses strew the pavements there--all slit open with sword-gashes! CYRANO (raising his head a minute): Eight?. . .hold, methought seven. (He goes on writing.) RAGUENEAU (to Cyrano): Know you who might be the hero of the fray? CYRANO (carelessly): Not I. LISE (to the musketeer): And you? Know you? THE MUSKETEER (twirling his mustache): Maybe! CYRANO (writing a little way off:--he is heard murmuring a word from time to time): 'I love thee!' FIRST POET: 'Twas one man, say they all, ay, swear to it, one man who, single-handed, put the whole band to the rout! SECOND POET: 'Twas a strange sight!--pikes and cudgels strewed thick upon the ground. CYRANO (writing): . . .'Thine eyes'. . . THIRD POET: And they were picking up hats all the way to the Quai d'Orfevres! FIRST POET: Sapristi! but he must have been a ferocious. . . CYRANO (same play): . . .'Thy lips'. . . FIRST POET: 'Twas a parlous fearsome giant that was the author of such exploits! CYRANO (same play): . . .'And when I see thee come, I faint for fear.' SECOND POET (filching a cake): What hast rhymed of late, Ragueneau? CYRANO (same play): . . .'Who worships thee'. . . (He stops, just as he is about to sign, and gets up, slipping the letter into his doublet): No need I sign, since I give it her myself. RAGUENEAU (to second poet): I have put a recipe into verse. THIRD POET (seating himself by a plate of cream-puffs): Go to! Let us hear these verses! FOURTH POET (looking at a cake which he has taken): Its cap is all a' one side! (He makes one bite of the top.) FIRST POET: See how this gingerbread woos the famished rhymer with its almond eyes, and its eyebrows of angelica! (He takes it.) SECOND POET: We listen. THIRD POET (squeezing a cream-puff gently): How it laughs! Till its very cream runs over! SECOND POET (biting a bit off the great lyre of pastry): This is the first time in my life that ever I drew any means of nourishing me from the lyre! RAGUENEAU (who has put himself ready for reciting, cleared his throat, settled his cap, struck an attitude): A recipe in verse!. . . SECOND POET (to first, nudging him): You are breakfasting? FIRST POET (to second): And you dining, methinks. RAGUENEAU: How almond tartlets are made. Beat your eggs up, light and quick; Froth them thick; Mingle with them while you beat Juice of lemon, essence fine; Then combine The burst milk of almonds sweet. Circle with a custard paste The slim waist Of your tartlet-molds; the top With a skillful finger print, Nick and dint, Round their edge, then, drop by drop, In its little dainty bed Your cream shed: In the oven place each mold: Reappearing, softly browned, The renowned Almond tartlets you behold! THE POETS (with mouths crammed full): Exquisite! Delicious! A POET (choking): Homph! (They go up, eating.) CYRANO (who has been watching, goes toward Ragueneau): Lulled by your voice, did you see how they were stuffing themselves? RAGUENEAU (in a low voice, smiling): Oh, ay! I see well enough, but I never will seem to look, fearing to distress them; thus I gain a double pleasure when I recite to them my poems; for I leave those poor fellows who have not breakfasted free to eat, even while I gratify my own dearest foible, see you? CYRANO (clapping him on the shoulder): Friend, I like you right well!. . . (Ragueneau goes after his friends. Cyrano follows him with his eyes, then, rather sharply): Ho there! Lise! (Lise, who is talking tenderly to the musketeer, starts, and comes down toward Cyrano): So this fine captain is laying siege to you? LISE (offended): One haughty glance of my eye can conquer any man that should dare venture aught 'gainst my virtue. CYRANO: Pooh! Conquering eyes, methinks, are oft conquered eyes. LISE (choking with anger): But-- CYRANO (incisively): I like Ragueneau well, and so--mark me, Dame Lise--I permit not that he be rendered a laughing-stock by any. . . LISE: But. . . CYRANO (who has raised his voice so as to be heard by the gallant): A word to the wise. . . (He bows to the musketeer, and goes to the doorway to watch, after looking at the clock.) LISE (to the musketeer, who has merely bowed in answer to Cyrano's bow): How now? Is this your courage?. . .Why turn you not a jest on his nose? THE MUSKETEER: On his nose?. . .ay, ay. . .his nose. (He goes quickly farther away; Lise follows him.) CYRANO (from the doorway, signing to Ragueneau to draw the poets away): Hist!. . . RAGUENEAU (showing them the door on the right): We shall be more private there. . . CYRANO (impatiently): Hist! Hist!. . . RAGUENEAU (drawing them farther): To read poetry, 'tis better here. . . FIRST POET (despairingly, with his mouth full): What! leave the cakes?. . . SECOND POET: Never! Let's take them with us! (They all follow Ragueneau in procession, after sweeping all the cakes off the trays.) Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A:

Cyrano enters and Ragueneau congratulates him on the duel in the theater the night before. But Cyrano is not interested in anything except his meeting with Roxane. He asks Ragueneau to clear the place out when he gives the signal, and Ragueneau agrees. A musketeer enters who will be mentioned again later. The poets come in, for their "first meal," as Lise says. They are all excited about the feat of the evening before -- one man against a hundred, and no one knows who the brave one was. Cyrano is writing a love letter to Roxane and is not at all interested in the conversation around him. He does not sign the letter, because he plans to give it to Roxane himself. The poets flatter Ragueneau by asking for his latest poetic effort -- a recipe in rhyme. Cyrano constantly asks the time, and the hour finally arrives for his meeting with Roxane. The poets are rushed to another room so that Cyrano can see her alone.

Chapter: Cyrano, Roxane, the duenna. CYRANO: Ah! if I see but the faint glimmer of hope, then I draw out my letter! (Roxane, masked, followed by the duenna, appears at the glass pane of the door. He opens quickly): Enter!. . . (Walking up to the duenna): Two words with you, Duenna. THE DUENNA: Four, Sir, an it like you. CYRANO: Are you fond of sweet things? THE DUENNA: Ay, I could eat myself sick on them! CYRANO (catching up some of the paper bags from the counter): Good. See you these two sonnets of Monsieur Beuserade. . . THE DUENNA: Hey? CYRANO: . . .Which I fill for you with cream cakes! THE DUENNA (changing her expression): Ha. CYRANO: What say you to the cake they call a little puff? THE DUENNA: If made with cream, Sir, I love them passing well. CYRANO: Here I plunge six for your eating into the bosom of a poem by Saint Amant! And in these verses of Chapelain I glide a lighter morsel. Stay, love you hot cakes? THE DUENNA: Ay, to the core of my heart! CYRANO (filling her arms with the bags): Pleasure me then; go eat them all in the street. THE DUENNA: But. . . CYRANO (pushing her out): And come not back till the very last crumb be eaten! (He shuts the door, comes down toward Roxane, and, uncovering, stands at a respectful distance from her.) Cyrano, Roxane. CYRANO: Blessed be the moment when you condescend-- Remembering that humbly I exist-- To come to meet me, and to say. . .to tell?. . . ROXANE (who has unmasked): To thank you first of all. That dandy count, Whom you checkmated in brave sword-play Last night,. . .he is the man whom a great lord, Desirous of my favor. . . CYRANO: Ha, De Guiche? ROXANE (casting down her eyes): Sought to impose on me. . .for husband. . . CYRANO: Ay! Husband!--dupe-husband!. . .Husband a la mode! (Bowing): Then I fought, happy chance! sweet lady, not For my ill favor--but your favors fair! ROXANE: Confession next!. . .But, ere I make my shrift, You must be once again that brother-friend With whom I used to play by the lake-side!. . . CYRANO: Ay, you would come each spring to Bergerac! ROXANE: Mind you the reeds you cut to make your swords?. . . CYRANO: While you wove corn-straw plaits for your dolls' hair! ROXANE: Those were the days of games!. . . CYRANO: And blackberries!. . . ROXANE: In those days you did everything I bid!. . . CYRANO: Roxane, in her short frock, was Madeleine. . . ROXANE: Was I fair then? CYRANO: You were not ill to see! ROXANE: Ofttimes, with hands all bloody from a fall, You'd run to me! Then--aping mother-ways-- I, in a voice would-be severe, would chide,-- (She takes his hand): 'What is this scratch, again, that I see here?' (She starts, surprised): Oh! 'Tis too much! What's this? (Cyrano tries to draw away his hand): No, let me see! At your age, fie! Where did you get that scratch? CYRANO: I got it--playing at the Porte de Nesle. ROXANE (seating herself by the table, and dipping her handkerchief in a glass of water): Give here! CYRANO (sitting by her): So soft! so gay maternal-sweet! ROXANE: And tell me, while I wipe away the blood, How many 'gainst you? CYRANO: Oh! A hundred--near. ROXANE: Come, tell me! CYRANO: No, let be. But you, come tell The thing, just now, you dared not. . . ROXANE (keeping his hand): Now, I dare! The scent of those old days emboldens me! Yes, now I dare. Listen. I am in love. CYRANO: Ah!. . . ROXANE: But with one who knows not. CYRANO: Ah!. . . ROXANE: Not yet. CYRANO: Ah!. . . ROXANE: But who, if he knows not, soon shall learn. CYRANO: Ah!. . . ROXANE: A poor youth who all this time has loved Timidly, from afar, and dares not speak. . . CYRANO: Ah!. . . ROXANE: Leave your hand; why, it is fever-hot!-- But I have seen love trembling on his lips. CYRANO: Ah!. . . ROXANE (bandaging his hand with her handkerchief): And to think of it! that he by chance-- Yes, cousin, he is of your regiment! CYRANO: Ah!. . . ROXANE (laughing): --Is cadet in your own company! CYRANO: Ah!. . . ROXANE: On his brow he bears the genius-stamp; He is proud, noble, young, intrepid, fair. . . CYRANO (rising suddenly, very pale): Fair! ROXANE: Why, what ails you? CYRANO: Nothing; 'tis. . . (He shows his hand, smiling): This scratch! ROXANE: I love him; all is said. But you must know I have only seen him at the Comedy. . . CYRANO: How? You have never spoken? ROXANE: Eyes can speak. CYRANO: How know you then that he. . .? ROXANE: Oh! people talk 'Neath the limes in the Place Royale. . . Gossip's chat Has let me know. . . CYRANO: He is cadet? ROXANE: In the Guards. CYRANO: His name? ROXANE: Baron Christian de Neuvillette. CYRANO: How now?. . .He is not of the Guards! ROXANE: To-day He is not join your ranks, under Captain Carbon de Castel-Jaloux. CYRANO: Ah, how quick, How quick the heart has flown!. . .But, my poor child. . . THE DUENNA (opening the door): The cakes are eaten, Monsieur Bergerac! CYRANO: Then read the verses printed on the bags! (She goes out): . . .My poor child, you who love but flowing words, Bright wit,--what if he be a lout unskilled? ROXANE: No, his bright locks, like D'Urfe's heroes. . . CYRANO: Ah! A well-curled pate, and witless tongue, perchance! ROXANE: Ah no! I guess--I feel--his words are fair! CYRANO: All words are fair that lurk 'neath fair mustache! --Suppose he were a fool!. . . ROXANE (stamping her foot): Then bury me! CYRANO (after a pause): Was it to tell me this you brought me here? I fail to see what use this serves, Madame. ROXANE: Nay, but I felt a terror, here, in the heart, On learning yesterday you were Gascons All of your company. . . CYRANO: And we provoke All beardless sprigs that favor dares admit 'Midst us pure Gascons--(pure! Heaven save the mark! They told you that as well? ROXANE: Ah! Think how I Trembled for him! CYRANO (between his teeth): Not causelessly! ROXANE: But when Last night I saw you,--brave, invincible,-- Punish that dandy, fearless hold your own Against those brutes, I thought--I thought, if he Whom all fear, all--if he would only. . . CYRANO: Good. I will befriend your little Baron. ROXANE: Ah! You'll promise me you will do this for me? I've always held you as a tender friend. CYRANO: Ay, ay. ROXANE: Then you will be his friend? CYRANO: I swear! ROXANE: And he shall fight no duels, promise! CYRANO: None. ROXANE: You are kind, cousin! Now I must be gone. (She puts on her mask and veil quickly; then, absently): You have not told me of your last night's fray. Ah, but it must have been a hero-fight!. . . --Bid him to write. (She sends him a kiss with her fingers): How good you are! CYRANO: Ay! Ay! ROXANE: A hundred men against you? Now, farewell.-- We are great friends? CYRANO: Ay, ay! ROXANE: Oh, bid him write! You'll tell me all one day--A hundred men!-- Ah, brave!. . .How brave! CYRANO (bowing to her): I have fought better since. (She goes out. Cyrano stands motionless, with eyes on the ground. A silence. The door (right) opens. Ragueneau looks in.) Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A: Cyrano fills the "poetry-sacks" with pastry for Roxane's duenna, who goes into the street to eat, then he and Roxane, who are cousins, reminisce about their childhood games. She tenderly bandages his injured hand with her handkerchief while she tells him shyly that she is in love with someone in his regiment. Cyrano's hopes rise. Then she adds that this man is young, fearless -- and handsome. Cyrano asks if she has spoken with him. "Only with our eyes," she replies. But Cyrano asks, "What if he is a savage uncultured, unlettered?" Roxane declares that no one with such beautiful hair could fail to be eloquent. She has come to Cyrano because Christian, her love, has joined Cyrano's regiment. She knows that it is the custom to provoke an outsider to a duel, since the regiment is composed entirely of men from Cascony. She wants Cyrano to protect Christian, and he promises to do so.

Chapter: Cyrano, Roxane, the duenna. CYRANO: Ah! if I see but the faint glimmer of hope, then I draw out my letter! (Roxane, masked, followed by the duenna, appears at the glass pane of the door. He opens quickly): Enter!. . . (Walking up to the duenna): Two words with you, Duenna. THE DUENNA: Four, Sir, an it like you. CYRANO: Are you fond of sweet things? THE DUENNA: Ay, I could eat myself sick on them! CYRANO (catching up some of the paper bags from the counter): Good. See you these two sonnets of Monsieur Beuserade. . . THE DUENNA: Hey? CYRANO: . . .Which I fill for you with cream cakes! THE DUENNA (changing her expression): Ha. CYRANO: What say you to the cake they call a little puff? THE DUENNA: If made with cream, Sir, I love them passing well. CYRANO: Here I plunge six for your eating into the bosom of a poem by Saint Amant! And in these verses of Chapelain I glide a lighter morsel. Stay, love you hot cakes? THE DUENNA: Ay, to the core of my heart! CYRANO (filling her arms with the bags): Pleasure me then; go eat them all in the street. THE DUENNA: But. . . CYRANO (pushing her out): And come not back till the very last crumb be eaten! (He shuts the door, comes down toward Roxane, and, uncovering, stands at a respectful distance from her.) Cyrano, Roxane. CYRANO: Blessed be the moment when you condescend-- Remembering that humbly I exist-- To come to meet me, and to say. . .to tell?. . . ROXANE (who has unmasked): To thank you first of all. That dandy count, Whom you checkmated in brave sword-play Last night,. . .he is the man whom a great lord, Desirous of my favor. . . CYRANO: Ha, De Guiche? ROXANE (casting down her eyes): Sought to impose on me. . .for husband. . . CYRANO: Ay! Husband!--dupe-husband!. . .Husband a la mode! (Bowing): Then I fought, happy chance! sweet lady, not For my ill favor--but your favors fair! ROXANE: Confession next!. . .But, ere I make my shrift, You must be once again that brother-friend With whom I used to play by the lake-side!. . . CYRANO: Ay, you would come each spring to Bergerac! ROXANE: Mind you the reeds you cut to make your swords?. . . CYRANO: While you wove corn-straw plaits for your dolls' hair! ROXANE: Those were the days of games!. . . CYRANO: And blackberries!. . . ROXANE: In those days you did everything I bid!. . . CYRANO: Roxane, in her short frock, was Madeleine. . . ROXANE: Was I fair then? CYRANO: You were not ill to see! ROXANE: Ofttimes, with hands all bloody from a fall, You'd run to me! Then--aping mother-ways-- I, in a voice would-be severe, would chide,-- (She takes his hand): 'What is this scratch, again, that I see here?' (She starts, surprised): Oh! 'Tis too much! What's this? (Cyrano tries to draw away his hand): No, let me see! At your age, fie! Where did you get that scratch? CYRANO: I got it--playing at the Porte de Nesle. ROXANE (seating herself by the table, and dipping her handkerchief in a glass of water): Give here! CYRANO (sitting by her): So soft! so gay maternal-sweet! ROXANE: And tell me, while I wipe away the blood, How many 'gainst you? CYRANO: Oh! A hundred--near. ROXANE: Come, tell me! CYRANO: No, let be. But you, come tell The thing, just now, you dared not. . . ROXANE (keeping his hand): Now, I dare! The scent of those old days emboldens me! Yes, now I dare. Listen. I am in love. CYRANO: Ah!. . . ROXANE: But with one who knows not. CYRANO: Ah!. . . ROXANE: Not yet. CYRANO: Ah!. . . ROXANE: But who, if he knows not, soon shall learn. CYRANO: Ah!. . . ROXANE: A poor youth who all this time has loved Timidly, from afar, and dares not speak. . . CYRANO: Ah!. . . ROXANE: Leave your hand; why, it is fever-hot!-- But I have seen love trembling on his lips. CYRANO: Ah!. . . ROXANE (bandaging his hand with her handkerchief): And to think of it! that he by chance-- Yes, cousin, he is of your regiment! CYRANO: Ah!. . . ROXANE (laughing): --Is cadet in your own company! CYRANO: Ah!. . . ROXANE: On his brow he bears the genius-stamp; He is proud, noble, young, intrepid, fair. . . CYRANO (rising suddenly, very pale): Fair! ROXANE: Why, what ails you? CYRANO: Nothing; 'tis. . . (He shows his hand, smiling): This scratch! ROXANE: I love him; all is said. But you must know I have only seen him at the Comedy. . . CYRANO: How? You have never spoken? ROXANE: Eyes can speak. CYRANO: How know you then that he. . .? ROXANE: Oh! people talk 'Neath the limes in the Place Royale. . . Gossip's chat Has let me know. . . CYRANO: He is cadet? ROXANE: In the Guards. CYRANO: His name? ROXANE: Baron Christian de Neuvillette. CYRANO: How now?. . .He is not of the Guards! ROXANE: To-day He is not join your ranks, under Captain Carbon de Castel-Jaloux. CYRANO: Ah, how quick, How quick the heart has flown!. . .But, my poor child. . . THE DUENNA (opening the door): The cakes are eaten, Monsieur Bergerac! CYRANO: Then read the verses printed on the bags! (She goes out): . . .My poor child, you who love but flowing words, Bright wit,--what if he be a lout unskilled? ROXANE: No, his bright locks, like D'Urfe's heroes. . . CYRANO: Ah! A well-curled pate, and witless tongue, perchance! ROXANE: Ah no! I guess--I feel--his words are fair! CYRANO: All words are fair that lurk 'neath fair mustache! --Suppose he were a fool!. . . ROXANE (stamping her foot): Then bury me! CYRANO (after a pause): Was it to tell me this you brought me here? I fail to see what use this serves, Madame. ROXANE: Nay, but I felt a terror, here, in the heart, On learning yesterday you were Gascons All of your company. . . CYRANO: And we provoke All beardless sprigs that favor dares admit 'Midst us pure Gascons--(pure! Heaven save the mark! They told you that as well? ROXANE: Ah! Think how I Trembled for him! CYRANO (between his teeth): Not causelessly! ROXANE: But when Last night I saw you,--brave, invincible,-- Punish that dandy, fearless hold your own Against those brutes, I thought--I thought, if he Whom all fear, all--if he would only. . . CYRANO: Good. I will befriend your little Baron. ROXANE: Ah! You'll promise me you will do this for me? I've always held you as a tender friend. CYRANO: Ay, ay. ROXANE: Then you will be his friend? CYRANO: I swear! ROXANE: And he shall fight no duels, promise! CYRANO: None. ROXANE: You are kind, cousin! Now I must be gone. (She puts on her mask and veil quickly; then, absently): You have not told me of your last night's fray. Ah, but it must have been a hero-fight!. . . --Bid him to write. (She sends him a kiss with her fingers): How good you are! CYRANO: Ay! Ay! ROXANE: A hundred men against you? Now, farewell.-- We are great friends? CYRANO: Ay, ay! ROXANE: Oh, bid him write! You'll tell me all one day--A hundred men!-- Ah, brave!. . .How brave! CYRANO (bowing to her): I have fought better since. (She goes out. Cyrano stands motionless, with eyes on the ground. A silence. The door (right) opens. Ragueneau looks in.) Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A:

Cyrano fills the "poetry-sacks" with pastry for Roxane's duenna, who goes into the street to eat, then he and Roxane, who are cousins, reminisce about their childhood games. She tenderly bandages his injured hand with her handkerchief while she tells him shyly that she is in love with someone in his regiment. Cyrano's hopes rise. Then she adds that this man is young, fearless -- and handsome. Cyrano asks if she has spoken with him. "Only with our eyes," she replies. But Cyrano asks, "What if he is a savage uncultured, unlettered?" Roxane declares that no one with such beautiful hair could fail to be eloquent. She has come to Cyrano because Christian, her love, has joined Cyrano's regiment. She knows that it is the custom to provoke an outsider to a duel, since the regiment is composed entirely of men from Cascony. She wants Cyrano to protect Christian, and he promises to do so.

Chapter: Cyrano, Ragueneau, poets, Carbon de Castel-Jaloux, the cadets, a crowd, then De Guiche. RAGUENEAU: Can we come in? CYRANO (without stirring): Yes. . . (Ragueneau signs to his friends, and they come in. At the same time, by door at back, enters Carbon de Castel-Jaloux, in Captain's uniform. He makes gestures of surprise on seeing Cyrano.) CARBON: Here he is! CYRANO (raising his head): Captain!. . . CARBON (delightedly): Our hero! We heard all! Thirty or more Of my cadets are there!. . . CYRANO (shrinking back): But. . . CARBON (trying to draw him away): Come with me! They will not rest until they see you! CYRANO: No! CARBON: They're drinking opposite, at The Bear's Head. CYRANO: I. . . CARBON (going to the door and calling across the street in a voice of thunder): He won't come! The hero's in the sulks! A VOICE (outside): Ah! Sandious! (Tumult outside. Noise of boots and swords is heard approaching.) CARBON (rubbing his hands): They are running 'cross the street! CADETS (entering): Mille dious! Capdedious! Pocapdedious! RAGUENEAU (drawing back startled): Gentlemen, are you all from Gascony? THE CADETS: All! A CADET (to Cyrano): Bravo! CYRANO: Baron! ANOTHER (shaking his hands): Vivat! CYRANO: Baron! THIRD CADET: Come! I must embrace you! CYRANO: Baron! SEVERAL GASCONS: We'll embrace Him, all in turn! CYRANO (not knowing whom to reply to): Baron!. . .Baron!. . .I beg. . . RAGUENEAU: Are you all Barons, Sirs? THE CADETS: Ay, every one! RAGUENEAU: Is it true?. . . FIRST CADET: Ay--why, you could build a tower With nothing but our coronets, my friend! LE BRET (entering, and running up to Cyrano): They're looking for you! Here's a crazy mob Led by the men who followed you last night. . . CYRANO (alarmed): What! Have you told them where to find me? LE BRET (rubbing his hands): Yes! A BURGHER (entering, followed by a group of men): Sir, all the Marais is a-coming here! (Outside the street has filled with people. Chaises a porteurs and carriages have drawn up.) LE BRET (in a low voice, smiling, to Cyrano): And Roxane? CYRANO (quickly): Hush! THE CROWD (calling outside): Cyrano!. . . (A crowd rush into the shop, pushing one another. Acclamations.) RAGUENEAU (standing on a table): Lo! my shop Invaded! They break all! Magnificent! PEOPLE (crowding round Cyrano): My friend!. . .my friend. . . Cyrano: Meseems that yesterday I had not all these friends! LE BRET (delighted): Success! A YOUNG MARQUIS (hurrying up with his hands held out): My friend, Didst thou but know. . . CYRANO: Thou!. . .Marry!. . .thou!. . .Pray when Did we herd swine together, you and I! ANOTHER: I would present you, Sir, to some fair dames Who in my carriage yonder. . . CYRANO (coldly): Ah! and who Will first present you, Sir, to me? LE BRET (astonished): What's wrong? CYRANO: Hush! A MAN OF LETTERS (with writing-board): A few details?. . . CYRANO: No. LE BRET (nudging his elbow): 'Tis Theophrast, Renaudet,. . .of the 'Court Gazette'! CYRANO: Who cares? LE BRET: This paper--but it is of great importance!. . . They say it will be an immense success! A POET (advancing): Sir. . . CYRANO: What, another! THE POET: . . .Pray permit I make A pentacrostic on your name. . . SOME ONE (also advancing): Pray, Sir. . . CYRANO: Enough! Enough! (A movement in the crowd. De Guiche appears, escorted by officers. Cuigy, Brissaille, the officers who went with Cyrano the night before. Cuigy comes rapidly up to Cyrano.) CUIGY (to Cyrano): Here is Monsieur de Guiche? (A murmur--every one makes way): He comes from the Marshal of Gassion! DE GUICHE (bowing to Cyrano): . . .Who would express his admiration, Sir, For your new exploit noised so loud abroad. THE CROWD: Bravo! CYRANO (bowing): The Marshal is a judge of valor. DE GUICHE: He could not have believed the thing, unless These gentlemen had sworn they witnessed it. CUIGY: With our own eyes! LE BRET (aside to Cyrano, who has an absent air): But. . .you. . . CYRANO: Hush! LE BRET: But. . .You suffer? CYRANO (starting): Before this rabble?--I?. . . (He draws himself up, twirls his mustache, and throws back his shoulders): Wait!. . .You shall see! DE GUICHE (to whom Cuigy has spoken in a low voice): In feats of arms, already your career Abounded.--You serve with those crazy pates Of Gascons? CYRANO: Ay, with the Cadets. A CADET (in a terrible voice): With us! DE GUICHE (looking at the cadets, ranged behind Cyrano): Ah!. . .All these gentlemen of haughty mien, Are they the famous?. . . CARBON: Cyrano! CYRANO: Ay, Captain! CARBON: Since all my company's assembled here, Pray favor me,--present them to my lord! CYRANO (making two steps toward De Guiche): My Lord de Guiche, permit that I present-- (pointing to the cadets): The bold Cadets of Gascony, Of Carbon of Castel-Jaloux! Brawling and swaggering boastfully, The bold Cadets of Gascony! Spouting of Armory, Heraldry, Their veins a-brimming with blood so blue, The bold Cadets of Gascony, Of Carbon of Castel-Jaloux: Eagle-eye, and spindle-shanks, Fierce mustache, and wolfish tooth! Slash-the-rabble and scatter-their-ranks; Eagle-eye and spindle-shanks, With a flaming feather that gayly pranks, Hiding the holes in their hats, forsooth! Eagle-eye and spindle-shanks, Fierce mustache, and wolfish tooth! 'Pink-your-Doublet' and 'Slit-your-Trunk' Are their gentlest sobriquets; With Fame and Glory their soul is drunk! 'Pink-your-Doublet' and 'Slit-your-Trunk,' In brawl and skirmish they show their spunk, Give rendezvous in broil and fray; 'Pink-your-Doublet' and 'Slit-your-Trunk' Are their gentlest sobriquets! What, ho! Cadets of Gascony! All jealous lovers are sport for you! O Woman! dear divinity! What, ho! Cadets of Gascony! Whom scowling husbands quake to see. Blow, 'taratara,' and cry 'Cuckoo.' What, ho! Cadets of Gascony! Husbands and lovers are game for you! DE GUICHE (seated with haughty carelessness in an armchair brought quickly by Ragueneau): A poet! 'Tis the fashion of the hour! --Will you be mine? CYRANO: No, Sir,--no man's! DE GUICHE: Last night Your fancy pleased my uncle Richelieu. I'll gladly say a word to him for you. LE BRET (overjoyed): Great Heavens! DE GUICHE: I imagine you have rhymed Five acts, or so? LE BRET (in Cyrano's ear): Your play!--your 'Agrippine!' You'll see it staged at last! DE GUICHE: Take them to him. CYRANO (beginning to be tempted and attracted): In sooth,--I would. . . DE GUICHE: He is a critic skilled: He may correct a line or two, at most. CYRANO (whose face stiffens at once): Impossible! My blood congeals to think That other hand should change a comma's dot. DE GUICHE: But when a verse approves itself to him He pays it dear, good friend. CYRANO: He pays less dear Than I myself; when a verse pleases me I pay myself, and sing it to myself! DE GUICHE: You are proud. CYRANO: Really? You have noticed that? A CADET (entering, with a string of old battered plumed beaver hats, full of holes, slung on his sword): See, Cyrano,--this morning, on the quay What strange bright-feathered game we caught! The hats O' the fugitives. . . CARBON: 'Spolia opima!' ALL (laughing): Ah! ah! ah! CUIGY: He who laid that ambush, 'faith! Must curse and swear! BRISSAILLE: Who was it? DE GUICHE: I myself. (The laughter stops): I charged them--work too dirty for my sword, To punish and chastise a rhymster sot. (Constrained silence.) The CADET (in a low voice, to Cyrano, showing him the beavers): What do with them? They're full of grease!--a stew? CYRANO (taking the sword and, with a salute, dropping the hats at De Guiche's feet): Sir, pray be good enough to render them Back to your friends. DE GUICHE (rising, sharply): My chair there--quick!--I go! (To Cyrano passionately): As to you, sirrah!. . . VOICE (in the street): Porters for my lord De Guiche! DE GUICHE (who has controlled himself--smiling): Have you read 'Don Quixote'? CYRANO: I have! And doff my hat at th' mad knight-errant's name. DE GUICHE: I counsel you to study. . . A PORTER (appearing at back): My lord's chair! DE GUICHE: . . .The windmill chapter! CYRANO (bowing): Chapter the Thirteenth. DE GUICHE: For when one tilts 'gainst windmills--it may chance. . . CYRANO: Tilt I 'gainst those who change with every breeze? DE GUICHE: . . .That windmill sails may sweep you with their arm Down--in the mire!. . . CYRANO: Or upward--to the stars! (De Guiche goes out, and mounts into his chair. The other lords go away whispering together. Le Bret goes to the door with them. The crowd disperses.) Cyrano, Le Bret, the cadets, who are eating and drinking at the tables right and left. CYRANO (bowing mockingly to those who go out without daring to salute him): Gentlemen. . .Gentlemen. . . LE BRET (coming back, despairingly): Here's a fine coil! CYRANO: Oh! scold away! LE BRET: At least, you will agree That to annihilate each chance of Fate Exaggerates. . . CYRANO: Yes!--I exaggerate! LE BRET (triumphantly): Ah! CYRANO: But for principle--example too,-- I think 'tis well thus to exaggerate. LE BRET: Oh! lay aside that pride of musketeer, Fortune and glory wait you!. . . CYRANO: Ay, and then?. . . Seek a protector, choose a patron out, And like the crawling ivy round a tree That licks the bark to gain the trunk's support, Climb high by creeping ruse instead of force? No, grammercy! What! I, like all the rest Dedicate verse to bankers?--play buffoon In cringing hope to see, at last, a smile Not disapproving, on a patron's lips? Grammercy, no! What! learn to swallow toads? --With frame aweary climbing stairs?--a skin Grown grimed and horny,--here, about the knees? And, acrobat-like, teach my back to bend?-- No, grammercy! Or,--double-faced and sly-- Run with the hare, while hunting with the hounds; And, oily-tongued, to win the oil of praise, Flatter the great man to his very nose? No, grammercy! Steal soft from lap to lap, --A little great man in a circle small, Or navigate, with madrigals for sails, Blown gently windward by old ladies' sighs? No, grammercy! Bribe kindly editors To spread abroad my verses? Grammercy! Or try to be elected as the pope Of tavern-councils held by imbeciles? No, grammercy! Toil to gain reputation By one small sonnet, 'stead of making many? No, grammercy! Or flatter sorry bunglers? Be terrorized by every prating paper? Say ceaselessly, 'Oh, had I but the chance Of a fair notice in the "Mercury"!' Grammercy, no! Grow pale, fear, calculate? Prefer to make a visit to a rhyme? Seek introductions, draw petitions up? No, grammercy! and no! and no again! But--sing? Dream, laugh, go lightly, solitary, free, With eyes that look straight forward--fearless voice! To cock your beaver just the way you choose,-- For 'yes' or 'no' show fight, or turn a rhyme! --To work without one thought of gain or fame, To realize that journey to the moon! Never to pen a line that has not sprung Straight from the heart within. Embracing then Modesty, say to oneself, 'Good my friend, Be thou content with flowers,--fruit,--nay, leaves, But pluck them from no garden but thine own!' And then, if glory come by chance your way, To pay no tribute unto Caesar, none, But keep the merit all your own! In short, Disdaining tendrils of the parasite, To be content, if neither oak nor elm-- Not to mount high, perchance, but mount alone! LE BRET: Alone, an if you will! But not with hand 'Gainst every man! How in the devil's name Have you conceived this lunatic idea, To make foes for yourself at every turn? CYRANO: By dint of seeing you at every turn Make friends,--and fawn upon your frequent friends With mouth wide smiling, slit from ear to ear! I pass, still unsaluted, joyfully, And cry,--What, ho! another enemy? LE BRET: Lunacy! CYRANO: Well, what if it be my vice, My pleasure to displease--to love men hate me! Ah, friend of mine, believe me, I march better 'Neath the cross-fire of glances inimical! How droll the stains one sees on fine-laced doublets, From gall of envy, or the poltroon's drivel! --The enervating friendship which enfolds you Is like an open-laced Italian collar, Floating around your neck in woman's fashion; One is at ease thus,--but less proud the carriage! The forehead, free from mainstay or coercion, Bends here, there, everywhere. But I, embracing Hatred, she lends,--forbidding, stiffly fluted, The ruff's starched folds that hold the head so rigid; Each enemy--another fold--a gopher, Who adds constraint, and adds a ray of glory; For Hatred, like the ruff worn by the Spanish, Grips like a vice, but frames you like a halo! LE BRET (after a silence, taking his arm): Speak proud aloud, and bitter!--In my ear Whisper me simply this,--She loves thee not! CYRANO (vehemently): Hush! (Christian has just entered, and mingled with the cadets, who do not speak to him; he has seated himself at a table, where Lise serves him.) Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A: The Gascony Guards enter, proud of Cyrano. There is also a poet who wants to immortalize the exploit, and a newspaper editor who wants to interview Cyrano. The little pastry shop is suddenly full and noisy. Cyrano, of course, cares nothing for poets and reporters. When Le Bret asks about his interview with Roxane, Cyrano simply tells him to be quiet. De Guiche, Richelieu's powerful nephew who wants Roxane for his mistress, offers the services of himself and his uncle. Cyrano refuses, though he has written a play that he would like to see produced. As De Guiche leaves, he asks Cyrano if he knows of Don Quixote. Cyrano acknowledges that he recognizes himself. De Guiche tells him that the arm of the windmill could cause his downfall, but Cyrano refuses to be intimidated. Le Bret chides Cyrano for throwing away such a brilliant opportunity. Cyrano describes the life of a protege in disparaging terms. He wants to be free, to sing, to dream. He still refuses to discuss Roxane.

Chapter: Cyrano, Ragueneau, poets, Carbon de Castel-Jaloux, the cadets, a crowd, then De Guiche. RAGUENEAU: Can we come in? CYRANO (without stirring): Yes. . . (Ragueneau signs to his friends, and they come in. At the same time, by door at back, enters Carbon de Castel-Jaloux, in Captain's uniform. He makes gestures of surprise on seeing Cyrano.) CARBON: Here he is! CYRANO (raising his head): Captain!. . . CARBON (delightedly): Our hero! We heard all! Thirty or more Of my cadets are there!. . . CYRANO (shrinking back): But. . . CARBON (trying to draw him away): Come with me! They will not rest until they see you! CYRANO: No! CARBON: They're drinking opposite, at The Bear's Head. CYRANO: I. . . CARBON (going to the door and calling across the street in a voice of thunder): He won't come! The hero's in the sulks! A VOICE (outside): Ah! Sandious! (Tumult outside. Noise of boots and swords is heard approaching.) CARBON (rubbing his hands): They are running 'cross the street! CADETS (entering): Mille dious! Capdedious! Pocapdedious! RAGUENEAU (drawing back startled): Gentlemen, are you all from Gascony? THE CADETS: All! A CADET (to Cyrano): Bravo! CYRANO: Baron! ANOTHER (shaking his hands): Vivat! CYRANO: Baron! THIRD CADET: Come! I must embrace you! CYRANO: Baron! SEVERAL GASCONS: We'll embrace Him, all in turn! CYRANO (not knowing whom to reply to): Baron!. . .Baron!. . .I beg. . . RAGUENEAU: Are you all Barons, Sirs? THE CADETS: Ay, every one! RAGUENEAU: Is it true?. . . FIRST CADET: Ay--why, you could build a tower With nothing but our coronets, my friend! LE BRET (entering, and running up to Cyrano): They're looking for you! Here's a crazy mob Led by the men who followed you last night. . . CYRANO (alarmed): What! Have you told them where to find me? LE BRET (rubbing his hands): Yes! A BURGHER (entering, followed by a group of men): Sir, all the Marais is a-coming here! (Outside the street has filled with people. Chaises a porteurs and carriages have drawn up.) LE BRET (in a low voice, smiling, to Cyrano): And Roxane? CYRANO (quickly): Hush! THE CROWD (calling outside): Cyrano!. . . (A crowd rush into the shop, pushing one another. Acclamations.) RAGUENEAU (standing on a table): Lo! my shop Invaded! They break all! Magnificent! PEOPLE (crowding round Cyrano): My friend!. . .my friend. . . Cyrano: Meseems that yesterday I had not all these friends! LE BRET (delighted): Success! A YOUNG MARQUIS (hurrying up with his hands held out): My friend, Didst thou but know. . . CYRANO: Thou!. . .Marry!. . .thou!. . .Pray when Did we herd swine together, you and I! ANOTHER: I would present you, Sir, to some fair dames Who in my carriage yonder. . . CYRANO (coldly): Ah! and who Will first present you, Sir, to me? LE BRET (astonished): What's wrong? CYRANO: Hush! A MAN OF LETTERS (with writing-board): A few details?. . . CYRANO: No. LE BRET (nudging his elbow): 'Tis Theophrast, Renaudet,. . .of the 'Court Gazette'! CYRANO: Who cares? LE BRET: This paper--but it is of great importance!. . . They say it will be an immense success! A POET (advancing): Sir. . . CYRANO: What, another! THE POET: . . .Pray permit I make A pentacrostic on your name. . . SOME ONE (also advancing): Pray, Sir. . . CYRANO: Enough! Enough! (A movement in the crowd. De Guiche appears, escorted by officers. Cuigy, Brissaille, the officers who went with Cyrano the night before. Cuigy comes rapidly up to Cyrano.) CUIGY (to Cyrano): Here is Monsieur de Guiche? (A murmur--every one makes way): He comes from the Marshal of Gassion! DE GUICHE (bowing to Cyrano): . . .Who would express his admiration, Sir, For your new exploit noised so loud abroad. THE CROWD: Bravo! CYRANO (bowing): The Marshal is a judge of valor. DE GUICHE: He could not have believed the thing, unless These gentlemen had sworn they witnessed it. CUIGY: With our own eyes! LE BRET (aside to Cyrano, who has an absent air): But. . .you. . . CYRANO: Hush! LE BRET: But. . .You suffer? CYRANO (starting): Before this rabble?--I?. . . (He draws himself up, twirls his mustache, and throws back his shoulders): Wait!. . .You shall see! DE GUICHE (to whom Cuigy has spoken in a low voice): In feats of arms, already your career Abounded.--You serve with those crazy pates Of Gascons? CYRANO: Ay, with the Cadets. A CADET (in a terrible voice): With us! DE GUICHE (looking at the cadets, ranged behind Cyrano): Ah!. . .All these gentlemen of haughty mien, Are they the famous?. . . CARBON: Cyrano! CYRANO: Ay, Captain! CARBON: Since all my company's assembled here, Pray favor me,--present them to my lord! CYRANO (making two steps toward De Guiche): My Lord de Guiche, permit that I present-- (pointing to the cadets): The bold Cadets of Gascony, Of Carbon of Castel-Jaloux! Brawling and swaggering boastfully, The bold Cadets of Gascony! Spouting of Armory, Heraldry, Their veins a-brimming with blood so blue, The bold Cadets of Gascony, Of Carbon of Castel-Jaloux: Eagle-eye, and spindle-shanks, Fierce mustache, and wolfish tooth! Slash-the-rabble and scatter-their-ranks; Eagle-eye and spindle-shanks, With a flaming feather that gayly pranks, Hiding the holes in their hats, forsooth! Eagle-eye and spindle-shanks, Fierce mustache, and wolfish tooth! 'Pink-your-Doublet' and 'Slit-your-Trunk' Are their gentlest sobriquets; With Fame and Glory their soul is drunk! 'Pink-your-Doublet' and 'Slit-your-Trunk,' In brawl and skirmish they show their spunk, Give rendezvous in broil and fray; 'Pink-your-Doublet' and 'Slit-your-Trunk' Are their gentlest sobriquets! What, ho! Cadets of Gascony! All jealous lovers are sport for you! O Woman! dear divinity! What, ho! Cadets of Gascony! Whom scowling husbands quake to see. Blow, 'taratara,' and cry 'Cuckoo.' What, ho! Cadets of Gascony! Husbands and lovers are game for you! DE GUICHE (seated with haughty carelessness in an armchair brought quickly by Ragueneau): A poet! 'Tis the fashion of the hour! --Will you be mine? CYRANO: No, Sir,--no man's! DE GUICHE: Last night Your fancy pleased my uncle Richelieu. I'll gladly say a word to him for you. LE BRET (overjoyed): Great Heavens! DE GUICHE: I imagine you have rhymed Five acts, or so? LE BRET (in Cyrano's ear): Your play!--your 'Agrippine!' You'll see it staged at last! DE GUICHE: Take them to him. CYRANO (beginning to be tempted and attracted): In sooth,--I would. . . DE GUICHE: He is a critic skilled: He may correct a line or two, at most. CYRANO (whose face stiffens at once): Impossible! My blood congeals to think That other hand should change a comma's dot. DE GUICHE: But when a verse approves itself to him He pays it dear, good friend. CYRANO: He pays less dear Than I myself; when a verse pleases me I pay myself, and sing it to myself! DE GUICHE: You are proud. CYRANO: Really? You have noticed that? A CADET (entering, with a string of old battered plumed beaver hats, full of holes, slung on his sword): See, Cyrano,--this morning, on the quay What strange bright-feathered game we caught! The hats O' the fugitives. . . CARBON: 'Spolia opima!' ALL (laughing): Ah! ah! ah! CUIGY: He who laid that ambush, 'faith! Must curse and swear! BRISSAILLE: Who was it? DE GUICHE: I myself. (The laughter stops): I charged them--work too dirty for my sword, To punish and chastise a rhymster sot. (Constrained silence.) The CADET (in a low voice, to Cyrano, showing him the beavers): What do with them? They're full of grease!--a stew? CYRANO (taking the sword and, with a salute, dropping the hats at De Guiche's feet): Sir, pray be good enough to render them Back to your friends. DE GUICHE (rising, sharply): My chair there--quick!--I go! (To Cyrano passionately): As to you, sirrah!. . . VOICE (in the street): Porters for my lord De Guiche! DE GUICHE (who has controlled himself--smiling): Have you read 'Don Quixote'? CYRANO: I have! And doff my hat at th' mad knight-errant's name. DE GUICHE: I counsel you to study. . . A PORTER (appearing at back): My lord's chair! DE GUICHE: . . .The windmill chapter! CYRANO (bowing): Chapter the Thirteenth. DE GUICHE: For when one tilts 'gainst windmills--it may chance. . . CYRANO: Tilt I 'gainst those who change with every breeze? DE GUICHE: . . .That windmill sails may sweep you with their arm Down--in the mire!. . . CYRANO: Or upward--to the stars! (De Guiche goes out, and mounts into his chair. The other lords go away whispering together. Le Bret goes to the door with them. The crowd disperses.) Cyrano, Le Bret, the cadets, who are eating and drinking at the tables right and left. CYRANO (bowing mockingly to those who go out without daring to salute him): Gentlemen. . .Gentlemen. . . LE BRET (coming back, despairingly): Here's a fine coil! CYRANO: Oh! scold away! LE BRET: At least, you will agree That to annihilate each chance of Fate Exaggerates. . . CYRANO: Yes!--I exaggerate! LE BRET (triumphantly): Ah! CYRANO: But for principle--example too,-- I think 'tis well thus to exaggerate. LE BRET: Oh! lay aside that pride of musketeer, Fortune and glory wait you!. . . CYRANO: Ay, and then?. . . Seek a protector, choose a patron out, And like the crawling ivy round a tree That licks the bark to gain the trunk's support, Climb high by creeping ruse instead of force? No, grammercy! What! I, like all the rest Dedicate verse to bankers?--play buffoon In cringing hope to see, at last, a smile Not disapproving, on a patron's lips? Grammercy, no! What! learn to swallow toads? --With frame aweary climbing stairs?--a skin Grown grimed and horny,--here, about the knees? And, acrobat-like, teach my back to bend?-- No, grammercy! Or,--double-faced and sly-- Run with the hare, while hunting with the hounds; And, oily-tongued, to win the oil of praise, Flatter the great man to his very nose? No, grammercy! Steal soft from lap to lap, --A little great man in a circle small, Or navigate, with madrigals for sails, Blown gently windward by old ladies' sighs? No, grammercy! Bribe kindly editors To spread abroad my verses? Grammercy! Or try to be elected as the pope Of tavern-councils held by imbeciles? No, grammercy! Toil to gain reputation By one small sonnet, 'stead of making many? No, grammercy! Or flatter sorry bunglers? Be terrorized by every prating paper? Say ceaselessly, 'Oh, had I but the chance Of a fair notice in the "Mercury"!' Grammercy, no! Grow pale, fear, calculate? Prefer to make a visit to a rhyme? Seek introductions, draw petitions up? No, grammercy! and no! and no again! But--sing? Dream, laugh, go lightly, solitary, free, With eyes that look straight forward--fearless voice! To cock your beaver just the way you choose,-- For 'yes' or 'no' show fight, or turn a rhyme! --To work without one thought of gain or fame, To realize that journey to the moon! Never to pen a line that has not sprung Straight from the heart within. Embracing then Modesty, say to oneself, 'Good my friend, Be thou content with flowers,--fruit,--nay, leaves, But pluck them from no garden but thine own!' And then, if glory come by chance your way, To pay no tribute unto Caesar, none, But keep the merit all your own! In short, Disdaining tendrils of the parasite, To be content, if neither oak nor elm-- Not to mount high, perchance, but mount alone! LE BRET: Alone, an if you will! But not with hand 'Gainst every man! How in the devil's name Have you conceived this lunatic idea, To make foes for yourself at every turn? CYRANO: By dint of seeing you at every turn Make friends,--and fawn upon your frequent friends With mouth wide smiling, slit from ear to ear! I pass, still unsaluted, joyfully, And cry,--What, ho! another enemy? LE BRET: Lunacy! CYRANO: Well, what if it be my vice, My pleasure to displease--to love men hate me! Ah, friend of mine, believe me, I march better 'Neath the cross-fire of glances inimical! How droll the stains one sees on fine-laced doublets, From gall of envy, or the poltroon's drivel! --The enervating friendship which enfolds you Is like an open-laced Italian collar, Floating around your neck in woman's fashion; One is at ease thus,--but less proud the carriage! The forehead, free from mainstay or coercion, Bends here, there, everywhere. But I, embracing Hatred, she lends,--forbidding, stiffly fluted, The ruff's starched folds that hold the head so rigid; Each enemy--another fold--a gopher, Who adds constraint, and adds a ray of glory; For Hatred, like the ruff worn by the Spanish, Grips like a vice, but frames you like a halo! LE BRET (after a silence, taking his arm): Speak proud aloud, and bitter!--In my ear Whisper me simply this,--She loves thee not! CYRANO (vehemently): Hush! (Christian has just entered, and mingled with the cadets, who do not speak to him; he has seated himself at a table, where Lise serves him.) Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A:

The Gascony Guards enter, proud of Cyrano. There is also a poet who wants to immortalize the exploit, and a newspaper editor who wants to interview Cyrano. The little pastry shop is suddenly full and noisy. Cyrano, of course, cares nothing for poets and reporters. When Le Bret asks about his interview with Roxane, Cyrano simply tells him to be quiet. De Guiche, Richelieu's powerful nephew who wants Roxane for his mistress, offers the services of himself and his uncle. Cyrano refuses, though he has written a play that he would like to see produced. As De Guiche leaves, he asks Cyrano if he knows of Don Quixote. Cyrano acknowledges that he recognizes himself. De Guiche tells him that the arm of the windmill could cause his downfall, but Cyrano refuses to be intimidated. Le Bret chides Cyrano for throwing away such a brilliant opportunity. Cyrano describes the life of a protege in disparaging terms. He wants to be free, to sing, to dream. He still refuses to discuss Roxane.

Chapter: Cyrano, Le Bret, the cadets, Christian de Neuvillette. A CADET (seated at a table, glass in hand): Cyrano! (Cyrano turns round): The story! CYRANO: In its time! (He goes up on Le Bret's arm. They talk in low voices.) THE CADET (rising and coming down): The story of the fray! 'Twill lesson well (He stops before the table where Christian is seated): This timid young apprentice! CHRISTIAN (raising his head): 'Prentice! Who? ANOTHER CADET: This sickly Northern greenhorn! CHRISTIAN: Sickly! FIRST CADET (mockingly): Hark! Monsieur de Neuvillette, this in your ear: There's somewhat here, one no more dares to name, Than to say 'rope' to one whose sire was hanged! CHRISTIAN: What may that be? ANOTHER CADET (in a terrible voice): See here! (He puts his finger three times, mysteriously, on his nose): Do you understand? CHRISTIAN: Oh! 'tis the. . . ANOTHER: Hush! oh, never breathe that word, Unless you'd reckon with him yonder! (He points to Cyrano, who is talking with Le Bret.) ANOTHER (who has meanwhile come up noiselessly to sit on the table--whispering behind him): Hark! He put two snuffling men to death, in rage, For the sole reason they spoke through their nose! ANOTHER (in a hollow voice, darting on all-fours from under the table, where he had crept): And if you would not perish in flower o' youth, --Oh, mention not the fatal cartilage! ANOTHER (clapping him on the shoulder): A word? A gesture! For the indiscreet His handkerchief may prove his winding-sheet! (Silence. All, with crossed arms, look at Christian. He rises and goes over to Carbon de Castel-Jaloux, who is talking to an officer, and feigns to see nothing.) CHRISTIAN: Captain! CARBON (turning and looking at him from head to foot): Sir! CHRISTIAN: Pray, what skills it best to do To Southerners who swagger?. . . CARBON: Give them proof That one may be a Northerner, yet brave! (He turns his back on him.) CHRISTIAN: I thank you. FIRST CADET (to Cyrano): Now the tale! ALL: The tale! CYRANO (coming toward them): The tale?. . . (All bring their stools up, and group round him, listening eagerly. Christian is astride a chair): Well! I went all alone to meet the band. The moon was shining, clock-like, full i' th' sky, When, suddenly, some careful clockwright passed A cloud of cotton-wool across the case That held this silver watch. And, presto! heigh! The night was inky black, and all the quays Were hidden in the murky dark. Gadsooks! One could see nothing further. . . CHRISTIAN: Than one's nose! (Silence. All slowly rise, looking in terror at Cyrano, who has stopped-- dumfounded. Pause.) CYRANO: Who on God's earth is that? A CADET (whispering): It is a man Who joined to-day. CYRANO (making a step toward Christian): To-day? CARBON (in a low voice): Yes. . .his name is The Baron de Neuvil. . . CYRANO (checking himself): Good! It is well. . . (He turns pale, flushes, makes as if to fall on Christian): I. . . (He controls himself): What said I?. . . (With a burst of rage): MORDIOUS!. . . (Then continues calmly): That it was dark. (Astonishment. The cadets reseat themselves, staring at him): On I went, thinking, 'For a knavish cause I may provoke some great man, some great prince, Who certainly could break'. . . CHRISTIAN: My nose!. . . (Every one starts up. Christian balances on his chair.) CYRANO (in a choked voice): . . .'My teeth! Who would break my teeth, and I, imprudent-like, Was poking. . .' CHRISTIAN: My nose!. . . CYRANO: 'My finger,. . .in the crack Between the tree and bark! He may prove strong And rap me. . .' CHRISTIAN: Over the nose. . . CYRANO (wiping his forehead): . . .'O' th' knuckles! Ay,' But I cried, 'Forward, Gascon! Duty calls! On, Cyrano!' And thus I ventured on. . . When, from the shadow, came. . . CHRISTIAN: A crack o' th' nose. CYRANO: I parry it--find myself. . . CHRISTIAN: Nose to nose. . . CYRANO (bounding on to him): Heaven and earth! (All the Gascons leap up to see, but when he is close to Christian he controls himself and continues): . . .With a hundred brawling sots, Who stank. . . CHRISTIAN: A noseful. . . CYRANO (white, but smiling): Onions, brandy-cups! I leapt out, head well down. . . CHRISTIAN: Nosing the wind! CYRANO: I charge!--gore two, impale one--run him through, One aims at me--Paf! and I parry. . . CHRISTIAN: Pif! CYRANO (bursting out): Great God! Out! all of you! (The cadets rush to the doors.) FIRST CADET: The tiger wakes! CYRANO: Every man, out! Leave me alone with him! SECOND CADET: We shall find him minced fine, minced into hash In a big pasty! RAGUENEAU: I am turning pale, And curl up, like a napkin, limp and white! CARBON: Let us be gone. ANOTHER: He will not leave a crumb! ANOTHER: I die of fright to think what will pass here! ANOTHER (shutting door right): Something too horrible! (All have gone out by different doors, some by the staircase. Cyrano and Christian are face to face, looking at each other for a moment.) Cyrano, Christian. CYRANO: Embrace me now! CHRISTIAN: Sir. . . CYRANO: You are brave. CHRISTIAN: Oh! but. . . CYRANO: Nay, I insist. CHRISTIAN: Pray tell me. . . CYRANO: Come, embrace! I am her brother. CHRISTIAN: Whose brother? CYRANO: Hers i' faith! Roxane's! CHRISTIAN (rushing up to him): O heavens! Her brother. . .? CYRANO: Cousin--brother!. . .the same thing! CHRISTIAN: And she has told you. . .? CYRANO: All! CHRISTIAN: She loves me? say! CYRANO: Maybe! CHRISTIAN (taking his hands): How glad I am to meet you, Sir! CYRANO: That may be called a sudden sentiment! CHRISTIAN: I ask your pardon. . . CYRANO (looking at him, with his hand on his shoulder): True, he's fair, the villain! CHRISTIAN: Ah, Sir! If you but knew my admiration!. . . CYRANO: But all those noses?. . . CHRISTIAN: Oh! I take them back! CYRANO: Roxane expects a letter. CHRISTIAN: Woe the day! CYRANO: How? CHRISTIAN: I am lost if I but ope my lips! CYRANO: Why so? CHRISTIAN: I am a fool--could die for shame! CYRANO: None is a fool who knows himself a fool. And you did not attack me like a fool. CHRISTIAN: Bah! One finds battle-cry to lead th' assault! I have a certain military wit, But, before women, can but hold my tongue. Their eyes! True, when I pass, their eyes are kind. . . CYRANO: And, when you stay, their hearts, methinks, are kinder? CHRISTIAN: No! for I am one of those men--tongue-tied, I know it--who can never tell their love. CYRANO: And I, meseems, had Nature been more kind, More careful, when she fashioned me,--had been One of those men who well could speak their love! CHRISTIAN: Oh, to express one's thoughts with facile grace!. . . CYRANO: . . .To be a musketeer, with handsome face! CHRISTIAN: Roxane is precieuse. I'm sure to prove A disappointment to her! CYRANO (looking at him): Had I but Such an interpreter to speak my soul! CHRISTIAN (with despair): Eloquence! Where to find it? CYRANO (abruptly): That I lend, If you lend me your handsome victor-charms; Blended, we make a hero of romance! CHRISTIAN: How so? CYRANO: Think you you can repeat what things I daily teach your tongue? CHRISTIAN: What do you mean? CYRANO: Roxane shall never have a disillusion! Say, wilt thou that we woo her, double-handed? Wilt thou that we two woo her, both together? Feel'st thou, passing from my leather doublet, Through thy laced doublet, all my soul inspiring? CHRISTIAN: But, Cyrano!. . . CYRANO: Will you, I say? CHRISTIAN: I fear! CYRANO: Since, by yourself, you fear to chill her heart, Will you--to kindle all her heart to flame-- Wed into one my phrases and your lips? CHRISTIAN: Your eyes flash! CYRANO: Will you? CHRISTIAN: Will it please you so? --Give you such pleasure? CYRANO (madly): It!. . . (Then calmly, business-like): It would amuse me! It is an enterprise to tempt a poet. Will you complete me, and let me complete you? You march victorious,--I go in your shadow; Let me be wit for you, be you my beauty! CHRISTIAN: The letter, that she waits for even now! I never can. . . CYRANO (taking out the letter he had written): See! Here it is--your letter! CHRISTIAN: What? CYRANO: Take it! Look, it wants but the address. CHRISTIAN: But I. . . CYRANO: Fear nothing. Send it. It will suit. CHRISTIAN: But have you. . .? CYRANO: Oh! We have our pockets full, We poets, of love-letters, writ to Chloes, Daphnes--creations of our noddle-heads. Our lady-loves,--phantasms of our brains, --Dream-fancies blown into soap-bubbles! Come! Take it, and change feigned love-words into true; I breathed my sighs and moans haphazard-wise; Call all these wandering love-birds home to nest. You'll see that I was in these lettered lines, --Eloquent all the more, the less sincere! --Take it, and make an end! CHRISTIAN: Were it not well To change some words? Written haphazard-wise, Will it fit Roxane? CYRANO: 'Twill fit like a glove! CHRISTIAN: But. . . CYRANO: Ah, credulity of love! Roxane Will think each word inspired by herself! CHRISTIAN: My friend! (He throws himself into Cyrano's arms. They remain thus.) Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A: Christian enters and talks with the Guards, and the other cadets tell him that he must under no circumstances mention or imply the word "nose" in Cyrano's presence. The cadets ask Cyrano to tell them about the fights of the evening before. Averse as he was to telling reporters or poets about his exploits, he enjoys telling his friends. While Cyrano is talking, Christian continually interrupts him by interjecting the word "nose" into the story. Cyrano becomes more and more furious but, knowing that Christian is the man whom he has promised to protect, he cannot give vent to his anger. At last, he can stand it no longer. He sends everyone out and explains that he is Roxane's cousin. Christian confesses that he is afraid that he will lose Roxane because he cannot speak and write well -- he is only a simple soldier. Roxane is so refined that she will surely not love him. Cyrano says that together, with Christian's looks and Cyrano's genius, they make one perfect hero. Roxane will suffer no disappointment. He gives Christian the unsigned letter he had written, telling him to send it as his own -- he has but to sign it.

Chapter: Cyrano, Le Bret, the cadets, Christian de Neuvillette. A CADET (seated at a table, glass in hand): Cyrano! (Cyrano turns round): The story! CYRANO: In its time! (He goes up on Le Bret's arm. They talk in low voices.) THE CADET (rising and coming down): The story of the fray! 'Twill lesson well (He stops before the table where Christian is seated): This timid young apprentice! CHRISTIAN (raising his head): 'Prentice! Who? ANOTHER CADET: This sickly Northern greenhorn! CHRISTIAN: Sickly! FIRST CADET (mockingly): Hark! Monsieur de Neuvillette, this in your ear: There's somewhat here, one no more dares to name, Than to say 'rope' to one whose sire was hanged! CHRISTIAN: What may that be? ANOTHER CADET (in a terrible voice): See here! (He puts his finger three times, mysteriously, on his nose): Do you understand? CHRISTIAN: Oh! 'tis the. . . ANOTHER: Hush! oh, never breathe that word, Unless you'd reckon with him yonder! (He points to Cyrano, who is talking with Le Bret.) ANOTHER (who has meanwhile come up noiselessly to sit on the table--whispering behind him): Hark! He put two snuffling men to death, in rage, For the sole reason they spoke through their nose! ANOTHER (in a hollow voice, darting on all-fours from under the table, where he had crept): And if you would not perish in flower o' youth, --Oh, mention not the fatal cartilage! ANOTHER (clapping him on the shoulder): A word? A gesture! For the indiscreet His handkerchief may prove his winding-sheet! (Silence. All, with crossed arms, look at Christian. He rises and goes over to Carbon de Castel-Jaloux, who is talking to an officer, and feigns to see nothing.) CHRISTIAN: Captain! CARBON (turning and looking at him from head to foot): Sir! CHRISTIAN: Pray, what skills it best to do To Southerners who swagger?. . . CARBON: Give them proof That one may be a Northerner, yet brave! (He turns his back on him.) CHRISTIAN: I thank you. FIRST CADET (to Cyrano): Now the tale! ALL: The tale! CYRANO (coming toward them): The tale?. . . (All bring their stools up, and group round him, listening eagerly. Christian is astride a chair): Well! I went all alone to meet the band. The moon was shining, clock-like, full i' th' sky, When, suddenly, some careful clockwright passed A cloud of cotton-wool across the case That held this silver watch. And, presto! heigh! The night was inky black, and all the quays Were hidden in the murky dark. Gadsooks! One could see nothing further. . . CHRISTIAN: Than one's nose! (Silence. All slowly rise, looking in terror at Cyrano, who has stopped-- dumfounded. Pause.) CYRANO: Who on God's earth is that? A CADET (whispering): It is a man Who joined to-day. CYRANO (making a step toward Christian): To-day? CARBON (in a low voice): Yes. . .his name is The Baron de Neuvil. . . CYRANO (checking himself): Good! It is well. . . (He turns pale, flushes, makes as if to fall on Christian): I. . . (He controls himself): What said I?. . . (With a burst of rage): MORDIOUS!. . . (Then continues calmly): That it was dark. (Astonishment. The cadets reseat themselves, staring at him): On I went, thinking, 'For a knavish cause I may provoke some great man, some great prince, Who certainly could break'. . . CHRISTIAN: My nose!. . . (Every one starts up. Christian balances on his chair.) CYRANO (in a choked voice): . . .'My teeth! Who would break my teeth, and I, imprudent-like, Was poking. . .' CHRISTIAN: My nose!. . . CYRANO: 'My finger,. . .in the crack Between the tree and bark! He may prove strong And rap me. . .' CHRISTIAN: Over the nose. . . CYRANO (wiping his forehead): . . .'O' th' knuckles! Ay,' But I cried, 'Forward, Gascon! Duty calls! On, Cyrano!' And thus I ventured on. . . When, from the shadow, came. . . CHRISTIAN: A crack o' th' nose. CYRANO: I parry it--find myself. . . CHRISTIAN: Nose to nose. . . CYRANO (bounding on to him): Heaven and earth! (All the Gascons leap up to see, but when he is close to Christian he controls himself and continues): . . .With a hundred brawling sots, Who stank. . . CHRISTIAN: A noseful. . . CYRANO (white, but smiling): Onions, brandy-cups! I leapt out, head well down. . . CHRISTIAN: Nosing the wind! CYRANO: I charge!--gore two, impale one--run him through, One aims at me--Paf! and I parry. . . CHRISTIAN: Pif! CYRANO (bursting out): Great God! Out! all of you! (The cadets rush to the doors.) FIRST CADET: The tiger wakes! CYRANO: Every man, out! Leave me alone with him! SECOND CADET: We shall find him minced fine, minced into hash In a big pasty! RAGUENEAU: I am turning pale, And curl up, like a napkin, limp and white! CARBON: Let us be gone. ANOTHER: He will not leave a crumb! ANOTHER: I die of fright to think what will pass here! ANOTHER (shutting door right): Something too horrible! (All have gone out by different doors, some by the staircase. Cyrano and Christian are face to face, looking at each other for a moment.) Cyrano, Christian. CYRANO: Embrace me now! CHRISTIAN: Sir. . . CYRANO: You are brave. CHRISTIAN: Oh! but. . . CYRANO: Nay, I insist. CHRISTIAN: Pray tell me. . . CYRANO: Come, embrace! I am her brother. CHRISTIAN: Whose brother? CYRANO: Hers i' faith! Roxane's! CHRISTIAN (rushing up to him): O heavens! Her brother. . .? CYRANO: Cousin--brother!. . .the same thing! CHRISTIAN: And she has told you. . .? CYRANO: All! CHRISTIAN: She loves me? say! CYRANO: Maybe! CHRISTIAN (taking his hands): How glad I am to meet you, Sir! CYRANO: That may be called a sudden sentiment! CHRISTIAN: I ask your pardon. . . CYRANO (looking at him, with his hand on his shoulder): True, he's fair, the villain! CHRISTIAN: Ah, Sir! If you but knew my admiration!. . . CYRANO: But all those noses?. . . CHRISTIAN: Oh! I take them back! CYRANO: Roxane expects a letter. CHRISTIAN: Woe the day! CYRANO: How? CHRISTIAN: I am lost if I but ope my lips! CYRANO: Why so? CHRISTIAN: I am a fool--could die for shame! CYRANO: None is a fool who knows himself a fool. And you did not attack me like a fool. CHRISTIAN: Bah! One finds battle-cry to lead th' assault! I have a certain military wit, But, before women, can but hold my tongue. Their eyes! True, when I pass, their eyes are kind. . . CYRANO: And, when you stay, their hearts, methinks, are kinder? CHRISTIAN: No! for I am one of those men--tongue-tied, I know it--who can never tell their love. CYRANO: And I, meseems, had Nature been more kind, More careful, when she fashioned me,--had been One of those men who well could speak their love! CHRISTIAN: Oh, to express one's thoughts with facile grace!. . . CYRANO: . . .To be a musketeer, with handsome face! CHRISTIAN: Roxane is precieuse. I'm sure to prove A disappointment to her! CYRANO (looking at him): Had I but Such an interpreter to speak my soul! CHRISTIAN (with despair): Eloquence! Where to find it? CYRANO (abruptly): That I lend, If you lend me your handsome victor-charms; Blended, we make a hero of romance! CHRISTIAN: How so? CYRANO: Think you you can repeat what things I daily teach your tongue? CHRISTIAN: What do you mean? CYRANO: Roxane shall never have a disillusion! Say, wilt thou that we woo her, double-handed? Wilt thou that we two woo her, both together? Feel'st thou, passing from my leather doublet, Through thy laced doublet, all my soul inspiring? CHRISTIAN: But, Cyrano!. . . CYRANO: Will you, I say? CHRISTIAN: I fear! CYRANO: Since, by yourself, you fear to chill her heart, Will you--to kindle all her heart to flame-- Wed into one my phrases and your lips? CHRISTIAN: Your eyes flash! CYRANO: Will you? CHRISTIAN: Will it please you so? --Give you such pleasure? CYRANO (madly): It!. . . (Then calmly, business-like): It would amuse me! It is an enterprise to tempt a poet. Will you complete me, and let me complete you? You march victorious,--I go in your shadow; Let me be wit for you, be you my beauty! CHRISTIAN: The letter, that she waits for even now! I never can. . . CYRANO (taking out the letter he had written): See! Here it is--your letter! CHRISTIAN: What? CYRANO: Take it! Look, it wants but the address. CHRISTIAN: But I. . . CYRANO: Fear nothing. Send it. It will suit. CHRISTIAN: But have you. . .? CYRANO: Oh! We have our pockets full, We poets, of love-letters, writ to Chloes, Daphnes--creations of our noddle-heads. Our lady-loves,--phantasms of our brains, --Dream-fancies blown into soap-bubbles! Come! Take it, and change feigned love-words into true; I breathed my sighs and moans haphazard-wise; Call all these wandering love-birds home to nest. You'll see that I was in these lettered lines, --Eloquent all the more, the less sincere! --Take it, and make an end! CHRISTIAN: Were it not well To change some words? Written haphazard-wise, Will it fit Roxane? CYRANO: 'Twill fit like a glove! CHRISTIAN: But. . . CYRANO: Ah, credulity of love! Roxane Will think each word inspired by herself! CHRISTIAN: My friend! (He throws himself into Cyrano's arms. They remain thus.) Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A:

Christian enters and talks with the Guards, and the other cadets tell him that he must under no circumstances mention or imply the word "nose" in Cyrano's presence. The cadets ask Cyrano to tell them about the fights of the evening before. Averse as he was to telling reporters or poets about his exploits, he enjoys telling his friends. While Cyrano is talking, Christian continually interrupts him by interjecting the word "nose" into the story. Cyrano becomes more and more furious but, knowing that Christian is the man whom he has promised to protect, he cannot give vent to his anger. At last, he can stand it no longer. He sends everyone out and explains that he is Roxane's cousin. Christian confesses that he is afraid that he will lose Roxane because he cannot speak and write well -- he is only a simple soldier. Roxane is so refined that she will surely not love him. Cyrano says that together, with Christian's looks and Cyrano's genius, they make one perfect hero. Roxane will suffer no disappointment. He gives Christian the unsigned letter he had written, telling him to send it as his own -- he has but to sign it.

Chapter: Cyrano, Christian, the Gascons, the musketeer, Lise. A CADET (half opening the door): Naught here!. . .The silence of the grave! I dare not look. . . (He puts his head in): Why?. . . ALL THE CADETS (entering, and seeing Cyrano and Christian embracing): Oh!. . . A CADET: This passes all! (Consternation.) THE MUSKETEER (mockingly): Ho, ho!. . . CARBON: Our demon has become a saint? Struck on one nostril--lo! he turns the other! MUSKETEER: Then we may speak about his nose, henceforth!. . . (Calling to Lise, boastfully): --Ah, Lise, see here! (Sniffing ostentatiously): O heavens!. . .what a stink!. . . (Going up to Cyrano): You, sir, without a doubt have sniffed it up! --What is the smell I notice here? CYRANO (cuffing his head): Clove-heads. (General delight. The cadets have found the old Cyrano again! They turn somersaults.) Curtain. Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A: The cadets re-enter, and much to their surprise find Christian still alive. The musketeer, deciding that one can now make fun of Cyrano's nose with impunity, tries his hand at the game. Cyrano knocks him down.

Chapter: Cyrano, Christian, the Gascons, the musketeer, Lise. A CADET (half opening the door): Naught here!. . .The silence of the grave! I dare not look. . . (He puts his head in): Why?. . . ALL THE CADETS (entering, and seeing Cyrano and Christian embracing): Oh!. . . A CADET: This passes all! (Consternation.) THE MUSKETEER (mockingly): Ho, ho!. . . CARBON: Our demon has become a saint? Struck on one nostril--lo! he turns the other! MUSKETEER: Then we may speak about his nose, henceforth!. . . (Calling to Lise, boastfully): --Ah, Lise, see here! (Sniffing ostentatiously): O heavens!. . .what a stink!. . . (Going up to Cyrano): You, sir, without a doubt have sniffed it up! --What is the smell I notice here? CYRANO (cuffing his head): Clove-heads. (General delight. The cadets have found the old Cyrano again! They turn somersaults.) Curtain. Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A:

The cadets re-enter, and much to their surprise find Christian still alive. The musketeer, deciding that one can now make fun of Cyrano's nose with impunity, tries his hand at the game. Cyrano knocks him down.

Chapter: Ragueneau, the duenna. Then Roxane, Cyrano, and two pages. RAGUENEAU: --And then, off she went, with a musketeer! Deserted and ruined too, I would make an end of all, and so hanged myself. My last breath was drawn:-- then in comes Monsieur de Bergerac! He cuts me down, and begs his cousin to take me for her steward. THE DUENNA: Well, but how came it about that you were thus ruined? RAGUENEAU: Oh! Lise loved the warriors, and I loved the poets! What cakes there were that Apollo chanced to leave were quickly snapped up by Mars. Thus ruin was not long a-coming. THE DUENNA (rising, and calling up to the open window): Roxane, are you ready? They wait for us! ROXANE'S VOICE (from the window): I will but put me on a cloak! THE DUENNA (to Ragueneau, showing him the door opposite): They wait us there opposite, at Clomire's house. She receives them all there to-day--the precieuses, the poets; they read a discourse on the Tender Passion. RAGUENEAU: The Tender Passion? THE DUENNA (in a mincing voice): Ay, indeed! (Calling up to the window): Roxane, an you come not down quickly, we shall miss the discourse on the Tender Passion! ROXANE'S VOICE: I come! I come! (A sound of stringed instruments approaching.) CYRANO'S VOICE (behind the scenes, singing): La, la, la, la! THE DUENNA (surprised): They serenade us? CYRANO (followed by two pages with arch-lutes): I tell you they are demi-semi-quavers, demi-semi-fool! FIRST PAGE (ironically): You know then, Sir, to distinguish between semi-quavers and demi-semi- quavers? CYRANO: Is not every disciple of Gassendi a musician? THE PAGE (playing and singing): La, la! CYRANO (snatching the lute from him, and going on with the phrase): In proof of which, I can continue! La, la, la, la! ROXANE (appearing on the balcony): What? 'Tis you? CYRANO (going on with the air, and singing to it): 'Tis I, who come to serenade your lilies, and pay my devoir to your ro-o- oses! ROXANE: I am coming down! (She leaves the balcony.) THE DUENNA (pointing to the pages): How come these two virtuosi here? CYRANO: 'Tis for a wager I won of D'Assoucy. We were disputing a nice point in grammar; contradictions raged hotly--''Tis so!' 'Nay, 'tis so!' when suddenly he shows me these two long-shanks, whom he takes about with him as an escort, and who are skillful in scratching lute-strings with their skinny claws! 'I will wager you a day's music,' says he!--And lost it! Thus, see you, till Phoebus' chariot starts once again, these lute-twangers are at my heels, seeing all I do, hearing all I say, and accompanying all with melody. 'Twas pleasant at the first, but i' faith, I begin to weary of it already! (To the musicians): Ho there! go serenade Montfleury for me! Play a dance to him! (The pages go toward the door. To the duenna): I have come, as is my wont, nightly, to ask Roxane whether. . . (To the pages, who are going out): Play a long time,--and play out of tune! (To the duenna): . . .Whether her soul's elected is ever the same, ever faultless! ROXANE (coming out of the house): Ah! How handsome he is, how brilliant a wit! And--how well I love him! CYRANO (smiling): Christian has so brilliant a wit? ROXANE: Brighter than even your own, cousin! CYRANO: Be it so, with all my heart! ROXANE: Ah! methinks 'twere impossible that there could breathe a man on this earth skilled to say as sweetly as he all the pretty nothings that mean so much-- that mean all! At times his mind seems far away, the Muse says naught--and then, presto! he speaks--bewitchingly! enchantingly! CYRANO (incredulously): No, no! ROXANE: Fie! That is ill said! But lo! men are ever thus! Because he is fair to see, you would have it that he must be dull of speech. CYRANO: He hath an eloquent tongue in telling his love? ROXANE: In telling his love? why, 'tis not simple telling, 'tis dissertation, 'tis analysis! CYRANO: How is he with the pen? ROXANE: Still better! Listen,--here:-- (Reciting): 'The more of my poor heart you take The larger grows my heart!' (Triumphantly to Cyrano): How like you those lines? CYRANO: Pooh! ROXANE: And thus it goes on. . . 'And, since some target I must show For Cupid's cruel dart, Oh, if mine own you deign to keep, Then give me your sweet heart!' CYRANO: Lord! first he has too much, then anon not enough! How much heart does the fellow want? ROXANE: You would vex a saint!. . .But 'tis your jealousy. CYRANO (starting): What mean you? ROXANE: Ay, your poet's jealousy! Hark now, if this again be not tender-sweet?-- 'My heart to yours sounds but one cry: If kisses fast could flee By letter, then with your sweet lips My letters read should be! If kisses could be writ with ink, If kisses fast could flee!' CYRANO (smiling approvingly in spite of himself): Ha! those last lines are,--hm!. . .hm!. . . (Correcting himself--contemptuously): --They are paltry enough! ROXANE: And this. . . CYRANO (enchanted): Then you have his letters by heart? ROXANE: Every one of them! CYRANO: By all oaths that can be sworn,--'tis flattering! ROXANE: They are the lines of a master! CYRANO (modestly): Come, nay. . .a master?. . . ROXANE: Ay, I say it--a master! CYRANO: Good--be it so. THE DUENNA (coming down quickly): Here comes Monsieur de Guiche! (To Cyrano, pushing him toward the house): In with you! 'twere best he see you not; it might perchance put him on the scent. . . ROXANE (to Cyrano): Ay, of my own dear secret! He loves me, and is powerful, and, if he knew, then all were lost! Marry! he could well deal a deathblow to my love! CYRANO (entering the house): Good! good! (De Guiche appears.) Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A: Act III, entitled "Roxane's Kiss," takes place in the street under Roxane's balcony. It opens with Ragueneau telling Roxane's duenna that his wife, Lise, ran off with the musketeer. He tried to hang himself, but Cyrano saved him and brought him to Roxane to be a steward in her household. Cyrano enters, followed by musicians whom he keeps correcting. He explains that he won them for a day with a bet over a fine point of grammar. Roxane tells Cyrano that Christian is a genius: He will be quiet and distracted for a moment, and then say the most beautiful things. Cyrano teases her about some of Christian's speeches.

Chapter: Ragueneau, the duenna. Then Roxane, Cyrano, and two pages. RAGUENEAU: --And then, off she went, with a musketeer! Deserted and ruined too, I would make an end of all, and so hanged myself. My last breath was drawn:-- then in comes Monsieur de Bergerac! He cuts me down, and begs his cousin to take me for her steward. THE DUENNA: Well, but how came it about that you were thus ruined? RAGUENEAU: Oh! Lise loved the warriors, and I loved the poets! What cakes there were that Apollo chanced to leave were quickly snapped up by Mars. Thus ruin was not long a-coming. THE DUENNA (rising, and calling up to the open window): Roxane, are you ready? They wait for us! ROXANE'S VOICE (from the window): I will but put me on a cloak! THE DUENNA (to Ragueneau, showing him the door opposite): They wait us there opposite, at Clomire's house. She receives them all there to-day--the precieuses, the poets; they read a discourse on the Tender Passion. RAGUENEAU: The Tender Passion? THE DUENNA (in a mincing voice): Ay, indeed! (Calling up to the window): Roxane, an you come not down quickly, we shall miss the discourse on the Tender Passion! ROXANE'S VOICE: I come! I come! (A sound of stringed instruments approaching.) CYRANO'S VOICE (behind the scenes, singing): La, la, la, la! THE DUENNA (surprised): They serenade us? CYRANO (followed by two pages with arch-lutes): I tell you they are demi-semi-quavers, demi-semi-fool! FIRST PAGE (ironically): You know then, Sir, to distinguish between semi-quavers and demi-semi- quavers? CYRANO: Is not every disciple of Gassendi a musician? THE PAGE (playing and singing): La, la! CYRANO (snatching the lute from him, and going on with the phrase): In proof of which, I can continue! La, la, la, la! ROXANE (appearing on the balcony): What? 'Tis you? CYRANO (going on with the air, and singing to it): 'Tis I, who come to serenade your lilies, and pay my devoir to your ro-o- oses! ROXANE: I am coming down! (She leaves the balcony.) THE DUENNA (pointing to the pages): How come these two virtuosi here? CYRANO: 'Tis for a wager I won of D'Assoucy. We were disputing a nice point in grammar; contradictions raged hotly--''Tis so!' 'Nay, 'tis so!' when suddenly he shows me these two long-shanks, whom he takes about with him as an escort, and who are skillful in scratching lute-strings with their skinny claws! 'I will wager you a day's music,' says he!--And lost it! Thus, see you, till Phoebus' chariot starts once again, these lute-twangers are at my heels, seeing all I do, hearing all I say, and accompanying all with melody. 'Twas pleasant at the first, but i' faith, I begin to weary of it already! (To the musicians): Ho there! go serenade Montfleury for me! Play a dance to him! (The pages go toward the door. To the duenna): I have come, as is my wont, nightly, to ask Roxane whether. . . (To the pages, who are going out): Play a long time,--and play out of tune! (To the duenna): . . .Whether her soul's elected is ever the same, ever faultless! ROXANE (coming out of the house): Ah! How handsome he is, how brilliant a wit! And--how well I love him! CYRANO (smiling): Christian has so brilliant a wit? ROXANE: Brighter than even your own, cousin! CYRANO: Be it so, with all my heart! ROXANE: Ah! methinks 'twere impossible that there could breathe a man on this earth skilled to say as sweetly as he all the pretty nothings that mean so much-- that mean all! At times his mind seems far away, the Muse says naught--and then, presto! he speaks--bewitchingly! enchantingly! CYRANO (incredulously): No, no! ROXANE: Fie! That is ill said! But lo! men are ever thus! Because he is fair to see, you would have it that he must be dull of speech. CYRANO: He hath an eloquent tongue in telling his love? ROXANE: In telling his love? why, 'tis not simple telling, 'tis dissertation, 'tis analysis! CYRANO: How is he with the pen? ROXANE: Still better! Listen,--here:-- (Reciting): 'The more of my poor heart you take The larger grows my heart!' (Triumphantly to Cyrano): How like you those lines? CYRANO: Pooh! ROXANE: And thus it goes on. . . 'And, since some target I must show For Cupid's cruel dart, Oh, if mine own you deign to keep, Then give me your sweet heart!' CYRANO: Lord! first he has too much, then anon not enough! How much heart does the fellow want? ROXANE: You would vex a saint!. . .But 'tis your jealousy. CYRANO (starting): What mean you? ROXANE: Ay, your poet's jealousy! Hark now, if this again be not tender-sweet?-- 'My heart to yours sounds but one cry: If kisses fast could flee By letter, then with your sweet lips My letters read should be! If kisses could be writ with ink, If kisses fast could flee!' CYRANO (smiling approvingly in spite of himself): Ha! those last lines are,--hm!. . .hm!. . . (Correcting himself--contemptuously): --They are paltry enough! ROXANE: And this. . . CYRANO (enchanted): Then you have his letters by heart? ROXANE: Every one of them! CYRANO: By all oaths that can be sworn,--'tis flattering! ROXANE: They are the lines of a master! CYRANO (modestly): Come, nay. . .a master?. . . ROXANE: Ay, I say it--a master! CYRANO: Good--be it so. THE DUENNA (coming down quickly): Here comes Monsieur de Guiche! (To Cyrano, pushing him toward the house): In with you! 'twere best he see you not; it might perchance put him on the scent. . . ROXANE (to Cyrano): Ay, of my own dear secret! He loves me, and is powerful, and, if he knew, then all were lost! Marry! he could well deal a deathblow to my love! CYRANO (entering the house): Good! good! (De Guiche appears.) Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A:

Act III, entitled "Roxane's Kiss," takes place in the street under Roxane's balcony. It opens with Ragueneau telling Roxane's duenna that his wife, Lise, ran off with the musketeer. He tried to hang himself, but Cyrano saved him and brought him to Roxane to be a steward in her household. Cyrano enters, followed by musicians whom he keeps correcting. He explains that he won them for a day with a bet over a fine point of grammar. Roxane tells Cyrano that Christian is a genius: He will be quiet and distracted for a moment, and then say the most beautiful things. Cyrano teases her about some of Christian's speeches.

Chapter: Roxane, De Guiche, the duenna standing a little way off. ROXANE (courtesying to De Guiche): I was going out. DE GUICHE: I come to take my leave. ROXANE: Whither go you? DE GUICHE: To the war. ROXANE: Ah! DE GUICHE: Ay, to-night. ROXANE: Oh! DE GUICHE: I am ordered away. We are to besiege Arras. ROXANE: Ah--to besiege?. . . DE GUICHE: Ay. My going moves you not, meseems. ROXANE: Nay. . . DE GUICHE: I am grieved to the core of the heart. Shall I again behold you?. . .When? I know not. Heard you that I am named commander?. . . ROXANE (indifferently): Bravo! DE GUICHE: Of the Guards regiment. ROXANE (startled): What! the Guards? DE GUICHE: Ay, where serves your cousin, the swaggering boaster. I will find a way to revenge myself on him at Arras. ROXANE (choking): What mean you? The Guards go to Arras? DE GUICHE (laughing): Bethink you, is it not my own regiment? ROXANE (falling seated on the bench--aside): Christian! DE GUICHE: What ails you? ROXANE (moved deeply): Oh--I am in despair! The man one loves!--at the war! DE GUICHE (surprised and delighted): You say such sweet words to me! 'Tis the first time!--and just when I must quit you! ROXANE (collected, and fanning herself): Thus,--you would fain revenge your grudge against my cousin? DE GUICHE: My fair lady is on his side? ROXANE: Nay,--against him! DE GUICHE: Do you see him often? ROXANE: But very rarely. DE GUICHE: He is ever to be met now in company with one of the cadets,. . .one New-- villen--viller-- ROXANE: Of high stature? DE GUICHE: Fair-haired! ROXANE: Ay, a red-headed fellow! DE GUICHE: Handsome!. . . ROXANE: Tut! DE GUICHE: But dull-witted. ROXANE: One would think so, to look at him! (Changing her tone): How mean you to play your revenge on Cyrano? Perchance you think to put him i' the thick of the shots? Nay, believe me, that were a poor vengeance--he would love such a post better than aught else! I know the way to wound his pride far more keenly! DE GUICHE: What then? Tell. . . ROXANE: If, when the regiment march to Arras, he were left here with his beloved boon companions, the Cadets, to sit with crossed arms so long as the war lasted! There is your method, would you enrage a man of his kind; cheat him of his chance of mortal danger, and you punish him right fiercely. DE GUICHE (coming nearer): O woman! woman! Who but a woman had e'er devised so subtle a trick? ROXANE: See you not how he will eat out his heart, while his friends gnaw their thick fists for that they are deprived of the battle? So are you best avenged. DE GUICHE: You love me, then, a little? (She smiles): I would fain--seeing you thus espouse my cause, Roxane--believe it a proof of love! ROXANE: 'Tis a proof of love! DE GUICHE (showing some sealed papers): Here are the marching orders; they will be sent instantly to each company-- except-- (He detaches one): --This one! 'Tis that of the Cadets. (He puts it in his pocket): This I keep. (Laughing): Ha! ha! ha! Cyrano! His love of battle!. . .So you can play tricks on people?. . .you, of all ladies! ROXANE: Sometimes! DE GUICHE (coming close to her): Oh! how I love you!--to distraction! Listen! To-night--true, I ought to start--but--how leave you now that I feel your heart is touched! Hard by, in the Rue d'Orleans, is a convent founded by Father Athanasius, the syndic of the Capuchins. True that no layman may enter--but--I can settle that with the good Fathers! Their habit sleeves are wide enough to hide me in. 'Tis they who serve Richelieu's private chapel: and from respect to the uncle, fear the nephew. All will deem me gone. I will come to you, masked. Give me leave to wait till tomorrow, sweet Lady Fanciful! ROXANE: But, of this be rumored, your glory. . . DE GUICHE: Bah! ROXANE: But the siege--Arras. . . DE GUICHE: 'Twill take its chance. Grant but permission. ROXANE: No! DE GUICHE: Give me leave! ROXANE (tenderly): It were my duty to forbid you! DE GUICHE: Ah! ROXANE: You must go! (Aside): Christian stays here. (Aloud): I would have you heroic--Antoine! DE GUICHE: O heavenly word! You love, then, him?. . . ROXANE: . . .For whom I trembled. DE GUICHE (in an ecstasy): Ah! I go then! (He kisses her hand): Are you content? ROXANE: Yes, my friend! (He goes out.) THE DUENNA (making behind his back a mocking courtesy): Yes, my friend! ROXANE (to the duenna): Not a word of what I have done. Cyrano would never pardon me for stealing his fighting from him! (She calls toward the house): Cousin! Roxane, The duenna, Cyrano. ROXANE: We are going to Clomire's house. (She points to the door opposite): Alcandre and Lysimon are to discourse! THE DUENNA (putting her little finger in her ear): Yes! But my little finger tells me we shall miss them. CYRANO: 'Twere a pity to miss such apes! (They have come to Clomire's door.) THE DUENNA: Oh, see! The knocker is muffled up! (Speaking to the knocker): So they have gagged that metal tongue of yours, little noisy one, lest it should disturb the fine orators! (She lifts it carefully and knocks with precaution.) ROXANE (seeing that the door opens): Let us enter! (On the threshold, to Cyrano): If Christian comes, as I feel sure he will, bid him wait for me! CYRANO (quickly, as she is going in): Listen! (She turns): What mean you to question him on, as is your wont, to-night? ROXANE: Oh-- CYRANO (eagerly): Well, say. ROXANE: But you will be mute? CYRANO: Mute as a fish. ROXANE: I shall not question him at all, but say: Give rein to your fancy! Prepare not your speeches,--but speak the thoughts as they come! Speak to me of love, and speak splendidly! CYRANO (smiling): Very good! ROXANE: But secret!. . . CYRANO: Secret. ROXANE: Not a word! (She enters and shuts the door.) CYRANO (when the door is shut, bowing to her): A thousand thanks! (The door opens again, and Roxane puts her head out.) ROXANE: Lest he prepare himself! CYRANO: The devil!--no, no! BOTH TOGETHER: Secret. (The door shuts.) CYRANO (calling): Christian! Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A: De Guiche enters and tells Roxane that he has come to say goodbye. He has been placed in command of Cyrano's regiment. She tells him that if he really wants to hurt Cyrano, he should leave him and the other cadets behind, while the rest of the regiment goes on to glorious victory. De Guiche sees in this a sign that Roxane loves him and suggests a rendezvous at a monastery. She makes De Guiche believe she is consenting; she has managed to keep Christian out of the war. Cyrano comes out of the house and asks Roxane on what subject she will ask Christian to speak tonight. She replies that tonight he must improvise on the subject of love.

Chapter: Roxane, De Guiche, the duenna standing a little way off. ROXANE (courtesying to De Guiche): I was going out. DE GUICHE: I come to take my leave. ROXANE: Whither go you? DE GUICHE: To the war. ROXANE: Ah! DE GUICHE: Ay, to-night. ROXANE: Oh! DE GUICHE: I am ordered away. We are to besiege Arras. ROXANE: Ah--to besiege?. . . DE GUICHE: Ay. My going moves you not, meseems. ROXANE: Nay. . . DE GUICHE: I am grieved to the core of the heart. Shall I again behold you?. . .When? I know not. Heard you that I am named commander?. . . ROXANE (indifferently): Bravo! DE GUICHE: Of the Guards regiment. ROXANE (startled): What! the Guards? DE GUICHE: Ay, where serves your cousin, the swaggering boaster. I will find a way to revenge myself on him at Arras. ROXANE (choking): What mean you? The Guards go to Arras? DE GUICHE (laughing): Bethink you, is it not my own regiment? ROXANE (falling seated on the bench--aside): Christian! DE GUICHE: What ails you? ROXANE (moved deeply): Oh--I am in despair! The man one loves!--at the war! DE GUICHE (surprised and delighted): You say such sweet words to me! 'Tis the first time!--and just when I must quit you! ROXANE (collected, and fanning herself): Thus,--you would fain revenge your grudge against my cousin? DE GUICHE: My fair lady is on his side? ROXANE: Nay,--against him! DE GUICHE: Do you see him often? ROXANE: But very rarely. DE GUICHE: He is ever to be met now in company with one of the cadets,. . .one New-- villen--viller-- ROXANE: Of high stature? DE GUICHE: Fair-haired! ROXANE: Ay, a red-headed fellow! DE GUICHE: Handsome!. . . ROXANE: Tut! DE GUICHE: But dull-witted. ROXANE: One would think so, to look at him! (Changing her tone): How mean you to play your revenge on Cyrano? Perchance you think to put him i' the thick of the shots? Nay, believe me, that were a poor vengeance--he would love such a post better than aught else! I know the way to wound his pride far more keenly! DE GUICHE: What then? Tell. . . ROXANE: If, when the regiment march to Arras, he were left here with his beloved boon companions, the Cadets, to sit with crossed arms so long as the war lasted! There is your method, would you enrage a man of his kind; cheat him of his chance of mortal danger, and you punish him right fiercely. DE GUICHE (coming nearer): O woman! woman! Who but a woman had e'er devised so subtle a trick? ROXANE: See you not how he will eat out his heart, while his friends gnaw their thick fists for that they are deprived of the battle? So are you best avenged. DE GUICHE: You love me, then, a little? (She smiles): I would fain--seeing you thus espouse my cause, Roxane--believe it a proof of love! ROXANE: 'Tis a proof of love! DE GUICHE (showing some sealed papers): Here are the marching orders; they will be sent instantly to each company-- except-- (He detaches one): --This one! 'Tis that of the Cadets. (He puts it in his pocket): This I keep. (Laughing): Ha! ha! ha! Cyrano! His love of battle!. . .So you can play tricks on people?. . .you, of all ladies! ROXANE: Sometimes! DE GUICHE (coming close to her): Oh! how I love you!--to distraction! Listen! To-night--true, I ought to start--but--how leave you now that I feel your heart is touched! Hard by, in the Rue d'Orleans, is a convent founded by Father Athanasius, the syndic of the Capuchins. True that no layman may enter--but--I can settle that with the good Fathers! Their habit sleeves are wide enough to hide me in. 'Tis they who serve Richelieu's private chapel: and from respect to the uncle, fear the nephew. All will deem me gone. I will come to you, masked. Give me leave to wait till tomorrow, sweet Lady Fanciful! ROXANE: But, of this be rumored, your glory. . . DE GUICHE: Bah! ROXANE: But the siege--Arras. . . DE GUICHE: 'Twill take its chance. Grant but permission. ROXANE: No! DE GUICHE: Give me leave! ROXANE (tenderly): It were my duty to forbid you! DE GUICHE: Ah! ROXANE: You must go! (Aside): Christian stays here. (Aloud): I would have you heroic--Antoine! DE GUICHE: O heavenly word! You love, then, him?. . . ROXANE: . . .For whom I trembled. DE GUICHE (in an ecstasy): Ah! I go then! (He kisses her hand): Are you content? ROXANE: Yes, my friend! (He goes out.) THE DUENNA (making behind his back a mocking courtesy): Yes, my friend! ROXANE (to the duenna): Not a word of what I have done. Cyrano would never pardon me for stealing his fighting from him! (She calls toward the house): Cousin! Roxane, The duenna, Cyrano. ROXANE: We are going to Clomire's house. (She points to the door opposite): Alcandre and Lysimon are to discourse! THE DUENNA (putting her little finger in her ear): Yes! But my little finger tells me we shall miss them. CYRANO: 'Twere a pity to miss such apes! (They have come to Clomire's door.) THE DUENNA: Oh, see! The knocker is muffled up! (Speaking to the knocker): So they have gagged that metal tongue of yours, little noisy one, lest it should disturb the fine orators! (She lifts it carefully and knocks with precaution.) ROXANE (seeing that the door opens): Let us enter! (On the threshold, to Cyrano): If Christian comes, as I feel sure he will, bid him wait for me! CYRANO (quickly, as she is going in): Listen! (She turns): What mean you to question him on, as is your wont, to-night? ROXANE: Oh-- CYRANO (eagerly): Well, say. ROXANE: But you will be mute? CYRANO: Mute as a fish. ROXANE: I shall not question him at all, but say: Give rein to your fancy! Prepare not your speeches,--but speak the thoughts as they come! Speak to me of love, and speak splendidly! CYRANO (smiling): Very good! ROXANE: But secret!. . . CYRANO: Secret. ROXANE: Not a word! (She enters and shuts the door.) CYRANO (when the door is shut, bowing to her): A thousand thanks! (The door opens again, and Roxane puts her head out.) ROXANE: Lest he prepare himself! CYRANO: The devil!--no, no! BOTH TOGETHER: Secret. (The door shuts.) CYRANO (calling): Christian! Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A:

De Guiche enters and tells Roxane that he has come to say goodbye. He has been placed in command of Cyrano's regiment. She tells him that if he really wants to hurt Cyrano, he should leave him and the other cadets behind, while the rest of the regiment goes on to glorious victory. De Guiche sees in this a sign that Roxane loves him and suggests a rendezvous at a monastery. She makes De Guiche believe she is consenting; she has managed to keep Christian out of the war. Cyrano comes out of the house and asks Roxane on what subject she will ask Christian to speak tonight. She replies that tonight he must improvise on the subject of love.

Chapter: Cyrano, Christian. CYRANO: I know all that is needful. Here's occasion For you to deck yourself with glory. Come, Lose no time; put away those sulky looks, Come to your house with me, I'll teach you. . . CHRISTIAN: No! CYRANO: Why? CHRISTIAN: I will wait for Roxane here. CYRANO: How? Crazy? Come quick with me and learn. . . CHRISTIAN: No, no! I say. I am aweary of these borrowed letters, --Borrowed love-makings! Thus to act a part, And tremble all the time!--'Twas well enough At the beginning!--Now I know she loves! I fear no longer!--I will speak myself. CYRANO: Mercy! CHRISTIAN: And how know you I cannot speak?-- I am not such a fool when all is said! I've by your lessons profited. You'll see I shall know how to speak alone! The devil! I know at least to clasp her in my arms! (Seeing Roxane come out from Clomire's house): --It is she! Cyrano, no!--Leave me not! CYRANO (bowing): Speak for yourself, my friend, and take your chance. (He disappears behind the garden wall.) Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A: Christian refuses to memorize speeches tonight. He is tired of pretense: He knows enough, he says, to take a woman in his arms. He knows that Roxane loves him, and refuses to continue this uncomfortable and demeaning role.

Chapter: Cyrano, Christian. CYRANO: I know all that is needful. Here's occasion For you to deck yourself with glory. Come, Lose no time; put away those sulky looks, Come to your house with me, I'll teach you. . . CHRISTIAN: No! CYRANO: Why? CHRISTIAN: I will wait for Roxane here. CYRANO: How? Crazy? Come quick with me and learn. . . CHRISTIAN: No, no! I say. I am aweary of these borrowed letters, --Borrowed love-makings! Thus to act a part, And tremble all the time!--'Twas well enough At the beginning!--Now I know she loves! I fear no longer!--I will speak myself. CYRANO: Mercy! CHRISTIAN: And how know you I cannot speak?-- I am not such a fool when all is said! I've by your lessons profited. You'll see I shall know how to speak alone! The devil! I know at least to clasp her in my arms! (Seeing Roxane come out from Clomire's house): --It is she! Cyrano, no!--Leave me not! CYRANO (bowing): Speak for yourself, my friend, and take your chance. (He disappears behind the garden wall.) Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A:

Christian refuses to memorize speeches tonight. He is tired of pretense: He knows enough, he says, to take a woman in his arms. He knows that Roxane loves him, and refuses to continue this uncomfortable and demeaning role.

Chapter: Christian, Roxane, the duenna. ROXANE (coming out of Clomire's house, with a company of friends, whom she leaves. Bows and good-byes): Barthenoide!--Alcandre!--Gremione!-- THE DUENNA (bitterly disappointed): We've missed the speech upon the Tender Passion! (Goes into Roxane's house.) ROXANE (still bowing): Urimedonte--adieu! (All bow to Roxane and to each other, and then separate, going up different streets. Roxane suddenly seeing Christian): You! (She goes to him): Evening falls. Let's sit. Speak on. I listen. CHRISTIAN (sits by her on the bench. A silence): Oh! I love you! ROXANE (shutting her eyes): Ay, speak to me of love. CHRISTIAN: I love thee! ROXANE: That's The theme! But vary it. CHRISTIAN: I. . . ROXANE: Vary it! CHRISTIAN: I love you so! ROXANE: Oh! without doubt!--and then?. . . CHRISTIAN: And then--I should be--oh!--so glad--so glad If you would love me!--Roxane, tell me so! ROXANE (with a little grimace): I hoped for cream,--you give me gruel! Say How love possesses you? CHRISTIAN: Oh utterly! ROXANE: Come, come!. . .unknot those tangled sentiments! CHRISTIAN: Your throat I'd kiss it! ROXANE: Christian! CHRISTIAN: I love thee! ROXANE (half-rising): Again! CHRISTIAN (eagerly, detaining her): No, no! I love thee not! ROXANE (reseating herself): 'Tis well! CHRISTIAN: But I adore thee! ROXANE (rising, and going further off): Oh! CHRISTIAN: I am grown stupid! ROXANE (dryly): And that displeases me, almost as much As 'twould displease me if you grew ill-favored. CHRISTIAN: But. . . ROXANE: Rally your poor eloquence that's flown! CHRISTIAN: I. . . ROXANE: Yes, you love me, that I know. Adieu. (She goes toward her house.) CHRISTIAN: Oh, go not yet! I'd tell you-- ROXANE (opening the door): You adore me? I've heard it very oft. No!--Go away! CHRISTIAN: But I would fain. . . (She shuts the door in his face.) CYRANO (who has re-entered unseen): I' faith! It is successful! Christian, Cyrano, two pages. CHRISTIAN: Come to my aid! CYRANO: Not I! CHRISTIAN: But I shall die, Unless at once I win back her fair favor. CYRANO: And how can I, at once, i' th' devil's name, Lesson you in. . . CHRISTIAN (seizing his arm): Oh, she is there! (The window of the balcony is now lighted up.) CYRANO (moved): Her window! CHRISTIAN: Oh! I shall die! CYRANO: Speak lower! CHRISTIAN (in a whisper): I shall die! CYRANO: The night is dark. . . CHRISTIAN: Well! CYRANO: All can be repaired. Although you merit not. Stand there, poor wretch! Fronting the balcony! I'll go beneath And prompt your words to you. . . CHRISTIAN: But. . . CYRANO: Hold your tongue! THE PAGES (reappearing at back--to Cyrano): Ho! CYRANO: Hush! (He signs to them to speak softly.) FIRST PAGE (in a low voice): We've played the serenade you bade To Montfleury! CYRANO (quickly, in a low voice): Go! lurk in ambush there, One at this street corner, and one at that; And if a passer-by should here intrude, Play you a tune! SECOND PAGE: What tune, Sir Gassendist? CYRANO: Gay, if a woman comes,--for a man, sad! (The pages disappear, one at each street corner. To Christian): Call her! CHRISTIAN: Roxane! CYRANO (picking up stones and throwing them at the window): Some pebbles! wait awhile! ROXANE (half-opening the casement): Who calls me? CHRISTIAN: I! ROXANE: Who's that? CHRISTIAN: Christian! ROXANE (disdainfully): Oh! you? CHRISTIAN: I would speak with you. CYRANO (under the balcony--to Christian): Good. Speak soft and low. ROXANE: No, you speak stupidly! CHRISTIAN: Oh, pity me! ROXANE: No! you love me no more! CHRISTIAN (prompted by Cyrano): You say--Great Heaven! I love no more?--when--I--love more and more! ROXANE (who was about to shut the casement, pausing): Hold! 'tis a trifle better! ay, a trifle! CHRISTIAN (same play): Love grew apace, rocked by the anxious beating. . . Of this poor heart, which the cruel wanton boy. . . Took for a cradle! ROXANE (coming out on to the balcony): That is better! But An if you deem that Cupid be so cruel You should have stifled baby-love in's cradle! CHRISTIAN (same play): Ah, Madame, I assayed, but all in vain This. . .new-born babe is a young. . .Hercules! ROXANE: Still better! CHRISTIAN (same play): Thus he strangled in my heart The. . .serpents twain, of. . .Pride. . .and Doubt! ROXANE (leaning over the balcony): Well said! --But why so faltering? Has mental palsy Seized on your faculty imaginative? CYRANO (drawing Christian under the balcony, and slipping into his place): Give place! This waxes critical!. . . ROXANE: To-day. . . Your words are hesitating. CYRANO (imitating Christian--in a whisper): Night has come. . . In the dusk they grope their way to find your ear. ROXANE: But my words find no such impediment. CYRANO: They find their way at once? Small wonder that! For 'tis within my heart they find their home; Bethink how large my heart, how small your ear! And,--from fair heights descending, words fall fast, But mine must mount, Madame, and that takes time! ROXANE: Meseems that your last words have learned to climb. CYRANO: With practice such gymnastic grows less hard! ROXANE: In truth, I seem to speak from distant heights! CYRANO: True, far above; at such a height 'twere death If a hard word from you fell on my heart. ROXANE (moving): I will come down. . . CYRANO (hastily): No! ROXANE (showing him the bench under the balcony): Mount then on the bench! CYRANO (starting back alarmed): No! ROXANE: How, you will not? CYRANO (more and more moved): Stay awhile! 'Tis sweet,. . . The rare occasion, when our hearts can speak Our selves unseen, unseeing! ROXANE: Why--unseen? CYRANO: Ay, it is sweet! Half hidden,--half revealed-- You see the dark folds of my shrouding cloak, And I, the glimmering whiteness of your dress: I but a shadow--you a radiance fair! Know you what such a moment holds for me? If ever I were eloquent. . . ROXANE: You were! CYRANO: Yet never till to-night my speech has sprung Straight from my heart as now it springs. ROXANE: Why not? CYRANO: Till now I spoke haphazard. . . ROXANE: What? CYRANO: Your eyes Have beams that turn men dizzy!--But to-night Methinks I shall find speech for the first time! ROXANE: 'Tis true, your voice rings with a tone that's new. CYRANO (coming nearer, passionately): Ay, a new tone! In the tender, sheltering dusk I dare to be myself for once,--at last! (He stops, falters): What say I? I know not!--Oh, pardon me-- It thrills me,--'tis so sweet, so novel. . . ROXANE: How? So novel? CYRANO (off his balance, trying to find the thread of his sentence): Ay,--to be at last sincere; Till now, my chilled heart, fearing to be mocked. . . ROXANE: Mocked, and for what? CYRANO: For its mad beating!--Ay, My heart has clothed itself with witty words, To shroud itself from curious eyes:--impelled At times to aim at a star, I stay my hand, And, fearing ridicule,--cull a wild flower! ROXANE: A wild flower's sweet. CYRANO: Ay, but to-night--the star! ROXANE: Oh! never have you spoken thus before! CYRANO: If, leaving Cupid's arrows, quivers, torches, We turned to seek for sweeter--fresher things! Instead of sipping in a pygmy glass Dull fashionable waters,--did we try How the soul slakes its thirst in fearless draught By drinking from the river's flooding brim! ROXANE: But wit?. . . CYRANO: If I have used it to arrest you At the first starting,--now, 'twould be an outrage, An insult--to the perfumed Night--to Nature-- To speak fine words that garnish vain love-letters! Look up but at her stars! The quiet Heaven Will ease our hearts of all things artificial; I fear lest, 'midst the alchemy we're skilled in The truth of sentiment dissolve and vanish,-- The soul exhausted by these empty pastimes, The gain of fine things be the loss of all things! ROXANE: But wit? I say. . . CYRANO: In love 'tis crime,--'tis hateful! Turning frank loving into subtle fencing! At last the moment comes, inevitable,-- --Oh, woe for those who never know that moment! When feeling love exists in us, ennobling, Each well-weighed word is futile and soul-saddening! ROXANE: Well, if that moment's come for us--suppose it! What words would serve you? CYRANO: All, all, all, whatever That came to me, e'en as they came, I'd fling them In a wild cluster, not a careful bouquet. I love thee! I am mad! I love, I stifle! Thy name is in my heart as in a sheep-bell, And as I ever tremble, thinking of thee, Ever the bell shakes, ever thy name ringeth! All things of thine I mind, for I love all things; I know that last year on the twelfth of May-month, To walk abroad, one day you changed your hair-plaits! I am so used to take your hair for daylight That,--like as when the eye stares on the sun's disk, One sees long after a red blot on all things-- So, when I quit thy beams, my dazzled vision Sees upon all things a blonde stain imprinted. ROXANE (agitated): Why, this is love indeed!. . . CYRANO: Ay, true, the feeling Which fills me, terrible and jealous, truly Love,--which is ever sad amid its transports! Love,--and yet, strangely, not a selfish passion! I for your joy would gladly lay mine own down, --E'en though you never were to know it,--never! --If but at times I might--far off and lonely,-- Hear some gay echo of the joy I bought you! Each glance of thine awakes in me a virtue,-- A novel, unknown valor. Dost begin, sweet, To understand? So late, dost understand me? Feel'st thou my soul, here, through the darkness mounting? Too fair the night! Too fair, too fair the moment! That I should speak thus, and that you should hearken! Too fair! In moments when my hopes rose proudest, I never hoped such guerdon. Naught is left me But to die now! Have words of mine the power To make you tremble,--throned there in the branches? Ay, like a leaf among the leaves, you tremble! You tremble! For I feel,--an if you will it, Or will it not,--your hand's beloved trembling Thrill through the branches, down your sprays of jasmine! (He kisses passionately one of the hanging tendrils.) ROXANE: Ay! I am trembling, weeping!--I am thine! Thou hast conquered all of me! CYRANO: Then let death come! 'Tis I, 'tis I myself, who conquered thee! One thing, but one, I dare to ask-- CHRISTIAN (under the balcony): A kiss! ROXANE (drawing back): What? CYRANO: Oh! ROXANE: You ask. . .? CYRANO: I. . . (To Christian, whispering): Fool! you go too quick! CHRISTIAN: Since she is moved thus--I will profit by it! CYRANO (to Roxane): My words sprang thoughtlessly, but now I see-- Shame on me!--I was too presumptuous. ROXANE (a little chilled): How quickly you withdraw. CYRANO: Yes, I withdraw Without withdrawing! Hurt I modesty? If so--the kiss I asked--oh, grant it not. CHRISTIAN (to Cyrano, pulling him by his cloak): Why? CYRANO: Silence, Christian! Hush! ROXANE (leaning over): What whisper you? CYRANO: I chid myself for my too bold advances; Said, 'Silence, Christian!' (The lutes begin to play): Hark! Wait awhile,. . . Steps come! (Roxane shuts the window. Cyrano listens to the lutes, one of which plays a merry, the other a melancholy, tune): Why, they play sad--then gay--then sad! What? Neither man nor woman?--oh! a monk! (Enter a capuchin friar, with a lantern. He goes from house to house, looking at every door.) Cyrano, Christian, a capuchin friar. CYRANO (to the friar): What do you, playing at Diogenes? THE FRIAR: I seek the house of Madame. . . CHRISTIAN: Oh! plague take him! THE FRIAR: Madeleine Robin. . . CHRISTIAN: What would he?. . . CYRANO (pointing to a street at the back): This way! Straight on. . . THE FRIAR I thank you, and, in your intention Will tell my rosary to its last bead. (He goes out.) CYRANO: Good luck! My blessings rest upon your cowl! (He goes back to Christian.) Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A: Christian tells Roxane, "I love you." "That," she replies, "is the theme. Embroider." Of course, poor Christian can think of nothing else to say. Roxane goes inside in disgust. Christian asks Cyrano to help him. Cyrano hides under Roxane's balcony and whispers to Christian, who repeats the words aloud to Roxane. At last, Cyrano is carried away and speaks aloud eloquently himself, but Roxane still believes it is Christian who is doing the speaking.

