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pszemraj

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booksum-1024-output

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pinkmonkey

all_chapterized_books/1254-chapters/33.txt

finished_summaries/pinkmonkey/Cyrano De Bergerac/section_29_part_0.txt

Cyrano De Bergerac.act 3.scene 12

scene 12

{"name": "Scene 12", "url": "https://web.archive.org/web/20180820053313/http://www.pinkmonkey.com/booknotes/monkeynotes/pmCyrano34.asp", "summary": "While Cyrano sits on the rail of the balcony waiting to divert De Guiche, the lutes begin to play a sinister and mournful tune. When De Guiche arrives in mask, Cyrano swings down and lands between him and the door, pretending to be a lunatic who has fallen from the moon. He keeps De Guiche engaged with his chatter about \"six ways to violate the virgin sky\" and get to the moon. Throughout this dialogue Cyrano speaks with a Gascon accent and keeps his nose concealed with the brim of his hat in order to hide his identity from De Guiche. When the newly married Roxane and Christian emerge from the house, De Guiche grasps the situation. He acknowledges Roxane's cleverness and Cyrano's powers of invention in keeping him occupied. Wanting revenge, however, De Guiche orders that all the cadets must join the regiment and leave for Arras immediately. The distraught Roxane begs Cyrano to ensure Christian's safety, comfort and fidelity. She also asks for regular letters, which Cyrano promises.", "analysis": "Notes This scene is filled with intentional pathos. Poor Cyrano is left outside to wait for and delay De Guiche while his true love marries Christian inside the house. When De Guiche arrives in mask, the clever Cyrano chatters to him to delay his entering Roxane's house and discovering the wedding that is in progress. Although Cyrano's conversation is intentionally filled with wit and lunacy in order to trick De Guiche, it also reveals his true interest in science; he talks about the constellations of Great Bear and Orion, about the German astronomer and inventor named Regomontanus, and about six possible ways for man to reach the moon. Cyrano is truly a man of the Enlightenment, interested in and knowledgeable about many varied subjects. The act ends with a tragic-comic-ironic reversal. Cyrano, who loves Roxane dearly, has helped Christian to win her love; she now emerges as Christian's wife, largely due to the efforts of Cyrano. Whenever Christian speaks for himself, Roxane does not like him; however, when Cyrano speaks for Christian, Roxane is enamored by the words. It is clear that she has married the wrong man. The philandering De Guiche is simply upset that she has married, for he had his own designs on the beautiful Roxane. To punish her hastiness, Christian's victory, and Cyrano's craftiness, he orders that all of the cadets, including Christian and Cyrano, immediately report to the regiment to leave for Arras. Poor Christian and Roxane will not be able to spend a moment together as husband and wife. Before her husband departs, Roxane begs Cyrano to watch out for Christian's safety, comfort, and fidelity. She also tells Cyrano to make certain that Christian writes letters regularly. Cyrano, of course, will be the one to pen the letters. The thought of writing his true love delights him, even if he cannot sign the letters as his own."}

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.

Scene 12

https://web.archive.org/web/20180820053313/http://www.pinkmonkey.com/booknotes/monkeynotes/pmCyrano34.asp

While Cyrano sits on the rail of the balcony waiting to divert De Guiche, the lutes begin to play a sinister and mournful tune. When De Guiche arrives in mask, Cyrano swings down and lands between him and the door, pretending to be a lunatic who has fallen from the moon. He keeps De Guiche engaged with his chatter about "six ways to violate the virgin sky" and get to the moon. Throughout this dialogue Cyrano speaks with a Gascon accent and keeps his nose concealed with the brim of his hat in order to hide his identity from De Guiche. When the newly married Roxane and Christian emerge from the house, De Guiche grasps the situation. He acknowledges Roxane's cleverness and Cyrano's powers of invention in keeping him occupied. Wanting revenge, however, De Guiche orders that all the cadets must join the regiment and leave for Arras immediately. The distraught Roxane begs Cyrano to ensure Christian's safety, comfort and fidelity. She also asks for regular letters, which Cyrano promises.

Notes This scene is filled with intentional pathos. Poor Cyrano is left outside to wait for and delay De Guiche while his true love marries Christian inside the house. When De Guiche arrives in mask, the clever Cyrano chatters to him to delay his entering Roxane's house and discovering the wedding that is in progress. Although Cyrano's conversation is intentionally filled with wit and lunacy in order to trick De Guiche, it also reveals his true interest in science; he talks about the constellations of Great Bear and Orion, about the German astronomer and inventor named Regomontanus, and about six possible ways for man to reach the moon. Cyrano is truly a man of the Enlightenment, interested in and knowledgeable about many varied subjects. The act ends with a tragic-comic-ironic reversal. Cyrano, who loves Roxane dearly, has helped Christian to win her love; she now emerges as Christian's wife, largely due to the efforts of Cyrano. Whenever Christian speaks for himself, Roxane does not like him; however, when Cyrano speaks for Christian, Roxane is enamored by the words. It is clear that she has married the wrong man. The philandering De Guiche is simply upset that she has married, for he had his own designs on the beautiful Roxane. To punish her hastiness, Christian's victory, and Cyrano's craftiness, he orders that all of the cadets, including Christian and Cyrano, immediately report to the regiment to leave for Arras. Poor Christian and Roxane will not be able to spend a moment together as husband and wife. Before her husband departs, Roxane begs Cyrano to watch out for Christian's safety, comfort, and fidelity. She also tells Cyrano to make certain that Christian writes letters regularly. Cyrano, of course, will be the one to pen the letters. The thought of writing his true love delights him, even if he cannot sign the letters as his own.

pinkmonkey

all_chapterized_books/1254-chapters/35.txt

finished_summaries/pinkmonkey/Cyrano De Bergerac/section_30_part_0.txt

Cyrano De Bergerac.act 4.scene 1

scene 13

{"name": "Scene 13", "url": "https://web.archive.org/web/20180820053313/http://www.pinkmonkey.com/booknotes/monkeynotes/pmCyrano34.asp", "summary": "While Cyrano sits on the rail of the balcony waiting to divert De Guiche, the lutes begin to play a sinister and mournful tune. When De Guiche arrives in mask, Cyrano swings down and lands between him and the door, pretending to be a lunatic who has fallen from the moon. He keeps De Guiche engaged with his chatter about \"six ways to violate the virgin sky\" and get to the moon. Throughout this dialogue Cyrano speaks with a Gascon accent and keeps his nose concealed with the brim of his hat in order to hide his identity from De Guiche. When the newly married Roxane and Christian emerge from the house, De Guiche grasps the situation. He acknowledges Roxane's cleverness and Cyrano's powers of invention in keeping him occupied. Wanting revenge, however, De Guiche orders that all the cadets must join the regiment and leave for Arras immediately. The distraught Roxane begs Cyrano to ensure Christian's safety, comfort and fidelity. She also asks for regular letters, which Cyrano promises.", "analysis": "Notes This scene is filled with intentional pathos. Poor Cyrano is left outside to wait for and delay De Guiche while his true love marries Christian inside the house. When De Guiche arrives in mask, the clever Cyrano chatters to him to delay his entering Roxane's house and discovering the wedding that is in progress. Although Cyrano's conversation is intentionally filled with wit and lunacy in order to trick De Guiche, it also reveals his true interest in science; he talks about the constellations of Great Bear and Orion, about the German astronomer and inventor named Regomontanus, and about six possible ways for man to reach the moon. Cyrano is truly a man of the Enlightenment, interested in and knowledgeable about many varied subjects. The act ends with a tragic-comic-ironic reversal. Cyrano, who loves Roxane dearly, has helped Christian to win her love; she now emerges as Christian's wife, largely due to the efforts of Cyrano. Whenever Christian speaks for himself, Roxane does not like him; however, when Cyrano speaks for Christian, Roxane is enamored by the words. It is clear that she has married the wrong man. The philandering De Guiche is simply upset that she has married, for he had his own designs on the beautiful Roxane. To punish her hastiness, Christian's victory, and Cyrano's craftiness, he orders that all of the cadets, including Christian and Cyrano, immediately report to the regiment to leave for Arras. Poor Christian and Roxane will not be able to spend a moment together as husband and wife. Before her husband departs, Roxane begs Cyrano to watch out for Christian's safety, comfort, and fidelity. She also tells Cyrano to make certain that Christian writes letters regularly. Cyrano, of course, will be the one to pen the letters. The thought of writing his true love delights him, even if he cannot sign the letters as his own."}

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.)

Scene 13

https://web.archive.org/web/20180820053313/http://www.pinkmonkey.com/booknotes/monkeynotes/pmCyrano34.asp

While Cyrano sits on the rail of the balcony waiting to divert De Guiche, the lutes begin to play a sinister and mournful tune. When De Guiche arrives in mask, Cyrano swings down and lands between him and the door, pretending to be a lunatic who has fallen from the moon. He keeps De Guiche engaged with his chatter about "six ways to violate the virgin sky" and get to the moon. Throughout this dialogue Cyrano speaks with a Gascon accent and keeps his nose concealed with the brim of his hat in order to hide his identity from De Guiche. When the newly married Roxane and Christian emerge from the house, De Guiche grasps the situation. He acknowledges Roxane's cleverness and Cyrano's powers of invention in keeping him occupied. Wanting revenge, however, De Guiche orders that all the cadets must join the regiment and leave for Arras immediately. The distraught Roxane begs Cyrano to ensure Christian's safety, comfort and fidelity. She also asks for regular letters, which Cyrano promises.

Notes This scene is filled with intentional pathos. Poor Cyrano is left outside to wait for and delay De Guiche while his true love marries Christian inside the house. When De Guiche arrives in mask, the clever Cyrano chatters to him to delay his entering Roxane's house and discovering the wedding that is in progress. Although Cyrano's conversation is intentionally filled with wit and lunacy in order to trick De Guiche, it also reveals his true interest in science; he talks about the constellations of Great Bear and Orion, about the German astronomer and inventor named Regomontanus, and about six possible ways for man to reach the moon. Cyrano is truly a man of the Enlightenment, interested in and knowledgeable about many varied subjects. The act ends with a tragic-comic-ironic reversal. Cyrano, who loves Roxane dearly, has helped Christian to win her love; she now emerges as Christian's wife, largely due to the efforts of Cyrano. Whenever Christian speaks for himself, Roxane does not like him; however, when Cyrano speaks for Christian, Roxane is enamored by the words. It is clear that she has married the wrong man. The philandering De Guiche is simply upset that she has married, for he had his own designs on the beautiful Roxane. To punish her hastiness, Christian's victory, and Cyrano's craftiness, he orders that all of the cadets, including Christian and Cyrano, immediately report to the regiment to leave for Arras. Poor Christian and Roxane will not be able to spend a moment together as husband and wife. Before her husband departs, Roxane begs Cyrano to watch out for Christian's safety, comfort, and fidelity. She also tells Cyrano to make certain that Christian writes letters regularly. Cyrano, of course, will be the one to pen the letters. The thought of writing his true love delights him, even if he cannot sign the letters as his own.

pinkmonkey

all_chapterized_books/1254-chapters/46.txt

finished_summaries/pinkmonkey/Cyrano De Bergerac/section_31_part_0.txt

Cyrano De Bergerac.act 5.scene 1

scene 1

{"name": "Scene 1", "url": "https://web.archive.org/web/20180820053313/http://www.pinkmonkey.com/booknotes/monkeynotes/pmCyrano35.asp", "summary": "The scene is set in the evening at a post outside of Arras. It opens with a dialogue between Captain Carbon de Castel-Jaloux and Le Bret in which they indicate that the besieged French troops are miserable, depressed, and hungry. Since the Spanish troops have cut off their supplies, the French have no food. Cyrano seems to be the only one in camp that is not miserable. He is still awake even though most of the cadets are sleeping, for he has just traveled through the Spanish line in order to dispatch a letter to Roxane, as he does everyday. The letters that he writes give him great pleasure.", "analysis": "Notes This scene is a total contrast to the earlier light, humorous scenes. It gives Background Information about what has happened at Arras between the time of the last scene, set at Roxane's house, and this scene, set at the Gascon camp outside of Arras. The Spanish troops have encircled the French and cut off their supplies, including food. The French soldiers are now miserable and hungry, and Carbon and Le Bret look particularly weak. Cyrano alone manages to be his usual self because he gets satisfaction in writing to Roxane. He also finds excitement in risking his life by crossing the enemy line in order to mail the letters back to Roxane. The irony is that the letters are supposedly written by Christian, so Cyrano gets no credit for them."}

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.)

Scene 1

https://web.archive.org/web/20180820053313/http://www.pinkmonkey.com/booknotes/monkeynotes/pmCyrano35.asp

The scene is set in the evening at a post outside of Arras. It opens with a dialogue between Captain Carbon de Castel-Jaloux and Le Bret in which they indicate that the besieged French troops are miserable, depressed, and hungry. Since the Spanish troops have cut off their supplies, the French have no food. Cyrano seems to be the only one in camp that is not miserable. He is still awake even though most of the cadets are sleeping, for he has just traveled through the Spanish line in order to dispatch a letter to Roxane, as he does everyday. The letters that he writes give him great pleasure.

Notes This scene is a total contrast to the earlier light, humorous scenes. It gives Background Information about what has happened at Arras between the time of the last scene, set at Roxane's house, and this scene, set at the Gascon camp outside of Arras. The Spanish troops have encircled the French and cut off their supplies, including food. The French soldiers are now miserable and hungry, and Carbon and Le Bret look particularly weak. Cyrano alone manages to be his usual self because he gets satisfaction in writing to Roxane. He also finds excitement in risking his life by crossing the enemy line in order to mail the letters back to Roxane. The irony is that the letters are supposedly written by Christian, so Cyrano gets no credit for them.

pinkmonkey

all_chapterized_books/1254-chapters/36.txt

finished_summaries/pinkmonkey/Cyrano De Bergerac/section_32_part_0.txt

Cyrano De Bergerac.act 4.scene 2

scene 2

{"name": "Scene 2", "url": "https://web.archive.org/web/20180820053313/http://www.pinkmonkey.com/booknotes/monkeynotes/pmCyrano36.asp", "summary": "When they rise the next morning, the cadets complain of their hunger and threaten to mutiny. Captain Carbon appeals to Cyrano to come forth from his tent and handle the situation. Cyrano obliges. He tries to joke about the Cadet's hunger by punning on their complaints and offering them The Iliad, which he is reading, as food for thought. When he realizes that is wit is not helping to cheer up the cadets, he calls the regiment piper to play Gascon tunes. Carbon protests, saying the songs about home will make the cadets weep. Cyrano explains that it is more noble to weep from homesickness than from hunger. When a drum roll is heard, the cadets become excited. When Cyrano sees that De Guiche is approaching, he warns the cadets not to let this man, whom they mock as a mere courtier and not a soldier, see how miserable they are.", "analysis": "Notes When the cadets wake and threaten mutiny, Cyrano is called to calm them. His interaction with the cadets reveals his natural leadership and his keen wit. To try and cheer the cadets, he gives French proverbs about hunger and wittily comments on them. When the wit fails to work on the cadets, he orders the piper to play folk songs from the homeland, hoping to inspire the cadets with a desire to fight and live so that they can eventually return home. Although the cadets weep at the sound of the songs, Cyrano declares it is better to weep from homesickness than from hunger. It is interesting that Cyrano is reading The Iliad, a classic text about the Trojan War, and offers to the cadets as food for thought to alleviate their hunger. In that war, the Greeks besieged the city of Troy for a very long time before the action started and that is the obvious parallel here, for the cadets wait for the fighting to begin. It is also interesting to note that in World War I, Cyrano de Bergerac was the favorite thing to read among the French troops."}

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.)

Scene 2

https://web.archive.org/web/20180820053313/http://www.pinkmonkey.com/booknotes/monkeynotes/pmCyrano36.asp

When they rise the next morning, the cadets complain of their hunger and threaten to mutiny. Captain Carbon appeals to Cyrano to come forth from his tent and handle the situation. Cyrano obliges. He tries to joke about the Cadet's hunger by punning on their complaints and offering them The Iliad, which he is reading, as food for thought. When he realizes that is wit is not helping to cheer up the cadets, he calls the regiment piper to play Gascon tunes. Carbon protests, saying the songs about home will make the cadets weep. Cyrano explains that it is more noble to weep from homesickness than from hunger. When a drum roll is heard, the cadets become excited. When Cyrano sees that De Guiche is approaching, he warns the cadets not to let this man, whom they mock as a mere courtier and not a soldier, see how miserable they are.

Notes When the cadets wake and threaten mutiny, Cyrano is called to calm them. His interaction with the cadets reveals his natural leadership and his keen wit. To try and cheer the cadets, he gives French proverbs about hunger and wittily comments on them. When the wit fails to work on the cadets, he orders the piper to play folk songs from the homeland, hoping to inspire the cadets with a desire to fight and live so that they can eventually return home. Although the cadets weep at the sound of the songs, Cyrano declares it is better to weep from homesickness than from hunger. It is interesting that Cyrano is reading The Iliad, a classic text about the Trojan War, and offers to the cadets as food for thought to alleviate their hunger. In that war, the Greeks besieged the city of Troy for a very long time before the action started and that is the obvious parallel here, for the cadets wait for the fighting to begin. It is also interesting to note that in World War I, Cyrano de Bergerac was the favorite thing to read among the French troops.

pinkmonkey

all_chapterized_books/1254-chapters/37.txt

finished_summaries/pinkmonkey/Cyrano De Bergerac/section_33_part_0.txt

Cyrano De Bergerac.act 4.scene 3

scene 3

{"name": "Scene 3", "url": "https://web.archive.org/web/20180820053313/http://www.pinkmonkey.com/booknotes/monkeynotes/pmCyrano36.asp", "summary": "When they rise the next morning, the cadets complain of their hunger and threaten to mutiny. Captain Carbon appeals to Cyrano to come forth from his tent and handle the situation. Cyrano obliges. He tries to joke about the Cadet's hunger by punning on their complaints and offering them The Iliad, which he is reading, as food for thought. When he realizes that is wit is not helping to cheer up the cadets, he calls the regiment piper to play Gascon tunes. Carbon protests, saying the songs about home will make the cadets weep. Cyrano explains that it is more noble to weep from homesickness than from hunger. When a drum roll is heard, the cadets become excited. When Cyrano sees that De Guiche is approaching, he warns the cadets not to let this man, whom they mock as a mere courtier and not a soldier, see how miserable they are.", "analysis": "Notes When the cadets wake and threaten mutiny, Cyrano is called to calm them. His interaction with the cadets reveals his natural leadership and his keen wit. To try and cheer the cadets, he gives French proverbs about hunger and wittily comments on them. When the wit fails to work on the cadets, he orders the piper to play folk songs from the homeland, hoping to inspire the cadets with a desire to fight and live so that they can eventually return home. Although the cadets weep at the sound of the songs, Cyrano declares it is better to weep from homesickness than from hunger. It is interesting that Cyrano is reading The Iliad, a classic text about the Trojan War, and offers to the cadets as food for thought to alleviate their hunger. In that war, the Greeks besieged the city of Troy for a very long time before the action started and that is the obvious parallel here, for the cadets wait for the fighting to begin. It is also interesting to note that in World War I, Cyrano de Bergerac was the favorite thing to read among the French troops."}

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.)

Scene 3

https://web.archive.org/web/20180820053313/http://www.pinkmonkey.com/booknotes/monkeynotes/pmCyrano36.asp

When they rise the next morning, the cadets complain of their hunger and threaten to mutiny. Captain Carbon appeals to Cyrano to come forth from his tent and handle the situation. Cyrano obliges. He tries to joke about the Cadet's hunger by punning on their complaints and offering them The Iliad, which he is reading, as food for thought. When he realizes that is wit is not helping to cheer up the cadets, he calls the regiment piper to play Gascon tunes. Carbon protests, saying the songs about home will make the cadets weep. Cyrano explains that it is more noble to weep from homesickness than from hunger. When a drum roll is heard, the cadets become excited. When Cyrano sees that De Guiche is approaching, he warns the cadets not to let this man, whom they mock as a mere courtier and not a soldier, see how miserable they are.

Notes When the cadets wake and threaten mutiny, Cyrano is called to calm them. His interaction with the cadets reveals his natural leadership and his keen wit. To try and cheer the cadets, he gives French proverbs about hunger and wittily comments on them. When the wit fails to work on the cadets, he orders the piper to play folk songs from the homeland, hoping to inspire the cadets with a desire to fight and live so that they can eventually return home. Although the cadets weep at the sound of the songs, Cyrano declares it is better to weep from homesickness than from hunger. It is interesting that Cyrano is reading The Iliad, a classic text about the Trojan War, and offers to the cadets as food for thought to alleviate their hunger. In that war, the Greeks besieged the city of Troy for a very long time before the action started and that is the obvious parallel here, for the cadets wait for the fighting to begin. It is also interesting to note that in World War I, Cyrano de Bergerac was the favorite thing to read among the French troops.

pinkmonkey

all_chapterized_books/1254-chapters/38.txt

finished_summaries/pinkmonkey/Cyrano De Bergerac/section_34_part_0.txt

Cyrano De Bergerac.act 4.scene 4

scene 4

{"name": "Scene 4", "url": "https://web.archive.org/web/20180820053313/http://www.pinkmonkey.com/booknotes/monkeynotes/pmCyrano37.asp", "summary": "De Guiche enters and the cadets ignore him, for they do not want him to see their misery. Carbon and De Guiche greet each other and are pleased to see that each of them is reduced to skin and bone, proof that no one is escaping the suffering and misery. De Guiche, however, complains that Carbon's cadets hold him in contempt because he is a courtier and not a typical ragged Gascon. He goes on to claim his own great courage, as shown the day before in attacking the troops of Count de Bucquoi at Bapaume. The perceptive and clever Cyrano interrupts to ask about the white scarf of an officer that is in his possession. It belongs to De Guiche. He was wearing it at the attack the day before. When things started going badly, De Guiche removed the white scarf and threw it on the ground, hoping the enemy would not recognize him as an officer and take him captive. Seeing the act of De Guiche's cowardice, Cyrano picked up the scarf and now produces it, embarrassing De Guiche and proving that he is not courageous as he claimed. De Guiche tries to convince everyone that he dropped the scarf so that he could flee and regroup his men for another attack. No one believes him. De Guiche takes the scarf and waves it to a Spanish spy, who is waiting some distance away. This double agent is now to inform the Spaniards to attack the cadet's post in order to draw attention away from the French Marshall, who has gone to Dourlens to find some food for himself and his troops. By placing Cyrano and the cadets in the enemy line of fire, De Guiche is being vindictive towards them, as well as trying to protect the marshal on his return. As the cadets prepare to fight, Cyrano grows excited over the thought of battle. Christian, however, is stunned and wants to take time to write a farewell letter to Roxane. Cyrano has already prepared one, which he gives to Christian to read. The letter explains that dying is not nearly so difficult as never seeing Roxane again. As he reads, Christian is startled to see Cyrano's tears on letter. Cyrano explains that the words were so beautiful that they brought tears to his eyes. Suddenly a carriage is announced. De Guiche thinks it might be the king, and the cadets line up and bow in expectation. Instead of royalty, it is Roxane. Her appearance stuns everyone completely.", "analysis": ""}

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.)

Scene 4

https://web.archive.org/web/20180820053313/http://www.pinkmonkey.com/booknotes/monkeynotes/pmCyrano37.asp

De Guiche enters and the cadets ignore him, for they do not want him to see their misery. Carbon and De Guiche greet each other and are pleased to see that each of them is reduced to skin and bone, proof that no one is escaping the suffering and misery. De Guiche, however, complains that Carbon's cadets hold him in contempt because he is a courtier and not a typical ragged Gascon. He goes on to claim his own great courage, as shown the day before in attacking the troops of Count de Bucquoi at Bapaume. The perceptive and clever Cyrano interrupts to ask about the white scarf of an officer that is in his possession. It belongs to De Guiche. He was wearing it at the attack the day before. When things started going badly, De Guiche removed the white scarf and threw it on the ground, hoping the enemy would not recognize him as an officer and take him captive. Seeing the act of De Guiche's cowardice, Cyrano picked up the scarf and now produces it, embarrassing De Guiche and proving that he is not courageous as he claimed. De Guiche tries to convince everyone that he dropped the scarf so that he could flee and regroup his men for another attack. No one believes him. De Guiche takes the scarf and waves it to a Spanish spy, who is waiting some distance away. This double agent is now to inform the Spaniards to attack the cadet's post in order to draw attention away from the French Marshall, who has gone to Dourlens to find some food for himself and his troops. By placing Cyrano and the cadets in the enemy line of fire, De Guiche is being vindictive towards them, as well as trying to protect the marshal on his return. As the cadets prepare to fight, Cyrano grows excited over the thought of battle. Christian, however, is stunned and wants to take time to write a farewell letter to Roxane. Cyrano has already prepared one, which he gives to Christian to read. The letter explains that dying is not nearly so difficult as never seeing Roxane again. As he reads, Christian is startled to see Cyrano's tears on letter. Cyrano explains that the words were so beautiful that they brought tears to his eyes. Suddenly a carriage is announced. De Guiche thinks it might be the king, and the cadets line up and bow in expectation. Instead of royalty, it is Roxane. Her appearance stuns everyone completely.

pinkmonkey

all_chapterized_books/1254-chapters/39.txt

finished_summaries/pinkmonkey/Cyrano De Bergerac/section_35_part_0.txt

Cyrano De Bergerac.act 4.scene 5

scene 5

{"name": "Scene 5", "url": "https://web.archive.org/web/20180820053313/http://www.pinkmonkey.com/booknotes/monkeynotes/pmCyrano39.asp", "summary": "Roxane has passed through the ravages of war in the service of her king, which is love. Using her smile as a passport and telling the gallant Spaniards that she was going to see her lover, she has charmed her way through enemy lines. No one can believe she has risked her life to come here; and everyone wants her to leave at once. No one, however, dares to tell here that they will soon be going into battle. When she deduces the situation, she claims that she wants to stay and die with Christian. She also accuses De Guiche of trying to make her a widow, by having her husband killed in the battle. The cadets are filled with admiration for her courage and stirred to battle to defend her.", "analysis": "Notes At the end of the last scene, the Cadets have all lined up, bowing low in expectation of the arrival of the king. They are fully shocked when Roxane emerges from the carriage. They are not expecting a beautiful woman in their midst. They respond by stating that the camp suddenly smells of irises and by promising to defend her. The scene reveals new facets of Roxane. Her impulsiveness in coming and her ability to charm the Spanish soldiers are not surprising, for she has been previously pictured as charming and impulsive; but now her keen sense of adventure and her courage are also seen, for she has risked her life to come to the Gascon camp. Since these latter qualities are not thought to be appropriate for fine ladies of intelligence, Rostand tempers her actions by her explanation that the driving force for her has been love. Roxane then further proves her courage by accusing De Guiche of casting the cadets into battle in order to make her a widow. Through her bold actions, she shows that she has everything it takes to be a successful Gascon fighter; only her sex prevents her from being given that opportunity. She still says, however, that she will not leave the battlefield, for she wants to die with her husband."}

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.)

Scene 5

https://web.archive.org/web/20180820053313/http://www.pinkmonkey.com/booknotes/monkeynotes/pmCyrano39.asp

Roxane has passed through the ravages of war in the service of her king, which is love. Using her smile as a passport and telling the gallant Spaniards that she was going to see her lover, she has charmed her way through enemy lines. No one can believe she has risked her life to come here; and everyone wants her to leave at once. No one, however, dares to tell here that they will soon be going into battle. When she deduces the situation, she claims that she wants to stay and die with Christian. She also accuses De Guiche of trying to make her a widow, by having her husband killed in the battle. The cadets are filled with admiration for her courage and stirred to battle to defend her.