Chapter: Christian, Roxane, the duenna. ROXANE (coming out of Clomire's house, with a company of friends, whom she leaves. Bows and good-byes): Barthenoide!--Alcandre!--Gremione!-- THE DUENNA (bitterly disappointed): We've missed the speech upon the Tender Passion! (Goes into Roxane's house.) ROXANE (still bowing): Urimedonte--adieu! (All bow to Roxane and to each other, and then separate, going up different streets. Roxane suddenly seeing Christian): You! (She goes to him): Evening falls. Let's sit. Speak on. I listen. CHRISTIAN (sits by her on the bench. A silence): Oh! I love you! ROXANE (shutting her eyes): Ay, speak to me of love. CHRISTIAN: I love thee! ROXANE: That's The theme! But vary it. CHRISTIAN: I. . . ROXANE: Vary it! CHRISTIAN: I love you so! ROXANE: Oh! without doubt!--and then?. . . CHRISTIAN: And then--I should be--oh!--so glad--so glad If you would love me!--Roxane, tell me so! ROXANE (with a little grimace): I hoped for cream,--you give me gruel! Say How love possesses you? CHRISTIAN: Oh utterly! ROXANE: Come, come!. . .unknot those tangled sentiments! CHRISTIAN: Your throat I'd kiss it! ROXANE: Christian! CHRISTIAN: I love thee! ROXANE (half-rising): Again! CHRISTIAN (eagerly, detaining her): No, no! I love thee not! ROXANE (reseating herself): 'Tis well! CHRISTIAN: But I adore thee! ROXANE (rising, and going further off): Oh! CHRISTIAN: I am grown stupid! ROXANE (dryly): And that displeases me, almost as much As 'twould displease me if you grew ill-favored. CHRISTIAN: But. . . ROXANE: Rally your poor eloquence that's flown! CHRISTIAN: I. . . ROXANE: Yes, you love me, that I know. Adieu. (She goes toward her house.) CHRISTIAN: Oh, go not yet! I'd tell you-- ROXANE (opening the door): You adore me? I've heard it very oft. No!--Go away! CHRISTIAN: But I would fain. . . (She shuts the door in his face.) CYRANO (who has re-entered unseen): I' faith! It is successful! Christian, Cyrano, two pages. CHRISTIAN: Come to my aid! CYRANO: Not I! CHRISTIAN: But I shall die, Unless at once I win back her fair favor. CYRANO: And how can I, at once, i' th' devil's name, Lesson you in. . . CHRISTIAN (seizing his arm): Oh, she is there! (The window of the balcony is now lighted up.) CYRANO (moved): Her window! CHRISTIAN: Oh! I shall die! CYRANO: Speak lower! CHRISTIAN (in a whisper): I shall die! CYRANO: The night is dark. . . CHRISTIAN: Well! CYRANO: All can be repaired. Although you merit not. Stand there, poor wretch! Fronting the balcony! I'll go beneath And prompt your words to you. . . CHRISTIAN: But. . . CYRANO: Hold your tongue! THE PAGES (reappearing at back--to Cyrano): Ho! CYRANO: Hush! (He signs to them to speak softly.) FIRST PAGE (in a low voice): We've played the serenade you bade To Montfleury! CYRANO (quickly, in a low voice): Go! lurk in ambush there, One at this street corner, and one at that; And if a passer-by should here intrude, Play you a tune! SECOND PAGE: What tune, Sir Gassendist? CYRANO: Gay, if a woman comes,--for a man, sad! (The pages disappear, one at each street corner. To Christian): Call her! CHRISTIAN: Roxane! CYRANO (picking up stones and throwing them at the window): Some pebbles! wait awhile! ROXANE (half-opening the casement): Who calls me? CHRISTIAN: I! ROXANE: Who's that? CHRISTIAN: Christian! ROXANE (disdainfully): Oh! you? CHRISTIAN: I would speak with you. CYRANO (under the balcony--to Christian): Good. Speak soft and low. ROXANE: No, you speak stupidly! CHRISTIAN: Oh, pity me! ROXANE: No! you love me no more! CHRISTIAN (prompted by Cyrano): You say--Great Heaven! I love no more?--when--I--love more and more! ROXANE (who was about to shut the casement, pausing): Hold! 'tis a trifle better! ay, a trifle! CHRISTIAN (same play): Love grew apace, rocked by the anxious beating. . . Of this poor heart, which the cruel wanton boy. . . Took for a cradle! ROXANE (coming out on to the balcony): That is better! But An if you deem that Cupid be so cruel You should have stifled baby-love in's cradle! CHRISTIAN (same play): Ah, Madame, I assayed, but all in vain This. . .new-born babe is a young. . .Hercules! ROXANE: Still better! CHRISTIAN (same play): Thus he strangled in my heart The. . .serpents twain, of. . .Pride. . .and Doubt! ROXANE (leaning over the balcony): Well said! --But why so faltering? Has mental palsy Seized on your faculty imaginative? CYRANO (drawing Christian under the balcony, and slipping into his place): Give place! This waxes critical!. . . ROXANE: To-day. . . Your words are hesitating. CYRANO (imitating Christian--in a whisper): Night has come. . . In the dusk they grope their way to find your ear. ROXANE: But my words find no such impediment. CYRANO: They find their way at once? Small wonder that! For 'tis within my heart they find their home; Bethink how large my heart, how small your ear! And,--from fair heights descending, words fall fast, But mine must mount, Madame, and that takes time! ROXANE: Meseems that your last words have learned to climb. CYRANO: With practice such gymnastic grows less hard! ROXANE: In truth, I seem to speak from distant heights! CYRANO: True, far above; at such a height 'twere death If a hard word from you fell on my heart. ROXANE (moving): I will come down. . . CYRANO (hastily): No! ROXANE (showing him the bench under the balcony): Mount then on the bench! CYRANO (starting back alarmed): No! ROXANE: How, you will not? CYRANO (more and more moved): Stay awhile! 'Tis sweet,. . . The rare occasion, when our hearts can speak Our selves unseen, unseeing! ROXANE: Why--unseen? CYRANO: Ay, it is sweet! Half hidden,--half revealed-- You see the dark folds of my shrouding cloak, And I, the glimmering whiteness of your dress: I but a shadow--you a radiance fair! Know you what such a moment holds for me? If ever I were eloquent. . . ROXANE: You were! CYRANO: Yet never till to-night my speech has sprung Straight from my heart as now it springs. ROXANE: Why not? CYRANO: Till now I spoke haphazard. . . ROXANE: What? CYRANO: Your eyes Have beams that turn men dizzy!--But to-night Methinks I shall find speech for the first time! ROXANE: 'Tis true, your voice rings with a tone that's new. CYRANO (coming nearer, passionately): Ay, a new tone! In the tender, sheltering dusk I dare to be myself for once,--at last! (He stops, falters): What say I? I know not!--Oh, pardon me-- It thrills me,--'tis so sweet, so novel. . . ROXANE: How? So novel? CYRANO (off his balance, trying to find the thread of his sentence): Ay,--to be at last sincere; Till now, my chilled heart, fearing to be mocked. . . ROXANE: Mocked, and for what? CYRANO: For its mad beating!--Ay, My heart has clothed itself with witty words, To shroud itself from curious eyes:--impelled At times to aim at a star, I stay my hand, And, fearing ridicule,--cull a wild flower! ROXANE: A wild flower's sweet. CYRANO: Ay, but to-night--the star! ROXANE: Oh! never have you spoken thus before! CYRANO: If, leaving Cupid's arrows, quivers, torches, We turned to seek for sweeter--fresher things! Instead of sipping in a pygmy glass Dull fashionable waters,--did we try How the soul slakes its thirst in fearless draught By drinking from the river's flooding brim! ROXANE: But wit?. . . CYRANO: If I have used it to arrest you At the first starting,--now, 'twould be an outrage, An insult--to the perfumed Night--to Nature-- To speak fine words that garnish vain love-letters! Look up but at her stars! The quiet Heaven Will ease our hearts of all things artificial; I fear lest, 'midst the alchemy we're skilled in The truth of sentiment dissolve and vanish,-- The soul exhausted by these empty pastimes, The gain of fine things be the loss of all things! ROXANE: But wit? I say. . . CYRANO: In love 'tis crime,--'tis hateful! Turning frank loving into subtle fencing! At last the moment comes, inevitable,-- --Oh, woe for those who never know that moment! When feeling love exists in us, ennobling, Each well-weighed word is futile and soul-saddening! ROXANE: Well, if that moment's come for us--suppose it! What words would serve you? CYRANO: All, all, all, whatever That came to me, e'en as they came, I'd fling them In a wild cluster, not a careful bouquet. I love thee! I am mad! I love, I stifle! Thy name is in my heart as in a sheep-bell, And as I ever tremble, thinking of thee, Ever the bell shakes, ever thy name ringeth! All things of thine I mind, for I love all things; I know that last year on the twelfth of May-month, To walk abroad, one day you changed your hair-plaits! I am so used to take your hair for daylight That,--like as when the eye stares on the sun's disk, One sees long after a red blot on all things-- So, when I quit thy beams, my dazzled vision Sees upon all things a blonde stain imprinted. ROXANE (agitated): Why, this is love indeed!. . . CYRANO: Ay, true, the feeling Which fills me, terrible and jealous, truly Love,--which is ever sad amid its transports! Love,--and yet, strangely, not a selfish passion! I for your joy would gladly lay mine own down, --E'en though you never were to know it,--never! --If but at times I might--far off and lonely,-- Hear some gay echo of the joy I bought you! Each glance of thine awakes in me a virtue,-- A novel, unknown valor. Dost begin, sweet, To understand? So late, dost understand me? Feel'st thou my soul, here, through the darkness mounting? Too fair the night! Too fair, too fair the moment! That I should speak thus, and that you should hearken! Too fair! In moments when my hopes rose proudest, I never hoped such guerdon. Naught is left me But to die now! Have words of mine the power To make you tremble,--throned there in the branches? Ay, like a leaf among the leaves, you tremble! You tremble! For I feel,--an if you will it, Or will it not,--your hand's beloved trembling Thrill through the branches, down your sprays of jasmine! (He kisses passionately one of the hanging tendrils.) ROXANE: Ay! I am trembling, weeping!--I am thine! Thou hast conquered all of me! CYRANO: Then let death come! 'Tis I, 'tis I myself, who conquered thee! One thing, but one, I dare to ask-- CHRISTIAN (under the balcony): A kiss! ROXANE (drawing back): What? CYRANO: Oh! ROXANE: You ask. . .? CYRANO: I. . . (To Christian, whispering): Fool! you go too quick! CHRISTIAN: Since she is moved thus--I will profit by it! CYRANO (to Roxane): My words sprang thoughtlessly, but now I see-- Shame on me!--I was too presumptuous. ROXANE (a little chilled): How quickly you withdraw. CYRANO: Yes, I withdraw Without withdrawing! Hurt I modesty? If so--the kiss I asked--oh, grant it not. CHRISTIAN (to Cyrano, pulling him by his cloak): Why? CYRANO: Silence, Christian! Hush! ROXANE (leaning over): What whisper you? CYRANO: I chid myself for my too bold advances; Said, 'Silence, Christian!' (The lutes begin to play): Hark! Wait awhile,. . . Steps come! (Roxane shuts the window. Cyrano listens to the lutes, one of which plays a merry, the other a melancholy, tune): Why, they play sad--then gay--then sad! What? Neither man nor woman?--oh! a monk! (Enter a capuchin friar, with a lantern. He goes from house to house, looking at every door.) Cyrano, Christian, a capuchin friar. CYRANO (to the friar): What do you, playing at Diogenes? THE FRIAR: I seek the house of Madame. . . CHRISTIAN: Oh! plague take him! THE FRIAR: Madeleine Robin. . . CHRISTIAN: What would he?. . . CYRANO (pointing to a street at the back): This way! Straight on. . . THE FRIAR I thank you, and, in your intention Will tell my rosary to its last bead. (He goes out.) CYRANO: Good luck! My blessings rest upon your cowl! (He goes back to Christian.) Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A:

Christian tells Roxane, "I love you." "That," she replies, "is the theme. Embroider." Of course, poor Christian can think of nothing else to say. Roxane goes inside in disgust. Christian asks Cyrano to help him. Cyrano hides under Roxane's balcony and whispers to Christian, who repeats the words aloud to Roxane. At last, Cyrano is carried away and speaks aloud eloquently himself, but Roxane still believes it is Christian who is doing the speaking.

Chapter: Cyrano, Christian. CHRISTIAN: Oh! win for me that kiss. . . CYRANO: No! CHRISTIAN: Soon or late!. . . CYRANO: 'Tis true! The moment of intoxication-- Of madness,--when your mouths are sure to meet Thanks to your fair mustache--and her rose lips! (To himself): I'd fainer it should come thanks to. . . (A sound of shutters reopening. Christian goes in again under the balcony.) Cyrano, Christian, Roxane. ROXANE (coming out on the balcony): Still there? We spoke of a. . . CYRANO: A kiss! The word is sweet. I see not why your lip should shrink from it; If the word burns it,--what would the kiss do? Oh! let it not your bashfulness affright; Have you not, all this time, insensibly, Left badinage aside, and unalarmed Glided from smile to sigh,--from sigh to weeping? Glide gently, imperceptibly, still onward-- From tear to kiss,--a moment's thrill!--a heartbeat! ROXANE: Hush! hush! CYRANO: A kiss, when all is said,--what is it? An oath that's ratified,--a sealed promise, A heart's avowal claiming confirmation,-- A rose-dot on the 'i' of 'adoration,'-- A secret that to mouth, not ear, is whispered,-- Brush of a bee's wing, that makes time eternal,-- Communion perfumed like the spring's wild flowers,-- The heart's relieving in the heart's outbreathing, When to the lips the soul's flood rises, brimming! ROXANE: Hush! hush! CYRANO: A kiss, Madame, is honorable: The Queen of France, to a most favored lord Did grant a kiss--the Queen herself! ROXANE: What then? CYRANO (speaking more warmly): Buckingham suffered dumbly,--so have I,-- Adored his Queen, as loyally as I,-- Was sad, but faithful,--so am I. . . ROXANE: And you Are fair as Buckingham! CYRANO (aside--suddenly cooled): True,--I forgot! ROXANE: Must I then bid thee mount to cull this flower? CYRANO (pushing Christian toward the balcony): Mount! ROXANE: This heart-breathing!. . . CYRANO: Mount! ROXANE: This brush of bee's wing!. . . CYRANO: Mount! CHRISTIAN (hesitating): But I feel now, as though 'twere ill done! ROXANE: This moment infinite!. . . CYRANO (still pushing him): Come, blockhead, mount! (Christian springs forward, and by means of the bench, the branches, and the pillars, climbs to the balcony and strides over it.) CHRISTIAN: Ah, Roxane! (He takes her in his arms, and bends over her lips.) CYRANO: Aie! Strange pain that wrings my heart! The kiss, love's feast, so near! I, Lazarus, Lie at the gate in darkness. Yet to me Falls still a crumb or two from the rich man's board-- Ay, 'tis my heart receives thee, Roxane--mine! For on the lips you press you kiss as well The words I spoke just now!--my words--my words! (The lutes play): A sad air,--a gay air: the monk! (He begins to run as if he came from a long way off, and cries out): Hola! ROXANE: Who is it? CYRANO: I--I was but passing by. . . Is Christian there? CHRISTIAN (astonished): Cyrano! ROXANE: Good-day, cousin! CYRANO: Cousin, good-day! ROXANE: I'm coming! (She disappears into the house. At the back re-enter the friar.) CHRISTIAN (seeing him): Back again! (He follows Roxane.) Cyrano, Christian, Roxane, the friar, Ragueneau. THE FRIAR: 'Tis here,--I'm sure of it--Madame Madeleine Robin. CYRANO: Why, you said Ro-LIN. THE FRIAR: No, not I. B,I,N,BIN! ROXANE (appearing on the threshold, followed by Ragueneau, who carries a lantern, and Christian): What is't? THE FRIAR: A letter. CHRISTIAN: What? THE FRIAR (to Roxane): Oh, it can boot but a holy business! 'Tis from a worthy lord. . . ROXANE (to Christian): De Guiche! CHRISTIAN: He dares. . . ROXANE: Oh, he will not importune me forever! (Unsealing the letter): I love you,--therefore-- (She reads in a low voice by the aid of Ragueneau's lantern): 'Lady, The drums beat; My regiment buckles its harness on And starts; but I,--they deem me gone before-- But I stay. I have dared to disobey Your mandate. I am here in convent walls. I come to you to-night. By this poor monk-- A simple fool who knows not what he bears-- I send this missive to apprise your ear. Your lips erewhile have smiled on me, too sweet: I go not ere I've seen them once again! I would be private; send each soul away, Receive alone him,--whose great boldness you Have deigned, I hope, to pardon, ere he asks,-- He who is ever your--et cetera.' (To the monk): Father, this is the matter of the letter:-- (All come near her, and she reads aloud): 'Lady, The Cardinal's wish is law; albeit It be to you unwelcome. For this cause I send these lines--to your fair ear addressed-- By a holy man, discreet, intelligent: It is our will that you receive from him, In your own house, the marriage (She turns the page): benediction Straightway, this night. Unknown to all the world Christian becomes your husband. Him we send. He is abhorrent to your choice. Let be. Resign yourself, and this obedience Will be by Heaven well recompensed. Receive, Fair lady, all assurance of respect, From him who ever was, and still remains, Your humble and obliged--et cetera.' THE FRIAR (with great delight): O worthy lord! I knew naught was to fear; It could be but holy business! ROXANE (to Christian, in a low voice): Am I not apt at reading letters? CHRISTIAN: Hum! ROXANE (aloud, with despair): But this is horrible! THE FRIAR (who has turned his lantern on Cyrano): 'Tis you? CHRISTIAN: 'Tis I! THE FRIAR (turning the light on to him, and as if a doubt struck him on seeing his beauty): But. . . ROXANE (quickly): I have overlooked the postscript--see:-- 'Give twenty pistoles for the Convent.' THE FRIAR: . . .Oh! Most worthy lord! (To Roxane): Submit you? ROXANE (with a martyr's look): I submit! (While Ragueneau opens the door, and Christian invites the friar to enter, she whispers to Cyrano): Oh, keep De Guiche at bay! He will be here! Let him not enter till. . . CYRANO: I understand! (To the friar): What time need you to tie the marriage-knot? THE FRIAR: A quarter of an hour. CYRANO (pushing them all toward the house): Go! I stay. ROXANE (to Christian): Come!. . . (They enter.) CYRANO: Now, how to detain De Guiche so long? (He jumps on the bench, climbs to the balcony by the wall): Come!. . .up I go!. . .I have my plan!. . . (The lutes begin to play a very sad air): What, ho! (The tremolo grows more and more weird): It is a man! ay! 'tis a man this time! (He is on the balcony, pulls his hat over his eyes, takes off his sword, wraps himself in his cloak, then leans over): 'Tis not too high! (He strides across the balcony, and drawing to him a long branch of one of the trees that are by the garden wall, he hangs on to it with both hands, ready to let himself fall): I'll shake this atmosphere! Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A: A monk comes by, looking for Roxane's house, and Cyrano misdirects him. Christian wants Roxane's kiss, climbs the balcony, and kisses her. The monk returns. He is delivering a letter from De Guiche to Roxane. De Guiche has sent his regiment on but has stayed behind himself. The letter instructs her that he is coining to see her. She tells the monk that De Guiche's letter orders that she and Christian be married immediately. She pretends that this is against her will and the monk is completely convinced. The monk, Christian, and Roxane go inside for the ceremony, while Cyrano waits outside to divert De Guiche.

Chapter: Cyrano, Christian. CHRISTIAN: Oh! win for me that kiss. . . CYRANO: No! CHRISTIAN: Soon or late!. . . CYRANO: 'Tis true! The moment of intoxication-- Of madness,--when your mouths are sure to meet Thanks to your fair mustache--and her rose lips! (To himself): I'd fainer it should come thanks to. . . (A sound of shutters reopening. Christian goes in again under the balcony.) Cyrano, Christian, Roxane. ROXANE (coming out on the balcony): Still there? We spoke of a. . . CYRANO: A kiss! The word is sweet. I see not why your lip should shrink from it; If the word burns it,--what would the kiss do? Oh! let it not your bashfulness affright; Have you not, all this time, insensibly, Left badinage aside, and unalarmed Glided from smile to sigh,--from sigh to weeping? Glide gently, imperceptibly, still onward-- From tear to kiss,--a moment's thrill!--a heartbeat! ROXANE: Hush! hush! CYRANO: A kiss, when all is said,--what is it? An oath that's ratified,--a sealed promise, A heart's avowal claiming confirmation,-- A rose-dot on the 'i' of 'adoration,'-- A secret that to mouth, not ear, is whispered,-- Brush of a bee's wing, that makes time eternal,-- Communion perfumed like the spring's wild flowers,-- The heart's relieving in the heart's outbreathing, When to the lips the soul's flood rises, brimming! ROXANE: Hush! hush! CYRANO: A kiss, Madame, is honorable: The Queen of France, to a most favored lord Did grant a kiss--the Queen herself! ROXANE: What then? CYRANO (speaking more warmly): Buckingham suffered dumbly,--so have I,-- Adored his Queen, as loyally as I,-- Was sad, but faithful,--so am I. . . ROXANE: And you Are fair as Buckingham! CYRANO (aside--suddenly cooled): True,--I forgot! ROXANE: Must I then bid thee mount to cull this flower? CYRANO (pushing Christian toward the balcony): Mount! ROXANE: This heart-breathing!. . . CYRANO: Mount! ROXANE: This brush of bee's wing!. . . CYRANO: Mount! CHRISTIAN (hesitating): But I feel now, as though 'twere ill done! ROXANE: This moment infinite!. . . CYRANO (still pushing him): Come, blockhead, mount! (Christian springs forward, and by means of the bench, the branches, and the pillars, climbs to the balcony and strides over it.) CHRISTIAN: Ah, Roxane! (He takes her in his arms, and bends over her lips.) CYRANO: Aie! Strange pain that wrings my heart! The kiss, love's feast, so near! I, Lazarus, Lie at the gate in darkness. Yet to me Falls still a crumb or two from the rich man's board-- Ay, 'tis my heart receives thee, Roxane--mine! For on the lips you press you kiss as well The words I spoke just now!--my words--my words! (The lutes play): A sad air,--a gay air: the monk! (He begins to run as if he came from a long way off, and cries out): Hola! ROXANE: Who is it? CYRANO: I--I was but passing by. . . Is Christian there? CHRISTIAN (astonished): Cyrano! ROXANE: Good-day, cousin! CYRANO: Cousin, good-day! ROXANE: I'm coming! (She disappears into the house. At the back re-enter the friar.) CHRISTIAN (seeing him): Back again! (He follows Roxane.) Cyrano, Christian, Roxane, the friar, Ragueneau. THE FRIAR: 'Tis here,--I'm sure of it--Madame Madeleine Robin. CYRANO: Why, you said Ro-LIN. THE FRIAR: No, not I. B,I,N,BIN! ROXANE (appearing on the threshold, followed by Ragueneau, who carries a lantern, and Christian): What is't? THE FRIAR: A letter. CHRISTIAN: What? THE FRIAR (to Roxane): Oh, it can boot but a holy business! 'Tis from a worthy lord. . . ROXANE (to Christian): De Guiche! CHRISTIAN: He dares. . . ROXANE: Oh, he will not importune me forever! (Unsealing the letter): I love you,--therefore-- (She reads in a low voice by the aid of Ragueneau's lantern): 'Lady, The drums beat; My regiment buckles its harness on And starts; but I,--they deem me gone before-- But I stay. I have dared to disobey Your mandate. I am here in convent walls. I come to you to-night. By this poor monk-- A simple fool who knows not what he bears-- I send this missive to apprise your ear. Your lips erewhile have smiled on me, too sweet: I go not ere I've seen them once again! I would be private; send each soul away, Receive alone him,--whose great boldness you Have deigned, I hope, to pardon, ere he asks,-- He who is ever your--et cetera.' (To the monk): Father, this is the matter of the letter:-- (All come near her, and she reads aloud): 'Lady, The Cardinal's wish is law; albeit It be to you unwelcome. For this cause I send these lines--to your fair ear addressed-- By a holy man, discreet, intelligent: It is our will that you receive from him, In your own house, the marriage (She turns the page): benediction Straightway, this night. Unknown to all the world Christian becomes your husband. Him we send. He is abhorrent to your choice. Let be. Resign yourself, and this obedience Will be by Heaven well recompensed. Receive, Fair lady, all assurance of respect, From him who ever was, and still remains, Your humble and obliged--et cetera.' THE FRIAR (with great delight): O worthy lord! I knew naught was to fear; It could be but holy business! ROXANE (to Christian, in a low voice): Am I not apt at reading letters? CHRISTIAN: Hum! ROXANE (aloud, with despair): But this is horrible! THE FRIAR (who has turned his lantern on Cyrano): 'Tis you? CHRISTIAN: 'Tis I! THE FRIAR (turning the light on to him, and as if a doubt struck him on seeing his beauty): But. . . ROXANE (quickly): I have overlooked the postscript--see:-- 'Give twenty pistoles for the Convent.' THE FRIAR: . . .Oh! Most worthy lord! (To Roxane): Submit you? ROXANE (with a martyr's look): I submit! (While Ragueneau opens the door, and Christian invites the friar to enter, she whispers to Cyrano): Oh, keep De Guiche at bay! He will be here! Let him not enter till. . . CYRANO: I understand! (To the friar): What time need you to tie the marriage-knot? THE FRIAR: A quarter of an hour. CYRANO (pushing them all toward the house): Go! I stay. ROXANE (to Christian): Come!. . . (They enter.) CYRANO: Now, how to detain De Guiche so long? (He jumps on the bench, climbs to the balcony by the wall): Come!. . .up I go!. . .I have my plan!. . . (The lutes begin to play a very sad air): What, ho! (The tremolo grows more and more weird): It is a man! ay! 'tis a man this time! (He is on the balcony, pulls his hat over his eyes, takes off his sword, wraps himself in his cloak, then leans over): 'Tis not too high! (He strides across the balcony, and drawing to him a long branch of one of the trees that are by the garden wall, he hangs on to it with both hands, ready to let himself fall): I'll shake this atmosphere! Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A:

A monk comes by, looking for Roxane's house, and Cyrano misdirects him. Christian wants Roxane's kiss, climbs the balcony, and kisses her. The monk returns. He is delivering a letter from De Guiche to Roxane. De Guiche has sent his regiment on but has stayed behind himself. The letter instructs her that he is coining to see her. She tells the monk that De Guiche's letter orders that she and Christian be married immediately. She pretends that this is against her will and the monk is completely convinced. The monk, Christian, and Roxane go inside for the ceremony, while Cyrano waits outside to divert De Guiche.

Chapter: Cyrano, De Guiche. DE GUICHE (who enters, masked, feeling his way in the dark): What can that cursed Friar be about? CYRANO: The devil!. . .If he knows my voice! (Letting go with one hand, he pretends to turn an invisible key. Solemnly): Cric! Crac! Assume thou, Cyrano, to serve the turn, The accent of thy native Bergerac!. . . DE GUICHE (looking at the house): 'Tis there. I see dim,--this mask hinders me! (He is about to enter, when Cyrano leaps from the balcony, holding on to the branch, which bends, dropping him between the door and De Guiche; he pretends to fall heavily, as from a great height, and lies flat on the ground, motionless, as if stunned. De Guiche starts back): What's this? (When he looks up, the branch has sprung back into its place. He sees only the sky, and is lost in amazement): Where fell that man from? CYRANO (sitting up, and speaking with a Gascon accent): From the moon! DE GUICHE: From?. . . CYRANO (in a dreamy voice): What's o'clock? DE GUICHE: He's lost his mind, for sure! CYRANO: What hour? What country this? What month? What day? DE GUICHE: But. . . CYRANO: I am stupefied! DE GUICHE: Sir! CYRANO: Like a bomb I fell from the moon! DE GUICHE (impatiently): Come now! CYRANO (rising, in a terrible voice): I say,--the moon! DE GUICHE (recoiling): Good, good! let it be so!. . .He's raving mad! CYRANO (walking up to him): I say from the moon! I mean no metaphor!. . . DE GUICHE: But. . . CYRANO: Was't a hundred years--a minute, since? --I cannot guess what time that fall embraced!-- That I was in that saffron-colored ball? DE GUICHE (shrugging his shoulders): Good! let me pass! CYRANO (intercepting him): Where am I? Tell the truth! Fear not to tell! Oh, spare me not! Where? where? Have I fallen like a shooting star? DE GUICHE: Morbleu! CYRANO: The fall was lightning-quick! no time to choose Where I should fall--I know not where it be! Oh, tell me! Is it on a moon or earth, that my posterior weight has landed me? DE GUICHE: I tell you, Sir. . . CYRANO (with a screech of terror, which makes De Guiche start back): No? Can it be? I'm on A planet where men have black faces? DE GUICHE (putting a hand to his face): What? CYRANO (feigning great alarm): Am I in Africa? A native you? DE GUICHE (who has remembered his mask): This mask of mine. . . CYRANO (pretending to be reassured): In Venice? ha!--or Rome? DE GUICHE (trying to pass): A lady waits. . CYRANO (quite reassured): Oh-ho! I am in Paris! DE GUICHE (smiling in spite of himself): The fool is comical! CYRANO: You laugh? DE GUICHE: I laugh, But would get by! CYRANO (beaming with joy): I have shot back to Paris! (Quite at ease, laughing, dusting himself, bowing): Come--pardon me--by the last water-spout, Covered with ether,--accident of travel! My eyes still full of star-dust, and my spurs Encumbered by the planets' filaments! (Picking something off his sleeve): Ha! on my doublet?--ah, a comet's hair!. . . (He puffs as if to blow it away.) DE GUICHE (beside himself): Sir!. . . CYRANO (just as he is about to pass, holds out his leg as if to show him something and stops him): In my leg--the calf--there is a tooth Of the Great Bear, and, passing Neptune close, I would avoid his trident's point, and fell, Thus sitting, plump, right in the Scales! My weight Is marked, still registered, up there in heaven! (Hurriedly preventing De Guiche from passing, and detaining him by the button of his doublet): I swear to you that if you squeezed my nose It would spout milk! DE GUICHE: Milk? CYRANO: From the Milky Way! DE GUICHE: Oh, go to hell! CYRANO (crossing his arms): I fall, Sir, out of heaven! Now, would you credit it, that as I fell I saw that Sirius wears a nightcap? True! (Confidentially): The other Bear is still too small to bite. (Laughing): I went through the Lyre, but I snapped a cord; (Grandiloquent): I mean to write the whole thing in a book; The small gold stars, that, wrapped up in my cloak, I carried safe away at no small risks, Will serve for asterisks i' the printed page! DE GUICHE: Come, make an end! I want. . . CYRANO: Oh-ho! You are sly! DE GUICHE: Sir! CYRANO: You would worm all out of me!--the way The moon is made, and if men breathe and live In its rotund cucurbita? DE GUICHE (angrily): No, no! I want. . . CYRANO: Ha, ha!--to know how I got up? Hark, it was by a method all my own. DE GUICHE (wearied): He's mad! CYRANO(contemptuously): No! not for me the stupid eagle Of Regiomontanus, nor the timid Pigeon of Archytas--neither of those! DE GUICHE: Ay, 'tis a fool! But 'tis a learned fool! CYRANO: No imitator I of other men! (De Guiche has succeeded in getting by, and goes toward Roxane's door. Cyrano follows him, ready to stop him by force): Six novel methods, all, this brain invented! DE GUICHE (turning round): Six? CYRANO (volubly): First, with body naked as your hand, Festooned about with crystal flacons, full O' th' tears the early morning dew distils; My body to the sun's fierce rays exposed To let it suck me up, as 't sucks the dew! DE GUICHE (surprised, making one step toward Cyrano): Ah! that makes one! CYRANO (stepping back, and enticing him further away): And then, the second way, To generate wind--for my impetus-- To rarefy air, in a cedar case, By mirrors placed icosahedron-wise. DE GUICHE (making another step): Two! CYRANO (still stepping backward): Or--for I have some mechanic skill-- To make a grasshopper, with springs of steel, And launch myself by quick succeeding fires Saltpeter-fed to the stars' pastures blue! DE GUICHE (unconsciously following him and counting on his fingers): Three! CYRANO: Or (since fumes have property to mount)-- To charge a globe with fumes, sufficiently To carry me aloft! DE GUICHE (same play, more and more astonished): Well, that makes four! CYRANO: Or smear myself with marrow from a bull, Since, at the lowest point of Zodiac, Phoebus well loves to suck that marrow up! DE GUICHE (amazed): Five! CYRANO (who, while speaking, had drawn him to the other side of the square near a bench): Sitting on an iron platform--thence To throw a magnet in the air. This is A method well conceived--the magnet flown, Infallibly the iron will pursue: Then quick! relaunch your magnet, and you thus Can mount and mount unmeasured distances! DE GUICHE: Here are six excellent expedients! Which of the six chose you? CYRANO: Why, none!--a seventh! DE GUICHE: Astonishing! What was it? CYRANO: I'll recount. DE GUICHE: This wild eccentric becomes interesting! CYRANO (making a noise like the waves, with weird gestures): Houuh! Houuh! DE GUICHE: Well. CYRANO: You have guessed? DE GUICHE: Not I! CYRANO: The tide! I' th' witching hour when the moon woos the wave, I laid me, fresh from a sea-bath, on the shore-- And, failing not to put head foremost--for The hair holds the sea-water in its mesh-- I rose in air, straight! straight! like angel's flight, And mounted, mounted, gently, effortless,. . . When lo! a sudden shock! Then. . . DE GUICHE (overcome by curiosity, sitting down on the bench): Then? CYRANO: Oh! then. . . (Suddenly returning to his natural voice): The quarter's gone--I'll hinder you no more: The marriage-vows are made. DE GUICHE (springing up): What? Am I mad? That voice? (The house-door opens. Lackeys appear carrying lighted candelabra. Light. Cyrano gracefully uncovers): That nose--Cyrano? CYRANO (bowing): Cyrano. While we were chatting, they have plighted troth. DE GUICHE: Who? (He turns round. Tableau. Behind the lackeys appear Roxane and Christian, holding each other by the hand. The friar follows them, smiling. Ragueneau also holds a candlestick. The duenna closes the rear, bewildered, having made a hasty toilet): Heavens! The same. Roxane, Christian, the friar, Ragueneau, lackeys, the duenna. DE GUICHE (to Roxane): You? (Recognizing Christian, in amazement): He? (Bowing, with admiration, to Roxane): Cunningly contrived! (To Cyrano): My compliments--Sir Apparatus-maker! Your story would arrest at Peter's gate Saints eager for their Paradise! Note well The details. 'Faith! They'd make a stirring book! CYRANO (bowing): I shall not fail to follow your advice. THE FRIAR (showing with satisfaction the two lovers to De Guiche): A handsome couple, son, made one by you! DE GUICHE (with a freezing look): Ay! (To Roxane): Bid your bridegroom, Madame, fond farewell. ROXANE: Why so? DE GUICHE (to Christian): Even now the regiment departs. Join it! ROXANE: It goes to battle? DE GUICHE: Without doubt. ROXANE: But the Cadets go not? DE GUICHE: Oh ay! they go. (Drawing out the paper he had put in his pocket): Here is the order. (To Christian): Baron, bear it, quick! ROXANE (throwing herself in Christian's arms): Christian! DE GUICHE (sneeringly to Cyrano): The wedding-night is far, methinks! CYRANO (aside): He thinks to give me pain of death by this! CHRISTIAN (to Roxane): Oh! once again! Your lips! CYRANO: Come, come, enough! CHRISTIAN (still kissing Roxane): --'Tis hard to leave her, you know not. . . CYRANO (trying to draw him away): I know. (Sound of drums beating a march in the distance.) DE GUICHE: The regiment starts! ROXANE (To Cyrano, holding back Christian, whom Cyrano is drawing away): Oh!--I trust him you! Promise me that no risks shall put his life In danger! CYRANO: I will try my best, but promise. . . That I cannot! ROXANE: But swear he shall be prudent? CYRANO: Again, I'll do my best, but. . . ROXANE: In the siege Let him not suffer! CYRANO: All that man can do, I. . . ROXANE: That he shall be faithful! CYRANO: Doubtless, but. . . ROXANE: That he will write oft? CYRANO (pausing): That, I promise you! Curtain. Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A: Cyrano has climbed to the top of the wall, and when De Guiche enters, Cyrano swings from a branch and drops down in front of him. He tells De Guiche that he came from the moon and asks where he is. In spite of himself, De Guiche is amused. When Cyrano says that he has invented six ways to travel to the moon, De Guiche is curious enough to listen to what they are. Then, after telling him the six ways, Cyrano says, in his own voice, that the quarter of an hour is up, and the marriage completed. He believes there is nothing De Guiche can do about the marriage. De Guiche, however, gains revenge by sending the cadets to the front immediately.

Chapter: Cyrano, De Guiche. DE GUICHE (who enters, masked, feeling his way in the dark): What can that cursed Friar be about? CYRANO: The devil!. . .If he knows my voice! (Letting go with one hand, he pretends to turn an invisible key. Solemnly): Cric! Crac! Assume thou, Cyrano, to serve the turn, The accent of thy native Bergerac!. . . DE GUICHE (looking at the house): 'Tis there. I see dim,--this mask hinders me! (He is about to enter, when Cyrano leaps from the balcony, holding on to the branch, which bends, dropping him between the door and De Guiche; he pretends to fall heavily, as from a great height, and lies flat on the ground, motionless, as if stunned. De Guiche starts back): What's this? (When he looks up, the branch has sprung back into its place. He sees only the sky, and is lost in amazement): Where fell that man from? CYRANO (sitting up, and speaking with a Gascon accent): From the moon! DE GUICHE: From?. . . CYRANO (in a dreamy voice): What's o'clock? DE GUICHE: He's lost his mind, for sure! CYRANO: What hour? What country this? What month? What day? DE GUICHE: But. . . CYRANO: I am stupefied! DE GUICHE: Sir! CYRANO: Like a bomb I fell from the moon! DE GUICHE (impatiently): Come now! CYRANO (rising, in a terrible voice): I say,--the moon! DE GUICHE (recoiling): Good, good! let it be so!. . .He's raving mad! CYRANO (walking up to him): I say from the moon! I mean no metaphor!. . . DE GUICHE: But. . . CYRANO: Was't a hundred years--a minute, since? --I cannot guess what time that fall embraced!-- That I was in that saffron-colored ball? DE GUICHE (shrugging his shoulders): Good! let me pass! CYRANO (intercepting him): Where am I? Tell the truth! Fear not to tell! Oh, spare me not! Where? where? Have I fallen like a shooting star? DE GUICHE: Morbleu! CYRANO: The fall was lightning-quick! no time to choose Where I should fall--I know not where it be! Oh, tell me! Is it on a moon or earth, that my posterior weight has landed me? DE GUICHE: I tell you, Sir. . . CYRANO (with a screech of terror, which makes De Guiche start back): No? Can it be? I'm on A planet where men have black faces? DE GUICHE (putting a hand to his face): What? CYRANO (feigning great alarm): Am I in Africa? A native you? DE GUICHE (who has remembered his mask): This mask of mine. . . CYRANO (pretending to be reassured): In Venice? ha!--or Rome? DE GUICHE (trying to pass): A lady waits. . CYRANO (quite reassured): Oh-ho! I am in Paris! DE GUICHE (smiling in spite of himself): The fool is comical! CYRANO: You laugh? DE GUICHE: I laugh, But would get by! CYRANO (beaming with joy): I have shot back to Paris! (Quite at ease, laughing, dusting himself, bowing): Come--pardon me--by the last water-spout, Covered with ether,--accident of travel! My eyes still full of star-dust, and my spurs Encumbered by the planets' filaments! (Picking something off his sleeve): Ha! on my doublet?--ah, a comet's hair!. . . (He puffs as if to blow it away.) DE GUICHE (beside himself): Sir!. . . CYRANO (just as he is about to pass, holds out his leg as if to show him something and stops him): In my leg--the calf--there is a tooth Of the Great Bear, and, passing Neptune close, I would avoid his trident's point, and fell, Thus sitting, plump, right in the Scales! My weight Is marked, still registered, up there in heaven! (Hurriedly preventing De Guiche from passing, and detaining him by the button of his doublet): I swear to you that if you squeezed my nose It would spout milk! DE GUICHE: Milk? CYRANO: From the Milky Way! DE GUICHE: Oh, go to hell! CYRANO (crossing his arms): I fall, Sir, out of heaven! Now, would you credit it, that as I fell I saw that Sirius wears a nightcap? True! (Confidentially): The other Bear is still too small to bite. (Laughing): I went through the Lyre, but I snapped a cord; (Grandiloquent): I mean to write the whole thing in a book; The small gold stars, that, wrapped up in my cloak, I carried safe away at no small risks, Will serve for asterisks i' the printed page! DE GUICHE: Come, make an end! I want. . . CYRANO: Oh-ho! You are sly! DE GUICHE: Sir! CYRANO: You would worm all out of me!--the way The moon is made, and if men breathe and live In its rotund cucurbita? DE GUICHE (angrily): No, no! I want. . . CYRANO: Ha, ha!--to know how I got up? Hark, it was by a method all my own. DE GUICHE (wearied): He's mad! CYRANO(contemptuously): No! not for me the stupid eagle Of Regiomontanus, nor the timid Pigeon of Archytas--neither of those! DE GUICHE: Ay, 'tis a fool! But 'tis a learned fool! CYRANO: No imitator I of other men! (De Guiche has succeeded in getting by, and goes toward Roxane's door. Cyrano follows him, ready to stop him by force): Six novel methods, all, this brain invented! DE GUICHE (turning round): Six? CYRANO (volubly): First, with body naked as your hand, Festooned about with crystal flacons, full O' th' tears the early morning dew distils; My body to the sun's fierce rays exposed To let it suck me up, as 't sucks the dew! DE GUICHE (surprised, making one step toward Cyrano): Ah! that makes one! CYRANO (stepping back, and enticing him further away): And then, the second way, To generate wind--for my impetus-- To rarefy air, in a cedar case, By mirrors placed icosahedron-wise. DE GUICHE (making another step): Two! CYRANO (still stepping backward): Or--for I have some mechanic skill-- To make a grasshopper, with springs of steel, And launch myself by quick succeeding fires Saltpeter-fed to the stars' pastures blue! DE GUICHE (unconsciously following him and counting on his fingers): Three! CYRANO: Or (since fumes have property to mount)-- To charge a globe with fumes, sufficiently To carry me aloft! DE GUICHE (same play, more and more astonished): Well, that makes four! CYRANO: Or smear myself with marrow from a bull, Since, at the lowest point of Zodiac, Phoebus well loves to suck that marrow up! DE GUICHE (amazed): Five! CYRANO (who, while speaking, had drawn him to the other side of the square near a bench): Sitting on an iron platform--thence To throw a magnet in the air. This is A method well conceived--the magnet flown, Infallibly the iron will pursue: Then quick! relaunch your magnet, and you thus Can mount and mount unmeasured distances! DE GUICHE: Here are six excellent expedients! Which of the six chose you? CYRANO: Why, none!--a seventh! DE GUICHE: Astonishing! What was it? CYRANO: I'll recount. DE GUICHE: This wild eccentric becomes interesting! CYRANO (making a noise like the waves, with weird gestures): Houuh! Houuh! DE GUICHE: Well. CYRANO: You have guessed? DE GUICHE: Not I! CYRANO: The tide! I' th' witching hour when the moon woos the wave, I laid me, fresh from a sea-bath, on the shore-- And, failing not to put head foremost--for The hair holds the sea-water in its mesh-- I rose in air, straight! straight! like angel's flight, And mounted, mounted, gently, effortless,. . . When lo! a sudden shock! Then. . . DE GUICHE (overcome by curiosity, sitting down on the bench): Then? CYRANO: Oh! then. . . (Suddenly returning to his natural voice): The quarter's gone--I'll hinder you no more: The marriage-vows are made. DE GUICHE (springing up): What? Am I mad? That voice? (The house-door opens. Lackeys appear carrying lighted candelabra. Light. Cyrano gracefully uncovers): That nose--Cyrano? CYRANO (bowing): Cyrano. While we were chatting, they have plighted troth. DE GUICHE: Who? (He turns round. Tableau. Behind the lackeys appear Roxane and Christian, holding each other by the hand. The friar follows them, smiling. Ragueneau also holds a candlestick. The duenna closes the rear, bewildered, having made a hasty toilet): Heavens! The same. Roxane, Christian, the friar, Ragueneau, lackeys, the duenna. DE GUICHE (to Roxane): You? (Recognizing Christian, in amazement): He? (Bowing, with admiration, to Roxane): Cunningly contrived! (To Cyrano): My compliments--Sir Apparatus-maker! Your story would arrest at Peter's gate Saints eager for their Paradise! Note well The details. 'Faith! They'd make a stirring book! CYRANO (bowing): I shall not fail to follow your advice. THE FRIAR (showing with satisfaction the two lovers to De Guiche): A handsome couple, son, made one by you! DE GUICHE (with a freezing look): Ay! (To Roxane): Bid your bridegroom, Madame, fond farewell. ROXANE: Why so? DE GUICHE (to Christian): Even now the regiment departs. Join it! ROXANE: It goes to battle? DE GUICHE: Without doubt. ROXANE: But the Cadets go not? DE GUICHE: Oh ay! they go. (Drawing out the paper he had put in his pocket): Here is the order. (To Christian): Baron, bear it, quick! ROXANE (throwing herself in Christian's arms): Christian! DE GUICHE (sneeringly to Cyrano): The wedding-night is far, methinks! CYRANO (aside): He thinks to give me pain of death by this! CHRISTIAN (to Roxane): Oh! once again! Your lips! CYRANO: Come, come, enough! CHRISTIAN (still kissing Roxane): --'Tis hard to leave her, you know not. . . CYRANO (trying to draw him away): I know. (Sound of drums beating a march in the distance.) DE GUICHE: The regiment starts! ROXANE (To Cyrano, holding back Christian, whom Cyrano is drawing away): Oh!--I trust him you! Promise me that no risks shall put his life In danger! CYRANO: I will try my best, but promise. . . That I cannot! ROXANE: But swear he shall be prudent? CYRANO: Again, I'll do my best, but. . . ROXANE: In the siege Let him not suffer! CYRANO: All that man can do, I. . . ROXANE: That he shall be faithful! CYRANO: Doubtless, but. . . ROXANE: That he will write oft? CYRANO (pausing): That, I promise you! Curtain. Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A:

Cyrano has climbed to the top of the wall, and when De Guiche enters, Cyrano swings from a branch and drops down in front of him. He tells De Guiche that he came from the moon and asks where he is. In spite of himself, De Guiche is amused. When Cyrano says that he has invented six ways to travel to the moon, De Guiche is curious enough to listen to what they are. Then, after telling him the six ways, Cyrano says, in his own voice, that the quarter of an hour is up, and the marriage completed. He believes there is nothing De Guiche can do about the marriage. De Guiche, however, gains revenge by sending the cadets to the front immediately.

Chapter: Christian, Carbon de Castel-Jaloux, Le Bret, the cadets, then Cyrano. LE BRET: 'Tis terrible. CARBON: Not a morsel left. LE BRET: Mordioux! CARBON (making a sign that he should speak lower): Curse under your breath. You will awake them. (To the cadets): Hush! Sleep on. (To Le Bret): He who sleeps, dines! LE BRET: But that is sorry comfort for the sleepless!. . . What starvation! (Firing is heard in the distance.) CARBON: Oh, plague take their firing! 'Twill wake my sons. (To the cadets, who lift up their heads): Sleep on! (Firing is again heard, nearer this time.) A CADET (moving): The devil!. . .Again. CARBON: 'Tis nothing! 'Tis Cyrano coming back! (Those who have lifted up their heads prepare to sleep again.) A SENTINEL (from without): Ventrebieu! Who goes there? THE VOICE Of CYRANO: Bergerac. The SENTINEL (who is on the redoubt): Ventrebieu! Who goes there? CYRANO (appearing at the top): Bergerac, idiot! (He comes down; Le Bret advances anxiously to meet him.) LE BRET: Heavens! CYRANO (making signs that he should not awake the others): Hush! LE BRET: Wounded? CYRANO: Oh! you know it has become their custom to shoot at me every morning and to miss me. LE BRET: This passes all! To take letters at each day's dawn. To risk. . . CYRANO (stopping before Christian): I promised he should write often. (He looks at him): He sleeps. How pale he is! But how handsome still, despite his sufferings. If his poor little lady-love knew that he is dying of hunger. . . LE BRET: Get you quick to bed. CYRANO: Nay, never scold, Le Bret. I ran but little risk. I have found me a spot to pass the Spanish lines, where each night they lie drunk. LE BRET: You should try to bring us back provision. CYRANO: A man must carry no weight who would get by there! But there will be surprise for us this night. The French will eat or die. . .if I mistake not! LE BRET: Oh!. . .tell me!. . . CYRANO: Nay, not yet. I am not certain. . .You will see! CARBON: It is disgraceful that we should starve while we're besieging! LE BRET: Alas, how full of complication is this siege of Arras! To think that while we are besieging, we should ourselves be caught in a trap and besieged by the Cardinal Infante of Spain. CYRANO: It were well done if he should be besieged in his turn. LE BRET: I am in earnest. CYRANO: Oh! indeed! LE BRET: To think you risk a life so precious. . .for the sake of a letter. . .Thankless one. (Seeing him turning to enter the tent): Where are you going? CYRANO: I am going to write another. (He enters the tent and disappears.) Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A: This act takes place in the camp of the Gascony Guards at the siege of Arras. The soldiers are all suffering from hunger, for while the French are besieging Arras, the Spanish have encircled them and no supplies can be brought to them through the lines. Cyrano, at great risk to his life, has found a way to get across the lines and he does so in order to send "Christian's" letters to Roxane. The reason that he does not bring food on any of these trips is that it would be too bulky for him to carry and still be able to evade the Spaniards. Cyrano says that he thinks there must be a change soon, that the company will either eat or die: the Spanish are planning something.

Chapter: Christian, Carbon de Castel-Jaloux, Le Bret, the cadets, then Cyrano. LE BRET: 'Tis terrible. CARBON: Not a morsel left. LE BRET: Mordioux! CARBON (making a sign that he should speak lower): Curse under your breath. You will awake them. (To the cadets): Hush! Sleep on. (To Le Bret): He who sleeps, dines! LE BRET: But that is sorry comfort for the sleepless!. . . What starvation! (Firing is heard in the distance.) CARBON: Oh, plague take their firing! 'Twill wake my sons. (To the cadets, who lift up their heads): Sleep on! (Firing is again heard, nearer this time.) A CADET (moving): The devil!. . .Again. CARBON: 'Tis nothing! 'Tis Cyrano coming back! (Those who have lifted up their heads prepare to sleep again.) A SENTINEL (from without): Ventrebieu! Who goes there? THE VOICE Of CYRANO: Bergerac. The SENTINEL (who is on the redoubt): Ventrebieu! Who goes there? CYRANO (appearing at the top): Bergerac, idiot! (He comes down; Le Bret advances anxiously to meet him.) LE BRET: Heavens! CYRANO (making signs that he should not awake the others): Hush! LE BRET: Wounded? CYRANO: Oh! you know it has become their custom to shoot at me every morning and to miss me. LE BRET: This passes all! To take letters at each day's dawn. To risk. . . CYRANO (stopping before Christian): I promised he should write often. (He looks at him): He sleeps. How pale he is! But how handsome still, despite his sufferings. If his poor little lady-love knew that he is dying of hunger. . . LE BRET: Get you quick to bed. CYRANO: Nay, never scold, Le Bret. I ran but little risk. I have found me a spot to pass the Spanish lines, where each night they lie drunk. LE BRET: You should try to bring us back provision. CYRANO: A man must carry no weight who would get by there! But there will be surprise for us this night. The French will eat or die. . .if I mistake not! LE BRET: Oh!. . .tell me!. . . CYRANO: Nay, not yet. I am not certain. . .You will see! CARBON: It is disgraceful that we should starve while we're besieging! LE BRET: Alas, how full of complication is this siege of Arras! To think that while we are besieging, we should ourselves be caught in a trap and besieged by the Cardinal Infante of Spain. CYRANO: It were well done if he should be besieged in his turn. LE BRET: I am in earnest. CYRANO: Oh! indeed! LE BRET: To think you risk a life so precious. . .for the sake of a letter. . .Thankless one. (Seeing him turning to enter the tent): Where are you going? CYRANO: I am going to write another. (He enters the tent and disappears.) Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A:

This act takes place in the camp of the Gascony Guards at the siege of Arras. The soldiers are all suffering from hunger, for while the French are besieging Arras, the Spanish have encircled them and no supplies can be brought to them through the lines. Cyrano, at great risk to his life, has found a way to get across the lines and he does so in order to send "Christian's" letters to Roxane. The reason that he does not bring food on any of these trips is that it would be too bulky for him to carry and still be able to evade the Spaniards. Cyrano says that he thinks there must be a change soon, that the company will either eat or die: the Spanish are planning something.

Chapter: The same, all but Cyrano. The day is breaking in a rosy light. The town of Arras is golden in the horizon. The report of cannon is heard in the distance, followed immediately by the beating of drums far away to the left. Other drums are heard much nearer. Sounds of stirring in the camp. Voices of officers in the distance. CARBON (sighing): The reveille! (The cadets move and stretch themselves): Nourishing sleep! Thou art at an end!. . .I know well what will be their first cry! A CADET (sitting up): I am so hungry! ANOTHER: I am dying of hunger. TOGETHER: Oh! CARBON: Up with you! THIRD CADET: --Cannot move a limb. FOURTH CADET: Nor can I. THE FIRST (looking at himself in a bit of armor): My tongue is yellow. The air at this season of the year is hard to digest. ANOTHER: My coronet for a bit of Chester! ANOTHER: If none can furnish to my gaster wherewith to make a pint of chyle, I shall retire to my tent--like Achilles! ANOTHER: Oh! something! were it but a crust! CARBON (going to the tent and calling softly): Cyrano! ALL THE CADETS: We are dying! CARBON (continuing to speak under his breath at the opening of the tent): Come to my aid, you, who have the art of quick retort and gay jest. Come, hearten them up. SECOND CADET (rushing toward another who is munching something): What are you crunching there? FIRST CADET: Cannon-wads soaked in axle-grease! 'Tis poor hunting round about Arras! A CADET (entering): I have been after game. ANOTHER (following him): And I after fish. ALL (rushing to the two newcomers): Well! what have you brought?--a pheasant?--a carp?--Come, show us quick! THE ANGLER: A gudgeon! THE SPORTSMAN: A sparrow! ALL TOGETHER (beside themselves): 'Tis more than can be borne! We will mutiny! CARBON: Cyrano! Come to my help. (The daylight has now come.) The SAME. Cyrano. CYRANO (appearing from the tent, very calm, with a pen stuck behind his ear and a book in his hand): What is wrong? (Silence. To the first cadet): Why drag you your legs so sorrowfully? THE CADET: I have something in my heels which weighs them down. CYRANO: And what may that be? THE CADET: My stomach! CYRANO: So have I, 'faith! THE CADET: It must be in your way? CYRANO: Nay, I am all the taller. A THIRD: My stomach's hollow. CYRANO: 'Faith, 'twill make a fine drum to sound the assault. ANOTHER: I have a ringing in my ears. CYRANO: No, no, 'tis false; a hungry stomach has no ears. ANOTHER: Oh, to eat something--something oily! CYRANO (pulling off the cadet's helmet and holding it out to him): Behold your salad! ANOTHER: What, in God's name, can we devour? CYRANO (throwing him the book which he is carrying): The 'Iliad'. ANOTHER: The first minister in Paris has his four meals a day! CYRANO: 'Twere courteous an he sent you a few partridges! THE SAME: And why not? with wine, too! CYRANO: A little Burgundy. Richelieu, s'il vous plait! THE SAME: He could send it by one of his friars. CYRANO: Ay! by His Eminence Joseph himself. ANOTHER: I am as ravenous as an ogre! CYRANO: Eat your patience, then. THE FIRST CADET (shrugging his shoulders): Always your pointed word! CYRANO: Ay, pointed words! I would fain die thus, some soft summer eve, Making a pointed word for a good cause. --To make a soldier's end by soldier's sword, Wielded by some brave adversary--die On blood-stained turf, not on a fever-bed, A point upon my lips, a point within my heart. CRIES FROM ALL: I'm hungry! CYRANO (crossing his arms): All your thoughts of meat and drink! Bertrand the fifer!--you were shepherd once,-- Draw from its double leathern case your fife, Play to these greedy, guzzling soldiers. Play Old country airs with plaintive rhythm recurring, Where lurk sweet echoes of the dear home-voices, Each note of which calls like a little sister, Those airs slow, slow ascending, as the smoke-wreaths Rise from the hearthstones of our native hamlets, Their music strikes the ear like Gascon patois!. . . (The old man seats himself, and gets his flute ready): Your flute was now a warrior in durance; But on its stem your fingers are a-dancing A bird-like minuet! O flute! Remember That flutes were made of reeds first, not laburnum; Make us a music pastoral days recalling-- The soul-time of your youth, in country pastures!. . . (The old man begins to play the airs of Languedoc): Hark to the music, Gascons!. . .'Tis no longer The piercing fife of camp--but 'neath his fingers The flute of the woods! No more the call to combat, 'Tis now the love-song of the wandering goat-herds!. . . Hark!. . .'tis the valley, the wet landes, the forest, The sunburnt shepherd-boy with scarlet beret, The dusk of evening on the Dordogne river,-- 'Tis Gascony! Hark, Gascons, to the music! (The cadets sit with bowed heads; their eyes have a far-off look as if dreaming, and they surreptitiously wipe away their tears with their cuffs and the corner of their cloaks.) CARBON (to Cyrano in a whisper): But you make them weep! CYRANO: Ay, for homesickness. A nobler pain than hunger,--'tis of the soul, not of the body! I am well pleased to see their pain change its viscera. Heart-ache is better than stomach-ache. CARBON: But you weaken their courage by playing thus on their heart-strings! CYRANO (making a sign to a drummer to approach): Not I. The hero that sleeps in Gascon blood is ever ready to awake in them. 'Twould suffice. . . (He makes a signal; the drum beats.) ALL THE CADETS (stand up and rush to take arms): What? What is it? CYRANO (smiling): You see! One roll of the drum is enough! Good-by dreams, regrets, native land, love. . .All that the pipe called forth the drum has chased away! A CADET (looking toward the back of the stage): Ho! here comes Monsieur de Guiche. ALL THE CADETS (muttering): Ugh!. . .Ugh!. . . CYRANO (smiling): A flattering welcome! A CADET: We are sick to death of him! ANOTHER CADET: --With his lace collar over his armor, playing the fine gentleman! ANOTHER: As if one wore linen over steel! THE FIRST: It were good for a bandage had he boils on his neck. THE SECOND: Another plotting courtier! ANOTHER CADET: His uncle's own nephew! CARBON: For all that--a Gascon. THE FIRST: Ay, false Gascon!. . .trust him not. . . Gascons should ever be crack-brained. . . Naught more dangerous than a rational Gascon. LE BRET: How pale he is! ANOTHER: Oh! he is hungry, just like us poor devils; but under his cuirass, with its fine gilt nails, his stomach-ache glitters brave in the sun. CYRANO (hurriedly): Let us not seem to suffer either! Out with your cards, pipes, and dice. . . (All begin spreading out the games on the drums, the stools, the ground, and on their cloaks, and light long pipes): And I shall read Descartes. (He walks up and down, reading a little book which he has drawn from his pocket. Tableau. Enter De Guiche. All appear absorbed and happy. He is very pale. He goes up to Carbon.) Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A: The cadets complain of hunger. Cyrano tries to entertain them with his wit, but when even he cannot cheer them up, he asks an old piper to play some familiar Provencal songs for them and speaks to them of home. When Carbon protests that Cyrano is making them cry, Cyrano responds that it is nobler to cry from homesickness than it is to cry from hunger, because homesickness is moral and hunger is physical.

Chapter: The same, all but Cyrano. The day is breaking in a rosy light. The town of Arras is golden in the horizon. The report of cannon is heard in the distance, followed immediately by the beating of drums far away to the left. Other drums are heard much nearer. Sounds of stirring in the camp. Voices of officers in the distance. CARBON (sighing): The reveille! (The cadets move and stretch themselves): Nourishing sleep! Thou art at an end!. . .I know well what will be their first cry! A CADET (sitting up): I am so hungry! ANOTHER: I am dying of hunger. TOGETHER: Oh! CARBON: Up with you! THIRD CADET: --Cannot move a limb. FOURTH CADET: Nor can I. THE FIRST (looking at himself in a bit of armor): My tongue is yellow. The air at this season of the year is hard to digest. ANOTHER: My coronet for a bit of Chester! ANOTHER: If none can furnish to my gaster wherewith to make a pint of chyle, I shall retire to my tent--like Achilles! ANOTHER: Oh! something! were it but a crust! CARBON (going to the tent and calling softly): Cyrano! ALL THE CADETS: We are dying! CARBON (continuing to speak under his breath at the opening of the tent): Come to my aid, you, who have the art of quick retort and gay jest. Come, hearten them up. SECOND CADET (rushing toward another who is munching something): What are you crunching there? FIRST CADET: Cannon-wads soaked in axle-grease! 'Tis poor hunting round about Arras! A CADET (entering): I have been after game. ANOTHER (following him): And I after fish. ALL (rushing to the two newcomers): Well! what have you brought?--a pheasant?--a carp?--Come, show us quick! THE ANGLER: A gudgeon! THE SPORTSMAN: A sparrow! ALL TOGETHER (beside themselves): 'Tis more than can be borne! We will mutiny! CARBON: Cyrano! Come to my help. (The daylight has now come.) The SAME. Cyrano. CYRANO (appearing from the tent, very calm, with a pen stuck behind his ear and a book in his hand): What is wrong? (Silence. To the first cadet): Why drag you your legs so sorrowfully? THE CADET: I have something in my heels which weighs them down. CYRANO: And what may that be? THE CADET: My stomach! CYRANO: So have I, 'faith! THE CADET: It must be in your way? CYRANO: Nay, I am all the taller. A THIRD: My stomach's hollow. CYRANO: 'Faith, 'twill make a fine drum to sound the assault. ANOTHER: I have a ringing in my ears. CYRANO: No, no, 'tis false; a hungry stomach has no ears. ANOTHER: Oh, to eat something--something oily! CYRANO (pulling off the cadet's helmet and holding it out to him): Behold your salad! ANOTHER: What, in God's name, can we devour? CYRANO (throwing him the book which he is carrying): The 'Iliad'. ANOTHER: The first minister in Paris has his four meals a day! CYRANO: 'Twere courteous an he sent you a few partridges! THE SAME: And why not? with wine, too! CYRANO: A little Burgundy. Richelieu, s'il vous plait! THE SAME: He could send it by one of his friars. CYRANO: Ay! by His Eminence Joseph himself. ANOTHER: I am as ravenous as an ogre! CYRANO: Eat your patience, then. THE FIRST CADET (shrugging his shoulders): Always your pointed word! CYRANO: Ay, pointed words! I would fain die thus, some soft summer eve, Making a pointed word for a good cause. --To make a soldier's end by soldier's sword, Wielded by some brave adversary--die On blood-stained turf, not on a fever-bed, A point upon my lips, a point within my heart. CRIES FROM ALL: I'm hungry! CYRANO (crossing his arms): All your thoughts of meat and drink! Bertrand the fifer!--you were shepherd once,-- Draw from its double leathern case your fife, Play to these greedy, guzzling soldiers. Play Old country airs with plaintive rhythm recurring, Where lurk sweet echoes of the dear home-voices, Each note of which calls like a little sister, Those airs slow, slow ascending, as the smoke-wreaths Rise from the hearthstones of our native hamlets, Their music strikes the ear like Gascon patois!. . . (The old man seats himself, and gets his flute ready): Your flute was now a warrior in durance; But on its stem your fingers are a-dancing A bird-like minuet! O flute! Remember That flutes were made of reeds first, not laburnum; Make us a music pastoral days recalling-- The soul-time of your youth, in country pastures!. . . (The old man begins to play the airs of Languedoc): Hark to the music, Gascons!. . .'Tis no longer The piercing fife of camp--but 'neath his fingers The flute of the woods! No more the call to combat, 'Tis now the love-song of the wandering goat-herds!. . . Hark!. . .'tis the valley, the wet landes, the forest, The sunburnt shepherd-boy with scarlet beret, The dusk of evening on the Dordogne river,-- 'Tis Gascony! Hark, Gascons, to the music! (The cadets sit with bowed heads; their eyes have a far-off look as if dreaming, and they surreptitiously wipe away their tears with their cuffs and the corner of their cloaks.) CARBON (to Cyrano in a whisper): But you make them weep! CYRANO: Ay, for homesickness. A nobler pain than hunger,--'tis of the soul, not of the body! I am well pleased to see their pain change its viscera. Heart-ache is better than stomach-ache. CARBON: But you weaken their courage by playing thus on their heart-strings! CYRANO (making a sign to a drummer to approach): Not I. The hero that sleeps in Gascon blood is ever ready to awake in them. 'Twould suffice. . . (He makes a signal; the drum beats.) ALL THE CADETS (stand up and rush to take arms): What? What is it? CYRANO (smiling): You see! One roll of the drum is enough! Good-by dreams, regrets, native land, love. . .All that the pipe called forth the drum has chased away! A CADET (looking toward the back of the stage): Ho! here comes Monsieur de Guiche. ALL THE CADETS (muttering): Ugh!. . .Ugh!. . . CYRANO (smiling): A flattering welcome! A CADET: We are sick to death of him! ANOTHER CADET: --With his lace collar over his armor, playing the fine gentleman! ANOTHER: As if one wore linen over steel! THE FIRST: It were good for a bandage had he boils on his neck. THE SECOND: Another plotting courtier! ANOTHER CADET: His uncle's own nephew! CARBON: For all that--a Gascon. THE FIRST: Ay, false Gascon!. . .trust him not. . . Gascons should ever be crack-brained. . . Naught more dangerous than a rational Gascon. LE BRET: How pale he is! ANOTHER: Oh! he is hungry, just like us poor devils; but under his cuirass, with its fine gilt nails, his stomach-ache glitters brave in the sun. CYRANO (hurriedly): Let us not seem to suffer either! Out with your cards, pipes, and dice. . . (All begin spreading out the games on the drums, the stools, the ground, and on their cloaks, and light long pipes): And I shall read Descartes. (He walks up and down, reading a little book which he has drawn from his pocket. Tableau. Enter De Guiche. All appear absorbed and happy. He is very pale. He goes up to Carbon.) Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A:

The cadets complain of hunger. Cyrano tries to entertain them with his wit, but when even he cannot cheer them up, he asks an old piper to play some familiar Provencal songs for them and speaks to them of home. When Carbon protests that Cyrano is making them cry, Cyrano responds that it is nobler to cry from homesickness than it is to cry from hunger, because homesickness is moral and hunger is physical.

Chapter: The same. De Guiche. DE GUICHE (to Carbon): Good-day! (They examine each other. Aside, with satisfaction): He's green. CARBON (aside): He has nothing left but eyes. DE GUICHE (looking at the cadets): Here are the rebels! Ay, Sirs, on all sides I hear that in your ranks you scoff at me; That the Cadets, these loutish, mountain-bred, Poor country squires, and barons of Perigord, Scarce find for me--their Colonel--a disdain Sufficient! call me plotter, wily courtier! It does not please their mightiness to see A point-lace collar on my steel cuirass,-- And they enrage, because a man, in sooth, May be no ragged-robin, yet a Gascon! (Silence. All smoke and play): Shall I command your Captain punish you? No. CARBON: I am free, moreover,--will not punish-- DE GUICHE: Ah! CARBON: I have paid my company--'tis mine. I bow but to headquarters. DE GUICHE: So?--in faith! That will suffice. (Addressing himself to the cadets): I can despise your taunts 'Tis well known how I bear me in the war; At Bapaume, yesterday, they saw the rage With which I beat back the Count of Bucquoi; Assembling my own men, I fell on his, And charged three separate times! CYRANO (without lifting his eyes from his book): And your white scarf? DE GUICHE (surprised and gratified): You know that detail?. . .Troth! It happened thus: While caracoling to recall the troops For the third charge, a band of fugitives Bore me with them, close by the hostile ranks: I was in peril--capture, sudden death!-- When I thought of the good expedient To loosen and let fall the scarf which told My military rank; thus I contrived --Without attention waked--to leave the foes, And suddenly returning, reinforced With my own men, to scatter them! And now, --What say you, Sir? (The cadets pretend not to be listening, but the cards and the dice-boxes remain suspended in their hands, the smoke of their pipes in their cheeks. They wait.) CYRANO: I say, that Henri Quatre Had not, by any dangerous odds, been forced To strip himself of his white helmet plume. (Silent delight. The cards fall, the dice rattle. The smoke is puffed.) DE GUICHE: The ruse succeeded, though! (Same suspension of play, etc.) CYRANO: Oh, may be! But One does not lightly abdicate the honor To serve as target to the enemy (Cards, dice, fall again, and the cadets smoke with evident delight): Had I been present when your scarf fell low, --Our courage, Sir, is of a different sort-- I would have picked it up and put it on. DE GUICHE: Oh, ay! Another Gascon boast! CYRANO: A boast? Lend it to me. I pledge myself, to-night, --With it across my breast,--to lead th' assault. DE GUICHE: Another Gascon vaunt! You know the scarf Lies with the enemy, upon the brink Of the stream,. . .the place is riddled now with shot,-- No one can fetch it hither! CYRANO (drawing the scarf from his pocket, and holding it out to him): Here it is. (Silence. The cadets stifle their laughter in their cards and dice-boxes. De Guiche turns and looks at them; they instantly become grave, and set to play. One of them whistles indifferently the air just played by the fifer.) DE GUICHE (taking the scarf): I thank you. It will now enable me To make a signal,--that I had forborne To make--till now. (He goes to the rampart, climbs it, and waves the scarf thrice.) ALL: What's that? THE SENTINEL (from the top of the rampart): See you yon man Down there, who runs?. . . DE GUICHE (descending): 'Tis a false Spanish spy Who is extremely useful to my ends. The news he carries to the enemy Are those I prompt him with--so, in a word, We have an influence on their decisions! CYRANO: Scoundrel! DE GUICHE (carelessly knotting on his scarf): 'Tis opportune. What were we saying? Ah! I have news for you. Last evening --To victual us--the Marshal did attempt A final effort:--secretly he went To Dourlens, where the King's provisions be. But--to return to camp more easily-- He took with him a goodly force of troops. Those who attacked us now would have fine sport! Half of the army's absent from the camp! CARBON: Ay, if the Spaniards knew, 'twere ill for us, But they know nothing of it? DE GUICHE: Oh! they know. They will attack us. CARBON: Ah! DE GUICHE: For my false spy Came to warn me of their attack. He said, 'I can decide the point for their assault; Where would you have it? I will tell them 'tis The least defended--they'll attempt you there.' I answered, 'Good. Go out of camp, but watch My signal. Choose the point from whence it comes.' CARBON (to cadets): Make ready! (All rise; sounds of swords and belts being buckled.) DE GUICHE: 'Twill be in an hour. FIRST CADET: Good!. . . (They all sit down again and take up their games.) DE GUICHE (to Carbon): Time must be gained. The Marshal will return. CARBON: How gain it? DE GUICHE: You will all be good enough To let yourselves to be killed. CYRANO: Vengeance! oho! DE GUICHE: I do not say that, if I loved you well, I had chosen you and yours,--but, as things stand,-- Your courage yielding to no corps the palm-- I serve my King, and serve my grudge as well. CYRANO: Permit that I express my gratitude. . . DE GUICHE: I know you love to fight against five score; You will not now complain of paltry odds. (He goes up with Carbon.) CYRANO (to the cadets): We shall add to the Gascon coat of arms, With its six bars of blue and gold, one more-- The blood-red bar that was a-missing there! (De Guiche speaks in a low voice with Carbon at the back. Orders are given. Preparations go forward. Cyrano goes up to Christian, who stands with crossed arms.) CYRANO (putting his hand on Christian's shoulder): Christian! CHRISTIAN (shaking his head): Roxane! CYRANO: Alas! CHRISTIAN: At least, I'd send My heart's farewell to her in a fair letter!. . . CYRANO: I had suspicion it would be to-day, (He draws a letter out of his doublet): And had already writ. . . CHRISTIAN: Show! CYRANO: Will you. . .? CHRISTIAN (taking the letter): Ay! (He opens and reads it): Hold! CYRANO: What? CHRISTIAN: This little spot! CYRANO (taking the letter, with an innocent look): A spot? CHRISTIAN: A tear! CYRANO: Poets, at last,--by dint of counterfeiting-- Take counterfeit for true--that is the charm! This farewell letter,--it was passing sad, I wept myself in writing it! CHRISTIAN: Wept? why? CYRANO: Oh!. . .death itself is hardly terrible,. . . --But, ne'er to see her more! That is death's sting! --For. . .I shall never. . . (Christian looks at him): We shall. . . (Quickly): I mean, you. . . CHRISTIAN (snatching the letter from him): Give me that letter! (A rumor, far off in the camp.) VOICE Of SENTINEL: Who goes there? Halloo! (Shots--voices--carriage-bells.) CARBON: What is it? A SENTINEL (on the rampart): 'Tis a carriage! (All rush to see.) CRIES: In the camp? It enters!--It comes from the enemy! --Fire!--No!--The coachman cries!--What does he say? --'On the King's service!' (Everyone is on the rampart, staring. The bells come nearer.) DE GUICHE: The King's service? How? (All descend and draw up in line.) CARBON: Uncover, all! DE GUICHE: The King's! Draw up in line! Let him describe his curve as it befits! (The carriage enters at full speed covered with dust and mud. The curtains are drawn close. Two lackeys behind. It is pulled up suddenly.) CARBON: Beat a salute! (A roll of drums. The cadets uncover.) DE GUICHE: Lower the carriage-steps! (Two cadets rush forward. The door opens.) ROXANE (jumping down from the carriage): Good-day! (All are bowing to the ground, but at the sound of a woman's voice every head is instantly raised.) Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A: De Guiche enters. He says that he knows the cadets do not like him. The cadets continue smoking and playing cards as if they were not paying any attention to De Guiche. They do not want him to know how miserable they are. He tells them of his action in the war the day before. Cyrano, however, knows every detail. He knows that when De Guiche's life was in danger, he flung off his officer's scarf so he would not be recognized. Cyrano picked up the scarf, and now exposes De Guiche's cowardice by producing it. De Guiche mounts the parapet and waves the scarf, explaining that, with the aid of a spy, he has arranged for the Spanish to attack at the position from which he signals. At the same time, the French armies will mount their own attack against the weakest position of the Spaniards. De Guiche admits that, by ordering the attack on the Gascony Guards, he serves both the king and his own rancor. Christian says that he would like to put his love for Roxane into one last letter. Cyrano hands him a letter he has ready. Christian notices that a tear has splashed on the letter, and Cyrano explains that the letter was so beautiful that he himself was carried away with emotion. The sentinel announces that a carriage approaches and the cadets line up, preparing a salute.

Chapter: The same. De Guiche. DE GUICHE (to Carbon): Good-day! (They examine each other. Aside, with satisfaction): He's green. CARBON (aside): He has nothing left but eyes. DE GUICHE (looking at the cadets): Here are the rebels! Ay, Sirs, on all sides I hear that in your ranks you scoff at me; That the Cadets, these loutish, mountain-bred, Poor country squires, and barons of Perigord, Scarce find for me--their Colonel--a disdain Sufficient! call me plotter, wily courtier! It does not please their mightiness to see A point-lace collar on my steel cuirass,-- And they enrage, because a man, in sooth, May be no ragged-robin, yet a Gascon! (Silence. All smoke and play): Shall I command your Captain punish you? No. CARBON: I am free, moreover,--will not punish-- DE GUICHE: Ah! CARBON: I have paid my company--'tis mine. I bow but to headquarters. DE GUICHE: So?--in faith! That will suffice. (Addressing himself to the cadets): I can despise your taunts 'Tis well known how I bear me in the war; At Bapaume, yesterday, they saw the rage With which I beat back the Count of Bucquoi; Assembling my own men, I fell on his, And charged three separate times! CYRANO (without lifting his eyes from his book): And your white scarf? DE GUICHE (surprised and gratified): You know that detail?. . .Troth! It happened thus: While caracoling to recall the troops For the third charge, a band of fugitives Bore me with them, close by the hostile ranks: I was in peril--capture, sudden death!-- When I thought of the good expedient To loosen and let fall the scarf which told My military rank; thus I contrived --Without attention waked--to leave the foes, And suddenly returning, reinforced With my own men, to scatter them! And now, --What say you, Sir? (The cadets pretend not to be listening, but the cards and the dice-boxes remain suspended in their hands, the smoke of their pipes in their cheeks. They wait.) CYRANO: I say, that Henri Quatre Had not, by any dangerous odds, been forced To strip himself of his white helmet plume. (Silent delight. The cards fall, the dice rattle. The smoke is puffed.) DE GUICHE: The ruse succeeded, though! (Same suspension of play, etc.) CYRANO: Oh, may be! But One does not lightly abdicate the honor To serve as target to the enemy (Cards, dice, fall again, and the cadets smoke with evident delight): Had I been present when your scarf fell low, --Our courage, Sir, is of a different sort-- I would have picked it up and put it on. DE GUICHE: Oh, ay! Another Gascon boast! CYRANO: A boast? Lend it to me. I pledge myself, to-night, --With it across my breast,--to lead th' assault. DE GUICHE: Another Gascon vaunt! You know the scarf Lies with the enemy, upon the brink Of the stream,. . .the place is riddled now with shot,-- No one can fetch it hither! CYRANO (drawing the scarf from his pocket, and holding it out to him): Here it is. (Silence. The cadets stifle their laughter in their cards and dice-boxes. De Guiche turns and looks at them; they instantly become grave, and set to play. One of them whistles indifferently the air just played by the fifer.) DE GUICHE (taking the scarf): I thank you. It will now enable me To make a signal,--that I had forborne To make--till now. (He goes to the rampart, climbs it, and waves the scarf thrice.) ALL: What's that? THE SENTINEL (from the top of the rampart): See you yon man Down there, who runs?. . . DE GUICHE (descending): 'Tis a false Spanish spy Who is extremely useful to my ends. The news he carries to the enemy Are those I prompt him with--so, in a word, We have an influence on their decisions! CYRANO: Scoundrel! DE GUICHE (carelessly knotting on his scarf): 'Tis opportune. What were we saying? Ah! I have news for you. Last evening --To victual us--the Marshal did attempt A final effort:--secretly he went To Dourlens, where the King's provisions be. But--to return to camp more easily-- He took with him a goodly force of troops. Those who attacked us now would have fine sport! Half of the army's absent from the camp! CARBON: Ay, if the Spaniards knew, 'twere ill for us, But they know nothing of it? DE GUICHE: Oh! they know. They will attack us. CARBON: Ah! DE GUICHE: For my false spy Came to warn me of their attack. He said, 'I can decide the point for their assault; Where would you have it? I will tell them 'tis The least defended--they'll attempt you there.' I answered, 'Good. Go out of camp, but watch My signal. Choose the point from whence it comes.' CARBON (to cadets): Make ready! (All rise; sounds of swords and belts being buckled.) DE GUICHE: 'Twill be in an hour. FIRST CADET: Good!. . . (They all sit down again and take up their games.) DE GUICHE (to Carbon): Time must be gained. The Marshal will return. CARBON: How gain it? DE GUICHE: You will all be good enough To let yourselves to be killed. CYRANO: Vengeance! oho! DE GUICHE: I do not say that, if I loved you well, I had chosen you and yours,--but, as things stand,-- Your courage yielding to no corps the palm-- I serve my King, and serve my grudge as well. CYRANO: Permit that I express my gratitude. . . DE GUICHE: I know you love to fight against five score; You will not now complain of paltry odds. (He goes up with Carbon.) CYRANO (to the cadets): We shall add to the Gascon coat of arms, With its six bars of blue and gold, one more-- The blood-red bar that was a-missing there! (De Guiche speaks in a low voice with Carbon at the back. Orders are given. Preparations go forward. Cyrano goes up to Christian, who stands with crossed arms.) CYRANO (putting his hand on Christian's shoulder): Christian! CHRISTIAN (shaking his head): Roxane! CYRANO: Alas! CHRISTIAN: At least, I'd send My heart's farewell to her in a fair letter!. . . CYRANO: I had suspicion it would be to-day, (He draws a letter out of his doublet): And had already writ. . . CHRISTIAN: Show! CYRANO: Will you. . .? CHRISTIAN (taking the letter): Ay! (He opens and reads it): Hold! CYRANO: What? CHRISTIAN: This little spot! CYRANO (taking the letter, with an innocent look): A spot? CHRISTIAN: A tear! CYRANO: Poets, at last,--by dint of counterfeiting-- Take counterfeit for true--that is the charm! This farewell letter,--it was passing sad, I wept myself in writing it! CHRISTIAN: Wept? why? CYRANO: Oh!. . .death itself is hardly terrible,. . . --But, ne'er to see her more! That is death's sting! --For. . .I shall never. . . (Christian looks at him): We shall. . . (Quickly): I mean, you. . . CHRISTIAN (snatching the letter from him): Give me that letter! (A rumor, far off in the camp.) VOICE Of SENTINEL: Who goes there? Halloo! (Shots--voices--carriage-bells.) CARBON: What is it? A SENTINEL (on the rampart): 'Tis a carriage! (All rush to see.) CRIES: In the camp? It enters!--It comes from the enemy! --Fire!--No!--The coachman cries!--What does he say? --'On the King's service!' (Everyone is on the rampart, staring. The bells come nearer.) DE GUICHE: The King's service? How? (All descend and draw up in line.) CARBON: Uncover, all! DE GUICHE: The King's! Draw up in line! Let him describe his curve as it befits! (The carriage enters at full speed covered with dust and mud. The curtains are drawn close. Two lackeys behind. It is pulled up suddenly.) CARBON: Beat a salute! (A roll of drums. The cadets uncover.) DE GUICHE: Lower the carriage-steps! (Two cadets rush forward. The door opens.) ROXANE (jumping down from the carriage): Good-day! (All are bowing to the ground, but at the sound of a woman's voice every head is instantly raised.) Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A:

De Guiche enters. He says that he knows the cadets do not like him. The cadets continue smoking and playing cards as if they were not paying any attention to De Guiche. They do not want him to know how miserable they are. He tells them of his action in the war the day before. Cyrano, however, knows every detail. He knows that when De Guiche's life was in danger, he flung off his officer's scarf so he would not be recognized. Cyrano picked up the scarf, and now exposes De Guiche's cowardice by producing it. De Guiche mounts the parapet and waves the scarf, explaining that, with the aid of a spy, he has arranged for the Spanish to attack at the position from which he signals. At the same time, the French armies will mount their own attack against the weakest position of the Spaniards. De Guiche admits that, by ordering the attack on the Gascony Guards, he serves both the king and his own rancor. Christian says that he would like to put his love for Roxane into one last letter. Cyrano hands him a letter he has ready. Christian notices that a tear has splashed on the letter, and Cyrano explains that the letter was so beautiful that he himself was carried away with emotion. The sentinel announces that a carriage approaches and the cadets line up, preparing a salute.

Chapter: The same. Roxane. DE GUICHE: On the King's service! You? ROXANE: Ay,--King Love's! What other king? CYRANO: Great God! CHRISTIAN (rushing forward): Why have you come? ROXANE: This siege--'tis too long! CHRISTIAN: But why?. . . ROXANE: I will tell you all! CYRANO (who, at the sound of her voice, has stood still, rooted to the ground, afraid to raise his eyes): My God! dare I look at her? DE GUICHE: You cannot remain here! ROXANE (merrily): But I say yes! Who will push a drum hither for me? (She seats herself on the drum they roll forward): So! I thank you. (She laughs): My carriage was fired at (proudly): by the patrol! Look! would you not think 'twas made of a pumpkin, like Cinderella's chariot in the tale,--and the footmen out of rats? (Sending a kiss with her lips to Christian): Good-morrow! (Examining them all): You look not merry, any of you! Ah! know you that 'tis a long road to get to Arras? (Seeing Cyrano): Cousin, delighted! CYRANO (coming up to her): But how, in Heaven's name?. . . ROXANE: How found I the way to the army? It was simple enough, for I had but to pass on and on, as far as I saw the country laid waste. Ah, what horrors were there! Had I not seen, then I could never have believed it! Well, gentlemen, if such be the service of your King, I would fainer serve mine! CYRANO: But 'tis sheer madness! Where in the fiend's name did you get through? ROXANE: Where? Through the Spanish lines. FIRST CADET: --For subtle craft, give me a woman! DE GUICHE: But how did you pass through their lines? LE BRET: Faith! that must have been a hard matter!. . . ROXANE: None too hard. I but drove quietly forward in my carriage, and when some hidalgo of haughty mien would have stayed me, lo! I showed at the window my sweetest smile, and these Senors being (with no disrespect to you) the most gallant gentlemen in the world,--I passed on! CARBON: True, that smile is a passport! But you must have been asked frequently to give an account of where you were going, Madame? ROXANE: Yes, frequently. Then I would answer, 'I go to see my lover.' At that word the very fiercest Spaniard of them all would gravely shut the carriage-door, and, with a gesture that a king might envy, make signal to his men to lower the muskets leveled at me;--then, with melancholy but withal very graceful dignity--his beaver held to the wind that the plumes might flutter bravely, he would bow low, saying to me, 'Pass on, Senorita!' CHRISTIAN: But, Roxane. . . ROXANE: Forgive me that I said, 'my lover!' But bethink you, had I said 'my husband,' not one of them had let me pass! CHRISTIAN: But. . . ROXANE: What ails you? DE GUICHE: You must leave this place! ROXANE: I? CYRANO: And that instantly! LE BRET: No time to lose. CHRISTIAN: Indeed, you must. ROXANE: But wherefore must I? CHRISTIAN (embarrassed): 'Tis that. . . CYRANO (the same): --In three quarters of an hour. . . DE GUICHE (the same): --Or for. . . CARBON (the same): It were best. . . LE BRET (the same): You might. . . ROXANE: You are going to fight?--I stay here. ALL: No, no! ROXANE: He is my husband! (She throws herself into Christian's arms): They shall kill us both together! CHRISTIAN: Why do you look at me thus? ROXANE: I will tell you why! DE GUICHE (in despair): 'Tis a post of mortal danger! ROXANE (turning round): Mortal danger! CYRANO: Proof enough, that he has put us here! ROXANE (to De Guiche): So, Sir, you would have made a widow of me? DE GUICHE: Nay, on my oath. . . ROXANE: I will not go! I am reckless now, and I shall not stir from here!--Besides, 'tis amusing! CYRANO: Oh-ho! So our precieuse is a heroine! ROXANE: Monsieur de Bergerac, I am your cousin. A CADET: We will defend you well! ROXANE (more and more excited): I have no fear of that, my friends! ANOTHER (in ecstasy): The whole camp smells sweet of orris-root! ROXANE: And, by good luck, I have chosen a hat that will suit well with the battlefield! (Looking at De Guiche): But were it not wisest that the Count retire? They may begin the attack. DE GUICHE: That is not to be brooked! I go to inspect the cannon, and shall return. You have still time--think better of it! ROXANE: Never! (De Guiche goes out.) The same, all but De Guiche. CHRISTIAN (entreatingly): Roxane! ROXANE: No! FIRST CADET (to the others): She stays! ALL (hurrying, hustling each other, tidying themselves): A comb!--Soap!--My uniform is torn!--A needle!--A ribbon!--Lend your mirror!--My cuffs!--Your curling-iron!--A razor!. . . ROXANE (to Cyrano, who still pleads with her): No! Naught shall make me stir from this spot! CARBON (who, like the others, has been buckling, dusting, brushing his hat, settling his plume, and drawing on his cuffs, advances to Roxane, and ceremoniously): It is perchance more seemly, since things are thus, that I present to you some of these gentlemen who are about to have the honor of dying before your eyes. (Roxane bows, and stands leaning on Christian's arm, while Carbon introduces the cadets to her): Baron de Peyrescous de Colignac! THE CADET (with a low reverence): Madame. . . CARBON (continuing): Baron de Casterac de Cahuzac,--Vidame de Malgouyre Estressac Lesbas d'Escarabiot, Chevalier d'Antignac-Juzet, Baron Hillot de Blagnac-Salechan de Castel Crabioules. . . ROXANE: But how many names have you each? BARON HILLOT: Scores! CARBON (to Roxane): Pray, upon the hand that holds your kerchief. ROXANE (opens her hand, and the handkerchief falls): Why? (The whole company start forward to pick it up.) CARBON (quickly raising it): My company had no flag. But now, by my faith, they will have the fairest in all the camp! ROXANE (smiling): 'Tis somewhat small. CARBON (tying the handkerchief on the staff of his lance): But--'tis of lace! A CADET (to the rest): I could die happy, having seen so sweet a face, if I had something in my stomach--were it but a nut! CARBON (who has overheard, indignantly): Shame on you! What, talk of eating when a lovely woman!. . . ROXANE: But your camp air is keen; I myself am famished. Pasties, cold fricassee, old wines--there is my bill of fare? Pray bring it all here. (Consternation.) A CADET: All that? ANOTHER: But where on earth find it? ROXANE (quietly): In my carriage. ALL: How? ROXANE: Now serve up--carve! Look a little closer at my coachman, gentlemen, and you will recognize a man most welcome. All the sauces can be sent to table hot, if we will! THE CADETS (rushing pellmell to the carriage): 'Tis Ragueneau! (Acclamations): Oh, oh! ROXANE (looking after them): Poor fellows! CYRANO (kissing her hand): Kind fairy! RAGUENEAU (standing on the box like a quack doctor at a fair): Gentlemen!. . . (General delight.) THE CADETS: Bravo! bravo! RAGUENEAU: . . .The Spaniards, gazing on a lady so dainty fair, overlooked the fare so dainty!. . . (Applause.) CYRANO (in a whisper to Christian): Hark, Christian! RAGUENEAU: . . .And, occupied with gallantry, perceived not-- (His draws a plate from under the seat, and holds it up): --The galantine!. . . (Applause. The galantine passes from hand to hand.) CYRANO (still whispering to Christian): Prythee, one word! RAGUENEAU: And Venus so attracted their eyes that Diana could secretly pass by with-- (He holds up a shoulder of mutton): --her fawn! (Enthusiasm. Twenty hands are held out to seize the shoulder of mutton.) CYRANO (in a low whisper to Christian): I must speak to you! ROXANE (to the cadets, who come down, their arms laden with food): Put it all on the ground! (She lays all out on the grass, aided by the two imperturbable lackeys who were behind the carriage.) ROXANE (to Christian, just as Cyrano is drawing him apart): Come, make yourself of use! (Christian comes to help her. Cyrano's uneasiness increases.) RAGUENEAU: Truffled peacock! FIRST CADET (radiant, coming down, cutting a big slice of ham): By the mass! We shall not brave the last hazard without having had a gullet-full!-- (quickly correcting himself on seeing Roxane): --Pardon! A Balthazar feast! RAGUENEAU (throwing down the carriage cushions): The cushions are stuffed with ortolans! (Hubbub. They tear open and turn out the contents of the cushions. Bursts of laughter--merriment.) THIRD CADET: Ah! Viedaze! RAGUENEAU (throwing down to the cadets bottles of red wine): Flasks of rubies!-- (and white wine): --Flasks of topaz! ROXANE (throwing a folded tablecloth at Cyrano's head): Unfold me that napkin!--Come, come! be nimble! RAGUENEAU (waving a lantern): Each of the carriage-lamps is a little larder! CYRANO (in a low voice to Christian, as they arrange the cloth together): I must speak with you ere you speak to her. RAGUENEAU: My whip-handle is an Arles sausage! ROXANE (pouring out wine, helping): Since we are to die, let the rest of the army shift for itself. All for the Gascons! And mark! if De Guiche comes, let no one invite him! (Going from one to the other): There! there! You have time enough! Do not eat too fast!--Drink a little.- -Why are you crying? FIRST CADET: It is all so good!. . . ROXANE: Tut!--Red or white?--Some bread for Monsieur de Carbon!--a knife! Pass your plate!--a little of the crust? Some more? Let me help you!--Some champagne?- -A wing? CYRANO (who follows her, his arms laden with dishes, helping her to wait on everybody): How I worship her! ROXANE (going up to Christian): What will you? CHRISTIAN: Nothing. ROXANE: Nay, nay, take this biscuit, steeped in muscat; come!. . .but two drops! CHRISTIAN (trying to detain her): Oh! tell me why you came? ROXANE: Wait; my first duty is to these poor fellows.--Hush! In a few minutes. . . LE BRET (who had gone up to pass a loaf on the end of a lance to the sentry on the rampart): De Guiche! CYRANO: Quick! hide flasks, plates, pie-dishes, game-baskets! Hurry!--Let us all look unconscious! (To Ragueneau): Up on your seat!--Is everything covered up? (In an instant all has been pushed into the tents, or hidden under doublets, cloaks, and beavers. De Guiche enters hurriedly--stops suddenly, sniffing the air. Silence.) The same. De Guiche. DE GUICHE: It smells good here. A CADET (humming): Lo! Lo-lo! DE GUICHE (looking at him): What is the matter?--You are very red. THE CADET: The matter?--Nothing!--'Tis my blood--boiling at the thought of the coming battle! ANOTHER: Poum, poum--poum. . . DE GUICHE (turning round): What's that? THE CADET (slightly drunk): Nothing!. . .'Tis a song!--a little. . . DE GUICHE: You are merry, my friend! THE CADET: The approach of danger is intoxicating! DE GUICHE (calling Carbon de Castel-Jaloux, to give him an order): Captain! I. . . (He stops short on seeing him): Plague take me! but you look bravely, too! CARBON (crimson in the face, hiding a bottle behind his back, with an evasive movement): Oh!. . . DE GUICHE: I have one cannon left, and have had it carried there-- (he points behind the scenes): --in that corner. . .Your men can use it in case of need. A CADET (reeling slightly): Charming attention! ANOTHER (with a gracious smile): Kind solicitude! DE GUICHE: How? they are all gone crazy? (Drily): As you are not used to cannon, beware of the recoil. FIRST CADET: Pooh! DE GUICHE (furious, going up to him): But. . . THE CADET: Gascon cannons never recoil! DE GUICHE (taking him by the arm and shaking him): You are tipsy!--but what with? THE CADET (grandiloquently): --With the smell of powder! DE GUICHE (shrugging his shoulders and pushing him away, then going quickly to Roxane): Briefly, Madame, what decision do you deign to take? ROXANE: I stay here. DE GUICHE: You must fly! ROXANE: No! I will stay. DE GUICHE: Since things are thus, give me a musket, one of you! CARBON: Wherefore? DE GUICHE: Because I too--mean to remain. CYRANO: At last! This is true valor, Sir! FIRST CADET: Then you are Gascon after all, spite of your lace collar? ROXANE: What is all this? DE GUICHE: I leave no woman in peril. SECOND CADET (to the first): Hark you! Think you not we might give him something to eat? (All the viands reappear as if by magic.) DE GUICHE (whose eyes sparkle): Victuals! THE THIRD CADET: Yes, you'll see them coming from under every coat! DE GUICHE (controlling himself, haughtily): Do you think I will eat your leavings? CYRANO (saluting him): You make progress. DE GUICHE (proudly, with a light touch of accent on the word 'breaking'): I will fight without br-r-eaking my fast! FIRST CADET (with wild delight): Br-r-r-eaking! He has got the accent! DE GUICHE (laughing): I? THE CADET: 'Tis a Gascon! (All begin to dance.) CARBON DE CASTEL-JALOUX (who had disappeared behind the rampart, reappearing on the ridge): I have drawn my pikemen up in line. They are a resolute troop. (He points to a row of pikes, the tops of which are seen over the ridge.) DE GUICHE (bowing to Roxane): Will you accept my hand, and accompany me while I review them? (She takes it, and they go up toward the rampart. All uncover and follow them.) CHRISTIAN (going to Cyrano, eagerly): Tell me quickly! (As Roxane appears on the ridge, the tops of the lances disappear, lowered for the salute, and a shout is raised. She bows.) THE PIKEMEN (outside): Vivat! CHRISTIAN: What is this secret? CYRANO: If Roxane should. . . CHRISTIAN: Should?. . . CYRANO: Speak of the letters?. . . CHRISTIAN: Yes, I know!. . . CYRANO: Do not spoil all by seeming surprised. . . CHRISTIAN: At what? CYRANO: I must explain to you!. . .Oh! 'tis no great matter--I but thought of it to- day on seeing her. You have. . . CHRISTIAN: Tell quickly! CYRANO: You have. . .written to her oftener than you think. . . CHRISTIAN: How so? CYRANO: Thus, 'faith! I had taken it in hand to express your flame for you!. . .At times I wrote without saying, 'I am writing!' CHRISTIAN: Ah!. . . CYRANO: 'Tis simple enough! CHRISTIAN: But how did you contrive, since we have been cut off, thus. . .to?. . . CYRANO: . . .Oh! before dawn. . .I was able to get through. . . CHRISTIAN (folding his arms): That was simple, too? And how oft, pray you, have I written?. . .Twice in the week?. . .Three times?. . .Four?. . . CYRANO: More often still. CHRISTIAN: What! Every day? CYRANO: Yes, every day,--twice. CHRISTIAN (violently): And that became so mad a joy for you, that you braved death. . . CYRANO (seeing Roxane returning): Hush! Not before her! (He goes hurriedly into his tent.) Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A: When the carriage comes to a halt, everyone is astonished to see Roxane alight from it. She has charmed her way through the Spanish lines and gaily explains that this siege has gone on too long. De Guiche and Cyrano try to convince her to leave, but she refuses. The cadets are introduced to Roxane. She gives them her dainty handkerchief to use as a banner. She has managed to bring a carriage load of gourmet food with her, and with Ragueneau's help, she dispenses it to the cadets. They eat hungrily, but hide the food when De Guiche returns. De Guiche announces that he has brought a cannon for the cadets. He says that if Roxane will not leave the encampment and return to safety he will stay, too. Cyrano cautions Christian to remember about all the letters written to Roxane in Christian's behalf.

Chapter: The same. Roxane. DE GUICHE: On the King's service! You? ROXANE: Ay,--King Love's! What other king? CYRANO: Great God! CHRISTIAN (rushing forward): Why have you come? ROXANE: This siege--'tis too long! CHRISTIAN: But why?. . . ROXANE: I will tell you all! CYRANO (who, at the sound of her voice, has stood still, rooted to the ground, afraid to raise his eyes): My God! dare I look at her? DE GUICHE: You cannot remain here! ROXANE (merrily): But I say yes! Who will push a drum hither for me? (She seats herself on the drum they roll forward): So! I thank you. (She laughs): My carriage was fired at (proudly): by the patrol! Look! would you not think 'twas made of a pumpkin, like Cinderella's chariot in the tale,--and the footmen out of rats? (Sending a kiss with her lips to Christian): Good-morrow! (Examining them all): You look not merry, any of you! Ah! know you that 'tis a long road to get to Arras? (Seeing Cyrano): Cousin, delighted! CYRANO (coming up to her): But how, in Heaven's name?. . . ROXANE: How found I the way to the army? It was simple enough, for I had but to pass on and on, as far as I saw the country laid waste. Ah, what horrors were there! Had I not seen, then I could never have believed it! Well, gentlemen, if such be the service of your King, I would fainer serve mine! CYRANO: But 'tis sheer madness! Where in the fiend's name did you get through? ROXANE: Where? Through the Spanish lines. FIRST CADET: --For subtle craft, give me a woman! DE GUICHE: But how did you pass through their lines? LE BRET: Faith! that must have been a hard matter!. . . ROXANE: None too hard. I but drove quietly forward in my carriage, and when some hidalgo of haughty mien would have stayed me, lo! I showed at the window my sweetest smile, and these Senors being (with no disrespect to you) the most gallant gentlemen in the world,--I passed on! CARBON: True, that smile is a passport! But you must have been asked frequently to give an account of where you were going, Madame? ROXANE: Yes, frequently. Then I would answer, 'I go to see my lover.' At that word the very fiercest Spaniard of them all would gravely shut the carriage-door, and, with a gesture that a king might envy, make signal to his men to lower the muskets leveled at me;--then, with melancholy but withal very graceful dignity--his beaver held to the wind that the plumes might flutter bravely, he would bow low, saying to me, 'Pass on, Senorita!' CHRISTIAN: But, Roxane. . . ROXANE: Forgive me that I said, 'my lover!' But bethink you, had I said 'my husband,' not one of them had let me pass! CHRISTIAN: But. . . ROXANE: What ails you? DE GUICHE: You must leave this place! ROXANE: I? CYRANO: And that instantly! LE BRET: No time to lose. CHRISTIAN: Indeed, you must. ROXANE: But wherefore must I? CHRISTIAN (embarrassed): 'Tis that. . . CYRANO (the same): --In three quarters of an hour. . . DE GUICHE (the same): --Or for. . . CARBON (the same): It were best. . . LE BRET (the same): You might. . . ROXANE: You are going to fight?--I stay here. ALL: No, no! ROXANE: He is my husband! (She throws herself into Christian's arms): They shall kill us both together! CHRISTIAN: Why do you look at me thus? ROXANE: I will tell you why! DE GUICHE (in despair): 'Tis a post of mortal danger! ROXANE (turning round): Mortal danger! CYRANO: Proof enough, that he has put us here! ROXANE (to De Guiche): So, Sir, you would have made a widow of me? DE GUICHE: Nay, on my oath. . . ROXANE: I will not go! I am reckless now, and I shall not stir from here!--Besides, 'tis amusing! CYRANO: Oh-ho! So our precieuse is a heroine! ROXANE: Monsieur de Bergerac, I am your cousin. A CADET: We will defend you well! ROXANE (more and more excited): I have no fear of that, my friends! ANOTHER (in ecstasy): The whole camp smells sweet of orris-root! ROXANE: And, by good luck, I have chosen a hat that will suit well with the battlefield! (Looking at De Guiche): But were it not wisest that the Count retire? They may begin the attack. DE GUICHE: That is not to be brooked! I go to inspect the cannon, and shall return. You have still time--think better of it! ROXANE: Never! (De Guiche goes out.) The same, all but De Guiche. CHRISTIAN (entreatingly): Roxane! ROXANE: No! FIRST CADET (to the others): She stays! ALL (hurrying, hustling each other, tidying themselves): A comb!--Soap!--My uniform is torn!--A needle!--A ribbon!--Lend your mirror!--My cuffs!--Your curling-iron!--A razor!. . . ROXANE (to Cyrano, who still pleads with her): No! Naught shall make me stir from this spot! CARBON (who, like the others, has been buckling, dusting, brushing his hat, settling his plume, and drawing on his cuffs, advances to Roxane, and ceremoniously): It is perchance more seemly, since things are thus, that I present to you some of these gentlemen who are about to have the honor of dying before your eyes. (Roxane bows, and stands leaning on Christian's arm, while Carbon introduces the cadets to her): Baron de Peyrescous de Colignac! THE CADET (with a low reverence): Madame. . . CARBON (continuing): Baron de Casterac de Cahuzac,--Vidame de Malgouyre Estressac Lesbas d'Escarabiot, Chevalier d'Antignac-Juzet, Baron Hillot de Blagnac-Salechan de Castel Crabioules. . . ROXANE: But how many names have you each? BARON HILLOT: Scores! CARBON (to Roxane): Pray, upon the hand that holds your kerchief. ROXANE (opens her hand, and the handkerchief falls): Why? (The whole company start forward to pick it up.) CARBON (quickly raising it): My company had no flag. But now, by my faith, they will have the fairest in all the camp! ROXANE (smiling): 'Tis somewhat small. CARBON (tying the handkerchief on the staff of his lance): But--'tis of lace! A CADET (to the rest): I could die happy, having seen so sweet a face, if I had something in my stomach--were it but a nut! CARBON (who has overheard, indignantly): Shame on you! What, talk of eating when a lovely woman!. . . ROXANE: But your camp air is keen; I myself am famished. Pasties, cold fricassee, old wines--there is my bill of fare? Pray bring it all here. (Consternation.) A CADET: All that? ANOTHER: But where on earth find it? ROXANE (quietly): In my carriage. ALL: How? ROXANE: Now serve up--carve! Look a little closer at my coachman, gentlemen, and you will recognize a man most welcome. All the sauces can be sent to table hot, if we will! THE CADETS (rushing pellmell to the carriage): 'Tis Ragueneau! (Acclamations): Oh, oh! ROXANE (looking after them): Poor fellows! CYRANO (kissing her hand): Kind fairy! RAGUENEAU (standing on the box like a quack doctor at a fair): Gentlemen!. . . (General delight.) THE CADETS: Bravo! bravo! RAGUENEAU: . . .The Spaniards, gazing on a lady so dainty fair, overlooked the fare so dainty!. . . (Applause.) CYRANO (in a whisper to Christian): Hark, Christian! RAGUENEAU: . . .And, occupied with gallantry, perceived not-- (His draws a plate from under the seat, and holds it up): --The galantine!. . . (Applause. The galantine passes from hand to hand.) CYRANO (still whispering to Christian): Prythee, one word! RAGUENEAU: And Venus so attracted their eyes that Diana could secretly pass by with-- (He holds up a shoulder of mutton): --her fawn! (Enthusiasm. Twenty hands are held out to seize the shoulder of mutton.) CYRANO (in a low whisper to Christian): I must speak to you! ROXANE (to the cadets, who come down, their arms laden with food): Put it all on the ground! (She lays all out on the grass, aided by the two imperturbable lackeys who were behind the carriage.) ROXANE (to Christian, just as Cyrano is drawing him apart): Come, make yourself of use! (Christian comes to help her. Cyrano's uneasiness increases.) RAGUENEAU: Truffled peacock! FIRST CADET (radiant, coming down, cutting a big slice of ham): By the mass! We shall not brave the last hazard without having had a gullet-full!-- (quickly correcting himself on seeing Roxane): --Pardon! A Balthazar feast! RAGUENEAU (throwing down the carriage cushions): The cushions are stuffed with ortolans! (Hubbub. They tear open and turn out the contents of the cushions. Bursts of laughter--merriment.) THIRD CADET: Ah! Viedaze! RAGUENEAU (throwing down to the cadets bottles of red wine): Flasks of rubies!-- (and white wine): --Flasks of topaz! ROXANE (throwing a folded tablecloth at Cyrano's head): Unfold me that napkin!--Come, come! be nimble! RAGUENEAU (waving a lantern): Each of the carriage-lamps is a little larder! CYRANO (in a low voice to Christian, as they arrange the cloth together): I must speak with you ere you speak to her. RAGUENEAU: My whip-handle is an Arles sausage! ROXANE (pouring out wine, helping): Since we are to die, let the rest of the army shift for itself. All for the Gascons! And mark! if De Guiche comes, let no one invite him! (Going from one to the other): There! there! You have time enough! Do not eat too fast!--Drink a little.- -Why are you crying? FIRST CADET: It is all so good!. . . ROXANE: Tut!--Red or white?--Some bread for Monsieur de Carbon!--a knife! Pass your plate!--a little of the crust? Some more? Let me help you!--Some champagne?- -A wing? CYRANO (who follows her, his arms laden with dishes, helping her to wait on everybody): How I worship her! ROXANE (going up to Christian): What will you? CHRISTIAN: Nothing. ROXANE: Nay, nay, take this biscuit, steeped in muscat; come!. . .but two drops! CHRISTIAN (trying to detain her): Oh! tell me why you came? ROXANE: Wait; my first duty is to these poor fellows.--Hush! In a few minutes. . . LE BRET (who had gone up to pass a loaf on the end of a lance to the sentry on the rampart): De Guiche! CYRANO: Quick! hide flasks, plates, pie-dishes, game-baskets! Hurry!--Let us all look unconscious! (To Ragueneau): Up on your seat!--Is everything covered up? (In an instant all has been pushed into the tents, or hidden under doublets, cloaks, and beavers. De Guiche enters hurriedly--stops suddenly, sniffing the air. Silence.) The same. De Guiche. DE GUICHE: It smells good here. A CADET (humming): Lo! Lo-lo! DE GUICHE (looking at him): What is the matter?--You are very red. THE CADET: The matter?--Nothing!--'Tis my blood--boiling at the thought of the coming battle! ANOTHER: Poum, poum--poum. . . DE GUICHE (turning round): What's that? THE CADET (slightly drunk): Nothing!. . .'Tis a song!--a little. . . DE GUICHE: You are merry, my friend! THE CADET: The approach of danger is intoxicating! DE GUICHE (calling Carbon de Castel-Jaloux, to give him an order): Captain! I. . . (He stops short on seeing him): Plague take me! but you look bravely, too! CARBON (crimson in the face, hiding a bottle behind his back, with an evasive movement): Oh!. . . DE GUICHE: I have one cannon left, and have had it carried there-- (he points behind the scenes): --in that corner. . .Your men can use it in case of need. A CADET (reeling slightly): Charming attention! ANOTHER (with a gracious smile): Kind solicitude! DE GUICHE: How? they are all gone crazy? (Drily): As you are not used to cannon, beware of the recoil. FIRST CADET: Pooh! DE GUICHE (furious, going up to him): But. . . THE CADET: Gascon cannons never recoil! DE GUICHE (taking him by the arm and shaking him): You are tipsy!--but what with? THE CADET (grandiloquently): --With the smell of powder! DE GUICHE (shrugging his shoulders and pushing him away, then going quickly to Roxane): Briefly, Madame, what decision do you deign to take? ROXANE: I stay here. DE GUICHE: You must fly! ROXANE: No! I will stay. DE GUICHE: Since things are thus, give me a musket, one of you! CARBON: Wherefore? DE GUICHE: Because I too--mean to remain. CYRANO: At last! This is true valor, Sir! FIRST CADET: Then you are Gascon after all, spite of your lace collar? ROXANE: What is all this? DE GUICHE: I leave no woman in peril. SECOND CADET (to the first): Hark you! Think you not we might give him something to eat? (All the viands reappear as if by magic.) DE GUICHE (whose eyes sparkle): Victuals! THE THIRD CADET: Yes, you'll see them coming from under every coat! DE GUICHE (controlling himself, haughtily): Do you think I will eat your leavings? CYRANO (saluting him): You make progress. DE GUICHE (proudly, with a light touch of accent on the word 'breaking'): I will fight without br-r-eaking my fast! FIRST CADET (with wild delight): Br-r-r-eaking! He has got the accent! DE GUICHE (laughing): I? THE CADET: 'Tis a Gascon! (All begin to dance.) CARBON DE CASTEL-JALOUX (who had disappeared behind the rampart, reappearing on the ridge): I have drawn my pikemen up in line. They are a resolute troop. (He points to a row of pikes, the tops of which are seen over the ridge.) DE GUICHE (bowing to Roxane): Will you accept my hand, and accompany me while I review them? (She takes it, and they go up toward the rampart. All uncover and follow them.) CHRISTIAN (going to Cyrano, eagerly): Tell me quickly! (As Roxane appears on the ridge, the tops of the lances disappear, lowered for the salute, and a shout is raised. She bows.) THE PIKEMEN (outside): Vivat! CHRISTIAN: What is this secret? CYRANO: If Roxane should. . . CHRISTIAN: Should?. . . CYRANO: Speak of the letters?. . . CHRISTIAN: Yes, I know!. . . CYRANO: Do not spoil all by seeming surprised. . . CHRISTIAN: At what? CYRANO: I must explain to you!. . .Oh! 'tis no great matter--I but thought of it to- day on seeing her. You have. . . CHRISTIAN: Tell quickly! CYRANO: You have. . .written to her oftener than you think. . . CHRISTIAN: How so? CYRANO: Thus, 'faith! I had taken it in hand to express your flame for you!. . .At times I wrote without saying, 'I am writing!' CHRISTIAN: Ah!. . . CYRANO: 'Tis simple enough! CHRISTIAN: But how did you contrive, since we have been cut off, thus. . .to?. . . CYRANO: . . .Oh! before dawn. . .I was able to get through. . . CHRISTIAN (folding his arms): That was simple, too? And how oft, pray you, have I written?. . .Twice in the week?. . .Three times?. . .Four?. . . CYRANO: More often still. CHRISTIAN: What! Every day? CYRANO: Yes, every day,--twice. CHRISTIAN (violently): And that became so mad a joy for you, that you braved death. . . CYRANO (seeing Roxane returning): Hush! Not before her! (He goes hurriedly into his tent.) Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A:

When the carriage comes to a halt, everyone is astonished to see Roxane alight from it. She has charmed her way through the Spanish lines and gaily explains that this siege has gone on too long. De Guiche and Cyrano try to convince her to leave, but she refuses. The cadets are introduced to Roxane. She gives them her dainty handkerchief to use as a banner. She has managed to bring a carriage load of gourmet food with her, and with Ragueneau's help, she dispenses it to the cadets. They eat hungrily, but hide the food when De Guiche returns. De Guiche announces that he has brought a cannon for the cadets. He says that if Roxane will not leave the encampment and return to safety he will stay, too. Cyrano cautions Christian to remember about all the letters written to Roxane in Christian's behalf.

Chapter: Roxane, Christian. In the distance cadets coming and going. Carbon and De Guiche give orders. ROXANE (running up to Christian): Ah, Christian, at last!. . . CHRISTIAN (taking her hands): Now tell me why-- Why, by these fearful paths so perilous-- Across these ranks of ribald soldiery, You have come? ROXANE: Love, your letters brought me here! CHRISTIAN: What say you? ROXANE: 'Tis your fault if I ran risks! Your letters turned my head! Ah! all this month, How many!--and the last one ever bettered The one that went before! CHRISTIAN: What!--for a few Inconsequent love-letters! ROXANE: Hold your peace! Ah! you cannot conceive it! Ever since That night, when, in a voice all new to me, Under my window you revealed your soul-- Ah! ever since I have adored you! Now Your letters all this whole month long!--meseemed As if I heard that voice so tender, true, Sheltering, close! Thy fault, I say! It drew me, The voice o' th' night! Oh! wise Penelope Would ne'er have stayed to broider on her hearthstone, If her Ulysses could have writ such letters! But would have cast away her silken bobbins, And fled to join him, mad for love as Helen! CHRISTIAN: But. . . ROXANE: I read, read again--grew faint for love; I was thine utterly. Each separate page Was like a fluttering flower-petal, loosed From your own soul, and wafted thus to mine. Imprinted in each burning word was love Sincere, all-powerful. . . CHRISTIAN: A love sincere! Can that be felt, Roxane! ROXANE: Ay, that it can! CHRISTIAN: You come. . .? ROXANE: O, Christian, my true lord, I come-- (Were I to throw myself, here, at your knees, You would raise me--but 'tis my soul I lay At your feet--you can raise it nevermore!) --I come to crave your pardon. (Ay, 'tis time To sue for pardon, now that death may come!) For the insult done to you when, frivolous, At first I loved you only for your face! CHRISTIAN (horror-stricken): Roxane! ROXANE: And later, love--less frivolous-- Like a bird that spreads its wings, but can not fly-- Arrested by your beauty, by your soul Drawn close--I loved for both at once! CHRISTIAN: And now? ROXANE: Ah! you yourself have triumphed o'er yourself, And now, I love you only for your soul! CHRISTIAN (stepping backward): Roxane! ROXANE: Be happy. To be loved for beauty-- A poor disguise that time so soon wears threadbare-- Must be to noble souls--to souls aspiring-- A torture. Your dear thoughts have now effaced That beauty that so won me at the outset. Now I see clearer--and I no more see it! CHRISTIAN: Oh!. . . ROXANE: You are doubtful of such victory? CHRISTIAN (pained): Roxane! ROXANE: I see you cannot yet believe it. Such love. . .? CHRISTIAN: I do not ask such love as that! I would be loved more simply; for. . . ROXANE: For that Which they have all in turns loved in thee?-- Shame! Oh! be loved henceforth in a better way! CHRISTIAN: No! the first love was best! ROXANE: Ah! how you err! 'Tis now that I love best--love well! 'Tis that Which is thy true self, see!--that I adore! Were your brilliance dimmed. . . CHRISTIAN: Hush! ROXANE: I should love still! Ay, if your beauty should to-day depart. . . CHRISTIAN: Say not so! ROXANE: Ay, I say it! CHRISTIAN: Ugly? How? ROXANE: Ugly! I swear I'd love you still! CHRISTIAN: My God! ROXANE: Are you content at last? CHRISTIAN (in a choked voice): Ay!. . . ROXANE: What is wrong? CHRISTIAN (gently pushing her away): Nothing. . .I have two words to say:--one second. . . ROXANE: But?. . . CHRISTIAN (pointing to the cadets): Those poor fellows, shortly doomed to death,-- My love deprives them of the sight of you: Go,--speak to them--smile on them ere they die! ROXANE (deeply affected): Dear Christian!. . . (She goes up to the cadets, who respectfully crowd round her.) Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A: Roxane tells Christian that she has made the dangerous journey to come to him because of the letters that he has written to her. She says that she began to know his mind and soul the night when he spoke to her under her balcony. And the letters were so powerful and so sincere, that she now wants to ask his pardon for loving him only for his physical beauty. She feels now that that was an insult, for his mind and his spirit are so much more beautiful. In reading his letters she has learned to love him for better reasons, more deeply than before. His physical appearance now means nothing to her.

Chapter: Roxane, Christian. In the distance cadets coming and going. Carbon and De Guiche give orders. ROXANE (running up to Christian): Ah, Christian, at last!. . . CHRISTIAN (taking her hands): Now tell me why-- Why, by these fearful paths so perilous-- Across these ranks of ribald soldiery, You have come? ROXANE: Love, your letters brought me here! CHRISTIAN: What say you? ROXANE: 'Tis your fault if I ran risks! Your letters turned my head! Ah! all this month, How many!--and the last one ever bettered The one that went before! CHRISTIAN: What!--for a few Inconsequent love-letters! ROXANE: Hold your peace! Ah! you cannot conceive it! Ever since That night, when, in a voice all new to me, Under my window you revealed your soul-- Ah! ever since I have adored you! Now Your letters all this whole month long!--meseemed As if I heard that voice so tender, true, Sheltering, close! Thy fault, I say! It drew me, The voice o' th' night! Oh! wise Penelope Would ne'er have stayed to broider on her hearthstone, If her Ulysses could have writ such letters! But would have cast away her silken bobbins, And fled to join him, mad for love as Helen! CHRISTIAN: But. . . ROXANE: I read, read again--grew faint for love; I was thine utterly. Each separate page Was like a fluttering flower-petal, loosed From your own soul, and wafted thus to mine. Imprinted in each burning word was love Sincere, all-powerful. . . CHRISTIAN: A love sincere! Can that be felt, Roxane! ROXANE: Ay, that it can! CHRISTIAN: You come. . .? ROXANE: O, Christian, my true lord, I come-- (Were I to throw myself, here, at your knees, You would raise me--but 'tis my soul I lay At your feet--you can raise it nevermore!) --I come to crave your pardon. (Ay, 'tis time To sue for pardon, now that death may come!) For the insult done to you when, frivolous, At first I loved you only for your face! CHRISTIAN (horror-stricken): Roxane! ROXANE: And later, love--less frivolous-- Like a bird that spreads its wings, but can not fly-- Arrested by your beauty, by your soul Drawn close--I loved for both at once! CHRISTIAN: And now? ROXANE: Ah! you yourself have triumphed o'er yourself, And now, I love you only for your soul! CHRISTIAN (stepping backward): Roxane! ROXANE: Be happy. To be loved for beauty-- A poor disguise that time so soon wears threadbare-- Must be to noble souls--to souls aspiring-- A torture. Your dear thoughts have now effaced That beauty that so won me at the outset. Now I see clearer--and I no more see it! CHRISTIAN: Oh!. . . ROXANE: You are doubtful of such victory? CHRISTIAN (pained): Roxane! ROXANE: I see you cannot yet believe it. Such love. . .? CHRISTIAN: I do not ask such love as that! I would be loved more simply; for. . . ROXANE: For that Which they have all in turns loved in thee?-- Shame! Oh! be loved henceforth in a better way! CHRISTIAN: No! the first love was best! ROXANE: Ah! how you err! 'Tis now that I love best--love well! 'Tis that Which is thy true self, see!--that I adore! Were your brilliance dimmed. . . CHRISTIAN: Hush! ROXANE: I should love still! Ay, if your beauty should to-day depart. . . CHRISTIAN: Say not so! ROXANE: Ay, I say it! CHRISTIAN: Ugly? How? ROXANE: Ugly! I swear I'd love you still! CHRISTIAN: My God! ROXANE: Are you content at last? CHRISTIAN (in a choked voice): Ay!. . . ROXANE: What is wrong? CHRISTIAN (gently pushing her away): Nothing. . .I have two words to say:--one second. . . ROXANE: But?. . . CHRISTIAN (pointing to the cadets): Those poor fellows, shortly doomed to death,-- My love deprives them of the sight of you: Go,--speak to them--smile on them ere they die! ROXANE (deeply affected): Dear Christian!. . . (She goes up to the cadets, who respectfully crowd round her.) Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A:

Roxane tells Christian that she has made the dangerous journey to come to him because of the letters that he has written to her. She says that she began to know his mind and soul the night when he spoke to her under her balcony. And the letters were so powerful and so sincere, that she now wants to ask his pardon for loving him only for his physical beauty. She feels now that that was an insult, for his mind and his spirit are so much more beautiful. In reading his letters she has learned to love him for better reasons, more deeply than before. His physical appearance now means nothing to her.

Chapter: Christian, Cyrano. At back Roxane talking to Carbon and some cadets. CHRISTIAN (calling toward Cyrano's tent): Cyrano! CYRANO (reappearing, fully armed): What? Why so pale? CHRISTIAN: She does not love me! CYRANO: What? CHRISTIAN: 'Tis you she loves! CYRANO: No! CHRISTIAN: --For she loves me only for my soul! CYRANO: Truly? CHRISTIAN: Yes! Thus--you see, that soul is you,. . . Therefore, 'tis you she loves!--And you--love her! CYRANO: I? CHRISTIAN: Oh, I know it! CYRANO: Ay, 'tis true! CHRISTIAN: You love To madness! CYRANO: Ay! and worse! CHRISTIAN: Then tell her so! CYRANO: No! CHRISTIAN: And why not? CYRANO: Look at my face!--be answered! CHRISTIAN: She'd love me--were I ugly. CYRANO: Said she so? CHRISTIAN: Ay! in those words! CYRANO: I'm glad she told you that! But pooh!--believe it not! I am well pleased She thought to tell you. Take it not for truth. Never grow ugly:--she'd reproach me then! CHRISTIAN: That I intend discovering! CYRANO: No! I beg! CHRISTIAN: Ay! she shall choose between us!--Tell her all! CYRANO: No! no! I will not have it! Spare me this! CHRISTIAN: Because my face is haply fair, shall I Destroy your happiness? 'Twere too unjust! CYRANO: And I,--because by Nature's freak I have The gift to say--all that perchance you feel. Shall I be fatal to your happiness? CHRISTIAN: Tell all! CYRANO: It is ill done to tempt me thus! CHRISTIAN: Too long I've borne about within myself A rival to myself--I'll make an end! CYRANO: Christian! CHRISTIAN: Our union, without witness--secret-- Clandestine--can be easily dissolved If we survive. CYRANO: My God!--he still persists! CHRISTIAN: I will be loved myself--or not at all! --I'll go see what they do--there, at the end Of the post: speak to her, and then let her choose One of us two! CYRANO: It will be you. CHRISTIAN: Pray God! (He calls): Roxane! CYRANO: No! no! ROXANE (coming up quickly): What? CHRISTIAN: Cyrano has things Important for your ear. . . (She hastens to Cyrano. Christian goes out.) Roxane, Cyrano. Then Le Bret, Carbon de Castel-Jaloux, the cadets, Ragueneau, De Guiche, etc. ROXANE: Important, how? CYRANO (in despair. to Roxane): He's gone! 'Tis naught!--Oh, you know how he sees Importance in a trifle! ROXANE (warmly): Did he doubt Of what I said?--Ah, yes, I saw he doubted! CYRANO (taking her hand): But are you sure you told him all the truth? ROXANE: Yes, I would love him were he. . . (She hesitates.) CYRANO: Does that word Embarrass you before my face, Roxane? ROXANE: I. . . CYRANO (smiling sadly): 'Twill not hurt me! Say it! If he were Ugly!. . . ROXANE: Yes, ugly! (Musket report outside): Hark! I hear a shot! CYRANO (ardently): Hideous! ROXANE: Hideous! yes! CYRANO: Disfigured. ROXANE: Ay! CYRANO: Grotesque? ROXANE: He could not be grotesque to me! CYRANO: You'd love the same?. . . ROXANE: The same--nay, even more! CYRANO (losing command over himself--aside): My God! it's true, perchance, love waits me there! (To Roxane): I. . .Roxane. . .listen. . . LE BRET (entering hurriedly--to Cyrano): Cyrano! CYRANO (turning round): What? LE BRET: Hush! (He whispers something to him.) CYRANO (letting go Roxane's hand and exclaiming): Ah, God! ROXANE: What is it? CYRANO (to himself--stunned): All is over now. (Renewed reports.) ROXANE: What is the matter? Hark! another shot! (She goes up to look outside.) CYRANO: It is too late, now I can never tell! ROXANE (trying to rush out): What has chanced? CYRANO (rushing to stop her): Nothing! (Some cadets enter, trying to hide something they are carrying, and close round it to prevent Roxane approaching.) ROXANE: And those men? (Cyrano draws her away): What were you just about to say before. . .? CYRANO: What was I saying? Nothing now, I swear! (Solemnly): I swear that Christian's soul, his nature, were. . . (Hastily correcting himself): Nay, that they are, the noblest, greatest. . . ROXANE: Were? (With a loud scream): Oh! (She rushes up, pushing every one aside.) CYRANO: All is over now! ROXANE (seeing Christian lying on the ground, wrapped in his cloak): O Christian! LE BRET (to Cyrano): Struck by first shot of the enemy! (Roxane flings herself down by Christian. Fresh reports of cannon--clash of arms--clamor--beating of drums.) CARBON (with sword in the air): O come! Your muskets. (Followed by the cadets, he passes to the other side of the ramparts.) ROXANE: Christian! THE VOICE OF CARBON (from the other side): Ho! make haste! ROXANE: Christian! CARBON: FORM LINE! ROXANE: Christian! CARBON: HANDLE YOUR MATCH! (Ragueneau rushes up, bringing water in a helmet.) CHRISTIAN (in a dying voice): Roxane! CYRANO (quickly, whispering into Christian's ear, while Roxane distractedly tears a piece of linen from his breast, which she dips into the water, trying to stanch the bleeding): I told her all. She loves you still. (Christian closes his eyes.) ROXANE: How, my sweet love? CARBON: DRAW RAMRODS! ROXANE (to Cyrano): He is not dead? CARBON: OPEN YOUR CHARGES WITH YOUR TEETH! ROXANE: His cheek Grows cold against my own! CARBON: READY! PRESENT! ROXANE (seeing a letter in Christian's doublet): A letter!. . . 'Tis for me! (She opens it.) CYRANO (aside): My letter! CARBON: FIRE! (Musket reports--shouts--noise of battle.) CYRANO (trying to disengage his hand, which Roxane on her knees is holding): But, Roxane, hark, they fight! ROXANE (detaining him): Stay yet awhile. For he is dead. You knew him, you alone. (Weeping quietly): Ah, was not his a beauteous soul, a soul Wondrous! CYRANO (standing up--bareheaded): Ay, Roxane. ROXANE: An inspired poet? CYRANO: Ay, Roxane. ROXANE: And a mind sublime? CYRANO: Oh, yes! ROXANE: A heart too deep for common minds to plumb, A spirit subtle, charming? CYRANO (firmly): Ay, Roxane. ROXANE (flinging herself on the dead body): Dead, my love! CYRANO (aside--drawing his sword): Ay, and let me die to-day, Since, all unconscious, she mourns me--in him! (Sounds of trumpets in the distance.) DE GUICHE (appearing on the ramparts--bareheaded--with a wound on his forehead--in a voice of thunder): It is the signal! Trumpet flourishes! The French bring the provisions into camp! Hold but the place awhile! ROXANE: See, there is blood Upon the letter--tears! A VOICE (outside--shouting): Surrender! VOICE OF CADETS: No! RAGUENEAU (standing on the top of his carriage, watches the battle over the edge of the ramparts): The danger's ever greater! CYRANO (to De Guiche--pointing to Roxane): I will charge! Take her away! ROXANE (kissing the letter--in a half-extinguished voice): O God! his tears! his blood!. . . RAGUENEAU (jumping down from the carriage and rushing toward her): She's swooned away! DE GUICHE (on the rampart--to the cadets--with fury): Stand fast! A VOICE (outside): Lay down your arms! THE CADETS: No! CYRANO (to De Guiche): Now that you have proved your valor, Sir, (Pointing to Roxane): Fly, and save her! DE GUICHE (rushing to Roxane, and carrying her away in his arms): So be it! Gain but time, The victory's ours! CYRANO: Good. (Calling out to Roxane, whom De Guiche, aided by Ragueneau, is bearing away in a fainting condition): Farewell, Roxane! (Tumult. Shouts. Cadets reappear, wounded, falling on the scene. Cyrano, rushing to the battle, is stopped by Carbon de Castel-Jaloux, who is streaming with blood.) CARBON: We are breaking! I am wounded--wounded twice! CYRANO (shouting to the Gascons): GASCONS! HO, GASCONS! NEVER TURN YOUR BACKS! (To Carbon, whom he is supporting): Have no fear! I have two deaths to avenge: My friend who's slain;--and my dead happiness! (They come down, Cyrano brandishing the lance to which is attached Roxane's handkerchief): Float there! laced kerchief broidered with her name! (He sticks it in the ground and shouts to the cadets): FALL ON THEM, GASCONS! CRUSH THEM! (To the fifer): Fifer, play! (The fife plays. The wounded try to rise. Some cadets, falling one over the other down the slope, group themselves round Cyrano and the little flag. The carriage is crowded with men inside and outside, and, bristling with arquebuses, is turned into a fortress.) A CADET (appearing on the crest, beaten backward, but still fighting, cries): They're climbing the redoubt! (and falls dead.) CYRANO: Let us salute them! (The rampart is covered instantly by a formidable row of enemies. The standards of the Imperialists are raised): Fire! (General discharge.) A CRY IN THE ENEMY'S RANKS: Fire! (A deadly answering volley. The cadets fall on all sides.) A SPANISH OFFICER (uncovering): Who are these men who rush on death? CYRANO (reciting, erect, amid a storm of bullets): The bold Cadets of Gascony, Of Carbon of Castel-Jaloux! Brawling, swaggering boastfully, (He rushes forward, followed by a few survivors): The bold Cadets. . . (His voice is drowned in the battle.) Curtain. Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A: Christian tells Cyrano that Roxane loves not him, but Cyrano, for she loves the author of the letters and the man who spoke to her under her balcony. Because she is unaware of this, Christian wants Roxane to be told the truth so that she may choose between them. He calls Roxane and exits, leaving Cyrano to explain the fraudulent situation. Cyrano begins to unravel the story, but just when his hopes are aroused, Christian's body is carried on stage; he has been killed by the first bullet fired in the battle. This bullet also destroys Cyrano's hopes; he can never tell Roxane the truth now, especially after she discovers a letter on Christian's body. It is addressed to her, covered with Christian's blood and, although Roxane does not know it, Cyrano's tears.

Chapter: Christian, Cyrano. At back Roxane talking to Carbon and some cadets. CHRISTIAN (calling toward Cyrano's tent): Cyrano! CYRANO (reappearing, fully armed): What? Why so pale? CHRISTIAN: She does not love me! CYRANO: What? CHRISTIAN: 'Tis you she loves! CYRANO: No! CHRISTIAN: --For she loves me only for my soul! CYRANO: Truly? CHRISTIAN: Yes! Thus--you see, that soul is you,. . . Therefore, 'tis you she loves!--And you--love her! CYRANO: I? CHRISTIAN: Oh, I know it! CYRANO: Ay, 'tis true! CHRISTIAN: You love To madness! CYRANO: Ay! and worse! CHRISTIAN: Then tell her so! CYRANO: No! CHRISTIAN: And why not? CYRANO: Look at my face!--be answered! CHRISTIAN: She'd love me--were I ugly. CYRANO: Said she so? CHRISTIAN: Ay! in those words! CYRANO: I'm glad she told you that! But pooh!--believe it not! I am well pleased She thought to tell you. Take it not for truth. Never grow ugly:--she'd reproach me then! CHRISTIAN: That I intend discovering! CYRANO: No! I beg! CHRISTIAN: Ay! she shall choose between us!--Tell her all! CYRANO: No! no! I will not have it! Spare me this! CHRISTIAN: Because my face is haply fair, shall I Destroy your happiness? 'Twere too unjust! CYRANO: And I,--because by Nature's freak I have The gift to say--all that perchance you feel. Shall I be fatal to your happiness? CHRISTIAN: Tell all! CYRANO: It is ill done to tempt me thus! CHRISTIAN: Too long I've borne about within myself A rival to myself--I'll make an end! CYRANO: Christian! CHRISTIAN: Our union, without witness--secret-- Clandestine--can be easily dissolved If we survive. CYRANO: My God!--he still persists! CHRISTIAN: I will be loved myself--or not at all! --I'll go see what they do--there, at the end Of the post: speak to her, and then let her choose One of us two! CYRANO: It will be you. CHRISTIAN: Pray God! (He calls): Roxane! CYRANO: No! no! ROXANE (coming up quickly): What? CHRISTIAN: Cyrano has things Important for your ear. . . (She hastens to Cyrano. Christian goes out.) Roxane, Cyrano. Then Le Bret, Carbon de Castel-Jaloux, the cadets, Ragueneau, De Guiche, etc. ROXANE: Important, how? CYRANO (in despair. to Roxane): He's gone! 'Tis naught!--Oh, you know how he sees Importance in a trifle! ROXANE (warmly): Did he doubt Of what I said?--Ah, yes, I saw he doubted! CYRANO (taking her hand): But are you sure you told him all the truth? ROXANE: Yes, I would love him were he. . . (She hesitates.) CYRANO: Does that word Embarrass you before my face, Roxane? ROXANE: I. . . CYRANO (smiling sadly): 'Twill not hurt me! Say it! If he were Ugly!. . . ROXANE: Yes, ugly! (Musket report outside): Hark! I hear a shot! CYRANO (ardently): Hideous! ROXANE: Hideous! yes! CYRANO: Disfigured. ROXANE: Ay! CYRANO: Grotesque? ROXANE: He could not be grotesque to me! CYRANO: You'd love the same?. . . ROXANE: The same--nay, even more! CYRANO (losing command over himself--aside): My God! it's true, perchance, love waits me there! (To Roxane): I. . .Roxane. . .listen. . . LE BRET (entering hurriedly--to Cyrano): Cyrano! CYRANO (turning round): What? LE BRET: Hush! (He whispers something to him.) CYRANO (letting go Roxane's hand and exclaiming): Ah, God! ROXANE: What is it? CYRANO (to himself--stunned): All is over now. (Renewed reports.) ROXANE: What is the matter? Hark! another shot! (She goes up to look outside.) CYRANO: It is too late, now I can never tell! ROXANE (trying to rush out): What has chanced? CYRANO (rushing to stop her): Nothing! (Some cadets enter, trying to hide something they are carrying, and close round it to prevent Roxane approaching.) ROXANE: And those men? (Cyrano draws her away): What were you just about to say before. . .? CYRANO: What was I saying? Nothing now, I swear! (Solemnly): I swear that Christian's soul, his nature, were. . . (Hastily correcting himself): Nay, that they are, the noblest, greatest. . . ROXANE: Were? (With a loud scream): Oh! (She rushes up, pushing every one aside.) CYRANO: All is over now! ROXANE (seeing Christian lying on the ground, wrapped in his cloak): O Christian! LE BRET (to Cyrano): Struck by first shot of the enemy! (Roxane flings herself down by Christian. Fresh reports of cannon--clash of arms--clamor--beating of drums.) CARBON (with sword in the air): O come! Your muskets. (Followed by the cadets, he passes to the other side of the ramparts.) ROXANE: Christian! THE VOICE OF CARBON (from the other side): Ho! make haste! ROXANE: Christian! CARBON: FORM LINE! ROXANE: Christian! CARBON: HANDLE YOUR MATCH! (Ragueneau rushes up, bringing water in a helmet.) CHRISTIAN (in a dying voice): Roxane! CYRANO (quickly, whispering into Christian's ear, while Roxane distractedly tears a piece of linen from his breast, which she dips into the water, trying to stanch the bleeding): I told her all. She loves you still. (Christian closes his eyes.) ROXANE: How, my sweet love? CARBON: DRAW RAMRODS! ROXANE (to Cyrano): He is not dead? CARBON: OPEN YOUR CHARGES WITH YOUR TEETH! ROXANE: His cheek Grows cold against my own! CARBON: READY! PRESENT! ROXANE (seeing a letter in Christian's doublet): A letter!. . . 'Tis for me! (She opens it.) CYRANO (aside): My letter! CARBON: FIRE! (Musket reports--shouts--noise of battle.) CYRANO (trying to disengage his hand, which Roxane on her knees is holding): But, Roxane, hark, they fight! ROXANE (detaining him): Stay yet awhile. For he is dead. You knew him, you alone. (Weeping quietly): Ah, was not his a beauteous soul, a soul Wondrous! CYRANO (standing up--bareheaded): Ay, Roxane. ROXANE: An inspired poet? CYRANO: Ay, Roxane. ROXANE: And a mind sublime? CYRANO: Oh, yes! ROXANE: A heart too deep for common minds to plumb, A spirit subtle, charming? CYRANO (firmly): Ay, Roxane. ROXANE (flinging herself on the dead body): Dead, my love! CYRANO (aside--drawing his sword): Ay, and let me die to-day, Since, all unconscious, she mourns me--in him! (Sounds of trumpets in the distance.) DE GUICHE (appearing on the ramparts--bareheaded--with a wound on his forehead--in a voice of thunder): It is the signal! Trumpet flourishes! The French bring the provisions into camp! Hold but the place awhile! ROXANE: See, there is blood Upon the letter--tears! A VOICE (outside--shouting): Surrender! VOICE OF CADETS: No! RAGUENEAU (standing on the top of his carriage, watches the battle over the edge of the ramparts): The danger's ever greater! CYRANO (to De Guiche--pointing to Roxane): I will charge! Take her away! ROXANE (kissing the letter--in a half-extinguished voice): O God! his tears! his blood!. . . RAGUENEAU (jumping down from the carriage and rushing toward her): She's swooned away! DE GUICHE (on the rampart--to the cadets--with fury): Stand fast! A VOICE (outside): Lay down your arms! THE CADETS: No! CYRANO (to De Guiche): Now that you have proved your valor, Sir, (Pointing to Roxane): Fly, and save her! DE GUICHE (rushing to Roxane, and carrying her away in his arms): So be it! Gain but time, The victory's ours! CYRANO: Good. (Calling out to Roxane, whom De Guiche, aided by Ragueneau, is bearing away in a fainting condition): Farewell, Roxane! (Tumult. Shouts. Cadets reappear, wounded, falling on the scene. Cyrano, rushing to the battle, is stopped by Carbon de Castel-Jaloux, who is streaming with blood.) CARBON: We are breaking! I am wounded--wounded twice! CYRANO (shouting to the Gascons): GASCONS! HO, GASCONS! NEVER TURN YOUR BACKS! (To Carbon, whom he is supporting): Have no fear! I have two deaths to avenge: My friend who's slain;--and my dead happiness! (They come down, Cyrano brandishing the lance to which is attached Roxane's handkerchief): Float there! laced kerchief broidered with her name! (He sticks it in the ground and shouts to the cadets): FALL ON THEM, GASCONS! CRUSH THEM! (To the fifer): Fifer, play! (The fife plays. The wounded try to rise. Some cadets, falling one over the other down the slope, group themselves round Cyrano and the little flag. The carriage is crowded with men inside and outside, and, bristling with arquebuses, is turned into a fortress.) A CADET (appearing on the crest, beaten backward, but still fighting, cries): They're climbing the redoubt! (and falls dead.) CYRANO: Let us salute them! (The rampart is covered instantly by a formidable row of enemies. The standards of the Imperialists are raised): Fire! (General discharge.) A CRY IN THE ENEMY'S RANKS: Fire! (A deadly answering volley. The cadets fall on all sides.) A SPANISH OFFICER (uncovering): Who are these men who rush on death? CYRANO (reciting, erect, amid a storm of bullets): The bold Cadets of Gascony, Of Carbon of Castel-Jaloux! Brawling, swaggering boastfully, (He rushes forward, followed by a few survivors): The bold Cadets. . . (His voice is drowned in the battle.) Curtain. Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A:

Christian tells Cyrano that Roxane loves not him, but Cyrano, for she loves the author of the letters and the man who spoke to her under her balcony. Because she is unaware of this, Christian wants Roxane to be told the truth so that she may choose between them. He calls Roxane and exits, leaving Cyrano to explain the fraudulent situation. Cyrano begins to unravel the story, but just when his hopes are aroused, Christian's body is carried on stage; he has been killed by the first bullet fired in the battle. This bullet also destroys Cyrano's hopes; he can never tell Roxane the truth now, especially after she discovers a letter on Christian's body. It is addressed to her, covered with Christian's blood and, although Roxane does not know it, Cyrano's tears.

Chapter: Mother Marguerite, Sister Martha, Sister Claire, other sisters. SISTER MARTHA (to Mother Marguerite): Sister Claire glanced in the mirror, once--nay, twice, to see if her coif suited. MOTHER MARGUERITE (to Sister Claire): 'Tis not well. SISTER CLAIRE: But I saw Sister Martha take a plum Out of the tart. MOTHER MARGUERITE (to Sister Martha): That was ill done, my sister. SISTER CLAIRE: A little glance! SISTER MARTHA: And such a little plum! MOTHER MARGUERITE: I shall tell this to Monsieur Cyrano. SISTER CLAIRE: Nay, prithee do not!--he will mock! SISTER MARTHA: He'll say we nuns are vain! SISTER CLAIRE: And greedy! MOTHER MARGUERITE (smiling): Ay, and kind! SISTER CLAIRE: Is it not true, pray, Mother Marguerite, That he has come, each week, on Saturday For ten years, to the convent? MOTHER MARGUERITE: Ay! and more! Ever since--fourteen years ago--the day His cousin brought here, 'midst our woolen coifs, The worldly mourning of her widow's veil, Like a blackbird's wing among the convent doves! SISTER MARTHA: He only has the skill to turn her mind From grief--unsoftened yet by Time--unhealed! ALL THE SISTERS: He is so droll!--It's cheerful when he comes!-- He teases us!--But we all like him well!-- --We make him pasties of angelica! SISTER MARTHA: But, he is not a faithful Catholic! SISTER CLAIRE: We will convert him! THE SISTERS: Yes! Yes! MOTHER MARGUERITE: I forbid, My daughters, you attempt that subject. Nay, Weary him not--he might less oft come here! SISTER MARTHA: But. . .God. . . MOTHER MARGUERITE: Nay, never fear! God knows him well! SISTER MARTHA: But--every Saturday, when he arrives, He tells me, 'Sister, I eat meat on Friday!' MOTHER MARGUERITE: Ah! says he so? Well, the last time he came Food had not passed his lips for two whole days! SISTER MARTHA: Mother! MOTHER MARGUERITE: He's poor. SISTER MARTHA: Who told you so, dear Mother? MOTHER MARGUERITE: Monsieur Le Bret. SISTER MARTHA: None help him? MOTHER MARGUERITE: He permits not. (In an alley at the back Roxane appears, dressed in black, with a widow's coif and veil. De Guiche, imposing-looking and visibly aged, walks by her side. They saunter slowly. Mother Marguerite rises): 'Tis time we go in; Madame Madeleine Walks in the garden with a visitor. SISTER MARTHA (to Sister Claire, in a low voice): The Marshal of Grammont? SISTER CLAIRE (looking at him): 'Tis he, I think. SISTER MARTHA: 'Tis many months now since he came to see her. THE SISTERS: He is so busy!--The Court,--the camp!. . . SISTER CLAIRE: The world! (They go out. De Guiche and Roxane come forward in silence, and stop close to the embroidery frame.) Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A: The final act takes place in the courtyard of a convent. The sisters are awaiting Cyrano's arrival. We learn that he is poor, often hungry, and that he visits Roxane, who took refuge here after Christian's death, every Saturday.

Chapter: Mother Marguerite, Sister Martha, Sister Claire, other sisters. SISTER MARTHA (to Mother Marguerite): Sister Claire glanced in the mirror, once--nay, twice, to see if her coif suited. MOTHER MARGUERITE (to Sister Claire): 'Tis not well. SISTER CLAIRE: But I saw Sister Martha take a plum Out of the tart. MOTHER MARGUERITE (to Sister Martha): That was ill done, my sister. SISTER CLAIRE: A little glance! SISTER MARTHA: And such a little plum! MOTHER MARGUERITE: I shall tell this to Monsieur Cyrano. SISTER CLAIRE: Nay, prithee do not!--he will mock! SISTER MARTHA: He'll say we nuns are vain! SISTER CLAIRE: And greedy! MOTHER MARGUERITE (smiling): Ay, and kind! SISTER CLAIRE: Is it not true, pray, Mother Marguerite, That he has come, each week, on Saturday For ten years, to the convent? MOTHER MARGUERITE: Ay! and more! Ever since--fourteen years ago--the day His cousin brought here, 'midst our woolen coifs, The worldly mourning of her widow's veil, Like a blackbird's wing among the convent doves! SISTER MARTHA: He only has the skill to turn her mind From grief--unsoftened yet by Time--unhealed! ALL THE SISTERS: He is so droll!--It's cheerful when he comes!-- He teases us!--But we all like him well!-- --We make him pasties of angelica! SISTER MARTHA: But, he is not a faithful Catholic! SISTER CLAIRE: We will convert him! THE SISTERS: Yes! Yes! MOTHER MARGUERITE: I forbid, My daughters, you attempt that subject. Nay, Weary him not--he might less oft come here! SISTER MARTHA: But. . .God. . . MOTHER MARGUERITE: Nay, never fear! God knows him well! SISTER MARTHA: But--every Saturday, when he arrives, He tells me, 'Sister, I eat meat on Friday!' MOTHER MARGUERITE: Ah! says he so? Well, the last time he came Food had not passed his lips for two whole days! SISTER MARTHA: Mother! MOTHER MARGUERITE: He's poor. SISTER MARTHA: Who told you so, dear Mother? MOTHER MARGUERITE: Monsieur Le Bret. SISTER MARTHA: None help him? MOTHER MARGUERITE: He permits not. (In an alley at the back Roxane appears, dressed in black, with a widow's coif and veil. De Guiche, imposing-looking and visibly aged, walks by her side. They saunter slowly. Mother Marguerite rises): 'Tis time we go in; Madame Madeleine Walks in the garden with a visitor. SISTER MARTHA (to Sister Claire, in a low voice): The Marshal of Grammont? SISTER CLAIRE (looking at him): 'Tis he, I think. SISTER MARTHA: 'Tis many months now since he came to see her. THE SISTERS: He is so busy!--The Court,--the camp!. . . SISTER CLAIRE: The world! (They go out. De Guiche and Roxane come forward in silence, and stop close to the embroidery frame.) Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A:

The final act takes place in the courtyard of a convent. The sisters are awaiting Cyrano's arrival. We learn that he is poor, often hungry, and that he visits Roxane, who took refuge here after Christian's death, every Saturday.

Chapter: Roxane; the Duke de Grammont, formerly Count de Guiche. Then Le Bret and Ragueneau. THE DUKE: And you stay here still--ever vainly fair, Ever in weeds? ROXANE: Ever. THE DUKE: Still faithful? ROXANE: Still. THE DUKE (after a pause): Am I forgiven? ROXANE: Ay, since I am here. (Another pause.) THE DUKE: His was a soul, you say?. . . ROXANE: Ah!--when you knew him! THE DUKE: Ah, may be!. . .I, perchance, too little knew him! . . .And his last letter, ever next your heart? ROXANE: Hung from this chain, a gentle scapulary. THE DUKE: And, dead, you love him still? ROXANE: At times,--meseems He is but partly dead--our hearts still speak, As if his love, still living, wrapped me round! THE DUKE (after another pause): Cyrano comes to see you? ROXANE: Often, ay. Dear, kind old friend! We call him my 'Gazette.' He never fails to come: beneath this tree They place his chair, if it be fine:--I wait, I broider;--the clock strikes;--at the last stroke I hear,--for now I never turn to look-- Too sure to hear his cane tap down the steps; He seats himself:--with gentle raillery He mocks my tapestry that's never done; He tells me all the gossip of the week. . . (Le Bret appears on the steps): Why, here's Le Bret! (Le Bret descends): How goes it with our friend? LE BRET: Ill!--very ill. THE DUKE: How? ROXANE (to the Duke): He exaggerates! LE BRET: All that I prophesied: desertion, want!. . . His letters now make him fresh enemies!-- Attacking the sham nobles, sham devout, Sham brave,--the thieving authors,--all the world! ROXANE: Ah! but his sword still holds them all in check; None get the better of him. THE DUKE (shaking his head): Time will show! LE BRET: Ah, but I fear for him--not man's attack,-- Solitude--hunger--cold December days, That wolf-like steal into his chamber drear:-- Lo! the assassins that I fear for him! Each day he tightens by one hole his belt: That poor nose--tinted like old ivory: He has retained one shabby suit of serge. THE DUKE: Ay, there is one who has no prize of Fortune!-- Yet is not to be pitied! LE BRET (with a bitter smile): My Lord Marshal!. . . THE DUKE: Pity him not! He has lived out his vows, Free in his thoughts, as in his actions free! LE BRET (in the same tone): My Lord!. . . THE DUKE (haughtily): True! I have all, and he has naught;. . . Yet I were proud to take his hand! (Bowing to Roxane): Adieu! ROXANE: I go with you. (The Duke bows to Le Bret, and goes with Roxane toward the steps.) THE DUKE (pausing, while she goes up): Ay, true,--I envy him. Look you, when life is brimful of success --Though the past hold no action foul--one feels A thousand self-disgusts, of which the sum Is not remorse, but a dim, vague unrest; And, as one mounts the steps of worldly fame, The Duke's furred mantles trail within their folds A sound of dead illusions, vain regrets, A rustle--scarce a whisper--like as when, Mounting the terrace steps, by your mourning robe Sweeps in its train the dying autumn leaves. ROXANE (ironically): You are pensive? THE DUKE: True! I am! (As he is going out, suddenly): Monsieur Le Bret! (To Roxane): A word, with your permission? (He goes to Le Bret, and in a low voice): True, that none Dare to attack your friend;--but many hate him; Yesterday, at the Queen's card-play, 'twas said 'That Cyrano may die--by accident!' Let him stay in--be prudent! LE BRET (raising his arms to heaven): Prudent! He!. . . He's coming here. I'll warn him--but!. . . ROXANE (who has stayed on the steps, to a sister who comes toward her): What is it? THE SISTER: Ragueneau would see you, Madame. ROXANE: Let him come. (To the Duke and Le Bret): He comes to tell his troubles. Having been An author (save the mark!)--poor fellow--now By turns he's singer. . . LE BRET: Bathing-man. . . ROXANE: Then actor. . . LE BRET: Beadle. . . ROXANE: Wig-maker. . . LE BRET: Teacher of the lute. . . ROXANE: What will he be to-day, by chance? RAGUENEAU (entering hurriedly): Ah! Madame! (He sees Le Bret): Ah! you here, Sir! ROXANE (smiling): Tell all your miseries To him; I will return anon. RAGUENEAU: But, Madame. . . (Roxane goes out with the Duke. Ragueneau goes toward Le Bret.) Le Bret, Ragueneau. RAGUENEAU: Since you are here, 'tis best she should not know! I was going to your friend just now--was but A few steps from the house, when I saw him Go out. I hurried to him. Saw him turn The corner. . .suddenly, from out a window Where he was passing--was it chance?. . .may be! A lackey let fall a large piece of wood. LE BRET: Cowards! O Cyrano! RAGUENEAU: I ran--I saw. . . LE BRET: 'Tis hideous! RAGUENEAU: Saw our poet, Sir--our friend-- Struck to the ground--a large wound in his head! LE BRET: He's dead? RAGUENEAU: No--but--I bore him to his room. . . Ah! his room! What a thing to see!--that garret! LE BRET: He suffers? RAGUENEAU: No, his consciousness has flown. LE BRET: Saw you a doctor? RAGUENEAU: One was kind--he came. LE BRET: My poor Cyrano!--We must not tell this To Roxane suddenly.--What said this leech?-- RAGUENEAU: Said,--what, I know not--fever, meningitis!-- Ah! could you see him--all his head bound up!-- But let us haste!--There's no one by his bed!-- And if he try to rise, Sir, he might die! LE BRET (dragging him toward the right): Come! Through the chapel! 'Tis the quickest way! ROXANE (appearing on the steps, and seeing Le Bret go away by the colonnade leading to the chapel door): Monsieur le Bret! (Le Bret and Ragueneau disappear without answering): Le Bret goes--when I call! 'Tis some new trouble of good Ragueneau's. (She descends the steps.) Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A: Roxane is talking to De Guiche, who is now the Duc de Grammont. Roxane has lived in the convent in mourning for all these years, always carrying "Christian's last letter" next to her heart. Le Bret enters. They worry about Cyrano, who always seems to be cold, hungry, and alone, and whose writings have made him new enemies. De Guiche admits that, in spite of all he has and all that Cyrano lacks, Cyrano in his poverty is the better and happier man. In other words, things of the spirit are of more value and are nobler than material things. De Guiche then calls Le Bret aside and tells him that Cyrano is in danger of his life. As Roxane walks with the duke, Ragueneau enters hurriedly. He tells Le Bret that Cyrano has had an "accident" -- someone has dropped a heavy log of wood on his head as he passed beneath a window. Ragueneau has carried Cyrano to his room. The two men hurry to him.

Chapter: Roxane; the Duke de Grammont, formerly Count de Guiche. Then Le Bret and Ragueneau. THE DUKE: And you stay here still--ever vainly fair, Ever in weeds? ROXANE: Ever. THE DUKE: Still faithful? ROXANE: Still. THE DUKE (after a pause): Am I forgiven? ROXANE: Ay, since I am here. (Another pause.) THE DUKE: His was a soul, you say?. . . ROXANE: Ah!--when you knew him! THE DUKE: Ah, may be!. . .I, perchance, too little knew him! . . .And his last letter, ever next your heart? ROXANE: Hung from this chain, a gentle scapulary. THE DUKE: And, dead, you love him still? ROXANE: At times,--meseems He is but partly dead--our hearts still speak, As if his love, still living, wrapped me round! THE DUKE (after another pause): Cyrano comes to see you? ROXANE: Often, ay. Dear, kind old friend! We call him my 'Gazette.' He never fails to come: beneath this tree They place his chair, if it be fine:--I wait, I broider;--the clock strikes;--at the last stroke I hear,--for now I never turn to look-- Too sure to hear his cane tap down the steps; He seats himself:--with gentle raillery He mocks my tapestry that's never done; He tells me all the gossip of the week. . . (Le Bret appears on the steps): Why, here's Le Bret! (Le Bret descends): How goes it with our friend? LE BRET: Ill!--very ill. THE DUKE: How? ROXANE (to the Duke): He exaggerates! LE BRET: All that I prophesied: desertion, want!. . . His letters now make him fresh enemies!-- Attacking the sham nobles, sham devout, Sham brave,--the thieving authors,--all the world! ROXANE: Ah! but his sword still holds them all in check; None get the better of him. THE DUKE (shaking his head): Time will show! LE BRET: Ah, but I fear for him--not man's attack,-- Solitude--hunger--cold December days, That wolf-like steal into his chamber drear:-- Lo! the assassins that I fear for him! Each day he tightens by one hole his belt: That poor nose--tinted like old ivory: He has retained one shabby suit of serge. THE DUKE: Ay, there is one who has no prize of Fortune!-- Yet is not to be pitied! LE BRET (with a bitter smile): My Lord Marshal!. . . THE DUKE: Pity him not! He has lived out his vows, Free in his thoughts, as in his actions free! LE BRET (in the same tone): My Lord!. . . THE DUKE (haughtily): True! I have all, and he has naught;. . . Yet I were proud to take his hand! (Bowing to Roxane): Adieu! ROXANE: I go with you. (The Duke bows to Le Bret, and goes with Roxane toward the steps.) THE DUKE (pausing, while she goes up): Ay, true,--I envy him. Look you, when life is brimful of success --Though the past hold no action foul--one feels A thousand self-disgusts, of which the sum Is not remorse, but a dim, vague unrest; And, as one mounts the steps of worldly fame, The Duke's furred mantles trail within their folds A sound of dead illusions, vain regrets, A rustle--scarce a whisper--like as when, Mounting the terrace steps, by your mourning robe Sweeps in its train the dying autumn leaves. ROXANE (ironically): You are pensive? THE DUKE: True! I am! (As he is going out, suddenly): Monsieur Le Bret! (To Roxane): A word, with your permission? (He goes to Le Bret, and in a low voice): True, that none Dare to attack your friend;--but many hate him; Yesterday, at the Queen's card-play, 'twas said 'That Cyrano may die--by accident!' Let him stay in--be prudent! LE BRET (raising his arms to heaven): Prudent! He!. . . He's coming here. I'll warn him--but!. . . ROXANE (who has stayed on the steps, to a sister who comes toward her): What is it? THE SISTER: Ragueneau would see you, Madame. ROXANE: Let him come. (To the Duke and Le Bret): He comes to tell his troubles. Having been An author (save the mark!)--poor fellow--now By turns he's singer. . . LE BRET: Bathing-man. . . ROXANE: Then actor. . . LE BRET: Beadle. . . ROXANE: Wig-maker. . . LE BRET: Teacher of the lute. . . ROXANE: What will he be to-day, by chance? RAGUENEAU (entering hurriedly): Ah! Madame! (He sees Le Bret): Ah! you here, Sir! ROXANE (smiling): Tell all your miseries To him; I will return anon. RAGUENEAU: But, Madame. . . (Roxane goes out with the Duke. Ragueneau goes toward Le Bret.) Le Bret, Ragueneau. RAGUENEAU: Since you are here, 'tis best she should not know! I was going to your friend just now--was but A few steps from the house, when I saw him Go out. I hurried to him. Saw him turn The corner. . .suddenly, from out a window Where he was passing--was it chance?. . .may be! A lackey let fall a large piece of wood. LE BRET: Cowards! O Cyrano! RAGUENEAU: I ran--I saw. . . LE BRET: 'Tis hideous! RAGUENEAU: Saw our poet, Sir--our friend-- Struck to the ground--a large wound in his head! LE BRET: He's dead? RAGUENEAU: No--but--I bore him to his room. . . Ah! his room! What a thing to see!--that garret! LE BRET: He suffers? RAGUENEAU: No, his consciousness has flown. LE BRET: Saw you a doctor? RAGUENEAU: One was kind--he came. LE BRET: My poor Cyrano!--We must not tell this To Roxane suddenly.--What said this leech?-- RAGUENEAU: Said,--what, I know not--fever, meningitis!-- Ah! could you see him--all his head bound up!-- But let us haste!--There's no one by his bed!-- And if he try to rise, Sir, he might die! LE BRET (dragging him toward the right): Come! Through the chapel! 'Tis the quickest way! ROXANE (appearing on the steps, and seeing Le Bret go away by the colonnade leading to the chapel door): Monsieur le Bret! (Le Bret and Ragueneau disappear without answering): Le Bret goes--when I call! 'Tis some new trouble of good Ragueneau's. (She descends the steps.) Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A:

Roxane is talking to De Guiche, who is now the Duc de Grammont. Roxane has lived in the convent in mourning for all these years, always carrying "Christian's last letter" next to her heart. Le Bret enters. They worry about Cyrano, who always seems to be cold, hungry, and alone, and whose writings have made him new enemies. De Guiche admits that, in spite of all he has and all that Cyrano lacks, Cyrano in his poverty is the better and happier man. In other words, things of the spirit are of more value and are nobler than material things. De Guiche then calls Le Bret aside and tells him that Cyrano is in danger of his life. As Roxane walks with the duke, Ragueneau enters hurriedly. He tells Le Bret that Cyrano has had an "accident" -- someone has dropped a heavy log of wood on his head as he passed beneath a window. Ragueneau has carried Cyrano to his room. The two men hurry to him.

Chapter: Roxane alone. Two sisters, for a moment. ROXANE: Ah! what a beauty in September's close! My sorrow's eased. April's joy dazzled it, But autumn wins it with her dying calm. (She seats herself at the embroidery frame. Two sisters come out of the house, and bring a large armchair under the tree): There comes the famous armchair where he sits, Dear faithful friend! SISTER MARTHA: It is the parlor's best! ROXANE: Thanks, sister. (The sisters go): He'll be here now. (She seats herself. A clock strikes): The hour strikes. --My silks?--Why, now, the hour's struck! How strange To be behind his time, at last, to-day! Perhaps the portress--where's my thimble?. . . Here!--Is preaching to him. (A pause): Yes, she must be preaching! Surely he must come soon!--Ah, a dead leaf!-- (She brushes off the leaf from her work): Nothing, besides, could--scissors?--In my bag! --Could hinder him. . . A SISTER (coming to the steps): Monsieur de Bergerac. Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A: Roxane is alone. Two nuns bring Cyrano's favorite chair and place it under the tree in the courtyard. The leaves are falling and Cyrano is late. This is so unusual that Roxane is worried about him. Then a sister announces his arrival.

Chapter: Roxane alone. Two sisters, for a moment. ROXANE: Ah! what a beauty in September's close! My sorrow's eased. April's joy dazzled it, But autumn wins it with her dying calm. (She seats herself at the embroidery frame. Two sisters come out of the house, and bring a large armchair under the tree): There comes the famous armchair where he sits, Dear faithful friend! SISTER MARTHA: It is the parlor's best! ROXANE: Thanks, sister. (The sisters go): He'll be here now. (She seats herself. A clock strikes): The hour strikes. --My silks?--Why, now, the hour's struck! How strange To be behind his time, at last, to-day! Perhaps the portress--where's my thimble?. . . Here!--Is preaching to him. (A pause): Yes, she must be preaching! Surely he must come soon!--Ah, a dead leaf!-- (She brushes off the leaf from her work): Nothing, besides, could--scissors?--In my bag! --Could hinder him. . . A SISTER (coming to the steps): Monsieur de Bergerac. Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A:

Roxane is alone. Two nuns bring Cyrano's favorite chair and place it under the tree in the courtyard. The leaves are falling and Cyrano is late. This is so unusual that Roxane is worried about him. Then a sister announces his arrival.

Chapter: Roxane, Cyrano and, for a moment, Sister Martha. ROXANE (without turning round): What was I saying?. . . (She embroiders. Cyrano, very pale, his hat pulled down over his eyes, appears. The sister who had announced him retires. He descends the steps slowly, with a visible difficulty in holding himself upright, bearing heavily on his cane. Roxane still works at her tapestry): Time has dimmed the tints. . . How harmonize them now? (To Cyrano, with playful reproach): For the first time Late!--For the first time, all these fourteen years! CYRANO (who has succeeded in reaching the chair, and has seated himself--in a lively voice, which is in great contrast with his pale face): Ay! It is villainous! I raged--was stayed. . . ROXANE: By?. . . CYRANO: By a bold, unwelcome visitor. ROXANE (absently, working): Some creditor? CYRANO: Ay, cousin,--the last creditor Who has a debt to claim from me. ROXANE: And you Have paid it? CYRANO: No, not yet! I put it off; --Said, 'Cry you mercy; this is Saturday, When I have get a standing rendezvous That naught defers. Call in an hour's time!' ROXANE (carelessly): Oh, well, a creditor can always wait! I shall not let you go ere twilight falls. CYRANO: Haply, perforce, I quit you ere it falls! (He shuts his eyes, and is silent for a moment. Sister Martha crosses the park from the chapel to the flight of steps. Roxane, seeing her, signs to her to approach.) ROXANE (to Cyrano): How now? You have not teased the Sister? CYRANO (hastily opening his eyes): True! (In a comically loud voice): Sister! come here! (The sister glides up to him): Ha! ha! What? Those bright eyes Bent ever on the ground? SISTER MARTHA (who makes a movement of astonishment on seeing his face): Oh! CYRANO (in a whisper, pointing to Roxane): Hush! 'tis naught!-- (Loudly, in a blustering voice): I broke fast yesterday! SISTER MARTHA (aside): I know, I know! That's how he is so pale! Come presently To the refectory, I'll make you drink A famous bowl of soup. . .You'll come? CYRANO: Ay, ay! SISTER MARTHA: There, see! You are more reasonable to-day! ROXANE (who hears them whispering): The Sister would convert you? SISTER MARTHA: Nay, not I! CYRANO: Hold! but it's true! You preach to me no more, You, once so glib with holy words! I am Astonished!. . . (With burlesque fury): Stay, I will surprise you too! Hark! I permit you. . . (He pretends to be seeking for something to tease her with, and to have found it): . . .It is something new!-- To--pray for me, to-night, at chapel-time! ROXANE: Oh! oh! CYRANO (laughing): Good Sister Martha is struck dumb! SISTER MARTHA (gently): I did not wait your leave to pray for you. (She goes out.) CYRANO (turning to Roxane, who is still bending over her work): That tapestry! Beshrew me if my eyes Will ever see it finished! ROXANE: I was sure To hear that well-known jest! (A light breeze causes the leaves to fall.) CYRANO: The autumn leaves! ROXANE (lifting her head, and looking down the distant alley): Soft golden brown, like a Venetian's hair. --See how they fall! CYRANO: Ay, see how brave they fall, In their last journey downward from the bough, To rot within the clay; yet, lovely still, Hiding the horror of the last decay, With all the wayward grace of careless flight! ROXANE: What, melancholy--you? CYRANO (collecting himself): Nay, nay, Roxane! ROXANE: Then let the dead leaves fall the way they will. . . And chat. What, have you nothing new to tell, My Court Gazette? CYRANO: Listen. ROXANE: Ah! CYRANO (growing whiter and whiter): Saturday The nineteenth: having eaten to excess Of pear-conserve, the King felt feverish; The lancet quelled this treasonable revolt, And the august pulse beats at normal pace. At the Queen's ball on Sunday thirty score Of best white waxen tapers were consumed. Our troops, they say, have chased the Austrians. Four sorcerers were hanged. The little dog Of Madame d'Athis took a dose. . . ROXANE: I bid You hold your tongue, Monsieur de Bergerac! CYRANO: Monday--not much--Claire changed protector. ROXANE: Oh! CYRANO (whose face changes more and more): Tuesday, the Court repaired to Fontainebleau. Wednesday, the Montglat said to Comte de Fiesque. . . No! Thursday--Mancini, Queen of France! (almost!) Friday, the Monglat to Count Fiesque said--'Yes!' And Saturday the twenty-sixth. . . (He closes his eyes. His head falls forward. Silence.) ROXANE (surprised at his voice ceasing, turns round, looks at him, and rising, terrified): He swoons! (She runs toward him crying): Cyrano! CYRANO (opening his eyes, in an unconcerned voice): What is this? (He sees Roxane bending over him, and, hastily pressing his hat on his head, and shrinking back in his chair): Nay, on my word 'Tis nothing! Let me be! ROXANE: But. . . CYRANO: That old wound Of Arras, sometimes,--as you know. . . ROXANE: Dear friend! CYRANO: 'Tis nothing, 'twill pass soon; (He smiles with an effort): See!--it has passed! ROXANE: Each of us has his wound; ay, I have mine,-- Never healed up--not healed yet, my old wound! (She puts her hand on her breast): 'Tis here, beneath this letter brown with age, All stained with tear-drops, and still stained with blood. (Twilight begins to fall.) CYRANO: His letter! Ah! you promised me one day That I should read it. ROXANE: What would you?--His letter? CYRANO: Yes, I would fain,--to-day. . . ROXANE (giving the bag hung at her neck): See! here it is! CYRANO (taking it): Have I your leave to open? ROXANE: Open--read! (She comes back to her tapestry frame, folds it up, sorts her wools.) CYRANO (reading): 'Roxane, adieu! I soon must die! This very night, beloved; and I Feel my soul heavy with love untold. I die! No more, as in days of old, My loving, longing eyes will feast On your least gesture--ay, the least! I mind me the way you touch your cheek With your finger, softly, as you speak! Ah me! I know that gesture well! My heart cries out!--I cry "Farewell"!' ROXANE: But how you read that letter! One would think. . . CYRANO (continuing to read): 'My life, my love, my jewel, my sweet, My heart has been yours in every beat!' (The shades of evening fall imperceptibly.) ROXANE: You read in such a voice--so strange--and yet-- It is not the first time I hear that voice! (She comes nearer very softly, without his perceiving it, passes behind his chair, and, noiselessly leaning over him, looks at the letter. The darkness deepens.) CYRANO: 'Here, dying, and there, in the land on high, I am he who loved, who loves you,--I. . .' ROXANE (putting her hand on his shoulder): How can you read? It is too dark to see! (He starts, turns, sees her close to him. Suddenly alarmed, he holds his head down. Then in the dusk, which has now completely enfolded them, she says, very slowly, with clasped hands): And, fourteen years long, he has played this part Of the kind old friend who comes to laugh and chat. CYRANO: Roxane! ROXANE: 'Twas you! CYRANO: No, never; Roxane, no! ROXANE: I should have guessed, each time he said my name! CYRANO: No, it was not I! ROXANE: It was you! CYRANO: I swear! ROXANE: I see through all the generous counterfeit-- The letters--you! CYRANO: No. ROXANE: The sweet, mad love-words! You! CYRANO: No! ROXANE: The voice that thrilled the night--you, you! CYRANO: I swear you err. ROXANE: The soul--it was your soul! CYRANO: I loved you not. ROXANE: You loved me not? CYRANO: 'Twas he! ROXANE: You loved me! CYRANO: No! ROXANE: See! how you falter now! CYRANO: No, my sweet love, I never loved you! ROXANE: Ah! Things dead, long dead, see! how they rise again! --Why, why keep silence all these fourteen years, When, on this letter, which he never wrote, The tears were your tears? CYRANO (holding out the letter to her): The bloodstains were his. ROXANE: Why, then, that noble silence,--kept so long-- Broken to-day for the first time--why? CYRANO: Why?. . . (Le Bret and Ragueneau enter running.) Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A: Roxane works on her tapestry, and does not notice that Cyrano is pale. Sister Marthe, whom he teases as usual, thinks that his pallor is caused by hunger. Cyrano begins his witty, amusing account of the week's gossip, and then nearly faints for a moment. He asks to see Roxane's last letter from Christian. Roxane gives it to him, and he reads it aloud. Roxane recognizes the voice that she heard under her balcony so long ago. She realizes that it is dark, that Cyrano could not be reading the letter but must be quoting from memory. She understands the deception at last, and knows that it is Cyrano whom she loved.

Chapter: Roxane, Cyrano and, for a moment, Sister Martha. ROXANE (without turning round): What was I saying?. . . (She embroiders. Cyrano, very pale, his hat pulled down over his eyes, appears. The sister who had announced him retires. He descends the steps slowly, with a visible difficulty in holding himself upright, bearing heavily on his cane. Roxane still works at her tapestry): Time has dimmed the tints. . . How harmonize them now? (To Cyrano, with playful reproach): For the first time Late!--For the first time, all these fourteen years! CYRANO (who has succeeded in reaching the chair, and has seated himself--in a lively voice, which is in great contrast with his pale face): Ay! It is villainous! I raged--was stayed. . . ROXANE: By?. . . CYRANO: By a bold, unwelcome visitor. ROXANE (absently, working): Some creditor? CYRANO: Ay, cousin,--the last creditor Who has a debt to claim from me. ROXANE: And you Have paid it? CYRANO: No, not yet! I put it off; --Said, 'Cry you mercy; this is Saturday, When I have get a standing rendezvous That naught defers. Call in an hour's time!' ROXANE (carelessly): Oh, well, a creditor can always wait! I shall not let you go ere twilight falls. CYRANO: Haply, perforce, I quit you ere it falls! (He shuts his eyes, and is silent for a moment. Sister Martha crosses the park from the chapel to the flight of steps. Roxane, seeing her, signs to her to approach.) ROXANE (to Cyrano): How now? You have not teased the Sister? CYRANO (hastily opening his eyes): True! (In a comically loud voice): Sister! come here! (The sister glides up to him): Ha! ha! What? Those bright eyes Bent ever on the ground? SISTER MARTHA (who makes a movement of astonishment on seeing his face): Oh! CYRANO (in a whisper, pointing to Roxane): Hush! 'tis naught!-- (Loudly, in a blustering voice): I broke fast yesterday! SISTER MARTHA (aside): I know, I know! That's how he is so pale! Come presently To the refectory, I'll make you drink A famous bowl of soup. . .You'll come? CYRANO: Ay, ay! SISTER MARTHA: There, see! You are more reasonable to-day! ROXANE (who hears them whispering): The Sister would convert you? SISTER MARTHA: Nay, not I! CYRANO: Hold! but it's true! You preach to me no more, You, once so glib with holy words! I am Astonished!. . . (With burlesque fury): Stay, I will surprise you too! Hark! I permit you. . . (He pretends to be seeking for something to tease her with, and to have found it): . . .It is something new!-- To--pray for me, to-night, at chapel-time! ROXANE: Oh! oh! CYRANO (laughing): Good Sister Martha is struck dumb! SISTER MARTHA (gently): I did not wait your leave to pray for you. (She goes out.) CYRANO (turning to Roxane, who is still bending over her work): That tapestry! Beshrew me if my eyes Will ever see it finished! ROXANE: I was sure To hear that well-known jest! (A light breeze causes the leaves to fall.) CYRANO: The autumn leaves! ROXANE (lifting her head, and looking down the distant alley): Soft golden brown, like a Venetian's hair. --See how they fall! CYRANO: Ay, see how brave they fall, In their last journey downward from the bough, To rot within the clay; yet, lovely still, Hiding the horror of the last decay, With all the wayward grace of careless flight! ROXANE: What, melancholy--you? CYRANO (collecting himself): Nay, nay, Roxane! ROXANE: Then let the dead leaves fall the way they will. . . And chat. What, have you nothing new to tell, My Court Gazette? CYRANO: Listen. ROXANE: Ah! CYRANO (growing whiter and whiter): Saturday The nineteenth: having eaten to excess Of pear-conserve, the King felt feverish; The lancet quelled this treasonable revolt, And the august pulse beats at normal pace. At the Queen's ball on Sunday thirty score Of best white waxen tapers were consumed. Our troops, they say, have chased the Austrians. Four sorcerers were hanged. The little dog Of Madame d'Athis took a dose. . . ROXANE: I bid You hold your tongue, Monsieur de Bergerac! CYRANO: Monday--not much--Claire changed protector. ROXANE: Oh! CYRANO (whose face changes more and more): Tuesday, the Court repaired to Fontainebleau. Wednesday, the Montglat said to Comte de Fiesque. . . No! Thursday--Mancini, Queen of France! (almost!) Friday, the Monglat to Count Fiesque said--'Yes!' And Saturday the twenty-sixth. . . (He closes his eyes. His head falls forward. Silence.) ROXANE (surprised at his voice ceasing, turns round, looks at him, and rising, terrified): He swoons! (She runs toward him crying): Cyrano! CYRANO (opening his eyes, in an unconcerned voice): What is this? (He sees Roxane bending over him, and, hastily pressing his hat on his head, and shrinking back in his chair): Nay, on my word 'Tis nothing! Let me be! ROXANE: But. . . CYRANO: That old wound Of Arras, sometimes,--as you know. . . ROXANE: Dear friend! CYRANO: 'Tis nothing, 'twill pass soon; (He smiles with an effort): See!--it has passed! ROXANE: Each of us has his wound; ay, I have mine,-- Never healed up--not healed yet, my old wound! (She puts her hand on her breast): 'Tis here, beneath this letter brown with age, All stained with tear-drops, and still stained with blood. (Twilight begins to fall.) CYRANO: His letter! Ah! you promised me one day That I should read it. ROXANE: What would you?--His letter? CYRANO: Yes, I would fain,--to-day. . . ROXANE (giving the bag hung at her neck): See! here it is! CYRANO (taking it): Have I your leave to open? ROXANE: Open--read! (She comes back to her tapestry frame, folds it up, sorts her wools.) CYRANO (reading): 'Roxane, adieu! I soon must die! This very night, beloved; and I Feel my soul heavy with love untold. I die! No more, as in days of old, My loving, longing eyes will feast On your least gesture--ay, the least! I mind me the way you touch your cheek With your finger, softly, as you speak! Ah me! I know that gesture well! My heart cries out!--I cry "Farewell"!' ROXANE: But how you read that letter! One would think. . . CYRANO (continuing to read): 'My life, my love, my jewel, my sweet, My heart has been yours in every beat!' (The shades of evening fall imperceptibly.) ROXANE: You read in such a voice--so strange--and yet-- It is not the first time I hear that voice! (She comes nearer very softly, without his perceiving it, passes behind his chair, and, noiselessly leaning over him, looks at the letter. The darkness deepens.) CYRANO: 'Here, dying, and there, in the land on high, I am he who loved, who loves you,--I. . .' ROXANE (putting her hand on his shoulder): How can you read? It is too dark to see! (He starts, turns, sees her close to him. Suddenly alarmed, he holds his head down. Then in the dusk, which has now completely enfolded them, she says, very slowly, with clasped hands): And, fourteen years long, he has played this part Of the kind old friend who comes to laugh and chat. CYRANO: Roxane! ROXANE: 'Twas you! CYRANO: No, never; Roxane, no! ROXANE: I should have guessed, each time he said my name! CYRANO: No, it was not I! ROXANE: It was you! CYRANO: I swear! ROXANE: I see through all the generous counterfeit-- The letters--you! CYRANO: No. ROXANE: The sweet, mad love-words! You! CYRANO: No! ROXANE: The voice that thrilled the night--you, you! CYRANO: I swear you err. ROXANE: The soul--it was your soul! CYRANO: I loved you not. ROXANE: You loved me not? CYRANO: 'Twas he! ROXANE: You loved me! CYRANO: No! ROXANE: See! how you falter now! CYRANO: No, my sweet love, I never loved you! ROXANE: Ah! Things dead, long dead, see! how they rise again! --Why, why keep silence all these fourteen years, When, on this letter, which he never wrote, The tears were your tears? CYRANO (holding out the letter to her): The bloodstains were his. ROXANE: Why, then, that noble silence,--kept so long-- Broken to-day for the first time--why? CYRANO: Why?. . . (Le Bret and Ragueneau enter running.) Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A:

Roxane works on her tapestry, and does not notice that Cyrano is pale. Sister Marthe, whom he teases as usual, thinks that his pallor is caused by hunger. Cyrano begins his witty, amusing account of the week's gossip, and then nearly faints for a moment. He asks to see Roxane's last letter from Christian. Roxane gives it to him, and he reads it aloud. Roxane recognizes the voice that she heard under her balcony so long ago. She realizes that it is dark, that Cyrano could not be reading the letter but must be quoting from memory. She understands the deception at last, and knows that it is Cyrano whom she loved.

Chapter: The same. Le Bret and Ragueneau. LE BRET: What madness! Here? I knew it well! CYRANO (smiling and sitting up): What now? LE BRET: He has brought his death by coming, Madame. ROXANE: God! Ah, then! that faintness of a moment since. . .? CYRANO: Why, true! It interrupted the 'Gazette:' . . .Saturday, twenty-sixth, at dinner-time, Assassination of De Bergerac. (He takes off his hat; they see his head bandaged.) ROXANE: What says he? Cyrano!--His head all bound! Ah, what has chanced? How?--Who?. . . CYRANO: 'To be struck down, Pierced by sword i' the heart, from a hero's hand!' That I had dreamed. O mockery of Fate! --Killed, I! of all men--in an ambuscade! Struck from behind, and by a lackey's hand! 'Tis very well. I am foiled, foiled in all, Even in my death. RAGUENEAU: Ah, Monsieur!. . . CYRANO (holding out his hand to him): Ragueneau, Weep not so bitterly!. . .What do you now, Old comrade? RAGUENEAU (amid his tears): Trim the lights for Moliere's stage. CYRANO: Moliere! RAGUENEAU: Yes; but I shall leave to-morrow. I cannot bear it!--Yesterday, they played 'Scapin'--I saw he'd thieved a scene from you! LE BRET: What! a whole scene? RAGUENEAU: Oh, yes, indeed, Monsieur, The famous one, 'Que Diable allait-il faire?' LE BRET: Moliere has stolen that? CYRANO: Tut! He did well!. . . (to Ragueneau): How went the scene? It told--I think it told? RAGUENEAU (sobbing): Ah! how they laughed! CYRANO: Look you, it was my life To be the prompter every one forgets! (To Roxane): That night when 'neath your window Christian spoke --Under your balcony, you remember? Well! There was the allegory of my whole life: I, in the shadow, at the ladder's foot, While others lightly mount to Love and Fame! Just! very just! Here on the threshold drear Of death, I pay my tribute with the rest, To Moliere's genius,--Christian's fair face! (The chapel-bell chimes. The nuns are seen passing down the alley at the back, to say their office): Let them go pray, go pray, when the bell rings! ROXANE (rising and calling): Sister! Sister! CYRANO (holding her fast): Call no one. Leave me not; When you come back, I should be gone for aye. (The nuns have all entered the chapel. The organ sounds): I was somewhat fain for music--hark! 'tis come. ROXANE: Live, for I love you! CYRANO: No, In fairy tales When to the ill-starred Prince the lady says 'I love you!' all his ugliness fades fast-- But I remain the same, up to the last! ROXANE: I have marred your life--I, I! CYRANO: You blessed my life! Never on me had rested woman's love. My mother even could not find me fair: I had no sister; and, when grown a man, I feared the mistress who would mock at me. But I have had your friendship--grace to you A woman's charm has passed across my path. LE BRET (pointing to the moon, which is seen between the trees): Your other lady-love is come. CYRANO (smiling): I see. ROXANE: I loved but once, yet twice I lose my love! CYRANO: Hark you, Le Bret! I soon shall reach the moon. To-night, alone, with no projectile's aid!. . . LE BRET: What are you saying? CYRANO: I tell you, it is there, There, that they send me for my Paradise, There I shall find at last the souls I love, In exile,--Galileo--Socrates! LE BRET (rebelliously): No, no! It is too clumsy, too unjust! So great a heart! So great a poet! Die Like this? what, die. . .? CYRANO: Hark to Le Bret, who scolds! LE BRET (weeping): Dear friend. . . CYRANO (starting up, his eyes wild): What ho! Cadets of Gascony! The elemental mass--ah yes! The hic. . . LE BRET: His science still--he raves! CYRANO: Copernicus Said. . . ROXANE: Oh! CYRANO: Mais que diable allait-il faire, Mais que diable allait-il faire dans cette galere?. . . Philosopher, metaphysician, Rhymer, brawler, and musician, Famed for his lunar expedition, And the unnumbered duels he fought,-- And lover also,--by interposition!-- Here lies Hercule Savinien De Cyrano de Bergerac, Who was everything, yet was naught. I cry you pardon, but I may not stay; See, the moon-ray that comes to call me hence! (He has fallen back in his chair; the sobs of Roxane recall him to reality; he looks long at her, and, touching her veil): I would not bid you mourn less faithfully That good, brave Christian: I would only ask That when my body shall be cold in clay You wear those sable mourning weeds for two, And mourn awhile for me, in mourning him. ROXANE: I swear it you!. . . CYRANO (shivering violently, then suddenly rising): Not there! what, seated?--no! (They spring toward him): Let no one hold me up-- (He props himself against the tree): Only the tree! (Silence): It comes. E'en now my feet have turned to stone, My hands are gloved with lead! (He stands erect): But since Death comes, I meet him still afoot, (He draws his sword): And sword in hand! LE BRET: Cyrano! ROXANE (half fainting): Cyrano! (All shrink back in terror.) CYRANO: Why, I well believe He dares to mock my nose? Ho! insolent! (He raises his sword): What say you? It is useless? Ay, I know But who fights ever hoping for success? I fought for lost cause, and for fruitless quest! You there, who are you!--You are thousands! Ah! I know you now, old enemies of mine! Falsehood! (He strikes in air with his sword): Have at you! Ha! and Compromise! Prejudice, Treachery!. . . (He strikes): Surrender, I? Parley? No, never! You too, Folly,--you? I know that you will lay me low at last; Let be! Yet I fall fighting, fighting still! (He makes passes in the air, and stops, breathless): You strip from me the laurel and the rose! Take all! Despite you there is yet one thing I hold against you all, and when, to-night, I enter Christ's fair courts, and, lowly bowed, Sweep with doffed casque the heavens' threshold blue, One thing is left, that, void of stain or smutch, I bear away despite you. (He springs forward, his sword raised; it falls from his hand; he staggers, falls back into the arms of Le Bret and Ragueneau.) ROXANE (bending and kissing his forehead): 'Tis?. . . CYRANO (opening his eyes, recognizing her, and smiling): MY PANACHE. Curtain. Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A: Le Bret and Ragueneau enter. Cyrano says that he has barely missed everything in life -- including a noble death. Ragueneau says that Moliere has stolen a scene from one of Cyrano's plays and that it has been very well received. Cyrano says that that is the way his life has been -- Moliere has the genius; Christian had the beauty. Cyrano compares himself and Roxane to the fable of "Beauty and the Beast," then thanks Roxane for her friendship. He dies praising his unsullied white plume -- his integrity.

Chapter: The same. Le Bret and Ragueneau. LE BRET: What madness! Here? I knew it well! CYRANO (smiling and sitting up): What now? LE BRET: He has brought his death by coming, Madame. ROXANE: God! Ah, then! that faintness of a moment since. . .? CYRANO: Why, true! It interrupted the 'Gazette:' . . .Saturday, twenty-sixth, at dinner-time, Assassination of De Bergerac. (He takes off his hat; they see his head bandaged.) ROXANE: What says he? Cyrano!--His head all bound! Ah, what has chanced? How?--Who?. . . CYRANO: 'To be struck down, Pierced by sword i' the heart, from a hero's hand!' That I had dreamed. O mockery of Fate! --Killed, I! of all men--in an ambuscade! Struck from behind, and by a lackey's hand! 'Tis very well. I am foiled, foiled in all, Even in my death. RAGUENEAU: Ah, Monsieur!. . . CYRANO (holding out his hand to him): Ragueneau, Weep not so bitterly!. . .What do you now, Old comrade? RAGUENEAU (amid his tears): Trim the lights for Moliere's stage. CYRANO: Moliere! RAGUENEAU: Yes; but I shall leave to-morrow. I cannot bear it!--Yesterday, they played 'Scapin'--I saw he'd thieved a scene from you! LE BRET: What! a whole scene? RAGUENEAU: Oh, yes, indeed, Monsieur, The famous one, 'Que Diable allait-il faire?' LE BRET: Moliere has stolen that? CYRANO: Tut! He did well!. . . (to Ragueneau): How went the scene? It told--I think it told? RAGUENEAU (sobbing): Ah! how they laughed! CYRANO: Look you, it was my life To be the prompter every one forgets! (To Roxane): That night when 'neath your window Christian spoke --Under your balcony, you remember? Well! There was the allegory of my whole life: I, in the shadow, at the ladder's foot, While others lightly mount to Love and Fame! Just! very just! Here on the threshold drear Of death, I pay my tribute with the rest, To Moliere's genius,--Christian's fair face! (The chapel-bell chimes. The nuns are seen passing down the alley at the back, to say their office): Let them go pray, go pray, when the bell rings! ROXANE (rising and calling): Sister! Sister! CYRANO (holding her fast): Call no one. Leave me not; When you come back, I should be gone for aye. (The nuns have all entered the chapel. The organ sounds): I was somewhat fain for music--hark! 'tis come. ROXANE: Live, for I love you! CYRANO: No, In fairy tales When to the ill-starred Prince the lady says 'I love you!' all his ugliness fades fast-- But I remain the same, up to the last! ROXANE: I have marred your life--I, I! CYRANO: You blessed my life! Never on me had rested woman's love. My mother even could not find me fair: I had no sister; and, when grown a man, I feared the mistress who would mock at me. But I have had your friendship--grace to you A woman's charm has passed across my path. LE BRET (pointing to the moon, which is seen between the trees): Your other lady-love is come. CYRANO (smiling): I see. ROXANE: I loved but once, yet twice I lose my love! CYRANO: Hark you, Le Bret! I soon shall reach the moon. To-night, alone, with no projectile's aid!. . . LE BRET: What are you saying? CYRANO: I tell you, it is there, There, that they send me for my Paradise, There I shall find at last the souls I love, In exile,--Galileo--Socrates! LE BRET (rebelliously): No, no! It is too clumsy, too unjust! So great a heart! So great a poet! Die Like this? what, die. . .? CYRANO: Hark to Le Bret, who scolds! LE BRET (weeping): Dear friend. . . CYRANO (starting up, his eyes wild): What ho! Cadets of Gascony! The elemental mass--ah yes! The hic. . . LE BRET: His science still--he raves! CYRANO: Copernicus Said. . . ROXANE: Oh! CYRANO: Mais que diable allait-il faire, Mais que diable allait-il faire dans cette galere?. . . Philosopher, metaphysician, Rhymer, brawler, and musician, Famed for his lunar expedition, And the unnumbered duels he fought,-- And lover also,--by interposition!-- Here lies Hercule Savinien De Cyrano de Bergerac, Who was everything, yet was naught. I cry you pardon, but I may not stay; See, the moon-ray that comes to call me hence! (He has fallen back in his chair; the sobs of Roxane recall him to reality; he looks long at her, and, touching her veil): I would not bid you mourn less faithfully That good, brave Christian: I would only ask That when my body shall be cold in clay You wear those sable mourning weeds for two, And mourn awhile for me, in mourning him. ROXANE: I swear it you!. . . CYRANO (shivering violently, then suddenly rising): Not there! what, seated?--no! (They spring toward him): Let no one hold me up-- (He props himself against the tree): Only the tree! (Silence): It comes. E'en now my feet have turned to stone, My hands are gloved with lead! (He stands erect): But since Death comes, I meet him still afoot, (He draws his sword): And sword in hand! LE BRET: Cyrano! ROXANE (half fainting): Cyrano! (All shrink back in terror.) CYRANO: Why, I well believe He dares to mock my nose? Ho! insolent! (He raises his sword): What say you? It is useless? Ay, I know But who fights ever hoping for success? I fought for lost cause, and for fruitless quest! You there, who are you!--You are thousands! Ah! I know you now, old enemies of mine! Falsehood! (He strikes in air with his sword): Have at you! Ha! and Compromise! Prejudice, Treachery!. . . (He strikes): Surrender, I? Parley? No, never! You too, Folly,--you? I know that you will lay me low at last; Let be! Yet I fall fighting, fighting still! (He makes passes in the air, and stops, breathless): You strip from me the laurel and the rose! Take all! Despite you there is yet one thing I hold against you all, and when, to-night, I enter Christ's fair courts, and, lowly bowed, Sweep with doffed casque the heavens' threshold blue, One thing is left, that, void of stain or smutch, I bear away despite you. (He springs forward, his sword raised; it falls from his hand; he staggers, falls back into the arms of Le Bret and Ragueneau.) ROXANE (bending and kissing his forehead): 'Tis?. . . CYRANO (opening his eyes, recognizing her, and smiling): MY PANACHE. Curtain. Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A:

Le Bret and Ragueneau enter. Cyrano says that he has barely missed everything in life -- including a noble death. Ragueneau says that Moliere has stolen a scene from one of Cyrano's plays and that it has been very well received. Cyrano says that that is the way his life has been -- Moliere has the genius; Christian had the beauty. Cyrano compares himself and Roxane to the fable of "Beauty and the Beast," then thanks Roxane for her friendship. He dies praising his unsullied white plume -- his integrity.

Chapter: The public, arriving by degrees. Troopers, burghers, lackeys, pages, a pickpocket, the doorkeeper, etc., followed by the marquises. Cuigy, Brissaille, the buffet-girl, the violinists, etc. (A confusion of loud voices is heard outside the door. A trooper enters hastily.) THE DOORKEEPER (following him): Hollo! You there! Your money! THE TROOPER: I enter gratis. THE DOORKEEPER: Why? THE TROOPER: Why? I am of the King's Household Cavalry, 'faith! THE DOORKEEPER (to another trooper who enters): And you? SECOND TROOPER: I pay nothing. THE DOORKEEPER: How so? SECOND TROOPER: I am a musketeer. FIRST TROOPER (to the second): The play will not begin till two. The pit is empty. Come, a bout with the foils to pass the time. (They fence with the foils they have brought.) A LACKEY (entering): Pst. . .Flanquin. . .! ANOTHER (already there): Champagne?. . . THE FIRST (showing him cards and dice which he takes from his doublet): See, here be cards and dice. (He seats himself on the floor): Let's play. THE SECOND (doing the same): Good; I am with you, villain! FIRST LACKEY (taking from his pocket a candle-end, which he lights, and sticks on the floor): I made free to provide myself with light at my master's expense! A GUARDSMAN (to a shop-girl who advances): 'Twas prettily done to come before the lights were lit! (He takes her round the waist.) ONE OF THE FENCERS (receiving a thrust): A hit! ONE OF THE CARD-PLAYERS: Clubs! THE GUARDSMAN (following the girl): A kiss! THE SHOP-GIRL (struggling to free herself): They're looking! THE GUARDSMAN (drawing her to a dark corner): No fear! No one can see! A MAN (sitting on the ground with others, who have brought their provisions): By coming early, one can eat in comfort. A BURGHER (conducting his son): Let us sit here, son. A CARD-PLAYER: Triple ace! A MAN (taking a bottle from under his cloak, and also seating himself on the floor): A tippler may well quaff his Burgundy (he drinks): in the Burgundy Hotel! THE BURGHER (to his son): 'Faith! A man might think he had fallen in a bad house here! (He points with his cane to the drunkard): What with topers! (One of the fencers in breaking off, jostles him): brawlers! (He stumbles into the midst of the card-players): gamblers! THE GUARDSMAN (behind him, still teasing the shop-girl): Come, one kiss! THE BURGHER (hurriedly pulling his son away): By all the holies! And this, my boy, is the theater where they played Rotrou erewhile. THE YOUNG MAN: Ay, and Corneille! A TROOP OF PAGES (hand-in-hand, enter dancing the farandole, and singing): Tra' a la, la, la, la, la, la, la, lere. . . THE DOORKEEPER (sternly, to the pages): You pages there, none of your tricks!. . . FIRST PAGE (with an air of wounded dignity): Oh, sir!--such a suspicion!. . . (Briskly, to the second page, the moment the doorkeeper's back is turned): Have you string? THE SECOND: Ay, and a fish-hook with it. FIRST PAGE: We can angle for wigs, then, up there i' th' gallery. A PICKPOCKET (gathering about him some evil-looking youths): Hark ye, young cut-purses, lend an ear, while I give you your first lesson in thieving. SECOND PAGE (calling up to others in the top galleries): You there! Have you peashooters? 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.) Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A: In the year 1640, the Hall of the Hotel de Bourgogne--a large, crowded Parisian theater--buzzes with activity in the minutes before a performance of the play La Clorise. People mill about and converse, divided according to their social class. A citizen guides his son through the room, impressing upon him the intellectual magnitude of the performance. A thief moves through the crowd, stealing handkerchiefs and purses. A group of pages runs about firing peashooters at one another. Two elegant marquises, with swords strapped to their waists, tread through the crowd, aloof and condescending. The lamps are lit, and the crowd cheers, knowing the performance will commence soon

Chapter: The public, arriving by degrees. Troopers, burghers, lackeys, pages, a pickpocket, the doorkeeper, etc., followed by the marquises. Cuigy, Brissaille, the buffet-girl, the violinists, etc. (A confusion of loud voices is heard outside the door. A trooper enters hastily.) THE DOORKEEPER (following him): Hollo! You there! Your money! THE TROOPER: I enter gratis. THE DOORKEEPER: Why? THE TROOPER: Why? I am of the King's Household Cavalry, 'faith! THE DOORKEEPER (to another trooper who enters): And you? SECOND TROOPER: I pay nothing. THE DOORKEEPER: How so? SECOND TROOPER: I am a musketeer. FIRST TROOPER (to the second): The play will not begin till two. The pit is empty. Come, a bout with the foils to pass the time. (They fence with the foils they have brought.) A LACKEY (entering): Pst. . .Flanquin. . .! ANOTHER (already there): Champagne?. . . THE FIRST (showing him cards and dice which he takes from his doublet): See, here be cards and dice. (He seats himself on the floor): Let's play. THE SECOND (doing the same): Good; I am with you, villain! FIRST LACKEY (taking from his pocket a candle-end, which he lights, and sticks on the floor): I made free to provide myself with light at my master's expense! A GUARDSMAN (to a shop-girl who advances): 'Twas prettily done to come before the lights were lit! (He takes her round the waist.) ONE OF THE FENCERS (receiving a thrust): A hit! ONE OF THE CARD-PLAYERS: Clubs! THE GUARDSMAN (following the girl): A kiss! THE SHOP-GIRL (struggling to free herself): They're looking! THE GUARDSMAN (drawing her to a dark corner): No fear! No one can see! A MAN (sitting on the ground with others, who have brought their provisions): By coming early, one can eat in comfort. A BURGHER (conducting his son): Let us sit here, son. A CARD-PLAYER: Triple ace! A MAN (taking a bottle from under his cloak, and also seating himself on the floor): A tippler may well quaff his Burgundy (he drinks): in the Burgundy Hotel! THE BURGHER (to his son): 'Faith! A man might think he had fallen in a bad house here! (He points with his cane to the drunkard): What with topers! (One of the fencers in breaking off, jostles him): brawlers! (He stumbles into the midst of the card-players): gamblers! THE GUARDSMAN (behind him, still teasing the shop-girl): Come, one kiss! THE BURGHER (hurriedly pulling his son away): By all the holies! And this, my boy, is the theater where they played Rotrou erewhile. THE YOUNG MAN: Ay, and Corneille! A TROOP OF PAGES (hand-in-hand, enter dancing the farandole, and singing): Tra' a la, la, la, la, la, la, la, lere. . . THE DOORKEEPER (sternly, to the pages): You pages there, none of your tricks!. . . FIRST PAGE (with an air of wounded dignity): Oh, sir!--such a suspicion!. . . (Briskly, to the second page, the moment the doorkeeper's back is turned): Have you string? THE SECOND: Ay, and a fish-hook with it. FIRST PAGE: We can angle for wigs, then, up there i' th' gallery. A PICKPOCKET (gathering about him some evil-looking youths): Hark ye, young cut-purses, lend an ear, while I give you your first lesson in thieving. SECOND PAGE (calling up to others in the top galleries): You there! Have you peashooters? 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.) Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A:

In the year 1640, the Hall of the Hotel de Bourgogne--a large, crowded Parisian theater--buzzes with activity in the minutes before a performance of the play La Clorise. People mill about and converse, divided according to their social class. A citizen guides his son through the room, impressing upon him the intellectual magnitude of the performance. A thief moves through the crowd, stealing handkerchiefs and purses. A group of pages runs about firing peashooters at one another. Two elegant marquises, with swords strapped to their waists, tread through the crowd, aloof and condescending. The lamps are lit, and the crowd cheers, knowing the performance will commence soon

Chapter: 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 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 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! Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A: The audience waits for the play to begin. The disheveled satirist Ligniere enters, arm in arm, with the handsome young nobleman Baron Christian de Neuvillette, who tells a group of admiring marquises that he has been in Paris only two or three weeks and that he will join the guards tomorrow. Ligniere has come to report to Christian about the woman with whom Christian has fallen in love. Christian says she is always at the plays. But she has not arrived yet, and Ligniere prepares to leave--he says he needs to find a tavern. When a refreshment girl passes by with wine, Ligniere agrees to stay. Ragueneau, a baker who caters to and idolizes poets, enters, looking for Cyrano de Bergerac. He says he expects trouble because an actor named Montfleury is performing in the play. He knows Cyrano hates Montfleury and has banned him from performing onstage for a month. Christian has never heard of Cyrano de Bergerac, but Ragueneau and Ligniere seem to be almost in awe of him. Christian asks who Cyrano is, and his friend Le Bret says that Cyrano is the "most delightful man under the sun. The others describe him as a poet, swordsman, scientist, musician, and "wild swashbuckler" with a long sword. They also say he has an unbelievably long and imposing nose. But he is a formidable figure, and Le Bret, who serves with Cyrano in the guards, says he too expects trouble. Suddenly, Christian spies the woman with whom he has fallen in love. Ligniere tells him that she is Roxane, a brilliant, young heiress and intellectual. She sits in a box with a somewhat older man--the Comte de Guiche, who is also in love with her. Ligniere says the Comte is married and hopes to marry Roxane to his lackey, the Vicomte de Valvert. Christian is most upset to learn that Roxane is an intellectual. Ligniere leaves to find a tavern, and there is still no sign of Cyrano. The crowd grows anxious for the play to begin

Chapter: 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 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 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! Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A:

The audience waits for the play to begin. The disheveled satirist Ligniere enters, arm in arm, with the handsome young nobleman Baron Christian de Neuvillette, who tells a group of admiring marquises that he has been in Paris only two or three weeks and that he will join the guards tomorrow. Ligniere has come to report to Christian about the woman with whom Christian has fallen in love. Christian says she is always at the plays. But she has not arrived yet, and Ligniere prepares to leave--he says he needs to find a tavern. When a refreshment girl passes by with wine, Ligniere agrees to stay. Ragueneau, a baker who caters to and idolizes poets, enters, looking for Cyrano de Bergerac. He says he expects trouble because an actor named Montfleury is performing in the play. He knows Cyrano hates Montfleury and has banned him from performing onstage for a month. Christian has never heard of Cyrano de Bergerac, but Ragueneau and Ligniere seem to be almost in awe of him. Christian asks who Cyrano is, and his friend Le Bret says that Cyrano is the "most delightful man under the sun. The others describe him as a poet, swordsman, scientist, musician, and "wild swashbuckler" with a long sword. They also say he has an unbelievably long and imposing nose. But he is a formidable figure, and Le Bret, who serves with Cyrano in the guards, says he too expects trouble. Suddenly, Christian spies the woman with whom he has fallen in love. Ligniere tells him that she is Roxane, a brilliant, young heiress and intellectual. She sits in a box with a somewhat older man--the Comte de Guiche, who is also in love with her. Ligniere says the Comte is married and hopes to marry Roxane to his lackey, the Vicomte de Valvert. Christian is most upset to learn that Roxane is an intellectual. Ligniere leaves to find a tavern, and there is still no sign of Cyrano. The crowd grows anxious for the play to begin

Chapter: The same, all but Ligniere. De Guiche, Valvert, then Montfleury. A marquis (watching De Guiche, who comes down from Roxane's box, and crosses the pit surrounded by obsequious noblemen, among them the Viscount de Valvert): He pays a fine court, your De Guiche! ANOTHER: Faugh!. . .Another Gascon! THE FIRST: Ay, but the cold, supple Gascon--that is the stuff success is made of! Believe me, we had best make our bow to him. (They go toward De Guiche.) SECOND MARQUIS: What fine ribbons! How call you the color, Count de Guiche? 'Kiss me, my darling,' or 'Timid Fawn?' DE GUICHE: 'Tis the color called 'Sick Spaniard.' FIRST MARQUIS: 'Faith! The color speaks truth, for, thanks to your valor, things will soon go ill for Spain in Flanders. DE GUICHE: I go on the stage! Will you come? (He goes toward the stage, followed by the marquises and gentlemen. Turning, he calls): Come you Valvert! CHRISTIAN (who is watching and listening, starts on hearing this name): The Viscount! Ah! I will throw full in his face my. . . (He puts his hand in his pocket, and finds there the hand of a pickpocket who is about to rob him. He turns round): Hey? THE PICKPOCKET: Oh! CHRISTIAN (holding him tightly): I was looking for a glove. THE PICKPOCKET (smiling piteously): And you find a hand. (Changing his tone, quickly and in a whisper): Let me but go, and I will deliver you a secret. CHRISTIAN (still holding him): What is it? THE PICKPOCKET: Ligniere. . .he who has just left you. . . CHRISTIAN (same play): Well? THE PICKPOCKET: His life is in peril. A song writ by him has given offense in high places-- and a hundred men--I am of them--are posted to-night. . . CHRISTIAN: A hundred men! By whom posted? THE PICKPOCKET: I may not say--a secret. . . CHRISTIAN (shrugging his shoulders): Oh! THE PICKPOCKET (with great dignity): . . .Of the profession. CHRISTIAN: Where are they posted? THE PICKPOCKET: At the Porte de Nesle. On his way homeward. Warn him. CHRISTIAN (letting go of his wrists): But where can I find him? THE PICKPOCKET: Run round to all the taverns--The Golden Wine Press, the Pine Cone, The Belt that Bursts, The Two Torches, The Three Funnels, and at each leave a word that shall put him on his guard. CHRISTIAN: Good--I fly! Ah, the scoundrels! A hundred men 'gainst one! (Looking lovingly at Roxane): Ah, to leave her!. . . (looking with rage at Valvert): and him!. . .But save Ligniere I must! (He hurries out. De Guiche, the viscount, the marquises, have all disappeared behind the curtain to take their places on the benches placed on the stage. The pit is quite full; the galleries and boxes are also crowded.) THE AUDIENCE: Begin! A BURGHER (whose wig is drawn up on the end of a string by a page in the upper gallery): My wig! CRIES OF DELIGHT: He is bald! Bravo, pages--ha! ha! ha!. . . THE BURGHER (furious, shaking his fist): Young villain! LAUGHTER AND CRIES (beginning very loud, and dying gradually away): Ha! ha! ha! ha! ha! ha! (Total silence.) LE BRET (astonished): What means this sudden silence?. . . (A spectator says something to him in a low voice): Is't true? THE SPECTATOR: I have just heard it on good authority. MURMURS (spreading through the hall): Hush! Is it he? No! Ay, I say! In the box with the bars in front! The Cardinal! The Cardinal! The Cardinal! A PAGE: The devil! We shall have to behave ourselves. . . (A knock is heard upon the stage. Every one is motionless. A pause.) THE VOICE OF A MARQUIS (in the silence, behind the curtain): Snuff that candle! ANOTHER MARQUIS (putting his head through the opening in the curtain): A chair! (A chair is passed from hand to hand, over the heads of the spectators. The marquis takes it and disappears, after blowing some kisses to the boxes.) A SPECTATOR: Silence! (Three knocks are heard on the stage. The curtain opens in the centre Tableau. The marquises in insolent attitudes seated on each side of the stage. The scene represents a pastoral landscape. Four little lusters light the stage; the violins play softly.) LE BRET (in a low voice to Ragueneau): Montfleury comes on the scene? RAGUENEAU (also in a low voice): Ay, 'tis he who begins. LE BRET: Cyrano is not here. RAGUENEAU: I have lost my wager. LE BRET: 'Tis all the better! (An air on the drone-pipes is heard, and Montfleury enters, enormously stout, in an Arcadian shepherd's dress, a hat wreathed with roses drooping over one ear, blowing into a ribboned drone pipe.) THE PIT (applauding): Bravo, Montfleury! Montfleury! MONTFLEURY (after bowing low, begins the part of Phedon): 'Heureux qui loin des cours, dans un lieu solitaire, Se prescrit a soi-meme un exil volontaire, Et qui, lorsque Zephire a souffle sur les bois. . .' A VOICE (from the middle of the pit): Villain! Did I not forbid you to show your face here for month? (General stupor. Every one turns round. Murmurs.) DIFFERENT VOICES: Hey?--What?--What is't?. . . (The people stand up in the boxes to look.) CUIGY: 'Tis he! LE BRET (terrified): Cyrano! THE VOICE: King of clowns! Leave the stage this instant! ALL THE AUDIENCE (indignantly): Oh! MONTFLEURY: But. . . THE VOICE: Do you dare defy me? DIFFERENT VOICES (from the pit and the boxes): Peace! Enough!--Play on, Montfleury--fear nothing! MONTFLEURY (in a trembling voice): 'Heureux qui loin des cours, dans un lieu sol--' THE VOICE (more fiercely): Well! Chief of all the blackguards, must I come and give you a taste of my cane? (A hand holding a cane starts up over the heads of the spectators.) MONTFLEURY (in a voice that trembles more and more): 'Heureux qui. . .' (The cane is shaken.) THE VOICE: Off the stage! THE PIT: Oh! MONTFLEURY (choking): 'Heureux qui loin des cours. . .' CYRANO (appearing suddenly in the pit, standing on a chair, his arms crossed, his beaver cocked fiercely, his mustache bristling, his nose terrible to see): Ah! I shall be angry in a minute!. . . (Sensation.) Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A: The two marquises discuss de Guiche distastefully as he walks toward them. Christian observes their exchange. Christian decides to challenge de Guiche's lackey, Valvert, to a duel; as he reaches for his glove, with which he plans to challenge Valvert by slapping him in the face with it, he catches the hand of a pickpocket. In exchange for his release, the thief tells Christian that Ligniere's latest satire has offended a powerful man, who has arranged for Ligniere to be ambushed by a hundred men later that night on his way home. Christian leaves to save Ligniere. The crowd begins to chant for the play. Three raps sound from the stage, and the crowd becomes quiet. The curtains open. The violins play. Le Bret and Ragueneau decide that Cyrano must not be in the audience since Montfleury, the actor whom Cyrano detests, is about to make his entrance. Dressed as a shepherd, the pudgy actor walks onto the stage and begins to deliver a speech. Suddenly, a voice from the crowd cries out, "Haven't I ordered you off the stage for a month, you wretched scoundrel. The speaker is hidden, but Le Bret knows it must be Cyrano. Montfleury makes several attempts to begin his lines, but the heckling speaker continues to interrupt him. Cyrano finally stands upon his chair, and his appearance creates a stir throughout the audience.

Chapter: The same, all but Ligniere. De Guiche, Valvert, then Montfleury. A marquis (watching De Guiche, who comes down from Roxane's box, and crosses the pit surrounded by obsequious noblemen, among them the Viscount de Valvert): He pays a fine court, your De Guiche! ANOTHER: Faugh!. . .Another Gascon! THE FIRST: Ay, but the cold, supple Gascon--that is the stuff success is made of! Believe me, we had best make our bow to him. (They go toward De Guiche.) SECOND MARQUIS: What fine ribbons! How call you the color, Count de Guiche? 'Kiss me, my darling,' or 'Timid Fawn?' DE GUICHE: 'Tis the color called 'Sick Spaniard.' FIRST MARQUIS: 'Faith! The color speaks truth, for, thanks to your valor, things will soon go ill for Spain in Flanders. DE GUICHE: I go on the stage! Will you come? (He goes toward the stage, followed by the marquises and gentlemen. Turning, he calls): Come you Valvert! CHRISTIAN (who is watching and listening, starts on hearing this name): The Viscount! Ah! I will throw full in his face my. . . (He puts his hand in his pocket, and finds there the hand of a pickpocket who is about to rob him. He turns round): Hey? THE PICKPOCKET: Oh! CHRISTIAN (holding him tightly): I was looking for a glove. THE PICKPOCKET (smiling piteously): And you find a hand. (Changing his tone, quickly and in a whisper): Let me but go, and I will deliver you a secret. CHRISTIAN (still holding him): What is it? THE PICKPOCKET: Ligniere. . .he who has just left you. . . CHRISTIAN (same play): Well? THE PICKPOCKET: His life is in peril. A song writ by him has given offense in high places-- and a hundred men--I am of them--are posted to-night. . . CHRISTIAN: A hundred men! By whom posted? THE PICKPOCKET: I may not say--a secret. . . CHRISTIAN (shrugging his shoulders): Oh! THE PICKPOCKET (with great dignity): . . .Of the profession. CHRISTIAN: Where are they posted? THE PICKPOCKET: At the Porte de Nesle. On his way homeward. Warn him. CHRISTIAN (letting go of his wrists): But where can I find him? THE PICKPOCKET: Run round to all the taverns--The Golden Wine Press, the Pine Cone, The Belt that Bursts, The Two Torches, The Three Funnels, and at each leave a word that shall put him on his guard. CHRISTIAN: Good--I fly! Ah, the scoundrels! A hundred men 'gainst one! (Looking lovingly at Roxane): Ah, to leave her!. . . (looking with rage at Valvert): and him!. . .But save Ligniere I must! (He hurries out. De Guiche, the viscount, the marquises, have all disappeared behind the curtain to take their places on the benches placed on the stage. The pit is quite full; the galleries and boxes are also crowded.) THE AUDIENCE: Begin! A BURGHER (whose wig is drawn up on the end of a string by a page in the upper gallery): My wig! CRIES OF DELIGHT: He is bald! Bravo, pages--ha! ha! ha!. . . THE BURGHER (furious, shaking his fist): Young villain! LAUGHTER AND CRIES (beginning very loud, and dying gradually away): Ha! ha! ha! ha! ha! ha! (Total silence.) LE BRET (astonished): What means this sudden silence?. . . (A spectator says something to him in a low voice): Is't true? THE SPECTATOR: I have just heard it on good authority. MURMURS (spreading through the hall): Hush! Is it he? No! Ay, I say! In the box with the bars in front! The Cardinal! The Cardinal! The Cardinal! A PAGE: The devil! We shall have to behave ourselves. . . (A knock is heard upon the stage. Every one is motionless. A pause.) THE VOICE OF A MARQUIS (in the silence, behind the curtain): Snuff that candle! ANOTHER MARQUIS (putting his head through the opening in the curtain): A chair! (A chair is passed from hand to hand, over the heads of the spectators. The marquis takes it and disappears, after blowing some kisses to the boxes.) A SPECTATOR: Silence! (Three knocks are heard on the stage. The curtain opens in the centre Tableau. The marquises in insolent attitudes seated on each side of the stage. The scene represents a pastoral landscape. Four little lusters light the stage; the violins play softly.) LE BRET (in a low voice to Ragueneau): Montfleury comes on the scene? RAGUENEAU (also in a low voice): Ay, 'tis he who begins. LE BRET: Cyrano is not here. RAGUENEAU: I have lost my wager. LE BRET: 'Tis all the better! (An air on the drone-pipes is heard, and Montfleury enters, enormously stout, in an Arcadian shepherd's dress, a hat wreathed with roses drooping over one ear, blowing into a ribboned drone pipe.) THE PIT (applauding): Bravo, Montfleury! Montfleury! MONTFLEURY (after bowing low, begins the part of Phedon): 'Heureux qui loin des cours, dans un lieu solitaire, Se prescrit a soi-meme un exil volontaire, Et qui, lorsque Zephire a souffle sur les bois. . .' A VOICE (from the middle of the pit): Villain! Did I not forbid you to show your face here for month? (General stupor. Every one turns round. Murmurs.) DIFFERENT VOICES: Hey?--What?--What is't?. . . (The people stand up in the boxes to look.) CUIGY: 'Tis he! LE BRET (terrified): Cyrano! THE VOICE: King of clowns! Leave the stage this instant! ALL THE AUDIENCE (indignantly): Oh! MONTFLEURY: But. . . THE VOICE: Do you dare defy me? DIFFERENT VOICES (from the pit and the boxes): Peace! Enough!--Play on, Montfleury--fear nothing! MONTFLEURY (in a trembling voice): 'Heureux qui loin des cours, dans un lieu sol--' THE VOICE (more fiercely): Well! Chief of all the blackguards, must I come and give you a taste of my cane? (A hand holding a cane starts up over the heads of the spectators.) MONTFLEURY (in a voice that trembles more and more): 'Heureux qui. . .' (The cane is shaken.) THE VOICE: Off the stage! THE PIT: Oh! MONTFLEURY (choking): 'Heureux qui loin des cours. . .' CYRANO (appearing suddenly in the pit, standing on a chair, his arms crossed, his beaver cocked fiercely, his mustache bristling, his nose terrible to see): Ah! I shall be angry in a minute!. . . (Sensation.) Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A:

The two marquises discuss de Guiche distastefully as he walks toward them. Christian observes their exchange. Christian decides to challenge de Guiche's lackey, Valvert, to a duel; as he reaches for his glove, with which he plans to challenge Valvert by slapping him in the face with it, he catches the hand of a pickpocket. In exchange for his release, the thief tells Christian that Ligniere's latest satire has offended a powerful man, who has arranged for Ligniere to be ambushed by a hundred men later that night on his way home. Christian leaves to save Ligniere. The crowd begins to chant for the play. Three raps sound from the stage, and the crowd becomes quiet. The curtains open. The violins play. Le Bret and Ragueneau decide that Cyrano must not be in the audience since Montfleury, the actor whom Cyrano detests, is about to make his entrance. Dressed as a shepherd, the pudgy actor walks onto the stage and begins to deliver a speech. Suddenly, a voice from the crowd cries out, "Haven't I ordered you off the stage for a month, you wretched scoundrel. The speaker is hidden, but Le Bret knows it must be Cyrano. Montfleury makes several attempts to begin his lines, but the heckling speaker continues to interrupt him. Cyrano finally stands upon his chair, and his appearance creates a stir throughout the audience.