Notes At the end of the last scene, the Cadets have all lined up, bowing low in expectation of the arrival of the king. They are fully shocked when Roxane emerges from the carriage. They are not expecting a beautiful woman in their midst. They respond by stating that the camp suddenly smells of irises and by promising to defend her. The scene reveals new facets of Roxane. Her impulsiveness in coming and her ability to charm the Spanish soldiers are not surprising, for she has been previously pictured as charming and impulsive; but now her keen sense of adventure and her courage are also seen, for she has risked her life to come to the Gascon camp. Since these latter qualities are not thought to be appropriate for fine ladies of intelligence, Rostand tempers her actions by her explanation that the driving force for her has been love. Roxane then further proves her courage by accusing De Guiche of casting the cadets into battle in order to make her a widow. Through her bold actions, she shows that she has everything it takes to be a successful Gascon fighter; only her sex prevents her from being given that opportunity. She still says, however, that she will not leave the battlefield, for she wants to die with her husband.

pinkmonkey

all_chapterized_books/1254-chapters/40.txt

finished_summaries/pinkmonkey/Cyrano De Bergerac/section_36_part_0.txt

Cyrano De Bergerac.act 4.scene 6

scene 6

{"name": "Scene 6", "url": "https://web.archive.org/web/20180820053313/http://www.pinkmonkey.com/booknotes/monkeynotes/pmCyrano40.asp", "summary": "When Carbon introduces Roxane to the Cadets, he asks her to give up her lace handkerchief to serve as the banner of the cadets; she gladly obliges. When one of the men mentions his hunger to her, she tells them that she has brought food and sends them to the carriage. While Ragueneau, serving as the coachman, takes out the edible delicacies, Roxane distributes them to the cadets. Cyrano urgently draws Christian aside to talk to him, but the latter is called away to help with the food. While he carves the meat, he presses Roxane about her real reason for coming; however, she will not talk to him until after the feast is over. When De Guiche re-enters the camp, the food is quickly hidden from view. As a result, he is amazed by the gaiety that he perceives. He has come to bring the cadets a cannon, but he warns them about its recoil action. He also asks Roxane if she really intends to stay on at the camp. When she gives her positive response, he calls for a musket and says that he will stay and protect her. The cadets are so impressed by his offer that they give him the remaining food from the feast. Although he is tempted by his hunger, De Guiche is too proud to accept it. He is then applauded by all as a true Gascon. When Carbon asks De Guiche to inspect the pikeman, he asks Roxane to accompany him. This gives Cyrano the opportunity to warn Christian that he must acknowledge having written the letters that Roxane has received. Christian is amazed at the news and questions him about the letters and their dispatch. When Cyrano explains how he has crossed enemy lines to get the letters to Roxane, Christian sarcastically remarks that writing them must have been an intoxicating experience, for Cyrano was willing to risk death for them; there is a touch of jealousy in his criticism. Roxane's return, however, suspends their conversation.", "analysis": "Notes Scenes 5 through 7 are probably the weakest ones in the play, for they border on the totally ridiculous and unbelievable. It is hard to imagine that a woman, even an impulsive and determined one like Roxane, would risk her life to come to the front and be successful in charming the Spanish soldiers to let her through enemy lines. The irony is that she has been spurred to come in order to see Christian, her new husband, because of letters she has been receiving, supposedly written by him. In truth, it is Cyrano's poetic words that have drawn her to the front. When Roxane does succeed in arriving, it is not surprising that she has an immediate effect on everyone. Not only does she bring the smell of iris to the camp, her arrival causes the unkempt cadets to rush and try to make themselves presentable. Her presence is not just an inspiration but a civilizing influence on these soldiers who are soon going to be cannon fodder. Even De Guiche is impressed with Roxane's courage. When she says she is going to stay on in the camp during the battle, he calls for a musket and promises to remain and defend her. When one of the cadets mentions his hunger, Roxane reveals that she has brought a feast with her. It serves as a type of last supper for the cadets. It also proves Roxane's kindness and inventiveness; she has managed to conceal the food in the strangest places. A sausage has even been hidden in the coachman's whip. The feast, largely prepared by Ragueneau, the former pastry chef who is now in Roxane's service, gives him an opportunity to provide some poetry; as always, his metaphors are trite, comparing Roxane to Venus and wine flasks to rubies. In spite of the general merriment in the camp, Cyrano is a bag of nerves. He has has never informed Christian about the numerous letters that he has sent to Roxane in Christian's name. When he first tries to explain what he has done, Christian is called away to carve the meat. Later he has the opportunity to make his confession when De Guiche asks Roxane to accompany him on his inspection of the pikeman. At the end of scene 7, Christian's vehement outburst to Cyrano suggests that his jealousy has at last found an object. The strong reaction is a first step by Rostand of alienating the audience from the handsome cadet and solidifying support for Cyrano, the protagonist."}

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.)

Scene 6

https://web.archive.org/web/20180820053313/http://www.pinkmonkey.com/booknotes/monkeynotes/pmCyrano40.asp

When Carbon introduces Roxane to the Cadets, he asks her to give up her lace handkerchief to serve as the banner of the cadets; she gladly obliges. When one of the men mentions his hunger to her, she tells them that she has brought food and sends them to the carriage. While Ragueneau, serving as the coachman, takes out the edible delicacies, Roxane distributes them to the cadets. Cyrano urgently draws Christian aside to talk to him, but the latter is called away to help with the food. While he carves the meat, he presses Roxane about her real reason for coming; however, she will not talk to him until after the feast is over. When De Guiche re-enters the camp, the food is quickly hidden from view. As a result, he is amazed by the gaiety that he perceives. He has come to bring the cadets a cannon, but he warns them about its recoil action. He also asks Roxane if she really intends to stay on at the camp. When she gives her positive response, he calls for a musket and says that he will stay and protect her. The cadets are so impressed by his offer that they give him the remaining food from the feast. Although he is tempted by his hunger, De Guiche is too proud to accept it. He is then applauded by all as a true Gascon. When Carbon asks De Guiche to inspect the pikeman, he asks Roxane to accompany him. This gives Cyrano the opportunity to warn Christian that he must acknowledge having written the letters that Roxane has received. Christian is amazed at the news and questions him about the letters and their dispatch. When Cyrano explains how he has crossed enemy lines to get the letters to Roxane, Christian sarcastically remarks that writing them must have been an intoxicating experience, for Cyrano was willing to risk death for them; there is a touch of jealousy in his criticism. Roxane's return, however, suspends their conversation.

Notes Scenes 5 through 7 are probably the weakest ones in the play, for they border on the totally ridiculous and unbelievable. It is hard to imagine that a woman, even an impulsive and determined one like Roxane, would risk her life to come to the front and be successful in charming the Spanish soldiers to let her through enemy lines. The irony is that she has been spurred to come in order to see Christian, her new husband, because of letters she has been receiving, supposedly written by him. In truth, it is Cyrano's poetic words that have drawn her to the front. When Roxane does succeed in arriving, it is not surprising that she has an immediate effect on everyone. Not only does she bring the smell of iris to the camp, her arrival causes the unkempt cadets to rush and try to make themselves presentable. Her presence is not just an inspiration but a civilizing influence on these soldiers who are soon going to be cannon fodder. Even De Guiche is impressed with Roxane's courage. When she says she is going to stay on in the camp during the battle, he calls for a musket and promises to remain and defend her. When one of the cadets mentions his hunger, Roxane reveals that she has brought a feast with her. It serves as a type of last supper for the cadets. It also proves Roxane's kindness and inventiveness; she has managed to conceal the food in the strangest places. A sausage has even been hidden in the coachman's whip. The feast, largely prepared by Ragueneau, the former pastry chef who is now in Roxane's service, gives him an opportunity to provide some poetry; as always, his metaphors are trite, comparing Roxane to Venus and wine flasks to rubies. In spite of the general merriment in the camp, Cyrano is a bag of nerves. He has has never informed Christian about the numerous letters that he has sent to Roxane in Christian's name. When he first tries to explain what he has done, Christian is called away to carve the meat. Later he has the opportunity to make his confession when De Guiche asks Roxane to accompany him on his inspection of the pikeman. At the end of scene 7, Christian's vehement outburst to Cyrano suggests that his jealousy has at last found an object. The strong reaction is a first step by Rostand of alienating the audience from the handsome cadet and solidifying support for Cyrano, the protagonist.

pinkmonkey

all_chapterized_books/1254-chapters/41.txt

finished_summaries/pinkmonkey/Cyrano De Bergerac/section_37_part_0.txt

Cyrano De Bergerac.act 4.scene 7

scene 7

{"name": "Scene 7", "url": "https://web.archive.org/web/20180820053313/http://www.pinkmonkey.com/booknotes/monkeynotes/pmCyrano40.asp", "summary": "When Carbon introduces Roxane to the Cadets, he asks her to give up her lace handkerchief to serve as the banner of the cadets; she gladly obliges. When one of the men mentions his hunger to her, she tells them that she has brought food and sends them to the carriage. While Ragueneau, serving as the coachman, takes out the edible delicacies, Roxane distributes them to the cadets. Cyrano urgently draws Christian aside to talk to him, but the latter is called away to help with the food. While he carves the meat, he presses Roxane about her real reason for coming; however, she will not talk to him until after the feast is over. When De Guiche re-enters the camp, the food is quickly hidden from view. As a result, he is amazed by the gaiety that he perceives. He has come to bring the cadets a cannon, but he warns them about its recoil action. He also asks Roxane if she really intends to stay on at the camp. When she gives her positive response, he calls for a musket and says that he will stay and protect her. The cadets are so impressed by his offer that they give him the remaining food from the feast. Although he is tempted by his hunger, De Guiche is too proud to accept it. He is then applauded by all as a true Gascon. When Carbon asks De Guiche to inspect the pikeman, he asks Roxane to accompany him. This gives Cyrano the opportunity to warn Christian that he must acknowledge having written the letters that Roxane has received. Christian is amazed at the news and questions him about the letters and their dispatch. When Cyrano explains how he has crossed enemy lines to get the letters to Roxane, Christian sarcastically remarks that writing them must have been an intoxicating experience, for Cyrano was willing to risk death for them; there is a touch of jealousy in his criticism. Roxane's return, however, suspends their conversation.", "analysis": "Notes Scenes 5 through 7 are probably the weakest ones in the play, for they border on the totally ridiculous and unbelievable. It is hard to imagine that a woman, even an impulsive and determined one like Roxane, would risk her life to come to the front and be successful in charming the Spanish soldiers to let her through enemy lines. The irony is that she has been spurred to come in order to see Christian, her new husband, because of letters she has been receiving, supposedly written by him. In truth, it is Cyrano's poetic words that have drawn her to the front. When Roxane does succeed in arriving, it is not surprising that she has an immediate effect on everyone. Not only does she bring the smell of iris to the camp, her arrival causes the unkempt cadets to rush and try to make themselves presentable. Her presence is not just an inspiration but a civilizing influence on these soldiers who are soon going to be cannon fodder. Even De Guiche is impressed with Roxane's courage. When she says she is going to stay on in the camp during the battle, he calls for a musket and promises to remain and defend her. When one of the cadets mentions his hunger, Roxane reveals that she has brought a feast with her. It serves as a type of last supper for the cadets. It also proves Roxane's kindness and inventiveness; she has managed to conceal the food in the strangest places. A sausage has even been hidden in the coachman's whip. The feast, largely prepared by Ragueneau, the former pastry chef who is now in Roxane's service, gives him an opportunity to provide some poetry; as always, his metaphors are trite, comparing Roxane to Venus and wine flasks to rubies. In spite of the general merriment in the camp, Cyrano is a bag of nerves. He has has never informed Christian about the numerous letters that he has sent to Roxane in Christian's name. When he first tries to explain what he has done, Christian is called away to carve the meat. Later he has the opportunity to make his confession when De Guiche asks Roxane to accompany him on his inspection of the pikeman. At the end of scene 7, Christian's vehement outburst to Cyrano suggests that his jealousy has at last found an object. The strong reaction is a first step by Rostand of alienating the audience from the handsome cadet and solidifying support for Cyrano, the protagonist."}

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.)

Scene 7

https://web.archive.org/web/20180820053313/http://www.pinkmonkey.com/booknotes/monkeynotes/pmCyrano40.asp

When Carbon introduces Roxane to the Cadets, he asks her to give up her lace handkerchief to serve as the banner of the cadets; she gladly obliges. When one of the men mentions his hunger to her, she tells them that she has brought food and sends them to the carriage. While Ragueneau, serving as the coachman, takes out the edible delicacies, Roxane distributes them to the cadets. Cyrano urgently draws Christian aside to talk to him, but the latter is called away to help with the food. While he carves the meat, he presses Roxane about her real reason for coming; however, she will not talk to him until after the feast is over. When De Guiche re-enters the camp, the food is quickly hidden from view. As a result, he is amazed by the gaiety that he perceives. He has come to bring the cadets a cannon, but he warns them about its recoil action. He also asks Roxane if she really intends to stay on at the camp. When she gives her positive response, he calls for a musket and says that he will stay and protect her. The cadets are so impressed by his offer that they give him the remaining food from the feast. Although he is tempted by his hunger, De Guiche is too proud to accept it. He is then applauded by all as a true Gascon. When Carbon asks De Guiche to inspect the pikeman, he asks Roxane to accompany him. This gives Cyrano the opportunity to warn Christian that he must acknowledge having written the letters that Roxane has received. Christian is amazed at the news and questions him about the letters and their dispatch. When Cyrano explains how he has crossed enemy lines to get the letters to Roxane, Christian sarcastically remarks that writing them must have been an intoxicating experience, for Cyrano was willing to risk death for them; there is a touch of jealousy in his criticism. Roxane's return, however, suspends their conversation.

Notes Scenes 5 through 7 are probably the weakest ones in the play, for they border on the totally ridiculous and unbelievable. It is hard to imagine that a woman, even an impulsive and determined one like Roxane, would risk her life to come to the front and be successful in charming the Spanish soldiers to let her through enemy lines. The irony is that she has been spurred to come in order to see Christian, her new husband, because of letters she has been receiving, supposedly written by him. In truth, it is Cyrano's poetic words that have drawn her to the front. When Roxane does succeed in arriving, it is not surprising that she has an immediate effect on everyone. Not only does she bring the smell of iris to the camp, her arrival causes the unkempt cadets to rush and try to make themselves presentable. Her presence is not just an inspiration but a civilizing influence on these soldiers who are soon going to be cannon fodder. Even De Guiche is impressed with Roxane's courage. When she says she is going to stay on in the camp during the battle, he calls for a musket and promises to remain and defend her. When one of the cadets mentions his hunger, Roxane reveals that she has brought a feast with her. It serves as a type of last supper for the cadets. It also proves Roxane's kindness and inventiveness; she has managed to conceal the food in the strangest places. A sausage has even been hidden in the coachman's whip. The feast, largely prepared by Ragueneau, the former pastry chef who is now in Roxane's service, gives him an opportunity to provide some poetry; as always, his metaphors are trite, comparing Roxane to Venus and wine flasks to rubies. In spite of the general merriment in the camp, Cyrano is a bag of nerves. He has has never informed Christian about the numerous letters that he has sent to Roxane in Christian's name. When he first tries to explain what he has done, Christian is called away to carve the meat. Later he has the opportunity to make his confession when De Guiche asks Roxane to accompany him on his inspection of the pikeman. At the end of scene 7, Christian's vehement outburst to Cyrano suggests that his jealousy has at last found an object. The strong reaction is a first step by Rostand of alienating the audience from the handsome cadet and solidifying support for Cyrano, the protagonist.

pinkmonkey

all_chapterized_books/1254-chapters/42.txt

finished_summaries/pinkmonkey/Cyrano De Bergerac/section_38_part_0.txt

Cyrano De Bergerac.act 4.scene 8

scene 8

{"name": "Scene 8", "url": "https://web.archive.org/web/20180820053313/http://www.pinkmonkey.com/booknotes/monkeynotes/pmCyrano41.asp", "summary": "Roxane now reveals to Christian that it was his beautifully written letters that made her risk her life and come to the front to see him. She claims that she was so overwhelmed by feelings for him that she had to come. She also asks Christian's forgiveness for at first loving him only for his looks. Because of the letters, her love for him has become spiritual, and she has no further thoughts of his appearance. Christian is upset by this confession, making Roxane think that he cannot comprehend her love. As a result, she assures him that she would love him even if he were ugly, a confession that upsets Christian even more. He reacts by sending her away to cheer up the cadets in their last moments. He rushes away to speak with Cyrano. Christian desolately tells Cyrano that because of the letters Roxane now loves only his soul, which really means that she loves Cyrano. He encourages Cyrano to confess his love to her since she has said she would love Christian even if he were ugly. He further reasons that Roxane must be told the truth about the letters. Then she can decide whom she really loves. Christian next leaves to summon Roxane. Cyrano will be left alone to explain to her what has transpired. When Roxane arrives, she tells Cyrano that Christian seemed to doubt that she would love him even if he were physically ugly. Cyrano is then on the point of making his confession when Le Bret interrupts. He tells them that Christian has been seriously wounded by the first shot fired in the battle. When the dying Christian is carried on stage, Cyrano goes to him and tries to convince him that Roxane truly loves him. When Roxane goes to him, she finds a letter addressed to her in his pocket, the one that Cyrano has written and given to Christian. Roxane carefully reads the letter, which is now covered with blood, as well as with the tears of Cyrano. The death of Christian is a cruel irony for both Roxane and Cyrano. She has lost her new husband without ever being able to consummate the marriage. Cyrano has lost hope of ever being able to win Roxane for himself. He knows that he will now never be able to tell her of his love. She must also always believe that Christian had a fine mind as evidenced by the letters that he wrote to her. While the firing continues outside, Cyrano asks Ragueneau to get the carriage ready to take Roxane away. De Guiche enters battled- strained, and Cyrano hands over the care of Roxane to him since he has proven his valor for her. Cyrano goes out to fight and avenge the death of Christian and the loss of his happiness. Never again will he be able to express his feelings for Roxane, even in disguise.", "analysis": ""}

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.)

Scene 8

https://web.archive.org/web/20180820053313/http://www.pinkmonkey.com/booknotes/monkeynotes/pmCyrano41.asp

Roxane now reveals to Christian that it was his beautifully written letters that made her risk her life and come to the front to see him. She claims that she was so overwhelmed by feelings for him that she had to come. She also asks Christian's forgiveness for at first loving him only for his looks. Because of the letters, her love for him has become spiritual, and she has no further thoughts of his appearance. Christian is upset by this confession, making Roxane think that he cannot comprehend her love. As a result, she assures him that she would love him even if he were ugly, a confession that upsets Christian even more. He reacts by sending her away to cheer up the cadets in their last moments. He rushes away to speak with Cyrano. Christian desolately tells Cyrano that because of the letters Roxane now loves only his soul, which really means that she loves Cyrano. He encourages Cyrano to confess his love to her since she has said she would love Christian even if he were ugly. He further reasons that Roxane must be told the truth about the letters. Then she can decide whom she really loves. Christian next leaves to summon Roxane. Cyrano will be left alone to explain to her what has transpired. When Roxane arrives, she tells Cyrano that Christian seemed to doubt that she would love him even if he were physically ugly. Cyrano is then on the point of making his confession when Le Bret interrupts. He tells them that Christian has been seriously wounded by the first shot fired in the battle. When the dying Christian is carried on stage, Cyrano goes to him and tries to convince him that Roxane truly loves him. When Roxane goes to him, she finds a letter addressed to her in his pocket, the one that Cyrano has written and given to Christian. Roxane carefully reads the letter, which is now covered with blood, as well as with the tears of Cyrano. The death of Christian is a cruel irony for both Roxane and Cyrano. She has lost her new husband without ever being able to consummate the marriage. Cyrano has lost hope of ever being able to win Roxane for himself. He knows that he will now never be able to tell her of his love. She must also always believe that Christian had a fine mind as evidenced by the letters that he wrote to her. While the firing continues outside, Cyrano asks Ragueneau to get the carriage ready to take Roxane away. De Guiche enters battled- strained, and Cyrano hands over the care of Roxane to him since he has proven his valor for her. Cyrano goes out to fight and avenge the death of Christian and the loss of his happiness. Never again will he be able to express his feelings for Roxane, even in disguise.

pinkmonkey

all_chapterized_books/1254-chapters/43.txt

finished_summaries/pinkmonkey/Cyrano De Bergerac/section_39_part_0.txt

Cyrano De Bergerac.act 4.scene 9

scene 9

{"name": "Scene 9", "url": "https://web.archive.org/web/20180820053313/http://www.pinkmonkey.com/booknotes/monkeynotes/pmCyrano41.asp", "summary": "Roxane now reveals to Christian that it was his beautifully written letters that made her risk her life and come to the front to see him. She claims that she was so overwhelmed by feelings for him that she had to come. She also asks Christian's forgiveness for at first loving him only for his looks. Because of the letters, her love for him has become spiritual, and she has no further thoughts of his appearance. Christian is upset by this confession, making Roxane think that he cannot comprehend her love. As a result, she assures him that she would love him even if he were ugly, a confession that upsets Christian even more. He reacts by sending her away to cheer up the cadets in their last moments. He rushes away to speak with Cyrano. Christian desolately tells Cyrano that because of the letters Roxane now loves only his soul, which really means that she loves Cyrano. He encourages Cyrano to confess his love to her since she has said she would love Christian even if he were ugly. He further reasons that Roxane must be told the truth about the letters. Then she can decide whom she really loves. Christian next leaves to summon Roxane. Cyrano will be left alone to explain to her what has transpired. When Roxane arrives, she tells Cyrano that Christian seemed to doubt that she would love him even if he were physically ugly. Cyrano is then on the point of making his confession when Le Bret interrupts. He tells them that Christian has been seriously wounded by the first shot fired in the battle. When the dying Christian is carried on stage, Cyrano goes to him and tries to convince him that Roxane truly loves him. When Roxane goes to him, she finds a letter addressed to her in his pocket, the one that Cyrano has written and given to Christian. Roxane carefully reads the letter, which is now covered with blood, as well as with the tears of Cyrano. The death of Christian is a cruel irony for both Roxane and Cyrano. She has lost her new husband without ever being able to consummate the marriage. Cyrano has lost hope of ever being able to win Roxane for himself. He knows that he will now never be able to tell her of his love. She must also always believe that Christian had a fine mind as evidenced by the letters that he wrote to her. While the firing continues outside, Cyrano asks Ragueneau to get the carriage ready to take Roxane away. De Guiche enters battled- strained, and Cyrano hands over the care of Roxane to him since he has proven his valor for her. Cyrano goes out to fight and avenge the death of Christian and the loss of his happiness. Never again will he be able to express his feelings for Roxane, even in disguise.", "analysis": ""}

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.)

Scene 9

https://web.archive.org/web/20180820053313/http://www.pinkmonkey.com/booknotes/monkeynotes/pmCyrano41.asp

Roxane now reveals to Christian that it was his beautifully written letters that made her risk her life and come to the front to see him. She claims that she was so overwhelmed by feelings for him that she had to come. She also asks Christian's forgiveness for at first loving him only for his looks. Because of the letters, her love for him has become spiritual, and she has no further thoughts of his appearance. Christian is upset by this confession, making Roxane think that he cannot comprehend her love. As a result, she assures him that she would love him even if he were ugly, a confession that upsets Christian even more. He reacts by sending her away to cheer up the cadets in their last moments. He rushes away to speak with Cyrano. Christian desolately tells Cyrano that because of the letters Roxane now loves only his soul, which really means that she loves Cyrano. He encourages Cyrano to confess his love to her since she has said she would love Christian even if he were ugly. He further reasons that Roxane must be told the truth about the letters. Then she can decide whom she really loves. Christian next leaves to summon Roxane. Cyrano will be left alone to explain to her what has transpired. When Roxane arrives, she tells Cyrano that Christian seemed to doubt that she would love him even if he were physically ugly. Cyrano is then on the point of making his confession when Le Bret interrupts. He tells them that Christian has been seriously wounded by the first shot fired in the battle. When the dying Christian is carried on stage, Cyrano goes to him and tries to convince him that Roxane truly loves him. When Roxane goes to him, she finds a letter addressed to her in his pocket, the one that Cyrano has written and given to Christian. Roxane carefully reads the letter, which is now covered with blood, as well as with the tears of Cyrano. The death of Christian is a cruel irony for both Roxane and Cyrano. She has lost her new husband without ever being able to consummate the marriage. Cyrano has lost hope of ever being able to win Roxane for himself. He knows that he will now never be able to tell her of his love. She must also always believe that Christian had a fine mind as evidenced by the letters that he wrote to her. While the firing continues outside, Cyrano asks Ragueneau to get the carriage ready to take Roxane away. De Guiche enters battled- strained, and Cyrano hands over the care of Roxane to him since he has proven his valor for her. Cyrano goes out to fight and avenge the death of Christian and the loss of his happiness. Never again will he be able to express his feelings for Roxane, even in disguise.

pinkmonkey

all_chapterized_books/1254-chapters/44.txt

finished_summaries/pinkmonkey/Cyrano De Bergerac/section_40_part_0.txt

Cyrano De Bergerac.act 4.scene 10

scene 10

{"name": "Scene 10", "url": "https://web.archive.org/web/20180820053313/http://www.pinkmonkey.com/booknotes/monkeynotes/pmCyrano41.asp", "summary": "Roxane now reveals to Christian that it was his beautifully written letters that made her risk her life and come to the front to see him. She claims that she was so overwhelmed by feelings for him that she had to come. She also asks Christian's forgiveness for at first loving him only for his looks. Because of the letters, her love for him has become spiritual, and she has no further thoughts of his appearance. Christian is upset by this confession, making Roxane think that he cannot comprehend her love. As a result, she assures him that she would love him even if he were ugly, a confession that upsets Christian even more. He reacts by sending her away to cheer up the cadets in their last moments. He rushes away to speak with Cyrano. Christian desolately tells Cyrano that because of the letters Roxane now loves only his soul, which really means that she loves Cyrano. He encourages Cyrano to confess his love to her since she has said she would love Christian even if he were ugly. He further reasons that Roxane must be told the truth about the letters. Then she can decide whom she really loves. Christian next leaves to summon Roxane. Cyrano will be left alone to explain to her what has transpired. When Roxane arrives, she tells Cyrano that Christian seemed to doubt that she would love him even if he were physically ugly. Cyrano is then on the point of making his confession when Le Bret interrupts. He tells them that Christian has been seriously wounded by the first shot fired in the battle. When the dying Christian is carried on stage, Cyrano goes to him and tries to convince him that Roxane truly loves him. When Roxane goes to him, she finds a letter addressed to her in his pocket, the one that Cyrano has written and given to Christian. Roxane carefully reads the letter, which is now covered with blood, as well as with the tears of Cyrano. The death of Christian is a cruel irony for both Roxane and Cyrano. She has lost her new husband without ever being able to consummate the marriage. Cyrano has lost hope of ever being able to win Roxane for himself. He knows that he will now never be able to tell her of his love. She must also always believe that Christian had a fine mind as evidenced by the letters that he wrote to her. While the firing continues outside, Cyrano asks Ragueneau to get the carriage ready to take Roxane away. De Guiche enters battled- strained, and Cyrano hands over the care of Roxane to him since he has proven his valor for her. Cyrano goes out to fight and avenge the death of Christian and the loss of his happiness. Never again will he be able to express his feelings for Roxane, even in disguise.", "analysis": ""}

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.