Chapter: The same. Cyrano, then Bellerose, Jodelet. MONTFLEURY (to the marquises): Come to my help, my lords! A MARQUIS (carelessly): Go on! Go on! CYRANO: Fat man, take warning! If you go on, I Shall feel myself constrained to cuff your face! THE MARQUIS: Have done! CYRANO: And if these lords hold not their tongue Shall feel constrained to make them taste my cane! ALL THE MARQUISES (rising): Enough!. . .Montfleury. . . CYRANO: If he goes not quick I will cut off his ears and slit him up! A VOICE: But. . . CYRANO: Out he goes! ANOTHER VOICE: Yet. . . CYRANO: Is he not gone yet? (He makes the gesture of turning up his cuffs): Good! I shall mount the stage now, buffet-wise, To carve this fine Italian sausage--thus! MONTFLEURY (trying to be dignified): You outrage Thalia in insulting me! CYRANO (very politely): If that Muse, Sir, who knows you not at all, Could claim acquaintance with you--oh, believe (Seeing how urn-like, fat, and slow you are) That she would make you taste her buskin's sole! THE PIT: Montfleury! Montfleury! Come--Baro's play! CYRANO (to those who are calling out): I pray you have a care! If you go on My scabbard soon will render up its blade! (The circle round him widens.) THE CROWD (drawing back): Take care! CYRANO (to Montfleury): Leave the stage! THE CROWD (coming near and grumbling): Oh!-- CYRANO: Did some one speak? (They draw back again.) A VOICE (singing at the back): Monsieur de Cyrano Displays his tyrannies: A fig for tyrants! What, ho! Come! Play us 'La Clorise!' ALL THE PIT (singing): 'La Clorise!' 'La Clorise!'. . . CYRANO: Let me but hear once more that foolish rhyme, I slaughter every man of you. A BURGHER: Oh! Samson? CYRANO: Yes Samson! Will you lend your jawbone, Sir? A LADY (in the boxes): Outrageous! A LORD: Scandalous! A BURGHER: 'Tis most annoying! A PAGE: Fair good sport! THE PIT: Kss!--Montfleury. . .Cyrano! CYRANO: Silence! THE PIT (wildly excited): Ho-o-o-o-h! Quack! Cock-a-doodle-doo! CYRANO: I order-- A PAGE: Miow! CYRANO: I order silence, all! And challenge the whole pit collectively!-- I write your names!--Approach, young heroes, here! Each in his turn! I cry the numbers out!-- Now which of you will come to ope the lists? You, Sir? No! You? No! The first duellist Shall be dispatched by me with honors due! Let all who long for death hold up their hands! (A silence): Modest? You fear to see my naked blade? Not one name?--Not one hand?--Good, I proceed! (Turning toward the stage, where Montfleury waits in an agony): The theater's too full, congested,--I Would clear it out. . .If not. . . (Puts his hand on his sword): The knife must act! MONTFLEURY: I. . . CYRANO (leaves his chair, and settles himself in the middle of the circle which has formed): I will clap my hands thrice, thus--full moon! At the third clap, eclipse yourself! THE PIT (amused): Ah! CYRANO (clapping his hands): One! MONTFLEURY: I. . . A VOICE (in the boxes): Stay! THE PIT: He stays. . .he goes. . .he stays. . . MONTFLEURY: I think. . .Gentlemen,. . . CYRANO: Two! MONTFLEURY: I think 'twere wisest. . . CYRANO: Three! (Montfleury disappears as through a trap. Tempest of laughs, whistling cries, etc.) THE WHOLE HOUSE: Coward. . .come back! CYRANO (delighted, sits back in his chair, arms crossed): Come back an if you dare! A BURGHER: Call for the orator! (Bellerose comes forward and bows.) THE BOXES: Ah! here's Bellerose! BELLEROSE (elegantly): My noble lords. . . THE PIT: No! no! Jodelet! JODELET (advancing, speaking through his nose): Calves! THE PIT: Ah! bravo! good! go on! JODELET: No bravos, Sirs! The fat tragedian whom you all love Felt. . . THE PIT: Coward! JODELET: . . .was obliged to go. THE PIT: Come back! SOME: No! OTHERS: Yes! A YOUNG MAN (to Cyrano): But pray, Sir, for what reason, say, Hate you Montfleury? CYRANO (graciously, still seated): Youthful gander, know I have two reasons--either will suffice. Primo. An actor villainous! who mouths, And heaves up like a bucket from a well The verses that should, bird-like, fly! Secundo-- That is my secret. . . THE OLD BURGHER (behind him): Shameful! You deprive us Of the 'Clorise!' I must insist. . . CYRANO (turning his chair toward the burgher, respectfully): Old mule! The verses of old Baro are not worth A doit! I'm glad to interrupt. . . THE PRECIEUSES (in the boxes): Our Baro!-- My dear! How dares he venture!. . . CYRANO (turning his chair toward the boxes gallantly): Fairest ones, Radiate, bloom, hold to our lips the cup Of dreams intoxicating, Hebe-like! Or, when death strikes, charm death with your sweet smiles; Inspire our verse, but--criticise it not! BELLEROSE: We must give back the entrance fees! CYRANO (turning his chair toward the stage): Bellerose, You make the first intelligent remark! Would I rend Thespis' sacred mantle? Nay! (He rises and throws a bag on the stage): Catch then the purse I throw, and hold your peace! THE HOUSE (dazzled): Ah! Oh! JODELET (catching the purse dexterously and weighing it): At this price, you've authority To come each night, and stop 'Clorise,' Sir! THE PIT: Ho!. . .Ho! Ho!. . . JODELET: E'en if you chase us in a pack!. . . BELLEROSE: Clear out the hall!. . . JODELET: Get you all gone at once! (The people begin to go out, while Cyrano looks on with satisfaction. But the crowd soon stop on hearing the following scene, and remain where they are. The women, who, with their mantles on, are already standing up in the boxes, stop to listen, and finally reseat themselves.) LE BRET (to Cyrano): 'Tis mad!. . . A BORE (coming up to Cyrano): The actor Montfleury! 'Tis shameful! Why, he's protected by the Duke of Candal! Have you a patron? CYRANO: No! THE BORE: No patron?. . . CYRANO: None! THE BORE: What! no great lord to shield you with his name? CYRANO (irritated): No, I have told you twice! Must I repeat? No! no protector. . . (His hand on his sword): A protectress. . .here! THE BORE: But you must leave the town? CYRANO: Well, that depends! THE BORE: The Duke has a long arm! CYRANO: But not so long As mine, when it is lengthened out. . . (Shows his sword): As thus! THE BORE: You think not to contend? CYRANO: 'Tis my idea! THE BORE: But. . . CYRANO: Show your heels! now! THE BORE: But I. . . CYRANO: Or tell me why you stare so at my nose! THE BORE (staggered): I. . . CYRANO (walking straight up to him): Well, what is there strange? THE BORE (drawing back): Your Grace mistakes! CYRANO: How now? Is't soft and dangling, like a trunk?. . . THE BORE (same play): I never. . . CYRANO: Is it crook'd, like an owl's beak? THE BORE: I. . . CYRANO: Do you see a wart upon the tip? THE BORE: Nay. . . CYRANO: Or a fly, that takes the air there? What Is there to stare at? THE BORE: Oh. . . CYRANO: What do you see? THE BORE: But I was careful not to look--knew better. CYRANO: And why not look at it, an if you please? THE BORE: I was. . . CYRANO: Oh! it disgusts you! THE BORE: Sir! CYRANO: Its hue Unwholesome seems to you? THE BORE: Sir! CYRANO: Or its shape? THE BORE: No, on the contrary!. . . CYRANO: Why then that air Disparaging?--perchance you think it large? THE BORE (stammering): No, small, quite small--minute! CYRANO: Minute! What now? Accuse me of a thing ridiculous! Small--my nose? THE BORE: Heaven help me! CYRANO: 'Tis enormous! Old Flathead, empty-headed meddler, know That I am proud possessing such appendice. 'Tis well known, a big nose is indicative Of a soul affable, and kind, and courteous, Liberal, brave, just like myself, and such As you can never dare to dream yourself, Rascal contemptible! For that witless face That my hand soon will come to cuff--is all As empty. . . (He cuffs him.) THE BORE: Aie! CYRANO: --of pride, of aspiration, Of feeling, poetry--of godlike spark Of all that appertains to my big nose, (He turns him by the shoulders, suiting the action to the word): As. . .what my boot will shortly come and kick! THE BORE (running away): Help! Call the Guard! CYRANO: Take notice, boobies all, Who find my visage's center ornament A thing to jest at--that it is my wont-- An if the jester's noble--ere we part To let him taste my steel, and not my boot! DE GUICHE (who, with the marquises, has come down from the stage): But he becomes a nuisance! THE VISCOUNT DE VALVERT (shrugging his shoulders): Swaggerer! DE GUICHE: Will no one put him down?. . . THE VISCOUNT: No one? But wait! I'll treat him to. . .one of my quips!. . .See here!. . . (He goes up to Cyrano, who is watching him, and with a conceited air): Sir, your nose is. . .hmm. . .it is. . .very big! CYRANO (gravely): Very! THE VISCOUNT (laughing): Ha! CYRANO (imperturbably): Is that all?. . . THE VISCOUNT: What do you mean? CYRANO: Ah no! young blade! That was a trifle short! You might have said at least a hundred things By varying the tone. . .like this, suppose,. . . Aggressive: 'Sir, if I had such a nose I'd amputate it!' Friendly: 'When you sup It must annoy you, dipping in your cup; You need a drinking-bowl of special shape!' Descriptive: ''Tis a rock!. . .a peak!. . .a cape! --A cape, forsooth! 'Tis a peninsular!' Curious: 'How serves that oblong capsular? For scissor-sheath? Or pot to hold your ink?' Gracious: 'You love the little birds, I think? I see you've managed with a fond research To find their tiny claws a roomy perch!' Truculent: 'When you smoke your pipe. . .suppose That the tobacco-smoke spouts from your nose-- Do not the neighbors, as the fumes rise higher, Cry terror-struck: "The chimney is afire"?' Considerate: 'Take care,. . .your head bowed low By such a weight. . .lest head o'er heels you go!' Tender: 'Pray get a small umbrella made, Lest its bright color in the sun should fade!' Pedantic: 'That beast Aristophanes Names Hippocamelelephantoles Must have possessed just such a solid lump Of flesh and bone, beneath his forehead's bump!' Cavalier: 'The last fashion, friend, that hook? To hang your hat on? 'Tis a useful crook!' Emphatic: 'No wind, O majestic nose, Can give THEE cold!--save when the mistral blows!' Dramatic: 'When it bleeds, what a Red Sea!' Admiring: 'Sign for a perfumery!' Lyric: 'Is this a conch?. . .a Triton you?' Simple: 'When is the monument on view?' Rustic: 'That thing a nose? Marry-come-up! 'Tis a dwarf pumpkin, or a prize turnip!' Military: 'Point against cavalry!' Practical: 'Put it in a lottery! Assuredly 'twould be the biggest prize!' Or. . .parodying Pyramus' sighs. . . 'Behold the nose that mars the harmony Of its master's phiz! blushing its treachery!' --Such, my dear sir, is what you might have said, Had you of wit or letters the least jot: But, O most lamentable man!--of wit You never had an atom, and of letters You have three letters only!--they spell Ass! And--had you had the necessary wit, To serve me all the pleasantries I quote Before this noble audience. . .e'en so, You would not have been let to utter one-- Nay, not the half or quarter of such jest! I take them from myself all in good part, But not from any other man that breathes! DE GUICHE (trying to draw away the dismayed viscount): Come away, Viscount! THE VISCOUNT (choking with rage): Hear his arrogance! A country lout who. . .who. . .has got no gloves! Who goes out without sleeve-knots, ribbons, lace! CYRANO: True; all my elegances are within. I do not prank myself out, puppy-like; My toilet is more thorough, if less gay; I would not sally forth--a half-washed-out Affront upon my cheek--a conscience Yellow-eyed, bilious, from its sodden sleep, A ruffled honor,. . .scruples grimed and dull! I show no bravery of shining gems. Truth, Independence, are my fluttering plumes. 'Tis not my form I lace to make me slim, But brace my soul with efforts as with stays, Covered with exploits, not with ribbon-knots, My spirit bristling high like your mustaches, I, traversing the crowds and chattering groups Make Truth ring bravely out like clash of spurs! THE VISCOUNT: But, Sir. . . CYRANO: I wear no gloves? And what of that? I had one,. . .remnant of an old worn pair, And, knowing not what else to do with it, I threw it in the face of. . .some young fool. THE VISCOUNT: Base scoundrel! Rascally flat-footed lout! CYRANO (taking off his hat, and bowing as if the viscount had introduced himself): Ah?. . .and I, Cyrano Savinien Hercule de Bergerac (Laughter.) THE VISCOUNT (angrily): Buffoon! CYRANO (calling out as if he had been seized with the cramp): Aie! Aie! THE VISCOUNT (who was going away, turns back): What on earth is the fellow saying now? CYRANO (with grimaces of pain): It must be moved--it's getting stiff, I vow, --This comes of leaving it in idleness! Aie!. . . THE VISCOUNT: What ails you? CYRANO: The cramp! cramp in my sword! THE VISCOUNT (drawing his sword): Good! CYRANO: You shall feel a charming little stroke! THE VISCOUNT (contemptuously): Poet!. . . CYRANO: Ay, poet, Sir! In proof of which, While we fence, presto! all extempore I will compose a ballade. THE VISCOUNT: A ballade? CYRANO: Belike you know not what a ballade is. THE VISCOUNT: But. . . CYRANO (reciting, as if repeating a lesson): Know then that the ballade should contain Three eight-versed couplets. . . THE VISCOUNT (stamping): Oh! CYRANO (still reciting): And an envoi Of four lines. . . THE VISCOUNT: You. . . CYRANO: I'll make one while we fight; And touch you at the final line. THE VISCOUNT: No! CYRANO: No? (declaiming): The duel in Hotel of Burgundy--fought By De Bergerac and a good-for-naught! THE VISCOUNT: What may that be, an if you please? CYRANO: The title. THE HOUSE (in great excitement): Give room!--Good sport!--Make place!--Fair play!--No noise! (Tableau. A circle of curious spectators in the pit; the marquises and officers mingled with the common people; the pages climbing on each other's shoulders to see better. All the women standing up in the boxes. To the right, De Guiche and his retinue. Left, Le Bret, Ragueneau, Cyrano, etc.) CYRANO (shutting his eyes for a second): Wait while I choose my rhymes. . .I have them now! (He suits the action to each word): I gayly doff my beaver low, And, freeing hand and heel, My heavy mantle off I throw, And I draw my polished steel; Graceful as Phoebus, round I wheel, Alert as Scaramouch, A word in your ear, Sir Spark, I steal-- At the envoi's end, I touch! (They engage): Better for you had you lain low; Where skewer my cock? In the heel?-- In the heart, your ribbon blue below?-- In the hip, and make you kneel? Ho for the music of clashing steel! --What now?--A hit? Not much! 'Twill be in the paunch the stroke I steal, When, at the envoi, I touch. Oh, for a rhyme, a rhyme in o?-- You wriggle, starch-white, my eel? A rhyme! a rhyme! The white feather you SHOW! Tac! I parry the point of your steel; --The point you hoped to make me feel; I open the line, now clutch Your spit, Sir Scullion--slow your zeal! At the envoi's end, I touch. (He declaims solemnly): Envoi. Prince, pray Heaven for your soul's weal! I move a pace--lo, such! and such! Cut over--feint! (Thrusting): What ho! You reel? (The viscount staggers. Cyrano salutes): At the envoi's end, I touch! (Acclamations. Applause in the boxes. Flowers and handkerchiefs are thrown down. The officers surround Cyrano, congratulating him. Ragueneau dances for joy. Le Bret is happy, but anxious. The viscount's friends hold him up and bear him away.) THE CROWD (with one long shout): Ah! A TROOPER: 'Tis superb! A WOMAN: A pretty stroke! RAGUENEAU: A marvel! A MARQUIS: A novelty! LE BRET: O madman! THE CROWD (presses round Cyrano. Chorus of): Compliments! Bravo! Let me congratulate!. . .Quite unsurpassed!. . . A WOMAN'S VOICE: There is a hero for you!. . . A MUSKETEER (advancing to Cyrano with outstretched hand): Sir, permit; Naught could be finer--I'm a judge I think; I stamped, i' faith!--to show my admiration! (He goes away.) CYRANO (to Cuigy): Who is that gentleman? CUIGY: Why--D'Artagnan! LE BRET (to Cyrano, taking his arm): A word with you!. . . CYRANO: Wait; let the rabble go!. . . (To Bellerose): May I stay? BELLEROSE (respectfully): Without doubt! (Cries are heard outside.) JODELET (who has looked out): They hoot Montfleury! BELLEROSE (solemnly): Sic transit!. . . (To the porters): Sweep--close all, but leave the lights. We sup, but later on we must return, For a rehearsal of to-morrow's farce. (Jodelet and Bellerose go out, bowing low to Cyrano.) THE PORTER (to Cyrano): You do not dine, Sir? CYRANO: No. (The porter goes out.) LE BRET: Because? CYRANO (proudly): Because. . . (Changing his tone as the porter goes away): I have no money!. . . LE BRET (with the action of throwing a bag): How! The bag of crowns?. . . CYRANO: Paternal bounty, in a day, thou'rt sped! LE BRET: How live the next month?. . . CYRANO: I have nothing left. LE BRET: Folly! CYRANO: But what a graceful action! Think! THE BUFFET-GIRL (coughing, behind her counter): Hum! (Cyrano and Le Bret turn. She comes timidly forward): Sir, my heart mislikes to know you fast. (Showing the buffet): See, all you need. Serve yourself! CYRANO (taking off his hat): Gentle child, Although my Gascon pride would else forbid To take the least bestowal from your hands, My fear of wounding you outweighs that pride, And bids accept. . . (He goes to the buffet): A trifle!. . .These few grapes. (She offers him the whole bunch. He takes a few): Nay, but this bunch!. . . (She tries to give him wine, but he stops her): A glass of water fair!. . . And half a macaroon! (He gives back the other half.) LE BRET: What foolery! THE BUFFET-GIRL: Take something else! CYRANO: I take your hand to kiss. (He kisses her hand as though she were a princess.) THE BUFFET-GIRL: Thank you, kind Sir! (She courtesies): Good-night. (She goes out.) Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A: In Act I, scene iv, after Cyrano fights in a dramatic duel, his friend Cuigy wittily claims that Cyrano's name is Dartagnan. Later, Le Bret admonishes Cyrano to "stop trying to be Three Musketeers in one. The opening scenes emphasize the importance of the theater in seventeenth-century France. The theater patrons include thieves, lackeys, pages, and cavaliers--a veritable cross section of French society at the time. Several patrons come to the theater to do everything but watch the play. Some pick pockets, others play cards, others want to be seen and improve their social status. Rostand parodies inattentive audiences and supposedly bad actors like Montfleury to provide a critique of the theater of his era. By opening the play with such a critical portrayal, Rostand captures the audience's attention and subtly encourages them to listen up and behave appropriately

Chapter: The same. Cyrano, then Bellerose, Jodelet. MONTFLEURY (to the marquises): Come to my help, my lords! A MARQUIS (carelessly): Go on! Go on! CYRANO: Fat man, take warning! If you go on, I Shall feel myself constrained to cuff your face! THE MARQUIS: Have done! CYRANO: And if these lords hold not their tongue Shall feel constrained to make them taste my cane! ALL THE MARQUISES (rising): Enough!. . .Montfleury. . . CYRANO: If he goes not quick I will cut off his ears and slit him up! A VOICE: But. . . CYRANO: Out he goes! ANOTHER VOICE: Yet. . . CYRANO: Is he not gone yet? (He makes the gesture of turning up his cuffs): Good! I shall mount the stage now, buffet-wise, To carve this fine Italian sausage--thus! MONTFLEURY (trying to be dignified): You outrage Thalia in insulting me! CYRANO (very politely): If that Muse, Sir, who knows you not at all, Could claim acquaintance with you--oh, believe (Seeing how urn-like, fat, and slow you are) That she would make you taste her buskin's sole! THE PIT: Montfleury! Montfleury! Come--Baro's play! CYRANO (to those who are calling out): I pray you have a care! If you go on My scabbard soon will render up its blade! (The circle round him widens.) THE CROWD (drawing back): Take care! CYRANO (to Montfleury): Leave the stage! THE CROWD (coming near and grumbling): Oh!-- CYRANO: Did some one speak? (They draw back again.) A VOICE (singing at the back): Monsieur de Cyrano Displays his tyrannies: A fig for tyrants! What, ho! Come! Play us 'La Clorise!' ALL THE PIT (singing): 'La Clorise!' 'La Clorise!'. . . CYRANO: Let me but hear once more that foolish rhyme, I slaughter every man of you. A BURGHER: Oh! Samson? CYRANO: Yes Samson! Will you lend your jawbone, Sir? A LADY (in the boxes): Outrageous! A LORD: Scandalous! A BURGHER: 'Tis most annoying! A PAGE: Fair good sport! THE PIT: Kss!--Montfleury. . .Cyrano! CYRANO: Silence! THE PIT (wildly excited): Ho-o-o-o-h! Quack! Cock-a-doodle-doo! CYRANO: I order-- A PAGE: Miow! CYRANO: I order silence, all! And challenge the whole pit collectively!-- I write your names!--Approach, young heroes, here! Each in his turn! I cry the numbers out!-- Now which of you will come to ope the lists? You, Sir? No! You? No! The first duellist Shall be dispatched by me with honors due! Let all who long for death hold up their hands! (A silence): Modest? You fear to see my naked blade? Not one name?--Not one hand?--Good, I proceed! (Turning toward the stage, where Montfleury waits in an agony): The theater's too full, congested,--I Would clear it out. . .If not. . . (Puts his hand on his sword): The knife must act! MONTFLEURY: I. . . CYRANO (leaves his chair, and settles himself in the middle of the circle which has formed): I will clap my hands thrice, thus--full moon! At the third clap, eclipse yourself! THE PIT (amused): Ah! CYRANO (clapping his hands): One! MONTFLEURY: I. . . A VOICE (in the boxes): Stay! THE PIT: He stays. . .he goes. . .he stays. . . MONTFLEURY: I think. . .Gentlemen,. . . CYRANO: Two! MONTFLEURY: I think 'twere wisest. . . CYRANO: Three! (Montfleury disappears as through a trap. Tempest of laughs, whistling cries, etc.) THE WHOLE HOUSE: Coward. . .come back! CYRANO (delighted, sits back in his chair, arms crossed): Come back an if you dare! A BURGHER: Call for the orator! (Bellerose comes forward and bows.) THE BOXES: Ah! here's Bellerose! BELLEROSE (elegantly): My noble lords. . . THE PIT: No! no! Jodelet! JODELET (advancing, speaking through his nose): Calves! THE PIT: Ah! bravo! good! go on! JODELET: No bravos, Sirs! The fat tragedian whom you all love Felt. . . THE PIT: Coward! JODELET: . . .was obliged to go. THE PIT: Come back! SOME: No! OTHERS: Yes! A YOUNG MAN (to Cyrano): But pray, Sir, for what reason, say, Hate you Montfleury? CYRANO (graciously, still seated): Youthful gander, know I have two reasons--either will suffice. Primo. An actor villainous! who mouths, And heaves up like a bucket from a well The verses that should, bird-like, fly! Secundo-- That is my secret. . . THE OLD BURGHER (behind him): Shameful! You deprive us Of the 'Clorise!' I must insist. . . CYRANO (turning his chair toward the burgher, respectfully): Old mule! The verses of old Baro are not worth A doit! I'm glad to interrupt. . . THE PRECIEUSES (in the boxes): Our Baro!-- My dear! How dares he venture!. . . CYRANO (turning his chair toward the boxes gallantly): Fairest ones, Radiate, bloom, hold to our lips the cup Of dreams intoxicating, Hebe-like! Or, when death strikes, charm death with your sweet smiles; Inspire our verse, but--criticise it not! BELLEROSE: We must give back the entrance fees! CYRANO (turning his chair toward the stage): Bellerose, You make the first intelligent remark! Would I rend Thespis' sacred mantle? Nay! (He rises and throws a bag on the stage): Catch then the purse I throw, and hold your peace! THE HOUSE (dazzled): Ah! Oh! JODELET (catching the purse dexterously and weighing it): At this price, you've authority To come each night, and stop 'Clorise,' Sir! THE PIT: Ho!. . .Ho! Ho!. . . JODELET: E'en if you chase us in a pack!. . . BELLEROSE: Clear out the hall!. . . JODELET: Get you all gone at once! (The people begin to go out, while Cyrano looks on with satisfaction. But the crowd soon stop on hearing the following scene, and remain where they are. The women, who, with their mantles on, are already standing up in the boxes, stop to listen, and finally reseat themselves.) LE BRET (to Cyrano): 'Tis mad!. . . A BORE (coming up to Cyrano): The actor Montfleury! 'Tis shameful! Why, he's protected by the Duke of Candal! Have you a patron? CYRANO: No! THE BORE: No patron?. . . CYRANO: None! THE BORE: What! no great lord to shield you with his name? CYRANO (irritated): No, I have told you twice! Must I repeat? No! no protector. . . (His hand on his sword): A protectress. . .here! THE BORE: But you must leave the town? CYRANO: Well, that depends! THE BORE: The Duke has a long arm! CYRANO: But not so long As mine, when it is lengthened out. . . (Shows his sword): As thus! THE BORE: You think not to contend? CYRANO: 'Tis my idea! THE BORE: But. . . CYRANO: Show your heels! now! THE BORE: But I. . . CYRANO: Or tell me why you stare so at my nose! THE BORE (staggered): I. . . CYRANO (walking straight up to him): Well, what is there strange? THE BORE (drawing back): Your Grace mistakes! CYRANO: How now? Is't soft and dangling, like a trunk?. . . THE BORE (same play): I never. . . CYRANO: Is it crook'd, like an owl's beak? THE BORE: I. . . CYRANO: Do you see a wart upon the tip? THE BORE: Nay. . . CYRANO: Or a fly, that takes the air there? What Is there to stare at? THE BORE: Oh. . . CYRANO: What do you see? THE BORE: But I was careful not to look--knew better. CYRANO: And why not look at it, an if you please? THE BORE: I was. . . CYRANO: Oh! it disgusts you! THE BORE: Sir! CYRANO: Its hue Unwholesome seems to you? THE BORE: Sir! CYRANO: Or its shape? THE BORE: No, on the contrary!. . . CYRANO: Why then that air Disparaging?--perchance you think it large? THE BORE (stammering): No, small, quite small--minute! CYRANO: Minute! What now? Accuse me of a thing ridiculous! Small--my nose? THE BORE: Heaven help me! CYRANO: 'Tis enormous! Old Flathead, empty-headed meddler, know That I am proud possessing such appendice. 'Tis well known, a big nose is indicative Of a soul affable, and kind, and courteous, Liberal, brave, just like myself, and such As you can never dare to dream yourself, Rascal contemptible! For that witless face That my hand soon will come to cuff--is all As empty. . . (He cuffs him.) THE BORE: Aie! CYRANO: --of pride, of aspiration, Of feeling, poetry--of godlike spark Of all that appertains to my big nose, (He turns him by the shoulders, suiting the action to the word): As. . .what my boot will shortly come and kick! THE BORE (running away): Help! Call the Guard! CYRANO: Take notice, boobies all, Who find my visage's center ornament A thing to jest at--that it is my wont-- An if the jester's noble--ere we part To let him taste my steel, and not my boot! DE GUICHE (who, with the marquises, has come down from the stage): But he becomes a nuisance! THE VISCOUNT DE VALVERT (shrugging his shoulders): Swaggerer! DE GUICHE: Will no one put him down?. . . THE VISCOUNT: No one? But wait! I'll treat him to. . .one of my quips!. . .See here!. . . (He goes up to Cyrano, who is watching him, and with a conceited air): Sir, your nose is. . .hmm. . .it is. . .very big! CYRANO (gravely): Very! THE VISCOUNT (laughing): Ha! CYRANO (imperturbably): Is that all?. . . THE VISCOUNT: What do you mean? CYRANO: Ah no! young blade! That was a trifle short! You might have said at least a hundred things By varying the tone. . .like this, suppose,. . . Aggressive: 'Sir, if I had such a nose I'd amputate it!' Friendly: 'When you sup It must annoy you, dipping in your cup; You need a drinking-bowl of special shape!' Descriptive: ''Tis a rock!. . .a peak!. . .a cape! --A cape, forsooth! 'Tis a peninsular!' Curious: 'How serves that oblong capsular? For scissor-sheath? Or pot to hold your ink?' Gracious: 'You love the little birds, I think? I see you've managed with a fond research To find their tiny claws a roomy perch!' Truculent: 'When you smoke your pipe. . .suppose That the tobacco-smoke spouts from your nose-- Do not the neighbors, as the fumes rise higher, Cry terror-struck: "The chimney is afire"?' Considerate: 'Take care,. . .your head bowed low By such a weight. . .lest head o'er heels you go!' Tender: 'Pray get a small umbrella made, Lest its bright color in the sun should fade!' Pedantic: 'That beast Aristophanes Names Hippocamelelephantoles Must have possessed just such a solid lump Of flesh and bone, beneath his forehead's bump!' Cavalier: 'The last fashion, friend, that hook? To hang your hat on? 'Tis a useful crook!' Emphatic: 'No wind, O majestic nose, Can give THEE cold!--save when the mistral blows!' Dramatic: 'When it bleeds, what a Red Sea!' Admiring: 'Sign for a perfumery!' Lyric: 'Is this a conch?. . .a Triton you?' Simple: 'When is the monument on view?' Rustic: 'That thing a nose? Marry-come-up! 'Tis a dwarf pumpkin, or a prize turnip!' Military: 'Point against cavalry!' Practical: 'Put it in a lottery! Assuredly 'twould be the biggest prize!' Or. . .parodying Pyramus' sighs. . . 'Behold the nose that mars the harmony Of its master's phiz! blushing its treachery!' --Such, my dear sir, is what you might have said, Had you of wit or letters the least jot: But, O most lamentable man!--of wit You never had an atom, and of letters You have three letters only!--they spell Ass! And--had you had the necessary wit, To serve me all the pleasantries I quote Before this noble audience. . .e'en so, You would not have been let to utter one-- Nay, not the half or quarter of such jest! I take them from myself all in good part, But not from any other man that breathes! DE GUICHE (trying to draw away the dismayed viscount): Come away, Viscount! THE VISCOUNT (choking with rage): Hear his arrogance! A country lout who. . .who. . .has got no gloves! Who goes out without sleeve-knots, ribbons, lace! CYRANO: True; all my elegances are within. I do not prank myself out, puppy-like; My toilet is more thorough, if less gay; I would not sally forth--a half-washed-out Affront upon my cheek--a conscience Yellow-eyed, bilious, from its sodden sleep, A ruffled honor,. . .scruples grimed and dull! I show no bravery of shining gems. Truth, Independence, are my fluttering plumes. 'Tis not my form I lace to make me slim, But brace my soul with efforts as with stays, Covered with exploits, not with ribbon-knots, My spirit bristling high like your mustaches, I, traversing the crowds and chattering groups Make Truth ring bravely out like clash of spurs! THE VISCOUNT: But, Sir. . . CYRANO: I wear no gloves? And what of that? I had one,. . .remnant of an old worn pair, And, knowing not what else to do with it, I threw it in the face of. . .some young fool. THE VISCOUNT: Base scoundrel! Rascally flat-footed lout! CYRANO (taking off his hat, and bowing as if the viscount had introduced himself): Ah?. . .and I, Cyrano Savinien Hercule de Bergerac (Laughter.) THE VISCOUNT (angrily): Buffoon! CYRANO (calling out as if he had been seized with the cramp): Aie! Aie! THE VISCOUNT (who was going away, turns back): What on earth is the fellow saying now? CYRANO (with grimaces of pain): It must be moved--it's getting stiff, I vow, --This comes of leaving it in idleness! Aie!. . . THE VISCOUNT: What ails you? CYRANO: The cramp! cramp in my sword! THE VISCOUNT (drawing his sword): Good! CYRANO: You shall feel a charming little stroke! THE VISCOUNT (contemptuously): Poet!. . . CYRANO: Ay, poet, Sir! In proof of which, While we fence, presto! all extempore I will compose a ballade. THE VISCOUNT: A ballade? CYRANO: Belike you know not what a ballade is. THE VISCOUNT: But. . . CYRANO (reciting, as if repeating a lesson): Know then that the ballade should contain Three eight-versed couplets. . . THE VISCOUNT (stamping): Oh! CYRANO (still reciting): And an envoi Of four lines. . . THE VISCOUNT: You. . . CYRANO: I'll make one while we fight; And touch you at the final line. THE VISCOUNT: No! CYRANO: No? (declaiming): The duel in Hotel of Burgundy--fought By De Bergerac and a good-for-naught! THE VISCOUNT: What may that be, an if you please? CYRANO: The title. THE HOUSE (in great excitement): Give room!--Good sport!--Make place!--Fair play!--No noise! (Tableau. A circle of curious spectators in the pit; the marquises and officers mingled with the common people; the pages climbing on each other's shoulders to see better. All the women standing up in the boxes. To the right, De Guiche and his retinue. Left, Le Bret, Ragueneau, Cyrano, etc.) CYRANO (shutting his eyes for a second): Wait while I choose my rhymes. . .I have them now! (He suits the action to each word): I gayly doff my beaver low, And, freeing hand and heel, My heavy mantle off I throw, And I draw my polished steel; Graceful as Phoebus, round I wheel, Alert as Scaramouch, A word in your ear, Sir Spark, I steal-- At the envoi's end, I touch! (They engage): Better for you had you lain low; Where skewer my cock? In the heel?-- In the heart, your ribbon blue below?-- In the hip, and make you kneel? Ho for the music of clashing steel! --What now?--A hit? Not much! 'Twill be in the paunch the stroke I steal, When, at the envoi, I touch. Oh, for a rhyme, a rhyme in o?-- You wriggle, starch-white, my eel? A rhyme! a rhyme! The white feather you SHOW! Tac! I parry the point of your steel; --The point you hoped to make me feel; I open the line, now clutch Your spit, Sir Scullion--slow your zeal! At the envoi's end, I touch. (He declaims solemnly): Envoi. Prince, pray Heaven for your soul's weal! I move a pace--lo, such! and such! Cut over--feint! (Thrusting): What ho! You reel? (The viscount staggers. Cyrano salutes): At the envoi's end, I touch! (Acclamations. Applause in the boxes. Flowers and handkerchiefs are thrown down. The officers surround Cyrano, congratulating him. Ragueneau dances for joy. Le Bret is happy, but anxious. The viscount's friends hold him up and bear him away.) THE CROWD (with one long shout): Ah! A TROOPER: 'Tis superb! A WOMAN: A pretty stroke! RAGUENEAU: A marvel! A MARQUIS: A novelty! LE BRET: O madman! THE CROWD (presses round Cyrano. Chorus of): Compliments! Bravo! Let me congratulate!. . .Quite unsurpassed!. . . A WOMAN'S VOICE: There is a hero for you!. . . A MUSKETEER (advancing to Cyrano with outstretched hand): Sir, permit; Naught could be finer--I'm a judge I think; I stamped, i' faith!--to show my admiration! (He goes away.) CYRANO (to Cuigy): Who is that gentleman? CUIGY: Why--D'Artagnan! LE BRET (to Cyrano, taking his arm): A word with you!. . . CYRANO: Wait; let the rabble go!. . . (To Bellerose): May I stay? BELLEROSE (respectfully): Without doubt! (Cries are heard outside.) JODELET (who has looked out): They hoot Montfleury! BELLEROSE (solemnly): Sic transit!. . . (To the porters): Sweep--close all, but leave the lights. We sup, but later on we must return, For a rehearsal of to-morrow's farce. (Jodelet and Bellerose go out, bowing low to Cyrano.) THE PORTER (to Cyrano): You do not dine, Sir? CYRANO: No. (The porter goes out.) LE BRET: Because? CYRANO (proudly): Because. . . (Changing his tone as the porter goes away): I have no money!. . . LE BRET (with the action of throwing a bag): How! The bag of crowns?. . . CYRANO: Paternal bounty, in a day, thou'rt sped! LE BRET: How live the next month?. . . CYRANO: I have nothing left. LE BRET: Folly! CYRANO: But what a graceful action! Think! THE BUFFET-GIRL (coughing, behind her counter): Hum! (Cyrano and Le Bret turn. She comes timidly forward): Sir, my heart mislikes to know you fast. (Showing the buffet): See, all you need. Serve yourself! CYRANO (taking off his hat): Gentle child, Although my Gascon pride would else forbid To take the least bestowal from your hands, My fear of wounding you outweighs that pride, And bids accept. . . (He goes to the buffet): A trifle!. . .These few grapes. (She offers him the whole bunch. He takes a few): Nay, but this bunch!. . . (She tries to give him wine, but he stops her): A glass of water fair!. . . And half a macaroon! (He gives back the other half.) LE BRET: What foolery! THE BUFFET-GIRL: Take something else! CYRANO: I take your hand to kiss. (He kisses her hand as though she were a princess.) THE BUFFET-GIRL: Thank you, kind Sir! (She courtesies): Good-night. (She goes out.) Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A:

In Act I, scene iv, after Cyrano fights in a dramatic duel, his friend Cuigy wittily claims that Cyrano's name is Dartagnan. Later, Le Bret admonishes Cyrano to "stop trying to be Three Musketeers in one. The opening scenes emphasize the importance of the theater in seventeenth-century France. The theater patrons include thieves, lackeys, pages, and cavaliers--a veritable cross section of French society at the time. Several patrons come to the theater to do everything but watch the play. Some pick pockets, others play cards, others want to be seen and improve their social status. Rostand parodies inattentive audiences and supposedly bad actors like Montfleury to provide a critique of the theater of his era. By opening the play with such a critical portrayal, Rostand captures the audience's attention and subtly encourages them to listen up and behave appropriately

Chapter: Cyrano, Le Bret. CYRANO (to Le Bret): Now talk--I listen. (He stands at the buffet, and placing before him first the macaroon): Dinner!. . . (then the grapes): Dessert!. . . (then the glass of water): Wine!. . . (he seats himself): So! And now to table! Ah! I was hungry, friend, nay, ravenous! (eating): You said--? LE BRET: These fops, would-be belligerent, Will, if you heed them only, turn your head!. . . Ask people of good sense if you would know The effect of your fine insolence-- CYRANO (finishing his macaroon): Enormous! LE BRET: The Cardinal. . . CYRANO (radiant): The Cardinal--was there? LE BRET: Must have thought it. . . CYRANO: Original, i' faith! LE BRET: But. . . CYRANO: He's an author. 'Twill not fail to please him That I should mar a brother-author's play. LE BRET: You make too many enemies by far! CYRANO (eating his grapes): How many think you I have made to-night? LE BRET: Forty, no less, not counting ladies. CYRANO: Count! LE BRET: Montfleury first, the bourgeois, then De Guiche, The Viscount, Baro, the Academy. . . CYRANO: Enough! I am o'erjoyed! LE BRET: But these strange ways, Where will they lead you, at the end? Explain Your system--come! CYRANO: I in a labyrinth Was lost--too many different paths to choose; I took. . . LE BRET: Which? CYRANO: Oh! by far the simplest path. . . Decided to be admirable in all! LE BRET (shrugging his shoulders): So be it! But the motive of your hate To Montfleury--come, tell me! CYRANO (rising): This Silenus, Big-bellied, coarse, still deems himself a peril-- A danger to the love of lovely ladies, And, while he sputters out his actor's part, Makes sheep's eyes at their boxes--goggling frog! I hate him since the evening he presumed To raise his eyes to hers. . .Meseemed I saw A slug crawl slavering o'er a flower's petals! LE BRET (stupefied): How now? What? Can it be. . .? CYRANO (laughing bitterly): That I should love?. . . (Changing his tone, gravely): I love. LE BRET: And may I know?. . .You never said. . . CYRANO: Come now, bethink you!. . .The fond hope to be Beloved, e'en by some poor graceless lady, Is, by this nose of mine for aye bereft me; --This lengthy nose which, go where'er I will, Pokes yet a quarter-mile ahead of me; But I may love--and who? 'Tis Fate's decree I love the fairest--how were't otherwise? LE BRET: The fairest?. . . CYRANO: Ay, the fairest of the world, Most brilliant--most refined--most golden-haired! LE BRET: Who is this lady? CYRANO: She's a danger mortal, All unsuspicious--full of charms unconscious, Like a sweet perfumed rose--a snare of nature, Within whose petals Cupid lurks in ambush! He who has seen her smile has known perfection, --Instilling into trifles grace's essence, Divinity in every careless gesture; Not Venus' self can mount her conch blown sea-ward, As she can step into her chaise a porteurs, Nor Dian fleet across the woods spring-flowered, Light as my Lady o'er the stones of Paris!. . . LE BRET: Sapristi! all is clear! CYRANO: As spiderwebs! LE BRET: Your cousin, Madeleine Robin? CYRANO: Roxane! LE BRET: Well, but so much the better! Tell her so! She saw your triumph here this very night! CYRANO: Look well at me--then tell me, with what hope This vile protuberance can inspire my heart! I do not lull me with illusions--yet At times I'm weak: in evening hours dim I enter some fair pleasance, perfumed sweet; With my poor ugly devil of a nose I scent spring's essence--in the silver rays I see some knight--a lady on his arm, And think 'To saunter thus 'neath the moonshine, I were fain to have my lady, too, beside!' Thought soars to ecstasy. . .O sudden fall! --The shadow of my profile on the wall! LE BRET (tenderly): My friend!. . . CYRANO: My friend, at times 'tis hard, 'tis bitter, To feel my loneliness--my own ill-favor. . . LE BRET (taking his hand): You weep? CYRANO: No, never! Think, how vilely suited Adown this nose a tear its passage tracing! I never will, while of myself I'm master, let the divinity of tears--their beauty Be wedded to such common ugly grossness. Nothing more solemn than a tear--sublimer; And I would not by weeping turn to laughter The grave emotion that a tear engenders! LE BRET: Never be sad! What's love?--a chance of Fortune! CYRANO (shaking his head): Look I a Caesar to woo Cleopatra? A Tito to aspire to Berenice? LE BRET: Your courage and your wit!--The little maid Who offered you refreshment even now, Her eyes did not abhor you--you saw well! CYRANO (impressed): True! LE BRET: Well, how then?. . .I saw Roxane herself Was death-pale as she watched the duel. CYRANO: Pale? LE BRET: Her heart, her fancy, are already caught! Put it to th' touch! CYRANO: That she may mock my face? That is the one thing on this earth I fear! THE PORTER (introducing some one to Cyrano): Sir, some one asks for you. . . CYRANO (seeing the duenna): God! her duenna! Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A: Le Bret reminds Cyrano that his extravagant behavior is making him enemies. Cyrano says that the thought of having so many enemies makes him happy. Cyrano confides in Le Bret that he has insecurities concerning his nose and his romantic failures. He also reveals to Le Bret that he hates Montfleury because one day Montfleury glanced flirtatiously at the woman whom Cyrano loves. Le Bret asks about the woman but quickly realizes that the only woman beautiful and brilliant enough for Cyrano to love must be Roxane. Cyrano says that given his appearance, he can never reveal his love

Chapter: Cyrano, Le Bret. CYRANO (to Le Bret): Now talk--I listen. (He stands at the buffet, and placing before him first the macaroon): Dinner!. . . (then the grapes): Dessert!. . . (then the glass of water): Wine!. . . (he seats himself): So! And now to table! Ah! I was hungry, friend, nay, ravenous! (eating): You said--? LE BRET: These fops, would-be belligerent, Will, if you heed them only, turn your head!. . . Ask people of good sense if you would know The effect of your fine insolence-- CYRANO (finishing his macaroon): Enormous! LE BRET: The Cardinal. . . CYRANO (radiant): The Cardinal--was there? LE BRET: Must have thought it. . . CYRANO: Original, i' faith! LE BRET: But. . . CYRANO: He's an author. 'Twill not fail to please him That I should mar a brother-author's play. LE BRET: You make too many enemies by far! CYRANO (eating his grapes): How many think you I have made to-night? LE BRET: Forty, no less, not counting ladies. CYRANO: Count! LE BRET: Montfleury first, the bourgeois, then De Guiche, The Viscount, Baro, the Academy. . . CYRANO: Enough! I am o'erjoyed! LE BRET: But these strange ways, Where will they lead you, at the end? Explain Your system--come! CYRANO: I in a labyrinth Was lost--too many different paths to choose; I took. . . LE BRET: Which? CYRANO: Oh! by far the simplest path. . . Decided to be admirable in all! LE BRET (shrugging his shoulders): So be it! But the motive of your hate To Montfleury--come, tell me! CYRANO (rising): This Silenus, Big-bellied, coarse, still deems himself a peril-- A danger to the love of lovely ladies, And, while he sputters out his actor's part, Makes sheep's eyes at their boxes--goggling frog! I hate him since the evening he presumed To raise his eyes to hers. . .Meseemed I saw A slug crawl slavering o'er a flower's petals! LE BRET (stupefied): How now? What? Can it be. . .? CYRANO (laughing bitterly): That I should love?. . . (Changing his tone, gravely): I love. LE BRET: And may I know?. . .You never said. . . CYRANO: Come now, bethink you!. . .The fond hope to be Beloved, e'en by some poor graceless lady, Is, by this nose of mine for aye bereft me; --This lengthy nose which, go where'er I will, Pokes yet a quarter-mile ahead of me; But I may love--and who? 'Tis Fate's decree I love the fairest--how were't otherwise? LE BRET: The fairest?. . . CYRANO: Ay, the fairest of the world, Most brilliant--most refined--most golden-haired! LE BRET: Who is this lady? CYRANO: She's a danger mortal, All unsuspicious--full of charms unconscious, Like a sweet perfumed rose--a snare of nature, Within whose petals Cupid lurks in ambush! He who has seen her smile has known perfection, --Instilling into trifles grace's essence, Divinity in every careless gesture; Not Venus' self can mount her conch blown sea-ward, As she can step into her chaise a porteurs, Nor Dian fleet across the woods spring-flowered, Light as my Lady o'er the stones of Paris!. . . LE BRET: Sapristi! all is clear! CYRANO: As spiderwebs! LE BRET: Your cousin, Madeleine Robin? CYRANO: Roxane! LE BRET: Well, but so much the better! Tell her so! She saw your triumph here this very night! CYRANO: Look well at me--then tell me, with what hope This vile protuberance can inspire my heart! I do not lull me with illusions--yet At times I'm weak: in evening hours dim I enter some fair pleasance, perfumed sweet; With my poor ugly devil of a nose I scent spring's essence--in the silver rays I see some knight--a lady on his arm, And think 'To saunter thus 'neath the moonshine, I were fain to have my lady, too, beside!' Thought soars to ecstasy. . .O sudden fall! --The shadow of my profile on the wall! LE BRET (tenderly): My friend!. . . CYRANO: My friend, at times 'tis hard, 'tis bitter, To feel my loneliness--my own ill-favor. . . LE BRET (taking his hand): You weep? CYRANO: No, never! Think, how vilely suited Adown this nose a tear its passage tracing! I never will, while of myself I'm master, let the divinity of tears--their beauty Be wedded to such common ugly grossness. Nothing more solemn than a tear--sublimer; And I would not by weeping turn to laughter The grave emotion that a tear engenders! LE BRET: Never be sad! What's love?--a chance of Fortune! CYRANO (shaking his head): Look I a Caesar to woo Cleopatra? A Tito to aspire to Berenice? LE BRET: Your courage and your wit!--The little maid Who offered you refreshment even now, Her eyes did not abhor you--you saw well! CYRANO (impressed): True! LE BRET: Well, how then?. . .I saw Roxane herself Was death-pale as she watched the duel. CYRANO: Pale? LE BRET: Her heart, her fancy, are already caught! Put it to th' touch! CYRANO: That she may mock my face? That is the one thing on this earth I fear! THE PORTER (introducing some one to Cyrano): Sir, some one asks for you. . . CYRANO (seeing the duenna): God! her duenna! Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A:

Le Bret reminds Cyrano that his extravagant behavior is making him enemies. Cyrano says that the thought of having so many enemies makes him happy. Cyrano confides in Le Bret that he has insecurities concerning his nose and his romantic failures. He also reveals to Le Bret that he hates Montfleury because one day Montfleury glanced flirtatiously at the woman whom Cyrano loves. Le Bret asks about the woman but quickly realizes that the only woman beautiful and brilliant enough for Cyrano to love must be Roxane. Cyrano says that given his appearance, he can never reveal his love

Chapter: Cyrano, Le Bret, the duenna. THE DUENNA (with a low bow): I was bid ask you where a certain lady Could see her valiant cousin--but in secret. CYRANO (overwhelmed): See me? THE DUENNA (courtesying): Ay, Sir! She has somewhat to tell. CYRANO: Somewhat?. . . THE DUENNA (still courtesying): Ay, private matters! CYRANO (staggering): Ah, my God! THE DUENNA: To-morrow, at the early blush of dawn, We go to hear mass at St. Roch. CYRANO (leaning against Le Bret): My God! THE DUENNA: After--what place for a few minutes' speech? CYRANO (confused): Where? Ah!. . .but. . .Ah, my God!. . . THE DUENNA: Say! CYRANO: I reflect!. . . THE DUENNA: Where? CYRANO: At--the pastry-house of Ragueneau. THE DUENNA: Where lodges he? CYRANO: The Rue--God!--St. Honore! THE DUENNA (going): Good. Be you there. At seven. CYRANO: Without fail. (The duenna goes out.) Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A: Roxane's duenna appears and interrupts their conversation. She has a message for Cyrano: Roxane wants to see him. Tremendously excited, and perhaps a bit nervous, he agrees to meet her at Ragueneau's shop at seven o'clock the next morning

Chapter: Cyrano, Le Bret, the duenna. THE DUENNA (with a low bow): I was bid ask you where a certain lady Could see her valiant cousin--but in secret. CYRANO (overwhelmed): See me? THE DUENNA (courtesying): Ay, Sir! She has somewhat to tell. CYRANO: Somewhat?. . . THE DUENNA (still courtesying): Ay, private matters! CYRANO (staggering): Ah, my God! THE DUENNA: To-morrow, at the early blush of dawn, We go to hear mass at St. Roch. CYRANO (leaning against Le Bret): My God! THE DUENNA: After--what place for a few minutes' speech? CYRANO (confused): Where? Ah!. . .but. . .Ah, my God!. . . THE DUENNA: Say! CYRANO: I reflect!. . . THE DUENNA: Where? CYRANO: At--the pastry-house of Ragueneau. THE DUENNA: Where lodges he? CYRANO: The Rue--God!--St. Honore! THE DUENNA (going): Good. Be you there. At seven. CYRANO: Without fail. (The duenna goes out.) Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A:

Roxane's duenna appears and interrupts their conversation. She has a message for Cyrano: Roxane wants to see him. Tremendously excited, and perhaps a bit nervous, he agrees to meet her at Ragueneau's shop at seven o'clock the next morning

Chapter: Cyrano, Le Bret. Then actors, actresses, Cuigy, Brissaille, Ligniere, the porter, the violinists. CYRANO (falling into Le Bret's arms): A rendezvous. . .from her!. . . LE BRET: You're sad no more! CYRANO: Ah! Let the world go burn! She knows I live! LE BRET: Now you'll be calm, I hope? CYRANO (beside himself for joy): Calm? I now calm? I'll be frenetic, frantic,--raving mad! Oh, for an army to attack!--a host! I've ten hearts in my breast; a score of arms; No dwarfs to cleave in twain!. . . (Wildly): No! Giants now! (For a few moments the shadows of the actors have been moving on the stage, whispers are heard--the rehearsal is beginning. The violinists are in their places.) A VOICE FROM THE STAGE: Hollo there! Silence! We rehearse! CYRANO (laughing): We go! (He moves away. By the big door enter Cuigy, Brissaille, and some officers, holding up Ligniere, who is drunk.) CUIGY: Cyrano! CYRANO: Well, what now? CUIGY: A lusty thrush They're bringing you! CYRANO (recognizing him): Ligniere!. . .What has chanced? CUIGY: He seeks you! BRISSAILLE: He dare not go home! CYRANO: Why not? LIGNIERE (in a husky voice, showing him a crumpled letter): This letter warns me. . .that a hundred men. . . Revenge that threatens me. . .that song, you know-- At the Porte de Nesle. To get to my own house I must pass there. . .I dare not!. . .Give me leave To sleep to-night beneath your roof! Allow. . . CYRANO: A hundred men? You'll sleep in your own bed! LIGNIERE (frightened): But-- CYRANO (in a terrible voice, showing him the lighted lantern held by the porter, who is listening curiously): Take the lantern. (Ligniere seizes it): Let us start! I swear That I will make your bed to-night myself! (To the officers): Follow; some stay behind, as witnesses! CUIGY: A hundred!. . . CYRANO: Less, to-night--would be too few! (The actors and actresses, in their costumes, have come down from the stage, and are listening.) LE BRET: But why embroil yourself? CYRANO: Le Bret who scolds! LE BRET: That worthless drunkard!-- CYRANO (slapping Ligniere on the shoulder): Wherefore? For this cause;-- This wine-barrel, this cask of Burgundy, Did, on a day, an action full of grace; As he was leaving church, he saw his love Take holy water--he, who is affeared At water's taste, ran quickly to the stoup, And drank it all, to the last drop!. . . AN ACTRESS: Indeed, that was a graceful thing! CYRANO: Ay, was it not? THE ACTRESS (to the others): But why a hundred men 'gainst one poor rhymer? CYRANO: March! (To the officers): Gentlemen, when you shall see me charge, Bear me no succor, none, whate'er the odds! ANOTHER ACTRESS (jumping from the stage): Oh! I shall come and see! CYRANO: Come, then! ANOTHER (jumping down--to an old actor): And you?. . . CYRANO: Come all--the Doctor, Isabel, Leander, Come, for you shall add, in a motley swarm, The farce Italian to this Spanish drama! ALL THE WOMEN (dancing for joy): Bravo!--a mantle, quick!--my hood! JODELET: Come on! CYRANO: Play us a march, gentlemen of the band! (The violinists join the procession, which is forming. They take the footlights, and divide them for torches): Brave officers! next, women in costume, And, twenty paces on-- (He takes his place): I all alone, Beneath the plume that Glory lends, herself, To deck my beaver--proud as Scipio!. . . --You hear me?--I forbid you succor me!-- One, two three! Porter, open wide the doors! (The porter opens the doors; a view of old Paris in the moonlight is seen): Ah!. . .Paris wrapped in night! half nebulous: The moonlight streams o'er the blue-shadowed roofs; A lovely frame for this wild battle-scene; Beneath the vapor's floating scarves, the Seine Trembles, mysterious, like a magic mirror, And, shortly, you shall see what you shall see! ALL: To the Porte de Nesle! CYRANO (standing on the threshold): Ay, to the Porte de Nesle! (Turning to the actress): Did you not ask, young lady, for what cause Against this rhymer fivescore men were sent? (He draws his sword; then, calmly): 'Twas that they knew him for a friend of mine! (He goes out. Ligniere staggers first after him, then the actresses on the officers' arms--the actors. The procession starts to the sound of the violins and in the faint light of the candles.) Curtain. Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A: Ligniere rushes in. He tells Cyrano about the hundred men waiting at the Porte de Nesle to kill him and announces that he is too afraid to go home. He asks if Cyrano can host him for the evening, but Cyrano scoffs: "A hundred men, you say. You'll sleep at home tonight. He declares that he will fight all hundred men and escort Ligniere safely home. Le Bret asks why Cyrano would want to help a drunkard, and Cyrano says that he once saw Ligniere drink a whole font of holy water dry after a beautiful woman had blessed herself with it. For a gesture like that, he says, he will -protect Ligniere. The actors and musicians rehearsing in the theater buzz about Cyrano's behavior. He tells them that he wants an audience and that they can follow him. But he warns them that he wants no protection. As he strides boldly out of the theater, the crowd forms a procession to follow him to the Porte de Nestle.

Chapter: Cyrano, Le Bret. Then actors, actresses, Cuigy, Brissaille, Ligniere, the porter, the violinists. CYRANO (falling into Le Bret's arms): A rendezvous. . .from her!. . . LE BRET: You're sad no more! CYRANO: Ah! Let the world go burn! She knows I live! LE BRET: Now you'll be calm, I hope? CYRANO (beside himself for joy): Calm? I now calm? I'll be frenetic, frantic,--raving mad! Oh, for an army to attack!--a host! I've ten hearts in my breast; a score of arms; No dwarfs to cleave in twain!. . . (Wildly): No! Giants now! (For a few moments the shadows of the actors have been moving on the stage, whispers are heard--the rehearsal is beginning. The violinists are in their places.) A VOICE FROM THE STAGE: Hollo there! Silence! We rehearse! CYRANO (laughing): We go! (He moves away. By the big door enter Cuigy, Brissaille, and some officers, holding up Ligniere, who is drunk.) CUIGY: Cyrano! CYRANO: Well, what now? CUIGY: A lusty thrush They're bringing you! CYRANO (recognizing him): Ligniere!. . .What has chanced? CUIGY: He seeks you! BRISSAILLE: He dare not go home! CYRANO: Why not? LIGNIERE (in a husky voice, showing him a crumpled letter): This letter warns me. . .that a hundred men. . . Revenge that threatens me. . .that song, you know-- At the Porte de Nesle. To get to my own house I must pass there. . .I dare not!. . .Give me leave To sleep to-night beneath your roof! Allow. . . CYRANO: A hundred men? You'll sleep in your own bed! LIGNIERE (frightened): But-- CYRANO (in a terrible voice, showing him the lighted lantern held by the porter, who is listening curiously): Take the lantern. (Ligniere seizes it): Let us start! I swear That I will make your bed to-night myself! (To the officers): Follow; some stay behind, as witnesses! CUIGY: A hundred!. . . CYRANO: Less, to-night--would be too few! (The actors and actresses, in their costumes, have come down from the stage, and are listening.) LE BRET: But why embroil yourself? CYRANO: Le Bret who scolds! LE BRET: That worthless drunkard!-- CYRANO (slapping Ligniere on the shoulder): Wherefore? For this cause;-- This wine-barrel, this cask of Burgundy, Did, on a day, an action full of grace; As he was leaving church, he saw his love Take holy water--he, who is affeared At water's taste, ran quickly to the stoup, And drank it all, to the last drop!. . . AN ACTRESS: Indeed, that was a graceful thing! CYRANO: Ay, was it not? THE ACTRESS (to the others): But why a hundred men 'gainst one poor rhymer? CYRANO: March! (To the officers): Gentlemen, when you shall see me charge, Bear me no succor, none, whate'er the odds! ANOTHER ACTRESS (jumping from the stage): Oh! I shall come and see! CYRANO: Come, then! ANOTHER (jumping down--to an old actor): And you?. . . CYRANO: Come all--the Doctor, Isabel, Leander, Come, for you shall add, in a motley swarm, The farce Italian to this Spanish drama! ALL THE WOMEN (dancing for joy): Bravo!--a mantle, quick!--my hood! JODELET: Come on! CYRANO: Play us a march, gentlemen of the band! (The violinists join the procession, which is forming. They take the footlights, and divide them for torches): Brave officers! next, women in costume, And, twenty paces on-- (He takes his place): I all alone, Beneath the plume that Glory lends, herself, To deck my beaver--proud as Scipio!. . . --You hear me?--I forbid you succor me!-- One, two three! Porter, open wide the doors! (The porter opens the doors; a view of old Paris in the moonlight is seen): Ah!. . .Paris wrapped in night! half nebulous: The moonlight streams o'er the blue-shadowed roofs; A lovely frame for this wild battle-scene; Beneath the vapor's floating scarves, the Seine Trembles, mysterious, like a magic mirror, And, shortly, you shall see what you shall see! ALL: To the Porte de Nesle! CYRANO (standing on the threshold): Ay, to the Porte de Nesle! (Turning to the actress): Did you not ask, young lady, for what cause Against this rhymer fivescore men were sent? (He draws his sword; then, calmly): 'Twas that they knew him for a friend of mine! (He goes out. Ligniere staggers first after him, then the actresses on the officers' arms--the actors. The procession starts to the sound of the violins and in the faint light of the candles.) Curtain. Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A:

Ligniere rushes in. He tells Cyrano about the hundred men waiting at the Porte de Nesle to kill him and announces that he is too afraid to go home. He asks if Cyrano can host him for the evening, but Cyrano scoffs: "A hundred men, you say. You'll sleep at home tonight. He declares that he will fight all hundred men and escort Ligniere safely home. Le Bret asks why Cyrano would want to help a drunkard, and Cyrano says that he once saw Ligniere drink a whole font of holy water dry after a beautiful woman had blessed herself with it. For a gesture like that, he says, he will -protect Ligniere. The actors and musicians rehearsing in the theater buzz about Cyrano's behavior. He tells them that he wants an audience and that they can follow him. But he warns them that he wants no protection. As he strides boldly out of the theater, the crowd forms a procession to follow him to the Porte de Nestle.

Chapter: Ragueneau, pastry-cooks, then Lise. Ragueneau is writing, with an inspired air, at a small table, and counting on his fingers. FIRST PASTRY-COOK (bringing in an elaborate fancy dish): Fruits in nougat! SECOND PASTRY-COOK (bringing another dish): Custard! THIRD PASTRY-COOK (bringing a roast, decorated with feathers): Peacock! FOURTH PASTRY-COOK (bringing a batch of cakes on a slab): Rissoles! FIFTH PASTRY-COOK (bringing a sort of pie-dish): Beef jelly! RAGUENEAU (ceasing to write, and raising his head): Aurora's silver rays begin to glint e'en now on the copper pans, and thou, O Ragueneau! must perforce stifle in thy breast the God of Song! Anon shall come the hour of the lute!--now 'tis the hour of the oven! (He rises. To a cook): You, make that sauce longer, 'tis too short! THE COOK: How much too short? RAGUENEAU: Three feet. (He passes on farther.) THE COOK: What means he? FIRST PASTRY-COOK (showing a dish to Ragueneau): The tart! SECOND PASTRY-COOK: The pie! RAGUENEAU (before the fire): My muse, retire, lest thy bright eyes be reddened by the fagot's blaze! (To a cook, showing him some loaves): You have put the cleft o' th' loaves in the wrong place; know you not that the coesura should be between the hemistiches? (To another, showing him an unfinished pasty): To this palace of paste you must add the roof. . . (To a young apprentice, who, seated on the ground, is spitting the fowls): And you, as you put on your lengthy spit the modest fowl and the superb turkey, my son, alternate them, as the old Malherbe loved well to alternate his long lines of verse with the short ones; thus shall your roasts, in strophes, turn before the flame! ANOTHER APPRENTICE (also coming up with a tray covered by a napkin): Master, I bethought me erewhile of your tastes, and made this, which will please you, I hope. (He uncovers the tray, and shows a large lyre made of pastry.) RAGUENEAU (enchanted): A lyre! THE APPRENTICE: 'Tis of brioche pastry. RAGUENEAU (touched): With conserved fruits. THE APPRENTICE: The strings, see, are of sugar. RAGUENEAU (giving him a coin): Go, drink my health! (Seeing Lise enter): Hush! My wife. Bustle, pass on, and hide that money! (To Lise, showing her the lyre, with a conscious look): Is it not beautiful? LISE: 'Tis passing silly! (She puts a pile of papers on the counter.) RAGUENEAU: Bags? Good. I thank you. (He looks at them): Heavens! my cherished leaves! The poems of my friends! Torn, dismembered, to make bags for holding biscuits and cakes!. . .Ah, 'tis the old tale again. . .Orpheus and the Bacchantes! LISE (dryly): And am I not free to turn at last to some use the sole thing that your wretched scribblers of halting lines leave behind them by way of payment? RAGUENEAU: Groveling ant!. . .Insult not the divine grasshoppers, the sweet singers! LISE: Before you were the sworn comrade of all that crew, my friend, you did not call your wife ant and Bacchante! RAGUENEAU: To turn fair verse to such a use! LISE: 'Faith, 'tis all it's good for. RAGUENEAU: Pray then, madam, to what use would you degrade prose? Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A: The next morning dawns. The scene is Ragueneau's bakery. The bakery bustles with activity as Ragueneau and his pastry cooks prepare the day's wares. Obsessed with poetry, Ragueneau has written all of his recipes in the form of poems. One of the cooks delights him with a pastry lyre. Ragueneau's wife, Lise, enters furiously, angry with Ragueneau for yet again giving away baked goods to poets in return for their verses. She shows him a new batch of paper bags she has made for the shop, shocking her husband because the bags are made from poet's manuscripts

Chapter: Ragueneau, pastry-cooks, then Lise. Ragueneau is writing, with an inspired air, at a small table, and counting on his fingers. FIRST PASTRY-COOK (bringing in an elaborate fancy dish): Fruits in nougat! SECOND PASTRY-COOK (bringing another dish): Custard! THIRD PASTRY-COOK (bringing a roast, decorated with feathers): Peacock! FOURTH PASTRY-COOK (bringing a batch of cakes on a slab): Rissoles! FIFTH PASTRY-COOK (bringing a sort of pie-dish): Beef jelly! RAGUENEAU (ceasing to write, and raising his head): Aurora's silver rays begin to glint e'en now on the copper pans, and thou, O Ragueneau! must perforce stifle in thy breast the God of Song! Anon shall come the hour of the lute!--now 'tis the hour of the oven! (He rises. To a cook): You, make that sauce longer, 'tis too short! THE COOK: How much too short? RAGUENEAU: Three feet. (He passes on farther.) THE COOK: What means he? FIRST PASTRY-COOK (showing a dish to Ragueneau): The tart! SECOND PASTRY-COOK: The pie! RAGUENEAU (before the fire): My muse, retire, lest thy bright eyes be reddened by the fagot's blaze! (To a cook, showing him some loaves): You have put the cleft o' th' loaves in the wrong place; know you not that the coesura should be between the hemistiches? (To another, showing him an unfinished pasty): To this palace of paste you must add the roof. . . (To a young apprentice, who, seated on the ground, is spitting the fowls): And you, as you put on your lengthy spit the modest fowl and the superb turkey, my son, alternate them, as the old Malherbe loved well to alternate his long lines of verse with the short ones; thus shall your roasts, in strophes, turn before the flame! ANOTHER APPRENTICE (also coming up with a tray covered by a napkin): Master, I bethought me erewhile of your tastes, and made this, which will please you, I hope. (He uncovers the tray, and shows a large lyre made of pastry.) RAGUENEAU (enchanted): A lyre! THE APPRENTICE: 'Tis of brioche pastry. RAGUENEAU (touched): With conserved fruits. THE APPRENTICE: The strings, see, are of sugar. RAGUENEAU (giving him a coin): Go, drink my health! (Seeing Lise enter): Hush! My wife. Bustle, pass on, and hide that money! (To Lise, showing her the lyre, with a conscious look): Is it not beautiful? LISE: 'Tis passing silly! (She puts a pile of papers on the counter.) RAGUENEAU: Bags? Good. I thank you. (He looks at them): Heavens! my cherished leaves! The poems of my friends! Torn, dismembered, to make bags for holding biscuits and cakes!. . .Ah, 'tis the old tale again. . .Orpheus and the Bacchantes! LISE (dryly): And am I not free to turn at last to some use the sole thing that your wretched scribblers of halting lines leave behind them by way of payment? RAGUENEAU: Groveling ant!. . .Insult not the divine grasshoppers, the sweet singers! LISE: Before you were the sworn comrade of all that crew, my friend, you did not call your wife ant and Bacchante! RAGUENEAU: To turn fair verse to such a use! LISE: 'Faith, 'tis all it's good for. RAGUENEAU: Pray then, madam, to what use would you degrade prose? Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A:

The next morning dawns. The scene is Ragueneau's bakery. The bakery bustles with activity as Ragueneau and his pastry cooks prepare the day's wares. Obsessed with poetry, Ragueneau has written all of his recipes in the form of poems. One of the cooks delights him with a pastry lyre. Ragueneau's wife, Lise, enters furiously, angry with Ragueneau for yet again giving away baked goods to poets in return for their verses. She shows him a new batch of paper bags she has made for the shop, shocking her husband because the bags are made from poet's manuscripts

Chapter: The same. Two children, who have just trotted into the shop. RAGUENEAU: What would you, little ones? FIRST CHILD: Three pies. RAGUENEAU (serving them): See, hot and well browned. SECOND CHILD: If it please you, Sir, will you wrap them up for us? RAGUENEAU (aside, distressed): Alas! one of my bags! (To the children): What? Must I wrap them up? (He takes a bag, and just as he is about to put in the pies, he reads): 'Ulysses thus, on leaving fair Penelope. . .' Not that one! (He puts it aside, and takes another, and as he is about to put in the pies, he reads): 'The gold-locked Phoebus. . .' Nay, nor that one!. . . (Same play.) LISE (impatiently): What are you dallying for? RAGUENEAU: Here! here! here (He chooses a third, resignedly): The sonnet to Phillis!. . .but 'tis hard to part with it! LISE: By good luck he has made up his mind at last! (Shrugging her shoulders): Nicodemus! (She mounts on a chair, and begins to range plates on a dresser.) RAGUENEAU (taking advantage of the moment she turns her back, calls back the children, who are already at the door): Hist! children!. . .render me back the sonnet to Phillis, and you shall have six pies instead of three. (The children give him back the bag, seize the cakes quickly, and go out.) RAGUENEAU (smoothing out the paper, begins to declaim): 'Phillis!. . .' On that sweet name a smear of butter! 'Phillis!. . .' (Cyrano enters hurriedly.) Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A: Two children enter the shop and order three small pies. Ragueneau struggles to find a bag, and a poem, with which he can part. After Lise is out of sight, Ragueneau brings the children back and offers to give them more pastries if they will return the bags that have poetry written on them

Chapter: The same. Two children, who have just trotted into the shop. RAGUENEAU: What would you, little ones? FIRST CHILD: Three pies. RAGUENEAU (serving them): See, hot and well browned. SECOND CHILD: If it please you, Sir, will you wrap them up for us? RAGUENEAU (aside, distressed): Alas! one of my bags! (To the children): What? Must I wrap them up? (He takes a bag, and just as he is about to put in the pies, he reads): 'Ulysses thus, on leaving fair Penelope. . .' Not that one! (He puts it aside, and takes another, and as he is about to put in the pies, he reads): 'The gold-locked Phoebus. . .' Nay, nor that one!. . . (Same play.) LISE (impatiently): What are you dallying for? RAGUENEAU: Here! here! here (He chooses a third, resignedly): The sonnet to Phillis!. . .but 'tis hard to part with it! LISE: By good luck he has made up his mind at last! (Shrugging her shoulders): Nicodemus! (She mounts on a chair, and begins to range plates on a dresser.) RAGUENEAU (taking advantage of the moment she turns her back, calls back the children, who are already at the door): Hist! children!. . .render me back the sonnet to Phillis, and you shall have six pies instead of three. (The children give him back the bag, seize the cakes quickly, and go out.) RAGUENEAU (smoothing out the paper, begins to declaim): 'Phillis!. . .' On that sweet name a smear of butter! 'Phillis!. . .' (Cyrano enters hurriedly.) Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A:

Two children enter the shop and order three small pies. Ragueneau struggles to find a bag, and a poem, with which he can part. After Lise is out of sight, Ragueneau brings the children back and offers to give them more pastries if they will return the bags that have poetry written on them

Chapter: Ragueneau, Lise, Cyrano, then the musketeer. CYRANO: What's o'clock? RAGUENEAU (bowing low): Six o'clock. CYRANO (with emotion): In one hour's time! (He paces up and down the shop.) RAGUENEAU (following him): Bravo! I saw. . . CYRANO: Well, what saw you, then? RAGUENEAU: Your combat!. . . CYRANO: Which? RAGUENEAU: That in the Burgundy Hotel, 'faith! CYRANO (contemptuously): Ah!. . .the duel! RAGUENEAU (admiringly): Ay! the duel in verse!. . . LISE: He can talk of naught else! CYRANO: Well! Good! let be! RAGUENEAU (making passes with a spit that he catches up): 'At the envoi's end, I touch!. . .At the envoi's end, I touch!'. . .'Tis fine, fine! (With increasing enthusiasm): 'At the envoi's end--' CYRANO: What hour is it now, Ragueneau? RAGUENEAU (stopping short in the act of thrusting to look at the clock): Five minutes after six!. . .'I touch!' (He straightens himself): . . .Oh! to write a ballade! LISE (to Cyrano, who, as he passes by the counter, has absently shaken hands with her): What's wrong with your hand? CYRANO: Naught; a slight cut. RAGUENEAU: Have you been in some danger? CYRANO: None in the world. LISE (shaking her finger at him): Methinks you speak not the truth in saying that! CYRANO: Did you see my nose quiver when I spoke? 'Faith, it must have been a monstrous lie that should move it! (Changing his tone): I wait some one here. Leave us alone, and disturb us for naught an it were not for crack of doom! RAGUENEAU: But 'tis impossible; my poets are coming. . . LISE (ironically): Oh, ay, for their first meal o' the day! CYRANO: Prythee, take them aside when I shall make you sign to do so. . .What's o'clock? RAGUENEAU: Ten minutes after six. CYRANO (nervously seating himself at Ragueneau's table, and drawing some paper toward him): A pen!. . . RAGUENEAU (giving him the one from behind his ear): Here--a swan's quill. A MUSKETEER (with fierce mustache, enters, and in a stentorian voice): Good-day! (Lise goes up to him quickly.) CYRANO (turning round): Who's that? RAGUENEAU: 'Tis a friend of my wife--a terrible warrior--at least so says he himself. CYRANO (taking up the pen, and motioning Ragueneau away): Hush! (To himself): I will write, fold it, give it her, and fly! (Throws down the pen): Coward!. . .But strike me dead if I dare to speak to her,. . .ay, even one single word! (To Ragueneau): What time is it? RAGUENEAU: A quarter after six!. . . CYRANO (striking his breast): Ay--a single word of all those here! here! But writing, 'tis easier done. . . (He takes up the pen): Go to, I will write it, that love-letter! Oh! I have writ it and rewrit it in my own mind so oft that it lies there ready for pen and ink; and if I lay but my soul by my letter-sheet, 'tis naught to do but to copy from it. (He writes. Through the glass of the door the silhouettes of their figures move uncertainly and hesitatingly.) Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A: Cyrano appears and tells Ragueneau he is meeting someone. Noticeably nervous and jumpy, Cyrano constantly asks what time it is and cannot sit still. Lise asks Cyrano how he cut his hand, but he refuses to talk about it. A musketeer arrives and Ragueneau says the man is his wife's friend

Chapter: Ragueneau, Lise, Cyrano, then the musketeer. CYRANO: What's o'clock? RAGUENEAU (bowing low): Six o'clock. CYRANO (with emotion): In one hour's time! (He paces up and down the shop.) RAGUENEAU (following him): Bravo! I saw. . . CYRANO: Well, what saw you, then? RAGUENEAU: Your combat!. . . CYRANO: Which? RAGUENEAU: That in the Burgundy Hotel, 'faith! CYRANO (contemptuously): Ah!. . .the duel! RAGUENEAU (admiringly): Ay! the duel in verse!. . . LISE: He can talk of naught else! CYRANO: Well! Good! let be! RAGUENEAU (making passes with a spit that he catches up): 'At the envoi's end, I touch!. . .At the envoi's end, I touch!'. . .'Tis fine, fine! (With increasing enthusiasm): 'At the envoi's end--' CYRANO: What hour is it now, Ragueneau? RAGUENEAU (stopping short in the act of thrusting to look at the clock): Five minutes after six!. . .'I touch!' (He straightens himself): . . .Oh! to write a ballade! LISE (to Cyrano, who, as he passes by the counter, has absently shaken hands with her): What's wrong with your hand? CYRANO: Naught; a slight cut. RAGUENEAU: Have you been in some danger? CYRANO: None in the world. LISE (shaking her finger at him): Methinks you speak not the truth in saying that! CYRANO: Did you see my nose quiver when I spoke? 'Faith, it must have been a monstrous lie that should move it! (Changing his tone): I wait some one here. Leave us alone, and disturb us for naught an it were not for crack of doom! RAGUENEAU: But 'tis impossible; my poets are coming. . . LISE (ironically): Oh, ay, for their first meal o' the day! CYRANO: Prythee, take them aside when I shall make you sign to do so. . .What's o'clock? RAGUENEAU: Ten minutes after six. CYRANO (nervously seating himself at Ragueneau's table, and drawing some paper toward him): A pen!. . . RAGUENEAU (giving him the one from behind his ear): Here--a swan's quill. A MUSKETEER (with fierce mustache, enters, and in a stentorian voice): Good-day! (Lise goes up to him quickly.) CYRANO (turning round): Who's that? RAGUENEAU: 'Tis a friend of my wife--a terrible warrior--at least so says he himself. CYRANO (taking up the pen, and motioning Ragueneau away): Hush! (To himself): I will write, fold it, give it her, and fly! (Throws down the pen): Coward!. . .But strike me dead if I dare to speak to her,. . .ay, even one single word! (To Ragueneau): What time is it? RAGUENEAU: A quarter after six!. . . CYRANO (striking his breast): Ay--a single word of all those here! here! But writing, 'tis easier done. . . (He takes up the pen): Go to, I will write it, that love-letter! Oh! I have writ it and rewrit it in my own mind so oft that it lies there ready for pen and ink; and if I lay but my soul by my letter-sheet, 'tis naught to do but to copy from it. (He writes. Through the glass of the door the silhouettes of their figures move uncertainly and hesitatingly.) Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A:

Cyrano appears and tells Ragueneau he is meeting someone. Noticeably nervous and jumpy, Cyrano constantly asks what time it is and cannot sit still. Lise asks Cyrano how he cut his hand, but he refuses to talk about it. A musketeer arrives and Ragueneau says the man is his wife's friend

Chapter: Ragueneau, Lise, the musketeer. Cyrano at the little table writing. The poets, dressed in black, their stockings ungartered, and covered with mud. LISE (entering, to Ragueneau): Here they come, your mud-bespattered friends! FIRST POET (entering, to Ragueneau): Brother in art!. . . SECOND POET (to Ragueneau, shaking his hands): Dear brother! THIRD POET: High soaring eagle among pastry-cooks! (He sniffs): Marry! it smells good here in your eyrie! FOURTH POET: 'Tis at Phoebus' own rays that thy roasts turn! FIFTH POET: Apollo among master-cooks-- RAGUENEAU (whom they surround and embrace): Ah! how quick a man feels at his ease with them!. . . FIRST POET: We were stayed by the mob; they are crowded all round the Porte de Nesle!. . . SECOND POET: Eight bleeding brigand carcasses strew the pavements there--all slit open with sword-gashes! CYRANO (raising his head a minute): Eight?. . .hold, methought seven. (He goes on writing.) RAGUENEAU (to Cyrano): Know you who might be the hero of the fray? CYRANO (carelessly): Not I. LISE (to the musketeer): And you? Know you? THE MUSKETEER (twirling his mustache): Maybe! CYRANO (writing a little way off:--he is heard murmuring a word from time to time): 'I love thee!' FIRST POET: 'Twas one man, say they all, ay, swear to it, one man who, single-handed, put the whole band to the rout! SECOND POET: 'Twas a strange sight!--pikes and cudgels strewed thick upon the ground. CYRANO (writing): . . .'Thine eyes'. . . THIRD POET: And they were picking up hats all the way to the Quai d'Orfevres! FIRST POET: Sapristi! but he must have been a ferocious. . . CYRANO (same play): . . .'Thy lips'. . . FIRST POET: 'Twas a parlous fearsome giant that was the author of such exploits! CYRANO (same play): . . .'And when I see thee come, I faint for fear.' SECOND POET (filching a cake): What hast rhymed of late, Ragueneau? CYRANO (same play): . . .'Who worships thee'. . . (He stops, just as he is about to sign, and gets up, slipping the letter into his doublet): No need I sign, since I give it her myself. RAGUENEAU (to second poet): I have put a recipe into verse. THIRD POET (seating himself by a plate of cream-puffs): Go to! Let us hear these verses! FOURTH POET (looking at a cake which he has taken): Its cap is all a' one side! (He makes one bite of the top.) FIRST POET: See how this gingerbread woos the famished rhymer with its almond eyes, and its eyebrows of angelica! (He takes it.) SECOND POET: We listen. THIRD POET (squeezing a cream-puff gently): How it laughs! Till its very cream runs over! SECOND POET (biting a bit off the great lyre of pastry): This is the first time in my life that ever I drew any means of nourishing me from the lyre! RAGUENEAU (who has put himself ready for reciting, cleared his throat, settled his cap, struck an attitude): A recipe in verse!. . . SECOND POET (to first, nudging him): You are breakfasting? FIRST POET (to second): And you dining, methinks. RAGUENEAU: How almond tartlets are made. Beat your eggs up, light and quick; Froth them thick; Mingle with them while you beat Juice of lemon, essence fine; Then combine The burst milk of almonds sweet. Circle with a custard paste The slim waist Of your tartlet-molds; the top With a skillful finger print, Nick and dint, Round their edge, then, drop by drop, In its little dainty bed Your cream shed: In the oven place each mold: Reappearing, softly browned, The renowned Almond tartlets you behold! THE POETS (with mouths crammed full): Exquisite! Delicious! A POET (choking): Homph! (They go up, eating.) CYRANO (who has been watching, goes toward Ragueneau): Lulled by your voice, did you see how they were stuffing themselves? RAGUENEAU (in a low voice, smiling): Oh, ay! I see well enough, but I never will seem to look, fearing to distress them; thus I gain a double pleasure when I recite to them my poems; for I leave those poor fellows who have not breakfasted free to eat, even while I gratify my own dearest foible, see you? CYRANO (clapping him on the shoulder): Friend, I like you right well!. . . (Ragueneau goes after his friends. Cyrano follows him with his eyes, then, rather sharply): Ho there! Lise! (Lise, who is talking tenderly to the musketeer, starts, and comes down toward Cyrano): So this fine captain is laying siege to you? LISE (offended): One haughty glance of my eye can conquer any man that should dare venture aught 'gainst my virtue. CYRANO: Pooh! Conquering eyes, methinks, are oft conquered eyes. LISE (choking with anger): But-- CYRANO (incisively): I like Ragueneau well, and so--mark me, Dame Lise--I permit not that he be rendered a laughing-stock by any. . . LISE: But. . . CYRANO (who has raised his voice so as to be heard by the gallant): A word to the wise. . . (He bows to the musketeer, and goes to the doorway to watch, after looking at the clock.) LISE (to the musketeer, who has merely bowed in answer to Cyrano's bow): How now? Is this your courage?. . .Why turn you not a jest on his nose? THE MUSKETEER: On his nose?. . .ay, ay. . .his nose. (He goes quickly farther away; Lise follows him.) CYRANO (from the doorway, signing to Ragueneau to draw the poets away): Hist!. . . RAGUENEAU (showing them the door on the right): We shall be more private there. . . CYRANO (impatiently): Hist! Hist!. . . RAGUENEAU (drawing them farther): To read poetry, 'tis better here. . . FIRST POET (despairingly, with his mouth full): What! leave the cakes?. . . SECOND POET: Never! Let's take them with us! (They all follow Ragueneau in procession, after sweeping all the cakes off the trays.) Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A: Some poets arrive and begin eating Ragueneau's wares, describing the food poetically and thereby delighting the baker. Cyrano tries to write something to Roxane. When Ragueneau leaves, Cyrano warns Lise that Ragueneau is his friend and that he will not tolerate her having an affair with the musketeer. The musketeer hears what he says but does not dare to challenge Cyrano

Chapter: Ragueneau, Lise, the musketeer. Cyrano at the little table writing. The poets, dressed in black, their stockings ungartered, and covered with mud. LISE (entering, to Ragueneau): Here they come, your mud-bespattered friends! FIRST POET (entering, to Ragueneau): Brother in art!. . . SECOND POET (to Ragueneau, shaking his hands): Dear brother! THIRD POET: High soaring eagle among pastry-cooks! (He sniffs): Marry! it smells good here in your eyrie! FOURTH POET: 'Tis at Phoebus' own rays that thy roasts turn! FIFTH POET: Apollo among master-cooks-- RAGUENEAU (whom they surround and embrace): Ah! how quick a man feels at his ease with them!. . . FIRST POET: We were stayed by the mob; they are crowded all round the Porte de Nesle!. . . SECOND POET: Eight bleeding brigand carcasses strew the pavements there--all slit open with sword-gashes! CYRANO (raising his head a minute): Eight?. . .hold, methought seven. (He goes on writing.) RAGUENEAU (to Cyrano): Know you who might be the hero of the fray? CYRANO (carelessly): Not I. LISE (to the musketeer): And you? Know you? THE MUSKETEER (twirling his mustache): Maybe! CYRANO (writing a little way off:--he is heard murmuring a word from time to time): 'I love thee!' FIRST POET: 'Twas one man, say they all, ay, swear to it, one man who, single-handed, put the whole band to the rout! SECOND POET: 'Twas a strange sight!--pikes and cudgels strewed thick upon the ground. CYRANO (writing): . . .'Thine eyes'. . . THIRD POET: And they were picking up hats all the way to the Quai d'Orfevres! FIRST POET: Sapristi! but he must have been a ferocious. . . CYRANO (same play): . . .'Thy lips'. . . FIRST POET: 'Twas a parlous fearsome giant that was the author of such exploits! CYRANO (same play): . . .'And when I see thee come, I faint for fear.' SECOND POET (filching a cake): What hast rhymed of late, Ragueneau? CYRANO (same play): . . .'Who worships thee'. . . (He stops, just as he is about to sign, and gets up, slipping the letter into his doublet): No need I sign, since I give it her myself. RAGUENEAU (to second poet): I have put a recipe into verse. THIRD POET (seating himself by a plate of cream-puffs): Go to! Let us hear these verses! FOURTH POET (looking at a cake which he has taken): Its cap is all a' one side! (He makes one bite of the top.) FIRST POET: See how this gingerbread woos the famished rhymer with its almond eyes, and its eyebrows of angelica! (He takes it.) SECOND POET: We listen. THIRD POET (squeezing a cream-puff gently): How it laughs! Till its very cream runs over! SECOND POET (biting a bit off the great lyre of pastry): This is the first time in my life that ever I drew any means of nourishing me from the lyre! RAGUENEAU (who has put himself ready for reciting, cleared his throat, settled his cap, struck an attitude): A recipe in verse!. . . SECOND POET (to first, nudging him): You are breakfasting? FIRST POET (to second): And you dining, methinks. RAGUENEAU: How almond tartlets are made. Beat your eggs up, light and quick; Froth them thick; Mingle with them while you beat Juice of lemon, essence fine; Then combine The burst milk of almonds sweet. Circle with a custard paste The slim waist Of your tartlet-molds; the top With a skillful finger print, Nick and dint, Round their edge, then, drop by drop, In its little dainty bed Your cream shed: In the oven place each mold: Reappearing, softly browned, The renowned Almond tartlets you behold! THE POETS (with mouths crammed full): Exquisite! Delicious! A POET (choking): Homph! (They go up, eating.) CYRANO (who has been watching, goes toward Ragueneau): Lulled by your voice, did you see how they were stuffing themselves? RAGUENEAU (in a low voice, smiling): Oh, ay! I see well enough, but I never will seem to look, fearing to distress them; thus I gain a double pleasure when I recite to them my poems; for I leave those poor fellows who have not breakfasted free to eat, even while I gratify my own dearest foible, see you? CYRANO (clapping him on the shoulder): Friend, I like you right well!. . . (Ragueneau goes after his friends. Cyrano follows him with his eyes, then, rather sharply): Ho there! Lise! (Lise, who is talking tenderly to the musketeer, starts, and comes down toward Cyrano): So this fine captain is laying siege to you? LISE (offended): One haughty glance of my eye can conquer any man that should dare venture aught 'gainst my virtue. CYRANO: Pooh! Conquering eyes, methinks, are oft conquered eyes. LISE (choking with anger): But-- CYRANO (incisively): I like Ragueneau well, and so--mark me, Dame Lise--I permit not that he be rendered a laughing-stock by any. . . LISE: But. . . CYRANO (who has raised his voice so as to be heard by the gallant): A word to the wise. . . (He bows to the musketeer, and goes to the doorway to watch, after looking at the clock.) LISE (to the musketeer, who has merely bowed in answer to Cyrano's bow): How now? Is this your courage?. . .Why turn you not a jest on his nose? THE MUSKETEER: On his nose?. . .ay, ay. . .his nose. (He goes quickly farther away; Lise follows him.) CYRANO (from the doorway, signing to Ragueneau to draw the poets away): Hist!. . . RAGUENEAU (showing them the door on the right): We shall be more private there. . . CYRANO (impatiently): Hist! Hist!. . . RAGUENEAU (drawing them farther): To read poetry, 'tis better here. . . FIRST POET (despairingly, with his mouth full): What! leave the cakes?. . . SECOND POET: Never! Let's take them with us! (They all follow Ragueneau in procession, after sweeping all the cakes off the trays.) Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A:

Some poets arrive and begin eating Ragueneau's wares, describing the food poetically and thereby delighting the baker. Cyrano tries to write something to Roxane. When Ragueneau leaves, Cyrano warns Lise that Ragueneau is his friend and that he will not tolerate her having an affair with the musketeer. The musketeer hears what he says but does not dare to challenge Cyrano

Chapter: Cyrano, Roxane, the duenna. CYRANO: Ah! if I see but the faint glimmer of hope, then I draw out my letter! (Roxane, masked, followed by the duenna, appears at the glass pane of the door. He opens quickly): Enter!. . . (Walking up to the duenna): Two words with you, Duenna. THE DUENNA: Four, Sir, an it like you. CYRANO: Are you fond of sweet things? THE DUENNA: Ay, I could eat myself sick on them! CYRANO (catching up some of the paper bags from the counter): Good. See you these two sonnets of Monsieur Beuserade. . . THE DUENNA: Hey? CYRANO: . . .Which I fill for you with cream cakes! THE DUENNA (changing her expression): Ha. CYRANO: What say you to the cake they call a little puff? THE DUENNA: If made with cream, Sir, I love them passing well. CYRANO: Here I plunge six for your eating into the bosom of a poem by Saint Amant! And in these verses of Chapelain I glide a lighter morsel. Stay, love you hot cakes? THE DUENNA: Ay, to the core of my heart! CYRANO (filling her arms with the bags): Pleasure me then; go eat them all in the street. THE DUENNA: But. . . CYRANO (pushing her out): And come not back till the very last crumb be eaten! (He shuts the door, comes down toward Roxane, and, uncovering, stands at a respectful distance from her.) Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A: Roxane arrives. Overcome with love, Cyrano sends everyone else away. He gives the duenna pastries to distract her while he and Roxane spend time together

Chapter: Cyrano, Roxane, the duenna. CYRANO: Ah! if I see but the faint glimmer of hope, then I draw out my letter! (Roxane, masked, followed by the duenna, appears at the glass pane of the door. He opens quickly): Enter!. . . (Walking up to the duenna): Two words with you, Duenna. THE DUENNA: Four, Sir, an it like you. CYRANO: Are you fond of sweet things? THE DUENNA: Ay, I could eat myself sick on them! CYRANO (catching up some of the paper bags from the counter): Good. See you these two sonnets of Monsieur Beuserade. . . THE DUENNA: Hey? CYRANO: . . .Which I fill for you with cream cakes! THE DUENNA (changing her expression): Ha. CYRANO: What say you to the cake they call a little puff? THE DUENNA: If made with cream, Sir, I love them passing well. CYRANO: Here I plunge six for your eating into the bosom of a poem by Saint Amant! And in these verses of Chapelain I glide a lighter morsel. Stay, love you hot cakes? THE DUENNA: Ay, to the core of my heart! CYRANO (filling her arms with the bags): Pleasure me then; go eat them all in the street. THE DUENNA: But. . . CYRANO (pushing her out): And come not back till the very last crumb be eaten! (He shuts the door, comes down toward Roxane, and, uncovering, stands at a respectful distance from her.) Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A:

Roxane arrives. Overcome with love, Cyrano sends everyone else away. He gives the duenna pastries to distract her while he and Roxane spend time together

Chapter: Cyrano, Roxane. CYRANO: Blessed be the moment when you condescend-- Remembering that humbly I exist-- To come to meet me, and to say. . .to tell?. . . ROXANE (who has unmasked): To thank you first of all. That dandy count, Whom you checkmated in brave sword-play Last night,. . .he is the man whom a great lord, Desirous of my favor. . . CYRANO: Ha, De Guiche? ROXANE (casting down her eyes): Sought to impose on me. . .for husband. . . CYRANO: Ay! Husband!--dupe-husband!. . .Husband a la mode! (Bowing): Then I fought, happy chance! sweet lady, not For my ill favor--but your favors fair! ROXANE: Confession next!. . .But, ere I make my shrift, You must be once again that brother-friend With whom I used to play by the lake-side!. . . CYRANO: Ay, you would come each spring to Bergerac! ROXANE: Mind you the reeds you cut to make your swords?. . . CYRANO: While you wove corn-straw plaits for your dolls' hair! ROXANE: Those were the days of games!. . . CYRANO: And blackberries!. . . ROXANE: In those days you did everything I bid!. . . CYRANO: Roxane, in her short frock, was Madeleine. . . ROXANE: Was I fair then? CYRANO: You were not ill to see! ROXANE: Ofttimes, with hands all bloody from a fall, You'd run to me! Then--aping mother-ways-- I, in a voice would-be severe, would chide,-- (She takes his hand): 'What is this scratch, again, that I see here?' (She starts, surprised): Oh! 'Tis too much! What's this? (Cyrano tries to draw away his hand): No, let me see! At your age, fie! Where did you get that scratch? CYRANO: I got it--playing at the Porte de Nesle. ROXANE (seating herself by the table, and dipping her handkerchief in a glass of water): Give here! CYRANO (sitting by her): So soft! so gay maternal-sweet! ROXANE: And tell me, while I wipe away the blood, How many 'gainst you? CYRANO: Oh! A hundred--near. ROXANE: Come, tell me! CYRANO: No, let be. But you, come tell The thing, just now, you dared not. . . ROXANE (keeping his hand): Now, I dare! The scent of those old days emboldens me! Yes, now I dare. Listen. I am in love. CYRANO: Ah!. . . ROXANE: But with one who knows not. CYRANO: Ah!. . . ROXANE: Not yet. CYRANO: Ah!. . . ROXANE: But who, if he knows not, soon shall learn. CYRANO: Ah!. . . ROXANE: A poor youth who all this time has loved Timidly, from afar, and dares not speak. . . CYRANO: Ah!. . . ROXANE: Leave your hand; why, it is fever-hot!-- But I have seen love trembling on his lips. CYRANO: Ah!. . . ROXANE (bandaging his hand with her handkerchief): And to think of it! that he by chance-- Yes, cousin, he is of your regiment! CYRANO: Ah!. . . ROXANE (laughing): --Is cadet in your own company! CYRANO: Ah!. . . ROXANE: On his brow he bears the genius-stamp; He is proud, noble, young, intrepid, fair. . . CYRANO (rising suddenly, very pale): Fair! ROXANE: Why, what ails you? CYRANO: Nothing; 'tis. . . (He shows his hand, smiling): This scratch! ROXANE: I love him; all is said. But you must know I have only seen him at the Comedy. . . CYRANO: How? You have never spoken? ROXANE: Eyes can speak. CYRANO: How know you then that he. . .? ROXANE: Oh! people talk 'Neath the limes in the Place Royale. . . Gossip's chat Has let me know. . . CYRANO: He is cadet? ROXANE: In the Guards. CYRANO: His name? ROXANE: Baron Christian de Neuvillette. CYRANO: How now?. . .He is not of the Guards! ROXANE: To-day He is not join your ranks, under Captain Carbon de Castel-Jaloux. CYRANO: Ah, how quick, How quick the heart has flown!. . .But, my poor child. . . THE DUENNA (opening the door): The cakes are eaten, Monsieur Bergerac! CYRANO: Then read the verses printed on the bags! (She goes out): . . .My poor child, you who love but flowing words, Bright wit,--what if he be a lout unskilled? ROXANE: No, his bright locks, like D'Urfe's heroes. . . CYRANO: Ah! A well-curled pate, and witless tongue, perchance! ROXANE: Ah no! I guess--I feel--his words are fair! CYRANO: All words are fair that lurk 'neath fair mustache! --Suppose he were a fool!. . . ROXANE (stamping her foot): Then bury me! CYRANO (after a pause): Was it to tell me this you brought me here? I fail to see what use this serves, Madame. ROXANE: Nay, but I felt a terror, here, in the heart, On learning yesterday you were Gascons All of your company. . . CYRANO: And we provoke All beardless sprigs that favor dares admit 'Midst us pure Gascons--(pure! Heaven save the mark! They told you that as well? ROXANE: Ah! Think how I Trembled for him! CYRANO (between his teeth): Not causelessly! ROXANE: But when Last night I saw you,--brave, invincible,-- Punish that dandy, fearless hold your own Against those brutes, I thought--I thought, if he Whom all fear, all--if he would only. . . CYRANO: Good. I will befriend your little Baron. ROXANE: Ah! You'll promise me you will do this for me? I've always held you as a tender friend. CYRANO: Ay, ay. ROXANE: Then you will be his friend? CYRANO: I swear! ROXANE: And he shall fight no duels, promise! CYRANO: None. ROXANE: You are kind, cousin! Now I must be gone. (She puts on her mask and veil quickly; then, absently): You have not told me of your last night's fray. Ah, but it must have been a hero-fight!. . . --Bid him to write. (She sends him a kiss with her fingers): How good you are! CYRANO: Ay! Ay! ROXANE: A hundred men against you? Now, farewell.-- We are great friends? CYRANO: Ay, ay! ROXANE: Oh, bid him write! You'll tell me all one day--A hundred men!-- Ah, brave!. . .How brave! CYRANO (bowing to her): I have fought better since. (She goes out. Cyrano stands motionless, with eyes on the ground. A silence. The door (right) opens. Ragueneau looks in.) Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A: Cyrano and Roxane begin to talk alone. Cyrano anxiously asks Roxane to state why she has come to talk to him. She shrugs off his insistence, and they reminisce about the childhood summers they spent together. She tends to his wounded hand, and Cyrano tells her he injured it in a fight the night before in which he defeated a hundred men. Roxane confesses to Cyrano that she is in love with someone, a man who does not know she loves him. Cyrano thinks she means him, but when she describes the man as "handsome," he knows that she means someone else. She tells him that she is in love with Christian, the new member of Cyrano's company of guards. She says that she is afraid for Christian because Cyrano's company is composed of hot-blooded Gascons who pick fights with anyone foreign. Christian is not a Gascon. Roxane asks Cyrano to protect him, and Cyrano agrees. She also asks Cyrano to have Christian write to her. Professing friendly love and admiration for Cyrano, she leaves.

Chapter: Cyrano, Roxane. CYRANO: Blessed be the moment when you condescend-- Remembering that humbly I exist-- To come to meet me, and to say. . .to tell?. . . ROXANE (who has unmasked): To thank you first of all. That dandy count, Whom you checkmated in brave sword-play Last night,. . .he is the man whom a great lord, Desirous of my favor. . . CYRANO: Ha, De Guiche? ROXANE (casting down her eyes): Sought to impose on me. . .for husband. . . CYRANO: Ay! Husband!--dupe-husband!. . .Husband a la mode! (Bowing): Then I fought, happy chance! sweet lady, not For my ill favor--but your favors fair! ROXANE: Confession next!. . .But, ere I make my shrift, You must be once again that brother-friend With whom I used to play by the lake-side!. . . CYRANO: Ay, you would come each spring to Bergerac! ROXANE: Mind you the reeds you cut to make your swords?. . . CYRANO: While you wove corn-straw plaits for your dolls' hair! ROXANE: Those were the days of games!. . . CYRANO: And blackberries!. . . ROXANE: In those days you did everything I bid!. . . CYRANO: Roxane, in her short frock, was Madeleine. . . ROXANE: Was I fair then? CYRANO: You were not ill to see! ROXANE: Ofttimes, with hands all bloody from a fall, You'd run to me! Then--aping mother-ways-- I, in a voice would-be severe, would chide,-- (She takes his hand): 'What is this scratch, again, that I see here?' (She starts, surprised): Oh! 'Tis too much! What's this? (Cyrano tries to draw away his hand): No, let me see! At your age, fie! Where did you get that scratch? CYRANO: I got it--playing at the Porte de Nesle. ROXANE (seating herself by the table, and dipping her handkerchief in a glass of water): Give here! CYRANO (sitting by her): So soft! so gay maternal-sweet! ROXANE: And tell me, while I wipe away the blood, How many 'gainst you? CYRANO: Oh! A hundred--near. ROXANE: Come, tell me! CYRANO: No, let be. But you, come tell The thing, just now, you dared not. . . ROXANE (keeping his hand): Now, I dare! The scent of those old days emboldens me! Yes, now I dare. Listen. I am in love. CYRANO: Ah!. . . ROXANE: But with one who knows not. CYRANO: Ah!. . . ROXANE: Not yet. CYRANO: Ah!. . . ROXANE: But who, if he knows not, soon shall learn. CYRANO: Ah!. . . ROXANE: A poor youth who all this time has loved Timidly, from afar, and dares not speak. . . CYRANO: Ah!. . . ROXANE: Leave your hand; why, it is fever-hot!-- But I have seen love trembling on his lips. CYRANO: Ah!. . . ROXANE (bandaging his hand with her handkerchief): And to think of it! that he by chance-- Yes, cousin, he is of your regiment! CYRANO: Ah!. . . ROXANE (laughing): --Is cadet in your own company! CYRANO: Ah!. . . ROXANE: On his brow he bears the genius-stamp; He is proud, noble, young, intrepid, fair. . . CYRANO (rising suddenly, very pale): Fair! ROXANE: Why, what ails you? CYRANO: Nothing; 'tis. . . (He shows his hand, smiling): This scratch! ROXANE: I love him; all is said. But you must know I have only seen him at the Comedy. . . CYRANO: How? You have never spoken? ROXANE: Eyes can speak. CYRANO: How know you then that he. . .? ROXANE: Oh! people talk 'Neath the limes in the Place Royale. . . Gossip's chat Has let me know. . . CYRANO: He is cadet? ROXANE: In the Guards. CYRANO: His name? ROXANE: Baron Christian de Neuvillette. CYRANO: How now?. . .He is not of the Guards! ROXANE: To-day He is not join your ranks, under Captain Carbon de Castel-Jaloux. CYRANO: Ah, how quick, How quick the heart has flown!. . .But, my poor child. . . THE DUENNA (opening the door): The cakes are eaten, Monsieur Bergerac! CYRANO: Then read the verses printed on the bags! (She goes out): . . .My poor child, you who love but flowing words, Bright wit,--what if he be a lout unskilled? ROXANE: No, his bright locks, like D'Urfe's heroes. . . CYRANO: Ah! A well-curled pate, and witless tongue, perchance! ROXANE: Ah no! I guess--I feel--his words are fair! CYRANO: All words are fair that lurk 'neath fair mustache! --Suppose he were a fool!. . . ROXANE (stamping her foot): Then bury me! CYRANO (after a pause): Was it to tell me this you brought me here? I fail to see what use this serves, Madame. ROXANE: Nay, but I felt a terror, here, in the heart, On learning yesterday you were Gascons All of your company. . . CYRANO: And we provoke All beardless sprigs that favor dares admit 'Midst us pure Gascons--(pure! Heaven save the mark! They told you that as well? ROXANE: Ah! Think how I Trembled for him! CYRANO (between his teeth): Not causelessly! ROXANE: But when Last night I saw you,--brave, invincible,-- Punish that dandy, fearless hold your own Against those brutes, I thought--I thought, if he Whom all fear, all--if he would only. . . CYRANO: Good. I will befriend your little Baron. ROXANE: Ah! You'll promise me you will do this for me? I've always held you as a tender friend. CYRANO: Ay, ay. ROXANE: Then you will be his friend? CYRANO: I swear! ROXANE: And he shall fight no duels, promise! CYRANO: None. ROXANE: You are kind, cousin! Now I must be gone. (She puts on her mask and veil quickly; then, absently): You have not told me of your last night's fray. Ah, but it must have been a hero-fight!. . . --Bid him to write. (She sends him a kiss with her fingers): How good you are! CYRANO: Ay! Ay! ROXANE: A hundred men against you? Now, farewell.-- We are great friends? CYRANO: Ay, ay! ROXANE: Oh, bid him write! You'll tell me all one day--A hundred men!-- Ah, brave!. . .How brave! CYRANO (bowing to her): I have fought better since. (She goes out. Cyrano stands motionless, with eyes on the ground. A silence. The door (right) opens. Ragueneau looks in.) Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A:

Cyrano and Roxane begin to talk alone. Cyrano anxiously asks Roxane to state why she has come to talk to him. She shrugs off his insistence, and they reminisce about the childhood summers they spent together. She tends to his wounded hand, and Cyrano tells her he injured it in a fight the night before in which he defeated a hundred men. Roxane confesses to Cyrano that she is in love with someone, a man who does not know she loves him. Cyrano thinks she means him, but when she describes the man as "handsome," he knows that she means someone else. She tells him that she is in love with Christian, the new member of Cyrano's company of guards. She says that she is afraid for Christian because Cyrano's company is composed of hot-blooded Gascons who pick fights with anyone foreign. Christian is not a Gascon. Roxane asks Cyrano to protect him, and Cyrano agrees. She also asks Cyrano to have Christian write to her. Professing friendly love and admiration for Cyrano, she leaves.

Chapter: Cyrano, Ragueneau, poets, Carbon de Castel-Jaloux, the cadets, a crowd, then De Guiche. RAGUENEAU: Can we come in? CYRANO (without stirring): Yes. . . (Ragueneau signs to his friends, and they come in. At the same time, by door at back, enters Carbon de Castel-Jaloux, in Captain's uniform. He makes gestures of surprise on seeing Cyrano.) CARBON: Here he is! CYRANO (raising his head): Captain!. . . CARBON (delightedly): Our hero! We heard all! Thirty or more Of my cadets are there!. . . CYRANO (shrinking back): But. . . CARBON (trying to draw him away): Come with me! They will not rest until they see you! CYRANO: No! CARBON: They're drinking opposite, at The Bear's Head. CYRANO: I. . . CARBON (going to the door and calling across the street in a voice of thunder): He won't come! The hero's in the sulks! A VOICE (outside): Ah! Sandious! (Tumult outside. Noise of boots and swords is heard approaching.) CARBON (rubbing his hands): They are running 'cross the street! CADETS (entering): Mille dious! Capdedious! Pocapdedious! RAGUENEAU (drawing back startled): Gentlemen, are you all from Gascony? THE CADETS: All! A CADET (to Cyrano): Bravo! CYRANO: Baron! ANOTHER (shaking his hands): Vivat! CYRANO: Baron! THIRD CADET: Come! I must embrace you! CYRANO: Baron! SEVERAL GASCONS: We'll embrace Him, all in turn! CYRANO (not knowing whom to reply to): Baron!. . .Baron!. . .I beg. . . RAGUENEAU: Are you all Barons, Sirs? THE CADETS: Ay, every one! RAGUENEAU: Is it true?. . . FIRST CADET: Ay--why, you could build a tower With nothing but our coronets, my friend! LE BRET (entering, and running up to Cyrano): They're looking for you! Here's a crazy mob Led by the men who followed you last night. . . CYRANO (alarmed): What! Have you told them where to find me? LE BRET (rubbing his hands): Yes! A BURGHER (entering, followed by a group of men): Sir, all the Marais is a-coming here! (Outside the street has filled with people. Chaises a porteurs and carriages have drawn up.) LE BRET (in a low voice, smiling, to Cyrano): And Roxane? CYRANO (quickly): Hush! THE CROWD (calling outside): Cyrano!. . . (A crowd rush into the shop, pushing one another. Acclamations.) RAGUENEAU (standing on a table): Lo! my shop Invaded! They break all! Magnificent! PEOPLE (crowding round Cyrano): My friend!. . .my friend. . . Cyrano: Meseems that yesterday I had not all these friends! LE BRET (delighted): Success! A YOUNG MARQUIS (hurrying up with his hands held out): My friend, Didst thou but know. . . CYRANO: Thou!. . .Marry!. . .thou!. . .Pray when Did we herd swine together, you and I! ANOTHER: I would present you, Sir, to some fair dames Who in my carriage yonder. . . CYRANO (coldly): Ah! and who Will first present you, Sir, to me? LE BRET (astonished): What's wrong? CYRANO: Hush! A MAN OF LETTERS (with writing-board): A few details?. . . CYRANO: No. LE BRET (nudging his elbow): 'Tis Theophrast, Renaudet,. . .of the 'Court Gazette'! CYRANO: Who cares? LE BRET: This paper--but it is of great importance!. . . They say it will be an immense success! A POET (advancing): Sir. . . CYRANO: What, another! THE POET: . . .Pray permit I make A pentacrostic on your name. . . SOME ONE (also advancing): Pray, Sir. . . CYRANO: Enough! Enough! (A movement in the crowd. De Guiche appears, escorted by officers. Cuigy, Brissaille, the officers who went with Cyrano the night before. Cuigy comes rapidly up to Cyrano.) CUIGY (to Cyrano): Here is Monsieur de Guiche? (A murmur--every one makes way): He comes from the Marshal of Gassion! DE GUICHE (bowing to Cyrano): . . .Who would express his admiration, Sir, For your new exploit noised so loud abroad. THE CROWD: Bravo! CYRANO (bowing): The Marshal is a judge of valor. DE GUICHE: He could not have believed the thing, unless These gentlemen had sworn they witnessed it. CUIGY: With our own eyes! LE BRET (aside to Cyrano, who has an absent air): But. . .you. . . CYRANO: Hush! LE BRET: But. . .You suffer? CYRANO (starting): Before this rabble?--I?. . . (He draws himself up, twirls his mustache, and throws back his shoulders): Wait!. . .You shall see! DE GUICHE (to whom Cuigy has spoken in a low voice): In feats of arms, already your career Abounded.--You serve with those crazy pates Of Gascons? CYRANO: Ay, with the Cadets. A CADET (in a terrible voice): With us! DE GUICHE (looking at the cadets, ranged behind Cyrano): Ah!. . .All these gentlemen of haughty mien, Are they the famous?. . . CARBON: Cyrano! CYRANO: Ay, Captain! CARBON: Since all my company's assembled here, Pray favor me,--present them to my lord! CYRANO (making two steps toward De Guiche): My Lord de Guiche, permit that I present-- (pointing to the cadets): The bold Cadets of Gascony, Of Carbon of Castel-Jaloux! Brawling and swaggering boastfully, The bold Cadets of Gascony! Spouting of Armory, Heraldry, Their veins a-brimming with blood so blue, The bold Cadets of Gascony, Of Carbon of Castel-Jaloux: Eagle-eye, and spindle-shanks, Fierce mustache, and wolfish tooth! Slash-the-rabble and scatter-their-ranks; Eagle-eye and spindle-shanks, With a flaming feather that gayly pranks, Hiding the holes in their hats, forsooth! Eagle-eye and spindle-shanks, Fierce mustache, and wolfish tooth! 'Pink-your-Doublet' and 'Slit-your-Trunk' Are their gentlest sobriquets; With Fame and Glory their soul is drunk! 'Pink-your-Doublet' and 'Slit-your-Trunk,' In brawl and skirmish they show their spunk, Give rendezvous in broil and fray; 'Pink-your-Doublet' and 'Slit-your-Trunk' Are their gentlest sobriquets! What, ho! Cadets of Gascony! All jealous lovers are sport for you! O Woman! dear divinity! What, ho! Cadets of Gascony! Whom scowling husbands quake to see. Blow, 'taratara,' and cry 'Cuckoo.' What, ho! Cadets of Gascony! Husbands and lovers are game for you! DE GUICHE (seated with haughty carelessness in an armchair brought quickly by Ragueneau): A poet! 'Tis the fashion of the hour! --Will you be mine? CYRANO: No, Sir,--no man's! DE GUICHE: Last night Your fancy pleased my uncle Richelieu. I'll gladly say a word to him for you. LE BRET (overjoyed): Great Heavens! DE GUICHE: I imagine you have rhymed Five acts, or so? LE BRET (in Cyrano's ear): Your play!--your 'Agrippine!' You'll see it staged at last! DE GUICHE: Take them to him. CYRANO (beginning to be tempted and attracted): In sooth,--I would. . . DE GUICHE: He is a critic skilled: He may correct a line or two, at most. CYRANO (whose face stiffens at once): Impossible! My blood congeals to think That other hand should change a comma's dot. DE GUICHE: But when a verse approves itself to him He pays it dear, good friend. CYRANO: He pays less dear Than I myself; when a verse pleases me I pay myself, and sing it to myself! DE GUICHE: You are proud. CYRANO: Really? You have noticed that? A CADET (entering, with a string of old battered plumed beaver hats, full of holes, slung on his sword): See, Cyrano,--this morning, on the quay What strange bright-feathered game we caught! The hats O' the fugitives. . . CARBON: 'Spolia opima!' ALL (laughing): Ah! ah! ah! CUIGY: He who laid that ambush, 'faith! Must curse and swear! BRISSAILLE: Who was it? DE GUICHE: I myself. (The laughter stops): I charged them--work too dirty for my sword, To punish and chastise a rhymster sot. (Constrained silence.) The CADET (in a low voice, to Cyrano, showing him the beavers): What do with them? They're full of grease!--a stew? CYRANO (taking the sword and, with a salute, dropping the hats at De Guiche's feet): Sir, pray be good enough to render them Back to your friends. DE GUICHE (rising, sharply): My chair there--quick!--I go! (To Cyrano passionately): As to you, sirrah!. . . VOICE (in the street): Porters for my lord De Guiche! DE GUICHE (who has controlled himself--smiling): Have you read 'Don Quixote'? CYRANO: I have! And doff my hat at th' mad knight-errant's name. DE GUICHE: I counsel you to study. . . A PORTER (appearing at back): My lord's chair! DE GUICHE: . . .The windmill chapter! CYRANO (bowing): Chapter the Thirteenth. DE GUICHE: For when one tilts 'gainst windmills--it may chance. . . CYRANO: Tilt I 'gainst those who change with every breeze? DE GUICHE: . . .That windmill sails may sweep you with their arm Down--in the mire!. . . CYRANO: Or upward--to the stars! (De Guiche goes out, and mounts into his chair. The other lords go away whispering together. Le Bret goes to the door with them. The crowd disperses.) Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A: Cyrano's company of guards tumbles into the shop, ecstatic over Cyrano's triumphs the night before. The whole city is in a tumult over the sensation he created. Carbon, the captain of the guards, tries to lead Cyrano out into the adoring throng, but Cyrano refuses to go. People begin rushing into the store, doting on Cyrano. Prominent men ask for the details of the night before; Cyrano's friends see an opportunity for him to help his career, but he refuses to provide any details. De Guiche enters with a message of admiration, and Cyrano presents to him the song of the Cadets of Gascoyne. De Guiche suggests that his uncle, Cardinal Richelieu, the most powerful man in France, might be willing to help Cyrano. But again Cyrano refuses. During the hubbub, a cadet appears with a set of hats belonging to the men Cyrano defeated the previous night. De Guiche reveals that he hired the hundred men, and he angrily storms out of the store. The crowd dissipates, and only the guards remain

Chapter: Cyrano, Ragueneau, poets, Carbon de Castel-Jaloux, the cadets, a crowd, then De Guiche. RAGUENEAU: Can we come in? CYRANO (without stirring): Yes. . . (Ragueneau signs to his friends, and they come in. At the same time, by door at back, enters Carbon de Castel-Jaloux, in Captain's uniform. He makes gestures of surprise on seeing Cyrano.) CARBON: Here he is! CYRANO (raising his head): Captain!. . . CARBON (delightedly): Our hero! We heard all! Thirty or more Of my cadets are there!. . . CYRANO (shrinking back): But. . . CARBON (trying to draw him away): Come with me! They will not rest until they see you! CYRANO: No! CARBON: They're drinking opposite, at The Bear's Head. CYRANO: I. . . CARBON (going to the door and calling across the street in a voice of thunder): He won't come! The hero's in the sulks! A VOICE (outside): Ah! Sandious! (Tumult outside. Noise of boots and swords is heard approaching.) CARBON (rubbing his hands): They are running 'cross the street! CADETS (entering): Mille dious! Capdedious! Pocapdedious! RAGUENEAU (drawing back startled): Gentlemen, are you all from Gascony? THE CADETS: All! A CADET (to Cyrano): Bravo! CYRANO: Baron! ANOTHER (shaking his hands): Vivat! CYRANO: Baron! THIRD CADET: Come! I must embrace you! CYRANO: Baron! SEVERAL GASCONS: We'll embrace Him, all in turn! CYRANO (not knowing whom to reply to): Baron!. . .Baron!. . .I beg. . . RAGUENEAU: Are you all Barons, Sirs? THE CADETS: Ay, every one! RAGUENEAU: Is it true?. . . FIRST CADET: Ay--why, you could build a tower With nothing but our coronets, my friend! LE BRET (entering, and running up to Cyrano): They're looking for you! Here's a crazy mob Led by the men who followed you last night. . . CYRANO (alarmed): What! Have you told them where to find me? LE BRET (rubbing his hands): Yes! A BURGHER (entering, followed by a group of men): Sir, all the Marais is a-coming here! (Outside the street has filled with people. Chaises a porteurs and carriages have drawn up.) LE BRET (in a low voice, smiling, to Cyrano): And Roxane? CYRANO (quickly): Hush! THE CROWD (calling outside): Cyrano!. . . (A crowd rush into the shop, pushing one another. Acclamations.) RAGUENEAU (standing on a table): Lo! my shop Invaded! They break all! Magnificent! PEOPLE (crowding round Cyrano): My friend!. . .my friend. . . Cyrano: Meseems that yesterday I had not all these friends! LE BRET (delighted): Success! A YOUNG MARQUIS (hurrying up with his hands held out): My friend, Didst thou but know. . . CYRANO: Thou!. . .Marry!. . .thou!. . .Pray when Did we herd swine together, you and I! ANOTHER: I would present you, Sir, to some fair dames Who in my carriage yonder. . . CYRANO (coldly): Ah! and who Will first present you, Sir, to me? LE BRET (astonished): What's wrong? CYRANO: Hush! A MAN OF LETTERS (with writing-board): A few details?. . . CYRANO: No. LE BRET (nudging his elbow): 'Tis Theophrast, Renaudet,. . .of the 'Court Gazette'! CYRANO: Who cares? LE BRET: This paper--but it is of great importance!. . . They say it will be an immense success! A POET (advancing): Sir. . . CYRANO: What, another! THE POET: . . .Pray permit I make A pentacrostic on your name. . . SOME ONE (also advancing): Pray, Sir. . . CYRANO: Enough! Enough! (A movement in the crowd. De Guiche appears, escorted by officers. Cuigy, Brissaille, the officers who went with Cyrano the night before. Cuigy comes rapidly up to Cyrano.) CUIGY (to Cyrano): Here is Monsieur de Guiche? (A murmur--every one makes way): He comes from the Marshal of Gassion! DE GUICHE (bowing to Cyrano): . . .Who would express his admiration, Sir, For your new exploit noised so loud abroad. THE CROWD: Bravo! CYRANO (bowing): The Marshal is a judge of valor. DE GUICHE: He could not have believed the thing, unless These gentlemen had sworn they witnessed it. CUIGY: With our own eyes! LE BRET (aside to Cyrano, who has an absent air): But. . .you. . . CYRANO: Hush! LE BRET: But. . .You suffer? CYRANO (starting): Before this rabble?--I?. . . (He draws himself up, twirls his mustache, and throws back his shoulders): Wait!. . .You shall see! DE GUICHE (to whom Cuigy has spoken in a low voice): In feats of arms, already your career Abounded.--You serve with those crazy pates Of Gascons? CYRANO: Ay, with the Cadets. A CADET (in a terrible voice): With us! DE GUICHE (looking at the cadets, ranged behind Cyrano): Ah!. . .All these gentlemen of haughty mien, Are they the famous?. . . CARBON: Cyrano! CYRANO: Ay, Captain! CARBON: Since all my company's assembled here, Pray favor me,--present them to my lord! CYRANO (making two steps toward De Guiche): My Lord de Guiche, permit that I present-- (pointing to the cadets): The bold Cadets of Gascony, Of Carbon of Castel-Jaloux! Brawling and swaggering boastfully, The bold Cadets of Gascony! Spouting of Armory, Heraldry, Their veins a-brimming with blood so blue, The bold Cadets of Gascony, Of Carbon of Castel-Jaloux: Eagle-eye, and spindle-shanks, Fierce mustache, and wolfish tooth! Slash-the-rabble and scatter-their-ranks; Eagle-eye and spindle-shanks, With a flaming feather that gayly pranks, Hiding the holes in their hats, forsooth! Eagle-eye and spindle-shanks, Fierce mustache, and wolfish tooth! 'Pink-your-Doublet' and 'Slit-your-Trunk' Are their gentlest sobriquets; With Fame and Glory their soul is drunk! 'Pink-your-Doublet' and 'Slit-your-Trunk,' In brawl and skirmish they show their spunk, Give rendezvous in broil and fray; 'Pink-your-Doublet' and 'Slit-your-Trunk' Are their gentlest sobriquets! What, ho! Cadets of Gascony! All jealous lovers are sport for you! O Woman! dear divinity! What, ho! Cadets of Gascony! Whom scowling husbands quake to see. Blow, 'taratara,' and cry 'Cuckoo.' What, ho! Cadets of Gascony! Husbands and lovers are game for you! DE GUICHE (seated with haughty carelessness in an armchair brought quickly by Ragueneau): A poet! 'Tis the fashion of the hour! --Will you be mine? CYRANO: No, Sir,--no man's! DE GUICHE: Last night Your fancy pleased my uncle Richelieu. I'll gladly say a word to him for you. LE BRET (overjoyed): Great Heavens! DE GUICHE: I imagine you have rhymed Five acts, or so? LE BRET (in Cyrano's ear): Your play!--your 'Agrippine!' You'll see it staged at last! DE GUICHE: Take them to him. CYRANO (beginning to be tempted and attracted): In sooth,--I would. . . DE GUICHE: He is a critic skilled: He may correct a line or two, at most. CYRANO (whose face stiffens at once): Impossible! My blood congeals to think That other hand should change a comma's dot. DE GUICHE: But when a verse approves itself to him He pays it dear, good friend. CYRANO: He pays less dear Than I myself; when a verse pleases me I pay myself, and sing it to myself! DE GUICHE: You are proud. CYRANO: Really? You have noticed that? A CADET (entering, with a string of old battered plumed beaver hats, full of holes, slung on his sword): See, Cyrano,--this morning, on the quay What strange bright-feathered game we caught! The hats O' the fugitives. . . CARBON: 'Spolia opima!' ALL (laughing): Ah! ah! ah! CUIGY: He who laid that ambush, 'faith! Must curse and swear! BRISSAILLE: Who was it? DE GUICHE: I myself. (The laughter stops): I charged them--work too dirty for my sword, To punish and chastise a rhymster sot. (Constrained silence.) The CADET (in a low voice, to Cyrano, showing him the beavers): What do with them? They're full of grease!--a stew? CYRANO (taking the sword and, with a salute, dropping the hats at De Guiche's feet): Sir, pray be good enough to render them Back to your friends. DE GUICHE (rising, sharply): My chair there--quick!--I go! (To Cyrano passionately): As to you, sirrah!. . . VOICE (in the street): Porters for my lord De Guiche! DE GUICHE (who has controlled himself--smiling): Have you read 'Don Quixote'? CYRANO: I have! And doff my hat at th' mad knight-errant's name. DE GUICHE: I counsel you to study. . . A PORTER (appearing at back): My lord's chair! DE GUICHE: . . .The windmill chapter! CYRANO (bowing): Chapter the Thirteenth. DE GUICHE: For when one tilts 'gainst windmills--it may chance. . . CYRANO: Tilt I 'gainst those who change with every breeze? DE GUICHE: . . .That windmill sails may sweep you with their arm Down--in the mire!. . . CYRANO: Or upward--to the stars! (De Guiche goes out, and mounts into his chair. The other lords go away whispering together. Le Bret goes to the door with them. The crowd disperses.) Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A:

Cyrano's company of guards tumbles into the shop, ecstatic over Cyrano's triumphs the night before. The whole city is in a tumult over the sensation he created. Carbon, the captain of the guards, tries to lead Cyrano out into the adoring throng, but Cyrano refuses to go. People begin rushing into the store, doting on Cyrano. Prominent men ask for the details of the night before; Cyrano's friends see an opportunity for him to help his career, but he refuses to provide any details. De Guiche enters with a message of admiration, and Cyrano presents to him the song of the Cadets of Gascoyne. De Guiche suggests that his uncle, Cardinal Richelieu, the most powerful man in France, might be willing to help Cyrano. But again Cyrano refuses. During the hubbub, a cadet appears with a set of hats belonging to the men Cyrano defeated the previous night. De Guiche reveals that he hired the hundred men, and he angrily storms out of the store. The crowd dissipates, and only the guards remain

Chapter: Cyrano, Le Bret, the cadets, who are eating and drinking at the tables right and left. CYRANO (bowing mockingly to those who go out without daring to salute him): Gentlemen. . .Gentlemen. . . LE BRET (coming back, despairingly): Here's a fine coil! CYRANO: Oh! scold away! LE BRET: At least, you will agree That to annihilate each chance of Fate Exaggerates. . . CYRANO: Yes!--I exaggerate! LE BRET (triumphantly): Ah! CYRANO: But for principle--example too,-- I think 'tis well thus to exaggerate. LE BRET: Oh! lay aside that pride of musketeer, Fortune and glory wait you!. . . CYRANO: Ay, and then?. . . Seek a protector, choose a patron out, And like the crawling ivy round a tree That licks the bark to gain the trunk's support, Climb high by creeping ruse instead of force? No, grammercy! What! I, like all the rest Dedicate verse to bankers?--play buffoon In cringing hope to see, at last, a smile Not disapproving, on a patron's lips? Grammercy, no! What! learn to swallow toads? --With frame aweary climbing stairs?--a skin Grown grimed and horny,--here, about the knees? And, acrobat-like, teach my back to bend?-- No, grammercy! Or,--double-faced and sly-- Run with the hare, while hunting with the hounds; And, oily-tongued, to win the oil of praise, Flatter the great man to his very nose? No, grammercy! Steal soft from lap to lap, --A little great man in a circle small, Or navigate, with madrigals for sails, Blown gently windward by old ladies' sighs? No, grammercy! Bribe kindly editors To spread abroad my verses? Grammercy! Or try to be elected as the pope Of tavern-councils held by imbeciles? No, grammercy! Toil to gain reputation By one small sonnet, 'stead of making many? No, grammercy! Or flatter sorry bunglers? Be terrorized by every prating paper? Say ceaselessly, 'Oh, had I but the chance Of a fair notice in the "Mercury"!' Grammercy, no! Grow pale, fear, calculate? Prefer to make a visit to a rhyme? Seek introductions, draw petitions up? No, grammercy! and no! and no again! But--sing? Dream, laugh, go lightly, solitary, free, With eyes that look straight forward--fearless voice! To cock your beaver just the way you choose,-- For 'yes' or 'no' show fight, or turn a rhyme! --To work without one thought of gain or fame, To realize that journey to the moon! Never to pen a line that has not sprung Straight from the heart within. Embracing then Modesty, say to oneself, 'Good my friend, Be thou content with flowers,--fruit,--nay, leaves, But pluck them from no garden but thine own!' And then, if glory come by chance your way, To pay no tribute unto Caesar, none, But keep the merit all your own! In short, Disdaining tendrils of the parasite, To be content, if neither oak nor elm-- Not to mount high, perchance, but mount alone! LE BRET: Alone, an if you will! But not with hand 'Gainst every man! How in the devil's name Have you conceived this lunatic idea, To make foes for yourself at every turn? CYRANO: By dint of seeing you at every turn Make friends,--and fawn upon your frequent friends With mouth wide smiling, slit from ear to ear! I pass, still unsaluted, joyfully, And cry,--What, ho! another enemy? LE BRET: Lunacy! CYRANO: Well, what if it be my vice, My pleasure to displease--to love men hate me! Ah, friend of mine, believe me, I march better 'Neath the cross-fire of glances inimical! How droll the stains one sees on fine-laced doublets, From gall of envy, or the poltroon's drivel! --The enervating friendship which enfolds you Is like an open-laced Italian collar, Floating around your neck in woman's fashion; One is at ease thus,--but less proud the carriage! The forehead, free from mainstay or coercion, Bends here, there, everywhere. But I, embracing Hatred, she lends,--forbidding, stiffly fluted, The ruff's starched folds that hold the head so rigid; Each enemy--another fold--a gopher, Who adds constraint, and adds a ray of glory; For Hatred, like the ruff worn by the Spanish, Grips like a vice, but frames you like a halo! LE BRET (after a silence, taking his arm): Speak proud aloud, and bitter!--In my ear Whisper me simply this,--She loves thee not! CYRANO (vehemently): Hush! (Christian has just entered, and mingled with the cadets, who do not speak to him; he has seated himself at a table, where Lise serves him.) Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A: Le Bret argues that Cyrano is ruining his chances of becoming a successful man or a famous poet. Cyrano says he will live according to his ideals and that he has no interest in making friends with unworthy men. Suddenly, Christian enters

Chapter: Cyrano, Le Bret, the cadets, who are eating and drinking at the tables right and left. CYRANO (bowing mockingly to those who go out without daring to salute him): Gentlemen. . .Gentlemen. . . LE BRET (coming back, despairingly): Here's a fine coil! CYRANO: Oh! scold away! LE BRET: At least, you will agree That to annihilate each chance of Fate Exaggerates. . . CYRANO: Yes!--I exaggerate! LE BRET (triumphantly): Ah! CYRANO: But for principle--example too,-- I think 'tis well thus to exaggerate. LE BRET: Oh! lay aside that pride of musketeer, Fortune and glory wait you!. . . CYRANO: Ay, and then?. . . Seek a protector, choose a patron out, And like the crawling ivy round a tree That licks the bark to gain the trunk's support, Climb high by creeping ruse instead of force? No, grammercy! What! I, like all the rest Dedicate verse to bankers?--play buffoon In cringing hope to see, at last, a smile Not disapproving, on a patron's lips? Grammercy, no! What! learn to swallow toads? --With frame aweary climbing stairs?--a skin Grown grimed and horny,--here, about the knees? And, acrobat-like, teach my back to bend?-- No, grammercy! Or,--double-faced and sly-- Run with the hare, while hunting with the hounds; And, oily-tongued, to win the oil of praise, Flatter the great man to his very nose? No, grammercy! Steal soft from lap to lap, --A little great man in a circle small, Or navigate, with madrigals for sails, Blown gently windward by old ladies' sighs? No, grammercy! Bribe kindly editors To spread abroad my verses? Grammercy! Or try to be elected as the pope Of tavern-councils held by imbeciles? No, grammercy! Toil to gain reputation By one small sonnet, 'stead of making many? No, grammercy! Or flatter sorry bunglers? Be terrorized by every prating paper? Say ceaselessly, 'Oh, had I but the chance Of a fair notice in the "Mercury"!' Grammercy, no! Grow pale, fear, calculate? Prefer to make a visit to a rhyme? Seek introductions, draw petitions up? No, grammercy! and no! and no again! But--sing? Dream, laugh, go lightly, solitary, free, With eyes that look straight forward--fearless voice! To cock your beaver just the way you choose,-- For 'yes' or 'no' show fight, or turn a rhyme! --To work without one thought of gain or fame, To realize that journey to the moon! Never to pen a line that has not sprung Straight from the heart within. Embracing then Modesty, say to oneself, 'Good my friend, Be thou content with flowers,--fruit,--nay, leaves, But pluck them from no garden but thine own!' And then, if glory come by chance your way, To pay no tribute unto Caesar, none, But keep the merit all your own! In short, Disdaining tendrils of the parasite, To be content, if neither oak nor elm-- Not to mount high, perchance, but mount alone! LE BRET: Alone, an if you will! But not with hand 'Gainst every man! How in the devil's name Have you conceived this lunatic idea, To make foes for yourself at every turn? CYRANO: By dint of seeing you at every turn Make friends,--and fawn upon your frequent friends With mouth wide smiling, slit from ear to ear! I pass, still unsaluted, joyfully, And cry,--What, ho! another enemy? LE BRET: Lunacy! CYRANO: Well, what if it be my vice, My pleasure to displease--to love men hate me! Ah, friend of mine, believe me, I march better 'Neath the cross-fire of glances inimical! How droll the stains one sees on fine-laced doublets, From gall of envy, or the poltroon's drivel! --The enervating friendship which enfolds you Is like an open-laced Italian collar, Floating around your neck in woman's fashion; One is at ease thus,--but less proud the carriage! The forehead, free from mainstay or coercion, Bends here, there, everywhere. But I, embracing Hatred, she lends,--forbidding, stiffly fluted, The ruff's starched folds that hold the head so rigid; Each enemy--another fold--a gopher, Who adds constraint, and adds a ray of glory; For Hatred, like the ruff worn by the Spanish, Grips like a vice, but frames you like a halo! LE BRET (after a silence, taking his arm): Speak proud aloud, and bitter!--In my ear Whisper me simply this,--She loves thee not! CYRANO (vehemently): Hush! (Christian has just entered, and mingled with the cadets, who do not speak to him; he has seated himself at a table, where Lise serves him.) Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A:

Le Bret argues that Cyrano is ruining his chances of becoming a successful man or a famous poet. Cyrano says he will live according to his ideals and that he has no interest in making friends with unworthy men. Suddenly, Christian enters

Chapter: Cyrano, Le Bret, the cadets, Christian de Neuvillette. A CADET (seated at a table, glass in hand): Cyrano! (Cyrano turns round): The story! CYRANO: In its time! (He goes up on Le Bret's arm. They talk in low voices.) THE CADET (rising and coming down): The story of the fray! 'Twill lesson well (He stops before the table where Christian is seated): This timid young apprentice! CHRISTIAN (raising his head): 'Prentice! Who? ANOTHER CADET: This sickly Northern greenhorn! CHRISTIAN: Sickly! FIRST CADET (mockingly): Hark! Monsieur de Neuvillette, this in your ear: There's somewhat here, one no more dares to name, Than to say 'rope' to one whose sire was hanged! CHRISTIAN: What may that be? ANOTHER CADET (in a terrible voice): See here! (He puts his finger three times, mysteriously, on his nose): Do you understand? CHRISTIAN: Oh! 'tis the. . . ANOTHER: Hush! oh, never breathe that word, Unless you'd reckon with him yonder! (He points to Cyrano, who is talking with Le Bret.) ANOTHER (who has meanwhile come up noiselessly to sit on the table--whispering behind him): Hark! He put two snuffling men to death, in rage, For the sole reason they spoke through their nose! ANOTHER (in a hollow voice, darting on all-fours from under the table, where he had crept): And if you would not perish in flower o' youth, --Oh, mention not the fatal cartilage! ANOTHER (clapping him on the shoulder): A word? A gesture! For the indiscreet His handkerchief may prove his winding-sheet! (Silence. All, with crossed arms, look at Christian. He rises and goes over to Carbon de Castel-Jaloux, who is talking to an officer, and feigns to see nothing.) CHRISTIAN: Captain! CARBON (turning and looking at him from head to foot): Sir! CHRISTIAN: Pray, what skills it best to do To Southerners who swagger?. . . CARBON: Give them proof That one may be a Northerner, yet brave! (He turns his back on him.) CHRISTIAN: I thank you. FIRST CADET (to Cyrano): Now the tale! ALL: The tale! CYRANO (coming toward them): The tale?. . . (All bring their stools up, and group round him, listening eagerly. Christian is astride a chair): Well! I went all alone to meet the band. The moon was shining, clock-like, full i' th' sky, When, suddenly, some careful clockwright passed A cloud of cotton-wool across the case That held this silver watch. And, presto! heigh! The night was inky black, and all the quays Were hidden in the murky dark. Gadsooks! One could see nothing further. . . CHRISTIAN: Than one's nose! (Silence. All slowly rise, looking in terror at Cyrano, who has stopped-- dumfounded. Pause.) CYRANO: Who on God's earth is that? A CADET (whispering): It is a man Who joined to-day. CYRANO (making a step toward Christian): To-day? CARBON (in a low voice): Yes. . .his name is The Baron de Neuvil. . . CYRANO (checking himself): Good! It is well. . . (He turns pale, flushes, makes as if to fall on Christian): I. . . (He controls himself): What said I?. . . (With a burst of rage): MORDIOUS!. . . (Then continues calmly): That it was dark. (Astonishment. The cadets reseat themselves, staring at him): On I went, thinking, 'For a knavish cause I may provoke some great man, some great prince, Who certainly could break'. . . CHRISTIAN: My nose!. . . (Every one starts up. Christian balances on his chair.) CYRANO (in a choked voice): . . .'My teeth! Who would break my teeth, and I, imprudent-like, Was poking. . .' CHRISTIAN: My nose!. . . CYRANO: 'My finger,. . .in the crack Between the tree and bark! He may prove strong And rap me. . .' CHRISTIAN: Over the nose. . . CYRANO (wiping his forehead): . . .'O' th' knuckles! Ay,' But I cried, 'Forward, Gascon! Duty calls! On, Cyrano!' And thus I ventured on. . . When, from the shadow, came. . . CHRISTIAN: A crack o' th' nose. CYRANO: I parry it--find myself. . . CHRISTIAN: Nose to nose. . . CYRANO (bounding on to him): Heaven and earth! (All the Gascons leap up to see, but when he is close to Christian he controls himself and continues): . . .With a hundred brawling sots, Who stank. . . CHRISTIAN: A noseful. . . CYRANO (white, but smiling): Onions, brandy-cups! I leapt out, head well down. . . CHRISTIAN: Nosing the wind! CYRANO: I charge!--gore two, impale one--run him through, One aims at me--Paf! and I parry. . . CHRISTIAN: Pif! CYRANO (bursting out): Great God! Out! all of you! (The cadets rush to the doors.) FIRST CADET: The tiger wakes! CYRANO: Every man, out! Leave me alone with him! SECOND CADET: We shall find him minced fine, minced into hash In a big pasty! RAGUENEAU: I am turning pale, And curl up, like a napkin, limp and white! CARBON: Let us be gone. ANOTHER: He will not leave a crumb! ANOTHER: I die of fright to think what will pass here! ANOTHER (shutting door right): Something too horrible! (All have gone out by different doors, some by the staircase. Cyrano and Christian are face to face, looking at each other for a moment.) Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A: The other guardsmen, not privy to Cyrano's vow to Roxane, tease Christian and warn him never to mention Cyrano's nose. Christian, upset that he is being teased, asks Carbon what to do when Gascons grow too boastful. Carbon replies that he must prove a man can be a Norman and still have courage. So when Cyrano begins to tell the story of his fight with the hundred men, Christian repeatedly interrupts him with references to his nose. Cyrano fills with anger, and the cadets expect him to attack Christian. Remembering his promise to protect Christian, however, Cyrano controls himself. Christian's insults continue until at last Cyrano angrily sends away the cadets. Expecting him to kill Christian, they hasten from the room

Chapter: Cyrano, Le Bret, the cadets, Christian de Neuvillette. A CADET (seated at a table, glass in hand): Cyrano! (Cyrano turns round): The story! CYRANO: In its time! (He goes up on Le Bret's arm. They talk in low voices.) THE CADET (rising and coming down): The story of the fray! 'Twill lesson well (He stops before the table where Christian is seated): This timid young apprentice! CHRISTIAN (raising his head): 'Prentice! Who? ANOTHER CADET: This sickly Northern greenhorn! CHRISTIAN: Sickly! FIRST CADET (mockingly): Hark! Monsieur de Neuvillette, this in your ear: There's somewhat here, one no more dares to name, Than to say 'rope' to one whose sire was hanged! CHRISTIAN: What may that be? ANOTHER CADET (in a terrible voice): See here! (He puts his finger three times, mysteriously, on his nose): Do you understand? CHRISTIAN: Oh! 'tis the. . . ANOTHER: Hush! oh, never breathe that word, Unless you'd reckon with him yonder! (He points to Cyrano, who is talking with Le Bret.) ANOTHER (who has meanwhile come up noiselessly to sit on the table--whispering behind him): Hark! He put two snuffling men to death, in rage, For the sole reason they spoke through their nose! ANOTHER (in a hollow voice, darting on all-fours from under the table, where he had crept): And if you would not perish in flower o' youth, --Oh, mention not the fatal cartilage! ANOTHER (clapping him on the shoulder): A word? A gesture! For the indiscreet His handkerchief may prove his winding-sheet! (Silence. All, with crossed arms, look at Christian. He rises and goes over to Carbon de Castel-Jaloux, who is talking to an officer, and feigns to see nothing.) CHRISTIAN: Captain! CARBON (turning and looking at him from head to foot): Sir! CHRISTIAN: Pray, what skills it best to do To Southerners who swagger?. . . CARBON: Give them proof That one may be a Northerner, yet brave! (He turns his back on him.) CHRISTIAN: I thank you. FIRST CADET (to Cyrano): Now the tale! ALL: The tale! CYRANO (coming toward them): The tale?. . . (All bring their stools up, and group round him, listening eagerly. Christian is astride a chair): Well! I went all alone to meet the band. The moon was shining, clock-like, full i' th' sky, When, suddenly, some careful clockwright passed A cloud of cotton-wool across the case That held this silver watch. And, presto! heigh! The night was inky black, and all the quays Were hidden in the murky dark. Gadsooks! One could see nothing further. . . CHRISTIAN: Than one's nose! (Silence. All slowly rise, looking in terror at Cyrano, who has stopped-- dumfounded. Pause.) CYRANO: Who on God's earth is that? A CADET (whispering): It is a man Who joined to-day. CYRANO (making a step toward Christian): To-day? CARBON (in a low voice): Yes. . .his name is The Baron de Neuvil. . . CYRANO (checking himself): Good! It is well. . . (He turns pale, flushes, makes as if to fall on Christian): I. . . (He controls himself): What said I?. . . (With a burst of rage): MORDIOUS!. . . (Then continues calmly): That it was dark. (Astonishment. The cadets reseat themselves, staring at him): On I went, thinking, 'For a knavish cause I may provoke some great man, some great prince, Who certainly could break'. . . CHRISTIAN: My nose!. . . (Every one starts up. Christian balances on his chair.) CYRANO (in a choked voice): . . .'My teeth! Who would break my teeth, and I, imprudent-like, Was poking. . .' CHRISTIAN: My nose!. . . CYRANO: 'My finger,. . .in the crack Between the tree and bark! He may prove strong And rap me. . .' CHRISTIAN: Over the nose. . . CYRANO (wiping his forehead): . . .'O' th' knuckles! Ay,' But I cried, 'Forward, Gascon! Duty calls! On, Cyrano!' And thus I ventured on. . . When, from the shadow, came. . . CHRISTIAN: A crack o' th' nose. CYRANO: I parry it--find myself. . . CHRISTIAN: Nose to nose. . . CYRANO (bounding on to him): Heaven and earth! (All the Gascons leap up to see, but when he is close to Christian he controls himself and continues): . . .With a hundred brawling sots, Who stank. . . CHRISTIAN: A noseful. . . CYRANO (white, but smiling): Onions, brandy-cups! I leapt out, head well down. . . CHRISTIAN: Nosing the wind! CYRANO: I charge!--gore two, impale one--run him through, One aims at me--Paf! and I parry. . . CHRISTIAN: Pif! CYRANO (bursting out): Great God! Out! all of you! (The cadets rush to the doors.) FIRST CADET: The tiger wakes! CYRANO: Every man, out! Leave me alone with him! SECOND CADET: We shall find him minced fine, minced into hash In a big pasty! RAGUENEAU: I am turning pale, And curl up, like a napkin, limp and white! CARBON: Let us be gone. ANOTHER: He will not leave a crumb! ANOTHER: I die of fright to think what will pass here! ANOTHER (shutting door right): Something too horrible! (All have gone out by different doors, some by the staircase. Cyrano and Christian are face to face, looking at each other for a moment.) Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A:

The other guardsmen, not privy to Cyrano's vow to Roxane, tease Christian and warn him never to mention Cyrano's nose. Christian, upset that he is being teased, asks Carbon what to do when Gascons grow too boastful. Carbon replies that he must prove a man can be a Norman and still have courage. So when Cyrano begins to tell the story of his fight with the hundred men, Christian repeatedly interrupts him with references to his nose. Cyrano fills with anger, and the cadets expect him to attack Christian. Remembering his promise to protect Christian, however, Cyrano controls himself. Christian's insults continue until at last Cyrano angrily sends away the cadets. Expecting him to kill Christian, they hasten from the room

Chapter: Cyrano, Christian. CYRANO: Embrace me now! CHRISTIAN: Sir. . . CYRANO: You are brave. CHRISTIAN: Oh! but. . . CYRANO: Nay, I insist. CHRISTIAN: Pray tell me. . . CYRANO: Come, embrace! I am her brother. CHRISTIAN: Whose brother? CYRANO: Hers i' faith! Roxane's! CHRISTIAN (rushing up to him): O heavens! Her brother. . .? CYRANO: Cousin--brother!. . .the same thing! CHRISTIAN: And she has told you. . .? CYRANO: All! CHRISTIAN: She loves me? say! CYRANO: Maybe! CHRISTIAN (taking his hands): How glad I am to meet you, Sir! CYRANO: That may be called a sudden sentiment! CHRISTIAN: I ask your pardon. . . CYRANO (looking at him, with his hand on his shoulder): True, he's fair, the villain! CHRISTIAN: Ah, Sir! If you but knew my admiration!. . . CYRANO: But all those noses?. . . CHRISTIAN: Oh! I take them back! CYRANO: Roxane expects a letter. CHRISTIAN: Woe the day! CYRANO: How? CHRISTIAN: I am lost if I but ope my lips! CYRANO: Why so? CHRISTIAN: I am a fool--could die for shame! CYRANO: None is a fool who knows himself a fool. And you did not attack me like a fool. CHRISTIAN: Bah! One finds battle-cry to lead th' assault! I have a certain military wit, But, before women, can but hold my tongue. Their eyes! True, when I pass, their eyes are kind. . . CYRANO: And, when you stay, their hearts, methinks, are kinder? CHRISTIAN: No! for I am one of those men--tongue-tied, I know it--who can never tell their love. CYRANO: And I, meseems, had Nature been more kind, More careful, when she fashioned me,--had been One of those men who well could speak their love! CHRISTIAN: Oh, to express one's thoughts with facile grace!. . . CYRANO: . . .To be a musketeer, with handsome face! CHRISTIAN: Roxane is precieuse. I'm sure to prove A disappointment to her! CYRANO (looking at him): Had I but Such an interpreter to speak my soul! CHRISTIAN (with despair): Eloquence! Where to find it? CYRANO (abruptly): That I lend, If you lend me your handsome victor-charms; Blended, we make a hero of romance! CHRISTIAN: How so? CYRANO: Think you you can repeat what things I daily teach your tongue? CHRISTIAN: What do you mean? CYRANO: Roxane shall never have a disillusion! Say, wilt thou that we woo her, double-handed? Wilt thou that we two woo her, both together? Feel'st thou, passing from my leather doublet, Through thy laced doublet, all my soul inspiring? CHRISTIAN: But, Cyrano!. . . CYRANO: Will you, I say? CHRISTIAN: I fear! CYRANO: Since, by yourself, you fear to chill her heart, Will you--to kindle all her heart to flame-- Wed into one my phrases and your lips? CHRISTIAN: Your eyes flash! CYRANO: Will you? CHRISTIAN: Will it please you so? --Give you such pleasure? CYRANO (madly): It!. . . (Then calmly, business-like): It would amuse me! It is an enterprise to tempt a poet. Will you complete me, and let me complete you? You march victorious,--I go in your shadow; Let me be wit for you, be you my beauty! CHRISTIAN: The letter, that she waits for even now! I never can. . . CYRANO (taking out the letter he had written): See! Here it is--your letter! CHRISTIAN: What? CYRANO: Take it! Look, it wants but the address. CHRISTIAN: But I. . . CYRANO: Fear nothing. Send it. It will suit. CHRISTIAN: But have you. . .? CYRANO: Oh! We have our pockets full, We poets, of love-letters, writ to Chloes, Daphnes--creations of our noddle-heads. Our lady-loves,--phantasms of our brains, --Dream-fancies blown into soap-bubbles! Come! Take it, and change feigned love-words into true; I breathed my sighs and moans haphazard-wise; Call all these wandering love-birds home to nest. You'll see that I was in these lettered lines, --Eloquent all the more, the less sincere! --Take it, and make an end! CHRISTIAN: Were it not well To change some words? Written haphazard-wise, Will it fit Roxane? CYRANO: 'Twill fit like a glove! CHRISTIAN: But. . . CYRANO: Ah, credulity of love! Roxane Will think each word inspired by herself! CHRISTIAN: My friend! (He throws himself into Cyrano's arms. They remain thus.) Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A: Rather than killing Christian, Cyrano embraces him and reveals that he is Roxane's cousin. Christian proclaims that he simply cannot write to Roxane because he is too stupid--he thinks she will lose all feeling for him the moment she reads his words. Struck by a powerful idea, Cyrano offers to write letters for Christian--though he says he is only interested in practicing his comic poetry, inwardly, he burns for the opportunity to express his feelings to Roxane. Christian agrees, and they embrace again

Chapter: Cyrano, Christian. CYRANO: Embrace me now! CHRISTIAN: Sir. . . CYRANO: You are brave. CHRISTIAN: Oh! but. . . CYRANO: Nay, I insist. CHRISTIAN: Pray tell me. . . CYRANO: Come, embrace! I am her brother. CHRISTIAN: Whose brother? CYRANO: Hers i' faith! Roxane's! CHRISTIAN (rushing up to him): O heavens! Her brother. . .? CYRANO: Cousin--brother!. . .the same thing! CHRISTIAN: And she has told you. . .? CYRANO: All! CHRISTIAN: She loves me? say! CYRANO: Maybe! CHRISTIAN (taking his hands): How glad I am to meet you, Sir! CYRANO: That may be called a sudden sentiment! CHRISTIAN: I ask your pardon. . . CYRANO (looking at him, with his hand on his shoulder): True, he's fair, the villain! CHRISTIAN: Ah, Sir! If you but knew my admiration!. . . CYRANO: But all those noses?. . . CHRISTIAN: Oh! I take them back! CYRANO: Roxane expects a letter. CHRISTIAN: Woe the day! CYRANO: How? CHRISTIAN: I am lost if I but ope my lips! CYRANO: Why so? CHRISTIAN: I am a fool--could die for shame! CYRANO: None is a fool who knows himself a fool. And you did not attack me like a fool. CHRISTIAN: Bah! One finds battle-cry to lead th' assault! I have a certain military wit, But, before women, can but hold my tongue. Their eyes! True, when I pass, their eyes are kind. . . CYRANO: And, when you stay, their hearts, methinks, are kinder? CHRISTIAN: No! for I am one of those men--tongue-tied, I know it--who can never tell their love. CYRANO: And I, meseems, had Nature been more kind, More careful, when she fashioned me,--had been One of those men who well could speak their love! CHRISTIAN: Oh, to express one's thoughts with facile grace!. . . CYRANO: . . .To be a musketeer, with handsome face! CHRISTIAN: Roxane is precieuse. I'm sure to prove A disappointment to her! CYRANO (looking at him): Had I but Such an interpreter to speak my soul! CHRISTIAN (with despair): Eloquence! Where to find it? CYRANO (abruptly): That I lend, If you lend me your handsome victor-charms; Blended, we make a hero of romance! CHRISTIAN: How so? CYRANO: Think you you can repeat what things I daily teach your tongue? CHRISTIAN: What do you mean? CYRANO: Roxane shall never have a disillusion! Say, wilt thou that we woo her, double-handed? Wilt thou that we two woo her, both together? Feel'st thou, passing from my leather doublet, Through thy laced doublet, all my soul inspiring? CHRISTIAN: But, Cyrano!. . . CYRANO: Will you, I say? CHRISTIAN: I fear! CYRANO: Since, by yourself, you fear to chill her heart, Will you--to kindle all her heart to flame-- Wed into one my phrases and your lips? CHRISTIAN: Your eyes flash! CYRANO: Will you? CHRISTIAN: Will it please you so? --Give you such pleasure? CYRANO (madly): It!. . . (Then calmly, business-like): It would amuse me! It is an enterprise to tempt a poet. Will you complete me, and let me complete you? You march victorious,--I go in your shadow; Let me be wit for you, be you my beauty! CHRISTIAN: The letter, that she waits for even now! I never can. . . CYRANO (taking out the letter he had written): See! Here it is--your letter! CHRISTIAN: What? CYRANO: Take it! Look, it wants but the address. CHRISTIAN: But I. . . CYRANO: Fear nothing. Send it. It will suit. CHRISTIAN: But have you. . .? CYRANO: Oh! We have our pockets full, We poets, of love-letters, writ to Chloes, Daphnes--creations of our noddle-heads. Our lady-loves,--phantasms of our brains, --Dream-fancies blown into soap-bubbles! Come! Take it, and change feigned love-words into true; I breathed my sighs and moans haphazard-wise; Call all these wandering love-birds home to nest. You'll see that I was in these lettered lines, --Eloquent all the more, the less sincere! --Take it, and make an end! CHRISTIAN: Were it not well To change some words? Written haphazard-wise, Will it fit Roxane? CYRANO: 'Twill fit like a glove! CHRISTIAN: But. . . CYRANO: Ah, credulity of love! Roxane Will think each word inspired by herself! CHRISTIAN: My friend! (He throws himself into Cyrano's arms. They remain thus.) Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A:

Rather than killing Christian, Cyrano embraces him and reveals that he is Roxane's cousin. Christian proclaims that he simply cannot write to Roxane because he is too stupid--he thinks she will lose all feeling for him the moment she reads his words. Struck by a powerful idea, Cyrano offers to write letters for Christian--though he says he is only interested in practicing his comic poetry, inwardly, he burns for the opportunity to express his feelings to Roxane. Christian agrees, and they embrace again

Chapter: Cyrano, Christian, the Gascons, the musketeer, Lise. A CADET (half opening the door): Naught here!. . .The silence of the grave! I dare not look. . . (He puts his head in): Why?. . . ALL THE CADETS (entering, and seeing Cyrano and Christian embracing): Oh!. . . A CADET: This passes all! (Consternation.) THE MUSKETEER (mockingly): Ho, ho!. . . CARBON: Our demon has become a saint? Struck on one nostril--lo! he turns the other! MUSKETEER: Then we may speak about his nose, henceforth!. . . (Calling to Lise, boastfully): --Ah, Lise, see here! (Sniffing ostentatiously): O heavens!. . .what a stink!. . . (Going up to Cyrano): You, sir, without a doubt have sniffed it up! --What is the smell I notice here? CYRANO (cuffing his head): Clove-heads. (General delight. The cadets have found the old Cyrano again! They turn somersaults.) Curtain. Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A: The cadets return to the room, stunned to see that not only is Christian still alive, but that he is embracing Cyrano. Lise's musketeer decides to follow Christian's lead and insults Cyrano's nose. Cyrano knocks him over a bench. The cadets, pleased to have their old Cyrano back, rejoice.

Chapter: Cyrano, Christian, the Gascons, the musketeer, Lise. A CADET (half opening the door): Naught here!. . .The silence of the grave! I dare not look. . . (He puts his head in): Why?. . . ALL THE CADETS (entering, and seeing Cyrano and Christian embracing): Oh!. . . A CADET: This passes all! (Consternation.) THE MUSKETEER (mockingly): Ho, ho!. . . CARBON: Our demon has become a saint? Struck on one nostril--lo! he turns the other! MUSKETEER: Then we may speak about his nose, henceforth!. . . (Calling to Lise, boastfully): --Ah, Lise, see here! (Sniffing ostentatiously): O heavens!. . .what a stink!. . . (Going up to Cyrano): You, sir, without a doubt have sniffed it up! --What is the smell I notice here? CYRANO (cuffing his head): Clove-heads. (General delight. The cadets have found the old Cyrano again! They turn somersaults.) Curtain. Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A:

The cadets return to the room, stunned to see that not only is Christian still alive, but that he is embracing Cyrano. Lise's musketeer decides to follow Christian's lead and insults Cyrano's nose. Cyrano knocks him over a bench. The cadets, pleased to have their old Cyrano back, rejoice.

Chapter: Ragueneau, the duenna. Then Roxane, Cyrano, and two pages. RAGUENEAU: --And then, off she went, with a musketeer! Deserted and ruined too, I would make an end of all, and so hanged myself. My last breath was drawn:-- then in comes Monsieur de Bergerac! He cuts me down, and begs his cousin to take me for her steward. THE DUENNA: Well, but how came it about that you were thus ruined? RAGUENEAU: Oh! Lise loved the warriors, and I loved the poets! What cakes there were that Apollo chanced to leave were quickly snapped up by Mars. Thus ruin was not long a-coming. THE DUENNA (rising, and calling up to the open window): Roxane, are you ready? They wait for us! ROXANE'S VOICE (from the window): I will but put me on a cloak! THE DUENNA (to Ragueneau, showing him the door opposite): They wait us there opposite, at Clomire's house. She receives them all there to-day--the precieuses, the poets; they read a discourse on the Tender Passion. RAGUENEAU: The Tender Passion? THE DUENNA (in a mincing voice): Ay, indeed! (Calling up to the window): Roxane, an you come not down quickly, we shall miss the discourse on the Tender Passion! ROXANE'S VOICE: I come! I come! (A sound of stringed instruments approaching.) CYRANO'S VOICE (behind the scenes, singing): La, la, la, la! THE DUENNA (surprised): They serenade us? CYRANO (followed by two pages with arch-lutes): I tell you they are demi-semi-quavers, demi-semi-fool! FIRST PAGE (ironically): You know then, Sir, to distinguish between semi-quavers and demi-semi- quavers? CYRANO: Is not every disciple of Gassendi a musician? THE PAGE (playing and singing): La, la! CYRANO (snatching the lute from him, and going on with the phrase): In proof of which, I can continue! La, la, la, la! ROXANE (appearing on the balcony): What? 'Tis you? CYRANO (going on with the air, and singing to it): 'Tis I, who come to serenade your lilies, and pay my devoir to your ro-o- oses! ROXANE: I am coming down! (She leaves the balcony.) THE DUENNA (pointing to the pages): How come these two virtuosi here? CYRANO: 'Tis for a wager I won of D'Assoucy. We were disputing a nice point in grammar; contradictions raged hotly--''Tis so!' 'Nay, 'tis so!' when suddenly he shows me these two long-shanks, whom he takes about with him as an escort, and who are skillful in scratching lute-strings with their skinny claws! 'I will wager you a day's music,' says he!--And lost it! Thus, see you, till Phoebus' chariot starts once again, these lute-twangers are at my heels, seeing all I do, hearing all I say, and accompanying all with melody. 'Twas pleasant at the first, but i' faith, I begin to weary of it already! (To the musicians): Ho there! go serenade Montfleury for me! Play a dance to him! (The pages go toward the door. To the duenna): I have come, as is my wont, nightly, to ask Roxane whether. . . (To the pages, who are going out): Play a long time,--and play out of tune! (To the duenna): . . .Whether her soul's elected is ever the same, ever faultless! ROXANE (coming out of the house): Ah! How handsome he is, how brilliant a wit! And--how well I love him! CYRANO (smiling): Christian has so brilliant a wit? ROXANE: Brighter than even your own, cousin! CYRANO: Be it so, with all my heart! ROXANE: Ah! methinks 'twere impossible that there could breathe a man on this earth skilled to say as sweetly as he all the pretty nothings that mean so much-- that mean all! At times his mind seems far away, the Muse says naught--and then, presto! he speaks--bewitchingly! enchantingly! CYRANO (incredulously): No, no! ROXANE: Fie! That is ill said! But lo! men are ever thus! Because he is fair to see, you would have it that he must be dull of speech. CYRANO: He hath an eloquent tongue in telling his love? ROXANE: In telling his love? why, 'tis not simple telling, 'tis dissertation, 'tis analysis! CYRANO: How is he with the pen? ROXANE: Still better! Listen,--here:-- (Reciting): 'The more of my poor heart you take The larger grows my heart!' (Triumphantly to Cyrano): How like you those lines? CYRANO: Pooh! ROXANE: And thus it goes on. . . 'And, since some target I must show For Cupid's cruel dart, Oh, if mine own you deign to keep, Then give me your sweet heart!' CYRANO: Lord! first he has too much, then anon not enough! How much heart does the fellow want? ROXANE: You would vex a saint!. . .But 'tis your jealousy. CYRANO (starting): What mean you? ROXANE: Ay, your poet's jealousy! Hark now, if this again be not tender-sweet?-- 'My heart to yours sounds but one cry: If kisses fast could flee By letter, then with your sweet lips My letters read should be! If kisses could be writ with ink, If kisses fast could flee!' CYRANO (smiling approvingly in spite of himself): Ha! those last lines are,--hm!. . .hm!. . . (Correcting himself--contemptuously): --They are paltry enough! ROXANE: And this. . . CYRANO (enchanted): Then you have his letters by heart? ROXANE: Every one of them! CYRANO: By all oaths that can be sworn,--'tis flattering! ROXANE: They are the lines of a master! CYRANO (modestly): Come, nay. . .a master?. . . ROXANE: Ay, I say it--a master! CYRANO: Good--be it so. THE DUENNA (coming down quickly): Here comes Monsieur de Guiche! (To Cyrano, pushing him toward the house): In with you! 'twere best he see you not; it might perchance put him on the scent. . . ROXANE (to Cyrano): Ay, of my own dear secret! He loves me, and is powerful, and, if he knew, then all were lost! Marry! he could well deal a deathblow to my love! CYRANO (entering the house): Good! good! (De Guiche appears.) Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A: Ragueneau sits outside Roxane's house conversing with her duenna. He tells the duenna that his wife, Lise, ran off with a musketeer and that his bakery is ruined. He says that he tried to hang himself but that Cyrano found him, cut him down, and made him Roxane's steward. The duenna calls up to Roxane, telling her to hurry. They are going to a discussion group on the tender passion. Cyrano strides into the scene followed by a pair of musicians, whose services he won in a bet over a fine point of grammar. The musicians are terrible, however, and Cyrano sends them off to play an out-of-tune serenade to Montfleury. Roxane comes down, and she and Cyrano talk about Christian. Roxane says that Christian's letters have been breathtaking--he is more intellectual than even Cyrano, she declares. Moreover, she says that she loves Christian. She recites passages of the letters to Cyrano, who makes a show of critiquing the poetry. Roxane says that Cyrano is jealous of Christian's poetic talent. The duenna cries out that de Guiche is coming, and Cyrano, hastened by the duenna, hides inside the house

Chapter: Ragueneau, the duenna. Then Roxane, Cyrano, and two pages. RAGUENEAU: --And then, off she went, with a musketeer! Deserted and ruined too, I would make an end of all, and so hanged myself. My last breath was drawn:-- then in comes Monsieur de Bergerac! He cuts me down, and begs his cousin to take me for her steward. THE DUENNA: Well, but how came it about that you were thus ruined? RAGUENEAU: Oh! Lise loved the warriors, and I loved the poets! What cakes there were that Apollo chanced to leave were quickly snapped up by Mars. Thus ruin was not long a-coming. THE DUENNA (rising, and calling up to the open window): Roxane, are you ready? They wait for us! ROXANE'S VOICE (from the window): I will but put me on a cloak! THE DUENNA (to Ragueneau, showing him the door opposite): They wait us there opposite, at Clomire's house. She receives them all there to-day--the precieuses, the poets; they read a discourse on the Tender Passion. RAGUENEAU: The Tender Passion? THE DUENNA (in a mincing voice): Ay, indeed! (Calling up to the window): Roxane, an you come not down quickly, we shall miss the discourse on the Tender Passion! ROXANE'S VOICE: I come! I come! (A sound of stringed instruments approaching.) CYRANO'S VOICE (behind the scenes, singing): La, la, la, la! THE DUENNA (surprised): They serenade us? CYRANO (followed by two pages with arch-lutes): I tell you they are demi-semi-quavers, demi-semi-fool! FIRST PAGE (ironically): You know then, Sir, to distinguish between semi-quavers and demi-semi- quavers? CYRANO: Is not every disciple of Gassendi a musician? THE PAGE (playing and singing): La, la! CYRANO (snatching the lute from him, and going on with the phrase): In proof of which, I can continue! La, la, la, la! ROXANE (appearing on the balcony): What? 'Tis you? CYRANO (going on with the air, and singing to it): 'Tis I, who come to serenade your lilies, and pay my devoir to your ro-o- oses! ROXANE: I am coming down! (She leaves the balcony.) THE DUENNA (pointing to the pages): How come these two virtuosi here? CYRANO: 'Tis for a wager I won of D'Assoucy. We were disputing a nice point in grammar; contradictions raged hotly--''Tis so!' 'Nay, 'tis so!' when suddenly he shows me these two long-shanks, whom he takes about with him as an escort, and who are skillful in scratching lute-strings with their skinny claws! 'I will wager you a day's music,' says he!--And lost it! Thus, see you, till Phoebus' chariot starts once again, these lute-twangers are at my heels, seeing all I do, hearing all I say, and accompanying all with melody. 'Twas pleasant at the first, but i' faith, I begin to weary of it already! (To the musicians): Ho there! go serenade Montfleury for me! Play a dance to him! (The pages go toward the door. To the duenna): I have come, as is my wont, nightly, to ask Roxane whether. . . (To the pages, who are going out): Play a long time,--and play out of tune! (To the duenna): . . .Whether her soul's elected is ever the same, ever faultless! ROXANE (coming out of the house): Ah! How handsome he is, how brilliant a wit! And--how well I love him! CYRANO (smiling): Christian has so brilliant a wit? ROXANE: Brighter than even your own, cousin! CYRANO: Be it so, with all my heart! ROXANE: Ah! methinks 'twere impossible that there could breathe a man on this earth skilled to say as sweetly as he all the pretty nothings that mean so much-- that mean all! At times his mind seems far away, the Muse says naught--and then, presto! he speaks--bewitchingly! enchantingly! CYRANO (incredulously): No, no! ROXANE: Fie! That is ill said! But lo! men are ever thus! Because he is fair to see, you would have it that he must be dull of speech. CYRANO: He hath an eloquent tongue in telling his love? ROXANE: In telling his love? why, 'tis not simple telling, 'tis dissertation, 'tis analysis! CYRANO: How is he with the pen? ROXANE: Still better! Listen,--here:-- (Reciting): 'The more of my poor heart you take The larger grows my heart!' (Triumphantly to Cyrano): How like you those lines? CYRANO: Pooh! ROXANE: And thus it goes on. . . 'And, since some target I must show For Cupid's cruel dart, Oh, if mine own you deign to keep, Then give me your sweet heart!' CYRANO: Lord! first he has too much, then anon not enough! How much heart does the fellow want? ROXANE: You would vex a saint!. . .But 'tis your jealousy. CYRANO (starting): What mean you? ROXANE: Ay, your poet's jealousy! Hark now, if this again be not tender-sweet?-- 'My heart to yours sounds but one cry: If kisses fast could flee By letter, then with your sweet lips My letters read should be! If kisses could be writ with ink, If kisses fast could flee!' CYRANO (smiling approvingly in spite of himself): Ha! those last lines are,--hm!. . .hm!. . . (Correcting himself--contemptuously): --They are paltry enough! ROXANE: And this. . . CYRANO (enchanted): Then you have his letters by heart? ROXANE: Every one of them! CYRANO: By all oaths that can be sworn,--'tis flattering! ROXANE: They are the lines of a master! CYRANO (modestly): Come, nay. . .a master?. . . ROXANE: Ay, I say it--a master! CYRANO: Good--be it so. THE DUENNA (coming down quickly): Here comes Monsieur de Guiche! (To Cyrano, pushing him toward the house): In with you! 'twere best he see you not; it might perchance put him on the scent. . . ROXANE (to Cyrano): Ay, of my own dear secret! He loves me, and is powerful, and, if he knew, then all were lost! Marry! he could well deal a deathblow to my love! CYRANO (entering the house): Good! good! (De Guiche appears.) Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A:

Ragueneau sits outside Roxane's house conversing with her duenna. He tells the duenna that his wife, Lise, ran off with a musketeer and that his bakery is ruined. He says that he tried to hang himself but that Cyrano found him, cut him down, and made him Roxane's steward. The duenna calls up to Roxane, telling her to hurry. They are going to a discussion group on the tender passion. Cyrano strides into the scene followed by a pair of musicians, whose services he won in a bet over a fine point of grammar. The musicians are terrible, however, and Cyrano sends them off to play an out-of-tune serenade to Montfleury. Roxane comes down, and she and Cyrano talk about Christian. Roxane says that Christian's letters have been breathtaking--he is more intellectual than even Cyrano, she declares. Moreover, she says that she loves Christian. She recites passages of the letters to Cyrano, who makes a show of critiquing the poetry. Roxane says that Cyrano is jealous of Christian's poetic talent. The duenna cries out that de Guiche is coming, and Cyrano, hastened by the duenna, hides inside the house

Chapter: Roxane, De Guiche, the duenna standing a little way off. ROXANE (courtesying to De Guiche): I was going out. DE GUICHE: I come to take my leave. ROXANE: Whither go you? DE GUICHE: To the war. ROXANE: Ah! DE GUICHE: Ay, to-night. ROXANE: Oh! DE GUICHE: I am ordered away. We are to besiege Arras. ROXANE: Ah--to besiege?. . . DE GUICHE: Ay. My going moves you not, meseems. ROXANE: Nay. . . DE GUICHE: I am grieved to the core of the heart. Shall I again behold you?. . .When? I know not. Heard you that I am named commander?. . . ROXANE (indifferently): Bravo! DE GUICHE: Of the Guards regiment. ROXANE (startled): What! the Guards? DE GUICHE: Ay, where serves your cousin, the swaggering boaster. I will find a way to revenge myself on him at Arras. ROXANE (choking): What mean you? The Guards go to Arras? DE GUICHE (laughing): Bethink you, is it not my own regiment? ROXANE (falling seated on the bench--aside): Christian! DE GUICHE: What ails you? ROXANE (moved deeply): Oh--I am in despair! The man one loves!--at the war! DE GUICHE (surprised and delighted): You say such sweet words to me! 'Tis the first time!--and just when I must quit you! ROXANE (collected, and fanning herself): Thus,--you would fain revenge your grudge against my cousin? DE GUICHE: My fair lady is on his side? ROXANE: Nay,--against him! DE GUICHE: Do you see him often? ROXANE: But very rarely. DE GUICHE: He is ever to be met now in company with one of the cadets,. . .one New-- villen--viller-- ROXANE: Of high stature? DE GUICHE: Fair-haired! ROXANE: Ay, a red-headed fellow! DE GUICHE: Handsome!. . . ROXANE: Tut! DE GUICHE: But dull-witted. ROXANE: One would think so, to look at him! (Changing her tone): How mean you to play your revenge on Cyrano? Perchance you think to put him i' the thick of the shots? Nay, believe me, that were a poor vengeance--he would love such a post better than aught else! I know the way to wound his pride far more keenly! DE GUICHE: What then? Tell. . . ROXANE: If, when the regiment march to Arras, he were left here with his beloved boon companions, the Cadets, to sit with crossed arms so long as the war lasted! There is your method, would you enrage a man of his kind; cheat him of his chance of mortal danger, and you punish him right fiercely. DE GUICHE (coming nearer): O woman! woman! Who but a woman had e'er devised so subtle a trick? ROXANE: See you not how he will eat out his heart, while his friends gnaw their thick fists for that they are deprived of the battle? So are you best avenged. DE GUICHE: You love me, then, a little? (She smiles): I would fain--seeing you thus espouse my cause, Roxane--believe it a proof of love! ROXANE: 'Tis a proof of love! DE GUICHE (showing some sealed papers): Here are the marching orders; they will be sent instantly to each company-- except-- (He detaches one): --This one! 'Tis that of the Cadets. (He puts it in his pocket): This I keep. (Laughing): Ha! ha! ha! Cyrano! His love of battle!. . .So you can play tricks on people?. . .you, of all ladies! ROXANE: Sometimes! DE GUICHE (coming close to her): Oh! how I love you!--to distraction! Listen! To-night--true, I ought to start--but--how leave you now that I feel your heart is touched! Hard by, in the Rue d'Orleans, is a convent founded by Father Athanasius, the syndic of the Capuchins. True that no layman may enter--but--I can settle that with the good Fathers! Their habit sleeves are wide enough to hide me in. 'Tis they who serve Richelieu's private chapel: and from respect to the uncle, fear the nephew. All will deem me gone. I will come to you, masked. Give me leave to wait till tomorrow, sweet Lady Fanciful! ROXANE: But, of this be rumored, your glory. . . DE GUICHE: Bah! ROXANE: But the siege--Arras. . . DE GUICHE: 'Twill take its chance. Grant but permission. ROXANE: No! DE GUICHE: Give me leave! ROXANE (tenderly): It were my duty to forbid you! DE GUICHE: Ah! ROXANE: You must go! (Aside): Christian stays here. (Aloud): I would have you heroic--Antoine! DE GUICHE: O heavenly word! You love, then, him?. . . ROXANE: . . .For whom I trembled. DE GUICHE (in an ecstasy): Ah! I go then! (He kisses her hand): Are you content? ROXANE: Yes, my friend! (He goes out.) THE DUENNA (making behind his back a mocking courtesy): Yes, my friend! ROXANE (to the duenna): Not a word of what I have done. Cyrano would never pardon me for stealing his fighting from him! (She calls toward the house): Cousin! Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A: De Guiche tells Roxane that he has come to say farewell. He has been made a colonel of an army regiment that is leaving that night to fight in the war with Spain. He mentions that the regiment includes Cyrano's guards, and he grimly predicts that he and Cyrano will have a reckoning. Afraid for Christian's safety if he should go to the front, Roxane quickly suggests that the best way for de Guiche to seek revenge on Cyrano would be for him to leave Cyrano and his cadets behind while the rest of the regiment goes on to military glory. After much flirtation from Roxane, de Guiche believes he should stay close by, concealed in a local monastery. When Roxane implies that she would feel more for de Guiche if he went to war, he agrees to march on steadfastly, leaving Cyrano and his cadets behind. He leaves, and Roxane makes the duenna promise she will not tell Cyrano that Roxane has robbed him of a chance to go to war

Chapter: Roxane, De Guiche, the duenna standing a little way off. ROXANE (courtesying to De Guiche): I was going out. DE GUICHE: I come to take my leave. ROXANE: Whither go you? DE GUICHE: To the war. ROXANE: Ah! DE GUICHE: Ay, to-night. ROXANE: Oh! DE GUICHE: I am ordered away. We are to besiege Arras. ROXANE: Ah--to besiege?. . . DE GUICHE: Ay. My going moves you not, meseems. ROXANE: Nay. . . DE GUICHE: I am grieved to the core of the heart. Shall I again behold you?. . .When? I know not. Heard you that I am named commander?. . . ROXANE (indifferently): Bravo! DE GUICHE: Of the Guards regiment. ROXANE (startled): What! the Guards? DE GUICHE: Ay, where serves your cousin, the swaggering boaster. I will find a way to revenge myself on him at Arras. ROXANE (choking): What mean you? The Guards go to Arras? DE GUICHE (laughing): Bethink you, is it not my own regiment? ROXANE (falling seated on the bench--aside): Christian! DE GUICHE: What ails you? ROXANE (moved deeply): Oh--I am in despair! The man one loves!--at the war! DE GUICHE (surprised and delighted): You say such sweet words to me! 'Tis the first time!--and just when I must quit you! ROXANE (collected, and fanning herself): Thus,--you would fain revenge your grudge against my cousin? DE GUICHE: My fair lady is on his side? ROXANE: Nay,--against him! DE GUICHE: Do you see him often? ROXANE: But very rarely. DE GUICHE: He is ever to be met now in company with one of the cadets,. . .one New-- villen--viller-- ROXANE: Of high stature? DE GUICHE: Fair-haired! ROXANE: Ay, a red-headed fellow! DE GUICHE: Handsome!. . . ROXANE: Tut! DE GUICHE: But dull-witted. ROXANE: One would think so, to look at him! (Changing her tone): How mean you to play your revenge on Cyrano? Perchance you think to put him i' the thick of the shots? Nay, believe me, that were a poor vengeance--he would love such a post better than aught else! I know the way to wound his pride far more keenly! DE GUICHE: What then? Tell. . . ROXANE: If, when the regiment march to Arras, he were left here with his beloved boon companions, the Cadets, to sit with crossed arms so long as the war lasted! There is your method, would you enrage a man of his kind; cheat him of his chance of mortal danger, and you punish him right fiercely. DE GUICHE (coming nearer): O woman! woman! Who but a woman had e'er devised so subtle a trick? ROXANE: See you not how he will eat out his heart, while his friends gnaw their thick fists for that they are deprived of the battle? So are you best avenged. DE GUICHE: You love me, then, a little? (She smiles): I would fain--seeing you thus espouse my cause, Roxane--believe it a proof of love! ROXANE: 'Tis a proof of love! DE GUICHE (showing some sealed papers): Here are the marching orders; they will be sent instantly to each company-- except-- (He detaches one): --This one! 'Tis that of the Cadets. (He puts it in his pocket): This I keep. (Laughing): Ha! ha! ha! Cyrano! His love of battle!. . .So you can play tricks on people?. . .you, of all ladies! ROXANE: Sometimes! DE GUICHE (coming close to her): Oh! how I love you!--to distraction! Listen! To-night--true, I ought to start--but--how leave you now that I feel your heart is touched! Hard by, in the Rue d'Orleans, is a convent founded by Father Athanasius, the syndic of the Capuchins. True that no layman may enter--but--I can settle that with the good Fathers! Their habit sleeves are wide enough to hide me in. 'Tis they who serve Richelieu's private chapel: and from respect to the uncle, fear the nephew. All will deem me gone. I will come to you, masked. Give me leave to wait till tomorrow, sweet Lady Fanciful! ROXANE: But, of this be rumored, your glory. . . DE GUICHE: Bah! ROXANE: But the siege--Arras. . . DE GUICHE: 'Twill take its chance. Grant but permission. ROXANE: No! DE GUICHE: Give me leave! ROXANE (tenderly): It were my duty to forbid you! DE GUICHE: Ah! ROXANE: You must go! (Aside): Christian stays here. (Aloud): I would have you heroic--Antoine! DE GUICHE: O heavenly word! You love, then, him?. . . ROXANE: . . .For whom I trembled. DE GUICHE (in an ecstasy): Ah! I go then! (He kisses her hand): Are you content? ROXANE: Yes, my friend! (He goes out.) THE DUENNA (making behind his back a mocking courtesy): Yes, my friend! ROXANE (to the duenna): Not a word of what I have done. Cyrano would never pardon me for stealing his fighting from him! (She calls toward the house): Cousin! Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A:

De Guiche tells Roxane that he has come to say farewell. He has been made a colonel of an army regiment that is leaving that night to fight in the war with Spain. He mentions that the regiment includes Cyrano's guards, and he grimly predicts that he and Cyrano will have a reckoning. Afraid for Christian's safety if he should go to the front, Roxane quickly suggests that the best way for de Guiche to seek revenge on Cyrano would be for him to leave Cyrano and his cadets behind while the rest of the regiment goes on to military glory. After much flirtation from Roxane, de Guiche believes he should stay close by, concealed in a local monastery. When Roxane implies that she would feel more for de Guiche if he went to war, he agrees to march on steadfastly, leaving Cyrano and his cadets behind. He leaves, and Roxane makes the duenna promise she will not tell Cyrano that Roxane has robbed him of a chance to go to war

Chapter: Roxane, The duenna, Cyrano. ROXANE: We are going to Clomire's house. (She points to the door opposite): Alcandre and Lysimon are to discourse! THE DUENNA (putting her little finger in her ear): Yes! But my little finger tells me we shall miss them. CYRANO: 'Twere a pity to miss such apes! (They have come to Clomire's door.) THE DUENNA: Oh, see! The knocker is muffled up! (Speaking to the knocker): So they have gagged that metal tongue of yours, little noisy one, lest it should disturb the fine orators! (She lifts it carefully and knocks with precaution.) ROXANE (seeing that the door opens): Let us enter! (On the threshold, to Cyrano): If Christian comes, as I feel sure he will, bid him wait for me! CYRANO (quickly, as she is going in): Listen! (She turns): What mean you to question him on, as is your wont, to-night? ROXANE: Oh-- CYRANO (eagerly): Well, say. ROXANE: But you will be mute? CYRANO: Mute as a fish. ROXANE: I shall not question him at all, but say: Give rein to your fancy! Prepare not your speeches,--but speak the thoughts as they come! Speak to me of love, and speak splendidly! CYRANO (smiling): Very good! ROXANE: But secret!. . . CYRANO: Secret. ROXANE: Not a word! (She enters and shuts the door.) CYRANO (when the door is shut, bowing to her): A thousand thanks! (The door opens again, and Roxane puts her head out.) ROXANE: Lest he prepare himself! CYRANO: The devil!--no, no! BOTH TOGETHER: Secret. (The door shuts.) CYRANO (calling): Christian! Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A: Roxane expects Christian to come visit her, and she tells the duenna to make him wait if he does. Cyrano presses Roxane to disclose that instead of questioning Christian on any particular subject, she plans to make Christian improvise about love. Cyrano agrees that he will not tell Christian the details of her plot, a gesture Roxane appreciates. She conjectures that Christian would prepare a speech to her if he knew. Roxane and the duenna leave, and Cyrano calls to Christian, who has been waiting nearby

Chapter: Roxane, The duenna, Cyrano. ROXANE: We are going to Clomire's house. (She points to the door opposite): Alcandre and Lysimon are to discourse! THE DUENNA (putting her little finger in her ear): Yes! But my little finger tells me we shall miss them. CYRANO: 'Twere a pity to miss such apes! (They have come to Clomire's door.) THE DUENNA: Oh, see! The knocker is muffled up! (Speaking to the knocker): So they have gagged that metal tongue of yours, little noisy one, lest it should disturb the fine orators! (She lifts it carefully and knocks with precaution.) ROXANE (seeing that the door opens): Let us enter! (On the threshold, to Cyrano): If Christian comes, as I feel sure he will, bid him wait for me! CYRANO (quickly, as she is going in): Listen! (She turns): What mean you to question him on, as is your wont, to-night? ROXANE: Oh-- CYRANO (eagerly): Well, say. ROXANE: But you will be mute? CYRANO: Mute as a fish. ROXANE: I shall not question him at all, but say: Give rein to your fancy! Prepare not your speeches,--but speak the thoughts as they come! Speak to me of love, and speak splendidly! CYRANO (smiling): Very good! ROXANE: But secret!. . . CYRANO: Secret. ROXANE: Not a word! (She enters and shuts the door.) CYRANO (when the door is shut, bowing to her): A thousand thanks! (The door opens again, and Roxane puts her head out.) ROXANE: Lest he prepare himself! CYRANO: The devil!--no, no! BOTH TOGETHER: Secret. (The door shuts.) CYRANO (calling): Christian! Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A:

Roxane expects Christian to come visit her, and she tells the duenna to make him wait if he does. Cyrano presses Roxane to disclose that instead of questioning Christian on any particular subject, she plans to make Christian improvise about love. Cyrano agrees that he will not tell Christian the details of her plot, a gesture Roxane appreciates. She conjectures that Christian would prepare a speech to her if he knew. Roxane and the duenna leave, and Cyrano calls to Christian, who has been waiting nearby

Chapter: Cyrano, Christian. CYRANO: I know all that is needful. Here's occasion For you to deck yourself with glory. Come, Lose no time; put away those sulky looks, Come to your house with me, I'll teach you. . . CHRISTIAN: No! CYRANO: Why? CHRISTIAN: I will wait for Roxane here. CYRANO: How? Crazy? Come quick with me and learn. . . CHRISTIAN: No, no! I say. I am aweary of these borrowed letters, --Borrowed love-makings! Thus to act a part, And tremble all the time!--'Twas well enough At the beginning!--Now I know she loves! I fear no longer!--I will speak myself. CYRANO: Mercy! CHRISTIAN: And how know you I cannot speak?-- I am not such a fool when all is said! I've by your lessons profited. You'll see I shall know how to speak alone! The devil! I know at least to clasp her in my arms! (Seeing Roxane come out from Clomire's house): --It is she! Cyrano, no!--Leave me not! CYRANO (bowing): Speak for yourself, my friend, and take your chance. (He disappears behind the garden wall.) Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A: Cyrano tries to help Christian prepare for his meeting with Roxane. He urges Christian to learn lines Cyrano has written. But Christian refuses. He says he wants to speak to Roxane in his own words, and Cyrano bows to Christian, saying, "Speak for yourself, sir.

Chapter: Cyrano, Christian. CYRANO: I know all that is needful. Here's occasion For you to deck yourself with glory. Come, Lose no time; put away those sulky looks, Come to your house with me, I'll teach you. . . CHRISTIAN: No! CYRANO: Why? CHRISTIAN: I will wait for Roxane here. CYRANO: How? Crazy? Come quick with me and learn. . . CHRISTIAN: No, no! I say. I am aweary of these borrowed letters, --Borrowed love-makings! Thus to act a part, And tremble all the time!--'Twas well enough At the beginning!--Now I know she loves! I fear no longer!--I will speak myself. CYRANO: Mercy! CHRISTIAN: And how know you I cannot speak?-- I am not such a fool when all is said! I've by your lessons profited. You'll see I shall know how to speak alone! The devil! I know at least to clasp her in my arms! (Seeing Roxane come out from Clomire's house): --It is she! Cyrano, no!--Leave me not! CYRANO (bowing): Speak for yourself, my friend, and take your chance. (He disappears behind the garden wall.) Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A:

Cyrano tries to help Christian prepare for his meeting with Roxane. He urges Christian to learn lines Cyrano has written. But Christian refuses. He says he wants to speak to Roxane in his own words, and Cyrano bows to Christian, saying, "Speak for yourself, sir.

Chapter: Ragueneau, the duenna. Then Roxane, Cyrano, and two pages. RAGUENEAU: --And then, off she went, with a musketeer! Deserted and ruined too, I would make an end of all, and so hanged myself. My last breath was drawn:-- then in comes Monsieur de Bergerac! He cuts me down, and begs his cousin to take me for her steward. THE DUENNA: Well, but how came it about that you were thus ruined? RAGUENEAU: Oh! Lise loved the warriors, and I loved the poets! What cakes there were that Apollo chanced to leave were quickly snapped up by Mars. Thus ruin was not long a-coming. THE DUENNA (rising, and calling up to the open window): Roxane, are you ready? They wait for us! ROXANE'S VOICE (from the window): I will but put me on a cloak! THE DUENNA (to Ragueneau, showing him the door opposite): They wait us there opposite, at Clomire's house. She receives them all there to-day--the precieuses, the poets; they read a discourse on the Tender Passion. RAGUENEAU: The Tender Passion? THE DUENNA (in a mincing voice): Ay, indeed! (Calling up to the window): Roxane, an you come not down quickly, we shall miss the discourse on the Tender Passion! ROXANE'S VOICE: I come! I come! (A sound of stringed instruments approaching.) CYRANO'S VOICE (behind the scenes, singing): La, la, la, la! THE DUENNA (surprised): They serenade us? CYRANO (followed by two pages with arch-lutes): I tell you they are demi-semi-quavers, demi-semi-fool! FIRST PAGE (ironically): You know then, Sir, to distinguish between semi-quavers and demi-semi- quavers? CYRANO: Is not every disciple of Gassendi a musician? THE PAGE (playing and singing): La, la! CYRANO (snatching the lute from him, and going on with the phrase): In proof of which, I can continue! La, la, la, la! ROXANE (appearing on the balcony): What? 'Tis you? CYRANO (going on with the air, and singing to it): 'Tis I, who come to serenade your lilies, and pay my devoir to your ro-o- oses! ROXANE: I am coming down! (She leaves the balcony.) THE DUENNA (pointing to the pages): How come these two virtuosi here? CYRANO: 'Tis for a wager I won of D'Assoucy. We were disputing a nice point in grammar; contradictions raged hotly--''Tis so!' 'Nay, 'tis so!' when suddenly he shows me these two long-shanks, whom he takes about with him as an escort, and who are skillful in scratching lute-strings with their skinny claws! 'I will wager you a day's music,' says he!--And lost it! Thus, see you, till Phoebus' chariot starts once again, these lute-twangers are at my heels, seeing all I do, hearing all I say, and accompanying all with melody. 'Twas pleasant at the first, but i' faith, I begin to weary of it already! (To the musicians): Ho there! go serenade Montfleury for me! Play a dance to him! (The pages go toward the door. To the duenna): I have come, as is my wont, nightly, to ask Roxane whether. . . (To the pages, who are going out): Play a long time,--and play out of tune! (To the duenna): . . .Whether her soul's elected is ever the same, ever faultless! ROXANE (coming out of the house): Ah! How handsome he is, how brilliant a wit! And--how well I love him! CYRANO (smiling): Christian has so brilliant a wit? ROXANE: Brighter than even your own, cousin! CYRANO: Be it so, with all my heart! ROXANE: Ah! methinks 'twere impossible that there could breathe a man on this earth skilled to say as sweetly as he all the pretty nothings that mean so much-- that mean all! At times his mind seems far away, the Muse says naught--and then, presto! he speaks--bewitchingly! enchantingly! CYRANO (incredulously): No, no! ROXANE: Fie! That is ill said! But lo! men are ever thus! Because he is fair to see, you would have it that he must be dull of speech. CYRANO: He hath an eloquent tongue in telling his love? ROXANE: In telling his love? why, 'tis not simple telling, 'tis dissertation, 'tis analysis! CYRANO: How is he with the pen? ROXANE: Still better! Listen,--here:-- (Reciting): 'The more of my poor heart you take The larger grows my heart!' (Triumphantly to Cyrano): How like you those lines? CYRANO: Pooh! ROXANE: And thus it goes on. . . 'And, since some target I must show For Cupid's cruel dart, Oh, if mine own you deign to keep, Then give me your sweet heart!' CYRANO: Lord! first he has too much, then anon not enough! How much heart does the fellow want? ROXANE: You would vex a saint!. . .But 'tis your jealousy. CYRANO (starting): What mean you? ROXANE: Ay, your poet's jealousy! Hark now, if this again be not tender-sweet?-- 'My heart to yours sounds but one cry: If kisses fast could flee By letter, then with your sweet lips My letters read should be! If kisses could be writ with ink, If kisses fast could flee!' CYRANO (smiling approvingly in spite of himself): Ha! those last lines are,--hm!. . .hm!. . . (Correcting himself--contemptuously): --They are paltry enough! ROXANE: And this. . . CYRANO (enchanted): Then you have his letters by heart? ROXANE: Every one of them! CYRANO: By all oaths that can be sworn,--'tis flattering! ROXANE: They are the lines of a master! CYRANO (modestly): Come, nay. . .a master?. . . ROXANE: Ay, I say it--a master! CYRANO: Good--be it so. THE DUENNA (coming down quickly): Here comes Monsieur de Guiche! (To Cyrano, pushing him toward the house): In with you! 'twere best he see you not; it might perchance put him on the scent. . . ROXANE (to Cyrano): Ay, of my own dear secret! He loves me, and is powerful, and, if he knew, then all were lost! Marry! he could well deal a deathblow to my love! CYRANO (entering the house): Good! good! (De Guiche appears.) Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A: Roxane and the duenna return. Roxane and Christian sit outdoors, and Roxane asks Christian to tell her how he loves her. He tries, but all he can say is "I love you," "I adore you," "I love you very much," and other simple variations. Angry, Roxane goes into the house. Cyrano returns, ironically congratulating Christian on his great success

Chapter: Ragueneau, the duenna. Then Roxane, Cyrano, and two pages. RAGUENEAU: --And then, off she went, with a musketeer! Deserted and ruined too, I would make an end of all, and so hanged myself. My last breath was drawn:-- then in comes Monsieur de Bergerac! He cuts me down, and begs his cousin to take me for her steward. THE DUENNA: Well, but how came it about that you were thus ruined? RAGUENEAU: Oh! Lise loved the warriors, and I loved the poets! What cakes there were that Apollo chanced to leave were quickly snapped up by Mars. Thus ruin was not long a-coming. THE DUENNA (rising, and calling up to the open window): Roxane, are you ready? They wait for us! ROXANE'S VOICE (from the window): I will but put me on a cloak! THE DUENNA (to Ragueneau, showing him the door opposite): They wait us there opposite, at Clomire's house. She receives them all there to-day--the precieuses, the poets; they read a discourse on the Tender Passion. RAGUENEAU: The Tender Passion? THE DUENNA (in a mincing voice): Ay, indeed! (Calling up to the window): Roxane, an you come not down quickly, we shall miss the discourse on the Tender Passion! ROXANE'S VOICE: I come! I come! (A sound of stringed instruments approaching.) CYRANO'S VOICE (behind the scenes, singing): La, la, la, la! THE DUENNA (surprised): They serenade us? CYRANO (followed by two pages with arch-lutes): I tell you they are demi-semi-quavers, demi-semi-fool! FIRST PAGE (ironically): You know then, Sir, to distinguish between semi-quavers and demi-semi- quavers? CYRANO: Is not every disciple of Gassendi a musician? THE PAGE (playing and singing): La, la! CYRANO (snatching the lute from him, and going on with the phrase): In proof of which, I can continue! La, la, la, la! ROXANE (appearing on the balcony): What? 'Tis you? CYRANO (going on with the air, and singing to it): 'Tis I, who come to serenade your lilies, and pay my devoir to your ro-o- oses! ROXANE: I am coming down! (She leaves the balcony.) THE DUENNA (pointing to the pages): How come these two virtuosi here? CYRANO: 'Tis for a wager I won of D'Assoucy. We were disputing a nice point in grammar; contradictions raged hotly--''Tis so!' 'Nay, 'tis so!' when suddenly he shows me these two long-shanks, whom he takes about with him as an escort, and who are skillful in scratching lute-strings with their skinny claws! 'I will wager you a day's music,' says he!--And lost it! Thus, see you, till Phoebus' chariot starts once again, these lute-twangers are at my heels, seeing all I do, hearing all I say, and accompanying all with melody. 'Twas pleasant at the first, but i' faith, I begin to weary of it already! (To the musicians): Ho there! go serenade Montfleury for me! Play a dance to him! (The pages go toward the door. To the duenna): I have come, as is my wont, nightly, to ask Roxane whether. . . (To the pages, who are going out): Play a long time,--and play out of tune! (To the duenna): . . .Whether her soul's elected is ever the same, ever faultless! ROXANE (coming out of the house): Ah! How handsome he is, how brilliant a wit! And--how well I love him! CYRANO (smiling): Christian has so brilliant a wit? ROXANE: Brighter than even your own, cousin! CYRANO: Be it so, with all my heart! ROXANE: Ah! methinks 'twere impossible that there could breathe a man on this earth skilled to say as sweetly as he all the pretty nothings that mean so much-- that mean all! At times his mind seems far away, the Muse says naught--and then, presto! he speaks--bewitchingly! enchantingly! CYRANO (incredulously): No, no! ROXANE: Fie! That is ill said! But lo! men are ever thus! Because he is fair to see, you would have it that he must be dull of speech. CYRANO: He hath an eloquent tongue in telling his love? ROXANE: In telling his love? why, 'tis not simple telling, 'tis dissertation, 'tis analysis! CYRANO: How is he with the pen? ROXANE: Still better! Listen,--here:-- (Reciting): 'The more of my poor heart you take The larger grows my heart!' (Triumphantly to Cyrano): How like you those lines? CYRANO: Pooh! ROXANE: And thus it goes on. . . 'And, since some target I must show For Cupid's cruel dart, Oh, if mine own you deign to keep, Then give me your sweet heart!' CYRANO: Lord! first he has too much, then anon not enough! How much heart does the fellow want? ROXANE: You would vex a saint!. . .But 'tis your jealousy. CYRANO (starting): What mean you? ROXANE: Ay, your poet's jealousy! Hark now, if this again be not tender-sweet?-- 'My heart to yours sounds but one cry: If kisses fast could flee By letter, then with your sweet lips My letters read should be! If kisses could be writ with ink, If kisses fast could flee!' CYRANO (smiling approvingly in spite of himself): Ha! those last lines are,--hm!. . .hm!. . . (Correcting himself--contemptuously): --They are paltry enough! ROXANE: And this. . . CYRANO (enchanted): Then you have his letters by heart? ROXANE: Every one of them! CYRANO: By all oaths that can be sworn,--'tis flattering! ROXANE: They are the lines of a master! CYRANO (modestly): Come, nay. . .a master?. . . ROXANE: Ay, I say it--a master! CYRANO: Good--be it so. THE DUENNA (coming down quickly): Here comes Monsieur de Guiche! (To Cyrano, pushing him toward the house): In with you! 'twere best he see you not; it might perchance put him on the scent. . . ROXANE (to Cyrano): Ay, of my own dear secret! He loves me, and is powerful, and, if he knew, then all were lost! Marry! he could well deal a deathblow to my love! CYRANO (entering the house): Good! good! (De Guiche appears.) Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A:

Roxane and the duenna return. Roxane and Christian sit outdoors, and Roxane asks Christian to tell her how he loves her. He tries, but all he can say is "I love you," "I adore you," "I love you very much," and other simple variations. Angry, Roxane goes into the house. Cyrano returns, ironically congratulating Christian on his great success

Chapter: Roxane, De Guiche, the duenna standing a little way off. ROXANE (courtesying to De Guiche): I was going out. DE GUICHE: I come to take my leave. ROXANE: Whither go you? DE GUICHE: To the war. ROXANE: Ah! DE GUICHE: Ay, to-night. ROXANE: Oh! DE GUICHE: I am ordered away. We are to besiege Arras. ROXANE: Ah--to besiege?. . . DE GUICHE: Ay. My going moves you not, meseems. ROXANE: Nay. . . DE GUICHE: I am grieved to the core of the heart. Shall I again behold you?. . .When? I know not. Heard you that I am named commander?. . . ROXANE (indifferently): Bravo! DE GUICHE: Of the Guards regiment. ROXANE (startled): What! the Guards? DE GUICHE: Ay, where serves your cousin, the swaggering boaster. I will find a way to revenge myself on him at Arras. ROXANE (choking): What mean you? The Guards go to Arras? DE GUICHE (laughing): Bethink you, is it not my own regiment? ROXANE (falling seated on the bench--aside): Christian! DE GUICHE: What ails you? ROXANE (moved deeply): Oh--I am in despair! The man one loves!--at the war! DE GUICHE (surprised and delighted): You say such sweet words to me! 'Tis the first time!--and just when I must quit you! ROXANE (collected, and fanning herself): Thus,--you would fain revenge your grudge against my cousin? DE GUICHE: My fair lady is on his side? ROXANE: Nay,--against him! DE GUICHE: Do you see him often? ROXANE: But very rarely. DE GUICHE: He is ever to be met now in company with one of the cadets,. . .one New-- villen--viller-- ROXANE: Of high stature? DE GUICHE: Fair-haired! ROXANE: Ay, a red-headed fellow! DE GUICHE: Handsome!. . . ROXANE: Tut! DE GUICHE: But dull-witted. ROXANE: One would think so, to look at him! (Changing her tone): How mean you to play your revenge on Cyrano? Perchance you think to put him i' the thick of the shots? Nay, believe me, that were a poor vengeance--he would love such a post better than aught else! I know the way to wound his pride far more keenly! DE GUICHE: What then? Tell. . . ROXANE: If, when the regiment march to Arras, he were left here with his beloved boon companions, the Cadets, to sit with crossed arms so long as the war lasted! There is your method, would you enrage a man of his kind; cheat him of his chance of mortal danger, and you punish him right fiercely. DE GUICHE (coming nearer): O woman! woman! Who but a woman had e'er devised so subtle a trick? ROXANE: See you not how he will eat out his heart, while his friends gnaw their thick fists for that they are deprived of the battle? So are you best avenged. DE GUICHE: You love me, then, a little? (She smiles): I would fain--seeing you thus espouse my cause, Roxane--believe it a proof of love! ROXANE: 'Tis a proof of love! DE GUICHE (showing some sealed papers): Here are the marching orders; they will be sent instantly to each company-- except-- (He detaches one): --This one! 'Tis that of the Cadets. (He puts it in his pocket): This I keep. (Laughing): Ha! ha! ha! Cyrano! His love of battle!. . .So you can play tricks on people?. . .you, of all ladies! ROXANE: Sometimes! DE GUICHE (coming close to her): Oh! how I love you!--to distraction! Listen! To-night--true, I ought to start--but--how leave you now that I feel your heart is touched! Hard by, in the Rue d'Orleans, is a convent founded by Father Athanasius, the syndic of the Capuchins. True that no layman may enter--but--I can settle that with the good Fathers! Their habit sleeves are wide enough to hide me in. 'Tis they who serve Richelieu's private chapel: and from respect to the uncle, fear the nephew. All will deem me gone. I will come to you, masked. Give me leave to wait till tomorrow, sweet Lady Fanciful! ROXANE: But, of this be rumored, your glory. . . DE GUICHE: Bah! ROXANE: But the siege--Arras. . . DE GUICHE: 'Twill take its chance. Grant but permission. ROXANE: No! DE GUICHE: Give me leave! ROXANE (tenderly): It were my duty to forbid you! DE GUICHE: Ah! ROXANE: You must go! (Aside): Christian stays here. (Aloud): I would have you heroic--Antoine! DE GUICHE: O heavenly word! You love, then, him?. . . ROXANE: . . .For whom I trembled. DE GUICHE (in an ecstasy): Ah! I go then! (He kisses her hand): Are you content? ROXANE: Yes, my friend! (He goes out.) THE DUENNA (making behind his back a mocking courtesy): Yes, my friend! ROXANE (to the duenna): Not a word of what I have done. Cyrano would never pardon me for stealing his fighting from him! (She calls toward the house): Cousin! Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A: Seeing a light in Roxane's window, Christian asks Cyrano for help. In the dark, Cyrano hides underneath Roxane's balcony while Christian stands in front of it. He throws gravel at Roxane's window, and when she comes out, Cyrano whispers words for Christian to recite

Chapter: Roxane, De Guiche, the duenna standing a little way off. ROXANE (courtesying to De Guiche): I was going out. DE GUICHE: I come to take my leave. ROXANE: Whither go you? DE GUICHE: To the war. ROXANE: Ah! DE GUICHE: Ay, to-night. ROXANE: Oh! DE GUICHE: I am ordered away. We are to besiege Arras. ROXANE: Ah--to besiege?. . . DE GUICHE: Ay. My going moves you not, meseems. ROXANE: Nay. . . DE GUICHE: I am grieved to the core of the heart. Shall I again behold you?. . .When? I know not. Heard you that I am named commander?. . . ROXANE (indifferently): Bravo! DE GUICHE: Of the Guards regiment. ROXANE (startled): What! the Guards? DE GUICHE: Ay, where serves your cousin, the swaggering boaster. I will find a way to revenge myself on him at Arras. ROXANE (choking): What mean you? The Guards go to Arras? DE GUICHE (laughing): Bethink you, is it not my own regiment? ROXANE (falling seated on the bench--aside): Christian! DE GUICHE: What ails you? ROXANE (moved deeply): Oh--I am in despair! The man one loves!--at the war! DE GUICHE (surprised and delighted): You say such sweet words to me! 'Tis the first time!--and just when I must quit you! ROXANE (collected, and fanning herself): Thus,--you would fain revenge your grudge against my cousin? DE GUICHE: My fair lady is on his side? ROXANE: Nay,--against him! DE GUICHE: Do you see him often? ROXANE: But very rarely. DE GUICHE: He is ever to be met now in company with one of the cadets,. . .one New-- villen--viller-- ROXANE: Of high stature? DE GUICHE: Fair-haired! ROXANE: Ay, a red-headed fellow! DE GUICHE: Handsome!. . . ROXANE: Tut! DE GUICHE: But dull-witted. ROXANE: One would think so, to look at him! (Changing her tone): How mean you to play your revenge on Cyrano? Perchance you think to put him i' the thick of the shots? Nay, believe me, that were a poor vengeance--he would love such a post better than aught else! I know the way to wound his pride far more keenly! DE GUICHE: What then? Tell. . . ROXANE: If, when the regiment march to Arras, he were left here with his beloved boon companions, the Cadets, to sit with crossed arms so long as the war lasted! There is your method, would you enrage a man of his kind; cheat him of his chance of mortal danger, and you punish him right fiercely. DE GUICHE (coming nearer): O woman! woman! Who but a woman had e'er devised so subtle a trick? ROXANE: See you not how he will eat out his heart, while his friends gnaw their thick fists for that they are deprived of the battle? So are you best avenged. DE GUICHE: You love me, then, a little? (She smiles): I would fain--seeing you thus espouse my cause, Roxane--believe it a proof of love! ROXANE: 'Tis a proof of love! DE GUICHE (showing some sealed papers): Here are the marching orders; they will be sent instantly to each company-- except-- (He detaches one): --This one! 'Tis that of the Cadets. (He puts it in his pocket): This I keep. (Laughing): Ha! ha! ha! Cyrano! His love of battle!. . .So you can play tricks on people?. . .you, of all ladies! ROXANE: Sometimes! DE GUICHE (coming close to her): Oh! how I love you!--to distraction! Listen! To-night--true, I ought to start--but--how leave you now that I feel your heart is touched! Hard by, in the Rue d'Orleans, is a convent founded by Father Athanasius, the syndic of the Capuchins. True that no layman may enter--but--I can settle that with the good Fathers! Their habit sleeves are wide enough to hide me in. 'Tis they who serve Richelieu's private chapel: and from respect to the uncle, fear the nephew. All will deem me gone. I will come to you, masked. Give me leave to wait till tomorrow, sweet Lady Fanciful! ROXANE: But, of this be rumored, your glory. . . DE GUICHE: Bah! ROXANE: But the siege--Arras. . . DE GUICHE: 'Twill take its chance. Grant but permission. ROXANE: No! DE GUICHE: Give me leave! ROXANE (tenderly): It were my duty to forbid you! DE GUICHE: Ah! ROXANE: You must go! (Aside): Christian stays here. (Aloud): I would have you heroic--Antoine! DE GUICHE: O heavenly word! You love, then, him?. . . ROXANE: . . .For whom I trembled. DE GUICHE (in an ecstasy): Ah! I go then! (He kisses her hand): Are you content? ROXANE: Yes, my friend! (He goes out.) THE DUENNA (making behind his back a mocking courtesy): Yes, my friend! ROXANE (to the duenna): Not a word of what I have done. Cyrano would never pardon me for stealing his fighting from him! (She calls toward the house): Cousin! Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A:

Seeing a light in Roxane's window, Christian asks Cyrano for help. In the dark, Cyrano hides underneath Roxane's balcony while Christian stands in front of it. He throws gravel at Roxane's window, and when she comes out, Cyrano whispers words for Christian to recite

Chapter: Roxane, The duenna, Cyrano. ROXANE: We are going to Clomire's house. (She points to the door opposite): Alcandre and Lysimon are to discourse! THE DUENNA (putting her little finger in her ear): Yes! But my little finger tells me we shall miss them. CYRANO: 'Twere a pity to miss such apes! (They have come to Clomire's door.) THE DUENNA: Oh, see! The knocker is muffled up! (Speaking to the knocker): So they have gagged that metal tongue of yours, little noisy one, lest it should disturb the fine orators! (She lifts it carefully and knocks with precaution.) ROXANE (seeing that the door opens): Let us enter! (On the threshold, to Cyrano): If Christian comes, as I feel sure he will, bid him wait for me! CYRANO (quickly, as she is going in): Listen! (She turns): What mean you to question him on, as is your wont, to-night? ROXANE: Oh-- CYRANO (eagerly): Well, say. ROXANE: But you will be mute? CYRANO: Mute as a fish. ROXANE: I shall not question him at all, but say: Give rein to your fancy! Prepare not your speeches,--but speak the thoughts as they come! Speak to me of love, and speak splendidly! CYRANO (smiling): Very good! ROXANE: But secret!. . . CYRANO: Secret. ROXANE: Not a word! (She enters and shuts the door.) CYRANO (when the door is shut, bowing to her): A thousand thanks! (The door opens again, and Roxane puts her head out.) ROXANE: Lest he prepare himself! CYRANO: The devil!--no, no! BOTH TOGETHER: Secret. (The door shuts.) CYRANO (calling): Christian! Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A: Moved by Christian's words, Roxane then asks why he speaks so haltingly. Impatient, Cyrano thrusts Christian under the balcony and takes his place, still hidden in darkness. Speaking in a low voice, he confides in Roxane the things he has always longed to tell her. As Roxane becomes more and more hypnotized by Cyrano's poetry, Christian cries out from beneath the balcony that he wants one kiss. At first, Cyrano tries to dissuade him, but he decides that he cannot prevent the inevitable and that, at the very least, he would like to be the one to win the kiss. Thus, Cyrano stands beneath Roxane's balcony and persuades her to kiss him. Christian climbs up to receive the kiss

Chapter: Roxane, The duenna, Cyrano. ROXANE: We are going to Clomire's house. (She points to the door opposite): Alcandre and Lysimon are to discourse! THE DUENNA (putting her little finger in her ear): Yes! But my little finger tells me we shall miss them. CYRANO: 'Twere a pity to miss such apes! (They have come to Clomire's door.) THE DUENNA: Oh, see! The knocker is muffled up! (Speaking to the knocker): So they have gagged that metal tongue of yours, little noisy one, lest it should disturb the fine orators! (She lifts it carefully and knocks with precaution.) ROXANE (seeing that the door opens): Let us enter! (On the threshold, to Cyrano): If Christian comes, as I feel sure he will, bid him wait for me! CYRANO (quickly, as she is going in): Listen! (She turns): What mean you to question him on, as is your wont, to-night? ROXANE: Oh-- CYRANO (eagerly): Well, say. ROXANE: But you will be mute? CYRANO: Mute as a fish. ROXANE: I shall not question him at all, but say: Give rein to your fancy! Prepare not your speeches,--but speak the thoughts as they come! Speak to me of love, and speak splendidly! CYRANO (smiling): Very good! ROXANE: But secret!. . . CYRANO: Secret. ROXANE: Not a word! (She enters and shuts the door.) CYRANO (when the door is shut, bowing to her): A thousand thanks! (The door opens again, and Roxane puts her head out.) ROXANE: Lest he prepare himself! CYRANO: The devil!--no, no! BOTH TOGETHER: Secret. (The door shuts.) CYRANO (calling): Christian! Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A:

Moved by Christian's words, Roxane then asks why he speaks so haltingly. Impatient, Cyrano thrusts Christian under the balcony and takes his place, still hidden in darkness. Speaking in a low voice, he confides in Roxane the things he has always longed to tell her. As Roxane becomes more and more hypnotized by Cyrano's poetry, Christian cries out from beneath the balcony that he wants one kiss. At first, Cyrano tries to dissuade him, but he decides that he cannot prevent the inevitable and that, at the very least, he would like to be the one to win the kiss. Thus, Cyrano stands beneath Roxane's balcony and persuades her to kiss him. Christian climbs up to receive the kiss

Chapter: Cyrano, Christian. CYRANO: I know all that is needful. Here's occasion For you to deck yourself with glory. Come, Lose no time; put away those sulky looks, Come to your house with me, I'll teach you. . . CHRISTIAN: No! CYRANO: Why? CHRISTIAN: I will wait for Roxane here. CYRANO: How? Crazy? Come quick with me and learn. . . CHRISTIAN: No, no! I say. I am aweary of these borrowed letters, --Borrowed love-makings! Thus to act a part, And tremble all the time!--'Twas well enough At the beginning!--Now I know she loves! I fear no longer!--I will speak myself. CYRANO: Mercy! CHRISTIAN: And how know you I cannot speak?-- I am not such a fool when all is said! I've by your lessons profited. You'll see I shall know how to speak alone! The devil! I know at least to clasp her in my arms! (Seeing Roxane come out from Clomire's house): --It is she! Cyrano, no!--Leave me not! CYRANO (bowing): Speak for yourself, my friend, and take your chance. (He disappears behind the garden wall.) Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A: A Capuchin priest enters, having found his way to Roxane's house. He presents a letter from de Guiche. The letter says that de Guiche has escaped his military service by hiding in a convent. Pretending to read it aloud, Roxane says that de Guiche desires the Capuchin to marry Roxane and Christian on the spot. The Capuchin hesitates, but Roxane pretends to discover a postscript that promises a great deal of money to the convent in exchange. Suddenly, the Capuchin's reservations evaporate, and he goes inside to marry them

Chapter: Cyrano, Christian. CYRANO: I know all that is needful. Here's occasion For you to deck yourself with glory. Come, Lose no time; put away those sulky looks, Come to your house with me, I'll teach you. . . CHRISTIAN: No! CYRANO: Why? CHRISTIAN: I will wait for Roxane here. CYRANO: How? Crazy? Come quick with me and learn. . . CHRISTIAN: No, no! I say. I am aweary of these borrowed letters, --Borrowed love-makings! Thus to act a part, And tremble all the time!--'Twas well enough At the beginning!--Now I know she loves! I fear no longer!--I will speak myself. CYRANO: Mercy! CHRISTIAN: And how know you I cannot speak?-- I am not such a fool when all is said! I've by your lessons profited. You'll see I shall know how to speak alone! The devil! I know at least to clasp her in my arms! (Seeing Roxane come out from Clomire's house): --It is she! Cyrano, no!--Leave me not! CYRANO (bowing): Speak for yourself, my friend, and take your chance. (He disappears behind the garden wall.) Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A:

A Capuchin priest enters, having found his way to Roxane's house. He presents a letter from de Guiche. The letter says that de Guiche has escaped his military service by hiding in a convent. Pretending to read it aloud, Roxane says that de Guiche desires the Capuchin to marry Roxane and Christian on the spot. The Capuchin hesitates, but Roxane pretends to discover a postscript that promises a great deal of money to the convent in exchange. Suddenly, the Capuchin's reservations evaporate, and he goes inside to marry them

Chapter: Ragueneau, the duenna. Then Roxane, Cyrano, and two pages. RAGUENEAU: --And then, off she went, with a musketeer! Deserted and ruined too, I would make an end of all, and so hanged myself. My last breath was drawn:-- then in comes Monsieur de Bergerac! He cuts me down, and begs his cousin to take me for her steward. THE DUENNA: Well, but how came it about that you were thus ruined? RAGUENEAU: Oh! Lise loved the warriors, and I loved the poets! What cakes there were that Apollo chanced to leave were quickly snapped up by Mars. Thus ruin was not long a-coming. THE DUENNA (rising, and calling up to the open window): Roxane, are you ready? They wait for us! ROXANE'S VOICE (from the window): I will but put me on a cloak! THE DUENNA (to Ragueneau, showing him the door opposite): They wait us there opposite, at Clomire's house. She receives them all there to-day--the precieuses, the poets; they read a discourse on the Tender Passion. RAGUENEAU: The Tender Passion? THE DUENNA (in a mincing voice): Ay, indeed! (Calling up to the window): Roxane, an you come not down quickly, we shall miss the discourse on the Tender Passion! ROXANE'S VOICE: I come! I come! (A sound of stringed instruments approaching.) CYRANO'S VOICE (behind the scenes, singing): La, la, la, la! THE DUENNA (surprised): They serenade us? CYRANO (followed by two pages with arch-lutes): I tell you they are demi-semi-quavers, demi-semi-fool! FIRST PAGE (ironically): You know then, Sir, to distinguish between semi-quavers and demi-semi- quavers? CYRANO: Is not every disciple of Gassendi a musician? THE PAGE (playing and singing): La, la! CYRANO (snatching the lute from him, and going on with the phrase): In proof of which, I can continue! La, la, la, la! ROXANE (appearing on the balcony): What? 'Tis you? CYRANO (going on with the air, and singing to it): 'Tis I, who come to serenade your lilies, and pay my devoir to your ro-o- oses! ROXANE: I am coming down! (She leaves the balcony.) THE DUENNA (pointing to the pages): How come these two virtuosi here? CYRANO: 'Tis for a wager I won of D'Assoucy. We were disputing a nice point in grammar; contradictions raged hotly--''Tis so!' 'Nay, 'tis so!' when suddenly he shows me these two long-shanks, whom he takes about with him as an escort, and who are skillful in scratching lute-strings with their skinny claws! 'I will wager you a day's music,' says he!--And lost it! Thus, see you, till Phoebus' chariot starts once again, these lute-twangers are at my heels, seeing all I do, hearing all I say, and accompanying all with melody. 'Twas pleasant at the first, but i' faith, I begin to weary of it already! (To the musicians): Ho there! go serenade Montfleury for me! Play a dance to him! (The pages go toward the door. To the duenna): I have come, as is my wont, nightly, to ask Roxane whether. . . (To the pages, who are going out): Play a long time,--and play out of tune! (To the duenna): . . .Whether her soul's elected is ever the same, ever faultless! ROXANE (coming out of the house): Ah! How handsome he is, how brilliant a wit! And--how well I love him! CYRANO (smiling): Christian has so brilliant a wit? ROXANE: Brighter than even your own, cousin! CYRANO: Be it so, with all my heart! ROXANE: Ah! methinks 'twere impossible that there could breathe a man on this earth skilled to say as sweetly as he all the pretty nothings that mean so much-- that mean all! At times his mind seems far away, the Muse says naught--and then, presto! he speaks--bewitchingly! enchantingly! CYRANO (incredulously): No, no! ROXANE: Fie! That is ill said! But lo! men are ever thus! Because he is fair to see, you would have it that he must be dull of speech. CYRANO: He hath an eloquent tongue in telling his love? ROXANE: In telling his love? why, 'tis not simple telling, 'tis dissertation, 'tis analysis! CYRANO: How is he with the pen? ROXANE: Still better! Listen,--here:-- (Reciting): 'The more of my poor heart you take The larger grows my heart!' (Triumphantly to Cyrano): How like you those lines? CYRANO: Pooh! ROXANE: And thus it goes on. . . 'And, since some target I must show For Cupid's cruel dart, Oh, if mine own you deign to keep, Then give me your sweet heart!' CYRANO: Lord! first he has too much, then anon not enough! How much heart does the fellow want? ROXANE: You would vex a saint!. . .But 'tis your jealousy. CYRANO (starting): What mean you? ROXANE: Ay, your poet's jealousy! Hark now, if this again be not tender-sweet?-- 'My heart to yours sounds but one cry: If kisses fast could flee By letter, then with your sweet lips My letters read should be! If kisses could be writ with ink, If kisses fast could flee!' CYRANO (smiling approvingly in spite of himself): Ha! those last lines are,--hm!. . .hm!. . . (Correcting himself--contemptuously): --They are paltry enough! ROXANE: And this. . . CYRANO (enchanted): Then you have his letters by heart? ROXANE: Every one of them! CYRANO: By all oaths that can be sworn,--'tis flattering! ROXANE: They are the lines of a master! CYRANO (modestly): Come, nay. . .a master?. . . ROXANE: Ay, I say it--a master! CYRANO: Good--be it so. THE DUENNA (coming down quickly): Here comes Monsieur de Guiche! (To Cyrano, pushing him toward the house): In with you! 'twere best he see you not; it might perchance put him on the scent. . . ROXANE (to Cyrano): Ay, of my own dear secret! He loves me, and is powerful, and, if he knew, then all were lost! Marry! he could well deal a deathblow to my love! CYRANO (entering the house): Good! good! (De Guiche appears.) Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A: Cyrano waits outside to prevent de Guiche from disrupting the impromptu wedding

Chapter: Ragueneau, the duenna. Then Roxane, Cyrano, and two pages. RAGUENEAU: --And then, off she went, with a musketeer! Deserted and ruined too, I would make an end of all, and so hanged myself. My last breath was drawn:-- then in comes Monsieur de Bergerac! He cuts me down, and begs his cousin to take me for her steward. THE DUENNA: Well, but how came it about that you were thus ruined? RAGUENEAU: Oh! Lise loved the warriors, and I loved the poets! What cakes there were that Apollo chanced to leave were quickly snapped up by Mars. Thus ruin was not long a-coming. THE DUENNA (rising, and calling up to the open window): Roxane, are you ready? They wait for us! ROXANE'S VOICE (from the window): I will but put me on a cloak! THE DUENNA (to Ragueneau, showing him the door opposite): They wait us there opposite, at Clomire's house. She receives them all there to-day--the precieuses, the poets; they read a discourse on the Tender Passion. RAGUENEAU: The Tender Passion? THE DUENNA (in a mincing voice): Ay, indeed! (Calling up to the window): Roxane, an you come not down quickly, we shall miss the discourse on the Tender Passion! ROXANE'S VOICE: I come! I come! (A sound of stringed instruments approaching.) CYRANO'S VOICE (behind the scenes, singing): La, la, la, la! THE DUENNA (surprised): They serenade us? CYRANO (followed by two pages with arch-lutes): I tell you they are demi-semi-quavers, demi-semi-fool! FIRST PAGE (ironically): You know then, Sir, to distinguish between semi-quavers and demi-semi- quavers? CYRANO: Is not every disciple of Gassendi a musician? THE PAGE (playing and singing): La, la! CYRANO (snatching the lute from him, and going on with the phrase): In proof of which, I can continue! La, la, la, la! ROXANE (appearing on the balcony): What? 'Tis you? CYRANO (going on with the air, and singing to it): 'Tis I, who come to serenade your lilies, and pay my devoir to your ro-o- oses! ROXANE: I am coming down! (She leaves the balcony.) THE DUENNA (pointing to the pages): How come these two virtuosi here? CYRANO: 'Tis for a wager I won of D'Assoucy. We were disputing a nice point in grammar; contradictions raged hotly--''Tis so!' 'Nay, 'tis so!' when suddenly he shows me these two long-shanks, whom he takes about with him as an escort, and who are skillful in scratching lute-strings with their skinny claws! 'I will wager you a day's music,' says he!--And lost it! Thus, see you, till Phoebus' chariot starts once again, these lute-twangers are at my heels, seeing all I do, hearing all I say, and accompanying all with melody. 'Twas pleasant at the first, but i' faith, I begin to weary of it already! (To the musicians): Ho there! go serenade Montfleury for me! Play a dance to him! (The pages go toward the door. To the duenna): I have come, as is my wont, nightly, to ask Roxane whether. . . (To the pages, who are going out): Play a long time,--and play out of tune! (To the duenna): . . .Whether her soul's elected is ever the same, ever faultless! ROXANE (coming out of the house): Ah! How handsome he is, how brilliant a wit! And--how well I love him! CYRANO (smiling): Christian has so brilliant a wit? ROXANE: Brighter than even your own, cousin! CYRANO: Be it so, with all my heart! ROXANE: Ah! methinks 'twere impossible that there could breathe a man on this earth skilled to say as sweetly as he all the pretty nothings that mean so much-- that mean all! At times his mind seems far away, the Muse says naught--and then, presto! he speaks--bewitchingly! enchantingly! CYRANO (incredulously): No, no! ROXANE: Fie! That is ill said! But lo! men are ever thus! Because he is fair to see, you would have it that he must be dull of speech. CYRANO: He hath an eloquent tongue in telling his love? ROXANE: In telling his love? why, 'tis not simple telling, 'tis dissertation, 'tis analysis! CYRANO: How is he with the pen? ROXANE: Still better! Listen,--here:-- (Reciting): 'The more of my poor heart you take The larger grows my heart!' (Triumphantly to Cyrano): How like you those lines? CYRANO: Pooh! ROXANE: And thus it goes on. . . 'And, since some target I must show For Cupid's cruel dart, Oh, if mine own you deign to keep, Then give me your sweet heart!' CYRANO: Lord! first he has too much, then anon not enough! How much heart does the fellow want? ROXANE: You would vex a saint!. . .But 'tis your jealousy. CYRANO (starting): What mean you? ROXANE: Ay, your poet's jealousy! Hark now, if this again be not tender-sweet?-- 'My heart to yours sounds but one cry: If kisses fast could flee By letter, then with your sweet lips My letters read should be! If kisses could be writ with ink, If kisses fast could flee!' CYRANO (smiling approvingly in spite of himself): Ha! those last lines are,--hm!. . .hm!. . . (Correcting himself--contemptuously): --They are paltry enough! ROXANE: And this. . . CYRANO (enchanted): Then you have his letters by heart? ROXANE: Every one of them! CYRANO: By all oaths that can be sworn,--'tis flattering! ROXANE: They are the lines of a master! CYRANO (modestly): Come, nay. . .a master?. . . ROXANE: Ay, I say it--a master! CYRANO: Good--be it so. THE DUENNA (coming down quickly): Here comes Monsieur de Guiche! (To Cyrano, pushing him toward the house): In with you! 'twere best he see you not; it might perchance put him on the scent. . . ROXANE (to Cyrano): Ay, of my own dear secret! He loves me, and is powerful, and, if he knew, then all were lost! Marry! he could well deal a deathblow to my love! CYRANO (entering the house): Good! good! (De Guiche appears.) Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A:

Cyrano waits outside to prevent de Guiche from disrupting the impromptu wedding

Chapter: Roxane, De Guiche, the duenna standing a little way off. ROXANE (courtesying to De Guiche): I was going out. DE GUICHE: I come to take my leave. ROXANE: Whither go you? DE GUICHE: To the war. ROXANE: Ah! DE GUICHE: Ay, to-night. ROXANE: Oh! DE GUICHE: I am ordered away. We are to besiege Arras. ROXANE: Ah--to besiege?. . . DE GUICHE: Ay. My going moves you not, meseems. ROXANE: Nay. . . DE GUICHE: I am grieved to the core of the heart. Shall I again behold you?. . .When? I know not. Heard you that I am named commander?. . . ROXANE (indifferently): Bravo! DE GUICHE: Of the Guards regiment. ROXANE (startled): What! the Guards? DE GUICHE: Ay, where serves your cousin, the swaggering boaster. I will find a way to revenge myself on him at Arras. ROXANE (choking): What mean you? The Guards go to Arras? DE GUICHE (laughing): Bethink you, is it not my own regiment? ROXANE (falling seated on the bench--aside): Christian! DE GUICHE: What ails you? ROXANE (moved deeply): Oh--I am in despair! The man one loves!--at the war! DE GUICHE (surprised and delighted): You say such sweet words to me! 'Tis the first time!--and just when I must quit you! ROXANE (collected, and fanning herself): Thus,--you would fain revenge your grudge against my cousin? DE GUICHE: My fair lady is on his side? ROXANE: Nay,--against him! DE GUICHE: Do you see him often? ROXANE: But very rarely. DE GUICHE: He is ever to be met now in company with one of the cadets,. . .one New-- villen--viller-- ROXANE: Of high stature? DE GUICHE: Fair-haired! ROXANE: Ay, a red-headed fellow! DE GUICHE: Handsome!. . . ROXANE: Tut! DE GUICHE: But dull-witted. ROXANE: One would think so, to look at him! (Changing her tone): How mean you to play your revenge on Cyrano? Perchance you think to put him i' the thick of the shots? Nay, believe me, that were a poor vengeance--he would love such a post better than aught else! I know the way to wound his pride far more keenly! DE GUICHE: What then? Tell. . . ROXANE: If, when the regiment march to Arras, he were left here with his beloved boon companions, the Cadets, to sit with crossed arms so long as the war lasted! There is your method, would you enrage a man of his kind; cheat him of his chance of mortal danger, and you punish him right fiercely. DE GUICHE (coming nearer): O woman! woman! Who but a woman had e'er devised so subtle a trick? ROXANE: See you not how he will eat out his heart, while his friends gnaw their thick fists for that they are deprived of the battle? So are you best avenged. DE GUICHE: You love me, then, a little? (She smiles): I would fain--seeing you thus espouse my cause, Roxane--believe it a proof of love! ROXANE: 'Tis a proof of love! DE GUICHE (showing some sealed papers): Here are the marching orders; they will be sent instantly to each company-- except-- (He detaches one): --This one! 'Tis that of the Cadets. (He puts it in his pocket): This I keep. (Laughing): Ha! ha! ha! Cyrano! His love of battle!. . .So you can play tricks on people?. . .you, of all ladies! ROXANE: Sometimes! DE GUICHE (coming close to her): Oh! how I love you!--to distraction! Listen! To-night--true, I ought to start--but--how leave you now that I feel your heart is touched! Hard by, in the Rue d'Orleans, is a convent founded by Father Athanasius, the syndic of the Capuchins. True that no layman may enter--but--I can settle that with the good Fathers! Their habit sleeves are wide enough to hide me in. 'Tis they who serve Richelieu's private chapel: and from respect to the uncle, fear the nephew. All will deem me gone. I will come to you, masked. Give me leave to wait till tomorrow, sweet Lady Fanciful! ROXANE: But, of this be rumored, your glory. . . DE GUICHE: Bah! ROXANE: But the siege--Arras. . . DE GUICHE: 'Twill take its chance. Grant but permission. ROXANE: No! DE GUICHE: Give me leave! ROXANE (tenderly): It were my duty to forbid you! DE GUICHE: Ah! ROXANE: You must go! (Aside): Christian stays here. (Aloud): I would have you heroic--Antoine! DE GUICHE: O heavenly word! You love, then, him?. . . ROXANE: . . .For whom I trembled. DE GUICHE (in an ecstasy): Ah! I go then! (He kisses her hand): Are you content? ROXANE: Yes, my friend! (He goes out.) THE DUENNA (making behind his back a mocking courtesy): Yes, my friend! ROXANE (to the duenna): Not a word of what I have done. Cyrano would never pardon me for stealing his fighting from him! (She calls toward the house): Cousin! Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A: De Guiche appears. Covering his face with his hat, Cyrano leaps onto de Guiche from a tree. Pretending to be a person who has just fallen from the moon, he distracts de Guiche with an insane speech about his experiences in space. At last he removes his hat, reveals himself as Cyrano, and announces that Roxane and Christian are now married

Chapter: Roxane, De Guiche, the duenna standing a little way off. ROXANE (courtesying to De Guiche): I was going out. DE GUICHE: I come to take my leave. ROXANE: Whither go you? DE GUICHE: To the war. ROXANE: Ah! DE GUICHE: Ay, to-night. ROXANE: Oh! DE GUICHE: I am ordered away. We are to besiege Arras. ROXANE: Ah--to besiege?. . . DE GUICHE: Ay. My going moves you not, meseems. ROXANE: Nay. . . DE GUICHE: I am grieved to the core of the heart. Shall I again behold you?. . .When? I know not. Heard you that I am named commander?. . . ROXANE (indifferently): Bravo! DE GUICHE: Of the Guards regiment. ROXANE (startled): What! the Guards? DE GUICHE: Ay, where serves your cousin, the swaggering boaster. I will find a way to revenge myself on him at Arras. ROXANE (choking): What mean you? The Guards go to Arras? DE GUICHE (laughing): Bethink you, is it not my own regiment? ROXANE (falling seated on the bench--aside): Christian! DE GUICHE: What ails you? ROXANE (moved deeply): Oh--I am in despair! The man one loves!--at the war! DE GUICHE (surprised and delighted): You say such sweet words to me! 'Tis the first time!--and just when I must quit you! ROXANE (collected, and fanning herself): Thus,--you would fain revenge your grudge against my cousin? DE GUICHE: My fair lady is on his side? ROXANE: Nay,--against him! DE GUICHE: Do you see him often? ROXANE: But very rarely. DE GUICHE: He is ever to be met now in company with one of the cadets,. . .one New-- villen--viller-- ROXANE: Of high stature? DE GUICHE: Fair-haired! ROXANE: Ay, a red-headed fellow! DE GUICHE: Handsome!. . . ROXANE: Tut! DE GUICHE: But dull-witted. ROXANE: One would think so, to look at him! (Changing her tone): How mean you to play your revenge on Cyrano? Perchance you think to put him i' the thick of the shots? Nay, believe me, that were a poor vengeance--he would love such a post better than aught else! I know the way to wound his pride far more keenly! DE GUICHE: What then? Tell. . . ROXANE: If, when the regiment march to Arras, he were left here with his beloved boon companions, the Cadets, to sit with crossed arms so long as the war lasted! There is your method, would you enrage a man of his kind; cheat him of his chance of mortal danger, and you punish him right fiercely. DE GUICHE (coming nearer): O woman! woman! Who but a woman had e'er devised so subtle a trick? ROXANE: See you not how he will eat out his heart, while his friends gnaw their thick fists for that they are deprived of the battle? So are you best avenged. DE GUICHE: You love me, then, a little? (She smiles): I would fain--seeing you thus espouse my cause, Roxane--believe it a proof of love! ROXANE: 'Tis a proof of love! DE GUICHE (showing some sealed papers): Here are the marching orders; they will be sent instantly to each company-- except-- (He detaches one): --This one! 'Tis that of the Cadets. (He puts it in his pocket): This I keep. (Laughing): Ha! ha! ha! Cyrano! His love of battle!. . .So you can play tricks on people?. . .you, of all ladies! ROXANE: Sometimes! DE GUICHE (coming close to her): Oh! how I love you!--to distraction! Listen! To-night--true, I ought to start--but--how leave you now that I feel your heart is touched! Hard by, in the Rue d'Orleans, is a convent founded by Father Athanasius, the syndic of the Capuchins. True that no layman may enter--but--I can settle that with the good Fathers! Their habit sleeves are wide enough to hide me in. 'Tis they who serve Richelieu's private chapel: and from respect to the uncle, fear the nephew. All will deem me gone. I will come to you, masked. Give me leave to wait till tomorrow, sweet Lady Fanciful! ROXANE: But, of this be rumored, your glory. . . DE GUICHE: Bah! ROXANE: But the siege--Arras. . . DE GUICHE: 'Twill take its chance. Grant but permission. ROXANE: No! DE GUICHE: Give me leave! ROXANE (tenderly): It were my duty to forbid you! DE GUICHE: Ah! ROXANE: You must go! (Aside): Christian stays here. (Aloud): I would have you heroic--Antoine! DE GUICHE: O heavenly word! You love, then, him?. . . ROXANE: . . .For whom I trembled. DE GUICHE (in an ecstasy): Ah! I go then! (He kisses her hand): Are you content? ROXANE: Yes, my friend! (He goes out.) THE DUENNA (making behind his back a mocking courtesy): Yes, my friend! ROXANE (to the duenna): Not a word of what I have done. Cyrano would never pardon me for stealing his fighting from him! (She calls toward the house): Cousin! Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A:

De Guiche appears. Covering his face with his hat, Cyrano leaps onto de Guiche from a tree. Pretending to be a person who has just fallen from the moon, he distracts de Guiche with an insane speech about his experiences in space. At last he removes his hat, reveals himself as Cyrano, and announces that Roxane and Christian are now married

Chapter: Roxane, The duenna, Cyrano. ROXANE: We are going to Clomire's house. (She points to the door opposite): Alcandre and Lysimon are to discourse! THE DUENNA (putting her little finger in her ear): Yes! But my little finger tells me we shall miss them. CYRANO: 'Twere a pity to miss such apes! (They have come to Clomire's door.) THE DUENNA: Oh, see! The knocker is muffled up! (Speaking to the knocker): So they have gagged that metal tongue of yours, little noisy one, lest it should disturb the fine orators! (She lifts it carefully and knocks with precaution.) ROXANE (seeing that the door opens): Let us enter! (On the threshold, to Cyrano): If Christian comes, as I feel sure he will, bid him wait for me! CYRANO (quickly, as she is going in): Listen! (She turns): What mean you to question him on, as is your wont, to-night? ROXANE: Oh-- CYRANO (eagerly): Well, say. ROXANE: But you will be mute? CYRANO: Mute as a fish. ROXANE: I shall not question him at all, but say: Give rein to your fancy! Prepare not your speeches,--but speak the thoughts as they come! Speak to me of love, and speak splendidly! CYRANO (smiling): Very good! ROXANE: But secret!. . . CYRANO: Secret. ROXANE: Not a word! (She enters and shuts the door.) CYRANO (when the door is shut, bowing to her): A thousand thanks! (The door opens again, and Roxane puts her head out.) ROXANE: Lest he prepare himself! CYRANO: The devil!--no, no! BOTH TOGETHER: Secret. (The door shuts.) CYRANO (calling): Christian! Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A: The couple comes out of the house. De Guiche coldly congratulates them but orders Roxane to bid her husband farewell: the guards will go to the war after all, and they will depart immediately. De Guiche triumphantly tells Cyrano that the wedding night will have to wait. Under his breath, Cyrano remarks that the news fails to upset him. Roxane, afraid for Christian, urges Cyrano to promise to keep him safe, to keep him out of dangerous situations, to keep him dry and warm, and to keep him faithful. Cyrano says that he will do what he can but that he cannot promise anything. Roxane begs Cyrano to promise to make Christian write to her every day. Brightening, Cyrano announces confidently that he can promise that.