Scene 10

https://web.archive.org/web/20180820053313/http://www.pinkmonkey.com/booknotes/monkeynotes/pmCyrano41.asp

Roxane now reveals to Christian that it was his beautifully written letters that made her risk her life and come to the front to see him. She claims that she was so overwhelmed by feelings for him that she had to come. She also asks Christian's forgiveness for at first loving him only for his looks. Because of the letters, her love for him has become spiritual, and she has no further thoughts of his appearance. Christian is upset by this confession, making Roxane think that he cannot comprehend her love. As a result, she assures him that she would love him even if he were ugly, a confession that upsets Christian even more. He reacts by sending her away to cheer up the cadets in their last moments. He rushes away to speak with Cyrano. Christian desolately tells Cyrano that because of the letters Roxane now loves only his soul, which really means that she loves Cyrano. He encourages Cyrano to confess his love to her since she has said she would love Christian even if he were ugly. He further reasons that Roxane must be told the truth about the letters. Then she can decide whom she really loves. Christian next leaves to summon Roxane. Cyrano will be left alone to explain to her what has transpired. When Roxane arrives, she tells Cyrano that Christian seemed to doubt that she would love him even if he were physically ugly. Cyrano is then on the point of making his confession when Le Bret interrupts. He tells them that Christian has been seriously wounded by the first shot fired in the battle. When the dying Christian is carried on stage, Cyrano goes to him and tries to convince him that Roxane truly loves him. When Roxane goes to him, she finds a letter addressed to her in his pocket, the one that Cyrano has written and given to Christian. Roxane carefully reads the letter, which is now covered with blood, as well as with the tears of Cyrano. The death of Christian is a cruel irony for both Roxane and Cyrano. She has lost her new husband without ever being able to consummate the marriage. Cyrano has lost hope of ever being able to win Roxane for himself. He knows that he will now never be able to tell her of his love. She must also always believe that Christian had a fine mind as evidenced by the letters that he wrote to her. While the firing continues outside, Cyrano asks Ragueneau to get the carriage ready to take Roxane away. De Guiche enters battled- strained, and Cyrano hands over the care of Roxane to him since he has proven his valor for her. Cyrano goes out to fight and avenge the death of Christian and the loss of his happiness. Never again will he be able to express his feelings for Roxane, even in disguise.

pinkmonkey

all_chapterized_books/1254-chapters/47.txt

finished_summaries/pinkmonkey/Cyrano De Bergerac/section_42_part_0.txt

Cyrano De Bergerac.act 5.scene 2

scene 2

{"name": "Scene 2", "url": "https://web.archive.org/web/20180820053313/http://www.pinkmonkey.com/booknotes/monkeynotes/pmCyrano43.asp", "summary": "The scene abruptly switches to the Convent of the Ladies of the Cross, outside of Paris. As the autumn leaves fall, some of the nuns are seated around the Mother Superior . In the course of their conversation, it is revealed that Cyrano is a regular visitor to the convent. He has come every Saturday for over ten years in order to visit his cousin Roxane, now known as Madame Magdalene. Even after ten years, Roxane is still wearing the veil of mourning for her dead husband, Christian. The nuns enjoy the visits of Cyrano because of his wit and humor. They also try to convert him into a good Catholic. Roxane approaches with De Guiche, now known as the Duke of Grammont. He asks about her life of seclusion, her fidelity, and her black veil. She affirms her resolution to be faithful to Christian; she even states that she has Christian's last letter to her fastened close to her heart. When the Duke asks about Cyrano, she informs him that Cyrano comes regularly to give her all the news of the world outside. LeBret then enters. Roxane eagerly asks him about Cyrano. He states that Cyrano's condition is very bad. He remains poor, hungry, and friendless, while making enemies in every quarter. It is assumed that he will soon die of cold or anemia. De Guiche states that he still admires Cyrano for having lived without compromising his principles. As he is leaving, De Guiche contrasts his success with the freedom of Cyrano. He admits that his own success has left him with a sense of uneasiness and a bad taste in his mouth. He has many dead illusions and vague regrets for the past. He also takes Le Bret aside and warns him that Cyrano should be careful of his enemies, for it is rumored that some of them are trying to kill him by some subterfuge. Just as De Guiche is finally leaving, Ragueneau is announced. Roxane declares that the old baker is sure to whine about his miseries since he left her service. In truth, Ragueneau has not faired well. He has tried his hand at a number of jobs, including acting and wigmaking.", "analysis": "Notes The last act of the play is set fifteen years after the battle of Arras. The purpose of these opening scenes of the last act is to reveal to the audience what has happened to Cyrano, De Guiche, and Roxane for the last fifteen years. Roxane is still in mourning for her dead husband. She is living in a convent outside of Paris and still wearing a black veil. From her and the nuns, the audience learns that Cyrano comes to visit Roxane once a week. Although he is still filled with wit and humor, Roxane worries about him, for he is poor and friendless; he also has made many enemies. De Guiche has changed little. Having been made a Duke and the Marshall of France, he is as proud and arrogant as ever. He does admit, however, that he has some disillusionment about life and regrets about his past. When Cyrano comes to the convent, the nuns try to make him a better Christian. The biographies about the real Cyrano de Bergerac state that the Mother Superior, Roxane, and Cyrano's aunt, who were really in this convent, all tried so hard to convert him that he had to run away from Paris. Scene two ends on a note of suspense. De Guiche draws Le Bret, the good friend of Cyrano, aside. He warns Le Bret that Cyrano's life may be in danger, for his enemies are plotting against him."}

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.)

Scene 2

https://web.archive.org/web/20180820053313/http://www.pinkmonkey.com/booknotes/monkeynotes/pmCyrano43.asp

The scene abruptly switches to the Convent of the Ladies of the Cross, outside of Paris. As the autumn leaves fall, some of the nuns are seated around the Mother Superior . In the course of their conversation, it is revealed that Cyrano is a regular visitor to the convent. He has come every Saturday for over ten years in order to visit his cousin Roxane, now known as Madame Magdalene. Even after ten years, Roxane is still wearing the veil of mourning for her dead husband, Christian. The nuns enjoy the visits of Cyrano because of his wit and humor. They also try to convert him into a good Catholic. Roxane approaches with De Guiche, now known as the Duke of Grammont. He asks about her life of seclusion, her fidelity, and her black veil. She affirms her resolution to be faithful to Christian; she even states that she has Christian's last letter to her fastened close to her heart. When the Duke asks about Cyrano, she informs him that Cyrano comes regularly to give her all the news of the world outside. LeBret then enters. Roxane eagerly asks him about Cyrano. He states that Cyrano's condition is very bad. He remains poor, hungry, and friendless, while making enemies in every quarter. It is assumed that he will soon die of cold or anemia. De Guiche states that he still admires Cyrano for having lived without compromising his principles. As he is leaving, De Guiche contrasts his success with the freedom of Cyrano. He admits that his own success has left him with a sense of uneasiness and a bad taste in his mouth. He has many dead illusions and vague regrets for the past. He also takes Le Bret aside and warns him that Cyrano should be careful of his enemies, for it is rumored that some of them are trying to kill him by some subterfuge. Just as De Guiche is finally leaving, Ragueneau is announced. Roxane declares that the old baker is sure to whine about his miseries since he left her service. In truth, Ragueneau has not faired well. He has tried his hand at a number of jobs, including acting and wigmaking.

Notes The last act of the play is set fifteen years after the battle of Arras. The purpose of these opening scenes of the last act is to reveal to the audience what has happened to Cyrano, De Guiche, and Roxane for the last fifteen years. Roxane is still in mourning for her dead husband. She is living in a convent outside of Paris and still wearing a black veil. From her and the nuns, the audience learns that Cyrano comes to visit Roxane once a week. Although he is still filled with wit and humor, Roxane worries about him, for he is poor and friendless; he also has made many enemies. De Guiche has changed little. Having been made a Duke and the Marshall of France, he is as proud and arrogant as ever. He does admit, however, that he has some disillusionment about life and regrets about his past. When Cyrano comes to the convent, the nuns try to make him a better Christian. The biographies about the real Cyrano de Bergerac state that the Mother Superior, Roxane, and Cyrano's aunt, who were really in this convent, all tried so hard to convert him that he had to run away from Paris. Scene two ends on a note of suspense. De Guiche draws Le Bret, the good friend of Cyrano, aside. He warns Le Bret that Cyrano's life may be in danger, for his enemies are plotting against him.

pinkmonkey

all_chapterized_books/1254-chapters/48.txt

finished_summaries/pinkmonkey/Cyrano De Bergerac/section_43_part_0.txt

Cyrano De Bergerac.act 5.scene 3

scene 3

{"name": "Scene 3", "url": "https://web.archive.org/web/20180820053313/http://www.pinkmonkey.com/booknotes/monkeynotes/pmCyrano44.asp", "summary": "Ragueneau tells Le Bret that Cyrano has had a freak accident. While he was walking outside, a lackey dropped a piece of firewood from an upper window. It hit Cyrano on the head, injuring him seriously. Ragueneau states that after the accident, he had carried Cyrano to his room and found a doctor who would treat him out of charity. Since Cyrano is still unconscious, Ragueneau wants Le Bret to go to him immediately. The two of them rush out without saying a word to Roxane. She assumes that Ragueneau is in serious trouble for them to totally ignore her. Roxane stands alone in the park admiring the autumn day. Two nuns come out and place a large armchair in anticipation of Cyrano's weekly visit. When she realizes what time it is, Roxane is surprised, for Cyrano is never late. She assumes that a nun at the gate has stopped him to ask him to repent of his sins. Brushing away a dead leaf, she turns to work on her tapestry in order to pass the time. Soon a nun announces Cyrano's arrival.", "analysis": "Notes Ragueneau tells Le Bret that Cyrano has been injured. In truth, he has been attacked by a cowardly enemy who orders his servant to drop a piece of firewood on Cyrano's head. The historical Cyrano was injured in the same manner; however, he lived nearly a year after his accident. Both of them die in September. The real Cyrano also suffered from abject poverty, like the protagonist of the play. At the end of scene 4, Cyrano arrives to see Roxane. It is quite in character that the protagonist would not let an injury keep him away from his true love, even though she has greatly changed. She is no longer the sparkling young beauty who married Christian. Now she is the pathetically faithful wife who has grieved over the loss of her husband for too many years. Time has taken away her bright spirits, as seen in scene 3 when she is easily upset because Le Bret does not answer her. The tapestry on which Roxane stitches is symbolic of her self- absorption. She has turned away from the world to create her own version of reality. It is significant that she brushes a dead leaf off the tapestry, a foreshadowing of the darkness to come."}

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.)

Scene 3

https://web.archive.org/web/20180820053313/http://www.pinkmonkey.com/booknotes/monkeynotes/pmCyrano44.asp

Ragueneau tells Le Bret that Cyrano has had a freak accident. While he was walking outside, a lackey dropped a piece of firewood from an upper window. It hit Cyrano on the head, injuring him seriously. Ragueneau states that after the accident, he had carried Cyrano to his room and found a doctor who would treat him out of charity. Since Cyrano is still unconscious, Ragueneau wants Le Bret to go to him immediately. The two of them rush out without saying a word to Roxane. She assumes that Ragueneau is in serious trouble for them to totally ignore her. Roxane stands alone in the park admiring the autumn day. Two nuns come out and place a large armchair in anticipation of Cyrano's weekly visit. When she realizes what time it is, Roxane is surprised, for Cyrano is never late. She assumes that a nun at the gate has stopped him to ask him to repent of his sins. Brushing away a dead leaf, she turns to work on her tapestry in order to pass the time. Soon a nun announces Cyrano's arrival.

Notes Ragueneau tells Le Bret that Cyrano has been injured. In truth, he has been attacked by a cowardly enemy who orders his servant to drop a piece of firewood on Cyrano's head. The historical Cyrano was injured in the same manner; however, he lived nearly a year after his accident. Both of them die in September. The real Cyrano also suffered from abject poverty, like the protagonist of the play. At the end of scene 4, Cyrano arrives to see Roxane. It is quite in character that the protagonist would not let an injury keep him away from his true love, even though she has greatly changed. She is no longer the sparkling young beauty who married Christian. Now she is the pathetically faithful wife who has grieved over the loss of her husband for too many years. Time has taken away her bright spirits, as seen in scene 3 when she is easily upset because Le Bret does not answer her. The tapestry on which Roxane stitches is symbolic of her self- absorption. She has turned away from the world to create her own version of reality. It is significant that she brushes a dead leaf off the tapestry, a foreshadowing of the darkness to come.

pinkmonkey

all_chapterized_books/1254-chapters/49.txt

finished_summaries/pinkmonkey/Cyrano De Bergerac/section_44_part_0.txt

Cyrano De Bergerac.act 5.scene 4

scene 4

{"name": "Scene 4", "url": "https://web.archive.org/web/20180820053313/http://www.pinkmonkey.com/booknotes/monkeynotes/pmCyrano44.asp", "summary": "Ragueneau tells Le Bret that Cyrano has had a freak accident. While he was walking outside, a lackey dropped a piece of firewood from an upper window. It hit Cyrano on the head, injuring him seriously. Ragueneau states that after the accident, he had carried Cyrano to his room and found a doctor who would treat him out of charity. Since Cyrano is still unconscious, Ragueneau wants Le Bret to go to him immediately. The two of them rush out without saying a word to Roxane. She assumes that Ragueneau is in serious trouble for them to totally ignore her. Roxane stands alone in the park admiring the autumn day. Two nuns come out and place a large armchair in anticipation of Cyrano's weekly visit. When she realizes what time it is, Roxane is surprised, for Cyrano is never late. She assumes that a nun at the gate has stopped him to ask him to repent of his sins. Brushing away a dead leaf, she turns to work on her tapestry in order to pass the time. Soon a nun announces Cyrano's arrival.", "analysis": "Notes Ragueneau tells Le Bret that Cyrano has been injured. In truth, he has been attacked by a cowardly enemy who orders his servant to drop a piece of firewood on Cyrano's head. The historical Cyrano was injured in the same manner; however, he lived nearly a year after his accident. Both of them die in September. The real Cyrano also suffered from abject poverty, like the protagonist of the play. At the end of scene 4, Cyrano arrives to see Roxane. It is quite in character that the protagonist would not let an injury keep him away from his true love, even though she has greatly changed. She is no longer the sparkling young beauty who married Christian. Now she is the pathetically faithful wife who has grieved over the loss of her husband for too many years. Time has taken away her bright spirits, as seen in scene 3 when she is easily upset because Le Bret does not answer her. The tapestry on which Roxane stitches is symbolic of her self- absorption. She has turned away from the world to create her own version of reality. It is significant that she brushes a dead leaf off the tapestry, a foreshadowing of the darkness to come."}

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.

Scene 4

https://web.archive.org/web/20180820053313/http://www.pinkmonkey.com/booknotes/monkeynotes/pmCyrano44.asp

Ragueneau tells Le Bret that Cyrano has had a freak accident. While he was walking outside, a lackey dropped a piece of firewood from an upper window. It hit Cyrano on the head, injuring him seriously. Ragueneau states that after the accident, he had carried Cyrano to his room and found a doctor who would treat him out of charity. Since Cyrano is still unconscious, Ragueneau wants Le Bret to go to him immediately. The two of them rush out without saying a word to Roxane. She assumes that Ragueneau is in serious trouble for them to totally ignore her. Roxane stands alone in the park admiring the autumn day. Two nuns come out and place a large armchair in anticipation of Cyrano's weekly visit. When she realizes what time it is, Roxane is surprised, for Cyrano is never late. She assumes that a nun at the gate has stopped him to ask him to repent of his sins. Brushing away a dead leaf, she turns to work on her tapestry in order to pass the time. Soon a nun announces Cyrano's arrival.

Notes Ragueneau tells Le Bret that Cyrano has been injured. In truth, he has been attacked by a cowardly enemy who orders his servant to drop a piece of firewood on Cyrano's head. The historical Cyrano was injured in the same manner; however, he lived nearly a year after his accident. Both of them die in September. The real Cyrano also suffered from abject poverty, like the protagonist of the play. At the end of scene 4, Cyrano arrives to see Roxane. It is quite in character that the protagonist would not let an injury keep him away from his true love, even though she has greatly changed. She is no longer the sparkling young beauty who married Christian. Now she is the pathetically faithful wife who has grieved over the loss of her husband for too many years. Time has taken away her bright spirits, as seen in scene 3 when she is easily upset because Le Bret does not answer her. The tapestry on which Roxane stitches is symbolic of her self- absorption. She has turned away from the world to create her own version of reality. It is significant that she brushes a dead leaf off the tapestry, a foreshadowing of the darkness to come.

pinkmonkey

all_chapterized_books/1254-chapters/50.txt

finished_summaries/pinkmonkey/Cyrano De Bergerac/section_45_part_0.txt

Cyrano De Bergerac.act 5.scene 5

scene 5

{"name": "Scene 5", "url": "https://web.archive.org/web/20180820053313/http://www.pinkmonkey.com/booknotes/monkeynotes/pmCyrano45.asp", "summary": "Cyrano approaches, supporting himself with a cane. Although his hat conceals his face, it is obvious that he is pale and weak. Roxane, however, is so absorbed in her work on the tapestry that she does not turn to greet Cyrano; instead, she rebukes him for being late. He responds by saying that he had a visitor, whom he sent away in order to come and visit her. Before falling silent, he hints that he may have to leave early. Sister Marthe, one of the nuns whom Cyrano usually teases, passes by. Cyrano, trying to act normally, calls to her. She is startled by his ill appearance and wants to go and bring him some soup. Cyrano is not worried about himself, but Roxane; he warns the nun not to alarm Roxane about him. He does, however, ask the nun to pray for him. He also states that he will never see Roxane's tapestry finished. He also notices the read autumn leaves as they fall gracefully before him. Roxane wants to hear the news of the Parisian society. For a while, Cyrano rattles off the mundane daily events; but he soon faints from exhaustion. Roxane rushes to him. When he regains consciousness, he pretends it is an effect of a wound he received at Arras, many years ago. Roxane comments about how she was also wounded in Arras and points to the farewell letter over her heart. Cyrano asks her to see the letter, which he recites fluently and beautifully in a voice like the one he had used under Roxane's window. Since it is obvious that Cyrano is not really reading the words, but knows them by heart, she realizes that he is the one who had written the letters on Christian's behalf. She now knows that she has really loved Cyrano, not Christian. When Roxane confronts Cyrano about the deception, he denies it. Before she can discuss it further, Le Bret and Ragueneau enter. They blurt out that Cyrano will kill himself by exertion. Roxane now understands his faintness and demands to know what has happened. Cyrano explains the attack on him and shows her his bandages. He bemoans the irony of fate, which has prevented him from dying a noble death from a sword. He adds that both his life and death have been failures. Roxane states that she is sorry that she is the cause of his unhappiness. Cyrano, however, assures her that he is grateful for her friendship. Cyrano turns to Ragueneau to talk about literature. Ragueneau accuses Moliere of plagiarizing a scene from Cyrano's writing. Cyrano does not seem to mind. He says that he has always provided words and ideas for others. It is an obvious reference to what he did for Christian. Knowing that his death is fast approaching, Cyrano compares his love for Roxane to the love between the beauty and the beast. He then asks Roxane to mourn for him as she had for Christian. He finally stands up, sword in hand, to face his end nobly. He dies, proud of the integrity he has shown in life.", "analysis": ""}

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.)

Scene 5

https://web.archive.org/web/20180820053313/http://www.pinkmonkey.com/booknotes/monkeynotes/pmCyrano45.asp

Cyrano approaches, supporting himself with a cane. Although his hat conceals his face, it is obvious that he is pale and weak. Roxane, however, is so absorbed in her work on the tapestry that she does not turn to greet Cyrano; instead, she rebukes him for being late. He responds by saying that he had a visitor, whom he sent away in order to come and visit her. Before falling silent, he hints that he may have to leave early. Sister Marthe, one of the nuns whom Cyrano usually teases, passes by. Cyrano, trying to act normally, calls to her. She is startled by his ill appearance and wants to go and bring him some soup. Cyrano is not worried about himself, but Roxane; he warns the nun not to alarm Roxane about him. He does, however, ask the nun to pray for him. He also states that he will never see Roxane's tapestry finished. He also notices the read autumn leaves as they fall gracefully before him. Roxane wants to hear the news of the Parisian society. For a while, Cyrano rattles off the mundane daily events; but he soon faints from exhaustion. Roxane rushes to him. When he regains consciousness, he pretends it is an effect of a wound he received at Arras, many years ago. Roxane comments about how she was also wounded in Arras and points to the farewell letter over her heart. Cyrano asks her to see the letter, which he recites fluently and beautifully in a voice like the one he had used under Roxane's window. Since it is obvious that Cyrano is not really reading the words, but knows them by heart, she realizes that he is the one who had written the letters on Christian's behalf. She now knows that she has really loved Cyrano, not Christian. When Roxane confronts Cyrano about the deception, he denies it. Before she can discuss it further, Le Bret and Ragueneau enter. They blurt out that Cyrano will kill himself by exertion. Roxane now understands his faintness and demands to know what has happened. Cyrano explains the attack on him and shows her his bandages. He bemoans the irony of fate, which has prevented him from dying a noble death from a sword. He adds that both his life and death have been failures. Roxane states that she is sorry that she is the cause of his unhappiness. Cyrano, however, assures her that he is grateful for her friendship. Cyrano turns to Ragueneau to talk about literature. Ragueneau accuses Moliere of plagiarizing a scene from Cyrano's writing. Cyrano does not seem to mind. He says that he has always provided words and ideas for others. It is an obvious reference to what he did for Christian. Knowing that his death is fast approaching, Cyrano compares his love for Roxane to the love between the beauty and the beast. He then asks Roxane to mourn for him as she had for Christian. He finally stands up, sword in hand, to face his end nobly. He dies, proud of the integrity he has shown in life.

pinkmonkey

all_chapterized_books/1254-chapters/51.txt

finished_summaries/pinkmonkey/Cyrano De Bergerac/section_46_part_0.txt

Cyrano De Bergerac.act 5.scene 6

scene 6

{"name": "Scene 6", "url": "https://web.archive.org/web/20180820053313/http://www.pinkmonkey.com/booknotes/monkeynotes/pmCyrano45.asp", "summary": "Cyrano approaches, supporting himself with a cane. Although his hat conceals his face, it is obvious that he is pale and weak. Roxane, however, is so absorbed in her work on the tapestry that she does not turn to greet Cyrano; instead, she rebukes him for being late. He responds by saying that he had a visitor, whom he sent away in order to come and visit her. Before falling silent, he hints that he may have to leave early. Sister Marthe, one of the nuns whom Cyrano usually teases, passes by. Cyrano, trying to act normally, calls to her. She is startled by his ill appearance and wants to go and bring him some soup. Cyrano is not worried about himself, but Roxane; he warns the nun not to alarm Roxane about him. He does, however, ask the nun to pray for him. He also states that he will never see Roxane's tapestry finished. He also notices the read autumn leaves as they fall gracefully before him. Roxane wants to hear the news of the Parisian society. For a while, Cyrano rattles off the mundane daily events; but he soon faints from exhaustion. Roxane rushes to him. When he regains consciousness, he pretends it is an effect of a wound he received at Arras, many years ago. Roxane comments about how she was also wounded in Arras and points to the farewell letter over her heart. Cyrano asks her to see the letter, which he recites fluently and beautifully in a voice like the one he had used under Roxane's window. Since it is obvious that Cyrano is not really reading the words, but knows them by heart, she realizes that he is the one who had written the letters on Christian's behalf. She now knows that she has really loved Cyrano, not Christian. When Roxane confronts Cyrano about the deception, he denies it. Before she can discuss it further, Le Bret and Ragueneau enter. They blurt out that Cyrano will kill himself by exertion. Roxane now understands his faintness and demands to know what has happened. Cyrano explains the attack on him and shows her his bandages. He bemoans the irony of fate, which has prevented him from dying a noble death from a sword. He adds that both his life and death have been failures. Roxane states that she is sorry that she is the cause of his unhappiness. Cyrano, however, assures her that he is grateful for her friendship. Cyrano turns to Ragueneau to talk about literature. Ragueneau accuses Moliere of plagiarizing a scene from Cyrano's writing. Cyrano does not seem to mind. He says that he has always provided words and ideas for others. It is an obvious reference to what he did for Christian. Knowing that his death is fast approaching, Cyrano compares his love for Roxane to the love between the beauty and the beast. He then asks Roxane to mourn for him as she had for Christian. He finally stands up, sword in hand, to face his end nobly. He dies, proud of the integrity he has shown in life.", "analysis": ""}

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.

Scene 6

https://web.archive.org/web/20180820053313/http://www.pinkmonkey.com/booknotes/monkeynotes/pmCyrano45.asp

Cyrano approaches, supporting himself with a cane. Although his hat conceals his face, it is obvious that he is pale and weak. Roxane, however, is so absorbed in her work on the tapestry that she does not turn to greet Cyrano; instead, she rebukes him for being late. He responds by saying that he had a visitor, whom he sent away in order to come and visit her. Before falling silent, he hints that he may have to leave early. Sister Marthe, one of the nuns whom Cyrano usually teases, passes by. Cyrano, trying to act normally, calls to her. She is startled by his ill appearance and wants to go and bring him some soup. Cyrano is not worried about himself, but Roxane; he warns the nun not to alarm Roxane about him. He does, however, ask the nun to pray for him. He also states that he will never see Roxane's tapestry finished. He also notices the read autumn leaves as they fall gracefully before him. Roxane wants to hear the news of the Parisian society. For a while, Cyrano rattles off the mundane daily events; but he soon faints from exhaustion. Roxane rushes to him. When he regains consciousness, he pretends it is an effect of a wound he received at Arras, many years ago. Roxane comments about how she was also wounded in Arras and points to the farewell letter over her heart. Cyrano asks her to see the letter, which he recites fluently and beautifully in a voice like the one he had used under Roxane's window. Since it is obvious that Cyrano is not really reading the words, but knows them by heart, she realizes that he is the one who had written the letters on Christian's behalf. She now knows that she has really loved Cyrano, not Christian. When Roxane confronts Cyrano about the deception, he denies it. Before she can discuss it further, Le Bret and Ragueneau enter. They blurt out that Cyrano will kill himself by exertion. Roxane now understands his faintness and demands to know what has happened. Cyrano explains the attack on him and shows her his bandages. He bemoans the irony of fate, which has prevented him from dying a noble death from a sword. He adds that both his life and death have been failures. Roxane states that she is sorry that she is the cause of his unhappiness. Cyrano, however, assures her that he is grateful for her friendship. Cyrano turns to Ragueneau to talk about literature. Ragueneau accuses Moliere of plagiarizing a scene from Cyrano's writing. Cyrano does not seem to mind. He says that he has always provided words and ideas for others. It is an obvious reference to what he did for Christian. Knowing that his death is fast approaching, Cyrano compares his love for Roxane to the love between the beauty and the beast. He then asks Roxane to mourn for him as she had for Christian. He finally stands up, sword in hand, to face his end nobly. He dies, proud of the integrity he has shown in life.

novelguide

all_chapterized_books/1254-chapters/2.txt

finished_summaries/novelguide/Cyrano de Bergerac/section_1_part_1.txt

Cyrano de Bergerac.act 1.scene 1

act 1, scene 1

{"name": "act 1, scene 1", "url": "https://web.archive.org/web/20210212220419/https://www.novelguide.com/cyrano-de-bergerac/summaries/act1-scenes1-3", "summary": "The play opens in the year 1640 in the theater at the Hotel de Bourgogne in Paris, France. Preparations are under way for a performance of the play La Clorise. Members of the audience from all social classes, pickpockets, and an orange-girl arrive. Two gentlemen practice fencing. A middle-class man looks disapprovingly at the drinking, fighting, and gambling taking place among the audience and reflects that the place has sunk into disrepute since the great tragedies were performed there. As the chandeliers are lit in readiness for the performance, the audience gathers around in anticipation. The handsome young Baron Christian de Neuvillette enters with the satirist Ligniere, who is drunk", "analysis": ""}

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.)

act 1, scene 1

https://web.archive.org/web/20210212220419/https://www.novelguide.com/cyrano-de-bergerac/summaries/act1-scenes1-3

The play opens in the year 1640 in the theater at the Hotel de Bourgogne in Paris, France. Preparations are under way for a performance of the play La Clorise. Members of the audience from all social classes, pickpockets, and an orange-girl arrive. Two gentlemen practice fencing. A middle-class man looks disapprovingly at the drinking, fighting, and gambling taking place among the audience and reflects that the place has sunk into disrepute since the great tragedies were performed there. As the chandeliers are lit in readiness for the performance, the audience gathers around in anticipation. The handsome young Baron Christian de Neuvillette enters with the satirist Ligniere, who is drunk

novelguide

all_chapterized_books/1254-chapters/3.txt

finished_summaries/novelguide/Cyrano de Bergerac/section_1_part_2.txt

Cyrano de Bergerac.act 1.scene 2

act 1, scene 2

{"name": "Act 1, scene 2", "url": "https://web.archive.org/web/20210212220419/https://www.novelguide.com/cyrano-de-bergerac/summaries/act1-scenes1-3", "summary": "Ligniere introduces Christian to some Marquises. Christian has just arrived in Paris to join the Guards. The Marquises think that Christian is not very fashionably dressed; they are more interested in the aristocratic and literary ladies who are taking their places in the boxes. Ligniere has come to help Christian identify a lady with whom he is in love. The pastry-cook Ragueneau arrives. Ligniere introduces him to Christian, explaining that Ragueneau is a lover of poetry who accepts poems as payment for his pastries. Ragueneau is excited to know if Cyrano, another member of the Guards, is here. The actor Montfleury is performing tonight and Cyrano has forbidden him to appear on the stage for the rest of the month. Cyrano's friends talk of him as a brilliant poet, swordsman, philosopher, and musician. They seem in awe of him. Ragueneau mentions that Cyrano has an enormous nose, and Le Bret warns that Cyrano will fight anyone who comments on it. Roxane, a beautiful young woman and the object of Christian's affections, arrives and sits in a box. Ligniere tells Christian that she is Cyrano's cousin. He adds that she is an intellectual. Christian is despondent at this news. Roxane is accompanied by the Comte de Guiche, a nobleman who is in love with her. He is already married, so he plans to marry her off to one of his proteges, the Vicomte de Valvert, who would turn a blind eye to any affair that de Guiche began with Roxane. Roxane and Christian exchange gazes. Ligniere leaves to find a tavern. There is still no sign of Cyrano. The crowd impatiently calls for the play to begin", "analysis": ""}

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!

Act 1, scene 2

https://web.archive.org/web/20210212220419/https://www.novelguide.com/cyrano-de-bergerac/summaries/act1-scenes1-3

Ligniere introduces Christian to some Marquises. Christian has just arrived in Paris to join the Guards. The Marquises think that Christian is not very fashionably dressed; they are more interested in the aristocratic and literary ladies who are taking their places in the boxes. Ligniere has come to help Christian identify a lady with whom he is in love. The pastry-cook Ragueneau arrives. Ligniere introduces him to Christian, explaining that Ragueneau is a lover of poetry who accepts poems as payment for his pastries. Ragueneau is excited to know if Cyrano, another member of the Guards, is here. The actor Montfleury is performing tonight and Cyrano has forbidden him to appear on the stage for the rest of the month. Cyrano's friends talk of him as a brilliant poet, swordsman, philosopher, and musician. They seem in awe of him. Ragueneau mentions that Cyrano has an enormous nose, and Le Bret warns that Cyrano will fight anyone who comments on it. Roxane, a beautiful young woman and the object of Christian's affections, arrives and sits in a box. Ligniere tells Christian that she is Cyrano's cousin. He adds that she is an intellectual. Christian is despondent at this news. Roxane is accompanied by the Comte de Guiche, a nobleman who is in love with her. He is already married, so he plans to marry her off to one of his proteges, the Vicomte de Valvert, who would turn a blind eye to any affair that de Guiche began with Roxane. Roxane and Christian exchange gazes. Ligniere leaves to find a tavern. There is still no sign of Cyrano. The crowd impatiently calls for the play to begin

novelguide

all_chapterized_books/1254-chapters/4.txt

finished_summaries/novelguide/Cyrano de Bergerac/section_1_part_3.txt

Cyrano de Bergerac.act 1.scene 3

act 1, scene 3

{"name": "Act 1, scene 3", "url": "https://web.archive.org/web/20210212220419/https://www.novelguide.com/cyrano-de-bergerac/summaries/act1-scenes1-3", "summary": "As de Guiche and Valvert walk towards the stage, Christian decides to challenge Valvert to a duel over Roxane. As he reaches into his pocket for his glove to slap Valvert across the face by way of challenge, he encounters the hand of a pickpocket. In exchange for his release, the pickpocket tells Christian that Ligniere is in trouble. Ligniere has offended an important nobleman by writing a satirical song about him, and the nobleman has arranged for Ligniere to be ambushed by a hundred men at the Porte de Nesle on his way home. Christian runs off to rescue Ligniere. De Guiche, Valvert, and the Marquises take their seats on the stage. The crowd chants for the play to begin. Montfleury, a fat and untalented actor, comes on stage dressed as a shepherd and begins his speech. A voice from the pit is heard crying out, \"Fool, have I not forbidden you the stage. Though the speaker is hidden, Le Bret and Cuigy are certain that it is Cyrano. Each time Montfleury tries to continue his speech, the speaker interrupts and threatens him. Montfleury's voice grows fainter and fainter. Finally, Cyrano stands up on his chair, creating a stir among the audience.", "analysis": "of Act 1, scenes 1-3. These scenes introduce the social and cultural background, the characters, and the first seeds of the plot. The theater is presented as a microcosm of Parisian society, bringing together people from all social backgrounds and walks of life. Poetry and literature are unifying influences: the marquises idolize the literary ladies, while the pastry-cook Ragueneau sells his wares in exchange for poems. In fact, poetry is so important in this culture that it is a matter of life and death: Ligniere's life is threatened because he wrote a satirical song about a nobleman. One of Rostand's themes in Cyrano de Bergerac is what he saw as the decline of French society and culture. This is already evident in the Bourgeois's disapproving comments on the low-life activities taking place among the theater audience, compared with the great tragedies that used to be performed there, such as those of the seventeenth-century French playwrights Jean Rotrou and Pierre Corneille. The nobility have become decadent and foolish, as is shown in the petty snobberies of the Marquises, who disdain Christian because he is not dressed in the latest fashion, and fawn upon de Guiche because he is successful. Against such foolish and inconsequential characters is set the play's hero, Cyrano. Though Cyrano is spoken of at length, he is not seen until the end of scene 3. He is described by his friends as an excellent poet, swordsman, philosopher, and musician: in short, the epitome of the seventeenth-century cavalier ideal of the courtier-soldier-poet. Cyrano's reputation precedes him. A section of the audience waits with bated breath to see whether he will appear at the play, as Montfleury is playing the lead and Cyrano has forbidden him the stage. If Montfleury appears, the audience knows there will be trouble. He is spoken of as an extraordinary, larger-than-life character, and thus suspense builds around him. In fact, there are three layers of suspense in this part of the play: the play audience's expectation of the actor Montfleury appearing in the play, La Clorise; Cyrano's friends' expectation of Cyrano, whose arrival promises far more momentous entertainment than Montfleury; and finally, the expectation of the reader of the play Cyrano de Bergerac as they await the appearance of this extraordinary character Cyrano. As well as his exceptional abilities, Cyrano's great flaw, his enormous nose, is mentioned. Ragueneau's comment that Cyrano will fight anyone who remarks on it both conveys Cyrano's sensitivity over this trait and foreshadows the conflicts that are sure to spring up around the subject. The fact that Cyrano's friends only mention his nose after they have listed his other great qualities puts his flaw into perspective. To them, it seems relatively unimportant, or just another way in which Cyrano is extraordinary, but Cyrano does not share their view. His insecurity over his nose rules his life. Christian is a foil to Cyrano and his opposite. While Cyrano is extraordinary on the inside but physically unattractive on the outside, Christian is a very ordinary young man blessed with unusual good looks. Christian's love for Roxane sets up the main conflict that drives the plot. The glance they exchange in the theater establishes the immediate physical attraction between them, but Christian's concern over Ligniere's description of her as an intellectual shows his weak point. Unlike the brilliant Cyrano, Christian is dull of mind. While Cyrano represents inward beauty, Christian represents outward beauty"}

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.)

Act 1, scene 3

https://web.archive.org/web/20210212220419/https://www.novelguide.com/cyrano-de-bergerac/summaries/act1-scenes1-3

As de Guiche and Valvert walk towards the stage, Christian decides to challenge Valvert to a duel over Roxane. As he reaches into his pocket for his glove to slap Valvert across the face by way of challenge, he encounters the hand of a pickpocket. In exchange for his release, the pickpocket tells Christian that Ligniere is in trouble. Ligniere has offended an important nobleman by writing a satirical song about him, and the nobleman has arranged for Ligniere to be ambushed by a hundred men at the Porte de Nesle on his way home. Christian runs off to rescue Ligniere. De Guiche, Valvert, and the Marquises take their seats on the stage. The crowd chants for the play to begin. Montfleury, a fat and untalented actor, comes on stage dressed as a shepherd and begins his speech. A voice from the pit is heard crying out, "Fool, have I not forbidden you the stage. Though the speaker is hidden, Le Bret and Cuigy are certain that it is Cyrano. Each time Montfleury tries to continue his speech, the speaker interrupts and threatens him. Montfleury's voice grows fainter and fainter. Finally, Cyrano stands up on his chair, creating a stir among the audience.

of Act 1, scenes 1-3. These scenes introduce the social and cultural background, the characters, and the first seeds of the plot. The theater is presented as a microcosm of Parisian society, bringing together people from all social backgrounds and walks of life. Poetry and literature are unifying influences: the marquises idolize the literary ladies, while the pastry-cook Ragueneau sells his wares in exchange for poems. In fact, poetry is so important in this culture that it is a matter of life and death: Ligniere's life is threatened because he wrote a satirical song about a nobleman. One of Rostand's themes in Cyrano de Bergerac is what he saw as the decline of French society and culture. This is already evident in the Bourgeois's disapproving comments on the low-life activities taking place among the theater audience, compared with the great tragedies that used to be performed there, such as those of the seventeenth-century French playwrights Jean Rotrou and Pierre Corneille. The nobility have become decadent and foolish, as is shown in the petty snobberies of the Marquises, who disdain Christian because he is not dressed in the latest fashion, and fawn upon de Guiche because he is successful. Against such foolish and inconsequential characters is set the play's hero, Cyrano. Though Cyrano is spoken of at length, he is not seen until the end of scene 3. He is described by his friends as an excellent poet, swordsman, philosopher, and musician: in short, the epitome of the seventeenth-century cavalier ideal of the courtier-soldier-poet. Cyrano's reputation precedes him. A section of the audience waits with bated breath to see whether he will appear at the play, as Montfleury is playing the lead and Cyrano has forbidden him the stage. If Montfleury appears, the audience knows there will be trouble. He is spoken of as an extraordinary, larger-than-life character, and thus suspense builds around him. In fact, there are three layers of suspense in this part of the play: the play audience's expectation of the actor Montfleury appearing in the play, La Clorise; Cyrano's friends' expectation of Cyrano, whose arrival promises far more momentous entertainment than Montfleury; and finally, the expectation of the reader of the play Cyrano de Bergerac as they await the appearance of this extraordinary character Cyrano. As well as his exceptional abilities, Cyrano's great flaw, his enormous nose, is mentioned. Ragueneau's comment that Cyrano will fight anyone who remarks on it both conveys Cyrano's sensitivity over this trait and foreshadows the conflicts that are sure to spring up around the subject. The fact that Cyrano's friends only mention his nose after they have listed his other great qualities puts his flaw into perspective. To them, it seems relatively unimportant, or just another way in which Cyrano is extraordinary, but Cyrano does not share their view. His insecurity over his nose rules his life. Christian is a foil to Cyrano and his opposite. While Cyrano is extraordinary on the inside but physically unattractive on the outside, Christian is a very ordinary young man blessed with unusual good looks. Christian's love for Roxane sets up the main conflict that drives the plot. The glance they exchange in the theater establishes the immediate physical attraction between them, but Christian's concern over Ligniere's description of her as an intellectual shows his weak point. Unlike the brilliant Cyrano, Christian is dull of mind. While Cyrano represents inward beauty, Christian represents outward beauty

novelguide

all_chapterized_books/1254-chapters/5.txt

finished_summaries/novelguide/Cyrano de Bergerac/section_2_part_1.txt

Cyrano de Bergerac.act 1.scene 4

act 1, scene 4

{"name": "act 1, scene 4", "url": "https://web.archive.org/web/20210212220419/https://www.novelguide.com/cyrano-de-bergerac/summaries/act1-scenes4-7", "summary": "Cyrano threatens Montfleury with his sword. Various people in the audience defend Montfleury. Cyrano challenges them all to a duel, but no one dares come forward. He gives Montfleury until the count of three to leave the stage, and Montfleury vanishes. A young man asks Cyrano why he hates Montfleury. Cyrano answers that Montfleury is a dreadful actor, and that the play is worthless. The theater manager, Bellerose, protests that he will have to give the entire audience their money back. Cyrano throws a bag of money onto the stage. Bellerose, stunned by the large amount of money in the bag, tells Cyrano that on these terms, he can stop the performance any day he likes. Bellerose asks the audience to leave, but they are spellbound by the scene that is unfolding between Cyrano and a character called \"Busybody. The Busybody warns Cyrano that Montfleury enjoys the patronage of the powerful Duc de Candale. Cyrano dismisses his warning on the grounds that he too has a powerful proctectress, his sword. Cyrano asks the Busybody why he is staring at his nose. The Busybody denies that he has even noticed it, claiming that it is tiny. Cyrano feels insulted, and launches into an eloquent speech in praise of his \"great proboscis. De Guiche and Valvert remark that Cyrano is tiresome. Valvert approaches Cyrano and remarks that his nose is \"very big. Cyrano is scornful of his lack of inventiveness, and offers a long list of extravagant insults that Valvert could have delivered against his nose. Cyrano continues to mock Valvert. He says he will fight him with his sword, all the while reciting a poem that he will compose as he fights. On the final line, Cyrano will thrust at Valvert. The audience crowds around Cyrano. As Cyrano begins to compose his poem aloud, he and Valvert start to fence. When Cyrano reaches the final line, he thrusts. Valvert falls and his friends carry him away. An ecstatic crowd cheers Cyrano. Eventually, the crowd disperses. Le Bret asks Cyrano why he is not going to dine, and Cyrano says that he has no money; he threw all he had to Bellerose in compensation for the abandoned performance. An orange-girl cannot bear to see Cyrano go hungry, and tries to give him some food. But the proud Cyrano will only accept a grape, half a macaroon, and a glass of water", "analysis": ""}

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.)

act 1, scene 4

https://web.archive.org/web/20210212220419/https://www.novelguide.com/cyrano-de-bergerac/summaries/act1-scenes4-7

Cyrano threatens Montfleury with his sword. Various people in the audience defend Montfleury. Cyrano challenges them all to a duel, but no one dares come forward. He gives Montfleury until the count of three to leave the stage, and Montfleury vanishes. A young man asks Cyrano why he hates Montfleury. Cyrano answers that Montfleury is a dreadful actor, and that the play is worthless. The theater manager, Bellerose, protests that he will have to give the entire audience their money back. Cyrano throws a bag of money onto the stage. Bellerose, stunned by the large amount of money in the bag, tells Cyrano that on these terms, he can stop the performance any day he likes. Bellerose asks the audience to leave, but they are spellbound by the scene that is unfolding between Cyrano and a character called "Busybody. The Busybody warns Cyrano that Montfleury enjoys the patronage of the powerful Duc de Candale. Cyrano dismisses his warning on the grounds that he too has a powerful proctectress, his sword. Cyrano asks the Busybody why he is staring at his nose. The Busybody denies that he has even noticed it, claiming that it is tiny. Cyrano feels insulted, and launches into an eloquent speech in praise of his "great proboscis. De Guiche and Valvert remark that Cyrano is tiresome. Valvert approaches Cyrano and remarks that his nose is "very big. Cyrano is scornful of his lack of inventiveness, and offers a long list of extravagant insults that Valvert could have delivered against his nose. Cyrano continues to mock Valvert. He says he will fight him with his sword, all the while reciting a poem that he will compose as he fights. On the final line, Cyrano will thrust at Valvert. The audience crowds around Cyrano. As Cyrano begins to compose his poem aloud, he and Valvert start to fence. When Cyrano reaches the final line, he thrusts. Valvert falls and his friends carry him away. An ecstatic crowd cheers Cyrano. Eventually, the crowd disperses. Le Bret asks Cyrano why he is not going to dine, and Cyrano says that he has no money; he threw all he had to Bellerose in compensation for the abandoned performance. An orange-girl cannot bear to see Cyrano go hungry, and tries to give him some food. But the proud Cyrano will only accept a grape, half a macaroon, and a glass of water

novelguide

all_chapterized_books/1254-chapters/6.txt

finished_summaries/novelguide/Cyrano de Bergerac/section_2_part_2.txt

Cyrano de Bergerac.act 1.scene 5

act 1, scene 5

{"name": "Act 1, scene 5", "url": "https://web.archive.org/web/20210212220419/https://www.novelguide.com/cyrano-de-bergerac/summaries/act1-scenes4-7", "summary": "Le Bret warns Cyrano that he is making enemies. He asks Cyrano to tell him the real reason he hates Montfleury. Cyrano says that he once caught Montfleury looking flirtatiously at the woman Cyrano loves. Cyrano is certain that no one could love a man with a nose like his. From Cyrano's description of the woman, Le Bret deduces that she is Roxane. Le Bret advises Cyrano to tell Roxane of his love, pointing out that even the orange-girl could not take her eyes off him. But Cyrano is convinced that he is so ugly that Roxane would only laugh at him. They are interrupted by the arrival of Roxanne's Duenna", "analysis": ""}

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!

Act 1, scene 5

https://web.archive.org/web/20210212220419/https://www.novelguide.com/cyrano-de-bergerac/summaries/act1-scenes4-7

Le Bret warns Cyrano that he is making enemies. He asks Cyrano to tell him the real reason he hates Montfleury. Cyrano says that he once caught Montfleury looking flirtatiously at the woman Cyrano loves. Cyrano is certain that no one could love a man with a nose like his. From Cyrano's description of the woman, Le Bret deduces that she is Roxane. Le Bret advises Cyrano to tell Roxane of his love, pointing out that even the orange-girl could not take her eyes off him. But Cyrano is convinced that he is so ugly that Roxane would only laugh at him. They are interrupted by the arrival of Roxanne's Duenna

novelguide

all_chapterized_books/1254-chapters/7.txt

finished_summaries/novelguide/Cyrano de Bergerac/section_2_part_3.txt

Cyrano de Bergerac.act 1.scene 6

act 1, scene 6

{"name": "Act 1, scene 6", "url": "https://web.archive.org/web/20210212220419/https://www.novelguide.com/cyrano-de-bergerac/summaries/act1-scenes4-7", "summary": "Roxane's Duenna brings a message from Roxane asking Cyrano to meet her privately. They arrange a meeting at Ragueneau's at seven o'clock the next morning", "analysis": ""}

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.)

Act 1, scene 6

https://web.archive.org/web/20210212220419/https://www.novelguide.com/cyrano-de-bergerac/summaries/act1-scenes4-7

Roxane's Duenna brings a message from Roxane asking Cyrano to meet her privately. They arrange a meeting at Ragueneau's at seven o'clock the next morning

novelguide

all_chapterized_books/1254-chapters/8.txt

finished_summaries/novelguide/Cyrano de Bergerac/section_2_part_4.txt

Cyrano de Bergerac.act 1.scene 7

act 1, scene 7

{"name": "Act 1, scene 7", "url": "https://web.archive.org/web/20210212220419/https://www.novelguide.com/cyrano-de-bergerac/summaries/act1-scenes4-7", "summary": "Cyrano is ecstatically happy that Roxane wants to meet him. Ligniere arrives. He has heard about the hundred men waiting to ambush him and asks Cyrano whether, since he cannot go home, he can stay with him. Cyrano tells Ligniere that he can sleep at his own home tonight; he will fight the hundred men and see Ligniere safely home. Le Bret asks Cyrano why he is risking his life for a drunk like Ligniere. Cyrano replies that he once saw Le Bret drink a font full of holy water, a drink he hates, after a girl he loved took some of the same holy water. Cyrano leaves for the Porte de Nesle to fight Ligniere's enemies, followed by an adoring procession of actors, women, and musicians. Asked by one of the actresses why anyone would send a hundred men against one poet, Cyrano replies that they know Ligniere is a friend of his.", "analysis": ". Cyrano disrupts a performance of a play because the actor is untalented and the play undistinguished, paying his entire monthly allowance to the theater manager in compensation for the lost revenue and facing starvation as a result. This grand gesture encapsulates Cyrano's heroic stature and is Rostand's way of asserting that art and literature were held in great respect during the seventeenth century. Cyrano has, in effect, sacrificed his survival to the cause of art. Cyrano's virtuoso performance in composing a poem as he fights Valvert confirms his extraordinary combination of talents, those of the soldier and the poet. His self-mocking speech about his nose simultaneously mocks Valvert's lack of invention and wit, as Cyrano effortlessly compiles an extravagant roster of insults that Valvert could have come up with, but did not. Valvert appears two-dimensional and colorless in comparison to Cyrano. The fight between the two men is only partly physical: Cyrano's also shows his ascendancy over Valvert through his superior ability to compose poetry. Cyrano's poem becomes a second weapon and a measure of his heroism and prowess. The incident is another way in which Rostand emphasizes the importance of literature in the age in which the play is set. There is dramatic irony in the fight between Cyrano and Valvert, as neither man is aware that the other is a rival for the love of Roxane; they believe that the fight is about Cyrano's behavior in the theater. Cyrano's effortless defeat of Valvert in both physical and intellectual terms leave no doubt as to who is most deserving of Roxane's love. Cyrano's admission that it is Roxane that he loves complicates the plot, as it is already established that Christian is in love with her. Only one of them can win Roxane. The question is posed as to whether it will be the outwardly beautiful Christian or the inwardly beautiful Cyrano. The answer is not straightforward, as both men are compromised: Christian by his lack of wit and intelligence, and Cyrano by his unattractive appearance. Certain elements in these scenes suggest that Cyrano's problem is primarily one of self-image, rather than how others see him. Le Bret points out that the orange-girl found Cyrano fascinating, and that Roxane turned pale when she saw him in danger at the theater. Le Bret believes that Cyrano has a chance of winning Roxane, and encourages him to speak out about his feelings for her. The Duenna's request from Roxane for a private meeting with Cyrano gives a glimmer of hope that Le Bret's confidence in Cyrano's ability to attract Roxane is justified, though it is left until Act 2 to resolve this point"}

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.

Act 1, scene 7

https://web.archive.org/web/20210212220419/https://www.novelguide.com/cyrano-de-bergerac/summaries/act1-scenes4-7

Cyrano is ecstatically happy that Roxane wants to meet him. Ligniere arrives. He has heard about the hundred men waiting to ambush him and asks Cyrano whether, since he cannot go home, he can stay with him. Cyrano tells Ligniere that he can sleep at his own home tonight; he will fight the hundred men and see Ligniere safely home. Le Bret asks Cyrano why he is risking his life for a drunk like Ligniere. Cyrano replies that he once saw Le Bret drink a font full of holy water, a drink he hates, after a girl he loved took some of the same holy water. Cyrano leaves for the Porte de Nesle to fight Ligniere's enemies, followed by an adoring procession of actors, women, and musicians. Asked by one of the actresses why anyone would send a hundred men against one poet, Cyrano replies that they know Ligniere is a friend of his.

. Cyrano disrupts a performance of a play because the actor is untalented and the play undistinguished, paying his entire monthly allowance to the theater manager in compensation for the lost revenue and facing starvation as a result. This grand gesture encapsulates Cyrano's heroic stature and is Rostand's way of asserting that art and literature were held in great respect during the seventeenth century. Cyrano has, in effect, sacrificed his survival to the cause of art. Cyrano's virtuoso performance in composing a poem as he fights Valvert confirms his extraordinary combination of talents, those of the soldier and the poet. His self-mocking speech about his nose simultaneously mocks Valvert's lack of invention and wit, as Cyrano effortlessly compiles an extravagant roster of insults that Valvert could have come up with, but did not. Valvert appears two-dimensional and colorless in comparison to Cyrano. The fight between the two men is only partly physical: Cyrano's also shows his ascendancy over Valvert through his superior ability to compose poetry. Cyrano's poem becomes a second weapon and a measure of his heroism and prowess. The incident is another way in which Rostand emphasizes the importance of literature in the age in which the play is set. There is dramatic irony in the fight between Cyrano and Valvert, as neither man is aware that the other is a rival for the love of Roxane; they believe that the fight is about Cyrano's behavior in the theater. Cyrano's effortless defeat of Valvert in both physical and intellectual terms leave no doubt as to who is most deserving of Roxane's love. Cyrano's admission that it is Roxane that he loves complicates the plot, as it is already established that Christian is in love with her. Only one of them can win Roxane. The question is posed as to whether it will be the outwardly beautiful Christian or the inwardly beautiful Cyrano. The answer is not straightforward, as both men are compromised: Christian by his lack of wit and intelligence, and Cyrano by his unattractive appearance. Certain elements in these scenes suggest that Cyrano's problem is primarily one of self-image, rather than how others see him. Le Bret points out that the orange-girl found Cyrano fascinating, and that Roxane turned pale when she saw him in danger at the theater. Le Bret believes that Cyrano has a chance of winning Roxane, and encourages him to speak out about his feelings for her. The Duenna's request from Roxane for a private meeting with Cyrano gives a glimmer of hope that Le Bret's confidence in Cyrano's ability to attract Roxane is justified, though it is left until Act 2 to resolve this point

novelguide

all_chapterized_books/1254-chapters/10.txt

finished_summaries/novelguide/Cyrano de Bergerac/section_3_part_1.txt

Cyrano de Bergerac.act 2.scene 1

act 2, scene 1

{"name": "act 2, scene 1", "url": "https://web.archive.org/web/20210212220419/https://www.novelguide.com/cyrano-de-bergerac/summaries/act2-scenes1-10", "summary": "At Ragueneau's shop, Ragueneau is sitting at a table writing poetry while his assistants are cooking. One assistant has made a pastry lyre , which delights Ragueneau. Ragueneau's wife Lise comes in, furious that he has been giving away his wares to poets in return for poems. She brings some paper bags that she has made out of the paper on which the poems are written. Ragueneau is upset that she should abuse poetry like this", "analysis": ""}

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?

act 2, scene 1

https://web.archive.org/web/20210212220419/https://www.novelguide.com/cyrano-de-bergerac/summaries/act2-scenes1-10

At Ragueneau's shop, Ragueneau is sitting at a table writing poetry while his assistants are cooking. One assistant has made a pastry lyre , which delights Ragueneau. Ragueneau's wife Lise comes in, furious that he has been giving away his wares to poets in return for poems. She brings some paper bags that she has made out of the paper on which the poems are written. Ragueneau is upset that she should abuse poetry like this

novelguide

all_chapterized_books/1254-chapters/11.txt

finished_summaries/novelguide/Cyrano de Bergerac/section_3_part_2.txt

Cyrano de Bergerac.act 2.scene 2

act 2, scene 2

{"name": "Act 2, scene 2", "url": "https://web.archive.org/web/20210212220419/https://www.novelguide.com/cyrano-de-bergerac/summaries/act2-scenes1-10", "summary": "Some children come into the shop to buy three pies. Ragueneau cannot bear to lose the poems by using them as wrapping and bribes the children with three free pies to accept them unwrapped", "analysis": ""}

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.)

Act 2, scene 2

https://web.archive.org/web/20210212220419/https://www.novelguide.com/cyrano-de-bergerac/summaries/act2-scenes1-10

Some children come into the shop to buy three pies. Ragueneau cannot bear to lose the poems by using them as wrapping and bribes the children with three free pies to accept them unwrapped

novelguide

all_chapterized_books/1254-chapters/12.txt

finished_summaries/novelguide/Cyrano de Bergerac/section_3_part_3.txt

Cyrano de Bergerac.act 2.scene 3

act 2, scene 3

{"name": "Act 2, scene 3", "url": "https://web.archive.org/web/20210212220419/https://www.novelguide.com/cyrano-de-bergerac/summaries/act2-scenes1-10", "summary": "Cyrano arrives at Ragueneau's. Ragueneau congratulates Cyrano on his \"duel in verse\" at the theater. Cyrano asks Ragueneau to leave him alone with Roxane when she arrives, but Ragueneau says that he cannot, as his poet friends are arriving shortly for their breakfast. A Musketeer comes in, and Ragueneau tells Cyrano that he is a friend of his wife's. Cyrano begins to write a letter declaring his love for Roxane. He plans to hand her the note rather than face speaking to her directly", "analysis": ""}

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.)