Chapter: Roxane, The duenna, Cyrano. ROXANE: We are going to Clomire's house. (She points to the door opposite): Alcandre and Lysimon are to discourse! THE DUENNA (putting her little finger in her ear): Yes! But my little finger tells me we shall miss them. CYRANO: 'Twere a pity to miss such apes! (They have come to Clomire's door.) THE DUENNA: Oh, see! The knocker is muffled up! (Speaking to the knocker): So they have gagged that metal tongue of yours, little noisy one, lest it should disturb the fine orators! (She lifts it carefully and knocks with precaution.) ROXANE (seeing that the door opens): Let us enter! (On the threshold, to Cyrano): If Christian comes, as I feel sure he will, bid him wait for me! CYRANO (quickly, as she is going in): Listen! (She turns): What mean you to question him on, as is your wont, to-night? ROXANE: Oh-- CYRANO (eagerly): Well, say. ROXANE: But you will be mute? CYRANO: Mute as a fish. ROXANE: I shall not question him at all, but say: Give rein to your fancy! Prepare not your speeches,--but speak the thoughts as they come! Speak to me of love, and speak splendidly! CYRANO (smiling): Very good! ROXANE: But secret!. . . CYRANO: Secret. ROXANE: Not a word! (She enters and shuts the door.) CYRANO (when the door is shut, bowing to her): A thousand thanks! (The door opens again, and Roxane puts her head out.) ROXANE: Lest he prepare himself! CYRANO: The devil!--no, no! BOTH TOGETHER: Secret. (The door shuts.) CYRANO (calling): Christian! Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A:

The couple comes out of the house. De Guiche coldly congratulates them but orders Roxane to bid her husband farewell: the guards will go to the war after all, and they will depart immediately. De Guiche triumphantly tells Cyrano that the wedding night will have to wait. Under his breath, Cyrano remarks that the news fails to upset him. Roxane, afraid for Christian, urges Cyrano to promise to keep him safe, to keep him out of dangerous situations, to keep him dry and warm, and to keep him faithful. Cyrano says that he will do what he can but that he cannot promise anything. Roxane begs Cyrano to promise to make Christian write to her every day. Brightening, Cyrano announces confidently that he can promise that.

Chapter: Christian, Carbon de Castel-Jaloux, Le Bret, the cadets, then Cyrano. LE BRET: 'Tis terrible. CARBON: Not a morsel left. LE BRET: Mordioux! CARBON (making a sign that he should speak lower): Curse under your breath. You will awake them. (To the cadets): Hush! Sleep on. (To Le Bret): He who sleeps, dines! LE BRET: But that is sorry comfort for the sleepless!. . . What starvation! (Firing is heard in the distance.) CARBON: Oh, plague take their firing! 'Twill wake my sons. (To the cadets, who lift up their heads): Sleep on! (Firing is again heard, nearer this time.) A CADET (moving): The devil!. . .Again. CARBON: 'Tis nothing! 'Tis Cyrano coming back! (Those who have lifted up their heads prepare to sleep again.) A SENTINEL (from without): Ventrebieu! Who goes there? THE VOICE Of CYRANO: Bergerac. The SENTINEL (who is on the redoubt): Ventrebieu! Who goes there? CYRANO (appearing at the top): Bergerac, idiot! (He comes down; Le Bret advances anxiously to meet him.) LE BRET: Heavens! CYRANO (making signs that he should not awake the others): Hush! LE BRET: Wounded? CYRANO: Oh! you know it has become their custom to shoot at me every morning and to miss me. LE BRET: This passes all! To take letters at each day's dawn. To risk. . . CYRANO (stopping before Christian): I promised he should write often. (He looks at him): He sleeps. How pale he is! But how handsome still, despite his sufferings. If his poor little lady-love knew that he is dying of hunger. . . LE BRET: Get you quick to bed. CYRANO: Nay, never scold, Le Bret. I ran but little risk. I have found me a spot to pass the Spanish lines, where each night they lie drunk. LE BRET: You should try to bring us back provision. CYRANO: A man must carry no weight who would get by there! But there will be surprise for us this night. The French will eat or die. . .if I mistake not! LE BRET: Oh!. . .tell me!. . . CYRANO: Nay, not yet. I am not certain. . .You will see! CARBON: It is disgraceful that we should starve while we're besieging! LE BRET: Alas, how full of complication is this siege of Arras! To think that while we are besieging, we should ourselves be caught in a trap and besieged by the Cardinal Infante of Spain. CYRANO: It were well done if he should be besieged in his turn. LE BRET: I am in earnest. CYRANO: Oh! indeed! LE BRET: To think you risk a life so precious. . .for the sake of a letter. . .Thankless one. (Seeing him turning to enter the tent): Where are you going? CYRANO: I am going to write another. (He enters the tent and disappears.) Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A: At the siege of Arras, the Cadets of Carbon de Castel-Jaloux languish, surrounded by the encamped Spaniards and lacking food and water. Le Bret keeps watch with Carbon early one morning, and they discuss the plight of the soldiers. They hear gunfire in the distance, and Cyrano runs in. Every morning he has been crossing enemy lines to post a daily letter to Roxane. Cyrano tells the startled guards that he promised Roxane that Christian would write her every single day. Cyrano looks at the sleeping Christian and says that Christian is dying of hunger but is still handsome

Chapter: Christian, Carbon de Castel-Jaloux, Le Bret, the cadets, then Cyrano. LE BRET: 'Tis terrible. CARBON: Not a morsel left. LE BRET: Mordioux! CARBON (making a sign that he should speak lower): Curse under your breath. You will awake them. (To the cadets): Hush! Sleep on. (To Le Bret): He who sleeps, dines! LE BRET: But that is sorry comfort for the sleepless!. . . What starvation! (Firing is heard in the distance.) CARBON: Oh, plague take their firing! 'Twill wake my sons. (To the cadets, who lift up their heads): Sleep on! (Firing is again heard, nearer this time.) A CADET (moving): The devil!. . .Again. CARBON: 'Tis nothing! 'Tis Cyrano coming back! (Those who have lifted up their heads prepare to sleep again.) A SENTINEL (from without): Ventrebieu! Who goes there? THE VOICE Of CYRANO: Bergerac. The SENTINEL (who is on the redoubt): Ventrebieu! Who goes there? CYRANO (appearing at the top): Bergerac, idiot! (He comes down; Le Bret advances anxiously to meet him.) LE BRET: Heavens! CYRANO (making signs that he should not awake the others): Hush! LE BRET: Wounded? CYRANO: Oh! you know it has become their custom to shoot at me every morning and to miss me. LE BRET: This passes all! To take letters at each day's dawn. To risk. . . CYRANO (stopping before Christian): I promised he should write often. (He looks at him): He sleeps. How pale he is! But how handsome still, despite his sufferings. If his poor little lady-love knew that he is dying of hunger. . . LE BRET: Get you quick to bed. CYRANO: Nay, never scold, Le Bret. I ran but little risk. I have found me a spot to pass the Spanish lines, where each night they lie drunk. LE BRET: You should try to bring us back provision. CYRANO: A man must carry no weight who would get by there! But there will be surprise for us this night. The French will eat or die. . .if I mistake not! LE BRET: Oh!. . .tell me!. . . CYRANO: Nay, not yet. I am not certain. . .You will see! CARBON: It is disgraceful that we should starve while we're besieging! LE BRET: Alas, how full of complication is this siege of Arras! To think that while we are besieging, we should ourselves be caught in a trap and besieged by the Cardinal Infante of Spain. CYRANO: It were well done if he should be besieged in his turn. LE BRET: I am in earnest. CYRANO: Oh! indeed! LE BRET: To think you risk a life so precious. . .for the sake of a letter. . .Thankless one. (Seeing him turning to enter the tent): Where are you going? CYRANO: I am going to write another. (He enters the tent and disappears.) Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A:

At the siege of Arras, the Cadets of Carbon de Castel-Jaloux languish, surrounded by the encamped Spaniards and lacking food and water. Le Bret keeps watch with Carbon early one morning, and they discuss the plight of the soldiers. They hear gunfire in the distance, and Cyrano runs in. Every morning he has been crossing enemy lines to post a daily letter to Roxane. Cyrano tells the startled guards that he promised Roxane that Christian would write her every single day. Cyrano looks at the sleeping Christian and says that Christian is dying of hunger but is still handsome

Chapter: The same, all but Cyrano. The day is breaking in a rosy light. The town of Arras is golden in the horizon. The report of cannon is heard in the distance, followed immediately by the beating of drums far away to the left. Other drums are heard much nearer. Sounds of stirring in the camp. Voices of officers in the distance. CARBON (sighing): The reveille! (The cadets move and stretch themselves): Nourishing sleep! Thou art at an end!. . .I know well what will be their first cry! A CADET (sitting up): I am so hungry! ANOTHER: I am dying of hunger. TOGETHER: Oh! CARBON: Up with you! THIRD CADET: --Cannot move a limb. FOURTH CADET: Nor can I. THE FIRST (looking at himself in a bit of armor): My tongue is yellow. The air at this season of the year is hard to digest. ANOTHER: My coronet for a bit of Chester! ANOTHER: If none can furnish to my gaster wherewith to make a pint of chyle, I shall retire to my tent--like Achilles! ANOTHER: Oh! something! were it but a crust! CARBON (going to the tent and calling softly): Cyrano! ALL THE CADETS: We are dying! CARBON (continuing to speak under his breath at the opening of the tent): Come to my aid, you, who have the art of quick retort and gay jest. Come, hearten them up. SECOND CADET (rushing toward another who is munching something): What are you crunching there? FIRST CADET: Cannon-wads soaked in axle-grease! 'Tis poor hunting round about Arras! A CADET (entering): I have been after game. ANOTHER (following him): And I after fish. ALL (rushing to the two newcomers): Well! what have you brought?--a pheasant?--a carp?--Come, show us quick! THE ANGLER: A gudgeon! THE SPORTSMAN: A sparrow! ALL TOGETHER (beside themselves): 'Tis more than can be borne! We will mutiny! CARBON: Cyrano! Come to my help. (The daylight has now come.) Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A: Dawn breaks, drums sound, and Cyrano goes off to write another letter. The cadets awaken and complain about their hunger. There is talk of a mutiny, and Carbon asks Cyrano for his help

Chapter: The same, all but Cyrano. The day is breaking in a rosy light. The town of Arras is golden in the horizon. The report of cannon is heard in the distance, followed immediately by the beating of drums far away to the left. Other drums are heard much nearer. Sounds of stirring in the camp. Voices of officers in the distance. CARBON (sighing): The reveille! (The cadets move and stretch themselves): Nourishing sleep! Thou art at an end!. . .I know well what will be their first cry! A CADET (sitting up): I am so hungry! ANOTHER: I am dying of hunger. TOGETHER: Oh! CARBON: Up with you! THIRD CADET: --Cannot move a limb. FOURTH CADET: Nor can I. THE FIRST (looking at himself in a bit of armor): My tongue is yellow. The air at this season of the year is hard to digest. ANOTHER: My coronet for a bit of Chester! ANOTHER: If none can furnish to my gaster wherewith to make a pint of chyle, I shall retire to my tent--like Achilles! ANOTHER: Oh! something! were it but a crust! CARBON (going to the tent and calling softly): Cyrano! ALL THE CADETS: We are dying! CARBON (continuing to speak under his breath at the opening of the tent): Come to my aid, you, who have the art of quick retort and gay jest. Come, hearten them up. SECOND CADET (rushing toward another who is munching something): What are you crunching there? FIRST CADET: Cannon-wads soaked in axle-grease! 'Tis poor hunting round about Arras! A CADET (entering): I have been after game. ANOTHER (following him): And I after fish. ALL (rushing to the two newcomers): Well! what have you brought?--a pheasant?--a carp?--Come, show us quick! THE ANGLER: A gudgeon! THE SPORTSMAN: A sparrow! ALL TOGETHER (beside themselves): 'Tis more than can be borne! We will mutiny! CARBON: Cyrano! Come to my help. (The daylight has now come.) Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A:

Dawn breaks, drums sound, and Cyrano goes off to write another letter. The cadets awaken and complain about their hunger. There is talk of a mutiny, and Carbon asks Cyrano for his help

Chapter: The SAME. Cyrano. CYRANO (appearing from the tent, very calm, with a pen stuck behind his ear and a book in his hand): What is wrong? (Silence. To the first cadet): Why drag you your legs so sorrowfully? THE CADET: I have something in my heels which weighs them down. CYRANO: And what may that be? THE CADET: My stomach! CYRANO: So have I, 'faith! THE CADET: It must be in your way? CYRANO: Nay, I am all the taller. A THIRD: My stomach's hollow. CYRANO: 'Faith, 'twill make a fine drum to sound the assault. ANOTHER: I have a ringing in my ears. CYRANO: No, no, 'tis false; a hungry stomach has no ears. ANOTHER: Oh, to eat something--something oily! CYRANO (pulling off the cadet's helmet and holding it out to him): Behold your salad! ANOTHER: What, in God's name, can we devour? CYRANO (throwing him the book which he is carrying): The 'Iliad'. ANOTHER: The first minister in Paris has his four meals a day! CYRANO: 'Twere courteous an he sent you a few partridges! THE SAME: And why not? with wine, too! CYRANO: A little Burgundy. Richelieu, s'il vous plait! THE SAME: He could send it by one of his friars. CYRANO: Ay! by His Eminence Joseph himself. ANOTHER: I am as ravenous as an ogre! CYRANO: Eat your patience, then. THE FIRST CADET (shrugging his shoulders): Always your pointed word! CYRANO: Ay, pointed words! I would fain die thus, some soft summer eve, Making a pointed word for a good cause. --To make a soldier's end by soldier's sword, Wielded by some brave adversary--die On blood-stained turf, not on a fever-bed, A point upon my lips, a point within my heart. CRIES FROM ALL: I'm hungry! CYRANO (crossing his arms): All your thoughts of meat and drink! Bertrand the fifer!--you were shepherd once,-- Draw from its double leathern case your fife, Play to these greedy, guzzling soldiers. Play Old country airs with plaintive rhythm recurring, Where lurk sweet echoes of the dear home-voices, Each note of which calls like a little sister, Those airs slow, slow ascending, as the smoke-wreaths Rise from the hearthstones of our native hamlets, Their music strikes the ear like Gascon patois!. . . (The old man seats himself, and gets his flute ready): Your flute was now a warrior in durance; But on its stem your fingers are a-dancing A bird-like minuet! O flute! Remember That flutes were made of reeds first, not laburnum; Make us a music pastoral days recalling-- The soul-time of your youth, in country pastures!. . . (The old man begins to play the airs of Languedoc): Hark to the music, Gascons!. . .'Tis no longer The piercing fife of camp--but 'neath his fingers The flute of the woods! No more the call to combat, 'Tis now the love-song of the wandering goat-herds!. . . Hark!. . .'tis the valley, the wet landes, the forest, The sunburnt shepherd-boy with scarlet beret, The dusk of evening on the Dordogne river,-- 'Tis Gascony! Hark, Gascons, to the music! (The cadets sit with bowed heads; their eyes have a far-off look as if dreaming, and they surreptitiously wipe away their tears with their cuffs and the corner of their cloaks.) CARBON (to Cyrano in a whisper): But you make them weep! CYRANO: Ay, for homesickness. A nobler pain than hunger,--'tis of the soul, not of the body! I am well pleased to see their pain change its viscera. Heart-ache is better than stomach-ache. CARBON: But you weaken their courage by playing thus on their heart-strings! CYRANO (making a sign to a drummer to approach): Not I. The hero that sleeps in Gascon blood is ever ready to awake in them. 'Twould suffice. . . (He makes a signal; the drum beats.) ALL THE CADETS (stand up and rush to take arms): What? What is it? CYRANO (smiling): You see! One roll of the drum is enough! Good-by dreams, regrets, native land, love. . .All that the pipe called forth the drum has chased away! A CADET (looking toward the back of the stage): Ho! here comes Monsieur de Guiche. ALL THE CADETS (muttering): Ugh!. . .Ugh!. . . CYRANO (smiling): A flattering welcome! A CADET: We are sick to death of him! ANOTHER CADET: --With his lace collar over his armor, playing the fine gentleman! ANOTHER: As if one wore linen over steel! THE FIRST: It were good for a bandage had he boils on his neck. THE SECOND: Another plotting courtier! ANOTHER CADET: His uncle's own nephew! CARBON: For all that--a Gascon. THE FIRST: Ay, false Gascon!. . .trust him not. . . Gascons should ever be crack-brained. . . Naught more dangerous than a rational Gascon. LE BRET: How pale he is! ANOTHER: Oh! he is hungry, just like us poor devils; but under his cuirass, with its fine gilt nails, his stomach-ache glitters brave in the sun. CYRANO (hurriedly): Let us not seem to suffer either! Out with your cards, pipes, and dice. . . (All begin spreading out the games on the drums, the stools, the ground, and on their cloaks, and light long pipes): And I shall read Descartes. (He walks up and down, reading a little book which he has drawn from his pocket. Tableau. Enter De Guiche. All appear absorbed and happy. He is very pale. He goes up to Carbon.) Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A: Cyrano comes out and talks to the cadets, restoring morale with a clever speech and his passionate commitment to the cause. He implores a piper to play a song from Provence, and though the cadets become tearfully homesick, they do forget about their hunger. De Guiche enters, evoking a general murmur of resentment from the cadets. Cyrano tells the miserable cadets to stop moping and to look busy as de Guiche arrives

Chapter: The SAME. Cyrano. CYRANO (appearing from the tent, very calm, with a pen stuck behind his ear and a book in his hand): What is wrong? (Silence. To the first cadet): Why drag you your legs so sorrowfully? THE CADET: I have something in my heels which weighs them down. CYRANO: And what may that be? THE CADET: My stomach! CYRANO: So have I, 'faith! THE CADET: It must be in your way? CYRANO: Nay, I am all the taller. A THIRD: My stomach's hollow. CYRANO: 'Faith, 'twill make a fine drum to sound the assault. ANOTHER: I have a ringing in my ears. CYRANO: No, no, 'tis false; a hungry stomach has no ears. ANOTHER: Oh, to eat something--something oily! CYRANO (pulling off the cadet's helmet and holding it out to him): Behold your salad! ANOTHER: What, in God's name, can we devour? CYRANO (throwing him the book which he is carrying): The 'Iliad'. ANOTHER: The first minister in Paris has his four meals a day! CYRANO: 'Twere courteous an he sent you a few partridges! THE SAME: And why not? with wine, too! CYRANO: A little Burgundy. Richelieu, s'il vous plait! THE SAME: He could send it by one of his friars. CYRANO: Ay! by His Eminence Joseph himself. ANOTHER: I am as ravenous as an ogre! CYRANO: Eat your patience, then. THE FIRST CADET (shrugging his shoulders): Always your pointed word! CYRANO: Ay, pointed words! I would fain die thus, some soft summer eve, Making a pointed word for a good cause. --To make a soldier's end by soldier's sword, Wielded by some brave adversary--die On blood-stained turf, not on a fever-bed, A point upon my lips, a point within my heart. CRIES FROM ALL: I'm hungry! CYRANO (crossing his arms): All your thoughts of meat and drink! Bertrand the fifer!--you were shepherd once,-- Draw from its double leathern case your fife, Play to these greedy, guzzling soldiers. Play Old country airs with plaintive rhythm recurring, Where lurk sweet echoes of the dear home-voices, Each note of which calls like a little sister, Those airs slow, slow ascending, as the smoke-wreaths Rise from the hearthstones of our native hamlets, Their music strikes the ear like Gascon patois!. . . (The old man seats himself, and gets his flute ready): Your flute was now a warrior in durance; But on its stem your fingers are a-dancing A bird-like minuet! O flute! Remember That flutes were made of reeds first, not laburnum; Make us a music pastoral days recalling-- The soul-time of your youth, in country pastures!. . . (The old man begins to play the airs of Languedoc): Hark to the music, Gascons!. . .'Tis no longer The piercing fife of camp--but 'neath his fingers The flute of the woods! No more the call to combat, 'Tis now the love-song of the wandering goat-herds!. . . Hark!. . .'tis the valley, the wet landes, the forest, The sunburnt shepherd-boy with scarlet beret, The dusk of evening on the Dordogne river,-- 'Tis Gascony! Hark, Gascons, to the music! (The cadets sit with bowed heads; their eyes have a far-off look as if dreaming, and they surreptitiously wipe away their tears with their cuffs and the corner of their cloaks.) CARBON (to Cyrano in a whisper): But you make them weep! CYRANO: Ay, for homesickness. A nobler pain than hunger,--'tis of the soul, not of the body! I am well pleased to see their pain change its viscera. Heart-ache is better than stomach-ache. CARBON: But you weaken their courage by playing thus on their heart-strings! CYRANO (making a sign to a drummer to approach): Not I. The hero that sleeps in Gascon blood is ever ready to awake in them. 'Twould suffice. . . (He makes a signal; the drum beats.) ALL THE CADETS (stand up and rush to take arms): What? What is it? CYRANO (smiling): You see! One roll of the drum is enough! Good-by dreams, regrets, native land, love. . .All that the pipe called forth the drum has chased away! A CADET (looking toward the back of the stage): Ho! here comes Monsieur de Guiche. ALL THE CADETS (muttering): Ugh!. . .Ugh!. . . CYRANO (smiling): A flattering welcome! A CADET: We are sick to death of him! ANOTHER CADET: --With his lace collar over his armor, playing the fine gentleman! ANOTHER: As if one wore linen over steel! THE FIRST: It were good for a bandage had he boils on his neck. THE SECOND: Another plotting courtier! ANOTHER CADET: His uncle's own nephew! CARBON: For all that--a Gascon. THE FIRST: Ay, false Gascon!. . .trust him not. . . Gascons should ever be crack-brained. . . Naught more dangerous than a rational Gascon. LE BRET: How pale he is! ANOTHER: Oh! he is hungry, just like us poor devils; but under his cuirass, with its fine gilt nails, his stomach-ache glitters brave in the sun. CYRANO (hurriedly): Let us not seem to suffer either! Out with your cards, pipes, and dice. . . (All begin spreading out the games on the drums, the stools, the ground, and on their cloaks, and light long pipes): And I shall read Descartes. (He walks up and down, reading a little book which he has drawn from his pocket. Tableau. Enter De Guiche. All appear absorbed and happy. He is very pale. He goes up to Carbon.) Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A:

Cyrano comes out and talks to the cadets, restoring morale with a clever speech and his passionate commitment to the cause. He implores a piper to play a song from Provence, and though the cadets become tearfully homesick, they do forget about their hunger. De Guiche enters, evoking a general murmur of resentment from the cadets. Cyrano tells the miserable cadets to stop moping and to look busy as de Guiche arrives

Chapter: The same. De Guiche. DE GUICHE (to Carbon): Good-day! (They examine each other. Aside, with satisfaction): He's green. CARBON (aside): He has nothing left but eyes. DE GUICHE (looking at the cadets): Here are the rebels! Ay, Sirs, on all sides I hear that in your ranks you scoff at me; That the Cadets, these loutish, mountain-bred, Poor country squires, and barons of Perigord, Scarce find for me--their Colonel--a disdain Sufficient! call me plotter, wily courtier! It does not please their mightiness to see A point-lace collar on my steel cuirass,-- And they enrage, because a man, in sooth, May be no ragged-robin, yet a Gascon! (Silence. All smoke and play): Shall I command your Captain punish you? No. CARBON: I am free, moreover,--will not punish-- DE GUICHE: Ah! CARBON: I have paid my company--'tis mine. I bow but to headquarters. DE GUICHE: So?--in faith! That will suffice. (Addressing himself to the cadets): I can despise your taunts 'Tis well known how I bear me in the war; At Bapaume, yesterday, they saw the rage With which I beat back the Count of Bucquoi; Assembling my own men, I fell on his, And charged three separate times! CYRANO (without lifting his eyes from his book): And your white scarf? DE GUICHE (surprised and gratified): You know that detail?. . .Troth! It happened thus: While caracoling to recall the troops For the third charge, a band of fugitives Bore me with them, close by the hostile ranks: I was in peril--capture, sudden death!-- When I thought of the good expedient To loosen and let fall the scarf which told My military rank; thus I contrived --Without attention waked--to leave the foes, And suddenly returning, reinforced With my own men, to scatter them! And now, --What say you, Sir? (The cadets pretend not to be listening, but the cards and the dice-boxes remain suspended in their hands, the smoke of their pipes in their cheeks. They wait.) CYRANO: I say, that Henri Quatre Had not, by any dangerous odds, been forced To strip himself of his white helmet plume. (Silent delight. The cards fall, the dice rattle. The smoke is puffed.) DE GUICHE: The ruse succeeded, though! (Same suspension of play, etc.) CYRANO: Oh, may be! But One does not lightly abdicate the honor To serve as target to the enemy (Cards, dice, fall again, and the cadets smoke with evident delight): Had I been present when your scarf fell low, --Our courage, Sir, is of a different sort-- I would have picked it up and put it on. DE GUICHE: Oh, ay! Another Gascon boast! CYRANO: A boast? Lend it to me. I pledge myself, to-night, --With it across my breast,--to lead th' assault. DE GUICHE: Another Gascon vaunt! You know the scarf Lies with the enemy, upon the brink Of the stream,. . .the place is riddled now with shot,-- No one can fetch it hither! CYRANO (drawing the scarf from his pocket, and holding it out to him): Here it is. (Silence. The cadets stifle their laughter in their cards and dice-boxes. De Guiche turns and looks at them; they instantly become grave, and set to play. One of them whistles indifferently the air just played by the fifer.) DE GUICHE (taking the scarf): I thank you. It will now enable me To make a signal,--that I had forborne To make--till now. (He goes to the rampart, climbs it, and waves the scarf thrice.) ALL: What's that? THE SENTINEL (from the top of the rampart): See you yon man Down there, who runs?. . . DE GUICHE (descending): 'Tis a false Spanish spy Who is extremely useful to my ends. The news he carries to the enemy Are those I prompt him with--so, in a word, We have an influence on their decisions! CYRANO: Scoundrel! DE GUICHE (carelessly knotting on his scarf): 'Tis opportune. What were we saying? Ah! I have news for you. Last evening --To victual us--the Marshal did attempt A final effort:--secretly he went To Dourlens, where the King's provisions be. But--to return to camp more easily-- He took with him a goodly force of troops. Those who attacked us now would have fine sport! Half of the army's absent from the camp! CARBON: Ay, if the Spaniards knew, 'twere ill for us, But they know nothing of it? DE GUICHE: Oh! they know. They will attack us. CARBON: Ah! DE GUICHE: For my false spy Came to warn me of their attack. He said, 'I can decide the point for their assault; Where would you have it? I will tell them 'tis The least defended--they'll attempt you there.' I answered, 'Good. Go out of camp, but watch My signal. Choose the point from whence it comes.' CARBON (to cadets): Make ready! (All rise; sounds of swords and belts being buckled.) DE GUICHE: 'Twill be in an hour. FIRST CADET: Good!. . . (They all sit down again and take up their games.) DE GUICHE (to Carbon): Time must be gained. The Marshal will return. CARBON: How gain it? DE GUICHE: You will all be good enough To let yourselves to be killed. CYRANO: Vengeance! oho! DE GUICHE: I do not say that, if I loved you well, I had chosen you and yours,--but, as things stand,-- Your courage yielding to no corps the palm-- I serve my King, and serve my grudge as well. CYRANO: Permit that I express my gratitude. . . DE GUICHE: I know you love to fight against five score; You will not now complain of paltry odds. (He goes up with Carbon.) CYRANO (to the cadets): We shall add to the Gascon coat of arms, With its six bars of blue and gold, one more-- The blood-red bar that was a-missing there! (De Guiche speaks in a low voice with Carbon at the back. Orders are given. Preparations go forward. Cyrano goes up to Christian, who stands with crossed arms.) CYRANO (putting his hand on Christian's shoulder): Christian! CHRISTIAN (shaking his head): Roxane! CYRANO: Alas! CHRISTIAN: At least, I'd send My heart's farewell to her in a fair letter!. . . CYRANO: I had suspicion it would be to-day, (He draws a letter out of his doublet): And had already writ. . . CHRISTIAN: Show! CYRANO: Will you. . .? CHRISTIAN (taking the letter): Ay! (He opens and reads it): Hold! CYRANO: What? CHRISTIAN: This little spot! CYRANO (taking the letter, with an innocent look): A spot? CHRISTIAN: A tear! CYRANO: Poets, at last,--by dint of counterfeiting-- Take counterfeit for true--that is the charm! This farewell letter,--it was passing sad, I wept myself in writing it! CHRISTIAN: Wept? why? CYRANO: Oh!. . .death itself is hardly terrible,. . . --But, ne'er to see her more! That is death's sting! --For. . .I shall never. . . (Christian looks at him): We shall. . . (Quickly): I mean, you. . . CHRISTIAN (snatching the letter from him): Give me that letter! (A rumor, far off in the camp.) VOICE Of SENTINEL: Who goes there? Halloo! (Shots--voices--carriage-bells.) CARBON: What is it? A SENTINEL (on the rampart): 'Tis a carriage! (All rush to see.) CRIES: In the camp? It enters!--It comes from the enemy! --Fire!--No!--The coachman cries!--What does he say? --'On the King's service!' (Everyone is on the rampart, staring. The bells come nearer.) DE GUICHE: The King's service? How? (All descend and draw up in line.) CARBON: Uncover, all! DE GUICHE: The King's! Draw up in line! Let him describe his curve as it befits! (The carriage enters at full speed covered with dust and mud. The curtains are drawn close. Two lackeys behind. It is pulled up suddenly.) CARBON: Beat a salute! (A roll of drums. The cadets uncover.) DE GUICHE: Lower the carriage-steps! (Two cadets rush forward. The door opens.) ROXANE (jumping down from the carriage): Good-day! (All are bowing to the ground, but at the sound of a woman's voice every head is instantly raised.) Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A: Prompted by Cyrano, de Guiche boasts of his conduct in the previous day's battle when, to confuse the Spaniards, he flung away the white plume that marked him as an officer. Cyrano then proclaims that a courageous man would never have flung away the white plume, and he offers to wear it in the next bout of fighting. De Guiche says Cyrano makes the pledge only because he knows the plume lies somewhere on the battlefield. To the cadets' delight, Cyrano produces the plume from his pocket. Furious, de Guiche seizes the plume and waves it to a sentry, who runs toward the Spanish encampments. De Guiche says that he has just given a signal and that the Spanish will attack in perhaps an hour. He says that the cadets will all die but that, in the process, they will buy the French forces as much time as possible. Cyrano thanks de Guiche solemnly for the opportunity to die with glory. Christian tells Cyrano he wishes he could say farewell to Roxane, and Cyrano shows him the farewell letter he has just written. Christian notices the mark of a tear on the letter and nearly guesses Cyrano's secret. He is interrupted by the arrival of a mysterious coach

Chapter: The same. De Guiche. DE GUICHE (to Carbon): Good-day! (They examine each other. Aside, with satisfaction): He's green. CARBON (aside): He has nothing left but eyes. DE GUICHE (looking at the cadets): Here are the rebels! Ay, Sirs, on all sides I hear that in your ranks you scoff at me; That the Cadets, these loutish, mountain-bred, Poor country squires, and barons of Perigord, Scarce find for me--their Colonel--a disdain Sufficient! call me plotter, wily courtier! It does not please their mightiness to see A point-lace collar on my steel cuirass,-- And they enrage, because a man, in sooth, May be no ragged-robin, yet a Gascon! (Silence. All smoke and play): Shall I command your Captain punish you? No. CARBON: I am free, moreover,--will not punish-- DE GUICHE: Ah! CARBON: I have paid my company--'tis mine. I bow but to headquarters. DE GUICHE: So?--in faith! That will suffice. (Addressing himself to the cadets): I can despise your taunts 'Tis well known how I bear me in the war; At Bapaume, yesterday, they saw the rage With which I beat back the Count of Bucquoi; Assembling my own men, I fell on his, And charged three separate times! CYRANO (without lifting his eyes from his book): And your white scarf? DE GUICHE (surprised and gratified): You know that detail?. . .Troth! It happened thus: While caracoling to recall the troops For the third charge, a band of fugitives Bore me with them, close by the hostile ranks: I was in peril--capture, sudden death!-- When I thought of the good expedient To loosen and let fall the scarf which told My military rank; thus I contrived --Without attention waked--to leave the foes, And suddenly returning, reinforced With my own men, to scatter them! And now, --What say you, Sir? (The cadets pretend not to be listening, but the cards and the dice-boxes remain suspended in their hands, the smoke of their pipes in their cheeks. They wait.) CYRANO: I say, that Henri Quatre Had not, by any dangerous odds, been forced To strip himself of his white helmet plume. (Silent delight. The cards fall, the dice rattle. The smoke is puffed.) DE GUICHE: The ruse succeeded, though! (Same suspension of play, etc.) CYRANO: Oh, may be! But One does not lightly abdicate the honor To serve as target to the enemy (Cards, dice, fall again, and the cadets smoke with evident delight): Had I been present when your scarf fell low, --Our courage, Sir, is of a different sort-- I would have picked it up and put it on. DE GUICHE: Oh, ay! Another Gascon boast! CYRANO: A boast? Lend it to me. I pledge myself, to-night, --With it across my breast,--to lead th' assault. DE GUICHE: Another Gascon vaunt! You know the scarf Lies with the enemy, upon the brink Of the stream,. . .the place is riddled now with shot,-- No one can fetch it hither! CYRANO (drawing the scarf from his pocket, and holding it out to him): Here it is. (Silence. The cadets stifle their laughter in their cards and dice-boxes. De Guiche turns and looks at them; they instantly become grave, and set to play. One of them whistles indifferently the air just played by the fifer.) DE GUICHE (taking the scarf): I thank you. It will now enable me To make a signal,--that I had forborne To make--till now. (He goes to the rampart, climbs it, and waves the scarf thrice.) ALL: What's that? THE SENTINEL (from the top of the rampart): See you yon man Down there, who runs?. . . DE GUICHE (descending): 'Tis a false Spanish spy Who is extremely useful to my ends. The news he carries to the enemy Are those I prompt him with--so, in a word, We have an influence on their decisions! CYRANO: Scoundrel! DE GUICHE (carelessly knotting on his scarf): 'Tis opportune. What were we saying? Ah! I have news for you. Last evening --To victual us--the Marshal did attempt A final effort:--secretly he went To Dourlens, where the King's provisions be. But--to return to camp more easily-- He took with him a goodly force of troops. Those who attacked us now would have fine sport! Half of the army's absent from the camp! CARBON: Ay, if the Spaniards knew, 'twere ill for us, But they know nothing of it? DE GUICHE: Oh! they know. They will attack us. CARBON: Ah! DE GUICHE: For my false spy Came to warn me of their attack. He said, 'I can decide the point for their assault; Where would you have it? I will tell them 'tis The least defended--they'll attempt you there.' I answered, 'Good. Go out of camp, but watch My signal. Choose the point from whence it comes.' CARBON (to cadets): Make ready! (All rise; sounds of swords and belts being buckled.) DE GUICHE: 'Twill be in an hour. FIRST CADET: Good!. . . (They all sit down again and take up their games.) DE GUICHE (to Carbon): Time must be gained. The Marshal will return. CARBON: How gain it? DE GUICHE: You will all be good enough To let yourselves to be killed. CYRANO: Vengeance! oho! DE GUICHE: I do not say that, if I loved you well, I had chosen you and yours,--but, as things stand,-- Your courage yielding to no corps the palm-- I serve my King, and serve my grudge as well. CYRANO: Permit that I express my gratitude. . . DE GUICHE: I know you love to fight against five score; You will not now complain of paltry odds. (He goes up with Carbon.) CYRANO (to the cadets): We shall add to the Gascon coat of arms, With its six bars of blue and gold, one more-- The blood-red bar that was a-missing there! (De Guiche speaks in a low voice with Carbon at the back. Orders are given. Preparations go forward. Cyrano goes up to Christian, who stands with crossed arms.) CYRANO (putting his hand on Christian's shoulder): Christian! CHRISTIAN (shaking his head): Roxane! CYRANO: Alas! CHRISTIAN: At least, I'd send My heart's farewell to her in a fair letter!. . . CYRANO: I had suspicion it would be to-day, (He draws a letter out of his doublet): And had already writ. . . CHRISTIAN: Show! CYRANO: Will you. . .? CHRISTIAN (taking the letter): Ay! (He opens and reads it): Hold! CYRANO: What? CHRISTIAN: This little spot! CYRANO (taking the letter, with an innocent look): A spot? CHRISTIAN: A tear! CYRANO: Poets, at last,--by dint of counterfeiting-- Take counterfeit for true--that is the charm! This farewell letter,--it was passing sad, I wept myself in writing it! CHRISTIAN: Wept? why? CYRANO: Oh!. . .death itself is hardly terrible,. . . --But, ne'er to see her more! That is death's sting! --For. . .I shall never. . . (Christian looks at him): We shall. . . (Quickly): I mean, you. . . CHRISTIAN (snatching the letter from him): Give me that letter! (A rumor, far off in the camp.) VOICE Of SENTINEL: Who goes there? Halloo! (Shots--voices--carriage-bells.) CARBON: What is it? A SENTINEL (on the rampart): 'Tis a carriage! (All rush to see.) CRIES: In the camp? It enters!--It comes from the enemy! --Fire!--No!--The coachman cries!--What does he say? --'On the King's service!' (Everyone is on the rampart, staring. The bells come nearer.) DE GUICHE: The King's service? How? (All descend and draw up in line.) CARBON: Uncover, all! DE GUICHE: The King's! Draw up in line! Let him describe his curve as it befits! (The carriage enters at full speed covered with dust and mud. The curtains are drawn close. Two lackeys behind. It is pulled up suddenly.) CARBON: Beat a salute! (A roll of drums. The cadets uncover.) DE GUICHE: Lower the carriage-steps! (Two cadets rush forward. The door opens.) ROXANE (jumping down from the carriage): Good-day! (All are bowing to the ground, but at the sound of a woman's voice every head is instantly raised.) Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A:

Prompted by Cyrano, de Guiche boasts of his conduct in the previous day's battle when, to confuse the Spaniards, he flung away the white plume that marked him as an officer. Cyrano then proclaims that a courageous man would never have flung away the white plume, and he offers to wear it in the next bout of fighting. De Guiche says Cyrano makes the pledge only because he knows the plume lies somewhere on the battlefield. To the cadets' delight, Cyrano produces the plume from his pocket. Furious, de Guiche seizes the plume and waves it to a sentry, who runs toward the Spanish encampments. De Guiche says that he has just given a signal and that the Spanish will attack in perhaps an hour. He says that the cadets will all die but that, in the process, they will buy the French forces as much time as possible. Cyrano thanks de Guiche solemnly for the opportunity to die with glory. Christian tells Cyrano he wishes he could say farewell to Roxane, and Cyrano shows him the farewell letter he has just written. Christian notices the mark of a tear on the letter and nearly guesses Cyrano's secret. He is interrupted by the arrival of a mysterious coach

Chapter: The same. Roxane. DE GUICHE: On the King's service! You? ROXANE: Ay,--King Love's! What other king? CYRANO: Great God! CHRISTIAN (rushing forward): Why have you come? ROXANE: This siege--'tis too long! CHRISTIAN: But why?. . . ROXANE: I will tell you all! CYRANO (who, at the sound of her voice, has stood still, rooted to the ground, afraid to raise his eyes): My God! dare I look at her? DE GUICHE: You cannot remain here! ROXANE (merrily): But I say yes! Who will push a drum hither for me? (She seats herself on the drum they roll forward): So! I thank you. (She laughs): My carriage was fired at (proudly): by the patrol! Look! would you not think 'twas made of a pumpkin, like Cinderella's chariot in the tale,--and the footmen out of rats? (Sending a kiss with her lips to Christian): Good-morrow! (Examining them all): You look not merry, any of you! Ah! know you that 'tis a long road to get to Arras? (Seeing Cyrano): Cousin, delighted! CYRANO (coming up to her): But how, in Heaven's name?. . . ROXANE: How found I the way to the army? It was simple enough, for I had but to pass on and on, as far as I saw the country laid waste. Ah, what horrors were there! Had I not seen, then I could never have believed it! Well, gentlemen, if such be the service of your King, I would fainer serve mine! CYRANO: But 'tis sheer madness! Where in the fiend's name did you get through? ROXANE: Where? Through the Spanish lines. FIRST CADET: --For subtle craft, give me a woman! DE GUICHE: But how did you pass through their lines? LE BRET: Faith! that must have been a hard matter!. . . ROXANE: None too hard. I but drove quietly forward in my carriage, and when some hidalgo of haughty mien would have stayed me, lo! I showed at the window my sweetest smile, and these Senors being (with no disrespect to you) the most gallant gentlemen in the world,--I passed on! CARBON: True, that smile is a passport! But you must have been asked frequently to give an account of where you were going, Madame? ROXANE: Yes, frequently. Then I would answer, 'I go to see my lover.' At that word the very fiercest Spaniard of them all would gravely shut the carriage-door, and, with a gesture that a king might envy, make signal to his men to lower the muskets leveled at me;--then, with melancholy but withal very graceful dignity--his beaver held to the wind that the plumes might flutter bravely, he would bow low, saying to me, 'Pass on, Senorita!' CHRISTIAN: But, Roxane. . . ROXANE: Forgive me that I said, 'my lover!' But bethink you, had I said 'my husband,' not one of them had let me pass! CHRISTIAN: But. . . ROXANE: What ails you? DE GUICHE: You must leave this place! ROXANE: I? CYRANO: And that instantly! LE BRET: No time to lose. CHRISTIAN: Indeed, you must. ROXANE: But wherefore must I? CHRISTIAN (embarrassed): 'Tis that. . . CYRANO (the same): --In three quarters of an hour. . . DE GUICHE (the same): --Or for. . . CARBON (the same): It were best. . . LE BRET (the same): You might. . . ROXANE: You are going to fight?--I stay here. ALL: No, no! ROXANE: He is my husband! (She throws herself into Christian's arms): They shall kill us both together! CHRISTIAN: Why do you look at me thus? ROXANE: I will tell you why! DE GUICHE (in despair): 'Tis a post of mortal danger! ROXANE (turning round): Mortal danger! CYRANO: Proof enough, that he has put us here! ROXANE (to De Guiche): So, Sir, you would have made a widow of me? DE GUICHE: Nay, on my oath. . . ROXANE: I will not go! I am reckless now, and I shall not stir from here!--Besides, 'tis amusing! CYRANO: Oh-ho! So our precieuse is a heroine! ROXANE: Monsieur de Bergerac, I am your cousin. A CADET: We will defend you well! ROXANE (more and more excited): I have no fear of that, my friends! ANOTHER (in ecstasy): The whole camp smells sweet of orris-root! ROXANE: And, by good luck, I have chosen a hat that will suit well with the battlefield! (Looking at De Guiche): But were it not wisest that the Count retire? They may begin the attack. DE GUICHE: That is not to be brooked! I go to inspect the cannon, and shall return. You have still time--think better of it! ROXANE: Never! (De Guiche goes out.) Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A: De Guiche thinks that the coach is from the king's service. But Roxane delightfully surprises both him and the other men when she climbs down from the coach. She says that the war was lasting too long and that she had to see Christian. Cyrano, Christian, and de Guiche tell her she must leave immediately because the Spaniards will attack soon. She refuses to leave, saying that she is brave--after all, she is Cyrano's cousin. De Guiche leaves angrily.

Chapter: The same. Roxane. DE GUICHE: On the King's service! You? ROXANE: Ay,--King Love's! What other king? CYRANO: Great God! CHRISTIAN (rushing forward): Why have you come? ROXANE: This siege--'tis too long! CHRISTIAN: But why?. . . ROXANE: I will tell you all! CYRANO (who, at the sound of her voice, has stood still, rooted to the ground, afraid to raise his eyes): My God! dare I look at her? DE GUICHE: You cannot remain here! ROXANE (merrily): But I say yes! Who will push a drum hither for me? (She seats herself on the drum they roll forward): So! I thank you. (She laughs): My carriage was fired at (proudly): by the patrol! Look! would you not think 'twas made of a pumpkin, like Cinderella's chariot in the tale,--and the footmen out of rats? (Sending a kiss with her lips to Christian): Good-morrow! (Examining them all): You look not merry, any of you! Ah! know you that 'tis a long road to get to Arras? (Seeing Cyrano): Cousin, delighted! CYRANO (coming up to her): But how, in Heaven's name?. . . ROXANE: How found I the way to the army? It was simple enough, for I had but to pass on and on, as far as I saw the country laid waste. Ah, what horrors were there! Had I not seen, then I could never have believed it! Well, gentlemen, if such be the service of your King, I would fainer serve mine! CYRANO: But 'tis sheer madness! Where in the fiend's name did you get through? ROXANE: Where? Through the Spanish lines. FIRST CADET: --For subtle craft, give me a woman! DE GUICHE: But how did you pass through their lines? LE BRET: Faith! that must have been a hard matter!. . . ROXANE: None too hard. I but drove quietly forward in my carriage, and when some hidalgo of haughty mien would have stayed me, lo! I showed at the window my sweetest smile, and these Senors being (with no disrespect to you) the most gallant gentlemen in the world,--I passed on! CARBON: True, that smile is a passport! But you must have been asked frequently to give an account of where you were going, Madame? ROXANE: Yes, frequently. Then I would answer, 'I go to see my lover.' At that word the very fiercest Spaniard of them all would gravely shut the carriage-door, and, with a gesture that a king might envy, make signal to his men to lower the muskets leveled at me;--then, with melancholy but withal very graceful dignity--his beaver held to the wind that the plumes might flutter bravely, he would bow low, saying to me, 'Pass on, Senorita!' CHRISTIAN: But, Roxane. . . ROXANE: Forgive me that I said, 'my lover!' But bethink you, had I said 'my husband,' not one of them had let me pass! CHRISTIAN: But. . . ROXANE: What ails you? DE GUICHE: You must leave this place! ROXANE: I? CYRANO: And that instantly! LE BRET: No time to lose. CHRISTIAN: Indeed, you must. ROXANE: But wherefore must I? CHRISTIAN (embarrassed): 'Tis that. . . CYRANO (the same): --In three quarters of an hour. . . DE GUICHE (the same): --Or for. . . CARBON (the same): It were best. . . LE BRET (the same): You might. . . ROXANE: You are going to fight?--I stay here. ALL: No, no! ROXANE: He is my husband! (She throws herself into Christian's arms): They shall kill us both together! CHRISTIAN: Why do you look at me thus? ROXANE: I will tell you why! DE GUICHE (in despair): 'Tis a post of mortal danger! ROXANE (turning round): Mortal danger! CYRANO: Proof enough, that he has put us here! ROXANE (to De Guiche): So, Sir, you would have made a widow of me? DE GUICHE: Nay, on my oath. . . ROXANE: I will not go! I am reckless now, and I shall not stir from here!--Besides, 'tis amusing! CYRANO: Oh-ho! So our precieuse is a heroine! ROXANE: Monsieur de Bergerac, I am your cousin. A CADET: We will defend you well! ROXANE (more and more excited): I have no fear of that, my friends! ANOTHER (in ecstasy): The whole camp smells sweet of orris-root! ROXANE: And, by good luck, I have chosen a hat that will suit well with the battlefield! (Looking at De Guiche): But were it not wisest that the Count retire? They may begin the attack. DE GUICHE: That is not to be brooked! I go to inspect the cannon, and shall return. You have still time--think better of it! ROXANE: Never! (De Guiche goes out.) Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A:

De Guiche thinks that the coach is from the king's service. But Roxane delightfully surprises both him and the other men when she climbs down from the coach. She says that the war was lasting too long and that she had to see Christian. Cyrano, Christian, and de Guiche tell her she must leave immediately because the Spaniards will attack soon. She refuses to leave, saying that she is brave--after all, she is Cyrano's cousin. De Guiche leaves angrily.

Chapter: The same, all but De Guiche. CHRISTIAN (entreatingly): Roxane! ROXANE: No! FIRST CADET (to the others): She stays! ALL (hurrying, hustling each other, tidying themselves): A comb!--Soap!--My uniform is torn!--A needle!--A ribbon!--Lend your mirror!--My cuffs!--Your curling-iron!--A razor!. . . ROXANE (to Cyrano, who still pleads with her): No! Naught shall make me stir from this spot! CARBON (who, like the others, has been buckling, dusting, brushing his hat, settling his plume, and drawing on his cuffs, advances to Roxane, and ceremoniously): It is perchance more seemly, since things are thus, that I present to you some of these gentlemen who are about to have the honor of dying before your eyes. (Roxane bows, and stands leaning on Christian's arm, while Carbon introduces the cadets to her): Baron de Peyrescous de Colignac! THE CADET (with a low reverence): Madame. . . CARBON (continuing): Baron de Casterac de Cahuzac,--Vidame de Malgouyre Estressac Lesbas d'Escarabiot, Chevalier d'Antignac-Juzet, Baron Hillot de Blagnac-Salechan de Castel Crabioules. . . ROXANE: But how many names have you each? BARON HILLOT: Scores! CARBON (to Roxane): Pray, upon the hand that holds your kerchief. ROXANE (opens her hand, and the handkerchief falls): Why? (The whole company start forward to pick it up.) CARBON (quickly raising it): My company had no flag. But now, by my faith, they will have the fairest in all the camp! ROXANE (smiling): 'Tis somewhat small. CARBON (tying the handkerchief on the staff of his lance): But--'tis of lace! A CADET (to the rest): I could die happy, having seen so sweet a face, if I had something in my stomach--were it but a nut! CARBON (who has overheard, indignantly): Shame on you! What, talk of eating when a lovely woman!. . . ROXANE: But your camp air is keen; I myself am famished. Pasties, cold fricassee, old wines--there is my bill of fare? Pray bring it all here. (Consternation.) A CADET: All that? ANOTHER: But where on earth find it? ROXANE (quietly): In my carriage. ALL: How? ROXANE: Now serve up--carve! Look a little closer at my coachman, gentlemen, and you will recognize a man most welcome. All the sauces can be sent to table hot, if we will! THE CADETS (rushing pellmell to the carriage): 'Tis Ragueneau! (Acclamations): Oh, oh! ROXANE (looking after them): Poor fellows! CYRANO (kissing her hand): Kind fairy! RAGUENEAU (standing on the box like a quack doctor at a fair): Gentlemen!. . . (General delight.) THE CADETS: Bravo! bravo! RAGUENEAU: . . .The Spaniards, gazing on a lady so dainty fair, overlooked the fare so dainty!. . . (Applause.) CYRANO (in a whisper to Christian): Hark, Christian! RAGUENEAU: . . .And, occupied with gallantry, perceived not-- (His draws a plate from under the seat, and holds it up): --The galantine!. . . (Applause. The galantine passes from hand to hand.) CYRANO (still whispering to Christian): Prythee, one word! RAGUENEAU: And Venus so attracted their eyes that Diana could secretly pass by with-- (He holds up a shoulder of mutton): --her fawn! (Enthusiasm. Twenty hands are held out to seize the shoulder of mutton.) CYRANO (in a low whisper to Christian): I must speak to you! ROXANE (to the cadets, who come down, their arms laden with food): Put it all on the ground! (She lays all out on the grass, aided by the two imperturbable lackeys who were behind the carriage.) ROXANE (to Christian, just as Cyrano is drawing him apart): Come, make yourself of use! (Christian comes to help her. Cyrano's uneasiness increases.) RAGUENEAU: Truffled peacock! FIRST CADET (radiant, coming down, cutting a big slice of ham): By the mass! We shall not brave the last hazard without having had a gullet-full!-- (quickly correcting himself on seeing Roxane): --Pardon! A Balthazar feast! RAGUENEAU (throwing down the carriage cushions): The cushions are stuffed with ortolans! (Hubbub. They tear open and turn out the contents of the cushions. Bursts of laughter--merriment.) THIRD CADET: Ah! Viedaze! RAGUENEAU (throwing down to the cadets bottles of red wine): Flasks of rubies!-- (and white wine): --Flasks of topaz! ROXANE (throwing a folded tablecloth at Cyrano's head): Unfold me that napkin!--Come, come! be nimble! RAGUENEAU (waving a lantern): Each of the carriage-lamps is a little larder! CYRANO (in a low voice to Christian, as they arrange the cloth together): I must speak with you ere you speak to her. RAGUENEAU: My whip-handle is an Arles sausage! ROXANE (pouring out wine, helping): Since we are to die, let the rest of the army shift for itself. All for the Gascons! And mark! if De Guiche comes, let no one invite him! (Going from one to the other): There! there! You have time enough! Do not eat too fast!--Drink a little.- -Why are you crying? FIRST CADET: It is all so good!. . . ROXANE: Tut!--Red or white?--Some bread for Monsieur de Carbon!--a knife! Pass your plate!--a little of the crust? Some more? Let me help you!--Some champagne?- -A wing? CYRANO (who follows her, his arms laden with dishes, helping her to wait on everybody): How I worship her! ROXANE (going up to Christian): What will you? CHRISTIAN: Nothing. ROXANE: Nay, nay, take this biscuit, steeped in muscat; come!. . .but two drops! CHRISTIAN (trying to detain her): Oh! tell me why you came? ROXANE: Wait; my first duty is to these poor fellows.--Hush! In a few minutes. . . LE BRET (who had gone up to pass a loaf on the end of a lance to the sentry on the rampart): De Guiche! CYRANO: Quick! hide flasks, plates, pie-dishes, game-baskets! Hurry!--Let us all look unconscious! (To Ragueneau): Up on your seat!--Is everything covered up? (In an instant all has been pushed into the tents, or hidden under doublets, cloaks, and beavers. De Guiche enters hurriedly--stops suddenly, sniffing the air. Silence.) Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A: Carbon presents the company to Roxane, and, to their surprise and delight, she produces Ragueneau--and the feast that he has prepared for the cadets--from the coach. The men gorge themselves, but when de Guiche reappears, they hide the food

Chapter: The same, all but De Guiche. CHRISTIAN (entreatingly): Roxane! ROXANE: No! FIRST CADET (to the others): She stays! ALL (hurrying, hustling each other, tidying themselves): A comb!--Soap!--My uniform is torn!--A needle!--A ribbon!--Lend your mirror!--My cuffs!--Your curling-iron!--A razor!. . . ROXANE (to Cyrano, who still pleads with her): No! Naught shall make me stir from this spot! CARBON (who, like the others, has been buckling, dusting, brushing his hat, settling his plume, and drawing on his cuffs, advances to Roxane, and ceremoniously): It is perchance more seemly, since things are thus, that I present to you some of these gentlemen who are about to have the honor of dying before your eyes. (Roxane bows, and stands leaning on Christian's arm, while Carbon introduces the cadets to her): Baron de Peyrescous de Colignac! THE CADET (with a low reverence): Madame. . . CARBON (continuing): Baron de Casterac de Cahuzac,--Vidame de Malgouyre Estressac Lesbas d'Escarabiot, Chevalier d'Antignac-Juzet, Baron Hillot de Blagnac-Salechan de Castel Crabioules. . . ROXANE: But how many names have you each? BARON HILLOT: Scores! CARBON (to Roxane): Pray, upon the hand that holds your kerchief. ROXANE (opens her hand, and the handkerchief falls): Why? (The whole company start forward to pick it up.) CARBON (quickly raising it): My company had no flag. But now, by my faith, they will have the fairest in all the camp! ROXANE (smiling): 'Tis somewhat small. CARBON (tying the handkerchief on the staff of his lance): But--'tis of lace! A CADET (to the rest): I could die happy, having seen so sweet a face, if I had something in my stomach--were it but a nut! CARBON (who has overheard, indignantly): Shame on you! What, talk of eating when a lovely woman!. . . ROXANE: But your camp air is keen; I myself am famished. Pasties, cold fricassee, old wines--there is my bill of fare? Pray bring it all here. (Consternation.) A CADET: All that? ANOTHER: But where on earth find it? ROXANE (quietly): In my carriage. ALL: How? ROXANE: Now serve up--carve! Look a little closer at my coachman, gentlemen, and you will recognize a man most welcome. All the sauces can be sent to table hot, if we will! THE CADETS (rushing pellmell to the carriage): 'Tis Ragueneau! (Acclamations): Oh, oh! ROXANE (looking after them): Poor fellows! CYRANO (kissing her hand): Kind fairy! RAGUENEAU (standing on the box like a quack doctor at a fair): Gentlemen!. . . (General delight.) THE CADETS: Bravo! bravo! RAGUENEAU: . . .The Spaniards, gazing on a lady so dainty fair, overlooked the fare so dainty!. . . (Applause.) CYRANO (in a whisper to Christian): Hark, Christian! RAGUENEAU: . . .And, occupied with gallantry, perceived not-- (His draws a plate from under the seat, and holds it up): --The galantine!. . . (Applause. The galantine passes from hand to hand.) CYRANO (still whispering to Christian): Prythee, one word! RAGUENEAU: And Venus so attracted their eyes that Diana could secretly pass by with-- (He holds up a shoulder of mutton): --her fawn! (Enthusiasm. Twenty hands are held out to seize the shoulder of mutton.) CYRANO (in a low whisper to Christian): I must speak to you! ROXANE (to the cadets, who come down, their arms laden with food): Put it all on the ground! (She lays all out on the grass, aided by the two imperturbable lackeys who were behind the carriage.) ROXANE (to Christian, just as Cyrano is drawing him apart): Come, make yourself of use! (Christian comes to help her. Cyrano's uneasiness increases.) RAGUENEAU: Truffled peacock! FIRST CADET (radiant, coming down, cutting a big slice of ham): By the mass! We shall not brave the last hazard without having had a gullet-full!-- (quickly correcting himself on seeing Roxane): --Pardon! A Balthazar feast! RAGUENEAU (throwing down the carriage cushions): The cushions are stuffed with ortolans! (Hubbub. They tear open and turn out the contents of the cushions. Bursts of laughter--merriment.) THIRD CADET: Ah! Viedaze! RAGUENEAU (throwing down to the cadets bottles of red wine): Flasks of rubies!-- (and white wine): --Flasks of topaz! ROXANE (throwing a folded tablecloth at Cyrano's head): Unfold me that napkin!--Come, come! be nimble! RAGUENEAU (waving a lantern): Each of the carriage-lamps is a little larder! CYRANO (in a low voice to Christian, as they arrange the cloth together): I must speak with you ere you speak to her. RAGUENEAU: My whip-handle is an Arles sausage! ROXANE (pouring out wine, helping): Since we are to die, let the rest of the army shift for itself. All for the Gascons! And mark! if De Guiche comes, let no one invite him! (Going from one to the other): There! there! You have time enough! Do not eat too fast!--Drink a little.- -Why are you crying? FIRST CADET: It is all so good!. . . ROXANE: Tut!--Red or white?--Some bread for Monsieur de Carbon!--a knife! Pass your plate!--a little of the crust? Some more? Let me help you!--Some champagne?- -A wing? CYRANO (who follows her, his arms laden with dishes, helping her to wait on everybody): How I worship her! ROXANE (going up to Christian): What will you? CHRISTIAN: Nothing. ROXANE: Nay, nay, take this biscuit, steeped in muscat; come!. . .but two drops! CHRISTIAN (trying to detain her): Oh! tell me why you came? ROXANE: Wait; my first duty is to these poor fellows.--Hush! In a few minutes. . . LE BRET (who had gone up to pass a loaf on the end of a lance to the sentry on the rampart): De Guiche! CYRANO: Quick! hide flasks, plates, pie-dishes, game-baskets! Hurry!--Let us all look unconscious! (To Ragueneau): Up on your seat!--Is everything covered up? (In an instant all has been pushed into the tents, or hidden under doublets, cloaks, and beavers. De Guiche enters hurriedly--stops suddenly, sniffing the air. Silence.) Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A:

Carbon presents the company to Roxane, and, to their surprise and delight, she produces Ragueneau--and the feast that he has prepared for the cadets--from the coach. The men gorge themselves, but when de Guiche reappears, they hide the food

Chapter: The same. De Guiche. DE GUICHE: It smells good here. A CADET (humming): Lo! Lo-lo! DE GUICHE (looking at him): What is the matter?--You are very red. THE CADET: The matter?--Nothing!--'Tis my blood--boiling at the thought of the coming battle! ANOTHER: Poum, poum--poum. . . DE GUICHE (turning round): What's that? THE CADET (slightly drunk): Nothing!. . .'Tis a song!--a little. . . DE GUICHE: You are merry, my friend! THE CADET: The approach of danger is intoxicating! DE GUICHE (calling Carbon de Castel-Jaloux, to give him an order): Captain! I. . . (He stops short on seeing him): Plague take me! but you look bravely, too! CARBON (crimson in the face, hiding a bottle behind his back, with an evasive movement): Oh!. . . DE GUICHE: I have one cannon left, and have had it carried there-- (he points behind the scenes): --in that corner. . .Your men can use it in case of need. A CADET (reeling slightly): Charming attention! ANOTHER (with a gracious smile): Kind solicitude! DE GUICHE: How? they are all gone crazy? (Drily): As you are not used to cannon, beware of the recoil. FIRST CADET: Pooh! DE GUICHE (furious, going up to him): But. . . THE CADET: Gascon cannons never recoil! DE GUICHE (taking him by the arm and shaking him): You are tipsy!--but what with? THE CADET (grandiloquently): --With the smell of powder! DE GUICHE (shrugging his shoulders and pushing him away, then going quickly to Roxane): Briefly, Madame, what decision do you deign to take? ROXANE: I stay here. DE GUICHE: You must fly! ROXANE: No! I will stay. DE GUICHE: Since things are thus, give me a musket, one of you! CARBON: Wherefore? DE GUICHE: Because I too--mean to remain. CYRANO: At last! This is true valor, Sir! FIRST CADET: Then you are Gascon after all, spite of your lace collar? ROXANE: What is all this? DE GUICHE: I leave no woman in peril. SECOND CADET (to the first): Hark you! Think you not we might give him something to eat? (All the viands reappear as if by magic.) DE GUICHE (whose eyes sparkle): Victuals! THE THIRD CADET: Yes, you'll see them coming from under every coat! DE GUICHE (controlling himself, haughtily): Do you think I will eat your leavings? CYRANO (saluting him): You make progress. DE GUICHE (proudly, with a light touch of accent on the word 'breaking'): I will fight without br-r-eaking my fast! FIRST CADET (with wild delight): Br-r-r-eaking! He has got the accent! DE GUICHE (laughing): I? THE CADET: 'Tis a Gascon! (All begin to dance.) CARBON DE CASTEL-JALOUX (who had disappeared behind the rampart, reappearing on the ridge): I have drawn my pikemen up in line. They are a resolute troop. (He points to a row of pikes, the tops of which are seen over the ridge.) DE GUICHE (bowing to Roxane): Will you accept my hand, and accompany me while I review them? (She takes it, and they go up toward the rampart. All uncover and follow them.) CHRISTIAN (going to Cyrano, eagerly): Tell me quickly! (As Roxane appears on the ridge, the tops of the lances disappear, lowered for the salute, and a shout is raised. She bows.) THE PIKEMEN (outside): Vivat! CHRISTIAN: What is this secret? CYRANO: If Roxane should. . . CHRISTIAN: Should?. . . CYRANO: Speak of the letters?. . . CHRISTIAN: Yes, I know!. . . CYRANO: Do not spoil all by seeming surprised. . . CHRISTIAN: At what? CYRANO: I must explain to you!. . .Oh! 'tis no great matter--I but thought of it to- day on seeing her. You have. . . CHRISTIAN: Tell quickly! CYRANO: You have. . .written to her oftener than you think. . . CHRISTIAN: How so? CYRANO: Thus, 'faith! I had taken it in hand to express your flame for you!. . .At times I wrote without saying, 'I am writing!' CHRISTIAN: Ah!. . . CYRANO: 'Tis simple enough! CHRISTIAN: But how did you contrive, since we have been cut off, thus. . .to?. . . CYRANO: . . .Oh! before dawn. . .I was able to get through. . . CHRISTIAN (folding his arms): That was simple, too? And how oft, pray you, have I written?. . .Twice in the week?. . .Three times?. . .Four?. . . CYRANO: More often still. CHRISTIAN: What! Every day? CYRANO: Yes, every day,--twice. CHRISTIAN (violently): And that became so mad a joy for you, that you braved death. . . CYRANO (seeing Roxane returning): Hush! Not before her! (He goes hurriedly into his tent.) Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A: De Guiche announces that if Roxane stays for the battle, he will stay to fight as well. The men decide that he must be a Gascon after all, and they offer him some food. He refuses, and they are even more impressed. Cyrano tells Christian that he has written Roxane more often than Christian thought--in fact, every day. Christian again suspects Cyrano's secret, but Roxane interrupts

Chapter: The same. De Guiche. DE GUICHE: It smells good here. A CADET (humming): Lo! Lo-lo! DE GUICHE (looking at him): What is the matter?--You are very red. THE CADET: The matter?--Nothing!--'Tis my blood--boiling at the thought of the coming battle! ANOTHER: Poum, poum--poum. . . DE GUICHE (turning round): What's that? THE CADET (slightly drunk): Nothing!. . .'Tis a song!--a little. . . DE GUICHE: You are merry, my friend! THE CADET: The approach of danger is intoxicating! DE GUICHE (calling Carbon de Castel-Jaloux, to give him an order): Captain! I. . . (He stops short on seeing him): Plague take me! but you look bravely, too! CARBON (crimson in the face, hiding a bottle behind his back, with an evasive movement): Oh!. . . DE GUICHE: I have one cannon left, and have had it carried there-- (he points behind the scenes): --in that corner. . .Your men can use it in case of need. A CADET (reeling slightly): Charming attention! ANOTHER (with a gracious smile): Kind solicitude! DE GUICHE: How? they are all gone crazy? (Drily): As you are not used to cannon, beware of the recoil. FIRST CADET: Pooh! DE GUICHE (furious, going up to him): But. . . THE CADET: Gascon cannons never recoil! DE GUICHE (taking him by the arm and shaking him): You are tipsy!--but what with? THE CADET (grandiloquently): --With the smell of powder! DE GUICHE (shrugging his shoulders and pushing him away, then going quickly to Roxane): Briefly, Madame, what decision do you deign to take? ROXANE: I stay here. DE GUICHE: You must fly! ROXANE: No! I will stay. DE GUICHE: Since things are thus, give me a musket, one of you! CARBON: Wherefore? DE GUICHE: Because I too--mean to remain. CYRANO: At last! This is true valor, Sir! FIRST CADET: Then you are Gascon after all, spite of your lace collar? ROXANE: What is all this? DE GUICHE: I leave no woman in peril. SECOND CADET (to the first): Hark you! Think you not we might give him something to eat? (All the viands reappear as if by magic.) DE GUICHE (whose eyes sparkle): Victuals! THE THIRD CADET: Yes, you'll see them coming from under every coat! DE GUICHE (controlling himself, haughtily): Do you think I will eat your leavings? CYRANO (saluting him): You make progress. DE GUICHE (proudly, with a light touch of accent on the word 'breaking'): I will fight without br-r-eaking my fast! FIRST CADET (with wild delight): Br-r-r-eaking! He has got the accent! DE GUICHE (laughing): I? THE CADET: 'Tis a Gascon! (All begin to dance.) CARBON DE CASTEL-JALOUX (who had disappeared behind the rampart, reappearing on the ridge): I have drawn my pikemen up in line. They are a resolute troop. (He points to a row of pikes, the tops of which are seen over the ridge.) DE GUICHE (bowing to Roxane): Will you accept my hand, and accompany me while I review them? (She takes it, and they go up toward the rampart. All uncover and follow them.) CHRISTIAN (going to Cyrano, eagerly): Tell me quickly! (As Roxane appears on the ridge, the tops of the lances disappear, lowered for the salute, and a shout is raised. She bows.) THE PIKEMEN (outside): Vivat! CHRISTIAN: What is this secret? CYRANO: If Roxane should. . . CHRISTIAN: Should?. . . CYRANO: Speak of the letters?. . . CHRISTIAN: Yes, I know!. . . CYRANO: Do not spoil all by seeming surprised. . . CHRISTIAN: At what? CYRANO: I must explain to you!. . .Oh! 'tis no great matter--I but thought of it to- day on seeing her. You have. . . CHRISTIAN: Tell quickly! CYRANO: You have. . .written to her oftener than you think. . . CHRISTIAN: How so? CYRANO: Thus, 'faith! I had taken it in hand to express your flame for you!. . .At times I wrote without saying, 'I am writing!' CHRISTIAN: Ah!. . . CYRANO: 'Tis simple enough! CHRISTIAN: But how did you contrive, since we have been cut off, thus. . .to?. . . CYRANO: . . .Oh! before dawn. . .I was able to get through. . . CHRISTIAN (folding his arms): That was simple, too? And how oft, pray you, have I written?. . .Twice in the week?. . .Three times?. . .Four?. . . CYRANO: More often still. CHRISTIAN: What! Every day? CYRANO: Yes, every day,--twice. CHRISTIAN (violently): And that became so mad a joy for you, that you braved death. . . CYRANO (seeing Roxane returning): Hush! Not before her! (He goes hurriedly into his tent.) Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A:

De Guiche announces that if Roxane stays for the battle, he will stay to fight as well. The men decide that he must be a Gascon after all, and they offer him some food. He refuses, and they are even more impressed. Cyrano tells Christian that he has written Roxane more often than Christian thought--in fact, every day. Christian again suspects Cyrano's secret, but Roxane interrupts

Chapter: Roxane, Christian. In the distance cadets coming and going. Carbon and De Guiche give orders. ROXANE (running up to Christian): Ah, Christian, at last!. . . CHRISTIAN (taking her hands): Now tell me why-- Why, by these fearful paths so perilous-- Across these ranks of ribald soldiery, You have come? ROXANE: Love, your letters brought me here! CHRISTIAN: What say you? ROXANE: 'Tis your fault if I ran risks! Your letters turned my head! Ah! all this month, How many!--and the last one ever bettered The one that went before! CHRISTIAN: What!--for a few Inconsequent love-letters! ROXANE: Hold your peace! Ah! you cannot conceive it! Ever since That night, when, in a voice all new to me, Under my window you revealed your soul-- Ah! ever since I have adored you! Now Your letters all this whole month long!--meseemed As if I heard that voice so tender, true, Sheltering, close! Thy fault, I say! It drew me, The voice o' th' night! Oh! wise Penelope Would ne'er have stayed to broider on her hearthstone, If her Ulysses could have writ such letters! But would have cast away her silken bobbins, And fled to join him, mad for love as Helen! CHRISTIAN: But. . . ROXANE: I read, read again--grew faint for love; I was thine utterly. Each separate page Was like a fluttering flower-petal, loosed From your own soul, and wafted thus to mine. Imprinted in each burning word was love Sincere, all-powerful. . . CHRISTIAN: A love sincere! Can that be felt, Roxane! ROXANE: Ay, that it can! CHRISTIAN: You come. . .? ROXANE: O, Christian, my true lord, I come-- (Were I to throw myself, here, at your knees, You would raise me--but 'tis my soul I lay At your feet--you can raise it nevermore!) --I come to crave your pardon. (Ay, 'tis time To sue for pardon, now that death may come!) For the insult done to you when, frivolous, At first I loved you only for your face! CHRISTIAN (horror-stricken): Roxane! ROXANE: And later, love--less frivolous-- Like a bird that spreads its wings, but can not fly-- Arrested by your beauty, by your soul Drawn close--I loved for both at once! CHRISTIAN: And now? ROXANE: Ah! you yourself have triumphed o'er yourself, And now, I love you only for your soul! CHRISTIAN (stepping backward): Roxane! ROXANE: Be happy. To be loved for beauty-- A poor disguise that time so soon wears threadbare-- Must be to noble souls--to souls aspiring-- A torture. Your dear thoughts have now effaced That beauty that so won me at the outset. Now I see clearer--and I no more see it! CHRISTIAN: Oh!. . . ROXANE: You are doubtful of such victory? CHRISTIAN (pained): Roxane! ROXANE: I see you cannot yet believe it. Such love. . .? CHRISTIAN: I do not ask such love as that! I would be loved more simply; for. . . ROXANE: For that Which they have all in turns loved in thee?-- Shame! Oh! be loved henceforth in a better way! CHRISTIAN: No! the first love was best! ROXANE: Ah! how you err! 'Tis now that I love best--love well! 'Tis that Which is thy true self, see!--that I adore! Were your brilliance dimmed. . . CHRISTIAN: Hush! ROXANE: I should love still! Ay, if your beauty should to-day depart. . . CHRISTIAN: Say not so! ROXANE: Ay, I say it! CHRISTIAN: Ugly? How? ROXANE: Ugly! I swear I'd love you still! CHRISTIAN: My God! ROXANE: Are you content at last? CHRISTIAN (in a choked voice): Ay!. . . ROXANE: What is wrong? CHRISTIAN (gently pushing her away): Nothing. . .I have two words to say:--one second. . . ROXANE: But?. . . CHRISTIAN (pointing to the cadets): Those poor fellows, shortly doomed to death,-- My love deprives them of the sight of you: Go,--speak to them--smile on them ere they die! ROXANE (deeply affected): Dear Christian!. . . (She goes up to the cadets, who respectfully crowd round her.) Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A: Christian asks why Roxane risked death to see him again, and she says that she was driven mad by his beautiful love letters. She says that, at first, she loved only his beauty, but now she has forgotten about his beauty and loves his inner self, the soul she felt in the letters. When Roxane says she would love him even if he were ugly, Christian is miserable. He sends her to go speak to the cadets and to smile at them because they are about to die

Chapter: Roxane, Christian. In the distance cadets coming and going. Carbon and De Guiche give orders. ROXANE (running up to Christian): Ah, Christian, at last!. . . CHRISTIAN (taking her hands): Now tell me why-- Why, by these fearful paths so perilous-- Across these ranks of ribald soldiery, You have come? ROXANE: Love, your letters brought me here! CHRISTIAN: What say you? ROXANE: 'Tis your fault if I ran risks! Your letters turned my head! Ah! all this month, How many!--and the last one ever bettered The one that went before! CHRISTIAN: What!--for a few Inconsequent love-letters! ROXANE: Hold your peace! Ah! you cannot conceive it! Ever since That night, when, in a voice all new to me, Under my window you revealed your soul-- Ah! ever since I have adored you! Now Your letters all this whole month long!--meseemed As if I heard that voice so tender, true, Sheltering, close! Thy fault, I say! It drew me, The voice o' th' night! Oh! wise Penelope Would ne'er have stayed to broider on her hearthstone, If her Ulysses could have writ such letters! But would have cast away her silken bobbins, And fled to join him, mad for love as Helen! CHRISTIAN: But. . . ROXANE: I read, read again--grew faint for love; I was thine utterly. Each separate page Was like a fluttering flower-petal, loosed From your own soul, and wafted thus to mine. Imprinted in each burning word was love Sincere, all-powerful. . . CHRISTIAN: A love sincere! Can that be felt, Roxane! ROXANE: Ay, that it can! CHRISTIAN: You come. . .? ROXANE: O, Christian, my true lord, I come-- (Were I to throw myself, here, at your knees, You would raise me--but 'tis my soul I lay At your feet--you can raise it nevermore!) --I come to crave your pardon. (Ay, 'tis time To sue for pardon, now that death may come!) For the insult done to you when, frivolous, At first I loved you only for your face! CHRISTIAN (horror-stricken): Roxane! ROXANE: And later, love--less frivolous-- Like a bird that spreads its wings, but can not fly-- Arrested by your beauty, by your soul Drawn close--I loved for both at once! CHRISTIAN: And now? ROXANE: Ah! you yourself have triumphed o'er yourself, And now, I love you only for your soul! CHRISTIAN (stepping backward): Roxane! ROXANE: Be happy. To be loved for beauty-- A poor disguise that time so soon wears threadbare-- Must be to noble souls--to souls aspiring-- A torture. Your dear thoughts have now effaced That beauty that so won me at the outset. Now I see clearer--and I no more see it! CHRISTIAN: Oh!. . . ROXANE: You are doubtful of such victory? CHRISTIAN (pained): Roxane! ROXANE: I see you cannot yet believe it. Such love. . .? CHRISTIAN: I do not ask such love as that! I would be loved more simply; for. . . ROXANE: For that Which they have all in turns loved in thee?-- Shame! Oh! be loved henceforth in a better way! CHRISTIAN: No! the first love was best! ROXANE: Ah! how you err! 'Tis now that I love best--love well! 'Tis that Which is thy true self, see!--that I adore! Were your brilliance dimmed. . . CHRISTIAN: Hush! ROXANE: I should love still! Ay, if your beauty should to-day depart. . . CHRISTIAN: Say not so! ROXANE: Ay, I say it! CHRISTIAN: Ugly? How? ROXANE: Ugly! I swear I'd love you still! CHRISTIAN: My God! ROXANE: Are you content at last? CHRISTIAN (in a choked voice): Ay!. . . ROXANE: What is wrong? CHRISTIAN (gently pushing her away): Nothing. . .I have two words to say:--one second. . . ROXANE: But?. . . CHRISTIAN (pointing to the cadets): Those poor fellows, shortly doomed to death,-- My love deprives them of the sight of you: Go,--speak to them--smile on them ere they die! ROXANE (deeply affected): Dear Christian!. . . (She goes up to the cadets, who respectfully crowd round her.) Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A:

Christian asks why Roxane risked death to see him again, and she says that she was driven mad by his beautiful love letters. She says that, at first, she loved only his beauty, but now she has forgotten about his beauty and loves his inner self, the soul she felt in the letters. When Roxane says she would love him even if he were ugly, Christian is miserable. He sends her to go speak to the cadets and to smile at them because they are about to die

Chapter: Christian, Cyrano. At back Roxane talking to Carbon and some cadets. CHRISTIAN (calling toward Cyrano's tent): Cyrano! CYRANO (reappearing, fully armed): What? Why so pale? CHRISTIAN: She does not love me! CYRANO: What? CHRISTIAN: 'Tis you she loves! CYRANO: No! CHRISTIAN: --For she loves me only for my soul! CYRANO: Truly? CHRISTIAN: Yes! Thus--you see, that soul is you,. . . Therefore, 'tis you she loves!--And you--love her! CYRANO: I? CHRISTIAN: Oh, I know it! CYRANO: Ay, 'tis true! CHRISTIAN: You love To madness! CYRANO: Ay! and worse! CHRISTIAN: Then tell her so! CYRANO: No! CHRISTIAN: And why not? CYRANO: Look at my face!--be answered! CHRISTIAN: She'd love me--were I ugly. CYRANO: Said she so? CHRISTIAN: Ay! in those words! CYRANO: I'm glad she told you that! But pooh!--believe it not! I am well pleased She thought to tell you. Take it not for truth. Never grow ugly:--she'd reproach me then! CHRISTIAN: That I intend discovering! CYRANO: No! I beg! CHRISTIAN: Ay! she shall choose between us!--Tell her all! CYRANO: No! no! I will not have it! Spare me this! CHRISTIAN: Because my face is haply fair, shall I Destroy your happiness? 'Twere too unjust! CYRANO: And I,--because by Nature's freak I have The gift to say--all that perchance you feel. Shall I be fatal to your happiness? CHRISTIAN: Tell all! CYRANO: It is ill done to tempt me thus! CHRISTIAN: Too long I've borne about within myself A rival to myself--I'll make an end! CYRANO: Christian! CHRISTIAN: Our union, without witness--secret-- Clandestine--can be easily dissolved If we survive. CYRANO: My God!--he still persists! CHRISTIAN: I will be loved myself--or not at all! --I'll go see what they do--there, at the end Of the post: speak to her, and then let her choose One of us two! CYRANO: It will be you. CHRISTIAN: Pray God! (He calls): Roxane! CYRANO: No! no! ROXANE (coming up quickly): What? CHRISTIAN: Cyrano has things Important for your ear. . . (She hastens to Cyrano. Christian goes out.) Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A: Christian tells Cyrano that Roxane is no longer in love with him. Instead, he says, she loves his "soul" and that means she loves Cyrano. He accuses Cyrano of secretly returning her love. Cyrano cannot deny it. Christian says that Cyrano must tell Roxane and ask her to choose between them. Christian calls Roxane and runs off toward the other men. Cyrano asks Roxane if she could really love Christian if he were ugly. She says that she could. Cyrano feels ecstatic and is on the cusp of revealing his secret when suddenly they hear gunfire. Le Bret cries out for Cyrano. He whispers something in Cyrano's ear, and Cyrano says that now he can never tell Roxane his feelings. A group of men comes into the camp, carrying something. Soon, we see it is Christian's body. He is dying

Chapter: Christian, Cyrano. At back Roxane talking to Carbon and some cadets. CHRISTIAN (calling toward Cyrano's tent): Cyrano! CYRANO (reappearing, fully armed): What? Why so pale? CHRISTIAN: She does not love me! CYRANO: What? CHRISTIAN: 'Tis you she loves! CYRANO: No! CHRISTIAN: --For she loves me only for my soul! CYRANO: Truly? CHRISTIAN: Yes! Thus--you see, that soul is you,. . . Therefore, 'tis you she loves!--And you--love her! CYRANO: I? CHRISTIAN: Oh, I know it! CYRANO: Ay, 'tis true! CHRISTIAN: You love To madness! CYRANO: Ay! and worse! CHRISTIAN: Then tell her so! CYRANO: No! CHRISTIAN: And why not? CYRANO: Look at my face!--be answered! CHRISTIAN: She'd love me--were I ugly. CYRANO: Said she so? CHRISTIAN: Ay! in those words! CYRANO: I'm glad she told you that! But pooh!--believe it not! I am well pleased She thought to tell you. Take it not for truth. Never grow ugly:--she'd reproach me then! CHRISTIAN: That I intend discovering! CYRANO: No! I beg! CHRISTIAN: Ay! she shall choose between us!--Tell her all! CYRANO: No! no! I will not have it! Spare me this! CHRISTIAN: Because my face is haply fair, shall I Destroy your happiness? 'Twere too unjust! CYRANO: And I,--because by Nature's freak I have The gift to say--all that perchance you feel. Shall I be fatal to your happiness? CHRISTIAN: Tell all! CYRANO: It is ill done to tempt me thus! CHRISTIAN: Too long I've borne about within myself A rival to myself--I'll make an end! CYRANO: Christian! CHRISTIAN: Our union, without witness--secret-- Clandestine--can be easily dissolved If we survive. CYRANO: My God!--he still persists! CHRISTIAN: I will be loved myself--or not at all! --I'll go see what they do--there, at the end Of the post: speak to her, and then let her choose One of us two! CYRANO: It will be you. CHRISTIAN: Pray God! (He calls): Roxane! CYRANO: No! no! ROXANE (coming up quickly): What? CHRISTIAN: Cyrano has things Important for your ear. . . (She hastens to Cyrano. Christian goes out.) Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A:

Christian tells Cyrano that Roxane is no longer in love with him. Instead, he says, she loves his "soul" and that means she loves Cyrano. He accuses Cyrano of secretly returning her love. Cyrano cannot deny it. Christian says that Cyrano must tell Roxane and ask her to choose between them. Christian calls Roxane and runs off toward the other men. Cyrano asks Roxane if she could really love Christian if he were ugly. She says that she could. Cyrano feels ecstatic and is on the cusp of revealing his secret when suddenly they hear gunfire. Le Bret cries out for Cyrano. He whispers something in Cyrano's ear, and Cyrano says that now he can never tell Roxane his feelings. A group of men comes into the camp, carrying something. Soon, we see it is Christian's body. He is dying

Chapter: Roxane, Cyrano. Then Le Bret, Carbon de Castel-Jaloux, the cadets, Ragueneau, De Guiche, etc. ROXANE: Important, how? CYRANO (in despair. to Roxane): He's gone! 'Tis naught!--Oh, you know how he sees Importance in a trifle! ROXANE (warmly): Did he doubt Of what I said?--Ah, yes, I saw he doubted! CYRANO (taking her hand): But are you sure you told him all the truth? ROXANE: Yes, I would love him were he. . . (She hesitates.) CYRANO: Does that word Embarrass you before my face, Roxane? ROXANE: I. . . CYRANO (smiling sadly): 'Twill not hurt me! Say it! If he were Ugly!. . . ROXANE: Yes, ugly! (Musket report outside): Hark! I hear a shot! CYRANO (ardently): Hideous! ROXANE: Hideous! yes! CYRANO: Disfigured. ROXANE: Ay! CYRANO: Grotesque? ROXANE: He could not be grotesque to me! CYRANO: You'd love the same?. . . ROXANE: The same--nay, even more! CYRANO (losing command over himself--aside): My God! it's true, perchance, love waits me there! (To Roxane): I. . .Roxane. . .listen. . . LE BRET (entering hurriedly--to Cyrano): Cyrano! CYRANO (turning round): What? LE BRET: Hush! (He whispers something to him.) CYRANO (letting go Roxane's hand and exclaiming): Ah, God! ROXANE: What is it? CYRANO (to himself--stunned): All is over now. (Renewed reports.) ROXANE: What is the matter? Hark! another shot! (She goes up to look outside.) CYRANO: It is too late, now I can never tell! ROXANE (trying to rush out): What has chanced? CYRANO (rushing to stop her): Nothing! (Some cadets enter, trying to hide something they are carrying, and close round it to prevent Roxane approaching.) ROXANE: And those men? (Cyrano draws her away): What were you just about to say before. . .? CYRANO: What was I saying? Nothing now, I swear! (Solemnly): I swear that Christian's soul, his nature, were. . . (Hastily correcting himself): Nay, that they are, the noblest, greatest. . . ROXANE: Were? (With a loud scream): Oh! (She rushes up, pushing every one aside.) CYRANO: All is over now! ROXANE (seeing Christian lying on the ground, wrapped in his cloak): O Christian! LE BRET (to Cyrano): Struck by first shot of the enemy! (Roxane flings herself down by Christian. Fresh reports of cannon--clash of arms--clamor--beating of drums.) CARBON (with sword in the air): O come! Your muskets. (Followed by the cadets, he passes to the other side of the ramparts.) ROXANE: Christian! THE VOICE OF CARBON (from the other side): Ho! make haste! ROXANE: Christian! CARBON: FORM LINE! ROXANE: Christian! CARBON: HANDLE YOUR MATCH! (Ragueneau rushes up, bringing water in a helmet.) CHRISTIAN (in a dying voice): Roxane! CYRANO (quickly, whispering into Christian's ear, while Roxane distractedly tears a piece of linen from his breast, which she dips into the water, trying to stanch the bleeding): I told her all. She loves you still. (Christian closes his eyes.) ROXANE: How, my sweet love? CARBON: DRAW RAMRODS! ROXANE (to Cyrano): He is not dead? CARBON: OPEN YOUR CHARGES WITH YOUR TEETH! ROXANE: His cheek Grows cold against my own! CARBON: READY! PRESENT! ROXANE (seeing a letter in Christian's doublet): A letter!. . . 'Tis for me! (She opens it.) CYRANO (aside): My letter! CARBON: FIRE! (Musket reports--shouts--noise of battle.) CYRANO (trying to disengage his hand, which Roxane on her knees is holding): But, Roxane, hark, they fight! ROXANE (detaining him): Stay yet awhile. For he is dead. You knew him, you alone. (Weeping quietly): Ah, was not his a beauteous soul, a soul Wondrous! CYRANO (standing up--bareheaded): Ay, Roxane. ROXANE: An inspired poet? CYRANO: Ay, Roxane. ROXANE: And a mind sublime? CYRANO: Oh, yes! ROXANE: A heart too deep for common minds to plumb, A spirit subtle, charming? CYRANO (firmly): Ay, Roxane. ROXANE (flinging herself on the dead body): Dead, my love! CYRANO (aside--drawing his sword): Ay, and let me die to-day, Since, all unconscious, she mourns me--in him! (Sounds of trumpets in the distance.) DE GUICHE (appearing on the ramparts--bareheaded--with a wound on his forehead--in a voice of thunder): It is the signal! Trumpet flourishes! The French bring the provisions into camp! Hold but the place awhile! ROXANE: See, there is blood Upon the letter--tears! A VOICE (outside--shouting): Surrender! VOICE OF CADETS: No! RAGUENEAU (standing on the top of his carriage, watches the battle over the edge of the ramparts): The danger's ever greater! CYRANO (to De Guiche--pointing to Roxane): I will charge! Take her away! ROXANE (kissing the letter--in a half-extinguished voice): O God! his tears! his blood!. . . RAGUENEAU (jumping down from the carriage and rushing toward her): She's swooned away! DE GUICHE (on the rampart--to the cadets--with fury): Stand fast! A VOICE (outside): Lay down your arms! THE CADETS: No! CYRANO (to De Guiche): Now that you have proved your valor, Sir, (Pointing to Roxane): Fly, and save her! DE GUICHE (rushing to Roxane, and carrying her away in his arms): So be it! Gain but time, The victory's ours! CYRANO: Good. (Calling out to Roxane, whom De Guiche, aided by Ragueneau, is bearing away in a fainting condition): Farewell, Roxane! (Tumult. Shouts. Cadets reappear, wounded, falling on the scene. Cyrano, rushing to the battle, is stopped by Carbon de Castel-Jaloux, who is streaming with blood.) CARBON: We are breaking! I am wounded--wounded twice! CYRANO (shouting to the Gascons): GASCONS! HO, GASCONS! NEVER TURN YOUR BACKS! (To Carbon, whom he is supporting): Have no fear! I have two deaths to avenge: My friend who's slain;--and my dead happiness! (They come down, Cyrano brandishing the lance to which is attached Roxane's handkerchief): Float there! laced kerchief broidered with her name! (He sticks it in the ground and shouts to the cadets): FALL ON THEM, GASCONS! CRUSH THEM! (To the fifer): Fifer, play! (The fife plays. The wounded try to rise. Some cadets, falling one over the other down the slope, group themselves round Cyrano and the little flag. The carriage is crowded with men inside and outside, and, bristling with arquebuses, is turned into a fortress.) A CADET (appearing on the crest, beaten backward, but still fighting, cries): They're climbing the redoubt! (and falls dead.) CYRANO: Let us salute them! (The rampart is covered instantly by a formidable row of enemies. The standards of the Imperialists are raised): Fire! (General discharge.) A CRY IN THE ENEMY'S RANKS: Fire! (A deadly answering volley. The cadets fall on all sides.) A SPANISH OFFICER (uncovering): Who are these men who rush on death? CYRANO (reciting, erect, amid a storm of bullets): The bold Cadets of Gascony, Of Carbon of Castel-Jaloux! Brawling, swaggering boastfully, (He rushes forward, followed by a few survivors): The bold Cadets. . . (His voice is drowned in the battle.) Curtain. Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A: The men run off to fight, and Roxane collapses over Christian's body. Cyrano leans down and whispers into Christian's ear that he told Roxane the secret, and that she chose Christian. The battle breaks out all around them and Christian closes his eyes, dead. Next to Christian's heart, Roxane finds the farewell letter that Cyrano wrote for Christian to give her. She faints with grief, and Cyrano sends Ragueneau and de Guiche to take her away and protect her. Carbon emerges from the fighting, twice wounded. But the army has returned, and the men will win if they can hold out only a little longer. Cyrano tells Carbon not to worry. Now, he says, he has two deaths to avenge: Christian's and his own. Cyrano charges into battle. When he hears a Spaniard ask, "Who are these men who are so eager for death. he begins to sing the song of the Cadets of Gascoyne. Cyrano charges off into a hail of bullets, singing as he fights.

Chapter: Roxane, Cyrano. Then Le Bret, Carbon de Castel-Jaloux, the cadets, Ragueneau, De Guiche, etc. ROXANE: Important, how? CYRANO (in despair. to Roxane): He's gone! 'Tis naught!--Oh, you know how he sees Importance in a trifle! ROXANE (warmly): Did he doubt Of what I said?--Ah, yes, I saw he doubted! CYRANO (taking her hand): But are you sure you told him all the truth? ROXANE: Yes, I would love him were he. . . (She hesitates.) CYRANO: Does that word Embarrass you before my face, Roxane? ROXANE: I. . . CYRANO (smiling sadly): 'Twill not hurt me! Say it! If he were Ugly!. . . ROXANE: Yes, ugly! (Musket report outside): Hark! I hear a shot! CYRANO (ardently): Hideous! ROXANE: Hideous! yes! CYRANO: Disfigured. ROXANE: Ay! CYRANO: Grotesque? ROXANE: He could not be grotesque to me! CYRANO: You'd love the same?. . . ROXANE: The same--nay, even more! CYRANO (losing command over himself--aside): My God! it's true, perchance, love waits me there! (To Roxane): I. . .Roxane. . .listen. . . LE BRET (entering hurriedly--to Cyrano): Cyrano! CYRANO (turning round): What? LE BRET: Hush! (He whispers something to him.) CYRANO (letting go Roxane's hand and exclaiming): Ah, God! ROXANE: What is it? CYRANO (to himself--stunned): All is over now. (Renewed reports.) ROXANE: What is the matter? Hark! another shot! (She goes up to look outside.) CYRANO: It is too late, now I can never tell! ROXANE (trying to rush out): What has chanced? CYRANO (rushing to stop her): Nothing! (Some cadets enter, trying to hide something they are carrying, and close round it to prevent Roxane approaching.) ROXANE: And those men? (Cyrano draws her away): What were you just about to say before. . .? CYRANO: What was I saying? Nothing now, I swear! (Solemnly): I swear that Christian's soul, his nature, were. . . (Hastily correcting himself): Nay, that they are, the noblest, greatest. . . ROXANE: Were? (With a loud scream): Oh! (She rushes up, pushing every one aside.) CYRANO: All is over now! ROXANE (seeing Christian lying on the ground, wrapped in his cloak): O Christian! LE BRET (to Cyrano): Struck by first shot of the enemy! (Roxane flings herself down by Christian. Fresh reports of cannon--clash of arms--clamor--beating of drums.) CARBON (with sword in the air): O come! Your muskets. (Followed by the cadets, he passes to the other side of the ramparts.) ROXANE: Christian! THE VOICE OF CARBON (from the other side): Ho! make haste! ROXANE: Christian! CARBON: FORM LINE! ROXANE: Christian! CARBON: HANDLE YOUR MATCH! (Ragueneau rushes up, bringing water in a helmet.) CHRISTIAN (in a dying voice): Roxane! CYRANO (quickly, whispering into Christian's ear, while Roxane distractedly tears a piece of linen from his breast, which she dips into the water, trying to stanch the bleeding): I told her all. She loves you still. (Christian closes his eyes.) ROXANE: How, my sweet love? CARBON: DRAW RAMRODS! ROXANE (to Cyrano): He is not dead? CARBON: OPEN YOUR CHARGES WITH YOUR TEETH! ROXANE: His cheek Grows cold against my own! CARBON: READY! PRESENT! ROXANE (seeing a letter in Christian's doublet): A letter!. . . 'Tis for me! (She opens it.) CYRANO (aside): My letter! CARBON: FIRE! (Musket reports--shouts--noise of battle.) CYRANO (trying to disengage his hand, which Roxane on her knees is holding): But, Roxane, hark, they fight! ROXANE (detaining him): Stay yet awhile. For he is dead. You knew him, you alone. (Weeping quietly): Ah, was not his a beauteous soul, a soul Wondrous! CYRANO (standing up--bareheaded): Ay, Roxane. ROXANE: An inspired poet? CYRANO: Ay, Roxane. ROXANE: And a mind sublime? CYRANO: Oh, yes! ROXANE: A heart too deep for common minds to plumb, A spirit subtle, charming? CYRANO (firmly): Ay, Roxane. ROXANE (flinging herself on the dead body): Dead, my love! CYRANO (aside--drawing his sword): Ay, and let me die to-day, Since, all unconscious, she mourns me--in him! (Sounds of trumpets in the distance.) DE GUICHE (appearing on the ramparts--bareheaded--with a wound on his forehead--in a voice of thunder): It is the signal! Trumpet flourishes! The French bring the provisions into camp! Hold but the place awhile! ROXANE: See, there is blood Upon the letter--tears! A VOICE (outside--shouting): Surrender! VOICE OF CADETS: No! RAGUENEAU (standing on the top of his carriage, watches the battle over the edge of the ramparts): The danger's ever greater! CYRANO (to De Guiche--pointing to Roxane): I will charge! Take her away! ROXANE (kissing the letter--in a half-extinguished voice): O God! his tears! his blood!. . . RAGUENEAU (jumping down from the carriage and rushing toward her): She's swooned away! DE GUICHE (on the rampart--to the cadets--with fury): Stand fast! A VOICE (outside): Lay down your arms! THE CADETS: No! CYRANO (to De Guiche): Now that you have proved your valor, Sir, (Pointing to Roxane): Fly, and save her! DE GUICHE (rushing to Roxane, and carrying her away in his arms): So be it! Gain but time, The victory's ours! CYRANO: Good. (Calling out to Roxane, whom De Guiche, aided by Ragueneau, is bearing away in a fainting condition): Farewell, Roxane! (Tumult. Shouts. Cadets reappear, wounded, falling on the scene. Cyrano, rushing to the battle, is stopped by Carbon de Castel-Jaloux, who is streaming with blood.) CARBON: We are breaking! I am wounded--wounded twice! CYRANO (shouting to the Gascons): GASCONS! HO, GASCONS! NEVER TURN YOUR BACKS! (To Carbon, whom he is supporting): Have no fear! I have two deaths to avenge: My friend who's slain;--and my dead happiness! (They come down, Cyrano brandishing the lance to which is attached Roxane's handkerchief): Float there! laced kerchief broidered with her name! (He sticks it in the ground and shouts to the cadets): FALL ON THEM, GASCONS! CRUSH THEM! (To the fifer): Fifer, play! (The fife plays. The wounded try to rise. Some cadets, falling one over the other down the slope, group themselves round Cyrano and the little flag. The carriage is crowded with men inside and outside, and, bristling with arquebuses, is turned into a fortress.) A CADET (appearing on the crest, beaten backward, but still fighting, cries): They're climbing the redoubt! (and falls dead.) CYRANO: Let us salute them! (The rampart is covered instantly by a formidable row of enemies. The standards of the Imperialists are raised): Fire! (General discharge.) A CRY IN THE ENEMY'S RANKS: Fire! (A deadly answering volley. The cadets fall on all sides.) A SPANISH OFFICER (uncovering): Who are these men who rush on death? CYRANO (reciting, erect, amid a storm of bullets): The bold Cadets of Gascony, Of Carbon of Castel-Jaloux! Brawling, swaggering boastfully, (He rushes forward, followed by a few survivors): The bold Cadets. . . (His voice is drowned in the battle.) Curtain. Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A:

The men run off to fight, and Roxane collapses over Christian's body. Cyrano leans down and whispers into Christian's ear that he told Roxane the secret, and that she chose Christian. The battle breaks out all around them and Christian closes his eyes, dead. Next to Christian's heart, Roxane finds the farewell letter that Cyrano wrote for Christian to give her. She faints with grief, and Cyrano sends Ragueneau and de Guiche to take her away and protect her. Carbon emerges from the fighting, twice wounded. But the army has returned, and the men will win if they can hold out only a little longer. Cyrano tells Carbon not to worry. Now, he says, he has two deaths to avenge: Christian's and his own. Cyrano charges into battle. When he hears a Spaniard ask, "Who are these men who are so eager for death. he begins to sing the song of the Cadets of Gascoyne. Cyrano charges off into a hail of bullets, singing as he fights.