Act 2, scene 3

https://web.archive.org/web/20210212220419/https://www.novelguide.com/cyrano-de-bergerac/summaries/act2-scenes1-10

Cyrano arrives at Ragueneau's. Ragueneau congratulates Cyrano on his "duel in verse" at the theater. Cyrano asks Ragueneau to leave him alone with Roxane when she arrives, but Ragueneau says that he cannot, as his poet friends are arriving shortly for their breakfast. A Musketeer comes in, and Ragueneau tells Cyrano that he is a friend of his wife's. Cyrano begins to write a letter declaring his love for Roxane. He plans to hand her the note rather than face speaking to her directly

novelguide

all_chapterized_books/1254-chapters/13.txt

finished_summaries/novelguide/Cyrano de Bergerac/section_3_part_4.txt

Cyrano de Bergerac.act 2.scene 4

act 2, scene 4

{"name": "Act 2, scene 4", "url": "https://web.archive.org/web/20210212220419/https://www.novelguide.com/cyrano-de-bergerac/summaries/act2-scenes1-10", "summary": "At Ragueneau's shop, Cyrano is writing his letter to Roxane. The letter is eloquent and full of passion. The poets arrive for their breakfast. They are talking admiringly of an unknown swordsman who successfully defeated a huge gang of men at the Porte de Nesle. Eight of the men are dead. Cyrano denies all knowledge of the incident. As the poets devour Ragueneau's wares, Ragueneau recites a poem he has written, a rhyming recipe for almond tartlets. Cyrano notices that Lise is in deep conversation with the Musketeer. Cyrano reminds her that Ragueneau is his friend and that he will not tolerate her having an affair with the Musketeer. Cyrano signals to Ragueneau that it is time to leave him on his own, and Ragueneau ushers the poets into another room", "analysis": ""}

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.)

Act 2, scene 4

https://web.archive.org/web/20210212220419/https://www.novelguide.com/cyrano-de-bergerac/summaries/act2-scenes1-10

At Ragueneau's shop, Cyrano is writing his letter to Roxane. The letter is eloquent and full of passion. The poets arrive for their breakfast. They are talking admiringly of an unknown swordsman who successfully defeated a huge gang of men at the Porte de Nesle. Eight of the men are dead. Cyrano denies all knowledge of the incident. As the poets devour Ragueneau's wares, Ragueneau recites a poem he has written, a rhyming recipe for almond tartlets. Cyrano notices that Lise is in deep conversation with the Musketeer. Cyrano reminds her that Ragueneau is his friend and that he will not tolerate her having an affair with the Musketeer. Cyrano signals to Ragueneau that it is time to leave him on his own, and Ragueneau ushers the poets into another room

novelguide

all_chapterized_books/1254-chapters/14.txt

finished_summaries/novelguide/Cyrano de Bergerac/section_3_part_5.txt

Cyrano de Bergerac.act 2.scene 5

act 2, scene 5

{"name": "Act 2, scene 5", "url": "https://web.archive.org/web/20210212220419/https://www.novelguide.com/cyrano-de-bergerac/summaries/act2-scenes1-10", "summary": "Roxane and her Duenna arrive, wearing masks. Cyrano bribes the Duenna with cream buns to wait outside while he talks to Roxane on her own", "analysis": ""}

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.)

Act 2, scene 5

https://web.archive.org/web/20210212220419/https://www.novelguide.com/cyrano-de-bergerac/summaries/act2-scenes1-10

Roxane and her Duenna arrive, wearing masks. Cyrano bribes the Duenna with cream buns to wait outside while he talks to Roxane on her own

novelguide

all_chapterized_books/1254-chapters/15.txt

finished_summaries/novelguide/Cyrano de Bergerac/section_3_part_6.txt

Cyrano de Bergerac.act 2.scene 6

act 2, scene 6

{"name": "Act 2, scene 6", "url": "https://web.archive.org/web/20210212220419/https://www.novelguide.com/cyrano-de-bergerac/summaries/act2-scenes1-10", "summary": "Cyrano begins to address Roxane as a lover grateful to be acknowledged, but Roxane interrupts him to explain that the first purpose of her visit is to thank him for puncturing the pride of Valvert by fighting him in the theater. She reminisces with Cyrano about the happy times they spent together as children. She tends to his hand, which he has wounded in the fight at the Porte de Nesle. Roxane confesses that she is in love with someone who does not know that she loves him. She thinks that he loves her in return, but he is shy and dare not speak. Cyrano feels encouraged, as this could mean him. But as soon as Roxane says that the man is handsome, Cyrano feels discouraged, feeling that she cannot be thinking of him. When she names Christian, Cyrano warns her that he may not be intelligent enough for her. But she believes that anyone who is so beautiful on the outside must be eloquent also. She has invited Cyrano to meet her in order to ask him to protect Christian, as he is the only cadet in Cyrano's company who does not come from the region of Gascony, and she fears he will be picked on. Cyrano promises to look after Christian. Roxane expresses her friendly love for Cyrano and leaves. Cyrano looks despondent", "analysis": ""}

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.)

Act 2, scene 6

https://web.archive.org/web/20210212220419/https://www.novelguide.com/cyrano-de-bergerac/summaries/act2-scenes1-10

Cyrano begins to address Roxane as a lover grateful to be acknowledged, but Roxane interrupts him to explain that the first purpose of her visit is to thank him for puncturing the pride of Valvert by fighting him in the theater. She reminisces with Cyrano about the happy times they spent together as children. She tends to his hand, which he has wounded in the fight at the Porte de Nesle. Roxane confesses that she is in love with someone who does not know that she loves him. She thinks that he loves her in return, but he is shy and dare not speak. Cyrano feels encouraged, as this could mean him. But as soon as Roxane says that the man is handsome, Cyrano feels discouraged, feeling that she cannot be thinking of him. When she names Christian, Cyrano warns her that he may not be intelligent enough for her. But she believes that anyone who is so beautiful on the outside must be eloquent also. She has invited Cyrano to meet her in order to ask him to protect Christian, as he is the only cadet in Cyrano's company who does not come from the region of Gascony, and she fears he will be picked on. Cyrano promises to look after Christian. Roxane expresses her friendly love for Cyrano and leaves. Cyrano looks despondent

novelguide

all_chapterized_books/1254-chapters/16.txt

finished_summaries/novelguide/Cyrano de Bergerac/section_3_part_7.txt

Cyrano de Bergerac.act 2.scene 7

act 2, scene 7

{"name": "Act 2, scene 7", "url": "https://web.archive.org/web/20210212220419/https://www.novelguide.com/cyrano-de-bergerac/summaries/act2-scenes1-10", "summary": "Ragueneau, the poets, and the captain of the Guards, Carbon de Castel-Jaloux, enter with a crowd of people. Carbon tells Cyrano that everyone knows it was Cyrano who fought the hundred men, and they have come to congratulate him. Cyrano draws back, unwilling to be the center of attention. De Guiche arrives with a message of admiration from the Marechal de Gassion, an important man. Cyrano sings to him the song of the Guardsof Gascony. De Guiche asks Cyrano to accept his patronage, but Cyrano refuses, as he prefers to remain independent. De Guiche offers to introduce Cyrano to his uncle, Cardinal Richelieu, the most powerful man in France. Le Bret urges Cyrano to accept in order to further his literary career. But Cyrano is concerned that Richelieu will try to change his work, and again refuses. A cadet enters with some hats with broken feathers, left by at the Porte de Nesle by the men who ran away from Cyrano. Cyrano presents them to de Guiche, announcing that the hats belong to him, or his friends. De Guiche, furious, storms out. The crowd disperses", "analysis": ""}

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.)

Act 2, scene 7

https://web.archive.org/web/20210212220419/https://www.novelguide.com/cyrano-de-bergerac/summaries/act2-scenes1-10

Ragueneau, the poets, and the captain of the Guards, Carbon de Castel-Jaloux, enter with a crowd of people. Carbon tells Cyrano that everyone knows it was Cyrano who fought the hundred men, and they have come to congratulate him. Cyrano draws back, unwilling to be the center of attention. De Guiche arrives with a message of admiration from the Marechal de Gassion, an important man. Cyrano sings to him the song of the Guardsof Gascony. De Guiche asks Cyrano to accept his patronage, but Cyrano refuses, as he prefers to remain independent. De Guiche offers to introduce Cyrano to his uncle, Cardinal Richelieu, the most powerful man in France. Le Bret urges Cyrano to accept in order to further his literary career. But Cyrano is concerned that Richelieu will try to change his work, and again refuses. A cadet enters with some hats with broken feathers, left by at the Porte de Nesle by the men who ran away from Cyrano. Cyrano presents them to de Guiche, announcing that the hats belong to him, or his friends. De Guiche, furious, storms out. The crowd disperses

novelguide

all_chapterized_books/1254-chapters/17.txt

finished_summaries/novelguide/Cyrano de Bergerac/section_3_part_8.txt

Cyrano de Bergerac.act 2.scene 8

act 2, scene 8

{"name": "Act 2, scene 8", "url": "https://web.archive.org/web/20210212220419/https://www.novelguide.com/cyrano-de-bergerac/summaries/act2-scenes1-10", "summary": "Le Bret scolds Cyrano for his pride in refusing de Guiche's patronage. Cyrano replies that he wants to remain free and to be the sole owner of his work. He does not intend to live as a parasite. Le Bret counters that Cyrano makes enemies wherever he goes. Cyrano replies that he has no interest in making friends with unworthy men. Le Bret guesses that Cyrano has learned that Roxane does not love him", "analysis": ""}

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.)

Act 2, scene 8

https://web.archive.org/web/20210212220419/https://www.novelguide.com/cyrano-de-bergerac/summaries/act2-scenes1-10

Le Bret scolds Cyrano for his pride in refusing de Guiche's patronage. Cyrano replies that he wants to remain free and to be the sole owner of his work. He does not intend to live as a parasite. Le Bret counters that Cyrano makes enemies wherever he goes. Cyrano replies that he has no interest in making friends with unworthy men. Le Bret guesses that Cyrano has learned that Roxane does not love him

novelguide

all_chapterized_books/1254-chapters/18.txt

finished_summaries/novelguide/Cyrano de Bergerac/section_3_part_9.txt

Cyrano de Bergerac.act 2.scene 9

act 2, scene 9

{"name": "Act 2, scene 9", "url": "https://web.archive.org/web/20210212220419/https://www.novelguide.com/cyrano-de-bergerac/summaries/act2-scenes1-10", "summary": "Christian enters with some of the cadets. None of them sit with him. They taunt him for being a northerner, and warn him not to mention Cyrano's nose, as Cyrano may kill him. Christian asks Carbon what a northerner should do when southerners boast too much. Carbon answers that he should show them that a northerner can be as brave as a southerner. The Guards beg Cyrano to tell them the story of what happened at the Porte de Nesle. Christian, in an attempt to demonstrate his courage to the cadets, constantly interrupts Cyrano's narrative to make jokes about his nose. The Guardsare terrified of how Cyrano might respond. Cyrano moves threateningly towards Christian, but on hearing who he is, he stops in his tracks and controls his anger. Christian continues to taunt Cyrano about his nose. Finally, Cyrano can contain himself no longer and orders the other Guards out of the room. They rush out, expecting to return to see Christian's corpse chopped into pieces", "analysis": ""}

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.)

Act 2, scene 9

https://web.archive.org/web/20210212220419/https://www.novelguide.com/cyrano-de-bergerac/summaries/act2-scenes1-10

Christian enters with some of the cadets. None of them sit with him. They taunt him for being a northerner, and warn him not to mention Cyrano's nose, as Cyrano may kill him. Christian asks Carbon what a northerner should do when southerners boast too much. Carbon answers that he should show them that a northerner can be as brave as a southerner. The Guards beg Cyrano to tell them the story of what happened at the Porte de Nesle. Christian, in an attempt to demonstrate his courage to the cadets, constantly interrupts Cyrano's narrative to make jokes about his nose. The Guardsare terrified of how Cyrano might respond. Cyrano moves threateningly towards Christian, but on hearing who he is, he stops in his tracks and controls his anger. Christian continues to taunt Cyrano about his nose. Finally, Cyrano can contain himself no longer and orders the other Guards out of the room. They rush out, expecting to return to see Christian's corpse chopped into pieces

novelguide

all_chapterized_books/1254-chapters/19.txt

finished_summaries/novelguide/Cyrano de Bergerac/section_3_part_10.txt

Cyrano de Bergerac.act 2.scene 10

act 2, scene 10

{"name": "Act 2, scene 10", "url": "https://web.archive.org/web/20210212220419/https://www.novelguide.com/cyrano-de-bergerac/summaries/act2-scenes1-10", "summary": "Cyrano commends Christian's bravery and, to Christian's astonishment, embraces him. Cyrano tells Christian that he is Roxane's cousin and that she loves him. Christian apologizes to Cyrano for insulting him. Christian fears that Roxane will lose interest in him as soon as he speaks to her, as he is so stupid. Cyrano proposes that he join his eloquence to Christian's good looks to create the perfect lover for Roxane. He will write some eloquent speeches for Christian to deliver to Roxane as his own. Cyrano claims that he only wants to do this to practise his literary skills. From his pocket, he produces the letter he wrote earlier to Roxane and hands it to Christian to give to her. Christian embraces Cyrano in gratitude. The other Guards, Lise, and the Musketeer enter and are astonished to see Cyrano embracing Christian. The Musketeer believes that Cyrano must have undergone a transformation that means it is safe to talk about his nose. He impudently stares at Cyrano's nose, asking what the smell could be. Cyrano cries, \"It's pigshit. and floors the Musketeer with a blow.", "analysis": "of Act 2, scenes 1-10. Act 2 draws a stark contrast between Cyrano's fearlessness in matters of courage and honor in battle, and his terror when faced with his love for Roxane. Christian, another brave man whose courage fails him in love, is Cyrano's mirror when it comes to feeling inadequate as a lover. But Christian is Cyrano's opposite when it comes to the reasons for his feelings of inadequacy. Christian is self-assured about his looks but is certain that he is so stupid that Roxane will lose interest in him the moment he opens his mouth to speak. Cyrano, on the other hand, feels physically unattractive but is confident in his wit and intelligence. Cyrano's suggestion that they combine his own wit and eloquence to Christian's good looks to make the perfect lover for Roxane is significant on many levels. First, it comments ironically on a conviction held by many a lover in every age: that they are not good enough to be loved by the object of their desires as they really are. Cyrano believes that if only he had Christian's looks, he would succeed with Roxane, and Christian believes that if only he had Cyrano's intelligence, he would succeed with Roxane. Second, the two men's decision to combine forces also carries the implicit suggestion that no one is perfect, so people should celebrate whatever good qualities they possess and not dwell on their shortcomings. In the character of Cyrano, the play focuses on a source of inadequacy that is particularly relevant to the modern age: the obsession with physical perfection. Third, Cyrano's suggestion represents a fall from grace for a man who in every other respect has shown honor, integrity, and a devotion to truth. However honorable and selfless Cyrano's final aim might be , the means by which he will achieve his aim is deception of Roxane. Roxane shows herself to be a person of intelligence, compassion, and integrity, and the reader may well feel indignant that she should be wooed by a chimera, an illusion that does not really exist. Fourth, Cyrano's suggestion sets in motion the major conflict that drives the action of the play. The notion of combining forces with Christian will enable him to have the vicarious joy of declaring his love for Roxane, but the fact that Cyrano deceives her into believing that his words are Christian's means that he can never win her for himself. The power of words, as embodied in literature, continues to be an important theme in Act 2. Rostand shows how words can both divide people and bring them closer together in love. Their intention that Christian will recite Cyrano's lines just as an actor recites lines in a play symbolically turns the wooing of Roxane into a piece of theater in which Cyrano is the playwright, Christian the unintelligent but attractive leading man, and Roxane the audience. This mirrors the opening scenes of the play, in which Cyrano directed events, Montfleury was the untalented actor, and Roxane was, once again, a spectator. There is bitter dramatic irony in the scene between Roxane and Cyrano. Cyrano, emboldened by Le Bret's encouragement, is ready to declare his love, but Roxane has invited him to the meeting in order to ask him to protect Christian. Ordinarily, Cyrano and Christian would be rivals or even enemies due to their love for the same woman. But Roxane's request to Cyrano that he protect Christian means that he must become Christian's friend and supporter. Cyrano's embrace of this unforeseen role is his greatest act of heroism so far. He is sacrificing his own self-interest for the sake of others' happiness"}

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.)

Act 2, scene 10

https://web.archive.org/web/20210212220419/https://www.novelguide.com/cyrano-de-bergerac/summaries/act2-scenes1-10

Cyrano commends Christian's bravery and, to Christian's astonishment, embraces him. Cyrano tells Christian that he is Roxane's cousin and that she loves him. Christian apologizes to Cyrano for insulting him. Christian fears that Roxane will lose interest in him as soon as he speaks to her, as he is so stupid. Cyrano proposes that he join his eloquence to Christian's good looks to create the perfect lover for Roxane. He will write some eloquent speeches for Christian to deliver to Roxane as his own. Cyrano claims that he only wants to do this to practise his literary skills. From his pocket, he produces the letter he wrote earlier to Roxane and hands it to Christian to give to her. Christian embraces Cyrano in gratitude. The other Guards, Lise, and the Musketeer enter and are astonished to see Cyrano embracing Christian. The Musketeer believes that Cyrano must have undergone a transformation that means it is safe to talk about his nose. He impudently stares at Cyrano's nose, asking what the smell could be. Cyrano cries, "It's pigshit. and floors the Musketeer with a blow.

of Act 2, scenes 1-10. Act 2 draws a stark contrast between Cyrano's fearlessness in matters of courage and honor in battle, and his terror when faced with his love for Roxane. Christian, another brave man whose courage fails him in love, is Cyrano's mirror when it comes to feeling inadequate as a lover. But Christian is Cyrano's opposite when it comes to the reasons for his feelings of inadequacy. Christian is self-assured about his looks but is certain that he is so stupid that Roxane will lose interest in him the moment he opens his mouth to speak. Cyrano, on the other hand, feels physically unattractive but is confident in his wit and intelligence. Cyrano's suggestion that they combine his own wit and eloquence to Christian's good looks to make the perfect lover for Roxane is significant on many levels. First, it comments ironically on a conviction held by many a lover in every age: that they are not good enough to be loved by the object of their desires as they really are. Cyrano believes that if only he had Christian's looks, he would succeed with Roxane, and Christian believes that if only he had Cyrano's intelligence, he would succeed with Roxane. Second, the two men's decision to combine forces also carries the implicit suggestion that no one is perfect, so people should celebrate whatever good qualities they possess and not dwell on their shortcomings. In the character of Cyrano, the play focuses on a source of inadequacy that is particularly relevant to the modern age: the obsession with physical perfection. Third, Cyrano's suggestion represents a fall from grace for a man who in every other respect has shown honor, integrity, and a devotion to truth. However honorable and selfless Cyrano's final aim might be , the means by which he will achieve his aim is deception of Roxane. Roxane shows herself to be a person of intelligence, compassion, and integrity, and the reader may well feel indignant that she should be wooed by a chimera, an illusion that does not really exist. Fourth, Cyrano's suggestion sets in motion the major conflict that drives the action of the play. The notion of combining forces with Christian will enable him to have the vicarious joy of declaring his love for Roxane, but the fact that Cyrano deceives her into believing that his words are Christian's means that he can never win her for himself. The power of words, as embodied in literature, continues to be an important theme in Act 2. Rostand shows how words can both divide people and bring them closer together in love. Their intention that Christian will recite Cyrano's lines just as an actor recites lines in a play symbolically turns the wooing of Roxane into a piece of theater in which Cyrano is the playwright, Christian the unintelligent but attractive leading man, and Roxane the audience. This mirrors the opening scenes of the play, in which Cyrano directed events, Montfleury was the untalented actor, and Roxane was, once again, a spectator. There is bitter dramatic irony in the scene between Roxane and Cyrano. Cyrano, emboldened by Le Bret's encouragement, is ready to declare his love, but Roxane has invited him to the meeting in order to ask him to protect Christian. Ordinarily, Cyrano and Christian would be rivals or even enemies due to their love for the same woman. But Roxane's request to Cyrano that he protect Christian means that he must become Christian's friend and supporter. Cyrano's embrace of this unforeseen role is his greatest act of heroism so far. He is sacrificing his own self-interest for the sake of others' happiness

novelguide

all_chapterized_books/1254-chapters/22.txt

finished_summaries/novelguide/Cyrano de Bergerac/section_4_part_1.txt

Cyrano de Bergerac.act 3.scene 1

act 3, scene 1

{"name": "act 3, scene 1", "url": "https://web.archive.org/web/20210212220419/https://www.novelguide.com/cyrano-de-bergerac/summaries/act3-scenes1-4", "summary": "Ragueneau is sitting outside Roxane's house, telling her Duenna that his wife has just left him for the Musketeer, taking what little money they had. Ragueneau tried to hang himself, but Cyrano found him, cut him down, and sent him to Roxane to be her steward. The Duenna calls Roxane; they are going to hear a talk about love. Cyrano enters with some musicians and begins to serenade Roxane, who appears on her balcony. Cyrano explains that he won the services of the musicians in a bet about a point of grammar. He is now bored with them, however, and sends them away. Roxane comes down and discusses Christian with Cyrano. She says that she loves him, and that he is even cleverer than Cyrano in writing eloquent letters. Cyrano is disparaging about the phrases in the letters, and Roxane says he is jealous of Christian's literary talent. The Duenna warns Roxane and Cyrano that de Guiche is coming. Cyrano goes into the house", "analysis": ""}

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.)

act 3, scene 1

https://web.archive.org/web/20210212220419/https://www.novelguide.com/cyrano-de-bergerac/summaries/act3-scenes1-4

Ragueneau is sitting outside Roxane's house, telling her Duenna that his wife has just left him for the Musketeer, taking what little money they had. Ragueneau tried to hang himself, but Cyrano found him, cut him down, and sent him to Roxane to be her steward. The Duenna calls Roxane; they are going to hear a talk about love. Cyrano enters with some musicians and begins to serenade Roxane, who appears on her balcony. Cyrano explains that he won the services of the musicians in a bet about a point of grammar. He is now bored with them, however, and sends them away. Roxane comes down and discusses Christian with Cyrano. She says that she loves him, and that he is even cleverer than Cyrano in writing eloquent letters. Cyrano is disparaging about the phrases in the letters, and Roxane says he is jealous of Christian's literary talent. The Duenna warns Roxane and Cyrano that de Guiche is coming. Cyrano goes into the house

novelguide

all_chapterized_books/1254-chapters/23.txt

finished_summaries/novelguide/Cyrano de Bergerac/section_4_part_2.txt

Cyrano de Bergerac.act 3.scene 2

act 3, scene 2

{"name": "act 3, scene 2", "url": "https://web.archive.org/web/20210212220419/https://www.novelguide.com/cyrano-de-bergerac/summaries/act3-scenes1-4", "summary": "De Guiche tells Roxane that he has come to say goodbye. He is leaving tonight to go to fight in the war at the northern French town of Arras, which in 1640 was occupied by the Spanish. De Guiche is disappointed that Roxane does not appear to care that he is leaving. He reveals that he is the officer in command of the Guards, the company in which Cyrano and Christian serve. Roxane realizes that de Guiche has the authority to send Christian into battle. Her fearful response leads de Guiche to fool himself that she is concerned about him , whereas in fact, she is worried about Christian's safety. Roxane thinks quickly and suggests that the best way for de Guiche to wreak revenge upon Cyrano would be to leave him and the other Guards at home while the rest of the army goes to war. De Guiche, convinced that Roxane loves him, leaves. Roxane makes the Duenna promise not to tell Cyrano that she has deprived him of a war", "analysis": ""}

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!

act 3, scene 2

https://web.archive.org/web/20210212220419/https://www.novelguide.com/cyrano-de-bergerac/summaries/act3-scenes1-4

De Guiche tells Roxane that he has come to say goodbye. He is leaving tonight to go to fight in the war at the northern French town of Arras, which in 1640 was occupied by the Spanish. De Guiche is disappointed that Roxane does not appear to care that he is leaving. He reveals that he is the officer in command of the Guards, the company in which Cyrano and Christian serve. Roxane realizes that de Guiche has the authority to send Christian into battle. Her fearful response leads de Guiche to fool himself that she is concerned about him , whereas in fact, she is worried about Christian's safety. Roxane thinks quickly and suggests that the best way for de Guiche to wreak revenge upon Cyrano would be to leave him and the other Guards at home while the rest of the army goes to war. De Guiche, convinced that Roxane loves him, leaves. Roxane makes the Duenna promise not to tell Cyrano that she has deprived him of a war

novelguide

all_chapterized_books/1254-chapters/24.txt

finished_summaries/novelguide/Cyrano de Bergerac/section_4_part_3.txt

Cyrano de Bergerac.act 3.scene 3

act 3, scene 3

{"name": "act 3, scene 3", "url": "https://web.archive.org/web/20210212220419/https://www.novelguide.com/cyrano-de-bergerac/summaries/act3-scenes1-4", "summary": "Roxane and the Duenna prepare to go to the talk on love at the house opposite. She tells Cyrano that if Christian comes to visit her, Cyrano should ask him to wait. She reveals that she plans to ask Christian to improvise around the subject of love, but asks Cyrano not to pass this on to Christian, as she believes he would practice a speech beforehand. Roxane and the Duenna leave. Cyrano calls Christian, who has been waiting nearby", "analysis": ""}

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!

act 3, scene 3

https://web.archive.org/web/20210212220419/https://www.novelguide.com/cyrano-de-bergerac/summaries/act3-scenes1-4

Roxane and the Duenna prepare to go to the talk on love at the house opposite. She tells Cyrano that if Christian comes to visit her, Cyrano should ask him to wait. She reveals that she plans to ask Christian to improvise around the subject of love, but asks Cyrano not to pass this on to Christian, as she believes he would practice a speech beforehand. Roxane and the Duenna leave. Cyrano calls Christian, who has been waiting nearby

novelguide

all_chapterized_books/1254-chapters/25.txt

finished_summaries/novelguide/Cyrano de Bergerac/section_4_part_4.txt

Cyrano de Bergerac.act 3.scene 4

act 3, scene 4

{"name": "act 3, scene 4", "url": "https://web.archive.org/web/20210212220419/https://www.novelguide.com/cyrano-de-bergerac/summaries/act3-scenes1-4", "summary": "Cyrano tries to persuade Christian to learn some lines that he has written, but Christian refuses. He is confident that Roxane loves him now, and he wants to speak to her in his own words.", "analysis": "of scenes 1-4. Cyrano's heroism is reinforced in this section by his compassionate treatment of Ragueneau after his wife runs away with the Musketeer. Cyrano saves him from a suicide attempt and gets him a job with Roxane. Roxane is revealed as a quick-thinking and resourceful woman. She successfully convinces de Guiche not to send Christian into battle and persuades de Guiche that he is the object of her affections. She does all this without compromising her feminine honor. Two elements in this section show the fragility of the love between Christian and Roxane. First, the audience knows that Roxane's plan to get Christian to improvise on the subject of love is doomed to failure. Not gifted with verbal dexterity at the best of times, he has already stated that talking about love is utterly beyond his abilities. Second, Christian's decision to dispense with Cyrano's services and to rely upon his own words seems rash and premature, as he has shown no evidence of improvement on his last feeble attempts to converse with Roxane. However, his decision effectively throws out a challenge to himself to prove that he is worthy of her. The audience is held in suspense as it awaits the outcome"}

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.)

act 3, scene 4

https://web.archive.org/web/20210212220419/https://www.novelguide.com/cyrano-de-bergerac/summaries/act3-scenes1-4

Cyrano tries to persuade Christian to learn some lines that he has written, but Christian refuses. He is confident that Roxane loves him now, and he wants to speak to her in his own words.

of scenes 1-4. Cyrano's heroism is reinforced in this section by his compassionate treatment of Ragueneau after his wife runs away with the Musketeer. Cyrano saves him from a suicide attempt and gets him a job with Roxane. Roxane is revealed as a quick-thinking and resourceful woman. She successfully convinces de Guiche not to send Christian into battle and persuades de Guiche that he is the object of her affections. She does all this without compromising her feminine honor. Two elements in this section show the fragility of the love between Christian and Roxane. First, the audience knows that Roxane's plan to get Christian to improvise on the subject of love is doomed to failure. Not gifted with verbal dexterity at the best of times, he has already stated that talking about love is utterly beyond his abilities. Second, Christian's decision to dispense with Cyrano's services and to rely upon his own words seems rash and premature, as he has shown no evidence of improvement on his last feeble attempts to converse with Roxane. However, his decision effectively throws out a challenge to himself to prove that he is worthy of her. The audience is held in suspense as it awaits the outcome

novelguide

all_chapterized_books/1254-chapters/26.txt

finished_summaries/novelguide/Cyrano de Bergerac/section_5_part_1.txt

Cyrano de Bergerac.act 3.scene 5

act 3, scene 5

{"name": "act 3, scene 5", "url": "https://web.archive.org/web/20210212220419/https://www.novelguide.com/cyrano-de-bergerac/summaries/act3-scenes5-14", "summary": "Roxane and the Duenna return home. Roxane sits outside her house with Christian, and she asks him to talk to her about love. All he can say is \"I love you. Roxane expects him to elaborate, but he cannot, except to ask to kiss her neck. She is angry, goes into her house, and shuts the door on Christian. Cyrano appears and ironically congratulates Christian on his success", "analysis": ""}

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!

act 3, scene 5

https://web.archive.org/web/20210212220419/https://www.novelguide.com/cyrano-de-bergerac/summaries/act3-scenes5-14

Roxane and the Duenna return home. Roxane sits outside her house with Christian, and she asks him to talk to her about love. All he can say is "I love you. Roxane expects him to elaborate, but he cannot, except to ask to kiss her neck. She is angry, goes into her house, and shuts the door on Christian. Cyrano appears and ironically congratulates Christian on his success

novelguide

all_chapterized_books/1254-chapters/27.txt

finished_summaries/novelguide/Cyrano de Bergerac/section_5_part_2.txt

Cyrano de Bergerac.act 3.scene 6

act 3, scene 6

{"name": "Act 3, scene 6", "url": "https://web.archive.org/web/20210212220419/https://www.novelguide.com/cyrano-de-bergerac/summaries/act3-scenes5-14", "summary": "Christian begs Cyrano to help him get Roxane back. A light appears in the balcony window, so the men know that she is in her room. Cyrano hides under the balcony and makes Christian stand in front of it. Cyrano throws pebbles at Roxane's window to get her to come out", "analysis": ""}

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.)

Act 3, scene 6

https://web.archive.org/web/20210212220419/https://www.novelguide.com/cyrano-de-bergerac/summaries/act3-scenes5-14

Christian begs Cyrano to help him get Roxane back. A light appears in the balcony window, so the men know that she is in her room. Cyrano hides under the balcony and makes Christian stand in front of it. Cyrano throws pebbles at Roxane's window to get her to come out

novelguide

all_chapterized_books/1254-chapters/28.txt

finished_summaries/novelguide/Cyrano de Bergerac/section_5_part_3.txt

Cyrano de Bergerac.act 3.scene 7

act 3, scene 7

{"name": "Act 3, scene 7", "url": "https://web.archive.org/web/20210212220419/https://www.novelguide.com/cyrano-de-bergerac/summaries/act3-scenes5-14", "summary": "Roxane opens her window and tells Christian to go away as he has nothing to say. She is on the point of closing her window when Cyrano prompts Christian with eloquent speeches, which he delivers to Roxane. She changes her mind and decides to listen to her suitor. She asks Christian why his speech is full of delays. Cyrano quickly pulls Christian under the balcony and steps out in his place. He imitates Christian's voice and, because it is dark, Roxane cannot see that it is Cyrano who is addressing her. Cyrano is at last able to express the love he has always felt for Roxane. Spellbound by Cyrano's poetry, Roxane wants to come down, but Cyrano persuades her not to. Christian almost ruins the moment by asking Roxane for a kiss, which pulls her out of her enchantment, but Cyrano rescues the situation through his tact and sensitivity. He hears someone coming, and Roxane hastily withdraws inside the house", "analysis": ""}

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.)

Act 3, scene 7

https://web.archive.org/web/20210212220419/https://www.novelguide.com/cyrano-de-bergerac/summaries/act3-scenes5-14

Roxane opens her window and tells Christian to go away as he has nothing to say. She is on the point of closing her window when Cyrano prompts Christian with eloquent speeches, which he delivers to Roxane. She changes her mind and decides to listen to her suitor. She asks Christian why his speech is full of delays. Cyrano quickly pulls Christian under the balcony and steps out in his place. He imitates Christian's voice and, because it is dark, Roxane cannot see that it is Cyrano who is addressing her. Cyrano is at last able to express the love he has always felt for Roxane. Spellbound by Cyrano's poetry, Roxane wants to come down, but Cyrano persuades her not to. Christian almost ruins the moment by asking Roxane for a kiss, which pulls her out of her enchantment, but Cyrano rescues the situation through his tact and sensitivity. He hears someone coming, and Roxane hastily withdraws inside the house

novelguide

all_chapterized_books/1254-chapters/29.txt

finished_summaries/novelguide/Cyrano de Bergerac/section_5_part_4.txt

Cyrano de Bergerac.act 3.scene 8

act 3, scene 8

{"name": "Act 3, scene 8", "url": "https://web.archive.org/web/20210212220419/https://www.novelguide.com/cyrano-de-bergerac/summaries/act3-scenes5-14", "summary": "A Capuchin monk enters, looking for Roxane's house. Cyrano, not wanting to be disturbed, sends him in the opposite direction", "analysis": ""}

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.)

Act 3, scene 8

https://web.archive.org/web/20210212220419/https://www.novelguide.com/cyrano-de-bergerac/summaries/act3-scenes5-14

A Capuchin monk enters, looking for Roxane's house. Cyrano, not wanting to be disturbed, sends him in the opposite direction

novelguide

all_chapterized_books/1254-chapters/30.txt

finished_summaries/novelguide/Cyrano de Bergerac/section_5_part_5.txt

Cyrano de Bergerac.act 3.scene 9

act 3, scene 9

{"name": "Act 3, scene 9", "url": "https://web.archive.org/web/20210212220419/https://www.novelguide.com/cyrano-de-bergerac/summaries/act3-scenes5-14", "summary": "Christian tells Cyrano that he must have a kiss from Roxane. Cyrano reluctantly agrees", "analysis": ""}

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.)

Act 3, scene 9

https://web.archive.org/web/20210212220419/https://www.novelguide.com/cyrano-de-bergerac/summaries/act3-scenes5-14

Christian tells Cyrano that he must have a kiss from Roxane. Cyrano reluctantly agrees

novelguide

all_chapterized_books/1254-chapters/31.txt

finished_summaries/novelguide/Cyrano de Bergerac/section_5_part_6.txt

Cyrano de Bergerac.act 3.scene 10

act 3, scene 10

{"name": "Act 3, scene 10", "url": "https://web.archive.org/web/20210212220419/https://www.novelguide.com/cyrano-de-bergerac/summaries/act3-scenes5-14", "summary": "Roxane reappears on her balcony. Cyrano charms her into agreeing to the kiss. He urges Christian to climb up and kiss Roxane. Christian hesitates, saying, \"It feels wrong. But Cyrano urges Christian more insistently, and Christian climbs up onto the balcony and kisses Roxane. Cyrano takes comfort in the thought that his words won the kiss", "analysis": ""}

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!

Act 3, scene 10

https://web.archive.org/web/20210212220419/https://www.novelguide.com/cyrano-de-bergerac/summaries/act3-scenes5-14

Roxane reappears on her balcony. Cyrano charms her into agreeing to the kiss. He urges Christian to climb up and kiss Roxane. Christian hesitates, saying, "It feels wrong. But Cyrano urges Christian more insistently, and Christian climbs up onto the balcony and kisses Roxane. Cyrano takes comfort in the thought that his words won the kiss

novelguide

all_chapterized_books/1254-chapters/32.txt

finished_summaries/novelguide/Cyrano de Bergerac/section_5_part_7.txt

Cyrano de Bergerac.act 3.scene 11

act 3, scene 11

{"name": "Act 3, scene 11", "url": "https://web.archive.org/web/20210212220419/https://www.novelguide.com/cyrano-de-bergerac/summaries/act3-scenes5-14", "summary": "The monk reappears, having discovered that Roxane does live here. He brings a letter to Roxane from de Guiche. In the letter, de Guiche says that he has not gone to the war but has remained behind, hiding in a nearby convent. He intends to visit Roxane tonight. Pretending to read the letter aloud, Roxane says that de Guiche wants Christian to marry Roxane immediately; the monk will conduct the ceremony. The monk hesitates, but when Roxane pretends to discover a postscript promising a large donation to the convent, he agrees to marry them. The monk, Christian, and Roxane go into the house for the ceremony. Roxane asks Cyrano to keep de Guiche outside, talking, to prevent him disturbing the wedding", "analysis": ""}

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!

Act 3, scene 11

https://web.archive.org/web/20210212220419/https://www.novelguide.com/cyrano-de-bergerac/summaries/act3-scenes5-14

The monk reappears, having discovered that Roxane does live here. He brings a letter to Roxane from de Guiche. In the letter, de Guiche says that he has not gone to the war but has remained behind, hiding in a nearby convent. He intends to visit Roxane tonight. Pretending to read the letter aloud, Roxane says that de Guiche wants Christian to marry Roxane immediately; the monk will conduct the ceremony. The monk hesitates, but when Roxane pretends to discover a postscript promising a large donation to the convent, he agrees to marry them. The monk, Christian, and Roxane go into the house for the ceremony. Roxane asks Cyrano to keep de Guiche outside, talking, to prevent him disturbing the wedding

novelguide

all_chapterized_books/1254-chapters/33.txt

finished_summaries/novelguide/Cyrano de Bergerac/section_5_part_8.txt

Cyrano de Bergerac.act 3.scene 12

act 3, scene 12

{"name": "Act 3, scene 12", "url": "https://web.archive.org/web/20210212220419/https://www.novelguide.com/cyrano-de-bergerac/summaries/act3-scenes5-14", "summary": "Cyrano pulls his hat down over his eyes and waits on the balcony for de Guiche", "analysis": ""}

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.

Act 3, scene 12

https://web.archive.org/web/20210212220419/https://www.novelguide.com/cyrano-de-bergerac/summaries/act3-scenes5-14

Cyrano pulls his hat down over his eyes and waits on the balcony for de Guiche

novelguide

all_chapterized_books/1254-chapters/35.txt

finished_summaries/novelguide/Cyrano de Bergerac/section_6_part_1.txt

Cyrano de Bergerac.act 4.scene 1

act 4, scene 1

{"name": "act 4, scene 1", "url": "https://web.archive.org/web/20210212220419/https://www.novelguide.com/cyrano-de-bergerac/summaries/act4-scenes1-5", "summary": "The scene shifts to the encampment of Carbon's regiment at the siege of Arras, just before dawn. Christian is asleep. Le Bret and Carbon are keeping watch. They look thin, and Carbon remarks to Le Bret that they have run out of food. The sound of gunfire is heard. Cyrano arrives. Every morning, he crosses the enemy line to post a letter to Roxane, keeping his promise to her. He vanishes into a tent to write another letter", "analysis": ""}

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.)

act 4, scene 1

https://web.archive.org/web/20210212220419/https://www.novelguide.com/cyrano-de-bergerac/summaries/act4-scenes1-5

The scene shifts to the encampment of Carbon's regiment at the siege of Arras, just before dawn. Christian is asleep. Le Bret and Carbon are keeping watch. They look thin, and Carbon remarks to Le Bret that they have run out of food. The sound of gunfire is heard. Cyrano arrives. Every morning, he crosses the enemy line to post a letter to Roxane, keeping his promise to her. He vanishes into a tent to write another letter

novelguide

all_chapterized_books/1254-chapters/36.txt

finished_summaries/novelguide/Cyrano de Bergerac/section_6_part_2.txt

Cyrano de Bergerac.act 4.scene 2

act 4, scene 2

{"name": "act 4, scene 2", "url": "https://web.archive.org/web/20210212220419/https://www.novelguide.com/cyrano-de-bergerac/summaries/act4-scenes1-5", "summary": "Reveille sounds. The Guards wake up and immediately start complaining about how hungry they are. Carbon asks Cyrano to come of the tent and entertain the men", "analysis": ""}

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.)

act 4, scene 2

https://web.archive.org/web/20210212220419/https://www.novelguide.com/cyrano-de-bergerac/summaries/act4-scenes1-5

Reveille sounds. The Guards wake up and immediately start complaining about how hungry they are. Carbon asks Cyrano to come of the tent and entertain the men

novelguide

all_chapterized_books/1254-chapters/37.txt

finished_summaries/novelguide/Cyrano de Bergerac/section_6_part_3.txt

Cyrano de Bergerac.act 4.scene 3

act 4, scene 3

{"name": "act 4, scene 3", "url": "https://web.archive.org/web/20210212220419/https://www.novelguide.com/cyrano-de-bergerac/summaries/act4-scenes1-5", "summary": "Cyrano comes out of the tent and restores the men's morale with his witty banter. He gets a piper to play an old Gascon song, which reminds the men of their homeland. There is a murmur of disapproval as de Guiche is seen approaching. Cyrano asks the men to start a game of cards, so that de Guiche will not see them suffer", "analysis": ""}

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.)

act 4, scene 3

https://web.archive.org/web/20210212220419/https://www.novelguide.com/cyrano-de-bergerac/summaries/act4-scenes1-5

Cyrano comes out of the tent and restores the men's morale with his witty banter. He gets a piper to play an old Gascon song, which reminds the men of their homeland. There is a murmur of disapproval as de Guiche is seen approaching. Cyrano asks the men to start a game of cards, so that de Guiche will not see them suffer

novelguide

all_chapterized_books/1254-chapters/38.txt

finished_summaries/novelguide/Cyrano de Bergerac/section_6_part_4.txt

Cyrano de Bergerac.act 4.scene 4

act 4, scene 4

{"name": "act 4, scene 4", "url": "https://web.archive.org/web/20210212220419/https://www.novelguide.com/cyrano-de-bergerac/summaries/act4-scenes1-5", "summary": "De Guiche arrives and boasts about his courage on the battlefield the previous day. Cyrano asks him about his white plume of feathers. De Guiche explains that he threw away his white plume to confuse the Spaniards, and led his troops in a charge that broke through the enemy line. A silence falls upon the Guards. Cyrano says that a courageous man would not have thrown away his white plume, whatever the danger, and that he himself would be proud to wear it. De Guiche replies that Cyrano is only saying this because he knows the plume is lost on the battlefield. Cyrano pulls the plume from his pocket and hands it to de Guiche. After a pause, de Guiche collects his thoughts, seizes the plume, and waves it at a man, who runs off. De Guiche explains that the man is a double agent who will take a message to the Spaniards. De Guiche has just given the signal for the Spaniards to attack the Guards. Many Guardsmen will die, but the ruse will buy time for the French until the Marshal arrives with reinforcements. The Spanish attack is likely to come in one hour's time. Cyrano thanks de Guiche for giving them the opportunity to die with honor. Christian thinks sadly of Roxane and wishes that he could put his thoughts in a letter to her. Cyrano, who expected the Spanish to attack today, produces a letter that he has already written. Christian notices a tear stain on it. Cyrano admits that the thought of never seeing Roxane again is terrible. Christian grows uneasy and may be about to guess Cyrano's secret when they are interrupted by the arrival of a carriage. The Guards are astonished to see Roxane get out", "analysis": ""}

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.)

act 4, scene 4

https://web.archive.org/web/20210212220419/https://www.novelguide.com/cyrano-de-bergerac/summaries/act4-scenes1-5

De Guiche arrives and boasts about his courage on the battlefield the previous day. Cyrano asks him about his white plume of feathers. De Guiche explains that he threw away his white plume to confuse the Spaniards, and led his troops in a charge that broke through the enemy line. A silence falls upon the Guards. Cyrano says that a courageous man would not have thrown away his white plume, whatever the danger, and that he himself would be proud to wear it. De Guiche replies that Cyrano is only saying this because he knows the plume is lost on the battlefield. Cyrano pulls the plume from his pocket and hands it to de Guiche. After a pause, de Guiche collects his thoughts, seizes the plume, and waves it at a man, who runs off. De Guiche explains that the man is a double agent who will take a message to the Spaniards. De Guiche has just given the signal for the Spaniards to attack the Guards. Many Guardsmen will die, but the ruse will buy time for the French until the Marshal arrives with reinforcements. The Spanish attack is likely to come in one hour's time. Cyrano thanks de Guiche for giving them the opportunity to die with honor. Christian thinks sadly of Roxane and wishes that he could put his thoughts in a letter to her. Cyrano, who expected the Spanish to attack today, produces a letter that he has already written. Christian notices a tear stain on it. Cyrano admits that the thought of never seeing Roxane again is terrible. Christian grows uneasy and may be about to guess Cyrano's secret when they are interrupted by the arrival of a carriage. The Guards are astonished to see Roxane get out

novelguide

all_chapterized_books/1254-chapters/39.txt

finished_summaries/novelguide/Cyrano de Bergerac/section_6_part_5.txt

Cyrano de Bergerac.act 4.scene 5

act 4, scene 5

{"name": "act 4, scene 5", "url": "https://web.archive.org/web/20210212220419/https://www.novelguide.com/cyrano-de-bergerac/summaries/act4-scenes1-5", "summary": "Roxane says she came to the battlefield because she got fed up with writing. She crossed the Spanish lines and was shot at. When she was stopped by Spaniards, she told them she was going to see her lover and they let her pass. De Guiche, Christian, and Cyrano all tell her that she must leave immediately, as they will soon be under attack. Roxane insists that she will stay, saying that if Christian dies, she wants to die beside him. De Guiche protests that their position is the weakest of all; Cyrano adds that this is why de Guiche assigned them to it. Roxane realizes that de Guiche has deliberately sent Christian to his death, and this makes her all the more determined to stay. She suggests that de Guiche might like to leave before the fighting starts. A furious de Guiche leaves to check the cannon, saying that he will return soon.", "analysis": "of scenes 1-5. With the beginning of the tone shifts from boisterous comedy and satire to a more tragic note. At the battlefront, the Guards are starving and demoralized. Only Cyrano retains a positive outlook, and is called upon by Carbon to cheer up the men, which he does. Cyrano's resilience can be attributed for the most part to his extraordinarily courageous and resourceful nature, but may be partly due to his love for Roxane and his focus on writing letters to her. De Guiche, too, darkens in tone, shifting from his former role as stage villain opposing the young lovers to a potential murderer. He hopes that Christian, his rival in love of Roxane, will die on the battlefield. He also wants vengeance against Cyrano for repeatedly humiliating him. To this end, he has arranged for the Guards to be stationed in the weakest position and signals to a double agent to let the Spanish know that they can attack. It is significant that he uses his white plume of feathers to signal the attack. De Guiche has already thrown this plume away on the battlefield in order to save his own skin. The plume becomes a symbol of courage and honor, and de Guiche's treatment of it shows his cowardice and duplicity. Although he justifies his action militarily by claiming that allowing the Spanish to slaughter the Guards will buy time for the French, it seems a murderously cruel and vindictive way to gain his ends. Cyrano's risking his own life to pick up the plume and his insistence that he would be proud to wear it sets him up in contrast with de Guiche. Where de Guiche is cowardly, Cyrano is brave; where de Guiche uses deception to save his own life, Cyrano stands for truth. Roxane shows her spirit and courage by choosing to join Christian on the battlefield and, if necessary, to die with him. Her refusal to be discouraged or deflected from her purpose mirrors Cyrano's buoyant spirits. Again, she is shown to be a fitting lover for Cyrano, not for the rather bland Christian. Suspense escalates around Cyrano's secret as Christian seems about to guess it, when they are interrupted by the arrival of Roxane's coach. The men's collaborative deception seems increasingly unsustainable"}

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.)

act 4, scene 5

https://web.archive.org/web/20210212220419/https://www.novelguide.com/cyrano-de-bergerac/summaries/act4-scenes1-5

Roxane says she came to the battlefield because she got fed up with writing. She crossed the Spanish lines and was shot at. When she was stopped by Spaniards, she told them she was going to see her lover and they let her pass. De Guiche, Christian, and Cyrano all tell her that she must leave immediately, as they will soon be under attack. Roxane insists that she will stay, saying that if Christian dies, she wants to die beside him. De Guiche protests that their position is the weakest of all; Cyrano adds that this is why de Guiche assigned them to it. Roxane realizes that de Guiche has deliberately sent Christian to his death, and this makes her all the more determined to stay. She suggests that de Guiche might like to leave before the fighting starts. A furious de Guiche leaves to check the cannon, saying that he will return soon.

of scenes 1-5. With the beginning of the tone shifts from boisterous comedy and satire to a more tragic note. At the battlefront, the Guards are starving and demoralized. Only Cyrano retains a positive outlook, and is called upon by Carbon to cheer up the men, which he does. Cyrano's resilience can be attributed for the most part to his extraordinarily courageous and resourceful nature, but may be partly due to his love for Roxane and his focus on writing letters to her. De Guiche, too, darkens in tone, shifting from his former role as stage villain opposing the young lovers to a potential murderer. He hopes that Christian, his rival in love of Roxane, will die on the battlefield. He also wants vengeance against Cyrano for repeatedly humiliating him. To this end, he has arranged for the Guards to be stationed in the weakest position and signals to a double agent to let the Spanish know that they can attack. It is significant that he uses his white plume of feathers to signal the attack. De Guiche has already thrown this plume away on the battlefield in order to save his own skin. The plume becomes a symbol of courage and honor, and de Guiche's treatment of it shows his cowardice and duplicity. Although he justifies his action militarily by claiming that allowing the Spanish to slaughter the Guards will buy time for the French, it seems a murderously cruel and vindictive way to gain his ends. Cyrano's risking his own life to pick up the plume and his insistence that he would be proud to wear it sets him up in contrast with de Guiche. Where de Guiche is cowardly, Cyrano is brave; where de Guiche uses deception to save his own life, Cyrano stands for truth. Roxane shows her spirit and courage by choosing to join Christian on the battlefield and, if necessary, to die with him. Her refusal to be discouraged or deflected from her purpose mirrors Cyrano's buoyant spirits. Again, she is shown to be a fitting lover for Cyrano, not for the rather bland Christian. Suspense escalates around Cyrano's secret as Christian seems about to guess it, when they are interrupted by the arrival of Roxane's coach. The men's collaborative deception seems increasingly unsustainable

novelguide

all_chapterized_books/1254-chapters/40.txt

finished_summaries/novelguide/Cyrano de Bergerac/section_7_part_1.txt

Cyrano de Bergerac.act 4.scene 6

act 4, scene 6

{"name": "act 4, scene 6", "url": "https://web.archive.org/web/20210212220419/https://www.novelguide.com/cyrano-de-bergerac/summaries/act4-scenes6-10", "summary": "Carbon presents the Guards to Roxane, and asks her to give them her handkerchief to use as a banner, which she does. One of the men complains of hunger. To their delight, Roxane produces Ragueneau from her carriage, along with food for everyone. Roxane busies herself with ensuring that all the men are served with food and drink. Le Bret notices that de Guiche is approaching, and everyone quickly hides the food", "analysis": ""}

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.)

act 4, scene 6

https://web.archive.org/web/20210212220419/https://www.novelguide.com/cyrano-de-bergerac/summaries/act4-scenes6-10

Carbon presents the Guards to Roxane, and asks her to give them her handkerchief to use as a banner, which she does. One of the men complains of hunger. To their delight, Roxane produces Ragueneau from her carriage, along with food for everyone. Roxane busies herself with ensuring that all the men are served with food and drink. Le Bret notices that de Guiche is approaching, and everyone quickly hides the food

novelguide

all_chapterized_books/1254-chapters/41.txt

finished_summaries/novelguide/Cyrano de Bergerac/section_7_part_2.txt

Cyrano de Bergerac.act 4.scene 7

act 4, scene 7

{"name": "Act 4, scene 7", "url": "https://web.archive.org/web/20210212220419/https://www.novelguide.com/cyrano-de-bergerac/summaries/act4-scenes6-10", "summary": "De Guiche returns and again asks Roxane to leave. When she refuses, he resolves to stay and fight too. The men are impressed by his courage, wondering if de Guiche too is a Gascon, and offer him some food. He refuses to eat their left-overs, and betrays a hint of a Gascon accent, making them all the more certain that he is one of them. Cyrano takes Christian to one side and confesses that he sent Roxane more letters than Christian thought. He wrote to her every day, sometimes twice a day. Christian realizes that with each letter, Cyrano had to risk his life crossing enemy lines. He suspects Cyrano's secret, but once again, they are interrupted by Roxane. Cyrano disappears into a tent", "analysis": ""}

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.)

Act 4, scene 7

https://web.archive.org/web/20210212220419/https://www.novelguide.com/cyrano-de-bergerac/summaries/act4-scenes6-10

De Guiche returns and again asks Roxane to leave. When she refuses, he resolves to stay and fight too. The men are impressed by his courage, wondering if de Guiche too is a Gascon, and offer him some food. He refuses to eat their left-overs, and betrays a hint of a Gascon accent, making them all the more certain that he is one of them. Cyrano takes Christian to one side and confesses that he sent Roxane more letters than Christian thought. He wrote to her every day, sometimes twice a day. Christian realizes that with each letter, Cyrano had to risk his life crossing enemy lines. He suspects Cyrano's secret, but once again, they are interrupted by Roxane. Cyrano disappears into a tent

novelguide

all_chapterized_books/1254-chapters/42.txt

finished_summaries/novelguide/Cyrano de Bergerac/section_7_part_3.txt

Cyrano de Bergerac.act 4.scene 8

act 4, scene 8

{"name": "Act 4, scene 8", "url": "https://web.archive.org/web/20210212220419/https://www.novelguide.com/cyrano-de-bergerac/summaries/act4-scenes6-10", "summary": "Christian asks Roxane why she risked her life to come to the battlefield. She tells him that it was because of his wonderful letters. At first, she says, she loved him for his beauty, but then she was a foolish, shallow girl. Now, his beauty no longer matters, and she loves the soul that shone through in his letters. She would love him even if he were ugly. Christian is miserable at this news, as he realizes that it is Cyrano whom she loves. Roxane cannot understand why he is unhappy. As he tries to control his emotions, he sends Roxane off to speak to the men to lift their spirits before they die", "analysis": ""}

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.)

Act 4, scene 8

https://web.archive.org/web/20210212220419/https://www.novelguide.com/cyrano-de-bergerac/summaries/act4-scenes6-10

Christian asks Roxane why she risked her life to come to the battlefield. She tells him that it was because of his wonderful letters. At first, she says, she loved him for his beauty, but then she was a foolish, shallow girl. Now, his beauty no longer matters, and she loves the soul that shone through in his letters. She would love him even if he were ugly. Christian is miserable at this news, as he realizes that it is Cyrano whom she loves. Roxane cannot understand why he is unhappy. As he tries to control his emotions, he sends Roxane off to speak to the men to lift their spirits before they die

novelguide

all_chapterized_books/1254-chapters/43.txt

finished_summaries/novelguide/Cyrano de Bergerac/section_7_part_4.txt

Cyrano de Bergerac.act 4.scene 9

act 4, scene 9

{"name": "Act 4, scene 9", "url": "https://web.archive.org/web/20210212220419/https://www.novelguide.com/cyrano-de-bergerac/summaries/act4-scenes6-10", "summary": "Christian tells Cyrano that Roxane no longer loves him; it is Cyrano whom she loves. Christian also says it is plain that Cyrano returns her love. Cyrano admits that this is so. Christian tells Cyrano to tell her their secret. Cyrano says he cannot, as he is so ugly. Christian points out that Roxane said she would love him even if he were ugly. He adds that Cyrano should not lose the chance of happiness just because he is handsome. As Christian leaves to go to the sentry-post, he says that Cyrano must ask Roxane to choose between them", "analysis": ""}

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.)