Chapter: Mother Marguerite, Sister Martha, Sister Claire, other sisters. SISTER MARTHA (to Mother Marguerite): Sister Claire glanced in the mirror, once--nay, twice, to see if her coif suited. MOTHER MARGUERITE (to Sister Claire): 'Tis not well. SISTER CLAIRE: But I saw Sister Martha take a plum Out of the tart. MOTHER MARGUERITE (to Sister Martha): That was ill done, my sister. SISTER CLAIRE: A little glance! SISTER MARTHA: And such a little plum! MOTHER MARGUERITE: I shall tell this to Monsieur Cyrano. SISTER CLAIRE: Nay, prithee do not!--he will mock! SISTER MARTHA: He'll say we nuns are vain! SISTER CLAIRE: And greedy! MOTHER MARGUERITE (smiling): Ay, and kind! SISTER CLAIRE: Is it not true, pray, Mother Marguerite, That he has come, each week, on Saturday For ten years, to the convent? MOTHER MARGUERITE: Ay! and more! Ever since--fourteen years ago--the day His cousin brought here, 'midst our woolen coifs, The worldly mourning of her widow's veil, Like a blackbird's wing among the convent doves! SISTER MARTHA: He only has the skill to turn her mind From grief--unsoftened yet by Time--unhealed! ALL THE SISTERS: He is so droll!--It's cheerful when he comes!-- He teases us!--But we all like him well!-- --We make him pasties of angelica! SISTER MARTHA: But, he is not a faithful Catholic! SISTER CLAIRE: We will convert him! THE SISTERS: Yes! Yes! MOTHER MARGUERITE: I forbid, My daughters, you attempt that subject. Nay, Weary him not--he might less oft come here! SISTER MARTHA: But. . .God. . . MOTHER MARGUERITE: Nay, never fear! God knows him well! SISTER MARTHA: But--every Saturday, when he arrives, He tells me, 'Sister, I eat meat on Friday!' MOTHER MARGUERITE: Ah! says he so? Well, the last time he came Food had not passed his lips for two whole days! SISTER MARTHA: Mother! MOTHER MARGUERITE: He's poor. SISTER MARTHA: Who told you so, dear Mother? MOTHER MARGUERITE: Monsieur Le Bret. SISTER MARTHA: None help him? MOTHER MARGUERITE: He permits not. (In an alley at the back Roxane appears, dressed in black, with a widow's coif and veil. De Guiche, imposing-looking and visibly aged, walks by her side. They saunter slowly. Mother Marguerite rises): 'Tis time we go in; Madame Madeleine Walks in the garden with a visitor. SISTER MARTHA (to Sister Claire, in a low voice): The Marshal of Grammont? SISTER CLAIRE (looking at him): 'Tis he, I think. SISTER MARTHA: 'Tis many months now since he came to see her. THE SISTERS: He is so busy!--The Court,--the camp!. . . SISTER CLAIRE: The world! (They go out. De Guiche and Roxane come forward in silence, and stop close to the embroidery frame.) Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A: Fifteen years later, in 1655, the nuns of the Convent of the Ladies of the Cross in Paris talk about Cyrano. They say he makes them laugh, and they remark how he has come every week for more than ten years to visit his cousin Roxane, who first came to live in the convent after the death of her husband

Chapter: Mother Marguerite, Sister Martha, Sister Claire, other sisters. SISTER MARTHA (to Mother Marguerite): Sister Claire glanced in the mirror, once--nay, twice, to see if her coif suited. MOTHER MARGUERITE (to Sister Claire): 'Tis not well. SISTER CLAIRE: But I saw Sister Martha take a plum Out of the tart. MOTHER MARGUERITE (to Sister Martha): That was ill done, my sister. SISTER CLAIRE: A little glance! SISTER MARTHA: And such a little plum! MOTHER MARGUERITE: I shall tell this to Monsieur Cyrano. SISTER CLAIRE: Nay, prithee do not!--he will mock! SISTER MARTHA: He'll say we nuns are vain! SISTER CLAIRE: And greedy! MOTHER MARGUERITE (smiling): Ay, and kind! SISTER CLAIRE: Is it not true, pray, Mother Marguerite, That he has come, each week, on Saturday For ten years, to the convent? MOTHER MARGUERITE: Ay! and more! Ever since--fourteen years ago--the day His cousin brought here, 'midst our woolen coifs, The worldly mourning of her widow's veil, Like a blackbird's wing among the convent doves! SISTER MARTHA: He only has the skill to turn her mind From grief--unsoftened yet by Time--unhealed! ALL THE SISTERS: He is so droll!--It's cheerful when he comes!-- He teases us!--But we all like him well!-- --We make him pasties of angelica! SISTER MARTHA: But, he is not a faithful Catholic! SISTER CLAIRE: We will convert him! THE SISTERS: Yes! Yes! MOTHER MARGUERITE: I forbid, My daughters, you attempt that subject. Nay, Weary him not--he might less oft come here! SISTER MARTHA: But. . .God. . . MOTHER MARGUERITE: Nay, never fear! God knows him well! SISTER MARTHA: But--every Saturday, when he arrives, He tells me, 'Sister, I eat meat on Friday!' MOTHER MARGUERITE: Ah! says he so? Well, the last time he came Food had not passed his lips for two whole days! SISTER MARTHA: Mother! MOTHER MARGUERITE: He's poor. SISTER MARTHA: Who told you so, dear Mother? MOTHER MARGUERITE: Monsieur Le Bret. SISTER MARTHA: None help him? MOTHER MARGUERITE: He permits not. (In an alley at the back Roxane appears, dressed in black, with a widow's coif and veil. De Guiche, imposing-looking and visibly aged, walks by her side. They saunter slowly. Mother Marguerite rises): 'Tis time we go in; Madame Madeleine Walks in the garden with a visitor. SISTER MARTHA (to Sister Claire, in a low voice): The Marshal of Grammont? SISTER CLAIRE (looking at him): 'Tis he, I think. SISTER MARTHA: 'Tis many months now since he came to see her. THE SISTERS: He is so busy!--The Court,--the camp!. . . SISTER CLAIRE: The world! (They go out. De Guiche and Roxane come forward in silence, and stop close to the embroidery frame.) Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A:

Fifteen years later, in 1655, the nuns of the Convent of the Ladies of the Cross in Paris talk about Cyrano. They say he makes them laugh, and they remark how he has come every week for more than ten years to visit his cousin Roxane, who first came to live in the convent after the death of her husband

Chapter: Roxane; the Duke de Grammont, formerly Count de Guiche. Then Le Bret and Ragueneau. THE DUKE: And you stay here still--ever vainly fair, Ever in weeds? ROXANE: Ever. THE DUKE: Still faithful? ROXANE: Still. THE DUKE (after a pause): Am I forgiven? ROXANE: Ay, since I am here. (Another pause.) THE DUKE: His was a soul, you say?. . . ROXANE: Ah!--when you knew him! THE DUKE: Ah, may be!. . .I, perchance, too little knew him! . . .And his last letter, ever next your heart? ROXANE: Hung from this chain, a gentle scapulary. THE DUKE: And, dead, you love him still? ROXANE: At times,--meseems He is but partly dead--our hearts still speak, As if his love, still living, wrapped me round! THE DUKE (after another pause): Cyrano comes to see you? ROXANE: Often, ay. Dear, kind old friend! We call him my 'Gazette.' He never fails to come: beneath this tree They place his chair, if it be fine:--I wait, I broider;--the clock strikes;--at the last stroke I hear,--for now I never turn to look-- Too sure to hear his cane tap down the steps; He seats himself:--with gentle raillery He mocks my tapestry that's never done; He tells me all the gossip of the week. . . (Le Bret appears on the steps): Why, here's Le Bret! (Le Bret descends): How goes it with our friend? LE BRET: Ill!--very ill. THE DUKE: How? ROXANE (to the Duke): He exaggerates! LE BRET: All that I prophesied: desertion, want!. . . His letters now make him fresh enemies!-- Attacking the sham nobles, sham devout, Sham brave,--the thieving authors,--all the world! ROXANE: Ah! but his sword still holds them all in check; None get the better of him. THE DUKE (shaking his head): Time will show! LE BRET: Ah, but I fear for him--not man's attack,-- Solitude--hunger--cold December days, That wolf-like steal into his chamber drear:-- Lo! the assassins that I fear for him! Each day he tightens by one hole his belt: That poor nose--tinted like old ivory: He has retained one shabby suit of serge. THE DUKE: Ay, there is one who has no prize of Fortune!-- Yet is not to be pitied! LE BRET (with a bitter smile): My Lord Marshal!. . . THE DUKE: Pity him not! He has lived out his vows, Free in his thoughts, as in his actions free! LE BRET (in the same tone): My Lord!. . . THE DUKE (haughtily): True! I have all, and he has naught;. . . Yet I were proud to take his hand! (Bowing to Roxane): Adieu! ROXANE: I go with you. (The Duke bows to Le Bret, and goes with Roxane toward the steps.) THE DUKE (pausing, while she goes up): Ay, true,--I envy him. Look you, when life is brimful of success --Though the past hold no action foul--one feels A thousand self-disgusts, of which the sum Is not remorse, but a dim, vague unrest; And, as one mounts the steps of worldly fame, The Duke's furred mantles trail within their folds A sound of dead illusions, vain regrets, A rustle--scarce a whisper--like as when, Mounting the terrace steps, by your mourning robe Sweeps in its train the dying autumn leaves. ROXANE (ironically): You are pensive? THE DUKE: True! I am! (As he is going out, suddenly): Monsieur Le Bret! (To Roxane): A word, with your permission? (He goes to Le Bret, and in a low voice): True, that none Dare to attack your friend;--but many hate him; Yesterday, at the Queen's card-play, 'twas said 'That Cyrano may die--by accident!' Let him stay in--be prudent! LE BRET (raising his arms to heaven): Prudent! He!. . . He's coming here. I'll warn him--but!. . . ROXANE (who has stayed on the steps, to a sister who comes toward her): What is it? THE SISTER: Ragueneau would see you, Madame. ROXANE: Let him come. (To the Duke and Le Bret): He comes to tell his troubles. Having been An author (save the mark!)--poor fellow--now By turns he's singer. . . LE BRET: Bathing-man. . . ROXANE: Then actor. . . LE BRET: Beadle. . . ROXANE: Wig-maker. . . LE BRET: Teacher of the lute. . . ROXANE: What will he be to-day, by chance? RAGUENEAU (entering hurriedly): Ah! Madame! (He sees Le Bret): Ah! you here, Sir! ROXANE (smiling): Tell all your miseries To him; I will return anon. RAGUENEAU: But, Madame. . . (Roxane goes out with the Duke. Ragueneau goes toward Le Bret.) Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A: Roxane enters the park of the convent accompanied by de Guiche, who, now an old man, is still magnificent and one of the most powerful nobles in France. He asks Roxane if she is still faithful to Christian's memory, and she says she is. He asks if she has forgiven him, and she replies, "I am here. She says that she always wears Christian's last letter next to her heart. She tells de Guiche that Cyrano comes to visit her every week and gives her an impromptu gazette, telling her all the news. Le Bret enters and tells Roxane and de Guiche that things are going badly for Cyrano--he is old, poor, and disliked by a host of enemies as a result of his constant satirical attacks on hypocrites in society. De Guiche says that they should not pity him, because Cyrano lives his life as he chooses. De Guiche says that he would be proud to shake Cyrano's hand. Privately, de Guiche tells Le Bret that he has heard at court that some nobles are planning to kill Cyrano. Le Bret agrees to try to keep Cyrano at home

Chapter: Roxane; the Duke de Grammont, formerly Count de Guiche. Then Le Bret and Ragueneau. THE DUKE: And you stay here still--ever vainly fair, Ever in weeds? ROXANE: Ever. THE DUKE: Still faithful? ROXANE: Still. THE DUKE (after a pause): Am I forgiven? ROXANE: Ay, since I am here. (Another pause.) THE DUKE: His was a soul, you say?. . . ROXANE: Ah!--when you knew him! THE DUKE: Ah, may be!. . .I, perchance, too little knew him! . . .And his last letter, ever next your heart? ROXANE: Hung from this chain, a gentle scapulary. THE DUKE: And, dead, you love him still? ROXANE: At times,--meseems He is but partly dead--our hearts still speak, As if his love, still living, wrapped me round! THE DUKE (after another pause): Cyrano comes to see you? ROXANE: Often, ay. Dear, kind old friend! We call him my 'Gazette.' He never fails to come: beneath this tree They place his chair, if it be fine:--I wait, I broider;--the clock strikes;--at the last stroke I hear,--for now I never turn to look-- Too sure to hear his cane tap down the steps; He seats himself:--with gentle raillery He mocks my tapestry that's never done; He tells me all the gossip of the week. . . (Le Bret appears on the steps): Why, here's Le Bret! (Le Bret descends): How goes it with our friend? LE BRET: Ill!--very ill. THE DUKE: How? ROXANE (to the Duke): He exaggerates! LE BRET: All that I prophesied: desertion, want!. . . His letters now make him fresh enemies!-- Attacking the sham nobles, sham devout, Sham brave,--the thieving authors,--all the world! ROXANE: Ah! but his sword still holds them all in check; None get the better of him. THE DUKE (shaking his head): Time will show! LE BRET: Ah, but I fear for him--not man's attack,-- Solitude--hunger--cold December days, That wolf-like steal into his chamber drear:-- Lo! the assassins that I fear for him! Each day he tightens by one hole his belt: That poor nose--tinted like old ivory: He has retained one shabby suit of serge. THE DUKE: Ay, there is one who has no prize of Fortune!-- Yet is not to be pitied! LE BRET (with a bitter smile): My Lord Marshal!. . . THE DUKE: Pity him not! He has lived out his vows, Free in his thoughts, as in his actions free! LE BRET (in the same tone): My Lord!. . . THE DUKE (haughtily): True! I have all, and he has naught;. . . Yet I were proud to take his hand! (Bowing to Roxane): Adieu! ROXANE: I go with you. (The Duke bows to Le Bret, and goes with Roxane toward the steps.) THE DUKE (pausing, while she goes up): Ay, true,--I envy him. Look you, when life is brimful of success --Though the past hold no action foul--one feels A thousand self-disgusts, of which the sum Is not remorse, but a dim, vague unrest; And, as one mounts the steps of worldly fame, The Duke's furred mantles trail within their folds A sound of dead illusions, vain regrets, A rustle--scarce a whisper--like as when, Mounting the terrace steps, by your mourning robe Sweeps in its train the dying autumn leaves. ROXANE (ironically): You are pensive? THE DUKE: True! I am! (As he is going out, suddenly): Monsieur Le Bret! (To Roxane): A word, with your permission? (He goes to Le Bret, and in a low voice): True, that none Dare to attack your friend;--but many hate him; Yesterday, at the Queen's card-play, 'twas said 'That Cyrano may die--by accident!' Let him stay in--be prudent! LE BRET (raising his arms to heaven): Prudent! He!. . . He's coming here. I'll warn him--but!. . . ROXANE (who has stayed on the steps, to a sister who comes toward her): What is it? THE SISTER: Ragueneau would see you, Madame. ROXANE: Let him come. (To the Duke and Le Bret): He comes to tell his troubles. Having been An author (save the mark!)--poor fellow--now By turns he's singer. . . LE BRET: Bathing-man. . . ROXANE: Then actor. . . LE BRET: Beadle. . . ROXANE: Wig-maker. . . LE BRET: Teacher of the lute. . . ROXANE: What will he be to-day, by chance? RAGUENEAU (entering hurriedly): Ah! Madame! (He sees Le Bret): Ah! you here, Sir! ROXANE (smiling): Tell all your miseries To him; I will return anon. RAGUENEAU: But, Madame. . . (Roxane goes out with the Duke. Ragueneau goes toward Le Bret.) Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A:

Roxane enters the park of the convent accompanied by de Guiche, who, now an old man, is still magnificent and one of the most powerful nobles in France. He asks Roxane if she is still faithful to Christian's memory, and she says she is. He asks if she has forgiven him, and she replies, "I am here. She says that she always wears Christian's last letter next to her heart. She tells de Guiche that Cyrano comes to visit her every week and gives her an impromptu gazette, telling her all the news. Le Bret enters and tells Roxane and de Guiche that things are going badly for Cyrano--he is old, poor, and disliked by a host of enemies as a result of his constant satirical attacks on hypocrites in society. De Guiche says that they should not pity him, because Cyrano lives his life as he chooses. De Guiche says that he would be proud to shake Cyrano's hand. Privately, de Guiche tells Le Bret that he has heard at court that some nobles are planning to kill Cyrano. Le Bret agrees to try to keep Cyrano at home

Chapter: Le Bret, Ragueneau. RAGUENEAU: Since you are here, 'tis best she should not know! I was going to your friend just now--was but A few steps from the house, when I saw him Go out. I hurried to him. Saw him turn The corner. . .suddenly, from out a window Where he was passing--was it chance?. . .may be! A lackey let fall a large piece of wood. LE BRET: Cowards! O Cyrano! RAGUENEAU: I ran--I saw. . . LE BRET: 'Tis hideous! RAGUENEAU: Saw our poet, Sir--our friend-- Struck to the ground--a large wound in his head! LE BRET: He's dead? RAGUENEAU: No--but--I bore him to his room. . . Ah! his room! What a thing to see!--that garret! LE BRET: He suffers? RAGUENEAU: No, his consciousness has flown. LE BRET: Saw you a doctor? RAGUENEAU: One was kind--he came. LE BRET: My poor Cyrano!--We must not tell this To Roxane suddenly.--What said this leech?-- RAGUENEAU: Said,--what, I know not--fever, meningitis!-- Ah! could you see him--all his head bound up!-- But let us haste!--There's no one by his bed!-- And if he try to rise, Sir, he might die! LE BRET (dragging him toward the right): Come! Through the chapel! 'Tis the quickest way! ROXANE (appearing on the steps, and seeing Le Bret go away by the colonnade leading to the chapel door): Monsieur le Bret! (Le Bret and Ragueneau disappear without answering): Le Bret goes--when I call! 'Tis some new trouble of good Ragueneau's. (She descends the steps.) Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A: Ragueneau rushes in and appears upset. As Roxane leaves to talk with de Guiche, Ragueneau tells Le Bret that as Cyrano strolled beneath a high window, some lackeys pushed a massive log of wood down onto him, breaking his skull. He is barely alive. If he tries to raise his head, he may die. Le Bret and Ragueneau hasten to his side

Chapter: Le Bret, Ragueneau. RAGUENEAU: Since you are here, 'tis best she should not know! I was going to your friend just now--was but A few steps from the house, when I saw him Go out. I hurried to him. Saw him turn The corner. . .suddenly, from out a window Where he was passing--was it chance?. . .may be! A lackey let fall a large piece of wood. LE BRET: Cowards! O Cyrano! RAGUENEAU: I ran--I saw. . . LE BRET: 'Tis hideous! RAGUENEAU: Saw our poet, Sir--our friend-- Struck to the ground--a large wound in his head! LE BRET: He's dead? RAGUENEAU: No--but--I bore him to his room. . . Ah! his room! What a thing to see!--that garret! LE BRET: He suffers? RAGUENEAU: No, his consciousness has flown. LE BRET: Saw you a doctor? RAGUENEAU: One was kind--he came. LE BRET: My poor Cyrano!--We must not tell this To Roxane suddenly.--What said this leech?-- RAGUENEAU: Said,--what, I know not--fever, meningitis!-- Ah! could you see him--all his head bound up!-- But let us haste!--There's no one by his bed!-- And if he try to rise, Sir, he might die! LE BRET (dragging him toward the right): Come! Through the chapel! 'Tis the quickest way! ROXANE (appearing on the steps, and seeing Le Bret go away by the colonnade leading to the chapel door): Monsieur le Bret! (Le Bret and Ragueneau disappear without answering): Le Bret goes--when I call! 'Tis some new trouble of good Ragueneau's. (She descends the steps.) Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A:

Ragueneau rushes in and appears upset. As Roxane leaves to talk with de Guiche, Ragueneau tells Le Bret that as Cyrano strolled beneath a high window, some lackeys pushed a massive log of wood down onto him, breaking his skull. He is barely alive. If he tries to raise his head, he may die. Le Bret and Ragueneau hasten to his side

Chapter: Roxane alone. Two sisters, for a moment. ROXANE: Ah! what a beauty in September's close! My sorrow's eased. April's joy dazzled it, But autumn wins it with her dying calm. (She seats herself at the embroidery frame. Two sisters come out of the house, and bring a large armchair under the tree): There comes the famous armchair where he sits, Dear faithful friend! SISTER MARTHA: It is the parlor's best! ROXANE: Thanks, sister. (The sisters go): He'll be here now. (She seats herself. A clock strikes): The hour strikes. --My silks?--Why, now, the hour's struck! How strange To be behind his time, at last, to-day! Perhaps the portress--where's my thimble?. . . Here!--Is preaching to him. (A pause): Yes, she must be preaching! Surely he must come soon!--Ah, a dead leaf!-- (She brushes off the leaf from her work): Nothing, besides, could--scissors?--In my bag! --Could hinder him. . . A SISTER (coming to the steps): Monsieur de Bergerac. Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A: After they leave, Roxane reemerges and sits down beneath an autumn tree to sew. A nun announces Cyrano's arrival

Chapter: Roxane alone. Two sisters, for a moment. ROXANE: Ah! what a beauty in September's close! My sorrow's eased. April's joy dazzled it, But autumn wins it with her dying calm. (She seats herself at the embroidery frame. Two sisters come out of the house, and bring a large armchair under the tree): There comes the famous armchair where he sits, Dear faithful friend! SISTER MARTHA: It is the parlor's best! ROXANE: Thanks, sister. (The sisters go): He'll be here now. (She seats herself. A clock strikes): The hour strikes. --My silks?--Why, now, the hour's struck! How strange To be behind his time, at last, to-day! Perhaps the portress--where's my thimble?. . . Here!--Is preaching to him. (A pause): Yes, she must be preaching! Surely he must come soon!--Ah, a dead leaf!-- (She brushes off the leaf from her work): Nothing, besides, could--scissors?--In my bag! --Could hinder him. . . A SISTER (coming to the steps): Monsieur de Bergerac. Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A:

After they leave, Roxane reemerges and sits down beneath an autumn tree to sew. A nun announces Cyrano's arrival

Chapter: Roxane, Cyrano and, for a moment, Sister Martha. ROXANE (without turning round): What was I saying?. . . (She embroiders. Cyrano, very pale, his hat pulled down over his eyes, appears. The sister who had announced him retires. He descends the steps slowly, with a visible difficulty in holding himself upright, bearing heavily on his cane. Roxane still works at her tapestry): Time has dimmed the tints. . . How harmonize them now? (To Cyrano, with playful reproach): For the first time Late!--For the first time, all these fourteen years! CYRANO (who has succeeded in reaching the chair, and has seated himself--in a lively voice, which is in great contrast with his pale face): Ay! It is villainous! I raged--was stayed. . . ROXANE: By?. . . CYRANO: By a bold, unwelcome visitor. ROXANE (absently, working): Some creditor? CYRANO: Ay, cousin,--the last creditor Who has a debt to claim from me. ROXANE: And you Have paid it? CYRANO: No, not yet! I put it off; --Said, 'Cry you mercy; this is Saturday, When I have get a standing rendezvous That naught defers. Call in an hour's time!' ROXANE (carelessly): Oh, well, a creditor can always wait! I shall not let you go ere twilight falls. CYRANO: Haply, perforce, I quit you ere it falls! (He shuts his eyes, and is silent for a moment. Sister Martha crosses the park from the chapel to the flight of steps. Roxane, seeing her, signs to her to approach.) ROXANE (to Cyrano): How now? You have not teased the Sister? CYRANO (hastily opening his eyes): True! (In a comically loud voice): Sister! come here! (The sister glides up to him): Ha! ha! What? Those bright eyes Bent ever on the ground? SISTER MARTHA (who makes a movement of astonishment on seeing his face): Oh! CYRANO (in a whisper, pointing to Roxane): Hush! 'tis naught!-- (Loudly, in a blustering voice): I broke fast yesterday! SISTER MARTHA (aside): I know, I know! That's how he is so pale! Come presently To the refectory, I'll make you drink A famous bowl of soup. . .You'll come? CYRANO: Ay, ay! SISTER MARTHA: There, see! You are more reasonable to-day! ROXANE (who hears them whispering): The Sister would convert you? SISTER MARTHA: Nay, not I! CYRANO: Hold! but it's true! You preach to me no more, You, once so glib with holy words! I am Astonished!. . . (With burlesque fury): Stay, I will surprise you too! Hark! I permit you. . . (He pretends to be seeking for something to tease her with, and to have found it): . . .It is something new!-- To--pray for me, to-night, at chapel-time! ROXANE: Oh! oh! CYRANO (laughing): Good Sister Martha is struck dumb! SISTER MARTHA (gently): I did not wait your leave to pray for you. (She goes out.) CYRANO (turning to Roxane, who is still bending over her work): That tapestry! Beshrew me if my eyes Will ever see it finished! ROXANE: I was sure To hear that well-known jest! (A light breeze causes the leaves to fall.) CYRANO: The autumn leaves! ROXANE (lifting her head, and looking down the distant alley): Soft golden brown, like a Venetian's hair. --See how they fall! CYRANO: Ay, see how brave they fall, In their last journey downward from the bough, To rot within the clay; yet, lovely still, Hiding the horror of the last decay, With all the wayward grace of careless flight! ROXANE: What, melancholy--you? CYRANO (collecting himself): Nay, nay, Roxane! ROXANE: Then let the dead leaves fall the way they will. . . And chat. What, have you nothing new to tell, My Court Gazette? CYRANO: Listen. ROXANE: Ah! CYRANO (growing whiter and whiter): Saturday The nineteenth: having eaten to excess Of pear-conserve, the King felt feverish; The lancet quelled this treasonable revolt, And the august pulse beats at normal pace. At the Queen's ball on Sunday thirty score Of best white waxen tapers were consumed. Our troops, they say, have chased the Austrians. Four sorcerers were hanged. The little dog Of Madame d'Athis took a dose. . . ROXANE: I bid You hold your tongue, Monsieur de Bergerac! CYRANO: Monday--not much--Claire changed protector. ROXANE: Oh! CYRANO (whose face changes more and more): Tuesday, the Court repaired to Fontainebleau. Wednesday, the Montglat said to Comte de Fiesque. . . No! Thursday--Mancini, Queen of France! (almost!) Friday, the Monglat to Count Fiesque said--'Yes!' And Saturday the twenty-sixth. . . (He closes his eyes. His head falls forward. Silence.) ROXANE (surprised at his voice ceasing, turns round, looks at him, and rising, terrified): He swoons! (She runs toward him crying): Cyrano! CYRANO (opening his eyes, in an unconcerned voice): What is this? (He sees Roxane bending over him, and, hastily pressing his hat on his head, and shrinking back in his chair): Nay, on my word 'Tis nothing! Let me be! ROXANE: But. . . CYRANO: That old wound Of Arras, sometimes,--as you know. . . ROXANE: Dear friend! CYRANO: 'Tis nothing, 'twill pass soon; (He smiles with an effort): See!--it has passed! ROXANE: Each of us has his wound; ay, I have mine,-- Never healed up--not healed yet, my old wound! (She puts her hand on her breast): 'Tis here, beneath this letter brown with age, All stained with tear-drops, and still stained with blood. (Twilight begins to fall.) CYRANO: His letter! Ah! you promised me one day That I should read it. ROXANE: What would you?--His letter? CYRANO: Yes, I would fain,--to-day. . . ROXANE (giving the bag hung at her neck): See! here it is! CYRANO (taking it): Have I your leave to open? ROXANE: Open--read! (She comes back to her tapestry frame, folds it up, sorts her wools.) CYRANO (reading): 'Roxane, adieu! I soon must die! This very night, beloved; and I Feel my soul heavy with love untold. I die! No more, as in days of old, My loving, longing eyes will feast On your least gesture--ay, the least! I mind me the way you touch your cheek With your finger, softly, as you speak! Ah me! I know that gesture well! My heart cries out!--I cry "Farewell"!' ROXANE: But how you read that letter! One would think. . . CYRANO (continuing to read): 'My life, my love, my jewel, my sweet, My heart has been yours in every beat!' (The shades of evening fall imperceptibly.) ROXANE: You read in such a voice--so strange--and yet-- It is not the first time I hear that voice! (She comes nearer very softly, without his perceiving it, passes behind his chair, and, noiselessly leaning over him, looks at the letter. The darkness deepens.) CYRANO: 'Here, dying, and there, in the land on high, I am he who loved, who loves you,--I. . .' ROXANE (putting her hand on his shoulder): How can you read? It is too dark to see! (He starts, turns, sees her close to him. Suddenly alarmed, he holds his head down. Then in the dusk, which has now completely enfolded them, she says, very slowly, with clasped hands): And, fourteen years long, he has played this part Of the kind old friend who comes to laugh and chat. CYRANO: Roxane! ROXANE: 'Twas you! CYRANO: No, never; Roxane, no! ROXANE: I should have guessed, each time he said my name! CYRANO: No, it was not I! ROXANE: It was you! CYRANO: I swear! ROXANE: I see through all the generous counterfeit-- The letters--you! CYRANO: No. ROXANE: The sweet, mad love-words! You! CYRANO: No! ROXANE: The voice that thrilled the night--you, you! CYRANO: I swear you err. ROXANE: The soul--it was your soul! CYRANO: I loved you not. ROXANE: You loved me not? CYRANO: 'Twas he! ROXANE: You loved me! CYRANO: No! ROXANE: See! how you falter now! CYRANO: No, my sweet love, I never loved you! ROXANE: Ah! Things dead, long dead, see! how they rise again! --Why, why keep silence all these fourteen years, When, on this letter, which he never wrote, The tears were your tears? CYRANO (holding out the letter to her): The bloodstains were his. ROXANE: Why, then, that noble silence,--kept so long-- Broken to-day for the first time--why? CYRANO: Why?. . . (Le Bret and Ragueneau enter running.) Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A: Cyrano enters. He is pale and seems to be suffering. But he talks happily to Roxane, becoming solemn only when he tells her that he must go before nightfall. Roxane protests, then reminds Cyrano to tease the nuns, and he stuns Sister Marthe by cheerfully declaring that he will let her pray for him that night at vespers. Cyrano gives Roxane a comical summary of the news of the court, but his face becomes more and more tortured, and he finally loses consciousness. Roxane runs to his side, and he comes to, telling her his injury meant nothing and is merely an old wound. Roxane touches her heart and says they all have their old wounds. Cyrano asks about Christian's letter and reminds Roxane that he would like to read it someday. She says it is stained with blood and tears and is therefore hard to read. But she gives it to him, and he begins to read the words he wrote for her so many years ago. Twilight begins to fall, and Roxane sits amazed by the voice with which Cyrano reads the letter. She gradually realizes that she remembers hearing that voice under her balcony. Meanwhile, as darkness falls, she realizes that Cyrano is still able to read the letter. Suddenly, it all becomes clear to her, and she exclaims that she has realized that it was Cyrano all along. He denies it, but she now knows the truth. She asks why he kept silent for so long, since the tears on the letter belonged to him. Cyrano replies that the blood belonged to Christian

Chapter: Roxane, Cyrano and, for a moment, Sister Martha. ROXANE (without turning round): What was I saying?. . . (She embroiders. Cyrano, very pale, his hat pulled down over his eyes, appears. The sister who had announced him retires. He descends the steps slowly, with a visible difficulty in holding himself upright, bearing heavily on his cane. Roxane still works at her tapestry): Time has dimmed the tints. . . How harmonize them now? (To Cyrano, with playful reproach): For the first time Late!--For the first time, all these fourteen years! CYRANO (who has succeeded in reaching the chair, and has seated himself--in a lively voice, which is in great contrast with his pale face): Ay! It is villainous! I raged--was stayed. . . ROXANE: By?. . . CYRANO: By a bold, unwelcome visitor. ROXANE (absently, working): Some creditor? CYRANO: Ay, cousin,--the last creditor Who has a debt to claim from me. ROXANE: And you Have paid it? CYRANO: No, not yet! I put it off; --Said, 'Cry you mercy; this is Saturday, When I have get a standing rendezvous That naught defers. Call in an hour's time!' ROXANE (carelessly): Oh, well, a creditor can always wait! I shall not let you go ere twilight falls. CYRANO: Haply, perforce, I quit you ere it falls! (He shuts his eyes, and is silent for a moment. Sister Martha crosses the park from the chapel to the flight of steps. Roxane, seeing her, signs to her to approach.) ROXANE (to Cyrano): How now? You have not teased the Sister? CYRANO (hastily opening his eyes): True! (In a comically loud voice): Sister! come here! (The sister glides up to him): Ha! ha! What? Those bright eyes Bent ever on the ground? SISTER MARTHA (who makes a movement of astonishment on seeing his face): Oh! CYRANO (in a whisper, pointing to Roxane): Hush! 'tis naught!-- (Loudly, in a blustering voice): I broke fast yesterday! SISTER MARTHA (aside): I know, I know! That's how he is so pale! Come presently To the refectory, I'll make you drink A famous bowl of soup. . .You'll come? CYRANO: Ay, ay! SISTER MARTHA: There, see! You are more reasonable to-day! ROXANE (who hears them whispering): The Sister would convert you? SISTER MARTHA: Nay, not I! CYRANO: Hold! but it's true! You preach to me no more, You, once so glib with holy words! I am Astonished!. . . (With burlesque fury): Stay, I will surprise you too! Hark! I permit you. . . (He pretends to be seeking for something to tease her with, and to have found it): . . .It is something new!-- To--pray for me, to-night, at chapel-time! ROXANE: Oh! oh! CYRANO (laughing): Good Sister Martha is struck dumb! SISTER MARTHA (gently): I did not wait your leave to pray for you. (She goes out.) CYRANO (turning to Roxane, who is still bending over her work): That tapestry! Beshrew me if my eyes Will ever see it finished! ROXANE: I was sure To hear that well-known jest! (A light breeze causes the leaves to fall.) CYRANO: The autumn leaves! ROXANE (lifting her head, and looking down the distant alley): Soft golden brown, like a Venetian's hair. --See how they fall! CYRANO: Ay, see how brave they fall, In their last journey downward from the bough, To rot within the clay; yet, lovely still, Hiding the horror of the last decay, With all the wayward grace of careless flight! ROXANE: What, melancholy--you? CYRANO (collecting himself): Nay, nay, Roxane! ROXANE: Then let the dead leaves fall the way they will. . . And chat. What, have you nothing new to tell, My Court Gazette? CYRANO: Listen. ROXANE: Ah! CYRANO (growing whiter and whiter): Saturday The nineteenth: having eaten to excess Of pear-conserve, the King felt feverish; The lancet quelled this treasonable revolt, And the august pulse beats at normal pace. At the Queen's ball on Sunday thirty score Of best white waxen tapers were consumed. Our troops, they say, have chased the Austrians. Four sorcerers were hanged. The little dog Of Madame d'Athis took a dose. . . ROXANE: I bid You hold your tongue, Monsieur de Bergerac! CYRANO: Monday--not much--Claire changed protector. ROXANE: Oh! CYRANO (whose face changes more and more): Tuesday, the Court repaired to Fontainebleau. Wednesday, the Montglat said to Comte de Fiesque. . . No! Thursday--Mancini, Queen of France! (almost!) Friday, the Monglat to Count Fiesque said--'Yes!' And Saturday the twenty-sixth. . . (He closes his eyes. His head falls forward. Silence.) ROXANE (surprised at his voice ceasing, turns round, looks at him, and rising, terrified): He swoons! (She runs toward him crying): Cyrano! CYRANO (opening his eyes, in an unconcerned voice): What is this? (He sees Roxane bending over him, and, hastily pressing his hat on his head, and shrinking back in his chair): Nay, on my word 'Tis nothing! Let me be! ROXANE: But. . . CYRANO: That old wound Of Arras, sometimes,--as you know. . . ROXANE: Dear friend! CYRANO: 'Tis nothing, 'twill pass soon; (He smiles with an effort): See!--it has passed! ROXANE: Each of us has his wound; ay, I have mine,-- Never healed up--not healed yet, my old wound! (She puts her hand on her breast): 'Tis here, beneath this letter brown with age, All stained with tear-drops, and still stained with blood. (Twilight begins to fall.) CYRANO: His letter! Ah! you promised me one day That I should read it. ROXANE: What would you?--His letter? CYRANO: Yes, I would fain,--to-day. . . ROXANE (giving the bag hung at her neck): See! here it is! CYRANO (taking it): Have I your leave to open? ROXANE: Open--read! (She comes back to her tapestry frame, folds it up, sorts her wools.) CYRANO (reading): 'Roxane, adieu! I soon must die! This very night, beloved; and I Feel my soul heavy with love untold. I die! No more, as in days of old, My loving, longing eyes will feast On your least gesture--ay, the least! I mind me the way you touch your cheek With your finger, softly, as you speak! Ah me! I know that gesture well! My heart cries out!--I cry "Farewell"!' ROXANE: But how you read that letter! One would think. . . CYRANO (continuing to read): 'My life, my love, my jewel, my sweet, My heart has been yours in every beat!' (The shades of evening fall imperceptibly.) ROXANE: You read in such a voice--so strange--and yet-- It is not the first time I hear that voice! (She comes nearer very softly, without his perceiving it, passes behind his chair, and, noiselessly leaning over him, looks at the letter. The darkness deepens.) CYRANO: 'Here, dying, and there, in the land on high, I am he who loved, who loves you,--I. . .' ROXANE (putting her hand on his shoulder): How can you read? It is too dark to see! (He starts, turns, sees her close to him. Suddenly alarmed, he holds his head down. Then in the dusk, which has now completely enfolded them, she says, very slowly, with clasped hands): And, fourteen years long, he has played this part Of the kind old friend who comes to laugh and chat. CYRANO: Roxane! ROXANE: 'Twas you! CYRANO: No, never; Roxane, no! ROXANE: I should have guessed, each time he said my name! CYRANO: No, it was not I! ROXANE: It was you! CYRANO: I swear! ROXANE: I see through all the generous counterfeit-- The letters--you! CYRANO: No. ROXANE: The sweet, mad love-words! You! CYRANO: No! ROXANE: The voice that thrilled the night--you, you! CYRANO: I swear you err. ROXANE: The soul--it was your soul! CYRANO: I loved you not. ROXANE: You loved me not? CYRANO: 'Twas he! ROXANE: You loved me! CYRANO: No! ROXANE: See! how you falter now! CYRANO: No, my sweet love, I never loved you! ROXANE: Ah! Things dead, long dead, see! how they rise again! --Why, why keep silence all these fourteen years, When, on this letter, which he never wrote, The tears were your tears? CYRANO (holding out the letter to her): The bloodstains were his. ROXANE: Why, then, that noble silence,--kept so long-- Broken to-day for the first time--why? CYRANO: Why?. . . (Le Bret and Ragueneau enter running.) Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A:

Cyrano enters. He is pale and seems to be suffering. But he talks happily to Roxane, becoming solemn only when he tells her that he must go before nightfall. Roxane protests, then reminds Cyrano to tease the nuns, and he stuns Sister Marthe by cheerfully declaring that he will let her pray for him that night at vespers. Cyrano gives Roxane a comical summary of the news of the court, but his face becomes more and more tortured, and he finally loses consciousness. Roxane runs to his side, and he comes to, telling her his injury meant nothing and is merely an old wound. Roxane touches her heart and says they all have their old wounds. Cyrano asks about Christian's letter and reminds Roxane that he would like to read it someday. She says it is stained with blood and tears and is therefore hard to read. But she gives it to him, and he begins to read the words he wrote for her so many years ago. Twilight begins to fall, and Roxane sits amazed by the voice with which Cyrano reads the letter. She gradually realizes that she remembers hearing that voice under her balcony. Meanwhile, as darkness falls, she realizes that Cyrano is still able to read the letter. Suddenly, it all becomes clear to her, and she exclaims that she has realized that it was Cyrano all along. He denies it, but she now knows the truth. She asks why he kept silent for so long, since the tears on the letter belonged to him. Cyrano replies that the blood belonged to Christian

Chapter: The same. Le Bret and Ragueneau. LE BRET: What madness! Here? I knew it well! CYRANO (smiling and sitting up): What now? LE BRET: He has brought his death by coming, Madame. ROXANE: God! Ah, then! that faintness of a moment since. . .? CYRANO: Why, true! It interrupted the 'Gazette:' . . .Saturday, twenty-sixth, at dinner-time, Assassination of De Bergerac. (He takes off his hat; they see his head bandaged.) ROXANE: What says he? Cyrano!--His head all bound! Ah, what has chanced? How?--Who?. . . CYRANO: 'To be struck down, Pierced by sword i' the heart, from a hero's hand!' That I had dreamed. O mockery of Fate! --Killed, I! of all men--in an ambuscade! Struck from behind, and by a lackey's hand! 'Tis very well. I am foiled, foiled in all, Even in my death. RAGUENEAU: Ah, Monsieur!. . . CYRANO (holding out his hand to him): Ragueneau, Weep not so bitterly!. . .What do you now, Old comrade? RAGUENEAU (amid his tears): Trim the lights for Moliere's stage. CYRANO: Moliere! RAGUENEAU: Yes; but I shall leave to-morrow. I cannot bear it!--Yesterday, they played 'Scapin'--I saw he'd thieved a scene from you! LE BRET: What! a whole scene? RAGUENEAU: Oh, yes, indeed, Monsieur, The famous one, 'Que Diable allait-il faire?' LE BRET: Moliere has stolen that? CYRANO: Tut! He did well!. . . (to Ragueneau): How went the scene? It told--I think it told? RAGUENEAU (sobbing): Ah! how they laughed! CYRANO: Look you, it was my life To be the prompter every one forgets! (To Roxane): That night when 'neath your window Christian spoke --Under your balcony, you remember? Well! There was the allegory of my whole life: I, in the shadow, at the ladder's foot, While others lightly mount to Love and Fame! Just! very just! Here on the threshold drear Of death, I pay my tribute with the rest, To Moliere's genius,--Christian's fair face! (The chapel-bell chimes. The nuns are seen passing down the alley at the back, to say their office): Let them go pray, go pray, when the bell rings! ROXANE (rising and calling): Sister! Sister! CYRANO (holding her fast): Call no one. Leave me not; When you come back, I should be gone for aye. (The nuns have all entered the chapel. The organ sounds): I was somewhat fain for music--hark! 'tis come. ROXANE: Live, for I love you! CYRANO: No, In fairy tales When to the ill-starred Prince the lady says 'I love you!' all his ugliness fades fast-- But I remain the same, up to the last! ROXANE: I have marred your life--I, I! CYRANO: You blessed my life! Never on me had rested woman's love. My mother even could not find me fair: I had no sister; and, when grown a man, I feared the mistress who would mock at me. But I have had your friendship--grace to you A woman's charm has passed across my path. LE BRET (pointing to the moon, which is seen between the trees): Your other lady-love is come. CYRANO (smiling): I see. ROXANE: I loved but once, yet twice I lose my love! CYRANO: Hark you, Le Bret! I soon shall reach the moon. To-night, alone, with no projectile's aid!. . . LE BRET: What are you saying? CYRANO: I tell you, it is there, There, that they send me for my Paradise, There I shall find at last the souls I love, In exile,--Galileo--Socrates! LE BRET (rebelliously): No, no! It is too clumsy, too unjust! So great a heart! So great a poet! Die Like this? what, die. . .? CYRANO: Hark to Le Bret, who scolds! LE BRET (weeping): Dear friend. . . CYRANO (starting up, his eyes wild): What ho! Cadets of Gascony! The elemental mass--ah yes! The hic. . . LE BRET: His science still--he raves! CYRANO: Copernicus Said. . . ROXANE: Oh! CYRANO: Mais que diable allait-il faire, Mais que diable allait-il faire dans cette galere?. . . Philosopher, metaphysician, Rhymer, brawler, and musician, Famed for his lunar expedition, And the unnumbered duels he fought,-- And lover also,--by interposition!-- Here lies Hercule Savinien De Cyrano de Bergerac, Who was everything, yet was naught. I cry you pardon, but I may not stay; See, the moon-ray that comes to call me hence! (He has fallen back in his chair; the sobs of Roxane recall him to reality; he looks long at her, and, touching her veil): I would not bid you mourn less faithfully That good, brave Christian: I would only ask That when my body shall be cold in clay You wear those sable mourning weeds for two, And mourn awhile for me, in mourning him. ROXANE: I swear it you!. . . CYRANO (shivering violently, then suddenly rising): Not there! what, seated?--no! (They spring toward him): Let no one hold me up-- (He props himself against the tree): Only the tree! (Silence): It comes. E'en now my feet have turned to stone, My hands are gloved with lead! (He stands erect): But since Death comes, I meet him still afoot, (He draws his sword): And sword in hand! LE BRET: Cyrano! ROXANE (half fainting): Cyrano! (All shrink back in terror.) CYRANO: Why, I well believe He dares to mock my nose? Ho! insolent! (He raises his sword): What say you? It is useless? Ay, I know But who fights ever hoping for success? I fought for lost cause, and for fruitless quest! You there, who are you!--You are thousands! Ah! I know you now, old enemies of mine! Falsehood! (He strikes in air with his sword): Have at you! Ha! and Compromise! Prejudice, Treachery!. . . (He strikes): Surrender, I? Parley? No, never! You too, Folly,--you? I know that you will lay me low at last; Let be! Yet I fall fighting, fighting still! (He makes passes in the air, and stops, breathless): You strip from me the laurel and the rose! Take all! Despite you there is yet one thing I hold against you all, and when, to-night, I enter Christ's fair courts, and, lowly bowed, Sweep with doffed casque the heavens' threshold blue, One thing is left, that, void of stain or smutch, I bear away despite you. (He springs forward, his sword raised; it falls from his hand; he staggers, falls back into the arms of Le Bret and Ragueneau.) ROXANE (bending and kissing his forehead): 'Tis?. . . CYRANO (opening his eyes, recognizing her, and smiling): MY PANACHE. Curtain. Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A: Suddenly, Ragueneau and Le Bret rush in and announce with horror that Cyrano has come to the convent in a physically weakened state. Cyrano says he has not finished his gazette. He adds that on Saturday the 26th, an hour before dinner, Monsieur de Bergerac was murdered. He removes his hat and shows his head swathed in bandages. He says it is ironic that he, who longed to die laughing on the sword of a hero, took his mortal blow from someone who ambushed him with a log. Ragueneau begins to cry and, outraged, tells Cyrano that Moliere has stolen a scene of Ragueneau's for his new play. Cyrano asks if the audience liked it, and Ragueneau says that they laughed and laughed. Cyrano says that his role in life has been to inspire others: Moliere has genius, Christian had good looks, but he is doomed always to be hidden beneath the balcony while someone else receives the kiss. Roxane cries that Cyrano cannot die. She says she loves him. But realizing that he is dying, Roxane cries out that she loved only one man in her life, and now she has lost him--twice. Cyrano becomes delirious. He recites a cheerful, jaunty poem about his life and subsequently falls back into a chair. Roxane breaks into sobs. Cyrano pushes himself up and says that he will not die lying down. He rises and, leaning against a tree, draws his sword. He says that he sees the skeleton of death "daring" to look at his nose. He begins to fight against invisible enemies, calling out their names: Lies, Prejudice, Cowardice, Stupidity, and Compromise. Cyrano declares that his enemies have taken all his laurels, but that in spite of them, when he meets God that night, he will carry one thing that no one can take away from him. Suddenly, he drops his sword and falls into the arms of Le Bret and Ragueneau. Roxane kisses him on the forehead and asks what immaculate thing he will take to heaven with him. As he dies, Cyrano opens his eyes and looks at her. He replies, "My white plume.

Chapter: The same. Le Bret and Ragueneau. LE BRET: What madness! Here? I knew it well! CYRANO (smiling and sitting up): What now? LE BRET: He has brought his death by coming, Madame. ROXANE: God! Ah, then! that faintness of a moment since. . .? CYRANO: Why, true! It interrupted the 'Gazette:' . . .Saturday, twenty-sixth, at dinner-time, Assassination of De Bergerac. (He takes off his hat; they see his head bandaged.) ROXANE: What says he? Cyrano!--His head all bound! Ah, what has chanced? How?--Who?. . . CYRANO: 'To be struck down, Pierced by sword i' the heart, from a hero's hand!' That I had dreamed. O mockery of Fate! --Killed, I! of all men--in an ambuscade! Struck from behind, and by a lackey's hand! 'Tis very well. I am foiled, foiled in all, Even in my death. RAGUENEAU: Ah, Monsieur!. . . CYRANO (holding out his hand to him): Ragueneau, Weep not so bitterly!. . .What do you now, Old comrade? RAGUENEAU (amid his tears): Trim the lights for Moliere's stage. CYRANO: Moliere! RAGUENEAU: Yes; but I shall leave to-morrow. I cannot bear it!--Yesterday, they played 'Scapin'--I saw he'd thieved a scene from you! LE BRET: What! a whole scene? RAGUENEAU: Oh, yes, indeed, Monsieur, The famous one, 'Que Diable allait-il faire?' LE BRET: Moliere has stolen that? CYRANO: Tut! He did well!. . . (to Ragueneau): How went the scene? It told--I think it told? RAGUENEAU (sobbing): Ah! how they laughed! CYRANO: Look you, it was my life To be the prompter every one forgets! (To Roxane): That night when 'neath your window Christian spoke --Under your balcony, you remember? Well! There was the allegory of my whole life: I, in the shadow, at the ladder's foot, While others lightly mount to Love and Fame! Just! very just! Here on the threshold drear Of death, I pay my tribute with the rest, To Moliere's genius,--Christian's fair face! (The chapel-bell chimes. The nuns are seen passing down the alley at the back, to say their office): Let them go pray, go pray, when the bell rings! ROXANE (rising and calling): Sister! Sister! CYRANO (holding her fast): Call no one. Leave me not; When you come back, I should be gone for aye. (The nuns have all entered the chapel. The organ sounds): I was somewhat fain for music--hark! 'tis come. ROXANE: Live, for I love you! CYRANO: No, In fairy tales When to the ill-starred Prince the lady says 'I love you!' all his ugliness fades fast-- But I remain the same, up to the last! ROXANE: I have marred your life--I, I! CYRANO: You blessed my life! Never on me had rested woman's love. My mother even could not find me fair: I had no sister; and, when grown a man, I feared the mistress who would mock at me. But I have had your friendship--grace to you A woman's charm has passed across my path. LE BRET (pointing to the moon, which is seen between the trees): Your other lady-love is come. CYRANO (smiling): I see. ROXANE: I loved but once, yet twice I lose my love! CYRANO: Hark you, Le Bret! I soon shall reach the moon. To-night, alone, with no projectile's aid!. . . LE BRET: What are you saying? CYRANO: I tell you, it is there, There, that they send me for my Paradise, There I shall find at last the souls I love, In exile,--Galileo--Socrates! LE BRET (rebelliously): No, no! It is too clumsy, too unjust! So great a heart! So great a poet! Die Like this? what, die. . .? CYRANO: Hark to Le Bret, who scolds! LE BRET (weeping): Dear friend. . . CYRANO (starting up, his eyes wild): What ho! Cadets of Gascony! The elemental mass--ah yes! The hic. . . LE BRET: His science still--he raves! CYRANO: Copernicus Said. . . ROXANE: Oh! CYRANO: Mais que diable allait-il faire, Mais que diable allait-il faire dans cette galere?. . . Philosopher, metaphysician, Rhymer, brawler, and musician, Famed for his lunar expedition, And the unnumbered duels he fought,-- And lover also,--by interposition!-- Here lies Hercule Savinien De Cyrano de Bergerac, Who was everything, yet was naught. I cry you pardon, but I may not stay; See, the moon-ray that comes to call me hence! (He has fallen back in his chair; the sobs of Roxane recall him to reality; he looks long at her, and, touching her veil): I would not bid you mourn less faithfully That good, brave Christian: I would only ask That when my body shall be cold in clay You wear those sable mourning weeds for two, And mourn awhile for me, in mourning him. ROXANE: I swear it you!. . . CYRANO (shivering violently, then suddenly rising): Not there! what, seated?--no! (They spring toward him): Let no one hold me up-- (He props himself against the tree): Only the tree! (Silence): It comes. E'en now my feet have turned to stone, My hands are gloved with lead! (He stands erect): But since Death comes, I meet him still afoot, (He draws his sword): And sword in hand! LE BRET: Cyrano! ROXANE (half fainting): Cyrano! (All shrink back in terror.) CYRANO: Why, I well believe He dares to mock my nose? Ho! insolent! (He raises his sword): What say you? It is useless? Ay, I know But who fights ever hoping for success? I fought for lost cause, and for fruitless quest! You there, who are you!--You are thousands! Ah! I know you now, old enemies of mine! Falsehood! (He strikes in air with his sword): Have at you! Ha! and Compromise! Prejudice, Treachery!. . . (He strikes): Surrender, I? Parley? No, never! You too, Folly,--you? I know that you will lay me low at last; Let be! Yet I fall fighting, fighting still! (He makes passes in the air, and stops, breathless): You strip from me the laurel and the rose! Take all! Despite you there is yet one thing I hold against you all, and when, to-night, I enter Christ's fair courts, and, lowly bowed, Sweep with doffed casque the heavens' threshold blue, One thing is left, that, void of stain or smutch, I bear away despite you. (He springs forward, his sword raised; it falls from his hand; he staggers, falls back into the arms of Le Bret and Ragueneau.) ROXANE (bending and kissing his forehead): 'Tis?. . . CYRANO (opening his eyes, recognizing her, and smiling): MY PANACHE. Curtain. Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A:

Suddenly, Ragueneau and Le Bret rush in and announce with horror that Cyrano has come to the convent in a physically weakened state. Cyrano says he has not finished his gazette. He adds that on Saturday the 26th, an hour before dinner, Monsieur de Bergerac was murdered. He removes his hat and shows his head swathed in bandages. He says it is ironic that he, who longed to die laughing on the sword of a hero, took his mortal blow from someone who ambushed him with a log. Ragueneau begins to cry and, outraged, tells Cyrano that Moliere has stolen a scene of Ragueneau's for his new play. Cyrano asks if the audience liked it, and Ragueneau says that they laughed and laughed. Cyrano says that his role in life has been to inspire others: Moliere has genius, Christian had good looks, but he is doomed always to be hidden beneath the balcony while someone else receives the kiss. Roxane cries that Cyrano cannot die. She says she loves him. But realizing that he is dying, Roxane cries out that she loved only one man in her life, and now she has lost him--twice. Cyrano becomes delirious. He recites a cheerful, jaunty poem about his life and subsequently falls back into a chair. Roxane breaks into sobs. Cyrano pushes himself up and says that he will not die lying down. He rises and, leaning against a tree, draws his sword. He says that he sees the skeleton of death "daring" to look at his nose. He begins to fight against invisible enemies, calling out their names: Lies, Prejudice, Cowardice, Stupidity, and Compromise. Cyrano declares that his enemies have taken all his laurels, but that in spite of them, when he meets God that night, he will carry one thing that no one can take away from him. Suddenly, he drops his sword and falls into the arms of Le Bret and Ragueneau. Roxane kisses him on the forehead and asks what immaculate thing he will take to heaven with him. As he dies, Cyrano opens his eyes and looks at her. He replies, "My white plume.

Chapter: The public, arriving by degrees. Troopers, burghers, lackeys, pages, a pickpocket, the doorkeeper, etc., followed by the marquises. Cuigy, Brissaille, the buffet-girl, the violinists, etc. (A confusion of loud voices is heard outside the door. A trooper enters hastily.) THE DOORKEEPER (following him): Hollo! You there! Your money! THE TROOPER: I enter gratis. THE DOORKEEPER: Why? THE TROOPER: Why? I am of the King's Household Cavalry, 'faith! THE DOORKEEPER (to another trooper who enters): And you? SECOND TROOPER: I pay nothing. THE DOORKEEPER: How so? SECOND TROOPER: I am a musketeer. FIRST TROOPER (to the second): The play will not begin till two. The pit is empty. Come, a bout with the foils to pass the time. (They fence with the foils they have brought.) A LACKEY (entering): Pst. . .Flanquin. . .! ANOTHER (already there): Champagne?. . . THE FIRST (showing him cards and dice which he takes from his doublet): See, here be cards and dice. (He seats himself on the floor): Let's play. THE SECOND (doing the same): Good; I am with you, villain! FIRST LACKEY (taking from his pocket a candle-end, which he lights, and sticks on the floor): I made free to provide myself with light at my master's expense! A GUARDSMAN (to a shop-girl who advances): 'Twas prettily done to come before the lights were lit! (He takes her round the waist.) ONE OF THE FENCERS (receiving a thrust): A hit! ONE OF THE CARD-PLAYERS: Clubs! THE GUARDSMAN (following the girl): A kiss! THE SHOP-GIRL (struggling to free herself): They're looking! THE GUARDSMAN (drawing her to a dark corner): No fear! No one can see! A MAN (sitting on the ground with others, who have brought their provisions): By coming early, one can eat in comfort. A BURGHER (conducting his son): Let us sit here, son. A CARD-PLAYER: Triple ace! A MAN (taking a bottle from under his cloak, and also seating himself on the floor): A tippler may well quaff his Burgundy (he drinks): in the Burgundy Hotel! THE BURGHER (to his son): 'Faith! A man might think he had fallen in a bad house here! (He points with his cane to the drunkard): What with topers! (One of the fencers in breaking off, jostles him): brawlers! (He stumbles into the midst of the card-players): gamblers! THE GUARDSMAN (behind him, still teasing the shop-girl): Come, one kiss! THE BURGHER (hurriedly pulling his son away): By all the holies! And this, my boy, is the theater where they played Rotrou erewhile. THE YOUNG MAN: Ay, and Corneille! A TROOP OF PAGES (hand-in-hand, enter dancing the farandole, and singing): Tra' a la, la, la, la, la, la, la, lere. . . THE DOORKEEPER (sternly, to the pages): You pages there, none of your tricks!. . . FIRST PAGE (with an air of wounded dignity): Oh, sir!--such a suspicion!. . . (Briskly, to the second page, the moment the doorkeeper's back is turned): Have you string? THE SECOND: Ay, and a fish-hook with it. FIRST PAGE: We can angle for wigs, then, up there i' th' gallery. A PICKPOCKET (gathering about him some evil-looking youths): Hark ye, young cut-purses, lend an ear, while I give you your first lesson in thieving. SECOND PAGE (calling up to others in the top galleries): You there! Have you peashooters? 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.) Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A: Scene one opens in a famous French theater, where Balthazar Baro's play La Clorise, starring Montfleury, is to be performed. People are beginning to arrive for the performance. The patrons to arrive first include military men, tradesmen , and pages. Two lackeys come in and sit on the floor to gamble. Some cavaliers enter without buying a ticket. A gang of pickpockets arrives to do their dirty work. Gradually the aristocrats start arriving. The conversations of the various people are intertwined. One of the aristocrats complains that he has come too early to disrupt the play. Others talk about the upcoming drama. The scene ends with the entrance of the satiric drunken poet Ligniere, who is arm in arm with Christian de Neuvillette.

Chapter: The public, arriving by degrees. Troopers, burghers, lackeys, pages, a pickpocket, the doorkeeper, etc., followed by the marquises. Cuigy, Brissaille, the buffet-girl, the violinists, etc. (A confusion of loud voices is heard outside the door. A trooper enters hastily.) THE DOORKEEPER (following him): Hollo! You there! Your money! THE TROOPER: I enter gratis. THE DOORKEEPER: Why? THE TROOPER: Why? I am of the King's Household Cavalry, 'faith! THE DOORKEEPER (to another trooper who enters): And you? SECOND TROOPER: I pay nothing. THE DOORKEEPER: How so? SECOND TROOPER: I am a musketeer. FIRST TROOPER (to the second): The play will not begin till two. The pit is empty. Come, a bout with the foils to pass the time. (They fence with the foils they have brought.) A LACKEY (entering): Pst. . .Flanquin. . .! ANOTHER (already there): Champagne?. . . THE FIRST (showing him cards and dice which he takes from his doublet): See, here be cards and dice. (He seats himself on the floor): Let's play. THE SECOND (doing the same): Good; I am with you, villain! FIRST LACKEY (taking from his pocket a candle-end, which he lights, and sticks on the floor): I made free to provide myself with light at my master's expense! A GUARDSMAN (to a shop-girl who advances): 'Twas prettily done to come before the lights were lit! (He takes her round the waist.) ONE OF THE FENCERS (receiving a thrust): A hit! ONE OF THE CARD-PLAYERS: Clubs! THE GUARDSMAN (following the girl): A kiss! THE SHOP-GIRL (struggling to free herself): They're looking! THE GUARDSMAN (drawing her to a dark corner): No fear! No one can see! A MAN (sitting on the ground with others, who have brought their provisions): By coming early, one can eat in comfort. A BURGHER (conducting his son): Let us sit here, son. A CARD-PLAYER: Triple ace! A MAN (taking a bottle from under his cloak, and also seating himself on the floor): A tippler may well quaff his Burgundy (he drinks): in the Burgundy Hotel! THE BURGHER (to his son): 'Faith! A man might think he had fallen in a bad house here! (He points with his cane to the drunkard): What with topers! (One of the fencers in breaking off, jostles him): brawlers! (He stumbles into the midst of the card-players): gamblers! THE GUARDSMAN (behind him, still teasing the shop-girl): Come, one kiss! THE BURGHER (hurriedly pulling his son away): By all the holies! And this, my boy, is the theater where they played Rotrou erewhile. THE YOUNG MAN: Ay, and Corneille! A TROOP OF PAGES (hand-in-hand, enter dancing the farandole, and singing): Tra' a la, la, la, la, la, la, la, lere. . . THE DOORKEEPER (sternly, to the pages): You pages there, none of your tricks!. . . FIRST PAGE (with an air of wounded dignity): Oh, sir!--such a suspicion!. . . (Briskly, to the second page, the moment the doorkeeper's back is turned): Have you string? THE SECOND: Ay, and a fish-hook with it. FIRST PAGE: We can angle for wigs, then, up there i' th' gallery. A PICKPOCKET (gathering about him some evil-looking youths): Hark ye, young cut-purses, lend an ear, while I give you your first lesson in thieving. SECOND PAGE (calling up to others in the top galleries): You there! Have you peashooters? 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.) Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A:

Scene one opens in a famous French theater, where Balthazar Baro's play La Clorise, starring Montfleury, is to be performed. People are beginning to arrive for the performance. The patrons to arrive first include military men, tradesmen , and pages. Two lackeys come in and sit on the floor to gamble. Some cavaliers enter without buying a ticket. A gang of pickpockets arrives to do their dirty work. Gradually the aristocrats start arriving. The conversations of the various people are intertwined. One of the aristocrats complains that he has come too early to disrupt the play. Others talk about the upcoming drama. The scene ends with the entrance of the satiric drunken poet Ligniere, who is arm in arm with Christian de Neuvillette.

Chapter: 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 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 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! Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A: Ligniere introduces Christian de Neuvillette to two gentlemen, Cuigy and Brissaille, who comment on his elegant appearance but outmoded clothes. Ligniere explains that his friend has come from Touraine, and Christian adds that he is entering the Guards as a Cadet. When Ligniere grows restless and wants to leave and get another drink, Christian begs him to wait for a little while. Christian, who has fallen in love at first sight with a beautiful lady, wants Ligniere to help him watch for her arrival. He confesses to Ligniere that he also needs help in talking to her, for he does not know how to address a lady with elegance and wit. While the two of them wait, Ragueneau, the patron and pastry cook of actors and poets, enters, wearing his best clothes. Ragueneau, who appears agitated, is looking for Cyrano de Bergerac, who has not yet arrived at the theater. Ragueneau expects there to be a disturbance. Cyrano has forbidden Montfleury to act on the stage for three weeks, but he is cast to play Phaedo in the upcoming performance. In the course of the conversation, information about Cyrano is revealed. He is a poet, swordsman, scientist, and musician, whose character is described as "odd, impetuous, brash, and outlandish. . . proudest of all the thin-skinned swaggerers lovingly spawned by Gascony." Ragueneau then goes on to describe Cyrano's appearance. He usually wears a feathered hat and a cape, held behind by a sword rising like a cock's tail. A huge nose covers much of his face. As Ragueneau talks, Roxane, the beautiful woman that Christian longs to meet, enters her box in the theater. Her beauty creates an immediate stir among the audience. Ligniere tells Christian that her name is Madeleine Robin. He describes her as a sharp-witted orphan and the cousin of Cyrano de Bergerac. Christian watches as a gentleman visits Roxane in her box. Ligniere explains that the gentleman is her admirer, Count de Guiche. Since De Guiche is already married to Cardinal Richelieu's niece, he is trying to arrange a marriage between Roxane and his protege, Viscount de Valvert, a weak, accommodating man. Ligniere knows that De Guiche has ulterior motives and declares that he has written a song exposing the count's crafty designs. Hearing about Viscount de Valvert, Christian wants to go and have a duel with him, wanting to protect Roxane from him. Ligniere, however, restrains him by drawing his attention to Roxane, who seems to watching Christian.

Chapter: 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 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 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! Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A:

Ligniere introduces Christian de Neuvillette to two gentlemen, Cuigy and Brissaille, who comment on his elegant appearance but outmoded clothes. Ligniere explains that his friend has come from Touraine, and Christian adds that he is entering the Guards as a Cadet. When Ligniere grows restless and wants to leave and get another drink, Christian begs him to wait for a little while. Christian, who has fallen in love at first sight with a beautiful lady, wants Ligniere to help him watch for her arrival. He confesses to Ligniere that he also needs help in talking to her, for he does not know how to address a lady with elegance and wit. While the two of them wait, Ragueneau, the patron and pastry cook of actors and poets, enters, wearing his best clothes. Ragueneau, who appears agitated, is looking for Cyrano de Bergerac, who has not yet arrived at the theater. Ragueneau expects there to be a disturbance. Cyrano has forbidden Montfleury to act on the stage for three weeks, but he is cast to play Phaedo in the upcoming performance. In the course of the conversation, information about Cyrano is revealed. He is a poet, swordsman, scientist, and musician, whose character is described as "odd, impetuous, brash, and outlandish. . . proudest of all the thin-skinned swaggerers lovingly spawned by Gascony." Ragueneau then goes on to describe Cyrano's appearance. He usually wears a feathered hat and a cape, held behind by a sword rising like a cock's tail. A huge nose covers much of his face. As Ragueneau talks, Roxane, the beautiful woman that Christian longs to meet, enters her box in the theater. Her beauty creates an immediate stir among the audience. Ligniere tells Christian that her name is Madeleine Robin. He describes her as a sharp-witted orphan and the cousin of Cyrano de Bergerac. Christian watches as a gentleman visits Roxane in her box. Ligniere explains that the gentleman is her admirer, Count de Guiche. Since De Guiche is already married to Cardinal Richelieu's niece, he is trying to arrange a marriage between Roxane and his protege, Viscount de Valvert, a weak, accommodating man. Ligniere knows that De Guiche has ulterior motives and declares that he has written a song exposing the count's crafty designs. Hearing about Viscount de Valvert, Christian wants to go and have a duel with him, wanting to protect Roxane from him. Ligniere, however, restrains him by drawing his attention to Roxane, who seems to watching Christian.

Chapter: The same, all but Ligniere. De Guiche, Valvert, then Montfleury. A marquis (watching De Guiche, who comes down from Roxane's box, and crosses the pit surrounded by obsequious noblemen, among them the Viscount de Valvert): He pays a fine court, your De Guiche! ANOTHER: Faugh!. . .Another Gascon! THE FIRST: Ay, but the cold, supple Gascon--that is the stuff success is made of! Believe me, we had best make our bow to him. (They go toward De Guiche.) SECOND MARQUIS: What fine ribbons! How call you the color, Count de Guiche? 'Kiss me, my darling,' or 'Timid Fawn?' DE GUICHE: 'Tis the color called 'Sick Spaniard.' FIRST MARQUIS: 'Faith! The color speaks truth, for, thanks to your valor, things will soon go ill for Spain in Flanders. DE GUICHE: I go on the stage! Will you come? (He goes toward the stage, followed by the marquises and gentlemen. Turning, he calls): Come you Valvert! CHRISTIAN (who is watching and listening, starts on hearing this name): The Viscount! Ah! I will throw full in his face my. . . (He puts his hand in his pocket, and finds there the hand of a pickpocket who is about to rob him. He turns round): Hey? THE PICKPOCKET: Oh! CHRISTIAN (holding him tightly): I was looking for a glove. THE PICKPOCKET (smiling piteously): And you find a hand. (Changing his tone, quickly and in a whisper): Let me but go, and I will deliver you a secret. CHRISTIAN (still holding him): What is it? THE PICKPOCKET: Ligniere. . .he who has just left you. . . CHRISTIAN (same play): Well? THE PICKPOCKET: His life is in peril. A song writ by him has given offense in high places-- and a hundred men--I am of them--are posted to-night. . . CHRISTIAN: A hundred men! By whom posted? THE PICKPOCKET: I may not say--a secret. . . CHRISTIAN (shrugging his shoulders): Oh! THE PICKPOCKET (with great dignity): . . .Of the profession. CHRISTIAN: Where are they posted? THE PICKPOCKET: At the Porte de Nesle. On his way homeward. Warn him. CHRISTIAN (letting go of his wrists): But where can I find him? THE PICKPOCKET: Run round to all the taverns--The Golden Wine Press, the Pine Cone, The Belt that Bursts, The Two Torches, The Three Funnels, and at each leave a word that shall put him on his guard. CHRISTIAN: Good--I fly! Ah, the scoundrels! A hundred men 'gainst one! (Looking lovingly at Roxane): Ah, to leave her!. . . (looking with rage at Valvert): and him!. . .But save Ligniere I must! (He hurries out. De Guiche, the viscount, the marquises, have all disappeared behind the curtain to take their places on the benches placed on the stage. The pit is quite full; the galleries and boxes are also crowded.) THE AUDIENCE: Begin! A BURGHER (whose wig is drawn up on the end of a string by a page in the upper gallery): My wig! CRIES OF DELIGHT: He is bald! Bravo, pages--ha! ha! ha!. . . THE BURGHER (furious, shaking his fist): Young villain! LAUGHTER AND CRIES (beginning very loud, and dying gradually away): Ha! ha! ha! ha! ha! ha! (Total silence.) LE BRET (astonished): What means this sudden silence?. . . (A spectator says something to him in a low voice): Is't true? THE SPECTATOR: I have just heard it on good authority. MURMURS (spreading through the hall): Hush! Is it he? No! Ay, I say! In the box with the bars in front! The Cardinal! The Cardinal! The Cardinal! A PAGE: The devil! We shall have to behave ourselves. . . (A knock is heard upon the stage. Every one is motionless. A pause.) THE VOICE OF A MARQUIS (in the silence, behind the curtain): Snuff that candle! ANOTHER MARQUIS (putting his head through the opening in the curtain): A chair! (A chair is passed from hand to hand, over the heads of the spectators. The marquis takes it and disappears, after blowing some kisses to the boxes.) A SPECTATOR: Silence! (Three knocks are heard on the stage. The curtain opens in the centre Tableau. The marquises in insolent attitudes seated on each side of the stage. The scene represents a pastoral landscape. Four little lusters light the stage; the violins play softly.) LE BRET (in a low voice to Ragueneau): Montfleury comes on the scene? RAGUENEAU (also in a low voice): Ay, 'tis he who begins. LE BRET: Cyrano is not here. RAGUENEAU: I have lost my wager. LE BRET: 'Tis all the better! (An air on the drone-pipes is heard, and Montfleury enters, enormously stout, in an Arcadian shepherd's dress, a hat wreathed with roses drooping over one ear, blowing into a ribboned drone pipe.) THE PIT (applauding): Bravo, Montfleury! Montfleury! MONTFLEURY (after bowing low, begins the part of Phedon): 'Heureux qui loin des cours, dans un lieu solitaire, Se prescrit a soi-meme un exil volontaire, Et qui, lorsque Zephire a souffle sur les bois. . .' A VOICE (from the middle of the pit): Villain! Did I not forbid you to show your face here for month? (General stupor. Every one turns round. Murmurs.) DIFFERENT VOICES: Hey?--What?--What is't?. . . (The people stand up in the boxes to look.) CUIGY: 'Tis he! LE BRET (terrified): Cyrano! THE VOICE: King of clowns! Leave the stage this instant! ALL THE AUDIENCE (indignantly): Oh! MONTFLEURY: But. . . THE VOICE: Do you dare defy me? DIFFERENT VOICES (from the pit and the boxes): Peace! Enough!--Play on, Montfleury--fear nothing! MONTFLEURY (in a trembling voice): 'Heureux qui loin des cours, dans un lieu sol--' THE VOICE (more fiercely): Well! Chief of all the blackguards, must I come and give you a taste of my cane? (A hand holding a cane starts up over the heads of the spectators.) MONTFLEURY (in a voice that trembles more and more): 'Heureux qui. . .' (The cane is shaken.) THE VOICE: Off the stage! THE PIT: Oh! MONTFLEURY (choking): 'Heureux qui loin des cours. . .' CYRANO (appearing suddenly in the pit, standing on a chair, his arms crossed, his beaver cocked fiercely, his mustache bristling, his nose terrible to see): Ah! I shall be angry in a minute!. . . (Sensation.) Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A: Two gentlemen discuss Count De Guiche, a man of importance who is described as a morally flexible and coldly calculating Gascon. As the two of them try to flatter the count, they reference his ability to defeat the Spaniards in Flanders. At the same time, Christian is still planning to challenge De Guiche in order to defend Roxane's honor. As he reaches into his pocket to find his glove, he realizes that his pocket is being picked. He catches the thief, who offers to tell him about the danger Ligniere is in if Christian lets him off. Christian agrees to the bargain. The pickpocket explains that Ligniere has written an offensive poem that criticizes an important person. As a result, he is to be attacked and killed on his way home from the theater; a hundred men are waiting to ambush him at the Porte de Nesle. Concerned about his friend, Christian leaves the theatre to find Ligniere. After Christian departs, De Guiche and his followers go to sit on the stage. A page in the upper galley, wanting to have some fun, lifts the wig off of one of the followers with a fishing hook. Although the prank causes much laughter in the audience, the theater soon grows silent with the arrival of Cardinal Richelieu. Now the play can finally begin. The curtain opens, and Montfleury begins his first speech. Suddenly, the voice of Cyrano is also heard. He orders the actor to leave the stage. Montfleury, encouraged by the audience, ignores Cyrano and continues. Cyrano then stands up on a chair and gives Montfleury a warning.

Chapter: The same, all but Ligniere. De Guiche, Valvert, then Montfleury. A marquis (watching De Guiche, who comes down from Roxane's box, and crosses the pit surrounded by obsequious noblemen, among them the Viscount de Valvert): He pays a fine court, your De Guiche! ANOTHER: Faugh!. . .Another Gascon! THE FIRST: Ay, but the cold, supple Gascon--that is the stuff success is made of! Believe me, we had best make our bow to him. (They go toward De Guiche.) SECOND MARQUIS: What fine ribbons! How call you the color, Count de Guiche? 'Kiss me, my darling,' or 'Timid Fawn?' DE GUICHE: 'Tis the color called 'Sick Spaniard.' FIRST MARQUIS: 'Faith! The color speaks truth, for, thanks to your valor, things will soon go ill for Spain in Flanders. DE GUICHE: I go on the stage! Will you come? (He goes toward the stage, followed by the marquises and gentlemen. Turning, he calls): Come you Valvert! CHRISTIAN (who is watching and listening, starts on hearing this name): The Viscount! Ah! I will throw full in his face my. . . (He puts his hand in his pocket, and finds there the hand of a pickpocket who is about to rob him. He turns round): Hey? THE PICKPOCKET: Oh! CHRISTIAN (holding him tightly): I was looking for a glove. THE PICKPOCKET (smiling piteously): And you find a hand. (Changing his tone, quickly and in a whisper): Let me but go, and I will deliver you a secret. CHRISTIAN (still holding him): What is it? THE PICKPOCKET: Ligniere. . .he who has just left you. . . CHRISTIAN (same play): Well? THE PICKPOCKET: His life is in peril. A song writ by him has given offense in high places-- and a hundred men--I am of them--are posted to-night. . . CHRISTIAN: A hundred men! By whom posted? THE PICKPOCKET: I may not say--a secret. . . CHRISTIAN (shrugging his shoulders): Oh! THE PICKPOCKET (with great dignity): . . .Of the profession. CHRISTIAN: Where are they posted? THE PICKPOCKET: At the Porte de Nesle. On his way homeward. Warn him. CHRISTIAN (letting go of his wrists): But where can I find him? THE PICKPOCKET: Run round to all the taverns--The Golden Wine Press, the Pine Cone, The Belt that Bursts, The Two Torches, The Three Funnels, and at each leave a word that shall put him on his guard. CHRISTIAN: Good--I fly! Ah, the scoundrels! A hundred men 'gainst one! (Looking lovingly at Roxane): Ah, to leave her!. . . (looking with rage at Valvert): and him!. . .But save Ligniere I must! (He hurries out. De Guiche, the viscount, the marquises, have all disappeared behind the curtain to take their places on the benches placed on the stage. The pit is quite full; the galleries and boxes are also crowded.) THE AUDIENCE: Begin! A BURGHER (whose wig is drawn up on the end of a string by a page in the upper gallery): My wig! CRIES OF DELIGHT: He is bald! Bravo, pages--ha! ha! ha!. . . THE BURGHER (furious, shaking his fist): Young villain! LAUGHTER AND CRIES (beginning very loud, and dying gradually away): Ha! ha! ha! ha! ha! ha! (Total silence.) LE BRET (astonished): What means this sudden silence?. . . (A spectator says something to him in a low voice): Is't true? THE SPECTATOR: I have just heard it on good authority. MURMURS (spreading through the hall): Hush! Is it he? No! Ay, I say! In the box with the bars in front! The Cardinal! The Cardinal! The Cardinal! A PAGE: The devil! We shall have to behave ourselves. . . (A knock is heard upon the stage. Every one is motionless. A pause.) THE VOICE OF A MARQUIS (in the silence, behind the curtain): Snuff that candle! ANOTHER MARQUIS (putting his head through the opening in the curtain): A chair! (A chair is passed from hand to hand, over the heads of the spectators. The marquis takes it and disappears, after blowing some kisses to the boxes.) A SPECTATOR: Silence! (Three knocks are heard on the stage. The curtain opens in the centre Tableau. The marquises in insolent attitudes seated on each side of the stage. The scene represents a pastoral landscape. Four little lusters light the stage; the violins play softly.) LE BRET (in a low voice to Ragueneau): Montfleury comes on the scene? RAGUENEAU (also in a low voice): Ay, 'tis he who begins. LE BRET: Cyrano is not here. RAGUENEAU: I have lost my wager. LE BRET: 'Tis all the better! (An air on the drone-pipes is heard, and Montfleury enters, enormously stout, in an Arcadian shepherd's dress, a hat wreathed with roses drooping over one ear, blowing into a ribboned drone pipe.) THE PIT (applauding): Bravo, Montfleury! Montfleury! MONTFLEURY (after bowing low, begins the part of Phedon): 'Heureux qui loin des cours, dans un lieu solitaire, Se prescrit a soi-meme un exil volontaire, Et qui, lorsque Zephire a souffle sur les bois. . .' A VOICE (from the middle of the pit): Villain! Did I not forbid you to show your face here for month? (General stupor. Every one turns round. Murmurs.) DIFFERENT VOICES: Hey?--What?--What is't?. . . (The people stand up in the boxes to look.) CUIGY: 'Tis he! LE BRET (terrified): Cyrano! THE VOICE: King of clowns! Leave the stage this instant! ALL THE AUDIENCE (indignantly): Oh! MONTFLEURY: But. . . THE VOICE: Do you dare defy me? DIFFERENT VOICES (from the pit and the boxes): Peace! Enough!--Play on, Montfleury--fear nothing! MONTFLEURY (in a trembling voice): 'Heureux qui loin des cours, dans un lieu sol--' THE VOICE (more fiercely): Well! Chief of all the blackguards, must I come and give you a taste of my cane? (A hand holding a cane starts up over the heads of the spectators.) MONTFLEURY (in a voice that trembles more and more): 'Heureux qui. . .' (The cane is shaken.) THE VOICE: Off the stage! THE PIT: Oh! MONTFLEURY (choking): 'Heureux qui loin des cours. . .' CYRANO (appearing suddenly in the pit, standing on a chair, his arms crossed, his beaver cocked fiercely, his mustache bristling, his nose terrible to see): Ah! I shall be angry in a minute!. . . (Sensation.) Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A:

Two gentlemen discuss Count De Guiche, a man of importance who is described as a morally flexible and coldly calculating Gascon. As the two of them try to flatter the count, they reference his ability to defeat the Spaniards in Flanders. At the same time, Christian is still planning to challenge De Guiche in order to defend Roxane's honor. As he reaches into his pocket to find his glove, he realizes that his pocket is being picked. He catches the thief, who offers to tell him about the danger Ligniere is in if Christian lets him off. Christian agrees to the bargain. The pickpocket explains that Ligniere has written an offensive poem that criticizes an important person. As a result, he is to be attacked and killed on his way home from the theater; a hundred men are waiting to ambush him at the Porte de Nesle. Concerned about his friend, Christian leaves the theatre to find Ligniere. After Christian departs, De Guiche and his followers go to sit on the stage. A page in the upper galley, wanting to have some fun, lifts the wig off of one of the followers with a fishing hook. Although the prank causes much laughter in the audience, the theater soon grows silent with the arrival of Cardinal Richelieu. Now the play can finally begin. The curtain opens, and Montfleury begins his first speech. Suddenly, the voice of Cyrano is also heard. He orders the actor to leave the stage. Montfleury, encouraged by the audience, ignores Cyrano and continues. Cyrano then stands up on a chair and gives Montfleury a warning.

Chapter: The same. Cyrano, then Bellerose, Jodelet. MONTFLEURY (to the marquises): Come to my help, my lords! A MARQUIS (carelessly): Go on! Go on! CYRANO: Fat man, take warning! If you go on, I Shall feel myself constrained to cuff your face! THE MARQUIS: Have done! CYRANO: And if these lords hold not their tongue Shall feel constrained to make them taste my cane! ALL THE MARQUISES (rising): Enough!. . .Montfleury. . . CYRANO: If he goes not quick I will cut off his ears and slit him up! A VOICE: But. . . CYRANO: Out he goes! ANOTHER VOICE: Yet. . . CYRANO: Is he not gone yet? (He makes the gesture of turning up his cuffs): Good! I shall mount the stage now, buffet-wise, To carve this fine Italian sausage--thus! MONTFLEURY (trying to be dignified): You outrage Thalia in insulting me! CYRANO (very politely): If that Muse, Sir, who knows you not at all, Could claim acquaintance with you--oh, believe (Seeing how urn-like, fat, and slow you are) That she would make you taste her buskin's sole! THE PIT: Montfleury! Montfleury! Come--Baro's play! CYRANO (to those who are calling out): I pray you have a care! If you go on My scabbard soon will render up its blade! (The circle round him widens.) THE CROWD (drawing back): Take care! CYRANO (to Montfleury): Leave the stage! THE CROWD (coming near and grumbling): Oh!-- CYRANO: Did some one speak? (They draw back again.) A VOICE (singing at the back): Monsieur de Cyrano Displays his tyrannies: A fig for tyrants! What, ho! Come! Play us 'La Clorise!' ALL THE PIT (singing): 'La Clorise!' 'La Clorise!'. . . CYRANO: Let me but hear once more that foolish rhyme, I slaughter every man of you. A BURGHER: Oh! Samson? CYRANO: Yes Samson! Will you lend your jawbone, Sir? A LADY (in the boxes): Outrageous! A LORD: Scandalous! A BURGHER: 'Tis most annoying! A PAGE: Fair good sport! THE PIT: Kss!--Montfleury. . .Cyrano! CYRANO: Silence! THE PIT (wildly excited): Ho-o-o-o-h! Quack! Cock-a-doodle-doo! CYRANO: I order-- A PAGE: Miow! CYRANO: I order silence, all! And challenge the whole pit collectively!-- I write your names!--Approach, young heroes, here! Each in his turn! I cry the numbers out!-- Now which of you will come to ope the lists? You, Sir? No! You? No! The first duellist Shall be dispatched by me with honors due! Let all who long for death hold up their hands! (A silence): Modest? You fear to see my naked blade? Not one name?--Not one hand?--Good, I proceed! (Turning toward the stage, where Montfleury waits in an agony): The theater's too full, congested,--I Would clear it out. . .If not. . . (Puts his hand on his sword): The knife must act! MONTFLEURY: I. . . CYRANO (leaves his chair, and settles himself in the middle of the circle which has formed): I will clap my hands thrice, thus--full moon! At the third clap, eclipse yourself! THE PIT (amused): Ah! CYRANO (clapping his hands): One! MONTFLEURY: I. . . A VOICE (in the boxes): Stay! THE PIT: He stays. . .he goes. . .he stays. . . MONTFLEURY: I think. . .Gentlemen,. . . CYRANO: Two! MONTFLEURY: I think 'twere wisest. . . CYRANO: Three! (Montfleury disappears as through a trap. Tempest of laughs, whistling cries, etc.) THE WHOLE HOUSE: Coward. . .come back! CYRANO (delighted, sits back in his chair, arms crossed): Come back an if you dare! A BURGHER: Call for the orator! (Bellerose comes forward and bows.) THE BOXES: Ah! here's Bellerose! BELLEROSE (elegantly): My noble lords. . . THE PIT: No! no! Jodelet! JODELET (advancing, speaking through his nose): Calves! THE PIT: Ah! bravo! good! go on! JODELET: No bravos, Sirs! The fat tragedian whom you all love Felt. . . THE PIT: Coward! JODELET: . . .was obliged to go. THE PIT: Come back! SOME: No! OTHERS: Yes! A YOUNG MAN (to Cyrano): But pray, Sir, for what reason, say, Hate you Montfleury? CYRANO (graciously, still seated): Youthful gander, know I have two reasons--either will suffice. Primo. An actor villainous! who mouths, And heaves up like a bucket from a well The verses that should, bird-like, fly! Secundo-- That is my secret. . . THE OLD BURGHER (behind him): Shameful! You deprive us Of the 'Clorise!' I must insist. . . CYRANO (turning his chair toward the burgher, respectfully): Old mule! The verses of old Baro are not worth A doit! I'm glad to interrupt. . . THE PRECIEUSES (in the boxes): Our Baro!-- My dear! How dares he venture!. . . CYRANO (turning his chair toward the boxes gallantly): Fairest ones, Radiate, bloom, hold to our lips the cup Of dreams intoxicating, Hebe-like! Or, when death strikes, charm death with your sweet smiles; Inspire our verse, but--criticise it not! BELLEROSE: We must give back the entrance fees! CYRANO (turning his chair toward the stage): Bellerose, You make the first intelligent remark! Would I rend Thespis' sacred mantle? Nay! (He rises and throws a bag on the stage): Catch then the purse I throw, and hold your peace! THE HOUSE (dazzled): Ah! Oh! JODELET (catching the purse dexterously and weighing it): At this price, you've authority To come each night, and stop 'Clorise,' Sir! THE PIT: Ho!. . .Ho! Ho!. . . JODELET: E'en if you chase us in a pack!. . . BELLEROSE: Clear out the hall!. . . JODELET: Get you all gone at once! (The people begin to go out, while Cyrano looks on with satisfaction. But the crowd soon stop on hearing the following scene, and remain where they are. The women, who, with their mantles on, are already standing up in the boxes, stop to listen, and finally reseat themselves.) LE BRET (to Cyrano): 'Tis mad!. . . A BORE (coming up to Cyrano): The actor Montfleury! 'Tis shameful! Why, he's protected by the Duke of Candal! Have you a patron? CYRANO: No! THE BORE: No patron?. . . CYRANO: None! THE BORE: What! no great lord to shield you with his name? CYRANO (irritated): No, I have told you twice! Must I repeat? No! no protector. . . (His hand on his sword): A protectress. . .here! THE BORE: But you must leave the town? CYRANO: Well, that depends! THE BORE: The Duke has a long arm! CYRANO: But not so long As mine, when it is lengthened out. . . (Shows his sword): As thus! THE BORE: You think not to contend? CYRANO: 'Tis my idea! THE BORE: But. . . CYRANO: Show your heels! now! THE BORE: But I. . . CYRANO: Or tell me why you stare so at my nose! THE BORE (staggered): I. . . CYRANO (walking straight up to him): Well, what is there strange? THE BORE (drawing back): Your Grace mistakes! CYRANO: How now? Is't soft and dangling, like a trunk?. . . THE BORE (same play): I never. . . CYRANO: Is it crook'd, like an owl's beak? THE BORE: I. . . CYRANO: Do you see a wart upon the tip? THE BORE: Nay. . . CYRANO: Or a fly, that takes the air there? What Is there to stare at? THE BORE: Oh. . . CYRANO: What do you see? THE BORE: But I was careful not to look--knew better. CYRANO: And why not look at it, an if you please? THE BORE: I was. . . CYRANO: Oh! it disgusts you! THE BORE: Sir! CYRANO: Its hue Unwholesome seems to you? THE BORE: Sir! CYRANO: Or its shape? THE BORE: No, on the contrary!. . . CYRANO: Why then that air Disparaging?--perchance you think it large? THE BORE (stammering): No, small, quite small--minute! CYRANO: Minute! What now? Accuse me of a thing ridiculous! Small--my nose? THE BORE: Heaven help me! CYRANO: 'Tis enormous! Old Flathead, empty-headed meddler, know That I am proud possessing such appendice. 'Tis well known, a big nose is indicative Of a soul affable, and kind, and courteous, Liberal, brave, just like myself, and such As you can never dare to dream yourself, Rascal contemptible! For that witless face That my hand soon will come to cuff--is all As empty. . . (He cuffs him.) THE BORE: Aie! CYRANO: --of pride, of aspiration, Of feeling, poetry--of godlike spark Of all that appertains to my big nose, (He turns him by the shoulders, suiting the action to the word): As. . .what my boot will shortly come and kick! THE BORE (running away): Help! Call the Guard! CYRANO: Take notice, boobies all, Who find my visage's center ornament A thing to jest at--that it is my wont-- An if the jester's noble--ere we part To let him taste my steel, and not my boot! DE GUICHE (who, with the marquises, has come down from the stage): But he becomes a nuisance! THE VISCOUNT DE VALVERT (shrugging his shoulders): Swaggerer! DE GUICHE: Will no one put him down?. . . THE VISCOUNT: No one? But wait! I'll treat him to. . .one of my quips!. . .See here!. . . (He goes up to Cyrano, who is watching him, and with a conceited air): Sir, your nose is. . .hmm. . .it is. . .very big! CYRANO (gravely): Very! THE VISCOUNT (laughing): Ha! CYRANO (imperturbably): Is that all?. . . THE VISCOUNT: What do you mean? CYRANO: Ah no! young blade! That was a trifle short! You might have said at least a hundred things By varying the tone. . .like this, suppose,. . . Aggressive: 'Sir, if I had such a nose I'd amputate it!' Friendly: 'When you sup It must annoy you, dipping in your cup; You need a drinking-bowl of special shape!' Descriptive: ''Tis a rock!. . .a peak!. . .a cape! --A cape, forsooth! 'Tis a peninsular!' Curious: 'How serves that oblong capsular? For scissor-sheath? Or pot to hold your ink?' Gracious: 'You love the little birds, I think? I see you've managed with a fond research To find their tiny claws a roomy perch!' Truculent: 'When you smoke your pipe. . .suppose That the tobacco-smoke spouts from your nose-- Do not the neighbors, as the fumes rise higher, Cry terror-struck: "The chimney is afire"?' Considerate: 'Take care,. . .your head bowed low By such a weight. . .lest head o'er heels you go!' Tender: 'Pray get a small umbrella made, Lest its bright color in the sun should fade!' Pedantic: 'That beast Aristophanes Names Hippocamelelephantoles Must have possessed just such a solid lump Of flesh and bone, beneath his forehead's bump!' Cavalier: 'The last fashion, friend, that hook? To hang your hat on? 'Tis a useful crook!' Emphatic: 'No wind, O majestic nose, Can give THEE cold!--save when the mistral blows!' Dramatic: 'When it bleeds, what a Red Sea!' Admiring: 'Sign for a perfumery!' Lyric: 'Is this a conch?. . .a Triton you?' Simple: 'When is the monument on view?' Rustic: 'That thing a nose? Marry-come-up! 'Tis a dwarf pumpkin, or a prize turnip!' Military: 'Point against cavalry!' Practical: 'Put it in a lottery! Assuredly 'twould be the biggest prize!' Or. . .parodying Pyramus' sighs. . . 'Behold the nose that mars the harmony Of its master's phiz! blushing its treachery!' --Such, my dear sir, is what you might have said, Had you of wit or letters the least jot: But, O most lamentable man!--of wit You never had an atom, and of letters You have three letters only!--they spell Ass! And--had you had the necessary wit, To serve me all the pleasantries I quote Before this noble audience. . .e'en so, You would not have been let to utter one-- Nay, not the half or quarter of such jest! I take them from myself all in good part, But not from any other man that breathes! DE GUICHE (trying to draw away the dismayed viscount): Come away, Viscount! THE VISCOUNT (choking with rage): Hear his arrogance! A country lout who. . .who. . .has got no gloves! Who goes out without sleeve-knots, ribbons, lace! CYRANO: True; all my elegances are within. I do not prank myself out, puppy-like; My toilet is more thorough, if less gay; I would not sally forth--a half-washed-out Affront upon my cheek--a conscience Yellow-eyed, bilious, from its sodden sleep, A ruffled honor,. . .scruples grimed and dull! I show no bravery of shining gems. Truth, Independence, are my fluttering plumes. 'Tis not my form I lace to make me slim, But brace my soul with efforts as with stays, Covered with exploits, not with ribbon-knots, My spirit bristling high like your mustaches, I, traversing the crowds and chattering groups Make Truth ring bravely out like clash of spurs! THE VISCOUNT: But, Sir. . . CYRANO: I wear no gloves? And what of that? I had one,. . .remnant of an old worn pair, And, knowing not what else to do with it, I threw it in the face of. . .some young fool. THE VISCOUNT: Base scoundrel! Rascally flat-footed lout! CYRANO (taking off his hat, and bowing as if the viscount had introduced himself): Ah?. . .and I, Cyrano Savinien Hercule de Bergerac (Laughter.) THE VISCOUNT (angrily): Buffoon! CYRANO (calling out as if he had been seized with the cramp): Aie! Aie! THE VISCOUNT (who was going away, turns back): What on earth is the fellow saying now? CYRANO (with grimaces of pain): It must be moved--it's getting stiff, I vow, --This comes of leaving it in idleness! Aie!. . . THE VISCOUNT: What ails you? CYRANO: The cramp! cramp in my sword! THE VISCOUNT (drawing his sword): Good! CYRANO: You shall feel a charming little stroke! THE VISCOUNT (contemptuously): Poet!. . . CYRANO: Ay, poet, Sir! In proof of which, While we fence, presto! all extempore I will compose a ballade. THE VISCOUNT: A ballade? CYRANO: Belike you know not what a ballade is. THE VISCOUNT: But. . . CYRANO (reciting, as if repeating a lesson): Know then that the ballade should contain Three eight-versed couplets. . . THE VISCOUNT (stamping): Oh! CYRANO (still reciting): And an envoi Of four lines. . . THE VISCOUNT: You. . . CYRANO: I'll make one while we fight; And touch you at the final line. THE VISCOUNT: No! CYRANO: No? (declaiming): The duel in Hotel of Burgundy--fought By De Bergerac and a good-for-naught! THE VISCOUNT: What may that be, an if you please? CYRANO: The title. THE HOUSE (in great excitement): Give room!--Good sport!--Make place!--Fair play!--No noise! (Tableau. A circle of curious spectators in the pit; the marquises and officers mingled with the common people; the pages climbing on each other's shoulders to see better. All the women standing up in the boxes. To the right, De Guiche and his retinue. Left, Le Bret, Ragueneau, Cyrano, etc.) CYRANO (shutting his eyes for a second): Wait while I choose my rhymes. . .I have them now! (He suits the action to each word): I gayly doff my beaver low, And, freeing hand and heel, My heavy mantle off I throw, And I draw my polished steel; Graceful as Phoebus, round I wheel, Alert as Scaramouch, A word in your ear, Sir Spark, I steal-- At the envoi's end, I touch! (They engage): Better for you had you lain low; Where skewer my cock? In the heel?-- In the heart, your ribbon blue below?-- In the hip, and make you kneel? Ho for the music of clashing steel! --What now?--A hit? Not much! 'Twill be in the paunch the stroke I steal, When, at the envoi, I touch. Oh, for a rhyme, a rhyme in o?-- You wriggle, starch-white, my eel? A rhyme! a rhyme! The white feather you SHOW! Tac! I parry the point of your steel; --The point you hoped to make me feel; I open the line, now clutch Your spit, Sir Scullion--slow your zeal! At the envoi's end, I touch. (He declaims solemnly): Envoi. Prince, pray Heaven for your soul's weal! I move a pace--lo, such! and such! Cut over--feint! (Thrusting): What ho! You reel? (The viscount staggers. Cyrano salutes): At the envoi's end, I touch! (Acclamations. Applause in the boxes. Flowers and handkerchiefs are thrown down. The officers surround Cyrano, congratulating him. Ragueneau dances for joy. Le Bret is happy, but anxious. The viscount's friends hold him up and bear him away.) THE CROWD (with one long shout): Ah! A TROOPER: 'Tis superb! A WOMAN: A pretty stroke! RAGUENEAU: A marvel! A MARQUIS: A novelty! LE BRET: O madman! THE CROWD (presses round Cyrano. Chorus of): Compliments! Bravo! Let me congratulate!. . .Quite unsurpassed!. . . A WOMAN'S VOICE: There is a hero for you!. . . A MUSKETEER (advancing to Cyrano with outstretched hand): Sir, permit; Naught could be finer--I'm a judge I think; I stamped, i' faith!--to show my admiration! (He goes away.) CYRANO (to Cuigy): Who is that gentleman? CUIGY: Why--D'Artagnan! LE BRET (to Cyrano, taking his arm): A word with you!. . . CYRANO: Wait; let the rabble go!. . . (To Bellerose): May I stay? BELLEROSE (respectfully): Without doubt! (Cries are heard outside.) JODELET (who has looked out): They hoot Montfleury! BELLEROSE (solemnly): Sic transit!. . . (To the porters): Sweep--close all, but leave the lights. We sup, but later on we must return, For a rehearsal of to-morrow's farce. (Jodelet and Bellerose go out, bowing low to Cyrano.) THE PORTER (to Cyrano): You do not dine, Sir? CYRANO: No. (The porter goes out.) LE BRET: Because? CYRANO (proudly): Because. . . (Changing his tone as the porter goes away): I have no money!. . . LE BRET (with the action of throwing a bag): How! The bag of crowns?. . . CYRANO: Paternal bounty, in a day, thou'rt sped! LE BRET: How live the next month?. . . CYRANO: I have nothing left. LE BRET: Folly! CYRANO: But what a graceful action! Think! THE BUFFET-GIRL (coughing, behind her counter): Hum! (Cyrano and Le Bret turn. She comes timidly forward): Sir, my heart mislikes to know you fast. (Showing the buffet): See, all you need. Serve yourself! CYRANO (taking off his hat): Gentle child, Although my Gascon pride would else forbid To take the least bestowal from your hands, My fear of wounding you outweighs that pride, And bids accept. . . (He goes to the buffet): A trifle!. . .These few grapes. (She offers him the whole bunch. He takes a few): Nay, but this bunch!. . . (She tries to give him wine, but he stops her): A glass of water fair!. . . And half a macaroon! (He gives back the other half.) LE BRET: What foolery! THE BUFFET-GIRL: Take something else! CYRANO: I take your hand to kiss. (He kisses her hand as though she were a princess.) THE BUFFET-GIRL: Thank you, kind Sir! (She courtesies): Good-night. (She goes out.) Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A: Scene 4 begins with Cyrano standing his ground against the audience, which is loudly insisting that Montfleury should not stop his performance. Cyrano threatens to draw his sword and fight anyone in the audience who dares to challenge him. He then insults the actor and chases him off the stage. Next Cyrano criticizes the dramatist, Baro, for his worthless writing. When the intellectually pretentious women in the audience protest his actions, Cyrano compliments them as subjects of literature but implores them not to judge it. Bellerose, the manager of the theater, confronts Cyrano and tells him that the money of the patrons will have to be refunded if the play is cancelled. Cyrano hands over his purse, which if filled with gold, and tells him to pay the patrons. The audience is then told to leave. An obnoxious man comes up to Cyrano and warns him that Montfleury and his key patron have been greatly insulted and will want revenge. When the man continues and will not leave in spite of Cyrano's insistence, he quarrels with him and kicks him out. Count De Guiche calls upon his followers to silence Cyrano. Valvert approaches Cyrano and dares to comment on the size of his nose. Cyrano responds by giving a witty exposition on noses and imagining what all sorts of people might say about the size of his nose. Valvert, feeling he has been put down by Cyrano, tries to insult his clothing. Cyrano retorts by explaining that his morals are impeccable even if his clothing is not. Valvert, failing to gain the upper hand, becomes more aggressively rude. Cyrano reacts with wit. When he is called a buffoon, however, Cyrano draws his sword to fight Valvert. He claims that he will fight the duel while he is composing a ballad, which he will recite as he fences. The two draw their swords and begin fighting to the verses of Cyrano's witty poem. By the ballad's refrain, Cyrano lunges and strikes Valvert, making him stagger. As Valvert is led away, the audience applauds Cyrano for his performance; they then depart the theater. After the patrons have left, Cyrano confesses that he has no money to buy dinner. When his friend, Le Bret, rebukes him for giving away his whole month's income to the theatre, he claims that it was a noble and worthwhile gesture. When the refreshment waitress offers him food, he takes a token bite and courteously and grandiosely thanks her.