Act 4, scene 9

https://web.archive.org/web/20210212220419/https://www.novelguide.com/cyrano-de-bergerac/summaries/act4-scenes6-10

Christian tells Cyrano that Roxane no longer loves him; it is Cyrano whom she loves. Christian also says it is plain that Cyrano returns her love. Cyrano admits that this is so. Christian tells Cyrano to tell her their secret. Cyrano says he cannot, as he is so ugly. Christian points out that Roxane said she would love him even if he were ugly. He adds that Cyrano should not lose the chance of happiness just because he is handsome. As Christian leaves to go to the sentry-post, he says that Cyrano must ask Roxane to choose between them

novelguide

all_chapterized_books/1254-chapters/44.txt

finished_summaries/novelguide/Cyrano de Bergerac/section_7_part_5.txt

Cyrano de Bergerac.act 4.scene 10

act 4, scene 10

{"name": "Act 4, scene 10", "url": "https://web.archive.org/web/20210212220419/https://www.novelguide.com/cyrano-de-bergerac/summaries/act4-scenes6-10", "summary": "Cyrano and Roxane discuss her conversation with Christian. Musket fire is heard offstage. Cyrano asks Roxane if it is true that she would love him even if he were ugly, or even disfigured. She confirms that she would. Cyrano is ecstatic, and is on the brink of revealing his secret to Roxane. Before he can speak, however, Le Bret rushes in and whispers something in Cyrano's ear. Cyrano, anguished, cries that it is too late: he can never tell Roxane his feelings. Some men enter, carrying Christian. He is dying. Le Bret tells Cyrano that he was the first to die. Roxane, distraught, throws herself on Christian's body. Cyrano whispers in his ear that he told Roxane their secret, and asked her to choose between them: she chose Christian. Christian dies. The battle begins all around them. Roxane notices a letter addressed to her in Christian's pocket. It is Cyrano's latest letter. Roxane praises Christian's fine intellect, sensitivity, and gift for poetry to Cyrano. Cyrano reflects that he can die happy today, as she is really weeping for him. De Guiche enters, with a head wound. Roxane notices that the letter in Christian's pocket is stained with blood and tears. She is on the verge of fainting. Cyrano asks de Guiche to take her away, as he is going to charge against the Spanish. Cyrano also tells de Guiche that he has proved his worth. De Guiche agrees to take Roxane away, and tells Cyrano that if the Guards can hold the line even for half an hour, the main forces will have returned and they can beat the Spanish. A wounded Carbon runs in with some other men, with the news that the French line is breaking. Cyrano says the Spanish will pay for two things: Christian's death and his own hopes of happiness. Cyrano plants the standard, Roxane's handkerchief, in the ground, and rallies the troops.", "analysis": "of Act 4, scenes 6-10. The play's action regarding Cyrano and Christian's collaboration comes to a climax in this section. This escalating internal conflict is paralleled by the external conflict of the battle between the French and the Spanish. De Guiche rapidly metamorphoses from villain to sympathetic character, even with a tinge of the hero. Inspired by Roxane's refusal to leave the battlefield, he too decides to stay. In addition, he endears himself to the Guards by the trace of the Gascon accent that emerges in his speech, and his proud refusal to eat the other men's leftovers. The men's decision that he is a Gascon, just like them, and Cyrano's appreciative words as he sends him away with Roxane, completes his redemption. Though the change in de Guiche may be considered too sudden to be convincing, its dramatic purpose is to remove him from the plot so that the action can focus on the main story involving Cyrano, Christian, and Roxane. There is bitter irony in the fact that Roxane's good news that she has risked her life to tell Christian is the worst thing that he could possibly hear. It tells him that in fact, Roxane loves Cyrano, and Christian's one claim on her affections, his outward beauty, has become irrelevant. With this development, Christian becomes redundant. Cyrano's chivalry is apparent, however, in his whispering to the dying Christian that he told Roxane their secret and asked her to choose between them, and that she chose Christian. Cyrano ensures that Christian dies happy and fulfilled in his role as Roxane's lover. Christian's death does, however, push the irony and the tragedy of the play to new heights. It means that Cyrano can never tell Roxane his secret, as to do so would betray his friend, Christian, and make a mockery of her mourning. Cyrano's anguished cry of \"Too late. on hearing of Christian's death in scene 10 expresses his sorrow and despair that he can never be united with Roxane"}

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.

Act 4, scene 10

https://web.archive.org/web/20210212220419/https://www.novelguide.com/cyrano-de-bergerac/summaries/act4-scenes6-10

Cyrano and Roxane discuss her conversation with Christian. Musket fire is heard offstage. Cyrano asks Roxane if it is true that she would love him even if he were ugly, or even disfigured. She confirms that she would. Cyrano is ecstatic, and is on the brink of revealing his secret to Roxane. Before he can speak, however, Le Bret rushes in and whispers something in Cyrano's ear. Cyrano, anguished, cries that it is too late: he can never tell Roxane his feelings. Some men enter, carrying Christian. He is dying. Le Bret tells Cyrano that he was the first to die. Roxane, distraught, throws herself on Christian's body. Cyrano whispers in his ear that he told Roxane their secret, and asked her to choose between them: she chose Christian. Christian dies. The battle begins all around them. Roxane notices a letter addressed to her in Christian's pocket. It is Cyrano's latest letter. Roxane praises Christian's fine intellect, sensitivity, and gift for poetry to Cyrano. Cyrano reflects that he can die happy today, as she is really weeping for him. De Guiche enters, with a head wound. Roxane notices that the letter in Christian's pocket is stained with blood and tears. She is on the verge of fainting. Cyrano asks de Guiche to take her away, as he is going to charge against the Spanish. Cyrano also tells de Guiche that he has proved his worth. De Guiche agrees to take Roxane away, and tells Cyrano that if the Guards can hold the line even for half an hour, the main forces will have returned and they can beat the Spanish. A wounded Carbon runs in with some other men, with the news that the French line is breaking. Cyrano says the Spanish will pay for two things: Christian's death and his own hopes of happiness. Cyrano plants the standard, Roxane's handkerchief, in the ground, and rallies the troops.

of Act 4, scenes 6-10. The play's action regarding Cyrano and Christian's collaboration comes to a climax in this section. This escalating internal conflict is paralleled by the external conflict of the battle between the French and the Spanish. De Guiche rapidly metamorphoses from villain to sympathetic character, even with a tinge of the hero. Inspired by Roxane's refusal to leave the battlefield, he too decides to stay. In addition, he endears himself to the Guards by the trace of the Gascon accent that emerges in his speech, and his proud refusal to eat the other men's leftovers. The men's decision that he is a Gascon, just like them, and Cyrano's appreciative words as he sends him away with Roxane, completes his redemption. Though the change in de Guiche may be considered too sudden to be convincing, its dramatic purpose is to remove him from the plot so that the action can focus on the main story involving Cyrano, Christian, and Roxane. There is bitter irony in the fact that Roxane's good news that she has risked her life to tell Christian is the worst thing that he could possibly hear. It tells him that in fact, Roxane loves Cyrano, and Christian's one claim on her affections, his outward beauty, has become irrelevant. With this development, Christian becomes redundant. Cyrano's chivalry is apparent, however, in his whispering to the dying Christian that he told Roxane their secret and asked her to choose between them, and that she chose Christian. Cyrano ensures that Christian dies happy and fulfilled in his role as Roxane's lover. Christian's death does, however, push the irony and the tragedy of the play to new heights. It means that Cyrano can never tell Roxane his secret, as to do so would betray his friend, Christian, and make a mockery of her mourning. Cyrano's anguished cry of "Too late. on hearing of Christian's death in scene 10 expresses his sorrow and despair that he can never be united with Roxane

novelguide

all_chapterized_books/1254-chapters/46.txt

finished_summaries/novelguide/Cyrano de Bergerac/section_8_part_1.txt

Cyrano de Bergerac.act 5.scene 1

act 5, scene 1

{"name": "act 5, scene 1", "url": "https://web.archive.org/web/20210212220419/https://www.novelguide.com/cyrano-de-bergerac/summaries/act5-scenes1-6", "summary": "It is fifteen years later, in 1655. The action opens in the garden of the convent into which Roxane has retired. The nuns are talking about Cyrano, who they say has visited Roxane regularly for the fourteen years since she came to live there. He is the only person who makes her smile. Mother Margaret, the head of the convent, mentions that he is so poor that on some days he does not eat", "analysis": ""}

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.)

act 5, scene 1

https://web.archive.org/web/20210212220419/https://www.novelguide.com/cyrano-de-bergerac/summaries/act5-scenes1-6

It is fifteen years later, in 1655. The action opens in the garden of the convent into which Roxane has retired. The nuns are talking about Cyrano, who they say has visited Roxane regularly for the fourteen years since she came to live there. He is the only person who makes her smile. Mother Margaret, the head of the convent, mentions that he is so poor that on some days he does not eat

novelguide

all_chapterized_books/1254-chapters/47.txt

finished_summaries/novelguide/Cyrano de Bergerac/section_8_part_2.txt

Cyrano de Bergerac.act 5.scene 2

act 5, scene 2

{"name": "Act 5, scene 2", "url": "https://web.archive.org/web/20210212220419/https://www.novelguide.com/cyrano-de-bergerac/summaries/act5-scenes1-6", "summary": "Roxane enters with de Guiche, who is visiting her. He is now the Duc de Grammont and one of the most powerful men in France. De Guiche asks her whether she intends to waste her beauty living in the convent forever, guarding Christian's memory. She says that she does, and that she still keeps his last letter next to her heart. He asks her whether she forgives him for sending Christian to his death; she says that she must, since she lives in the convent. She adds that she still feels Christian's love all around her. He asks if Cyrano still visits her. She replies that he visits every week and tells her all the news. Le Bret enters and reports that Cyrano is suffering from poverty, hunger, and loneliness. De Guiche comments that Cyrano should not be pitied too much because he has lived the life he chose, free and not obligated to anyone. De Guiche adds that he himself has everything, while Cyrano has nothing, yet he would still like to shake his hand. He envies Cyrano, as it seems he can have no regrets about his life. De Guiche takes Le Bret aside and warns him that Cyrano has made enemies. De Guiche overheard one influential person saying, \"Cyrano might have an accident. Ragueneau arrives to visit Roxane. He has fallen on hard times. He gave up his shop to become a writer, but has found himself doing a series of other jobs", "analysis": ""}

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.)

Act 5, scene 2

https://web.archive.org/web/20210212220419/https://www.novelguide.com/cyrano-de-bergerac/summaries/act5-scenes1-6

Roxane enters with de Guiche, who is visiting her. He is now the Duc de Grammont and one of the most powerful men in France. De Guiche asks her whether she intends to waste her beauty living in the convent forever, guarding Christian's memory. She says that she does, and that she still keeps his last letter next to her heart. He asks her whether she forgives him for sending Christian to his death; she says that she must, since she lives in the convent. She adds that she still feels Christian's love all around her. He asks if Cyrano still visits her. She replies that he visits every week and tells her all the news. Le Bret enters and reports that Cyrano is suffering from poverty, hunger, and loneliness. De Guiche comments that Cyrano should not be pitied too much because he has lived the life he chose, free and not obligated to anyone. De Guiche adds that he himself has everything, while Cyrano has nothing, yet he would still like to shake his hand. He envies Cyrano, as it seems he can have no regrets about his life. De Guiche takes Le Bret aside and warns him that Cyrano has made enemies. De Guiche overheard one influential person saying, "Cyrano might have an accident. Ragueneau arrives to visit Roxane. He has fallen on hard times. He gave up his shop to become a writer, but has found himself doing a series of other jobs

novelguide

all_chapterized_books/1254-chapters/48.txt

finished_summaries/novelguide/Cyrano de Bergerac/section_8_part_3.txt

Cyrano de Bergerac.act 5.scene 3

act 5, scene 3

{"name": "Act 5, scene 3", "url": "https://web.archive.org/web/20210212220419/https://www.novelguide.com/cyrano-de-bergerac/summaries/act5-scenes1-6", "summary": "Roxane leaves to talk to de Guiche. Ragueneau tells Le Bret that Cyrano has been seriously injured and is unconscious. As he walked under a window, a man dropped a log of wood on his head. Le Bret is sure that it is no accident. A doctor has said that if Cyrano gets up, he will die", "analysis": ""}

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.)

Act 5, scene 3

https://web.archive.org/web/20210212220419/https://www.novelguide.com/cyrano-de-bergerac/summaries/act5-scenes1-6

Roxane leaves to talk to de Guiche. Ragueneau tells Le Bret that Cyrano has been seriously injured and is unconscious. As he walked under a window, a man dropped a log of wood on his head. Le Bret is sure that it is no accident. A doctor has said that if Cyrano gets up, he will die

novelguide

all_chapterized_books/1254-chapters/49.txt

finished_summaries/novelguide/Cyrano de Bergerac/section_8_part_4.txt

Cyrano de Bergerac.act 5.scene 4

act 5, scene 4

{"name": "Act 5, scene 4", "url": "https://web.archive.org/web/20210212220419/https://www.novelguide.com/cyrano-de-bergerac/summaries/act5-scenes1-6", "summary": "Roxane sits doing her needlework and wonders why Cyrano is late for his usual visit", "analysis": ""}

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.

Act 5, scene 4

https://web.archive.org/web/20210212220419/https://www.novelguide.com/cyrano-de-bergerac/summaries/act5-scenes1-6

Roxane sits doing her needlework and wonders why Cyrano is late for his usual visit

novelguide

all_chapterized_books/1254-chapters/50.txt

finished_summaries/novelguide/Cyrano de Bergerac/section_8_part_5.txt

Cyrano de Bergerac.act 5.scene 5

act 5, scene 5

{"name": "Act 5, scene 5", "url": "https://web.archive.org/web/20210212220419/https://www.novelguide.com/cyrano-de-bergerac/summaries/act5-scenes1-6", "summary": "Cyrano enters, looking pale and walking with difficulty. He warns her that he may have to leave before evening. He teases Sister Martha and surprises her by saying that she can pray for him this evening. As he begins to tell Roxane the latest gossip, he is obviously struggling to continue. He almost faints, but tells Roxane it is an old war wound. Roxane tells him that her wound is in her heart, under Christian's letter. She says that the letter is stained with blood and tears. Cyrano asks to read it. Cyrano begins to read the letter aloud. The letter says that the writer will die today, and says goodbye to \"My dearest love\" Roxane. Roxane suddenly realizes that she has heard that voice before, beneath her balcony. She notices that it has grown so dark by now that Cyrano cannot possibly see to read, but still he is speaking the words in the letter. She realizes that it is he who has loved her all these years, he who spoke to her from beneath the balcony and who wrote the letters. Cyrano denies that he loved her, saying that Christian did. She does not believe him. She asks why he kept silent for fourteen years about a letter that Christian did not write. Cyrano replies, \"The tears were mine, but Christian shed the blood. Roxane asks why he has broken his silence today", "analysis": ""}

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.)

Act 5, scene 5

https://web.archive.org/web/20210212220419/https://www.novelguide.com/cyrano-de-bergerac/summaries/act5-scenes1-6

Cyrano enters, looking pale and walking with difficulty. He warns her that he may have to leave before evening. He teases Sister Martha and surprises her by saying that she can pray for him this evening. As he begins to tell Roxane the latest gossip, he is obviously struggling to continue. He almost faints, but tells Roxane it is an old war wound. Roxane tells him that her wound is in her heart, under Christian's letter. She says that the letter is stained with blood and tears. Cyrano asks to read it. Cyrano begins to read the letter aloud. The letter says that the writer will die today, and says goodbye to "My dearest love" Roxane. Roxane suddenly realizes that she has heard that voice before, beneath her balcony. She notices that it has grown so dark by now that Cyrano cannot possibly see to read, but still he is speaking the words in the letter. She realizes that it is he who has loved her all these years, he who spoke to her from beneath the balcony and who wrote the letters. Cyrano denies that he loved her, saying that Christian did. She does not believe him. She asks why he kept silent for fourteen years about a letter that Christian did not write. Cyrano replies, "The tears were mine, but Christian shed the blood. Roxane asks why he has broken his silence today

novelguide

all_chapterized_books/1254-chapters/51.txt

finished_summaries/novelguide/Cyrano de Bergerac/section_8_part_6.txt

Cyrano de Bergerac.act 5.scene 6

act 5, scene 6

{"name": "Act 5, scene 6", "url": "https://web.archive.org/web/20210212220419/https://www.novelguide.com/cyrano-de-bergerac/summaries/act5-scenes1-6", "summary": "Le Bret and Ragueneau rush in, crying that Cyrano's coming here will kill him. Cyrano tells Roxane his last piece of news: \"Today. Monsieur de Bergerac was murdered. He takes off his hat and reveals his bandaged head. Roxane is distraught. Cyrano says he always expected to die on the point of a hero's sword, but instead he has been struck down from behind with a lump of wood, by a servant. Even his death, he adds, is \"laughable. Ragueneau tells Cyrano that Moliere has been stealing jokes and scenes that Cyrano has written to put in his plays. Cyrano says that it does not matter as long as the scene worked. Ragueneau says that the audience laughed and laughed. Cyrano comments that his role in life has been to feed lines to others. He tells Roxane that when Christian courted her under the balcony, he was feeding him his lines, but it was Christian who climbed up to claim the kiss from her. Roxane says that Cyrano cannot die, and that she loves him. She says that she has only ever loved one man, and now she is losing him again. Cyrano becomes delirious. He sees that his death is approaching. He stands up, his sword in his hand, to meet death. He says he thinks that death is looking at his nose. He begins to fence his old enemies: Lies, Compromise, Spite, Cowardice, and Stupidity. He says that they can take his poet's crown and lover's garland, yet he will go into God's presence with one thing that he will take unstained out of this world. Roxane, kissing him, asks him what it is. He answers, \"My white plume.", "analysis": "of Act 5, scenes 1-6. The last act of the play jumps forward in time fifteen years, to resolve the plotlines that still involve the main characters after Christian's death. The time of year and the time of day are symbolic of Cyrano's approaching death. The mood of this act, while it retains elements of comedy, comments pessimistically on the fate of a less-than-honorable man and an honorable man. De Guiche has achieved great worldly success by compromising his principles, not to any serious extent, but enough to prompt unease in his conscience. Cyrano, in contrast has not compromised his ideals. But he is poor, hungry, and has made powerful enemies by writing satirical works. This point reinforces one of the themes of the play: the degraded nature of a society that has lost touch with the honorable values of old. The manner of Cyrano's death reflects and comments on his life. It is simultaneously comic and tragic. He does not die on the point of a hero's sword, but is dispatched in a far less honorable fashion by a servant in the pay of a powerful enemy who slyly drops a log of wood on his head. As he is dying, he reflects that his role has always been to remain \"Off in the wings, feeding the lines to others. As a consequence, he has been denied recognition for his literary efforts and the chance to be loved by Roxane. Finally, she finds out his secret, but in a final tragic irony, it is too late: Cyrano is about to die. In his final moments, Cyrano fences not a human enemy, but abstract qualities that he has opposed in his life: Lies, Compromise, Spite, Cowardice, and Stupidity. It could be said, in some interpretations of the play, that in his dealings with Roxane, Cyrano has indeed lied, compromised, acted stupidly, and surrendered to cowardice, because due to his ugly appearance, he feared that Roxane could not love him. But even in this behavior, Cyrano's honor has shone through. He consistently defended Christian's memory and Christian's right to Roxane's love, sacrificing his own interests in the process. Because of this, there is no irony in Cyrano's final claim to appear before God with one unstained thing: his white plume, a symbol of courage, leadership, and honor"}

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.

Act 5, scene 6

https://web.archive.org/web/20210212220419/https://www.novelguide.com/cyrano-de-bergerac/summaries/act5-scenes1-6

Le Bret and Ragueneau rush in, crying that Cyrano's coming here will kill him. Cyrano tells Roxane his last piece of news: "Today. Monsieur de Bergerac was murdered. He takes off his hat and reveals his bandaged head. Roxane is distraught. Cyrano says he always expected to die on the point of a hero's sword, but instead he has been struck down from behind with a lump of wood, by a servant. Even his death, he adds, is "laughable. Ragueneau tells Cyrano that Moliere has been stealing jokes and scenes that Cyrano has written to put in his plays. Cyrano says that it does not matter as long as the scene worked. Ragueneau says that the audience laughed and laughed. Cyrano comments that his role in life has been to feed lines to others. He tells Roxane that when Christian courted her under the balcony, he was feeding him his lines, but it was Christian who climbed up to claim the kiss from her. Roxane says that Cyrano cannot die, and that she loves him. She says that she has only ever loved one man, and now she is losing him again. Cyrano becomes delirious. He sees that his death is approaching. He stands up, his sword in his hand, to meet death. He says he thinks that death is looking at his nose. He begins to fence his old enemies: Lies, Compromise, Spite, Cowardice, and Stupidity. He says that they can take his poet's crown and lover's garland, yet he will go into God's presence with one thing that he will take unstained out of this world. Roxane, kissing him, asks him what it is. He answers, "My white plume.

of Act 5, scenes 1-6. The last act of the play jumps forward in time fifteen years, to resolve the plotlines that still involve the main characters after Christian's death. The time of year and the time of day are symbolic of Cyrano's approaching death. The mood of this act, while it retains elements of comedy, comments pessimistically on the fate of a less-than-honorable man and an honorable man. De Guiche has achieved great worldly success by compromising his principles, not to any serious extent, but enough to prompt unease in his conscience. Cyrano, in contrast has not compromised his ideals. But he is poor, hungry, and has made powerful enemies by writing satirical works. This point reinforces one of the themes of the play: the degraded nature of a society that has lost touch with the honorable values of old. The manner of Cyrano's death reflects and comments on his life. It is simultaneously comic and tragic. He does not die on the point of a hero's sword, but is dispatched in a far less honorable fashion by a servant in the pay of a powerful enemy who slyly drops a log of wood on his head. As he is dying, he reflects that his role has always been to remain "Off in the wings, feeding the lines to others. As a consequence, he has been denied recognition for his literary efforts and the chance to be loved by Roxane. Finally, she finds out his secret, but in a final tragic irony, it is too late: Cyrano is about to die. In his final moments, Cyrano fences not a human enemy, but abstract qualities that he has opposed in his life: Lies, Compromise, Spite, Cowardice, and Stupidity. It could be said, in some interpretations of the play, that in his dealings with Roxane, Cyrano has indeed lied, compromised, acted stupidly, and surrendered to cowardice, because due to his ugly appearance, he feared that Roxane could not love him. But even in this behavior, Cyrano's honor has shone through. He consistently defended Christian's memory and Christian's right to Roxane's love, sacrificing his own interests in the process. Because of this, there is no irony in Cyrano's final claim to appear before God with one unstained thing: his white plume, a symbol of courage, leadership, and honor