Chapter: The same. Cyrano, then Bellerose, Jodelet. MONTFLEURY (to the marquises): Come to my help, my lords! A MARQUIS (carelessly): Go on! Go on! CYRANO: Fat man, take warning! If you go on, I Shall feel myself constrained to cuff your face! THE MARQUIS: Have done! CYRANO: And if these lords hold not their tongue Shall feel constrained to make them taste my cane! ALL THE MARQUISES (rising): Enough!. . .Montfleury. . . CYRANO: If he goes not quick I will cut off his ears and slit him up! A VOICE: But. . . CYRANO: Out he goes! ANOTHER VOICE: Yet. . . CYRANO: Is he not gone yet? (He makes the gesture of turning up his cuffs): Good! I shall mount the stage now, buffet-wise, To carve this fine Italian sausage--thus! MONTFLEURY (trying to be dignified): You outrage Thalia in insulting me! CYRANO (very politely): If that Muse, Sir, who knows you not at all, Could claim acquaintance with you--oh, believe (Seeing how urn-like, fat, and slow you are) That she would make you taste her buskin's sole! THE PIT: Montfleury! Montfleury! Come--Baro's play! CYRANO (to those who are calling out): I pray you have a care! If you go on My scabbard soon will render up its blade! (The circle round him widens.) THE CROWD (drawing back): Take care! CYRANO (to Montfleury): Leave the stage! THE CROWD (coming near and grumbling): Oh!-- CYRANO: Did some one speak? (They draw back again.) A VOICE (singing at the back): Monsieur de Cyrano Displays his tyrannies: A fig for tyrants! What, ho! Come! Play us 'La Clorise!' ALL THE PIT (singing): 'La Clorise!' 'La Clorise!'. . . CYRANO: Let me but hear once more that foolish rhyme, I slaughter every man of you. A BURGHER: Oh! Samson? CYRANO: Yes Samson! Will you lend your jawbone, Sir? A LADY (in the boxes): Outrageous! A LORD: Scandalous! A BURGHER: 'Tis most annoying! A PAGE: Fair good sport! THE PIT: Kss!--Montfleury. . .Cyrano! CYRANO: Silence! THE PIT (wildly excited): Ho-o-o-o-h! Quack! Cock-a-doodle-doo! CYRANO: I order-- A PAGE: Miow! CYRANO: I order silence, all! And challenge the whole pit collectively!-- I write your names!--Approach, young heroes, here! Each in his turn! I cry the numbers out!-- Now which of you will come to ope the lists? You, Sir? No! You? No! The first duellist Shall be dispatched by me with honors due! Let all who long for death hold up their hands! (A silence): Modest? You fear to see my naked blade? Not one name?--Not one hand?--Good, I proceed! (Turning toward the stage, where Montfleury waits in an agony): The theater's too full, congested,--I Would clear it out. . .If not. . . (Puts his hand on his sword): The knife must act! MONTFLEURY: I. . . CYRANO (leaves his chair, and settles himself in the middle of the circle which has formed): I will clap my hands thrice, thus--full moon! At the third clap, eclipse yourself! THE PIT (amused): Ah! CYRANO (clapping his hands): One! MONTFLEURY: I. . . A VOICE (in the boxes): Stay! THE PIT: He stays. . .he goes. . .he stays. . . MONTFLEURY: I think. . .Gentlemen,. . . CYRANO: Two! MONTFLEURY: I think 'twere wisest. . . CYRANO: Three! (Montfleury disappears as through a trap. Tempest of laughs, whistling cries, etc.) THE WHOLE HOUSE: Coward. . .come back! CYRANO (delighted, sits back in his chair, arms crossed): Come back an if you dare! A BURGHER: Call for the orator! (Bellerose comes forward and bows.) THE BOXES: Ah! here's Bellerose! BELLEROSE (elegantly): My noble lords. . . THE PIT: No! no! Jodelet! JODELET (advancing, speaking through his nose): Calves! THE PIT: Ah! bravo! good! go on! JODELET: No bravos, Sirs! The fat tragedian whom you all love Felt. . . THE PIT: Coward! JODELET: . . .was obliged to go. THE PIT: Come back! SOME: No! OTHERS: Yes! A YOUNG MAN (to Cyrano): But pray, Sir, for what reason, say, Hate you Montfleury? CYRANO (graciously, still seated): Youthful gander, know I have two reasons--either will suffice. Primo. An actor villainous! who mouths, And heaves up like a bucket from a well The verses that should, bird-like, fly! Secundo-- That is my secret. . . THE OLD BURGHER (behind him): Shameful! You deprive us Of the 'Clorise!' I must insist. . . CYRANO (turning his chair toward the burgher, respectfully): Old mule! The verses of old Baro are not worth A doit! I'm glad to interrupt. . . THE PRECIEUSES (in the boxes): Our Baro!-- My dear! How dares he venture!. . . CYRANO (turning his chair toward the boxes gallantly): Fairest ones, Radiate, bloom, hold to our lips the cup Of dreams intoxicating, Hebe-like! Or, when death strikes, charm death with your sweet smiles; Inspire our verse, but--criticise it not! BELLEROSE: We must give back the entrance fees! CYRANO (turning his chair toward the stage): Bellerose, You make the first intelligent remark! Would I rend Thespis' sacred mantle? Nay! (He rises and throws a bag on the stage): Catch then the purse I throw, and hold your peace! THE HOUSE (dazzled): Ah! Oh! JODELET (catching the purse dexterously and weighing it): At this price, you've authority To come each night, and stop 'Clorise,' Sir! THE PIT: Ho!. . .Ho! Ho!. . . JODELET: E'en if you chase us in a pack!. . . BELLEROSE: Clear out the hall!. . . JODELET: Get you all gone at once! (The people begin to go out, while Cyrano looks on with satisfaction. But the crowd soon stop on hearing the following scene, and remain where they are. The women, who, with their mantles on, are already standing up in the boxes, stop to listen, and finally reseat themselves.) LE BRET (to Cyrano): 'Tis mad!. . . A BORE (coming up to Cyrano): The actor Montfleury! 'Tis shameful! Why, he's protected by the Duke of Candal! Have you a patron? CYRANO: No! THE BORE: No patron?. . . CYRANO: None! THE BORE: What! no great lord to shield you with his name? CYRANO (irritated): No, I have told you twice! Must I repeat? No! no protector. . . (His hand on his sword): A protectress. . .here! THE BORE: But you must leave the town? CYRANO: Well, that depends! THE BORE: The Duke has a long arm! CYRANO: But not so long As mine, when it is lengthened out. . . (Shows his sword): As thus! THE BORE: You think not to contend? CYRANO: 'Tis my idea! THE BORE: But. . . CYRANO: Show your heels! now! THE BORE: But I. . . CYRANO: Or tell me why you stare so at my nose! THE BORE (staggered): I. . . CYRANO (walking straight up to him): Well, what is there strange? THE BORE (drawing back): Your Grace mistakes! CYRANO: How now? Is't soft and dangling, like a trunk?. . . THE BORE (same play): I never. . . CYRANO: Is it crook'd, like an owl's beak? THE BORE: I. . . CYRANO: Do you see a wart upon the tip? THE BORE: Nay. . . CYRANO: Or a fly, that takes the air there? What Is there to stare at? THE BORE: Oh. . . CYRANO: What do you see? THE BORE: But I was careful not to look--knew better. CYRANO: And why not look at it, an if you please? THE BORE: I was. . . CYRANO: Oh! it disgusts you! THE BORE: Sir! CYRANO: Its hue Unwholesome seems to you? THE BORE: Sir! CYRANO: Or its shape? THE BORE: No, on the contrary!. . . CYRANO: Why then that air Disparaging?--perchance you think it large? THE BORE (stammering): No, small, quite small--minute! CYRANO: Minute! What now? Accuse me of a thing ridiculous! Small--my nose? THE BORE: Heaven help me! CYRANO: 'Tis enormous! Old Flathead, empty-headed meddler, know That I am proud possessing such appendice. 'Tis well known, a big nose is indicative Of a soul affable, and kind, and courteous, Liberal, brave, just like myself, and such As you can never dare to dream yourself, Rascal contemptible! For that witless face That my hand soon will come to cuff--is all As empty. . . (He cuffs him.) THE BORE: Aie! CYRANO: --of pride, of aspiration, Of feeling, poetry--of godlike spark Of all that appertains to my big nose, (He turns him by the shoulders, suiting the action to the word): As. . .what my boot will shortly come and kick! THE BORE (running away): Help! Call the Guard! CYRANO: Take notice, boobies all, Who find my visage's center ornament A thing to jest at--that it is my wont-- An if the jester's noble--ere we part To let him taste my steel, and not my boot! DE GUICHE (who, with the marquises, has come down from the stage): But he becomes a nuisance! THE VISCOUNT DE VALVERT (shrugging his shoulders): Swaggerer! DE GUICHE: Will no one put him down?. . . THE VISCOUNT: No one? But wait! I'll treat him to. . .one of my quips!. . .See here!. . . (He goes up to Cyrano, who is watching him, and with a conceited air): Sir, your nose is. . .hmm. . .it is. . .very big! CYRANO (gravely): Very! THE VISCOUNT (laughing): Ha! CYRANO (imperturbably): Is that all?. . . THE VISCOUNT: What do you mean? CYRANO: Ah no! young blade! That was a trifle short! You might have said at least a hundred things By varying the tone. . .like this, suppose,. . . Aggressive: 'Sir, if I had such a nose I'd amputate it!' Friendly: 'When you sup It must annoy you, dipping in your cup; You need a drinking-bowl of special shape!' Descriptive: ''Tis a rock!. . .a peak!. . .a cape! --A cape, forsooth! 'Tis a peninsular!' Curious: 'How serves that oblong capsular? For scissor-sheath? Or pot to hold your ink?' Gracious: 'You love the little birds, I think? I see you've managed with a fond research To find their tiny claws a roomy perch!' Truculent: 'When you smoke your pipe. . .suppose That the tobacco-smoke spouts from your nose-- Do not the neighbors, as the fumes rise higher, Cry terror-struck: "The chimney is afire"?' Considerate: 'Take care,. . .your head bowed low By such a weight. . .lest head o'er heels you go!' Tender: 'Pray get a small umbrella made, Lest its bright color in the sun should fade!' Pedantic: 'That beast Aristophanes Names Hippocamelelephantoles Must have possessed just such a solid lump Of flesh and bone, beneath his forehead's bump!' Cavalier: 'The last fashion, friend, that hook? To hang your hat on? 'Tis a useful crook!' Emphatic: 'No wind, O majestic nose, Can give THEE cold!--save when the mistral blows!' Dramatic: 'When it bleeds, what a Red Sea!' Admiring: 'Sign for a perfumery!' Lyric: 'Is this a conch?. . .a Triton you?' Simple: 'When is the monument on view?' Rustic: 'That thing a nose? Marry-come-up! 'Tis a dwarf pumpkin, or a prize turnip!' Military: 'Point against cavalry!' Practical: 'Put it in a lottery! Assuredly 'twould be the biggest prize!' Or. . .parodying Pyramus' sighs. . . 'Behold the nose that mars the harmony Of its master's phiz! blushing its treachery!' --Such, my dear sir, is what you might have said, Had you of wit or letters the least jot: But, O most lamentable man!--of wit You never had an atom, and of letters You have three letters only!--they spell Ass! And--had you had the necessary wit, To serve me all the pleasantries I quote Before this noble audience. . .e'en so, You would not have been let to utter one-- Nay, not the half or quarter of such jest! I take them from myself all in good part, But not from any other man that breathes! DE GUICHE (trying to draw away the dismayed viscount): Come away, Viscount! THE VISCOUNT (choking with rage): Hear his arrogance! A country lout who. . .who. . .has got no gloves! Who goes out without sleeve-knots, ribbons, lace! CYRANO: True; all my elegances are within. I do not prank myself out, puppy-like; My toilet is more thorough, if less gay; I would not sally forth--a half-washed-out Affront upon my cheek--a conscience Yellow-eyed, bilious, from its sodden sleep, A ruffled honor,. . .scruples grimed and dull! I show no bravery of shining gems. Truth, Independence, are my fluttering plumes. 'Tis not my form I lace to make me slim, But brace my soul with efforts as with stays, Covered with exploits, not with ribbon-knots, My spirit bristling high like your mustaches, I, traversing the crowds and chattering groups Make Truth ring bravely out like clash of spurs! THE VISCOUNT: But, Sir. . . CYRANO: I wear no gloves? And what of that? I had one,. . .remnant of an old worn pair, And, knowing not what else to do with it, I threw it in the face of. . .some young fool. THE VISCOUNT: Base scoundrel! Rascally flat-footed lout! CYRANO (taking off his hat, and bowing as if the viscount had introduced himself): Ah?. . .and I, Cyrano Savinien Hercule de Bergerac (Laughter.) THE VISCOUNT (angrily): Buffoon! CYRANO (calling out as if he had been seized with the cramp): Aie! Aie! THE VISCOUNT (who was going away, turns back): What on earth is the fellow saying now? CYRANO (with grimaces of pain): It must be moved--it's getting stiff, I vow, --This comes of leaving it in idleness! Aie!. . . THE VISCOUNT: What ails you? CYRANO: The cramp! cramp in my sword! THE VISCOUNT (drawing his sword): Good! CYRANO: You shall feel a charming little stroke! THE VISCOUNT (contemptuously): Poet!. . . CYRANO: Ay, poet, Sir! In proof of which, While we fence, presto! all extempore I will compose a ballade. THE VISCOUNT: A ballade? CYRANO: Belike you know not what a ballade is. THE VISCOUNT: But. . . CYRANO (reciting, as if repeating a lesson): Know then that the ballade should contain Three eight-versed couplets. . . THE VISCOUNT (stamping): Oh! CYRANO (still reciting): And an envoi Of four lines. . . THE VISCOUNT: You. . . CYRANO: I'll make one while we fight; And touch you at the final line. THE VISCOUNT: No! CYRANO: No? (declaiming): The duel in Hotel of Burgundy--fought By De Bergerac and a good-for-naught! THE VISCOUNT: What may that be, an if you please? CYRANO: The title. THE HOUSE (in great excitement): Give room!--Good sport!--Make place!--Fair play!--No noise! (Tableau. A circle of curious spectators in the pit; the marquises and officers mingled with the common people; the pages climbing on each other's shoulders to see better. All the women standing up in the boxes. To the right, De Guiche and his retinue. Left, Le Bret, Ragueneau, Cyrano, etc.) CYRANO (shutting his eyes for a second): Wait while I choose my rhymes. . .I have them now! (He suits the action to each word): I gayly doff my beaver low, And, freeing hand and heel, My heavy mantle off I throw, And I draw my polished steel; Graceful as Phoebus, round I wheel, Alert as Scaramouch, A word in your ear, Sir Spark, I steal-- At the envoi's end, I touch! (They engage): Better for you had you lain low; Where skewer my cock? In the heel?-- In the heart, your ribbon blue below?-- In the hip, and make you kneel? Ho for the music of clashing steel! --What now?--A hit? Not much! 'Twill be in the paunch the stroke I steal, When, at the envoi, I touch. Oh, for a rhyme, a rhyme in o?-- You wriggle, starch-white, my eel? A rhyme! a rhyme! The white feather you SHOW! Tac! I parry the point of your steel; --The point you hoped to make me feel; I open the line, now clutch Your spit, Sir Scullion--slow your zeal! At the envoi's end, I touch. (He declaims solemnly): Envoi. Prince, pray Heaven for your soul's weal! I move a pace--lo, such! and such! Cut over--feint! (Thrusting): What ho! You reel? (The viscount staggers. Cyrano salutes): At the envoi's end, I touch! (Acclamations. Applause in the boxes. Flowers and handkerchiefs are thrown down. The officers surround Cyrano, congratulating him. Ragueneau dances for joy. Le Bret is happy, but anxious. The viscount's friends hold him up and bear him away.) THE CROWD (with one long shout): Ah! A TROOPER: 'Tis superb! A WOMAN: A pretty stroke! RAGUENEAU: A marvel! A MARQUIS: A novelty! LE BRET: O madman! THE CROWD (presses round Cyrano. Chorus of): Compliments! Bravo! Let me congratulate!. . .Quite unsurpassed!. . . A WOMAN'S VOICE: There is a hero for you!. . . A MUSKETEER (advancing to Cyrano with outstretched hand): Sir, permit; Naught could be finer--I'm a judge I think; I stamped, i' faith!--to show my admiration! (He goes away.) CYRANO (to Cuigy): Who is that gentleman? CUIGY: Why--D'Artagnan! LE BRET (to Cyrano, taking his arm): A word with you!. . . CYRANO: Wait; let the rabble go!. . . (To Bellerose): May I stay? BELLEROSE (respectfully): Without doubt! (Cries are heard outside.) JODELET (who has looked out): They hoot Montfleury! BELLEROSE (solemnly): Sic transit!. . . (To the porters): Sweep--close all, but leave the lights. We sup, but later on we must return, For a rehearsal of to-morrow's farce. (Jodelet and Bellerose go out, bowing low to Cyrano.) THE PORTER (to Cyrano): You do not dine, Sir? CYRANO: No. (The porter goes out.) LE BRET: Because? CYRANO (proudly): Because. . . (Changing his tone as the porter goes away): I have no money!. . . LE BRET (with the action of throwing a bag): How! The bag of crowns?. . . CYRANO: Paternal bounty, in a day, thou'rt sped! LE BRET: How live the next month?. . . CYRANO: I have nothing left. LE BRET: Folly! CYRANO: But what a graceful action! Think! THE BUFFET-GIRL (coughing, behind her counter): Hum! (Cyrano and Le Bret turn. She comes timidly forward): Sir, my heart mislikes to know you fast. (Showing the buffet): See, all you need. Serve yourself! CYRANO (taking off his hat): Gentle child, Although my Gascon pride would else forbid To take the least bestowal from your hands, My fear of wounding you outweighs that pride, And bids accept. . . (He goes to the buffet): A trifle!. . .These few grapes. (She offers him the whole bunch. He takes a few): Nay, but this bunch!. . . (She tries to give him wine, but he stops her): A glass of water fair!. . . And half a macaroon! (He gives back the other half.) LE BRET: What foolery! THE BUFFET-GIRL: Take something else! CYRANO: I take your hand to kiss. (He kisses her hand as though she were a princess.) THE BUFFET-GIRL: Thank you, kind Sir! (She courtesies): Good-night. (She goes out.) Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A:

Scene 4 begins with Cyrano standing his ground against the audience, which is loudly insisting that Montfleury should not stop his performance. Cyrano threatens to draw his sword and fight anyone in the audience who dares to challenge him. He then insults the actor and chases him off the stage. Next Cyrano criticizes the dramatist, Baro, for his worthless writing. When the intellectually pretentious women in the audience protest his actions, Cyrano compliments them as subjects of literature but implores them not to judge it. Bellerose, the manager of the theater, confronts Cyrano and tells him that the money of the patrons will have to be refunded if the play is cancelled. Cyrano hands over his purse, which if filled with gold, and tells him to pay the patrons. The audience is then told to leave. An obnoxious man comes up to Cyrano and warns him that Montfleury and his key patron have been greatly insulted and will want revenge. When the man continues and will not leave in spite of Cyrano's insistence, he quarrels with him and kicks him out. Count De Guiche calls upon his followers to silence Cyrano. Valvert approaches Cyrano and dares to comment on the size of his nose. Cyrano responds by giving a witty exposition on noses and imagining what all sorts of people might say about the size of his nose. Valvert, feeling he has been put down by Cyrano, tries to insult his clothing. Cyrano retorts by explaining that his morals are impeccable even if his clothing is not. Valvert, failing to gain the upper hand, becomes more aggressively rude. Cyrano reacts with wit. When he is called a buffoon, however, Cyrano draws his sword to fight Valvert. He claims that he will fight the duel while he is composing a ballad, which he will recite as he fences. The two draw their swords and begin fighting to the verses of Cyrano's witty poem. By the ballad's refrain, Cyrano lunges and strikes Valvert, making him stagger. As Valvert is led away, the audience applauds Cyrano for his performance; they then depart the theater. After the patrons have left, Cyrano confesses that he has no money to buy dinner. When his friend, Le Bret, rebukes him for giving away his whole month's income to the theatre, he claims that it was a noble and worthwhile gesture. When the refreshment waitress offers him food, he takes a token bite and courteously and grandiosely thanks her.

Chapter: Cyrano, Le Bret. CYRANO (to Le Bret): Now talk--I listen. (He stands at the buffet, and placing before him first the macaroon): Dinner!. . . (then the grapes): Dessert!. . . (then the glass of water): Wine!. . . (he seats himself): So! And now to table! Ah! I was hungry, friend, nay, ravenous! (eating): You said--? LE BRET: These fops, would-be belligerent, Will, if you heed them only, turn your head!. . . Ask people of good sense if you would know The effect of your fine insolence-- CYRANO (finishing his macaroon): Enormous! LE BRET: The Cardinal. . . CYRANO (radiant): The Cardinal--was there? LE BRET: Must have thought it. . . CYRANO: Original, i' faith! LE BRET: But. . . CYRANO: He's an author. 'Twill not fail to please him That I should mar a brother-author's play. LE BRET: You make too many enemies by far! CYRANO (eating his grapes): How many think you I have made to-night? LE BRET: Forty, no less, not counting ladies. CYRANO: Count! LE BRET: Montfleury first, the bourgeois, then De Guiche, The Viscount, Baro, the Academy. . . CYRANO: Enough! I am o'erjoyed! LE BRET: But these strange ways, Where will they lead you, at the end? Explain Your system--come! CYRANO: I in a labyrinth Was lost--too many different paths to choose; I took. . . LE BRET: Which? CYRANO: Oh! by far the simplest path. . . Decided to be admirable in all! LE BRET (shrugging his shoulders): So be it! But the motive of your hate To Montfleury--come, tell me! CYRANO (rising): This Silenus, Big-bellied, coarse, still deems himself a peril-- A danger to the love of lovely ladies, And, while he sputters out his actor's part, Makes sheep's eyes at their boxes--goggling frog! I hate him since the evening he presumed To raise his eyes to hers. . .Meseemed I saw A slug crawl slavering o'er a flower's petals! LE BRET (stupefied): How now? What? Can it be. . .? CYRANO (laughing bitterly): That I should love?. . . (Changing his tone, gravely): I love. LE BRET: And may I know?. . .You never said. . . CYRANO: Come now, bethink you!. . .The fond hope to be Beloved, e'en by some poor graceless lady, Is, by this nose of mine for aye bereft me; --This lengthy nose which, go where'er I will, Pokes yet a quarter-mile ahead of me; But I may love--and who? 'Tis Fate's decree I love the fairest--how were't otherwise? LE BRET: The fairest?. . . CYRANO: Ay, the fairest of the world, Most brilliant--most refined--most golden-haired! LE BRET: Who is this lady? CYRANO: She's a danger mortal, All unsuspicious--full of charms unconscious, Like a sweet perfumed rose--a snare of nature, Within whose petals Cupid lurks in ambush! He who has seen her smile has known perfection, --Instilling into trifles grace's essence, Divinity in every careless gesture; Not Venus' self can mount her conch blown sea-ward, As she can step into her chaise a porteurs, Nor Dian fleet across the woods spring-flowered, Light as my Lady o'er the stones of Paris!. . . LE BRET: Sapristi! all is clear! CYRANO: As spiderwebs! LE BRET: Your cousin, Madeleine Robin? CYRANO: Roxane! LE BRET: Well, but so much the better! Tell her so! She saw your triumph here this very night! CYRANO: Look well at me--then tell me, with what hope This vile protuberance can inspire my heart! I do not lull me with illusions--yet At times I'm weak: in evening hours dim I enter some fair pleasance, perfumed sweet; With my poor ugly devil of a nose I scent spring's essence--in the silver rays I see some knight--a lady on his arm, And think 'To saunter thus 'neath the moonshine, I were fain to have my lady, too, beside!' Thought soars to ecstasy. . .O sudden fall! --The shadow of my profile on the wall! LE BRET (tenderly): My friend!. . . CYRANO: My friend, at times 'tis hard, 'tis bitter, To feel my loneliness--my own ill-favor. . . LE BRET (taking his hand): You weep? CYRANO: No, never! Think, how vilely suited Adown this nose a tear its passage tracing! I never will, while of myself I'm master, let the divinity of tears--their beauty Be wedded to such common ugly grossness. Nothing more solemn than a tear--sublimer; And I would not by weeping turn to laughter The grave emotion that a tear engenders! LE BRET: Never be sad! What's love?--a chance of Fortune! CYRANO (shaking his head): Look I a Caesar to woo Cleopatra? A Tito to aspire to Berenice? LE BRET: Your courage and your wit!--The little maid Who offered you refreshment even now, Her eyes did not abhor you--you saw well! CYRANO (impressed): True! LE BRET: Well, how then?. . .I saw Roxane herself Was death-pale as she watched the duel. CYRANO: Pale? LE BRET: Her heart, her fancy, are already caught! Put it to th' touch! CYRANO: That she may mock my face? That is the one thing on this earth I fear! THE PORTER (introducing some one to Cyrano): Sir, some one asks for you. . . CYRANO (seeing the duenna): God! her duenna! Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A: LeBret is appalled by the actions of Cyrano at the theater. He is certain that his friend has made a large number of enemies because of his outlandish behavior. Cyrano, however, is proud of how he has acted. He feels he has done what is right, which gives him a clear conscience. This is important to Cyrano, who tries "to be admirable in everything." Cyrano reveals the true reason for his hatred of Montfleury. The actor had given amorous looks to Roxane, whom Cyrano confesses that he loves. Le Bret tells Cyrano that Roxane seemed to be deeply impressed by his victory over Valvert. He then encourages his friend to tell Roxane of his love, but Cyrano refuses. Because of his physical appearance, he feels that she could never have a romantic interest in him. In fact, he fears that she might laugh in his face.

Chapter: Cyrano, Le Bret. CYRANO (to Le Bret): Now talk--I listen. (He stands at the buffet, and placing before him first the macaroon): Dinner!. . . (then the grapes): Dessert!. . . (then the glass of water): Wine!. . . (he seats himself): So! And now to table! Ah! I was hungry, friend, nay, ravenous! (eating): You said--? LE BRET: These fops, would-be belligerent, Will, if you heed them only, turn your head!. . . Ask people of good sense if you would know The effect of your fine insolence-- CYRANO (finishing his macaroon): Enormous! LE BRET: The Cardinal. . . CYRANO (radiant): The Cardinal--was there? LE BRET: Must have thought it. . . CYRANO: Original, i' faith! LE BRET: But. . . CYRANO: He's an author. 'Twill not fail to please him That I should mar a brother-author's play. LE BRET: You make too many enemies by far! CYRANO (eating his grapes): How many think you I have made to-night? LE BRET: Forty, no less, not counting ladies. CYRANO: Count! LE BRET: Montfleury first, the bourgeois, then De Guiche, The Viscount, Baro, the Academy. . . CYRANO: Enough! I am o'erjoyed! LE BRET: But these strange ways, Where will they lead you, at the end? Explain Your system--come! CYRANO: I in a labyrinth Was lost--too many different paths to choose; I took. . . LE BRET: Which? CYRANO: Oh! by far the simplest path. . . Decided to be admirable in all! LE BRET (shrugging his shoulders): So be it! But the motive of your hate To Montfleury--come, tell me! CYRANO (rising): This Silenus, Big-bellied, coarse, still deems himself a peril-- A danger to the love of lovely ladies, And, while he sputters out his actor's part, Makes sheep's eyes at their boxes--goggling frog! I hate him since the evening he presumed To raise his eyes to hers. . .Meseemed I saw A slug crawl slavering o'er a flower's petals! LE BRET (stupefied): How now? What? Can it be. . .? CYRANO (laughing bitterly): That I should love?. . . (Changing his tone, gravely): I love. LE BRET: And may I know?. . .You never said. . . CYRANO: Come now, bethink you!. . .The fond hope to be Beloved, e'en by some poor graceless lady, Is, by this nose of mine for aye bereft me; --This lengthy nose which, go where'er I will, Pokes yet a quarter-mile ahead of me; But I may love--and who? 'Tis Fate's decree I love the fairest--how were't otherwise? LE BRET: The fairest?. . . CYRANO: Ay, the fairest of the world, Most brilliant--most refined--most golden-haired! LE BRET: Who is this lady? CYRANO: She's a danger mortal, All unsuspicious--full of charms unconscious, Like a sweet perfumed rose--a snare of nature, Within whose petals Cupid lurks in ambush! He who has seen her smile has known perfection, --Instilling into trifles grace's essence, Divinity in every careless gesture; Not Venus' self can mount her conch blown sea-ward, As she can step into her chaise a porteurs, Nor Dian fleet across the woods spring-flowered, Light as my Lady o'er the stones of Paris!. . . LE BRET: Sapristi! all is clear! CYRANO: As spiderwebs! LE BRET: Your cousin, Madeleine Robin? CYRANO: Roxane! LE BRET: Well, but so much the better! Tell her so! She saw your triumph here this very night! CYRANO: Look well at me--then tell me, with what hope This vile protuberance can inspire my heart! I do not lull me with illusions--yet At times I'm weak: in evening hours dim I enter some fair pleasance, perfumed sweet; With my poor ugly devil of a nose I scent spring's essence--in the silver rays I see some knight--a lady on his arm, And think 'To saunter thus 'neath the moonshine, I were fain to have my lady, too, beside!' Thought soars to ecstasy. . .O sudden fall! --The shadow of my profile on the wall! LE BRET (tenderly): My friend!. . . CYRANO: My friend, at times 'tis hard, 'tis bitter, To feel my loneliness--my own ill-favor. . . LE BRET (taking his hand): You weep? CYRANO: No, never! Think, how vilely suited Adown this nose a tear its passage tracing! I never will, while of myself I'm master, let the divinity of tears--their beauty Be wedded to such common ugly grossness. Nothing more solemn than a tear--sublimer; And I would not by weeping turn to laughter The grave emotion that a tear engenders! LE BRET: Never be sad! What's love?--a chance of Fortune! CYRANO (shaking his head): Look I a Caesar to woo Cleopatra? A Tito to aspire to Berenice? LE BRET: Your courage and your wit!--The little maid Who offered you refreshment even now, Her eyes did not abhor you--you saw well! CYRANO (impressed): True! LE BRET: Well, how then?. . .I saw Roxane herself Was death-pale as she watched the duel. CYRANO: Pale? LE BRET: Her heart, her fancy, are already caught! Put it to th' touch! CYRANO: That she may mock my face? That is the one thing on this earth I fear! THE PORTER (introducing some one to Cyrano): Sir, some one asks for you. . . CYRANO (seeing the duenna): God! her duenna! Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A:

LeBret is appalled by the actions of Cyrano at the theater. He is certain that his friend has made a large number of enemies because of his outlandish behavior. Cyrano, however, is proud of how he has acted. He feels he has done what is right, which gives him a clear conscience. This is important to Cyrano, who tries "to be admirable in everything." Cyrano reveals the true reason for his hatred of Montfleury. The actor had given amorous looks to Roxane, whom Cyrano confesses that he loves. Le Bret tells Cyrano that Roxane seemed to be deeply impressed by his victory over Valvert. He then encourages his friend to tell Roxane of his love, but Cyrano refuses. Because of his physical appearance, he feels that she could never have a romantic interest in him. In fact, he fears that she might laugh in his face.

Chapter: Cyrano, Le Bret, the duenna. THE DUENNA (with a low bow): I was bid ask you where a certain lady Could see her valiant cousin--but in secret. CYRANO (overwhelmed): See me? THE DUENNA (courtesying): Ay, Sir! She has somewhat to tell. CYRANO: Somewhat?. . . THE DUENNA (still courtesying): Ay, private matters! CYRANO (staggering): Ah, my God! THE DUENNA: To-morrow, at the early blush of dawn, We go to hear mass at St. Roch. CYRANO (leaning against Le Bret): My God! THE DUENNA: After--what place for a few minutes' speech? CYRANO (confused): Where? Ah!. . .but. . .Ah, my God!. . . THE DUENNA: Say! CYRANO: I reflect!. . . THE DUENNA: Where? CYRANO: At--the pastry-house of Ragueneau. THE DUENNA: Where lodges he? CYRANO: The Rue--God!--St. Honore! THE DUENNA (going): Good. Be you there. At seven. CYRANO: Without fail. (The duenna goes out.) Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A: In this short scene, Roxane's governess enters, bringing a message for Cyrano. Roxane desires to speak to him privately the next morning. Cyrano, overcome with happiness at the thought of talking with his true love, suggests that they meet at Ragueneau's bakery.

Chapter: Cyrano, Le Bret, the duenna. THE DUENNA (with a low bow): I was bid ask you where a certain lady Could see her valiant cousin--but in secret. CYRANO (overwhelmed): See me? THE DUENNA (courtesying): Ay, Sir! She has somewhat to tell. CYRANO: Somewhat?. . . THE DUENNA (still courtesying): Ay, private matters! CYRANO (staggering): Ah, my God! THE DUENNA: To-morrow, at the early blush of dawn, We go to hear mass at St. Roch. CYRANO (leaning against Le Bret): My God! THE DUENNA: After--what place for a few minutes' speech? CYRANO (confused): Where? Ah!. . .but. . .Ah, my God!. . . THE DUENNA: Say! CYRANO: I reflect!. . . THE DUENNA: Where? CYRANO: At--the pastry-house of Ragueneau. THE DUENNA: Where lodges he? CYRANO: The Rue--God!--St. Honore! THE DUENNA (going): Good. Be you there. At seven. CYRANO: Without fail. (The duenna goes out.) Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A:

In this short scene, Roxane's governess enters, bringing a message for Cyrano. Roxane desires to speak to him privately the next morning. Cyrano, overcome with happiness at the thought of talking with his true love, suggests that they meet at Ragueneau's bakery.

Chapter: Cyrano, Le Bret. Then actors, actresses, Cuigy, Brissaille, Ligniere, the porter, the violinists. CYRANO (falling into Le Bret's arms): A rendezvous. . .from her!. . . LE BRET: You're sad no more! CYRANO: Ah! Let the world go burn! She knows I live! LE BRET: Now you'll be calm, I hope? CYRANO (beside himself for joy): Calm? I now calm? I'll be frenetic, frantic,--raving mad! Oh, for an army to attack!--a host! I've ten hearts in my breast; a score of arms; No dwarfs to cleave in twain!. . . (Wildly): No! Giants now! (For a few moments the shadows of the actors have been moving on the stage, whispers are heard--the rehearsal is beginning. The violinists are in their places.) A VOICE FROM THE STAGE: Hollo there! Silence! We rehearse! CYRANO (laughing): We go! (He moves away. By the big door enter Cuigy, Brissaille, and some officers, holding up Ligniere, who is drunk.) CUIGY: Cyrano! CYRANO: Well, what now? CUIGY: A lusty thrush They're bringing you! CYRANO (recognizing him): Ligniere!. . .What has chanced? CUIGY: He seeks you! BRISSAILLE: He dare not go home! CYRANO: Why not? LIGNIERE (in a husky voice, showing him a crumpled letter): This letter warns me. . .that a hundred men. . . Revenge that threatens me. . .that song, you know-- At the Porte de Nesle. To get to my own house I must pass there. . .I dare not!. . .Give me leave To sleep to-night beneath your roof! Allow. . . CYRANO: A hundred men? You'll sleep in your own bed! LIGNIERE (frightened): But-- CYRANO (in a terrible voice, showing him the lighted lantern held by the porter, who is listening curiously): Take the lantern. (Ligniere seizes it): Let us start! I swear That I will make your bed to-night myself! (To the officers): Follow; some stay behind, as witnesses! CUIGY: A hundred!. . . CYRANO: Less, to-night--would be too few! (The actors and actresses, in their costumes, have come down from the stage, and are listening.) LE BRET: But why embroil yourself? CYRANO: Le Bret who scolds! LE BRET: That worthless drunkard!-- CYRANO (slapping Ligniere on the shoulder): Wherefore? For this cause;-- This wine-barrel, this cask of Burgundy, Did, on a day, an action full of grace; As he was leaving church, he saw his love Take holy water--he, who is affeared At water's taste, ran quickly to the stoup, And drank it all, to the last drop!. . . AN ACTRESS: Indeed, that was a graceful thing! CYRANO: Ay, was it not? THE ACTRESS (to the others): But why a hundred men 'gainst one poor rhymer? CYRANO: March! (To the officers): Gentlemen, when you shall see me charge, Bear me no succor, none, whate'er the odds! ANOTHER ACTRESS (jumping from the stage): Oh! I shall come and see! CYRANO: Come, then! ANOTHER (jumping down--to an old actor): And you?. . . CYRANO: Come all--the Doctor, Isabel, Leander, Come, for you shall add, in a motley swarm, The farce Italian to this Spanish drama! ALL THE WOMEN (dancing for joy): Bravo!--a mantle, quick!--my hood! JODELET: Come on! CYRANO: Play us a march, gentlemen of the band! (The violinists join the procession, which is forming. They take the footlights, and divide them for torches): Brave officers! next, women in costume, And, twenty paces on-- (He takes his place): I all alone, Beneath the plume that Glory lends, herself, To deck my beaver--proud as Scipio!. . . --You hear me?--I forbid you succor me!-- One, two three! Porter, open wide the doors! (The porter opens the doors; a view of old Paris in the moonlight is seen): Ah!. . .Paris wrapped in night! half nebulous: The moonlight streams o'er the blue-shadowed roofs; A lovely frame for this wild battle-scene; Beneath the vapor's floating scarves, the Seine Trembles, mysterious, like a magic mirror, And, shortly, you shall see what you shall see! ALL: To the Porte de Nesle! CYRANO (standing on the threshold): Ay, to the Porte de Nesle! (Turning to the actress): Did you not ask, young lady, for what cause Against this rhymer fivescore men were sent? (He draws his sword; then, calmly): 'Twas that they knew him for a friend of mine! (He goes out. Ligniere staggers first after him, then the actresses on the officers' arms--the actors. The procession starts to the sound of the violins and in the faint light of the candles.) Curtain. Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A: As this scene opens, Cyrano is in a state of frenzied exhilaration because Roxane has acknowledged his existence. He wishes to prove his worth to her by showing his valor. Two gentlemen, Cuigy and Brissaille, enter with the drunken Ligniere, who declares that a hundred men are waiting to attack him. Cyrano offers to offer him protection, by escorting him with a troop of officers. He declares, however, that he will find the attackers alone and unaided. As they prepare to leave, several others join the group, wishing to witness what happens at the Porte de Nesle. When they depart, Cyrano is proudly at the head of the group. He pauses to say that it was necessary to send one hundred men to kill Ligniere because everyone knows he is a friend of his, implying that everyone fears Cyrano.

Chapter: Cyrano, Le Bret. Then actors, actresses, Cuigy, Brissaille, Ligniere, the porter, the violinists. CYRANO (falling into Le Bret's arms): A rendezvous. . .from her!. . . LE BRET: You're sad no more! CYRANO: Ah! Let the world go burn! She knows I live! LE BRET: Now you'll be calm, I hope? CYRANO (beside himself for joy): Calm? I now calm? I'll be frenetic, frantic,--raving mad! Oh, for an army to attack!--a host! I've ten hearts in my breast; a score of arms; No dwarfs to cleave in twain!. . . (Wildly): No! Giants now! (For a few moments the shadows of the actors have been moving on the stage, whispers are heard--the rehearsal is beginning. The violinists are in their places.) A VOICE FROM THE STAGE: Hollo there! Silence! We rehearse! CYRANO (laughing): We go! (He moves away. By the big door enter Cuigy, Brissaille, and some officers, holding up Ligniere, who is drunk.) CUIGY: Cyrano! CYRANO: Well, what now? CUIGY: A lusty thrush They're bringing you! CYRANO (recognizing him): Ligniere!. . .What has chanced? CUIGY: He seeks you! BRISSAILLE: He dare not go home! CYRANO: Why not? LIGNIERE (in a husky voice, showing him a crumpled letter): This letter warns me. . .that a hundred men. . . Revenge that threatens me. . .that song, you know-- At the Porte de Nesle. To get to my own house I must pass there. . .I dare not!. . .Give me leave To sleep to-night beneath your roof! Allow. . . CYRANO: A hundred men? You'll sleep in your own bed! LIGNIERE (frightened): But-- CYRANO (in a terrible voice, showing him the lighted lantern held by the porter, who is listening curiously): Take the lantern. (Ligniere seizes it): Let us start! I swear That I will make your bed to-night myself! (To the officers): Follow; some stay behind, as witnesses! CUIGY: A hundred!. . . CYRANO: Less, to-night--would be too few! (The actors and actresses, in their costumes, have come down from the stage, and are listening.) LE BRET: But why embroil yourself? CYRANO: Le Bret who scolds! LE BRET: That worthless drunkard!-- CYRANO (slapping Ligniere on the shoulder): Wherefore? For this cause;-- This wine-barrel, this cask of Burgundy, Did, on a day, an action full of grace; As he was leaving church, he saw his love Take holy water--he, who is affeared At water's taste, ran quickly to the stoup, And drank it all, to the last drop!. . . AN ACTRESS: Indeed, that was a graceful thing! CYRANO: Ay, was it not? THE ACTRESS (to the others): But why a hundred men 'gainst one poor rhymer? CYRANO: March! (To the officers): Gentlemen, when you shall see me charge, Bear me no succor, none, whate'er the odds! ANOTHER ACTRESS (jumping from the stage): Oh! I shall come and see! CYRANO: Come, then! ANOTHER (jumping down--to an old actor): And you?. . . CYRANO: Come all--the Doctor, Isabel, Leander, Come, for you shall add, in a motley swarm, The farce Italian to this Spanish drama! ALL THE WOMEN (dancing for joy): Bravo!--a mantle, quick!--my hood! JODELET: Come on! CYRANO: Play us a march, gentlemen of the band! (The violinists join the procession, which is forming. They take the footlights, and divide them for torches): Brave officers! next, women in costume, And, twenty paces on-- (He takes his place): I all alone, Beneath the plume that Glory lends, herself, To deck my beaver--proud as Scipio!. . . --You hear me?--I forbid you succor me!-- One, two three! Porter, open wide the doors! (The porter opens the doors; a view of old Paris in the moonlight is seen): Ah!. . .Paris wrapped in night! half nebulous: The moonlight streams o'er the blue-shadowed roofs; A lovely frame for this wild battle-scene; Beneath the vapor's floating scarves, the Seine Trembles, mysterious, like a magic mirror, And, shortly, you shall see what you shall see! ALL: To the Porte de Nesle! CYRANO (standing on the threshold): Ay, to the Porte de Nesle! (Turning to the actress): Did you not ask, young lady, for what cause Against this rhymer fivescore men were sent? (He draws his sword; then, calmly): 'Twas that they knew him for a friend of mine! (He goes out. Ligniere staggers first after him, then the actresses on the officers' arms--the actors. The procession starts to the sound of the violins and in the faint light of the candles.) Curtain. Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A:

As this scene opens, Cyrano is in a state of frenzied exhilaration because Roxane has acknowledged his existence. He wishes to prove his worth to her by showing his valor. Two gentlemen, Cuigy and Brissaille, enter with the drunken Ligniere, who declares that a hundred men are waiting to attack him. Cyrano offers to offer him protection, by escorting him with a troop of officers. He declares, however, that he will find the attackers alone and unaided. As they prepare to leave, several others join the group, wishing to witness what happens at the Porte de Nesle. When they depart, Cyrano is proudly at the head of the group. He pauses to say that it was necessary to send one hundred men to kill Ligniere because everyone knows he is a friend of his, implying that everyone fears Cyrano.

Chapter: Ragueneau, pastry-cooks, then Lise. Ragueneau is writing, with an inspired air, at a small table, and counting on his fingers. FIRST PASTRY-COOK (bringing in an elaborate fancy dish): Fruits in nougat! SECOND PASTRY-COOK (bringing another dish): Custard! THIRD PASTRY-COOK (bringing a roast, decorated with feathers): Peacock! FOURTH PASTRY-COOK (bringing a batch of cakes on a slab): Rissoles! FIFTH PASTRY-COOK (bringing a sort of pie-dish): Beef jelly! RAGUENEAU (ceasing to write, and raising his head): Aurora's silver rays begin to glint e'en now on the copper pans, and thou, O Ragueneau! must perforce stifle in thy breast the God of Song! Anon shall come the hour of the lute!--now 'tis the hour of the oven! (He rises. To a cook): You, make that sauce longer, 'tis too short! THE COOK: How much too short? RAGUENEAU: Three feet. (He passes on farther.) THE COOK: What means he? FIRST PASTRY-COOK (showing a dish to Ragueneau): The tart! SECOND PASTRY-COOK: The pie! RAGUENEAU (before the fire): My muse, retire, lest thy bright eyes be reddened by the fagot's blaze! (To a cook, showing him some loaves): You have put the cleft o' th' loaves in the wrong place; know you not that the coesura should be between the hemistiches? (To another, showing him an unfinished pasty): To this palace of paste you must add the roof. . . (To a young apprentice, who, seated on the ground, is spitting the fowls): And you, as you put on your lengthy spit the modest fowl and the superb turkey, my son, alternate them, as the old Malherbe loved well to alternate his long lines of verse with the short ones; thus shall your roasts, in strophes, turn before the flame! ANOTHER APPRENTICE (also coming up with a tray covered by a napkin): Master, I bethought me erewhile of your tastes, and made this, which will please you, I hope. (He uncovers the tray, and shows a large lyre made of pastry.) RAGUENEAU (enchanted): A lyre! THE APPRENTICE: 'Tis of brioche pastry. RAGUENEAU (touched): With conserved fruits. THE APPRENTICE: The strings, see, are of sugar. RAGUENEAU (giving him a coin): Go, drink my health! (Seeing Lise enter): Hush! My wife. Bustle, pass on, and hide that money! (To Lise, showing her the lyre, with a conscious look): Is it not beautiful? LISE: 'Tis passing silly! (She puts a pile of papers on the counter.) RAGUENEAU: Bags? Good. I thank you. (He looks at them): Heavens! my cherished leaves! The poems of my friends! Torn, dismembered, to make bags for holding biscuits and cakes!. . .Ah, 'tis the old tale again. . .Orpheus and the Bacchantes! LISE (dryly): And am I not free to turn at last to some use the sole thing that your wretched scribblers of halting lines leave behind them by way of payment? RAGUENEAU: Groveling ant!. . .Insult not the divine grasshoppers, the sweet singers! LISE: Before you were the sworn comrade of all that crew, my friend, you did not call your wife ant and Bacchante! RAGUENEAU: To turn fair verse to such a use! LISE: 'Faith, 'tis all it's good for. RAGUENEAU: Pray then, madam, to what use would you degrade prose? Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A: The next morning Ragueneau is seen in his pastry shop. He is laboriously composing a poem while supervising his cooks. Lise, his practical wife, enters. She is carrying paper bags, which she made out of the sheets on which Ragueneau's poet friends have written their verses. Since the poets rarely pay for what they eat at the pastry shop, Lise at least wants to make use of the paper that they leave behind. Her husband protests, but Lise ignores him.

Chapter: Ragueneau, pastry-cooks, then Lise. Ragueneau is writing, with an inspired air, at a small table, and counting on his fingers. FIRST PASTRY-COOK (bringing in an elaborate fancy dish): Fruits in nougat! SECOND PASTRY-COOK (bringing another dish): Custard! THIRD PASTRY-COOK (bringing a roast, decorated with feathers): Peacock! FOURTH PASTRY-COOK (bringing a batch of cakes on a slab): Rissoles! FIFTH PASTRY-COOK (bringing a sort of pie-dish): Beef jelly! RAGUENEAU (ceasing to write, and raising his head): Aurora's silver rays begin to glint e'en now on the copper pans, and thou, O Ragueneau! must perforce stifle in thy breast the God of Song! Anon shall come the hour of the lute!--now 'tis the hour of the oven! (He rises. To a cook): You, make that sauce longer, 'tis too short! THE COOK: How much too short? RAGUENEAU: Three feet. (He passes on farther.) THE COOK: What means he? FIRST PASTRY-COOK (showing a dish to Ragueneau): The tart! SECOND PASTRY-COOK: The pie! RAGUENEAU (before the fire): My muse, retire, lest thy bright eyes be reddened by the fagot's blaze! (To a cook, showing him some loaves): You have put the cleft o' th' loaves in the wrong place; know you not that the coesura should be between the hemistiches? (To another, showing him an unfinished pasty): To this palace of paste you must add the roof. . . (To a young apprentice, who, seated on the ground, is spitting the fowls): And you, as you put on your lengthy spit the modest fowl and the superb turkey, my son, alternate them, as the old Malherbe loved well to alternate his long lines of verse with the short ones; thus shall your roasts, in strophes, turn before the flame! ANOTHER APPRENTICE (also coming up with a tray covered by a napkin): Master, I bethought me erewhile of your tastes, and made this, which will please you, I hope. (He uncovers the tray, and shows a large lyre made of pastry.) RAGUENEAU (enchanted): A lyre! THE APPRENTICE: 'Tis of brioche pastry. RAGUENEAU (touched): With conserved fruits. THE APPRENTICE: The strings, see, are of sugar. RAGUENEAU (giving him a coin): Go, drink my health! (Seeing Lise enter): Hush! My wife. Bustle, pass on, and hide that money! (To Lise, showing her the lyre, with a conscious look): Is it not beautiful? LISE: 'Tis passing silly! (She puts a pile of papers on the counter.) RAGUENEAU: Bags? Good. I thank you. (He looks at them): Heavens! my cherished leaves! The poems of my friends! Torn, dismembered, to make bags for holding biscuits and cakes!. . .Ah, 'tis the old tale again. . .Orpheus and the Bacchantes! LISE (dryly): And am I not free to turn at last to some use the sole thing that your wretched scribblers of halting lines leave behind them by way of payment? RAGUENEAU: Groveling ant!. . .Insult not the divine grasshoppers, the sweet singers! LISE: Before you were the sworn comrade of all that crew, my friend, you did not call your wife ant and Bacchante! RAGUENEAU: To turn fair verse to such a use! LISE: 'Faith, 'tis all it's good for. RAGUENEAU: Pray then, madam, to what use would you degrade prose? Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A:

The next morning Ragueneau is seen in his pastry shop. He is laboriously composing a poem while supervising his cooks. Lise, his practical wife, enters. She is carrying paper bags, which she made out of the sheets on which Ragueneau's poet friends have written their verses. Since the poets rarely pay for what they eat at the pastry shop, Lise at least wants to make use of the paper that they leave behind. Her husband protests, but Lise ignores him.

Chapter: The same. Two children, who have just trotted into the shop. RAGUENEAU: What would you, little ones? FIRST CHILD: Three pies. RAGUENEAU (serving them): See, hot and well browned. SECOND CHILD: If it please you, Sir, will you wrap them up for us? RAGUENEAU (aside, distressed): Alas! one of my bags! (To the children): What? Must I wrap them up? (He takes a bag, and just as he is about to put in the pies, he reads): 'Ulysses thus, on leaving fair Penelope. . .' Not that one! (He puts it aside, and takes another, and as he is about to put in the pies, he reads): 'The gold-locked Phoebus. . .' Nay, nor that one!. . . (Same play.) LISE (impatiently): What are you dallying for? RAGUENEAU: Here! here! here (He chooses a third, resignedly): The sonnet to Phillis!. . .but 'tis hard to part with it! LISE: By good luck he has made up his mind at last! (Shrugging her shoulders): Nicodemus! (She mounts on a chair, and begins to range plates on a dresser.) RAGUENEAU (taking advantage of the moment she turns her back, calls back the children, who are already at the door): Hist! children!. . .render me back the sonnet to Phillis, and you shall have six pies instead of three. (The children give him back the bag, seize the cakes quickly, and go out.) RAGUENEAU (smoothing out the paper, begins to declaim): 'Phillis!. . .' On that sweet name a smear of butter! 'Phillis!. . .' (Cyrano enters hurriedly.) Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A: Two children enter the pastry shop and purchase some pastries. Ragueneau is reluctant to pack them in the bags with poetry on them, but Lise insists. While she is occupied elsewhere, he calls the children back and offers them free pastries in exchange for the bag with a poem on it. The children agree to the bargain.

Chapter: The same. Two children, who have just trotted into the shop. RAGUENEAU: What would you, little ones? FIRST CHILD: Three pies. RAGUENEAU (serving them): See, hot and well browned. SECOND CHILD: If it please you, Sir, will you wrap them up for us? RAGUENEAU (aside, distressed): Alas! one of my bags! (To the children): What? Must I wrap them up? (He takes a bag, and just as he is about to put in the pies, he reads): 'Ulysses thus, on leaving fair Penelope. . .' Not that one! (He puts it aside, and takes another, and as he is about to put in the pies, he reads): 'The gold-locked Phoebus. . .' Nay, nor that one!. . . (Same play.) LISE (impatiently): What are you dallying for? RAGUENEAU: Here! here! here (He chooses a third, resignedly): The sonnet to Phillis!. . .but 'tis hard to part with it! LISE: By good luck he has made up his mind at last! (Shrugging her shoulders): Nicodemus! (She mounts on a chair, and begins to range plates on a dresser.) RAGUENEAU (taking advantage of the moment she turns her back, calls back the children, who are already at the door): Hist! children!. . .render me back the sonnet to Phillis, and you shall have six pies instead of three. (The children give him back the bag, seize the cakes quickly, and go out.) RAGUENEAU (smoothing out the paper, begins to declaim): 'Phillis!. . .' On that sweet name a smear of butter! 'Phillis!. . .' (Cyrano enters hurriedly.) Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A:

Two children enter the pastry shop and purchase some pastries. Ragueneau is reluctant to pack them in the bags with poetry on them, but Lise insists. While she is occupied elsewhere, he calls the children back and offers them free pastries in exchange for the bag with a poem on it. The children agree to the bargain.

Chapter: Ragueneau, Lise, Cyrano, then the musketeer. CYRANO: What's o'clock? RAGUENEAU (bowing low): Six o'clock. CYRANO (with emotion): In one hour's time! (He paces up and down the shop.) RAGUENEAU (following him): Bravo! I saw. . . CYRANO: Well, what saw you, then? RAGUENEAU: Your combat!. . . CYRANO: Which? RAGUENEAU: That in the Burgundy Hotel, 'faith! CYRANO (contemptuously): Ah!. . .the duel! RAGUENEAU (admiringly): Ay! the duel in verse!. . . LISE: He can talk of naught else! CYRANO: Well! Good! let be! RAGUENEAU (making passes with a spit that he catches up): 'At the envoi's end, I touch!. . .At the envoi's end, I touch!'. . .'Tis fine, fine! (With increasing enthusiasm): 'At the envoi's end--' CYRANO: What hour is it now, Ragueneau? RAGUENEAU (stopping short in the act of thrusting to look at the clock): Five minutes after six!. . .'I touch!' (He straightens himself): . . .Oh! to write a ballade! LISE (to Cyrano, who, as he passes by the counter, has absently shaken hands with her): What's wrong with your hand? CYRANO: Naught; a slight cut. RAGUENEAU: Have you been in some danger? CYRANO: None in the world. LISE (shaking her finger at him): Methinks you speak not the truth in saying that! CYRANO: Did you see my nose quiver when I spoke? 'Faith, it must have been a monstrous lie that should move it! (Changing his tone): I wait some one here. Leave us alone, and disturb us for naught an it were not for crack of doom! RAGUENEAU: But 'tis impossible; my poets are coming. . . LISE (ironically): Oh, ay, for their first meal o' the day! CYRANO: Prythee, take them aside when I shall make you sign to do so. . .What's o'clock? RAGUENEAU: Ten minutes after six. CYRANO (nervously seating himself at Ragueneau's table, and drawing some paper toward him): A pen!. . . RAGUENEAU (giving him the one from behind his ear): Here--a swan's quill. A MUSKETEER (with fierce mustache, enters, and in a stentorian voice): Good-day! (Lise goes up to him quickly.) CYRANO (turning round): Who's that? RAGUENEAU: 'Tis a friend of my wife--a terrible warrior--at least so says he himself. CYRANO (taking up the pen, and motioning Ragueneau away): Hush! (To himself): I will write, fold it, give it her, and fly! (Throws down the pen): Coward!. . .But strike me dead if I dare to speak to her,. . .ay, even one single word! (To Ragueneau): What time is it? RAGUENEAU: A quarter after six!. . . CYRANO (striking his breast): Ay--a single word of all those here! here! But writing, 'tis easier done. . . (He takes up the pen): Go to, I will write it, that love-letter! Oh! I have writ it and rewrit it in my own mind so oft that it lies there ready for pen and ink; and if I lay but my soul by my letter-sheet, 'tis naught to do but to copy from it. (He writes. Through the glass of the door the silhouettes of their figures move uncertainly and hesitatingly.) Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A: This scene opens with Cyrano's arrival at the bakery for his meeting with Roxane. Upon his entry, Ragueneau is distracted from the paper bags covered with verse. He praises Cyrano for his duel that was fought while composing a ballad. Cyrano asks Ragueneau to let him use the shop as a private meeting place. The baker agrees to the plan reluctantly, for it is the hour when his poets usually arrive. While waiting nervously for Roxane, Cyrano writes a love letter to give to Roxane, while Lise entertains a musketeer who has entered the shop.

Chapter: Ragueneau, Lise, Cyrano, then the musketeer. CYRANO: What's o'clock? RAGUENEAU (bowing low): Six o'clock. CYRANO (with emotion): In one hour's time! (He paces up and down the shop.) RAGUENEAU (following him): Bravo! I saw. . . CYRANO: Well, what saw you, then? RAGUENEAU: Your combat!. . . CYRANO: Which? RAGUENEAU: That in the Burgundy Hotel, 'faith! CYRANO (contemptuously): Ah!. . .the duel! RAGUENEAU (admiringly): Ay! the duel in verse!. . . LISE: He can talk of naught else! CYRANO: Well! Good! let be! RAGUENEAU (making passes with a spit that he catches up): 'At the envoi's end, I touch!. . .At the envoi's end, I touch!'. . .'Tis fine, fine! (With increasing enthusiasm): 'At the envoi's end--' CYRANO: What hour is it now, Ragueneau? RAGUENEAU (stopping short in the act of thrusting to look at the clock): Five minutes after six!. . .'I touch!' (He straightens himself): . . .Oh! to write a ballade! LISE (to Cyrano, who, as he passes by the counter, has absently shaken hands with her): What's wrong with your hand? CYRANO: Naught; a slight cut. RAGUENEAU: Have you been in some danger? CYRANO: None in the world. LISE (shaking her finger at him): Methinks you speak not the truth in saying that! CYRANO: Did you see my nose quiver when I spoke? 'Faith, it must have been a monstrous lie that should move it! (Changing his tone): I wait some one here. Leave us alone, and disturb us for naught an it were not for crack of doom! RAGUENEAU: But 'tis impossible; my poets are coming. . . LISE (ironically): Oh, ay, for their first meal o' the day! CYRANO: Prythee, take them aside when I shall make you sign to do so. . .What's o'clock? RAGUENEAU: Ten minutes after six. CYRANO (nervously seating himself at Ragueneau's table, and drawing some paper toward him): A pen!. . . RAGUENEAU (giving him the one from behind his ear): Here--a swan's quill. A MUSKETEER (with fierce mustache, enters, and in a stentorian voice): Good-day! (Lise goes up to him quickly.) CYRANO (turning round): Who's that? RAGUENEAU: 'Tis a friend of my wife--a terrible warrior--at least so says he himself. CYRANO (taking up the pen, and motioning Ragueneau away): Hush! (To himself): I will write, fold it, give it her, and fly! (Throws down the pen): Coward!. . .But strike me dead if I dare to speak to her,. . .ay, even one single word! (To Ragueneau): What time is it? RAGUENEAU: A quarter after six!. . . CYRANO (striking his breast): Ay--a single word of all those here! here! But writing, 'tis easier done. . . (He takes up the pen): Go to, I will write it, that love-letter! Oh! I have writ it and rewrit it in my own mind so oft that it lies there ready for pen and ink; and if I lay but my soul by my letter-sheet, 'tis naught to do but to copy from it. (He writes. Through the glass of the door the silhouettes of their figures move uncertainly and hesitatingly.) Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A:

This scene opens with Cyrano's arrival at the bakery for his meeting with Roxane. Upon his entry, Ragueneau is distracted from the paper bags covered with verse. He praises Cyrano for his duel that was fought while composing a ballad. Cyrano asks Ragueneau to let him use the shop as a private meeting place. The baker agrees to the plan reluctantly, for it is the hour when his poets usually arrive. While waiting nervously for Roxane, Cyrano writes a love letter to give to Roxane, while Lise entertains a musketeer who has entered the shop.

Chapter: Ragueneau, Lise, the musketeer. Cyrano at the little table writing. The poets, dressed in black, their stockings ungartered, and covered with mud. LISE (entering, to Ragueneau): Here they come, your mud-bespattered friends! FIRST POET (entering, to Ragueneau): Brother in art!. . . SECOND POET (to Ragueneau, shaking his hands): Dear brother! THIRD POET: High soaring eagle among pastry-cooks! (He sniffs): Marry! it smells good here in your eyrie! FOURTH POET: 'Tis at Phoebus' own rays that thy roasts turn! FIFTH POET: Apollo among master-cooks-- RAGUENEAU (whom they surround and embrace): Ah! how quick a man feels at his ease with them!. . . FIRST POET: We were stayed by the mob; they are crowded all round the Porte de Nesle!. . . SECOND POET: Eight bleeding brigand carcasses strew the pavements there--all slit open with sword-gashes! CYRANO (raising his head a minute): Eight?. . .hold, methought seven. (He goes on writing.) RAGUENEAU (to Cyrano): Know you who might be the hero of the fray? CYRANO (carelessly): Not I. LISE (to the musketeer): And you? Know you? THE MUSKETEER (twirling his mustache): Maybe! CYRANO (writing a little way off:--he is heard murmuring a word from time to time): 'I love thee!' FIRST POET: 'Twas one man, say they all, ay, swear to it, one man who, single-handed, put the whole band to the rout! SECOND POET: 'Twas a strange sight!--pikes and cudgels strewed thick upon the ground. CYRANO (writing): . . .'Thine eyes'. . . THIRD POET: And they were picking up hats all the way to the Quai d'Orfevres! FIRST POET: Sapristi! but he must have been a ferocious. . . CYRANO (same play): . . .'Thy lips'. . . FIRST POET: 'Twas a parlous fearsome giant that was the author of such exploits! CYRANO (same play): . . .'And when I see thee come, I faint for fear.' SECOND POET (filching a cake): What hast rhymed of late, Ragueneau? CYRANO (same play): . . .'Who worships thee'. . . (He stops, just as he is about to sign, and gets up, slipping the letter into his doublet): No need I sign, since I give it her myself. RAGUENEAU (to second poet): I have put a recipe into verse. THIRD POET (seating himself by a plate of cream-puffs): Go to! Let us hear these verses! FOURTH POET (looking at a cake which he has taken): Its cap is all a' one side! (He makes one bite of the top.) FIRST POET: See how this gingerbread woos the famished rhymer with its almond eyes, and its eyebrows of angelica! (He takes it.) SECOND POET: We listen. THIRD POET (squeezing a cream-puff gently): How it laughs! Till its very cream runs over! SECOND POET (biting a bit off the great lyre of pastry): This is the first time in my life that ever I drew any means of nourishing me from the lyre! RAGUENEAU (who has put himself ready for reciting, cleared his throat, settled his cap, struck an attitude): A recipe in verse!. . . SECOND POET (to first, nudging him): You are breakfasting? FIRST POET (to second): And you dining, methinks. RAGUENEAU: How almond tartlets are made. Beat your eggs up, light and quick; Froth them thick; Mingle with them while you beat Juice of lemon, essence fine; Then combine The burst milk of almonds sweet. Circle with a custard paste The slim waist Of your tartlet-molds; the top With a skillful finger print, Nick and dint, Round their edge, then, drop by drop, In its little dainty bed Your cream shed: In the oven place each mold: Reappearing, softly browned, The renowned Almond tartlets you behold! THE POETS (with mouths crammed full): Exquisite! Delicious! A POET (choking): Homph! (They go up, eating.) CYRANO (who has been watching, goes toward Ragueneau): Lulled by your voice, did you see how they were stuffing themselves? RAGUENEAU (in a low voice, smiling): Oh, ay! I see well enough, but I never will seem to look, fearing to distress them; thus I gain a double pleasure when I recite to them my poems; for I leave those poor fellows who have not breakfasted free to eat, even while I gratify my own dearest foible, see you? CYRANO (clapping him on the shoulder): Friend, I like you right well!. . . (Ragueneau goes after his friends. Cyrano follows him with his eyes, then, rather sharply): Ho there! Lise! (Lise, who is talking tenderly to the musketeer, starts, and comes down toward Cyrano): So this fine captain is laying siege to you? LISE (offended): One haughty glance of my eye can conquer any man that should dare venture aught 'gainst my virtue. CYRANO: Pooh! Conquering eyes, methinks, are oft conquered eyes. LISE (choking with anger): But-- CYRANO (incisively): I like Ragueneau well, and so--mark me, Dame Lise--I permit not that he be rendered a laughing-stock by any. . . LISE: But. . . CYRANO (who has raised his voice so as to be heard by the gallant): A word to the wise. . . (He bows to the musketeer, and goes to the doorway to watch, after looking at the clock.) LISE (to the musketeer, who has merely bowed in answer to Cyrano's bow): How now? Is this your courage?. . .Why turn you not a jest on his nose? THE MUSKETEER: On his nose?. . .ay, ay. . .his nose. (He goes quickly farther away; Lise follows him.) CYRANO (from the doorway, signing to Ragueneau to draw the poets away): Hist!. . . RAGUENEAU (showing them the door on the right): We shall be more private there. . . CYRANO (impatiently): Hist! Hist!. . . RAGUENEAU (drawing them farther): To read poetry, 'tis better here. . . FIRST POET (despairingly, with his mouth full): What! leave the cakes?. . . SECOND POET: Never! Let's take them with us! (They all follow Ragueneau in procession, after sweeping all the cakes off the trays.) Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A: Several poets arrive at the bakery. They are talking about the fight that took place at the Porte de Nesle. During the fight, eight people were wounded by a single swordsman, whose identity is unknown. Cyrano pays the poets little attention. He is completely absorbed in writing his love letter and thinking about his meeting with Roxane. He can hardly believe that he is actually going to meet with her and constantly asks what time it is, worrying about the nearness of her arrival. The poets stuff themselves with pastry, for which they do not pay, and encourage Ragueneau to read his Almond Tart recipe in verse. Although he knows he is exploited by the poets, Ragueneau enjoys their company and tries to accommodate them. The moral Cyrano watches the actions of Lise as she flirts with the musketeer and warns her about deceiving Ragueneau. He then signals the baker to drive the poets away from the shop, for it is time for Roxane to arrive.

Chapter: Ragueneau, Lise, the musketeer. Cyrano at the little table writing. The poets, dressed in black, their stockings ungartered, and covered with mud. LISE (entering, to Ragueneau): Here they come, your mud-bespattered friends! FIRST POET (entering, to Ragueneau): Brother in art!. . . SECOND POET (to Ragueneau, shaking his hands): Dear brother! THIRD POET: High soaring eagle among pastry-cooks! (He sniffs): Marry! it smells good here in your eyrie! FOURTH POET: 'Tis at Phoebus' own rays that thy roasts turn! FIFTH POET: Apollo among master-cooks-- RAGUENEAU (whom they surround and embrace): Ah! how quick a man feels at his ease with them!. . . FIRST POET: We were stayed by the mob; they are crowded all round the Porte de Nesle!. . . SECOND POET: Eight bleeding brigand carcasses strew the pavements there--all slit open with sword-gashes! CYRANO (raising his head a minute): Eight?. . .hold, methought seven. (He goes on writing.) RAGUENEAU (to Cyrano): Know you who might be the hero of the fray? CYRANO (carelessly): Not I. LISE (to the musketeer): And you? Know you? THE MUSKETEER (twirling his mustache): Maybe! CYRANO (writing a little way off:--he is heard murmuring a word from time to time): 'I love thee!' FIRST POET: 'Twas one man, say they all, ay, swear to it, one man who, single-handed, put the whole band to the rout! SECOND POET: 'Twas a strange sight!--pikes and cudgels strewed thick upon the ground. CYRANO (writing): . . .'Thine eyes'. . . THIRD POET: And they were picking up hats all the way to the Quai d'Orfevres! FIRST POET: Sapristi! but he must have been a ferocious. . . CYRANO (same play): . . .'Thy lips'. . . FIRST POET: 'Twas a parlous fearsome giant that was the author of such exploits! CYRANO (same play): . . .'And when I see thee come, I faint for fear.' SECOND POET (filching a cake): What hast rhymed of late, Ragueneau? CYRANO (same play): . . .'Who worships thee'. . . (He stops, just as he is about to sign, and gets up, slipping the letter into his doublet): No need I sign, since I give it her myself. RAGUENEAU (to second poet): I have put a recipe into verse. THIRD POET (seating himself by a plate of cream-puffs): Go to! Let us hear these verses! FOURTH POET (looking at a cake which he has taken): Its cap is all a' one side! (He makes one bite of the top.) FIRST POET: See how this gingerbread woos the famished rhymer with its almond eyes, and its eyebrows of angelica! (He takes it.) SECOND POET: We listen. THIRD POET (squeezing a cream-puff gently): How it laughs! Till its very cream runs over! SECOND POET (biting a bit off the great lyre of pastry): This is the first time in my life that ever I drew any means of nourishing me from the lyre! RAGUENEAU (who has put himself ready for reciting, cleared his throat, settled his cap, struck an attitude): A recipe in verse!. . . SECOND POET (to first, nudging him): You are breakfasting? FIRST POET (to second): And you dining, methinks. RAGUENEAU: How almond tartlets are made. Beat your eggs up, light and quick; Froth them thick; Mingle with them while you beat Juice of lemon, essence fine; Then combine The burst milk of almonds sweet. Circle with a custard paste The slim waist Of your tartlet-molds; the top With a skillful finger print, Nick and dint, Round their edge, then, drop by drop, In its little dainty bed Your cream shed: In the oven place each mold: Reappearing, softly browned, The renowned Almond tartlets you behold! THE POETS (with mouths crammed full): Exquisite! Delicious! A POET (choking): Homph! (They go up, eating.) CYRANO (who has been watching, goes toward Ragueneau): Lulled by your voice, did you see how they were stuffing themselves? RAGUENEAU (in a low voice, smiling): Oh, ay! I see well enough, but I never will seem to look, fearing to distress them; thus I gain a double pleasure when I recite to them my poems; for I leave those poor fellows who have not breakfasted free to eat, even while I gratify my own dearest foible, see you? CYRANO (clapping him on the shoulder): Friend, I like you right well!. . . (Ragueneau goes after his friends. Cyrano follows him with his eyes, then, rather sharply): Ho there! Lise! (Lise, who is talking tenderly to the musketeer, starts, and comes down toward Cyrano): So this fine captain is laying siege to you? LISE (offended): One haughty glance of my eye can conquer any man that should dare venture aught 'gainst my virtue. CYRANO: Pooh! Conquering eyes, methinks, are oft conquered eyes. LISE (choking with anger): But-- CYRANO (incisively): I like Ragueneau well, and so--mark me, Dame Lise--I permit not that he be rendered a laughing-stock by any. . . LISE: But. . . CYRANO (who has raised his voice so as to be heard by the gallant): A word to the wise. . . (He bows to the musketeer, and goes to the doorway to watch, after looking at the clock.) LISE (to the musketeer, who has merely bowed in answer to Cyrano's bow): How now? Is this your courage?. . .Why turn you not a jest on his nose? THE MUSKETEER: On his nose?. . .ay, ay. . .his nose. (He goes quickly farther away; Lise follows him.) CYRANO (from the doorway, signing to Ragueneau to draw the poets away): Hist!. . . RAGUENEAU (showing them the door on the right): We shall be more private there. . . CYRANO (impatiently): Hist! Hist!. . . RAGUENEAU (drawing them farther): To read poetry, 'tis better here. . . FIRST POET (despairingly, with his mouth full): What! leave the cakes?. . . SECOND POET: Never! Let's take them with us! (They all follow Ragueneau in procession, after sweeping all the cakes off the trays.) Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A:

Several poets arrive at the bakery. They are talking about the fight that took place at the Porte de Nesle. During the fight, eight people were wounded by a single swordsman, whose identity is unknown. Cyrano pays the poets little attention. He is completely absorbed in writing his love letter and thinking about his meeting with Roxane. He can hardly believe that he is actually going to meet with her and constantly asks what time it is, worrying about the nearness of her arrival. The poets stuff themselves with pastry, for which they do not pay, and encourage Ragueneau to read his Almond Tart recipe in verse. Although he knows he is exploited by the poets, Ragueneau enjoys their company and tries to accommodate them. The moral Cyrano watches the actions of Lise as she flirts with the musketeer and warns her about deceiving Ragueneau. He then signals the baker to drive the poets away from the shop, for it is time for Roxane to arrive.

Chapter: Cyrano, Roxane, the duenna. CYRANO: Ah! if I see but the faint glimmer of hope, then I draw out my letter! (Roxane, masked, followed by the duenna, appears at the glass pane of the door. He opens quickly): Enter!. . . (Walking up to the duenna): Two words with you, Duenna. THE DUENNA: Four, Sir, an it like you. CYRANO: Are you fond of sweet things? THE DUENNA: Ay, I could eat myself sick on them! CYRANO (catching up some of the paper bags from the counter): Good. See you these two sonnets of Monsieur Beuserade. . . THE DUENNA: Hey? CYRANO: . . .Which I fill for you with cream cakes! THE DUENNA (changing her expression): Ha. CYRANO: What say you to the cake they call a little puff? THE DUENNA: If made with cream, Sir, I love them passing well. CYRANO: Here I plunge six for your eating into the bosom of a poem by Saint Amant! And in these verses of Chapelain I glide a lighter morsel. Stay, love you hot cakes? THE DUENNA: Ay, to the core of my heart! CYRANO (filling her arms with the bags): Pleasure me then; go eat them all in the street. THE DUENNA: But. . . CYRANO (pushing her out): And come not back till the very last crumb be eaten! (He shuts the door, comes down toward Roxane, and, uncovering, stands at a respectful distance from her.) Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A: After the bakery has been cleared, Roxane arrives with her governess. Wanting to be totally alone with her, Cyrano packs pastries into one of Lise's paper bags with poetry and sends the governess out to eat them. He then expresses to Roxane his pleasure over her acknowledgement of his existence. She, in turn, thanks him for ridding her of Valvert. Cyrano is delighted to learn that the duel served a purpose other than defending his nose. Roxane warmly recalls the childhood friendship she had with Cyrano, her cousin. She then goes on to confess that she is in love. Cyrano dares to think that she has come to confess her love for him. As he is feeling elated, she dashes his hopes, for she says that the man she loves is extremely handsome. She also states that he is a cadet in Cyrano's regiment with whom she has only exchanged glances; however, she has heard that he loves her. Cyrano warns her that the man may be an uncultured brute, but Roxane is convinced otherwise. The naive Roxane responds that no one with such lovely hair could be a brute. At first Cyrano fails to understand the reason for Roxane confiding in him. She then, however, explains that she wants Cyrano's help. The young man is an outsider who has just joined the Gascon regiment. She wants Cyrano to protect him from the other hot- headed, quarrelsome Gascons. The kind-hearted Cyrano agrees to defend the cadet, even though it will be hard for him to do so. Satisfied that her mission has been accomplished, Roxane leaves the bakery. As she walks away, she realizes that she is torn between admiration for Cyrano, who has just fought a hundred men single-handedly, and admiration for the handsome cadet.

Chapter: Cyrano, Roxane, the duenna. CYRANO: Ah! if I see but the faint glimmer of hope, then I draw out my letter! (Roxane, masked, followed by the duenna, appears at the glass pane of the door. He opens quickly): Enter!. . . (Walking up to the duenna): Two words with you, Duenna. THE DUENNA: Four, Sir, an it like you. CYRANO: Are you fond of sweet things? THE DUENNA: Ay, I could eat myself sick on them! CYRANO (catching up some of the paper bags from the counter): Good. See you these two sonnets of Monsieur Beuserade. . . THE DUENNA: Hey? CYRANO: . . .Which I fill for you with cream cakes! THE DUENNA (changing her expression): Ha. CYRANO: What say you to the cake they call a little puff? THE DUENNA: If made with cream, Sir, I love them passing well. CYRANO: Here I plunge six for your eating into the bosom of a poem by Saint Amant! And in these verses of Chapelain I glide a lighter morsel. Stay, love you hot cakes? THE DUENNA: Ay, to the core of my heart! CYRANO (filling her arms with the bags): Pleasure me then; go eat them all in the street. THE DUENNA: But. . . CYRANO (pushing her out): And come not back till the very last crumb be eaten! (He shuts the door, comes down toward Roxane, and, uncovering, stands at a respectful distance from her.) Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A:

After the bakery has been cleared, Roxane arrives with her governess. Wanting to be totally alone with her, Cyrano packs pastries into one of Lise's paper bags with poetry and sends the governess out to eat them. He then expresses to Roxane his pleasure over her acknowledgement of his existence. She, in turn, thanks him for ridding her of Valvert. Cyrano is delighted to learn that the duel served a purpose other than defending his nose. Roxane warmly recalls the childhood friendship she had with Cyrano, her cousin. She then goes on to confess that she is in love. Cyrano dares to think that she has come to confess her love for him. As he is feeling elated, she dashes his hopes, for she says that the man she loves is extremely handsome. She also states that he is a cadet in Cyrano's regiment with whom she has only exchanged glances; however, she has heard that he loves her. Cyrano warns her that the man may be an uncultured brute, but Roxane is convinced otherwise. The naive Roxane responds that no one with such lovely hair could be a brute. At first Cyrano fails to understand the reason for Roxane confiding in him. She then, however, explains that she wants Cyrano's help. The young man is an outsider who has just joined the Gascon regiment. She wants Cyrano to protect him from the other hot- headed, quarrelsome Gascons. The kind-hearted Cyrano agrees to defend the cadet, even though it will be hard for him to do so. Satisfied that her mission has been accomplished, Roxane leaves the bakery. As she walks away, she realizes that she is torn between admiration for Cyrano, who has just fought a hundred men single-handedly, and admiration for the handsome cadet.

Chapter: Cyrano, Roxane. CYRANO: Blessed be the moment when you condescend-- Remembering that humbly I exist-- To come to meet me, and to say. . .to tell?. . . ROXANE (who has unmasked): To thank you first of all. That dandy count, Whom you checkmated in brave sword-play Last night,. . .he is the man whom a great lord, Desirous of my favor. . . CYRANO: Ha, De Guiche? ROXANE (casting down her eyes): Sought to impose on me. . .for husband. . . CYRANO: Ay! Husband!--dupe-husband!. . .Husband a la mode! (Bowing): Then I fought, happy chance! sweet lady, not For my ill favor--but your favors fair! ROXANE: Confession next!. . .But, ere I make my shrift, You must be once again that brother-friend With whom I used to play by the lake-side!. . . CYRANO: Ay, you would come each spring to Bergerac! ROXANE: Mind you the reeds you cut to make your swords?. . . CYRANO: While you wove corn-straw plaits for your dolls' hair! ROXANE: Those were the days of games!. . . CYRANO: And blackberries!. . . ROXANE: In those days you did everything I bid!. . . CYRANO: Roxane, in her short frock, was Madeleine. . . ROXANE: Was I fair then? CYRANO: You were not ill to see! ROXANE: Ofttimes, with hands all bloody from a fall, You'd run to me! Then--aping mother-ways-- I, in a voice would-be severe, would chide,-- (She takes his hand): 'What is this scratch, again, that I see here?' (She starts, surprised): Oh! 'Tis too much! What's this? (Cyrano tries to draw away his hand): No, let me see! At your age, fie! Where did you get that scratch? CYRANO: I got it--playing at the Porte de Nesle. ROXANE (seating herself by the table, and dipping her handkerchief in a glass of water): Give here! CYRANO (sitting by her): So soft! so gay maternal-sweet! ROXANE: And tell me, while I wipe away the blood, How many 'gainst you? CYRANO: Oh! A hundred--near. ROXANE: Come, tell me! CYRANO: No, let be. But you, come tell The thing, just now, you dared not. . . ROXANE (keeping his hand): Now, I dare! The scent of those old days emboldens me! Yes, now I dare. Listen. I am in love. CYRANO: Ah!. . . ROXANE: But with one who knows not. CYRANO: Ah!. . . ROXANE: Not yet. CYRANO: Ah!. . . ROXANE: But who, if he knows not, soon shall learn. CYRANO: Ah!. . . ROXANE: A poor youth who all this time has loved Timidly, from afar, and dares not speak. . . CYRANO: Ah!. . . ROXANE: Leave your hand; why, it is fever-hot!-- But I have seen love trembling on his lips. CYRANO: Ah!. . . ROXANE (bandaging his hand with her handkerchief): And to think of it! that he by chance-- Yes, cousin, he is of your regiment! CYRANO: Ah!. . . ROXANE (laughing): --Is cadet in your own company! CYRANO: Ah!. . . ROXANE: On his brow he bears the genius-stamp; He is proud, noble, young, intrepid, fair. . . CYRANO (rising suddenly, very pale): Fair! ROXANE: Why, what ails you? CYRANO: Nothing; 'tis. . . (He shows his hand, smiling): This scratch! ROXANE: I love him; all is said. But you must know I have only seen him at the Comedy. . . CYRANO: How? You have never spoken? ROXANE: Eyes can speak. CYRANO: How know you then that he. . .? ROXANE: Oh! people talk 'Neath the limes in the Place Royale. . . Gossip's chat Has let me know. . . CYRANO: He is cadet? ROXANE: In the Guards. CYRANO: His name? ROXANE: Baron Christian de Neuvillette. CYRANO: How now?. . .He is not of the Guards! ROXANE: To-day He is not join your ranks, under Captain Carbon de Castel-Jaloux. CYRANO: Ah, how quick, How quick the heart has flown!. . .But, my poor child. . . THE DUENNA (opening the door): The cakes are eaten, Monsieur Bergerac! CYRANO: Then read the verses printed on the bags! (She goes out): . . .My poor child, you who love but flowing words, Bright wit,--what if he be a lout unskilled? ROXANE: No, his bright locks, like D'Urfe's heroes. . . CYRANO: Ah! A well-curled pate, and witless tongue, perchance! ROXANE: Ah no! I guess--I feel--his words are fair! CYRANO: All words are fair that lurk 'neath fair mustache! --Suppose he were a fool!. . . ROXANE (stamping her foot): Then bury me! CYRANO (after a pause): Was it to tell me this you brought me here? I fail to see what use this serves, Madame. ROXANE: Nay, but I felt a terror, here, in the heart, On learning yesterday you were Gascons All of your company. . . CYRANO: And we provoke All beardless sprigs that favor dares admit 'Midst us pure Gascons--(pure! Heaven save the mark! They told you that as well? ROXANE: Ah! Think how I Trembled for him! CYRANO (between his teeth): Not causelessly! ROXANE: But when Last night I saw you,--brave, invincible,-- Punish that dandy, fearless hold your own Against those brutes, I thought--I thought, if he Whom all fear, all--if he would only. . . CYRANO: Good. I will befriend your little Baron. ROXANE: Ah! You'll promise me you will do this for me? I've always held you as a tender friend. CYRANO: Ay, ay. ROXANE: Then you will be his friend? CYRANO: I swear! ROXANE: And he shall fight no duels, promise! CYRANO: None. ROXANE: You are kind, cousin! Now I must be gone. (She puts on her mask and veil quickly; then, absently): You have not told me of your last night's fray. Ah, but it must have been a hero-fight!. . . --Bid him to write. (She sends him a kiss with her fingers): How good you are! CYRANO: Ay! Ay! ROXANE: A hundred men against you? Now, farewell.-- We are great friends? CYRANO: Ay, ay! ROXANE: Oh, bid him write! You'll tell me all one day--A hundred men!-- Ah, brave!. . .How brave! CYRANO (bowing to her): I have fought better since. (She goes out. Cyrano stands motionless, with eyes on the ground. A silence. The door (right) opens. Ragueneau looks in.) Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A: After the bakery has been cleared, Roxane arrives with her governess. Wanting to be totally alone with her, Cyrano packs pastries into one of Lise's paper bags with poetry and sends the governess out to eat them. He then expresses to Roxane his pleasure over her acknowledgement of his existence. She, in turn, thanks him for ridding her of Valvert. Cyrano is delighted to learn that the duel served a purpose other than defending his nose. Roxane warmly recalls the childhood friendship she had with Cyrano, her cousin. She then goes on to confess that she is in love. Cyrano dares to think that she has come to confess her love for him. As he is feeling elated, she dashes his hopes, for she says that the man she loves is extremely handsome. She also states that he is a cadet in Cyrano's regiment with whom she has only exchanged glances; however, she has heard that he loves her. Cyrano warns her that the man may be an uncultured brute, but Roxane is convinced otherwise. The naive Roxane responds that no one with such lovely hair could be a brute. At first Cyrano fails to understand the reason for Roxane confiding in him. She then, however, explains that she wants Cyrano's help. The young man is an outsider who has just joined the Gascon regiment. She wants Cyrano to protect him from the other hot- headed, quarrelsome Gascons. The kind-hearted Cyrano agrees to defend the cadet, even though it will be hard for him to do so. Satisfied that her mission has been accomplished, Roxane leaves the bakery. As she walks away, she realizes that she is torn between admiration for Cyrano, who has just fought a hundred men single-handedly, and admiration for the handsome cadet.

Chapter: Cyrano, Roxane. CYRANO: Blessed be the moment when you condescend-- Remembering that humbly I exist-- To come to meet me, and to say. . .to tell?. . . ROXANE (who has unmasked): To thank you first of all. That dandy count, Whom you checkmated in brave sword-play Last night,. . .he is the man whom a great lord, Desirous of my favor. . . CYRANO: Ha, De Guiche? ROXANE (casting down her eyes): Sought to impose on me. . .for husband. . . CYRANO: Ay! Husband!--dupe-husband!. . .Husband a la mode! (Bowing): Then I fought, happy chance! sweet lady, not For my ill favor--but your favors fair! ROXANE: Confession next!. . .But, ere I make my shrift, You must be once again that brother-friend With whom I used to play by the lake-side!. . . CYRANO: Ay, you would come each spring to Bergerac! ROXANE: Mind you the reeds you cut to make your swords?. . . CYRANO: While you wove corn-straw plaits for your dolls' hair! ROXANE: Those were the days of games!. . . CYRANO: And blackberries!. . . ROXANE: In those days you did everything I bid!. . . CYRANO: Roxane, in her short frock, was Madeleine. . . ROXANE: Was I fair then? CYRANO: You were not ill to see! ROXANE: Ofttimes, with hands all bloody from a fall, You'd run to me! Then--aping mother-ways-- I, in a voice would-be severe, would chide,-- (She takes his hand): 'What is this scratch, again, that I see here?' (She starts, surprised): Oh! 'Tis too much! What's this? (Cyrano tries to draw away his hand): No, let me see! At your age, fie! Where did you get that scratch? CYRANO: I got it--playing at the Porte de Nesle. ROXANE (seating herself by the table, and dipping her handkerchief in a glass of water): Give here! CYRANO (sitting by her): So soft! so gay maternal-sweet! ROXANE: And tell me, while I wipe away the blood, How many 'gainst you? CYRANO: Oh! A hundred--near. ROXANE: Come, tell me! CYRANO: No, let be. But you, come tell The thing, just now, you dared not. . . ROXANE (keeping his hand): Now, I dare! The scent of those old days emboldens me! Yes, now I dare. Listen. I am in love. CYRANO: Ah!. . . ROXANE: But with one who knows not. CYRANO: Ah!. . . ROXANE: Not yet. CYRANO: Ah!. . . ROXANE: But who, if he knows not, soon shall learn. CYRANO: Ah!. . . ROXANE: A poor youth who all this time has loved Timidly, from afar, and dares not speak. . . CYRANO: Ah!. . . ROXANE: Leave your hand; why, it is fever-hot!-- But I have seen love trembling on his lips. CYRANO: Ah!. . . ROXANE (bandaging his hand with her handkerchief): And to think of it! that he by chance-- Yes, cousin, he is of your regiment! CYRANO: Ah!. . . ROXANE (laughing): --Is cadet in your own company! CYRANO: Ah!. . . ROXANE: On his brow he bears the genius-stamp; He is proud, noble, young, intrepid, fair. . . CYRANO (rising suddenly, very pale): Fair! ROXANE: Why, what ails you? CYRANO: Nothing; 'tis. . . (He shows his hand, smiling): This scratch! ROXANE: I love him; all is said. But you must know I have only seen him at the Comedy. . . CYRANO: How? You have never spoken? ROXANE: Eyes can speak. CYRANO: How know you then that he. . .? ROXANE: Oh! people talk 'Neath the limes in the Place Royale. . . Gossip's chat Has let me know. . . CYRANO: He is cadet? ROXANE: In the Guards. CYRANO: His name? ROXANE: Baron Christian de Neuvillette. CYRANO: How now?. . .He is not of the Guards! ROXANE: To-day He is not join your ranks, under Captain Carbon de Castel-Jaloux. CYRANO: Ah, how quick, How quick the heart has flown!. . .But, my poor child. . . THE DUENNA (opening the door): The cakes are eaten, Monsieur Bergerac! CYRANO: Then read the verses printed on the bags! (She goes out): . . .My poor child, you who love but flowing words, Bright wit,--what if he be a lout unskilled? ROXANE: No, his bright locks, like D'Urfe's heroes. . . CYRANO: Ah! A well-curled pate, and witless tongue, perchance! ROXANE: Ah no! I guess--I feel--his words are fair! CYRANO: All words are fair that lurk 'neath fair mustache! --Suppose he were a fool!. . . ROXANE (stamping her foot): Then bury me! CYRANO (after a pause): Was it to tell me this you brought me here? I fail to see what use this serves, Madame. ROXANE: Nay, but I felt a terror, here, in the heart, On learning yesterday you were Gascons All of your company. . . CYRANO: And we provoke All beardless sprigs that favor dares admit 'Midst us pure Gascons--(pure! Heaven save the mark! They told you that as well? ROXANE: Ah! Think how I Trembled for him! CYRANO (between his teeth): Not causelessly! ROXANE: But when Last night I saw you,--brave, invincible,-- Punish that dandy, fearless hold your own Against those brutes, I thought--I thought, if he Whom all fear, all--if he would only. . . CYRANO: Good. I will befriend your little Baron. ROXANE: Ah! You'll promise me you will do this for me? I've always held you as a tender friend. CYRANO: Ay, ay. ROXANE: Then you will be his friend? CYRANO: I swear! ROXANE: And he shall fight no duels, promise! CYRANO: None. ROXANE: You are kind, cousin! Now I must be gone. (She puts on her mask and veil quickly; then, absently): You have not told me of your last night's fray. Ah, but it must have been a hero-fight!. . . --Bid him to write. (She sends him a kiss with her fingers): How good you are! CYRANO: Ay! Ay! ROXANE: A hundred men against you? Now, farewell.-- We are great friends? CYRANO: Ay, ay! ROXANE: Oh, bid him write! You'll tell me all one day--A hundred men!-- Ah, brave!. . .How brave! CYRANO (bowing to her): I have fought better since. (She goes out. Cyrano stands motionless, with eyes on the ground. A silence. The door (right) opens. Ragueneau looks in.) Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A:

After the bakery has been cleared, Roxane arrives with her governess. Wanting to be totally alone with her, Cyrano packs pastries into one of Lise's paper bags with poetry and sends the governess out to eat them. He then expresses to Roxane his pleasure over her acknowledgement of his existence. She, in turn, thanks him for ridding her of Valvert. Cyrano is delighted to learn that the duel served a purpose other than defending his nose. Roxane warmly recalls the childhood friendship she had with Cyrano, her cousin. She then goes on to confess that she is in love. Cyrano dares to think that she has come to confess her love for him. As he is feeling elated, she dashes his hopes, for she says that the man she loves is extremely handsome. She also states that he is a cadet in Cyrano's regiment with whom she has only exchanged glances; however, she has heard that he loves her. Cyrano warns her that the man may be an uncultured brute, but Roxane is convinced otherwise. The naive Roxane responds that no one with such lovely hair could be a brute. At first Cyrano fails to understand the reason for Roxane confiding in him. She then, however, explains that she wants Cyrano's help. The young man is an outsider who has just joined the Gascon regiment. She wants Cyrano to protect him from the other hot- headed, quarrelsome Gascons. The kind-hearted Cyrano agrees to defend the cadet, even though it will be hard for him to do so. Satisfied that her mission has been accomplished, Roxane leaves the bakery. As she walks away, she realizes that she is torn between admiration for Cyrano, who has just fought a hundred men single-handedly, and admiration for the handsome cadet.

Chapter: Cyrano, Ragueneau, poets, Carbon de Castel-Jaloux, the cadets, a crowd, then De Guiche. RAGUENEAU: Can we come in? CYRANO (without stirring): Yes. . . (Ragueneau signs to his friends, and they come in. At the same time, by door at back, enters Carbon de Castel-Jaloux, in Captain's uniform. He makes gestures of surprise on seeing Cyrano.) CARBON: Here he is! CYRANO (raising his head): Captain!. . . CARBON (delightedly): Our hero! We heard all! Thirty or more Of my cadets are there!. . . CYRANO (shrinking back): But. . . CARBON (trying to draw him away): Come with me! They will not rest until they see you! CYRANO: No! CARBON: They're drinking opposite, at The Bear's Head. CYRANO: I. . . CARBON (going to the door and calling across the street in a voice of thunder): He won't come! The hero's in the sulks! A VOICE (outside): Ah! Sandious! (Tumult outside. Noise of boots and swords is heard approaching.) CARBON (rubbing his hands): They are running 'cross the street! CADETS (entering): Mille dious! Capdedious! Pocapdedious! RAGUENEAU (drawing back startled): Gentlemen, are you all from Gascony? THE CADETS: All! A CADET (to Cyrano): Bravo! CYRANO: Baron! ANOTHER (shaking his hands): Vivat! CYRANO: Baron! THIRD CADET: Come! I must embrace you! CYRANO: Baron! SEVERAL GASCONS: We'll embrace Him, all in turn! CYRANO (not knowing whom to reply to): Baron!. . .Baron!. . .I beg. . . RAGUENEAU: Are you all Barons, Sirs? THE CADETS: Ay, every one! RAGUENEAU: Is it true?. . . FIRST CADET: Ay--why, you could build a tower With nothing but our coronets, my friend! LE BRET (entering, and running up to Cyrano): They're looking for you! Here's a crazy mob Led by the men who followed you last night. . . CYRANO (alarmed): What! Have you told them where to find me? LE BRET (rubbing his hands): Yes! A BURGHER (entering, followed by a group of men): Sir, all the Marais is a-coming here! (Outside the street has filled with people. Chaises a porteurs and carriages have drawn up.) LE BRET (in a low voice, smiling, to Cyrano): And Roxane? CYRANO (quickly): Hush! THE CROWD (calling outside): Cyrano!. . . (A crowd rush into the shop, pushing one another. Acclamations.) RAGUENEAU (standing on a table): Lo! my shop Invaded! They break all! Magnificent! PEOPLE (crowding round Cyrano): My friend!. . .my friend. . . Cyrano: Meseems that yesterday I had not all these friends! LE BRET (delighted): Success! A YOUNG MARQUIS (hurrying up with his hands held out): My friend, Didst thou but know. . . CYRANO: Thou!. . .Marry!. . .thou!. . .Pray when Did we herd swine together, you and I! ANOTHER: I would present you, Sir, to some fair dames Who in my carriage yonder. . . CYRANO (coldly): Ah! and who Will first present you, Sir, to me? LE BRET (astonished): What's wrong? CYRANO: Hush! A MAN OF LETTERS (with writing-board): A few details?. . . CYRANO: No. LE BRET (nudging his elbow): 'Tis Theophrast, Renaudet,. . .of the 'Court Gazette'! CYRANO: Who cares? LE BRET: This paper--but it is of great importance!. . . They say it will be an immense success! A POET (advancing): Sir. . . CYRANO: What, another! THE POET: . . .Pray permit I make A pentacrostic on your name. . . SOME ONE (also advancing): Pray, Sir. . . CYRANO: Enough! Enough! (A movement in the crowd. De Guiche appears, escorted by officers. Cuigy, Brissaille, the officers who went with Cyrano the night before. Cuigy comes rapidly up to Cyrano.) CUIGY (to Cyrano): Here is Monsieur de Guiche? (A murmur--every one makes way): He comes from the Marshal of Gassion! DE GUICHE (bowing to Cyrano): . . .Who would express his admiration, Sir, For your new exploit noised so loud abroad. THE CROWD: Bravo! CYRANO (bowing): The Marshal is a judge of valor. DE GUICHE: He could not have believed the thing, unless These gentlemen had sworn they witnessed it. CUIGY: With our own eyes! LE BRET (aside to Cyrano, who has an absent air): But. . .you. . . CYRANO: Hush! LE BRET: But. . .You suffer? CYRANO (starting): Before this rabble?--I?. . . (He draws himself up, twirls his mustache, and throws back his shoulders): Wait!. . .You shall see! DE GUICHE (to whom Cuigy has spoken in a low voice): In feats of arms, already your career Abounded.--You serve with those crazy pates Of Gascons? CYRANO: Ay, with the Cadets. A CADET (in a terrible voice): With us! DE GUICHE (looking at the cadets, ranged behind Cyrano): Ah!. . .All these gentlemen of haughty mien, Are they the famous?. . . CARBON: Cyrano! CYRANO: Ay, Captain! CARBON: Since all my company's assembled here, Pray favor me,--present them to my lord! CYRANO (making two steps toward De Guiche): My Lord de Guiche, permit that I present-- (pointing to the cadets): The bold Cadets of Gascony, Of Carbon of Castel-Jaloux! Brawling and swaggering boastfully, The bold Cadets of Gascony! Spouting of Armory, Heraldry, Their veins a-brimming with blood so blue, The bold Cadets of Gascony, Of Carbon of Castel-Jaloux: Eagle-eye, and spindle-shanks, Fierce mustache, and wolfish tooth! Slash-the-rabble and scatter-their-ranks; Eagle-eye and spindle-shanks, With a flaming feather that gayly pranks, Hiding the holes in their hats, forsooth! Eagle-eye and spindle-shanks, Fierce mustache, and wolfish tooth! 'Pink-your-Doublet' and 'Slit-your-Trunk' Are their gentlest sobriquets; With Fame and Glory their soul is drunk! 'Pink-your-Doublet' and 'Slit-your-Trunk,' In brawl and skirmish they show their spunk, Give rendezvous in broil and fray; 'Pink-your-Doublet' and 'Slit-your-Trunk' Are their gentlest sobriquets! What, ho! Cadets of Gascony! All jealous lovers are sport for you! O Woman! dear divinity! What, ho! Cadets of Gascony! Whom scowling husbands quake to see. Blow, 'taratara,' and cry 'Cuckoo.' What, ho! Cadets of Gascony! Husbands and lovers are game for you! DE GUICHE (seated with haughty carelessness in an armchair brought quickly by Ragueneau): A poet! 'Tis the fashion of the hour! --Will you be mine? CYRANO: No, Sir,--no man's! DE GUICHE: Last night Your fancy pleased my uncle Richelieu. I'll gladly say a word to him for you. LE BRET (overjoyed): Great Heavens! DE GUICHE: I imagine you have rhymed Five acts, or so? LE BRET (in Cyrano's ear): Your play!--your 'Agrippine!' You'll see it staged at last! DE GUICHE: Take them to him. CYRANO (beginning to be tempted and attracted): In sooth,--I would. . . DE GUICHE: He is a critic skilled: He may correct a line or two, at most. CYRANO (whose face stiffens at once): Impossible! My blood congeals to think That other hand should change a comma's dot. DE GUICHE: But when a verse approves itself to him He pays it dear, good friend. CYRANO: He pays less dear Than I myself; when a verse pleases me I pay myself, and sing it to myself! DE GUICHE: You are proud. CYRANO: Really? You have noticed that? A CADET (entering, with a string of old battered plumed beaver hats, full of holes, slung on his sword): See, Cyrano,--this morning, on the quay What strange bright-feathered game we caught! The hats O' the fugitives. . . CARBON: 'Spolia opima!' ALL (laughing): Ah! ah! ah! CUIGY: He who laid that ambush, 'faith! Must curse and swear! BRISSAILLE: Who was it? DE GUICHE: I myself. (The laughter stops): I charged them--work too dirty for my sword, To punish and chastise a rhymster sot. (Constrained silence.) The CADET (in a low voice, to Cyrano, showing him the beavers): What do with them? They're full of grease!--a stew? CYRANO (taking the sword and, with a salute, dropping the hats at De Guiche's feet): Sir, pray be good enough to render them Back to your friends. DE GUICHE (rising, sharply): My chair there--quick!--I go! (To Cyrano passionately): As to you, sirrah!. . . VOICE (in the street): Porters for my lord De Guiche! DE GUICHE (who has controlled himself--smiling): Have you read 'Don Quixote'? CYRANO: I have! And doff my hat at th' mad knight-errant's name. DE GUICHE: I counsel you to study. . . A PORTER (appearing at back): My lord's chair! DE GUICHE: . . .The windmill chapter! CYRANO (bowing): Chapter the Thirteenth. DE GUICHE: For when one tilts 'gainst windmills--it may chance. . . CYRANO: Tilt I 'gainst those who change with every breeze? DE GUICHE: . . .That windmill sails may sweep you with their arm Down--in the mire!. . . CYRANO: Or upward--to the stars! (De Guiche goes out, and mounts into his chair. The other lords go away whispering together. Le Bret goes to the door with them. The crowd disperses.) Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A: Ragueneau and the poets return. Since they have learned that Cyrano was the brave swordsman at the Porte de Nesle, one of the poets wants to write a verse about Cyrano's feat; Cyrano, however, is not interested. Immediately after them enter a group of men from Cyrano's regiment, led by Captain Carbon de Castel Jaloux. They have come to congratulate Cyrano for his heroic fight against one hundred men. Le Bret then announces that a large Parisian crowd has also come out to applaud his deed, and a reporter wants to interview him. Cyrano, however, receives them all coolly. When Le Bret asks his friend about the meeting with Roxane, Cyrano responds by telling him to be quiet. De Guiche arrives and offers Cyrano patronage through Cardinal Richelieu, his rich and powerful uncle. Cyrano is tempted to ask them to support his play, Agrippine, but De Guiche explains that Richelieu always alters a script before he has it produced. Since Cyrano wants no one to touch his play, he refuses the offer of patronage. De Guiche accuses Cyrano of being too proud. Some of the Cadets enter with the feathered hats of the men Cyrano fought at the Porte de Nesle. The sight of the hats causes Cuigy to laugh, as he comments on the probable frustration of the person who hired the attackers. De Guiche then claims responsibility for the attack. He said he wanted to be rid of Ligniere, whom he judges to be a "drunken rhymester." Cyrano then asks De Guiche if he would like to take the hats back to his defeated friends. Feeling insulted, De Guiche warns Cyrano that he is acting like Don Quixote, trying to fight windmills. Cyrano wittily turns the argument on De Guiche, asking him if his men are windmills "who veer with every change of wind". De Guiche warns that the windmills will hurl Cyrano down. Cyrano insists, however, that they will only serve to sweep him up. When De Guiche leaves in a huff, Le Bret is upset that Cyrano has passed up an opportunity to have a famous patron, while making a powerful and influential man his enemy. Cyrano then rants against the system of patronage, saying he refuses to bow to anyone; he wants to be free and independent, not beholden to an important person. He adds that he enjoys making enemies because he can do it without bowing. Le Bret comments that Cyrano's bitterness has probably been caused by his meeting with Roxane. Cyrano sharply silences him, not wanting to discuss his cousin.

Chapter: Cyrano, Ragueneau, poets, Carbon de Castel-Jaloux, the cadets, a crowd, then De Guiche. RAGUENEAU: Can we come in? CYRANO (without stirring): Yes. . . (Ragueneau signs to his friends, and they come in. At the same time, by door at back, enters Carbon de Castel-Jaloux, in Captain's uniform. He makes gestures of surprise on seeing Cyrano.) CARBON: Here he is! CYRANO (raising his head): Captain!. . . CARBON (delightedly): Our hero! We heard all! Thirty or more Of my cadets are there!. . . CYRANO (shrinking back): But. . . CARBON (trying to draw him away): Come with me! They will not rest until they see you! CYRANO: No! CARBON: They're drinking opposite, at The Bear's Head. CYRANO: I. . . CARBON (going to the door and calling across the street in a voice of thunder): He won't come! The hero's in the sulks! A VOICE (outside): Ah! Sandious! (Tumult outside. Noise of boots and swords is heard approaching.) CARBON (rubbing his hands): They are running 'cross the street! CADETS (entering): Mille dious! Capdedious! Pocapdedious! RAGUENEAU (drawing back startled): Gentlemen, are you all from Gascony? THE CADETS: All! A CADET (to Cyrano): Bravo! CYRANO: Baron! ANOTHER (shaking his hands): Vivat! CYRANO: Baron! THIRD CADET: Come! I must embrace you! CYRANO: Baron! SEVERAL GASCONS: We'll embrace Him, all in turn! CYRANO (not knowing whom to reply to): Baron!. . .Baron!. . .I beg. . . RAGUENEAU: Are you all Barons, Sirs? THE CADETS: Ay, every one! RAGUENEAU: Is it true?. . . FIRST CADET: Ay--why, you could build a tower With nothing but our coronets, my friend! LE BRET (entering, and running up to Cyrano): They're looking for you! Here's a crazy mob Led by the men who followed you last night. . . CYRANO (alarmed): What! Have you told them where to find me? LE BRET (rubbing his hands): Yes! A BURGHER (entering, followed by a group of men): Sir, all the Marais is a-coming here! (Outside the street has filled with people. Chaises a porteurs and carriages have drawn up.) LE BRET (in a low voice, smiling, to Cyrano): And Roxane? CYRANO (quickly): Hush! THE CROWD (calling outside): Cyrano!. . . (A crowd rush into the shop, pushing one another. Acclamations.) RAGUENEAU (standing on a table): Lo! my shop Invaded! They break all! Magnificent! PEOPLE (crowding round Cyrano): My friend!. . .my friend. . . Cyrano: Meseems that yesterday I had not all these friends! LE BRET (delighted): Success! A YOUNG MARQUIS (hurrying up with his hands held out): My friend, Didst thou but know. . . CYRANO: Thou!. . .Marry!. . .thou!. . .Pray when Did we herd swine together, you and I! ANOTHER: I would present you, Sir, to some fair dames Who in my carriage yonder. . . CYRANO (coldly): Ah! and who Will first present you, Sir, to me? LE BRET (astonished): What's wrong? CYRANO: Hush! A MAN OF LETTERS (with writing-board): A few details?. . . CYRANO: No. LE BRET (nudging his elbow): 'Tis Theophrast, Renaudet,. . .of the 'Court Gazette'! CYRANO: Who cares? LE BRET: This paper--but it is of great importance!. . . They say it will be an immense success! A POET (advancing): Sir. . . CYRANO: What, another! THE POET: . . .Pray permit I make A pentacrostic on your name. . . SOME ONE (also advancing): Pray, Sir. . . CYRANO: Enough! Enough! (A movement in the crowd. De Guiche appears, escorted by officers. Cuigy, Brissaille, the officers who went with Cyrano the night before. Cuigy comes rapidly up to Cyrano.) CUIGY (to Cyrano): Here is Monsieur de Guiche? (A murmur--every one makes way): He comes from the Marshal of Gassion! DE GUICHE (bowing to Cyrano): . . .Who would express his admiration, Sir, For your new exploit noised so loud abroad. THE CROWD: Bravo! CYRANO (bowing): The Marshal is a judge of valor. DE GUICHE: He could not have believed the thing, unless These gentlemen had sworn they witnessed it. CUIGY: With our own eyes! LE BRET (aside to Cyrano, who has an absent air): But. . .you. . . CYRANO: Hush! LE BRET: But. . .You suffer? CYRANO (starting): Before this rabble?--I?. . . (He draws himself up, twirls his mustache, and throws back his shoulders): Wait!. . .You shall see! DE GUICHE (to whom Cuigy has spoken in a low voice): In feats of arms, already your career Abounded.--You serve with those crazy pates Of Gascons? CYRANO: Ay, with the Cadets. A CADET (in a terrible voice): With us! DE GUICHE (looking at the cadets, ranged behind Cyrano): Ah!. . .All these gentlemen of haughty mien, Are they the famous?. . . CARBON: Cyrano! CYRANO: Ay, Captain! CARBON: Since all my company's assembled here, Pray favor me,--present them to my lord! CYRANO (making two steps toward De Guiche): My Lord de Guiche, permit that I present-- (pointing to the cadets): The bold Cadets of Gascony, Of Carbon of Castel-Jaloux! Brawling and swaggering boastfully, The bold Cadets of Gascony! Spouting of Armory, Heraldry, Their veins a-brimming with blood so blue, The bold Cadets of Gascony, Of Carbon of Castel-Jaloux: Eagle-eye, and spindle-shanks, Fierce mustache, and wolfish tooth! Slash-the-rabble and scatter-their-ranks; Eagle-eye and spindle-shanks, With a flaming feather that gayly pranks, Hiding the holes in their hats, forsooth! Eagle-eye and spindle-shanks, Fierce mustache, and wolfish tooth! 'Pink-your-Doublet' and 'Slit-your-Trunk' Are their gentlest sobriquets; With Fame and Glory their soul is drunk! 'Pink-your-Doublet' and 'Slit-your-Trunk,' In brawl and skirmish they show their spunk, Give rendezvous in broil and fray; 'Pink-your-Doublet' and 'Slit-your-Trunk' Are their gentlest sobriquets! What, ho! Cadets of Gascony! All jealous lovers are sport for you! O Woman! dear divinity! What, ho! Cadets of Gascony! Whom scowling husbands quake to see. Blow, 'taratara,' and cry 'Cuckoo.' What, ho! Cadets of Gascony! Husbands and lovers are game for you! DE GUICHE (seated with haughty carelessness in an armchair brought quickly by Ragueneau): A poet! 'Tis the fashion of the hour! --Will you be mine? CYRANO: No, Sir,--no man's! DE GUICHE: Last night Your fancy pleased my uncle Richelieu. I'll gladly say a word to him for you. LE BRET (overjoyed): Great Heavens! DE GUICHE: I imagine you have rhymed Five acts, or so? LE BRET (in Cyrano's ear): Your play!--your 'Agrippine!' You'll see it staged at last! DE GUICHE: Take them to him. CYRANO (beginning to be tempted and attracted): In sooth,--I would. . . DE GUICHE: He is a critic skilled: He may correct a line or two, at most. CYRANO (whose face stiffens at once): Impossible! My blood congeals to think That other hand should change a comma's dot. DE GUICHE: But when a verse approves itself to him He pays it dear, good friend. CYRANO: He pays less dear Than I myself; when a verse pleases me I pay myself, and sing it to myself! DE GUICHE: You are proud. CYRANO: Really? You have noticed that? A CADET (entering, with a string of old battered plumed beaver hats, full of holes, slung on his sword): See, Cyrano,--this morning, on the quay What strange bright-feathered game we caught! The hats O' the fugitives. . . CARBON: 'Spolia opima!' ALL (laughing): Ah! ah! ah! CUIGY: He who laid that ambush, 'faith! Must curse and swear! BRISSAILLE: Who was it? DE GUICHE: I myself. (The laughter stops): I charged them--work too dirty for my sword, To punish and chastise a rhymster sot. (Constrained silence.) The CADET (in a low voice, to Cyrano, showing him the beavers): What do with them? They're full of grease!--a stew? CYRANO (taking the sword and, with a salute, dropping the hats at De Guiche's feet): Sir, pray be good enough to render them Back to your friends. DE GUICHE (rising, sharply): My chair there--quick!--I go! (To Cyrano passionately): As to you, sirrah!. . . VOICE (in the street): Porters for my lord De Guiche! DE GUICHE (who has controlled himself--smiling): Have you read 'Don Quixote'? CYRANO: I have! And doff my hat at th' mad knight-errant's name. DE GUICHE: I counsel you to study. . . A PORTER (appearing at back): My lord's chair! DE GUICHE: . . .The windmill chapter! CYRANO (bowing): Chapter the Thirteenth. DE GUICHE: For when one tilts 'gainst windmills--it may chance. . . CYRANO: Tilt I 'gainst those who change with every breeze? DE GUICHE: . . .That windmill sails may sweep you with their arm Down--in the mire!. . . CYRANO: Or upward--to the stars! (De Guiche goes out, and mounts into his chair. The other lords go away whispering together. Le Bret goes to the door with them. The crowd disperses.) Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs? A:

Ragueneau and the poets return. Since they have learned that Cyrano was the brave swordsman at the Porte de Nesle, one of the poets wants to write a verse about Cyrano's feat; Cyrano, however, is not interested. Immediately after them enter a group of men from Cyrano's regiment, led by Captain Carbon de Castel Jaloux. They have come to congratulate Cyrano for his heroic fight against one hundred men. Le Bret then announces that a large Parisian crowd has also come out to applaud his deed, and a reporter wants to interview him. Cyrano, however, receives them all coolly. When Le Bret asks his friend about the meeting with Roxane, Cyrano responds by telling him to be quiet. De Guiche arrives and offers Cyrano patronage through Cardinal Richelieu, his rich and powerful uncle. Cyrano is tempted to ask them to support his play, Agrippine, but De Guiche explains that Richelieu always alters a script before he has it produced. Since Cyrano wants no one to touch his play, he refuses the offer of patronage. De Guiche accuses Cyrano of being too proud. Some of the Cadets enter with the feathered hats of the men Cyrano fought at the Porte de Nesle. The sight of the hats causes Cuigy to laugh, as he comments on the probable frustration of the person who hired the attackers. De Guiche then claims responsibility for the attack. He said he wanted to be rid of Ligniere, whom he judges to be a "drunken rhymester." Cyrano then asks De Guiche if he would like to take the hats back to his defeated friends. Feeling insulted, De Guiche warns Cyrano that he is acting like Don Quixote, trying to fight windmills. Cyrano wittily turns the argument on De Guiche, asking him if his men are windmills "who veer with every change of wind". De Guiche warns that the windmills will hurl Cyrano down. Cyrano insists, however, that they will only serve to sweep him up. When De Guiche leaves in a huff, Le Bret is upset that Cyrano has passed up an opportunity to have a famous patron, while making a powerful and influential man his enemy. Cyrano then rants against the system of patronage, saying he refuses to bow to anyone; he wants to be free and independent, not beholden to an important person. He adds that he enjoys making enemies because he can do it without bowing. Le Bret comments that Cyrano's bitterness has probably been caused by his meeting with Roxane. Cyrano sharply silences him, not wanting to discuss his cousin.