gradesaver

all_chapterized_books/1134-chapters/act_3.txt

finished_summaries/gradesaver/The Winter's Tale/section_2_part_0.txt

The Winter's Tale.act 3.scene 1-scene 3

act 3

{"name": "Act 3", "url": "https://web.archive.org/web/20210411083408/https://www.gradesaver.com/the-winters-tale/study-guide/summary-act-3", "summary": "Cleomenes and Dion, the courtiers dispatched by Leontes to the oracle at Delphi, speak with wonder about the ceremony they witnessed at the shrine. They hope that the oracle's judgment will help Queen Hermione. Scene ii: The trial of Hermione. With dignity and restraint, Hermione defends her chastity and condemns the injustice that has been done to her. Leontes remains as stubborn and angry as ever, attacking and threatening Hermione while she counters him eloquently. An officer breaks the seal on the message from the oracle and reads: Hermione, Polixenes, and Camillo are innocent and Leontes is a jealous tyrant. The oracle also predicts that Leontes will be without an heir unless the lost daughter is found. The court is delighted, but Leontes denounces the words of the oracle as false. But then a servant enters, bringing terrible news: Prince Mamillius is dead, killed by anxiety about his mother's fate. Leontes believes that the gods have killed the child as punishment to the king, and finally he realizes that he has been in error. Hermione swoons, and is helped out of the room by Paulina and several officers. Leontes is now fully penitent, asking the gods' forgiveness and promising to make amends. Paulina reenters and lashes out at the king, condemning his tyranny and jealousy. Hermione is dead. Paulina continues to rebuke the king harshly, but when she sees his grief and penitence she regrets her roughness. Leontes says that he will have queen and prince buried in the same grave, and he will grieve for the rest of his days. Scene iii: Antigonus, carrying the baby, enters with a mariner. They have set down on the shores of Bohemia, and the sailor is nervous because the sky is threatening. He fears the gods are angry with them because of what they are doing, and he warns Antigonus not to wander too far or too long, because this land is famous for its wild beasts. After the sailor exits, Antigonus tells the baby that he saw Hermione's spirit last night in a dream. The ghost wept and then told him that the child's name is Perdita, because she is lost. Hermione's ghost also informed Antigonus that because of his hand in the child's abandonment, Antigonus will never see his wife again. Antigonus believes that the dream is a sign of Hermione's death. He has either come to believe or forced himself to believe Leontes' suspicions, and so he is abandoning the child in the wilds of Bohemia, the land of her supposed father. He leaves the child with a bundle and a box. He regrets his task, but he feels bound by his oath. Then he suddenly exits, pursued by a bear. A Shepherd wanders onstage, complaining about young people and looking for two lost sheep; instead of finding them, he stumbles onto Perdita. He believes she must be the unwanted illegitimate offspring of two servants, and he resolves to take care of her. His son enters, having just witnessed two fantastic scenes. On the sea, a ship was swallowed up by the waves, and on land, a bear killed and began to devour a nobleman. The Shepherd's Son has no idea who these victims were, although the audience knows immediately that he is talking about Antigonus and the ship that carried him from Sicilia. The Shepherd feels pity for the dead, but he also has great hope for the child that he has found: \"Thou met'st with things dying, I with things newborn\" . The Shepherd and his son find that the box left with the baby is full of gold, and he now believes that the child is a changeling, a child left by fairies. The Shepherd's Son announces his intent to return to the scene of the bear attack so he can bury whatever is left of the nobleman's body.", "analysis": "We see in the exchange between Cleomenes and Dion that the people of Sicilia have a great deal of respect and love for Queen Hermione. When put on trial, she is an exemplar of a specific kind of strength. Although the setting is pagan, her forbearance and resolve follow Christian models of virtue, particularly passive and feminine virtue. She wishes that her father, the emperor of Russia, might see her, but to provide comfort rather than a means to revenge. Her suffering is almost completely passive; she trusts to the gods to provide testimony on her behalf, and chooses to nobly endure suffering rather than try to escape or more actively oppose the king. At the end of the play, when she is miraculously restored, she takes him back without question. One of The Winter's Tale's important themes is the drive to preserve and restore order, with that order being embodied in patriarchy, the king, and the royal family. Ironically, women like Hermione and Paulina are often the key preservers of this patriarchal order. Hermione's virtue comes in part through her sense of her place; although she criticizes Leontes' treatment of her, she is ultimately obedient to her husband. When on trial, she points out that the love she showed Polixenes was consistent with what Leontes himself commanded, and this obedience to her husband's will is part of why people praise her. Although Leontes behaves like a tyrant, no character tries to remove the king from his throne. The action of the play is to repair the damage caused by Leontes' jealousy, but note what characters are not willing to do: Camillo flees, Hermione endures, and Paulina, though she criticizes the king, will eventually restore his wife to him. Unlike tragedy, where a man of high position falls because of excesses or flaws in his character, here that momentum is totally disarmed. A happy ending is possible because so many characters, though critical of Leontes' tyranny, are ultimately loyal to him and work tirelessly to restore to him what he himself has destroyed. When obedience to Leontes becomes impossible because of the dictates of conscience, loyalty to his office and position remains. Paulina confronts him fearlessly, but even she tells the lord who bars her way that she comes to bring Leontes comfort and sleep. And once she sees that Leontes is remorseful, she forgives him even though he has caused the death of Hermione and Mamillius, and eventually causes the death of Paulina's husband. Camillo, who of all the king's beloved most directly disobeys him, must immediately replace his old master with a new one. Camillo is incomplete without a monarch to serve. And even Camillo, in the end, will long to return to Sicilia and the king that he could not obey with a clear conscience. The king's recognition of his error and his subsequent remorse come about as suddenly as did his jealousy. Though we are meant to take the word of the oracle as truth, Leontes initially does not. The much-awaited word of the oracle is quickly brushed aside, and it is the death of his son moments later that suddenly convinces Leontes that he has been wrong. The king believes that he is being punished by Apollo. But why should he interpret the boy's death this way, when moments earlier he was convinced that he was not Mamillius' true father? It is possible to argue that Mamillius' death convinces him of the oracle's accuracy because it fulfills the prediction that Leontes would go without an heir until the retrieval of his daughter. And yet that explanation seems unconvincing, because Leontes' remorse comes so quickly after he hears the news of Mamillius' death; there seems to be no time to realize that the oracle's prophecy is being fulfilled. Leontes himself certainly never explains his reversal this way. He comes around because he interprets the boy's death as retribution from the gods, even though other explanations seem more plausible. Shakespeare's portrayal of Leontes' remorse is not about a triumph of reason. Instead, the king's reversal is a canny and penetrating depiction of the power of guilt, which, in this case, is strong enough to break down Leontes' delusions. Although until now he has persevered in his fantasies with the single-mindedness of a madman, there are signs earlier in the play that some part of him recognizes the truth. In Act 2, Scene Three, he hears the news about Mamillius' illness with some degree of concern, and he instructs the servant to make sure that the child is given proper care. Is this compassion normal for Leontes? In that same scene, he orders his infant daughter to death by exposure to the elements and thinks happily of setting fire to his wife: clearly, he is not feeling any strong need to treat anyone with compassion or mercy. Yet some concern remains for his boy. In Act 3, his sudden remorse betrays some knowledge Leontes must have of his wife's faithfulness. He can only interpret Mamillius' death as punishment if he believes that the child is his. Mamillius' sudden death from sickness, caused by the boy's anxiety, which in turn was caused by the king's treatment of Hermione, finally sticks to Leontes' conscience. Sorrow and then guilt set in, accomplishing what the words of the oracle could not. Leontes has deliberately persevered in his delusions, isolating himself from love of his wife and son, from compassion, and from his court. Guilt returns him to them. A close look at Antigonus and Camillo illuminates the important theme of conflict between loyalty and conscience. Shakespeare sets up strong parallels between Camillo and Antigonus, making each man an alternate version of the other . The difference is that Camillo follows his conscience. Although he has told his king that he will commit murder, instead he chooses to help the intended victim to escape. Antigonus, on the other hand, sticks to his oath and leaves an infant to what seems to be a certain death. The gods do not validate his choice: although the ghost of Hermione seems to recognize that Antigonus acts under extreme pressure , the gods still punish him for his role in Perdita's abandonment. Self-deception has been necessary for him to be able to do what he knows is wrong: although he previously defended Hermione's virtue, in Scene Three he seems to have accepted that Perdita is a bastard. To ease his conscience, he has convinced himself that Leontes' absurd suspicions are the truth. Shakespeare calls attention to Antigonus' failure through the character's name. It is a male form of \"Antigone,\" the great heroine of Sophocles' drama who defies the king and dies for her beliefs . Although Sophocles' play was not performed for the English audiences of Shakespeare's time, the story was known, and Antigonus' ignoble and comic death becomes all the more embarrassing in light of Antigone's glorious martyrdom. His comic death at the hands of an angry bear is a rich moment. Many critics have pointed to his death as the play's moment of transformation from tragedy to comedy and romance. The Shepherd calls attention to Scene Three as a time of contrasts and cycles. His son finds death, but the Shepherd finds life; the rest of the play will move towards repairing the damage that Leontes has caused. Bears hibernate during the winter and then emerge during spring, acting out the death and rebirth alluded to by the shepherd. The fact that Perdita is found by shepherds also has obvious Christian connotations. Like the good shepherd of Christ's parables, the Shepherd is looking for his lost sheep. He finds the infant instead, and immediately the old man feels compassion for the child. Shakespeare synthesizes Christian and pagan worldviews to create a new myth of death and rebirth in The Winter's Tale, and miraculous death and rebirth is one of the play's most important themes. The next act is set in the countryside during a time of feasting, and the pastoral setting is a welcome change from the oppressive atmosphere of the tyrant-ruled Sicilian court."}

Sicilia. On the road to the Capital Enter CLEOMENES and DION CLEOMENES. The climate's delicate, the air most sweet, Fertile the isle, the temple much surpassing The common praise it bears. DION. I shall report, For most it caught me, the celestial habits- Methinks I so should term them- and the reverence Of the grave wearers. O, the sacrifice! How ceremonious, solemn, and unearthly, It was i' th' off'ring! CLEOMENES. But of all, the burst And the ear-deaf'ning voice o' th' oracle, Kin to Jove's thunder, so surpris'd my sense That I was nothing. DION. If th' event o' th' journey Prove as successful to the Queen- O, be't so!- As it hath been to us rare, pleasant, speedy, The time is worth the use on't. CLEOMENES. Great Apollo Turn all to th' best! These proclamations, So forcing faults upon Hermione, I little like. DION. The violent carriage of it Will clear or end the business. When the oracle- Thus by Apollo's great divine seal'd up- Shall the contents discover, something rare Even then will rush to knowledge. Go; fresh horses. And gracious be the issue! Exeunt Sicilia. A court of justice Enter LEONTES, LORDS, and OFFICERS LEONTES. This sessions, to our great grief we pronounce, Even pushes 'gainst our heart- the party tried, The daughter of a king, our wife, and one Of us too much belov'd. Let us be clear'd Of being tyrannous, since we so openly Proceed in justice, which shall have due course, Even to the guilt or the purgation. Produce the prisoner. OFFICER. It is his Highness' pleasure that the Queen Appear in person here in court. Enter HERMIONE, as to her trial, PAULINA, and LADIES Silence! LEONTES. Read the indictment. OFFICER. [Reads] 'Hermione, Queen to the worthy Leontes, King of Sicilia, thou art here accused and arraigned of high treason, in committing adultery with Polixenes, King of Bohemia; and conspiring with Camillo to take away the life of our sovereign lord the King, thy royal husband: the pretence whereof being by circumstances partly laid open, thou, Hermione, contrary to the faith and allegiance of true subject, didst counsel and aid them, for their better safety, to fly away by night.' HERMIONE. Since what I am to say must be but that Which contradicts my accusation, and The testimony on my part no other But what comes from myself, it shall scarce boot me To say 'Not guilty.' Mine integrity Being counted falsehood shall, as I express it, Be so receiv'd. But thus- if pow'rs divine Behold our human actions, as they do, I doubt not then but innocence shall make False accusation blush, and tyranny Tremble at patience. You, my lord, best know- Who least will seem to do so- my past life Hath been as continent, as chaste, as true, As I am now unhappy; which is more Than history can pattern, though devis'd And play'd to take spectators; for behold me- A fellow of the royal bed, which owe A moiety of the throne, a great king's daughter, The mother to a hopeful prince- here standing To prate and talk for life and honour fore Who please to come and hear. For life, I prize it As I weigh grief, which I would spare; for honour, 'Tis a derivative from me to mine, And only that I stand for. I appeal To your own conscience, sir, before Polixenes Came to your court, how I was in your grace, How merited to be so; since he came, With what encounter so uncurrent I Have strain'd t' appear thus; if one jot beyond The bound of honour, or in act or will That way inclining, hard'ned be the hearts Of all that hear me, and my near'st of kin Cry fie upon my grave! LEONTES. I ne'er heard yet That any of these bolder vices wanted Less impudence to gainsay what they did Than to perform it first. HERMIONE. That's true enough; Though 'tis a saying, sir, not due to me. LEONTES. You will not own it. HERMIONE. More than mistress of Which comes to me in name of fault, I must not At all acknowledge. For Polixenes, With whom I am accus'd, I do confess I lov'd him as in honour he requir'd; With such a kind of love as might become A lady like me; with a love even such, So and no other, as yourself commanded; Which not to have done, I think had been in me Both disobedience and ingratitude To you and toward your friend; whose love had spoke, Ever since it could speak, from an infant, freely, That it was yours. Now for conspiracy: I know not how it tastes, though it be dish'd For me to try how; all I know of it Is that Camillo was an honest man; And why he left your court, the gods themselves, Wotting no more than I, are ignorant. LEONTES. You knew of his departure, as you know What you have underta'en to do in's absence. HERMIONE. Sir, You speak a language that I understand not. My life stands in the level of your dreams, Which I'll lay down. LEONTES. Your actions are my dreams. You had a bastard by Polixenes, And I but dream'd it. As you were past all shame- Those of your fact are so- so past all truth; Which to deny concerns more than avails; for as Thy brat hath been cast out, like to itself, No father owning it- which is indeed More criminal in thee than it- so thou Shalt feel our justice; in whose easiest passage Look for no less than death. HERMIONE. Sir, spare your threats. The bug which you would fright me with I seek. To me can life be no commodity. The crown and comfort of my life, your favour, I do give lost, for I do feel it gone, But know not how it went; my second joy And first fruits of my body, from his presence I am barr'd, like one infectious; my third comfort, Starr'd most unluckily, is from my breast- The innocent milk in it most innocent mouth- Hal'd out to murder; myself on every post Proclaim'd a strumpet; with immodest hatred The child-bed privilege denied, which 'longs To women of all fashion; lastly, hurried Here to this place, i' th' open air, before I have got strength of limit. Now, my liege, Tell me what blessings I have here alive That I should fear to die. Therefore proceed. But yet hear this- mistake me not: no life, I prize it not a straw, but for mine honour Which I would free- if I shall be condemn'd Upon surmises, all proofs sleeping else But what your jealousies awake, I tell you 'Tis rigour, and not law. Your honours all, I do refer me to the oracle: Apollo be my judge! FIRST LORD. This your request Is altogether just. Therefore, bring forth, And in Apollo's name, his oracle. Exeunt certain OFFICERS HERMIONE. The Emperor of Russia was my father; O that he were alive, and here beholding His daughter's trial! that he did but see The flatness of my misery; yet with eyes Of pity, not revenge! Re-enter OFFICERS, with CLEOMENES and DION OFFICER. You here shall swear upon this sword of justice That you, Cleomenes and Dion, have Been both at Delphos, and from thence have brought This seal'd-up oracle, by the hand deliver'd Of great Apollo's priest; and that since then You have not dar'd to break the holy seal Nor read the secrets in't. CLEOMENES, DION. All this we swear. LEONTES. Break up the seals and read. OFFICER. [Reads] 'Hermione is chaste; Polixenes blameless; Camillo a true subject; Leontes a jealous tyrant; his innocent babe truly begotten; and the King shall live without an heir, if that which is lost be not found.' LORDS. Now blessed be the great Apollo! HERMIONE. Praised! LEONTES. Hast thou read truth? OFFICER. Ay, my lord; even so As it is here set down. LEONTES. There is no truth at all i' th' oracle. The sessions shall proceed. This is mere falsehood. Enter a SERVANT SERVANT. My lord the King, the King! LEONTES. What is the business? SERVANT. O sir, I shall be hated to report it: The Prince your son, with mere conceit and fear Of the Queen's speed, is gone. LEONTES. How! Gone? SERVANT. Is dead. LEONTES. Apollo's angry; and the heavens themselves Do strike at my injustice. [HERMIONE swoons] How now, there! PAULINA. This news is mortal to the Queen. Look down And see what death is doing. LEONTES. Take her hence. Her heart is but o'ercharg'd; she will recover. I have too much believ'd mine own suspicion. Beseech you tenderly apply to her Some remedies for life. Exeunt PAULINA and LADIES with HERMIONE Apollo, pardon My great profaneness 'gainst thine oracle. I'll reconcile me to Polixenes, New woo my queen, recall the good Camillo- Whom I proclaim a man of truth, of mercy. For, being transported by my jealousies To bloody thoughts and to revenge, I chose Camillo for the minister to poison My friend Polixenes; which had been done But that the good mind of Camillo tardied My swift command, though I with death and with Reward did threaten and encourage him, Not doing it and being done. He, most humane And fill'd with honour, to my kingly guest Unclasp'd my practice, quit his fortunes here, Which you knew great, and to the certain hazard Of all incertainties himself commended, No richer than his honour. How he glisters Thorough my rust! And how his piety Does my deeds make the blacker! Re-enter PAULINA PAULINA. Woe the while! O, cut my lace, lest my heart, cracking it, Break too! FIRST LORD. What fit is this, good lady? PAULINA. What studied torments, tyrant, hast for me? What wheels, racks, fires? what flaying, boiling In leads or oils? What old or newer torture Must I receive, whose every word deserves To taste of thy most worst? Thy tyranny Together working with thy jealousies, Fancies too weak for boys, too green and idle For girls of nine- O, think what they have done, And then run mad indeed, stark mad; for all Thy by-gone fooleries were but spices of it. That thou betray'dst Polixenes, 'twas nothing; That did but show thee, of a fool, inconstant, And damnable ingrateful. Nor was't much Thou wouldst have poison'd good Camillo's honour, To have him kill a king- poor trespasses, More monstrous standing by; whereof I reckon The casting forth to crows thy baby daughter To be or none or little, though a devil Would have shed water out of fire ere done't; Nor is't directly laid to thee, the death Of the young Prince, whose honourable thoughts- Thoughts high for one so tender- cleft the heart That could conceive a gross and foolish sire Blemish'd his gracious dam. This is not, no, Laid to thy answer; but the last- O lords, When I have said, cry 'Woe!'- the Queen, the Queen, The sweet'st, dear'st creature's dead; and vengeance For't not dropp'd down yet. FIRST LORD. The higher pow'rs forbid! PAULINA. I say she's dead; I'll swear't. If word nor oath Prevail not, go and see. If you can bring Tincture or lustre in her lip, her eye, Heat outwardly or breath within, I'll serve you As I would do the gods. But, O thou tyrant! Do not repent these things, for they are heavier Than all thy woes can stir; therefore betake thee To nothing but despair. A thousand knees Ten thousand years together, naked, fasting, Upon a barren mountain, and still winter In storm perpetual, could not move the gods To look that way thou wert. LEONTES. Go on, go on. Thou canst not speak too much; I have deserv'd All tongues to talk their bitt'rest. FIRST LORD. Say no more; Howe'er the business goes, you have made fault I' th' boldness of your speech. PAULINA. I am sorry for't. All faults I make, when I shall come to know them. I do repent. Alas, I have show'd too much The rashness of a woman! He is touch'd To th' noble heart. What's gone and what's past help Should be past grief. Do not receive affliction At my petition; I beseech you, rather Let me be punish'd that have minded you Of what you should forget. Now, good my liege, Sir, royal sir, forgive a foolish woman. The love I bore your queen- lo, fool again! I'll speak of her no more, nor of your children; I'll not remember you of my own lord, Who is lost too. Take your patience to you, And I'll say nothing. LEONTES. Thou didst speak but well When most the truth; which I receive much better Than to be pitied of thee. Prithee, bring me To the dead bodies of my queen and son. One grave shall be for both. Upon them shall The causes of their death appear, unto Our shame perpetual. Once a day I'll visit The chapel where they lie; and tears shed there Shall be my recreation. So long as nature Will bear up with this exercise, so long I daily vow to use it. Come, and lead me To these sorrows. Exeunt Bohemia. The sea-coast Enter ANTIGONUS with the CHILD, and a MARINER ANTIGONUS. Thou art perfect then our ship hath touch'd upon The deserts of Bohemia? MARINER. Ay, my lord, and fear We have landed in ill time; the skies look grimly And threaten present blusters. In my conscience, The heavens with that we have in hand are angry And frown upon 's. ANTIGONUS. Their sacred wills be done! Go, get aboard; Look to thy bark. I'll not be long before I call upon thee. MARINER. Make your best haste; and go not Too far i' th' land; 'tis like to be loud weather; Besides, this place is famous for the creatures Of prey that keep upon't. ANTIGONUS. Go thou away; I'll follow instantly. MARINER. I am glad at heart To be so rid o' th' business. Exit ANTIGONUS. Come, poor babe. I have heard, but not believ'd, the spirits o' th' dead May walk again. If such thing be, thy mother Appear'd to me last night; for ne'er was dream So like a waking. To me comes a creature, Sometimes her head on one side some another- I never saw a vessel of like sorrow, So fill'd and so becoming; in pure white robes, Like very sanctity, she did approach My cabin where I lay; thrice bow'd before me; And, gasping to begin some speech, her eyes Became two spouts; the fury spent, anon Did this break from her: 'Good Antigonus, Since fate, against thy better disposition, Hath made thy person for the thrower-out Of my poor babe, according to thine oath, Places remote enough are in Bohemia, There weep, and leave it crying; and, for the babe Is counted lost for ever, Perdita I prithee call't. For this ungentle business, Put on thee by my lord, thou ne'er shalt see Thy wife Paulina more.' so, with shrieks, She melted into air. Affrighted much, I did in time collect myself, and thought This was so and no slumber. Dreams are toys; Yet, for this once, yea, superstitiously, I will be squar'd by this. I do believe Hermione hath suffer'd death, and that Apollo would, this being indeed the issue Of King Polixenes, it should here be laid, Either for life or death, upon the earth Of its right father. Blossom, speed thee well! [Laying down the child] There lie, and there thy character; there these [Laying down a bundle] Which may, if fortune please, both breed thee, pretty, And still rest thine. The storm begins. Poor wretch, That for thy mother's fault art thus expos'd To loss and what may follow! Weep I cannot, But my heart bleeds; and most accurs'd am I To be by oath enjoin'd to this. Farewell! The day frowns more and more. Thou'rt like to have A lullaby too rough; I never saw The heavens so dim by day. [Noise of hunt within] A savage clamour! Well may I get aboard! This is the chase; I am gone for ever. Exit, pursued by a bear Enter an old SHEPHERD SHEPHERD. I would there were no age between ten and three and twenty, or that youth would sleep out the rest; for there is nothing in the between but getting wenches with child, wronging the ancientry, stealing, fighting- [Horns] Hark you now! Would any but these boil'd brains of nineteen and two and twenty hunt this weather? They have scar'd away two of my best sheep, which I fear the wolf will sooner find than the master. If any where I have them, 'tis by the sea-side, browsing of ivy. Good luck, an't be thy will! What have we here? [Taking up the child] Mercy on's, a barne! A very pretty barne. A boy or a child, I wonder? A pretty one; a very pretty one- sure, some scape. Though I am not bookish, yet I can read waiting-gentlewoman in the scape. This has been some stair-work, some trunk-work, some behind-door-work; they were warmer that got this than the poor thing is here. I'll take it up for pity; yet I'll tarry till my son come; he halloo'd but even now. Whoa-ho-hoa! Enter CLOWN CLOWN. Hilloa, loa! SHEPHERD. What, art so near? If thou'lt see a thing to talk on when thou art dead and rotten, come hither. What ail'st thou, man? CLOWN. I have seen two such sights, by sea and by land! But I am not to say it is a sea, for it is now the sky; betwixt the firmament and it you cannot thrust a bodkin's point. SHEPHERD. Why, boy, how is it? CLOWN. I would you did but see how it chafes, how it rages, how it takes up the shore! But that's not to the point. O, the most piteous cry of the poor souls! Sometimes to see 'em, and not to see 'em; now the ship boring the moon with her mainmast, and anon swallowed with yeast and froth, as you'd thrust a cork into a hogshead. And then for the land service- to see how the bear tore out his shoulder-bone; how he cried to me for help, and said his name was Antigonus, a nobleman! But to make an end of the ship- to see how the sea flap-dragon'd it; but first, how the poor souls roared, and the sea mock'd them; and how the poor gentleman roared, and the bear mock'd him, both roaring louder than the sea or weather. SHEPHERD. Name of mercy, when was this, boy? CLOWN. Now, now; I have not wink'd since I saw these sights; the men are not yet cold under water, nor the bear half din'd on the gentleman; he's at it now. SHEPHERD. Would I had been by to have help'd the old man! CLOWN. I would you had been by the ship-side, to have help'd her; there your charity would have lack'd footing. SHEPHERD. Heavy matters, heavy matters! But look thee here, boy. Now bless thyself; thou met'st with things dying, I with things new-born. Here's a sight for thee; look thee, a bearing-cloth for a squire's child! Look thee here; take up, take up, boy; open't. So, let's see- it was told me I should be rich by the fairies. This is some changeling. Open't. What's within, boy? CLOWN. You're a made old man; if the sins of your youth are forgiven you, you're well to live. Gold! all gold! SHEPHERD. This is fairy gold, boy, and 'twill prove so. Up with't, keep it close. Home, home, the next way! We are lucky, boy; and to be so still requires nothing but secrecy. Let my sheep go. Come, good boy, the next way home. CLOWN. Go you the next way with your findings. I'll go see if the bear be gone from the gentleman, and how much he hath eaten. They are never curst but when they are hungry. If there be any of him left, I'll bury it. SHEPHERD. That's a good deed. If thou mayest discern by that which is left of him what he is, fetch me to th' sight of him. CLOWN. Marry, will I; and you shall help to put him i' th' ground. SHEPHERD. 'Tis a lucky day, boy; and we'll do good deeds on't. Exeunt

Act 3

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Cleomenes and Dion, the courtiers dispatched by Leontes to the oracle at Delphi, speak with wonder about the ceremony they witnessed at the shrine. They hope that the oracle's judgment will help Queen Hermione. Scene ii: The trial of Hermione. With dignity and restraint, Hermione defends her chastity and condemns the injustice that has been done to her. Leontes remains as stubborn and angry as ever, attacking and threatening Hermione while she counters him eloquently. An officer breaks the seal on the message from the oracle and reads: Hermione, Polixenes, and Camillo are innocent and Leontes is a jealous tyrant. The oracle also predicts that Leontes will be without an heir unless the lost daughter is found. The court is delighted, but Leontes denounces the words of the oracle as false. But then a servant enters, bringing terrible news: Prince Mamillius is dead, killed by anxiety about his mother's fate. Leontes believes that the gods have killed the child as punishment to the king, and finally he realizes that he has been in error. Hermione swoons, and is helped out of the room by Paulina and several officers. Leontes is now fully penitent, asking the gods' forgiveness and promising to make amends. Paulina reenters and lashes out at the king, condemning his tyranny and jealousy. Hermione is dead. Paulina continues to rebuke the king harshly, but when she sees his grief and penitence she regrets her roughness. Leontes says that he will have queen and prince buried in the same grave, and he will grieve for the rest of his days. Scene iii: Antigonus, carrying the baby, enters with a mariner. They have set down on the shores of Bohemia, and the sailor is nervous because the sky is threatening. He fears the gods are angry with them because of what they are doing, and he warns Antigonus not to wander too far or too long, because this land is famous for its wild beasts. After the sailor exits, Antigonus tells the baby that he saw Hermione's spirit last night in a dream. The ghost wept and then told him that the child's name is Perdita, because she is lost. Hermione's ghost also informed Antigonus that because of his hand in the child's abandonment, Antigonus will never see his wife again. Antigonus believes that the dream is a sign of Hermione's death. He has either come to believe or forced himself to believe Leontes' suspicions, and so he is abandoning the child in the wilds of Bohemia, the land of her supposed father. He leaves the child with a bundle and a box. He regrets his task, but he feels bound by his oath. Then he suddenly exits, pursued by a bear. A Shepherd wanders onstage, complaining about young people and looking for two lost sheep; instead of finding them, he stumbles onto Perdita. He believes she must be the unwanted illegitimate offspring of two servants, and he resolves to take care of her. His son enters, having just witnessed two fantastic scenes. On the sea, a ship was swallowed up by the waves, and on land, a bear killed and began to devour a nobleman. The Shepherd's Son has no idea who these victims were, although the audience knows immediately that he is talking about Antigonus and the ship that carried him from Sicilia. The Shepherd feels pity for the dead, but he also has great hope for the child that he has found: "Thou met'st with things dying, I with things newborn" . The Shepherd and his son find that the box left with the baby is full of gold, and he now believes that the child is a changeling, a child left by fairies. The Shepherd's Son announces his intent to return to the scene of the bear attack so he can bury whatever is left of the nobleman's body.

We see in the exchange between Cleomenes and Dion that the people of Sicilia have a great deal of respect and love for Queen Hermione. When put on trial, she is an exemplar of a specific kind of strength. Although the setting is pagan, her forbearance and resolve follow Christian models of virtue, particularly passive and feminine virtue. She wishes that her father, the emperor of Russia, might see her, but to provide comfort rather than a means to revenge. Her suffering is almost completely passive; she trusts to the gods to provide testimony on her behalf, and chooses to nobly endure suffering rather than try to escape or more actively oppose the king. At the end of the play, when she is miraculously restored, she takes him back without question. One of The Winter's Tale's important themes is the drive to preserve and restore order, with that order being embodied in patriarchy, the king, and the royal family. Ironically, women like Hermione and Paulina are often the key preservers of this patriarchal order. Hermione's virtue comes in part through her sense of her place; although she criticizes Leontes' treatment of her, she is ultimately obedient to her husband. When on trial, she points out that the love she showed Polixenes was consistent with what Leontes himself commanded, and this obedience to her husband's will is part of why people praise her. Although Leontes behaves like a tyrant, no character tries to remove the king from his throne. The action of the play is to repair the damage caused by Leontes' jealousy, but note what characters are not willing to do: Camillo flees, Hermione endures, and Paulina, though she criticizes the king, will eventually restore his wife to him. Unlike tragedy, where a man of high position falls because of excesses or flaws in his character, here that momentum is totally disarmed. A happy ending is possible because so many characters, though critical of Leontes' tyranny, are ultimately loyal to him and work tirelessly to restore to him what he himself has destroyed. When obedience to Leontes becomes impossible because of the dictates of conscience, loyalty to his office and position remains. Paulina confronts him fearlessly, but even she tells the lord who bars her way that she comes to bring Leontes comfort and sleep. And once she sees that Leontes is remorseful, she forgives him even though he has caused the death of Hermione and Mamillius, and eventually causes the death of Paulina's husband. Camillo, who of all the king's beloved most directly disobeys him, must immediately replace his old master with a new one. Camillo is incomplete without a monarch to serve. And even Camillo, in the end, will long to return to Sicilia and the king that he could not obey with a clear conscience. The king's recognition of his error and his subsequent remorse come about as suddenly as did his jealousy. Though we are meant to take the word of the oracle as truth, Leontes initially does not. The much-awaited word of the oracle is quickly brushed aside, and it is the death of his son moments later that suddenly convinces Leontes that he has been wrong. The king believes that he is being punished by Apollo. But why should he interpret the boy's death this way, when moments earlier he was convinced that he was not Mamillius' true father? It is possible to argue that Mamillius' death convinces him of the oracle's accuracy because it fulfills the prediction that Leontes would go without an heir until the retrieval of his daughter. And yet that explanation seems unconvincing, because Leontes' remorse comes so quickly after he hears the news of Mamillius' death; there seems to be no time to realize that the oracle's prophecy is being fulfilled. Leontes himself certainly never explains his reversal this way. He comes around because he interprets the boy's death as retribution from the gods, even though other explanations seem more plausible. Shakespeare's portrayal of Leontes' remorse is not about a triumph of reason. Instead, the king's reversal is a canny and penetrating depiction of the power of guilt, which, in this case, is strong enough to break down Leontes' delusions. Although until now he has persevered in his fantasies with the single-mindedness of a madman, there are signs earlier in the play that some part of him recognizes the truth. In Act 2, Scene Three, he hears the news about Mamillius' illness with some degree of concern, and he instructs the servant to make sure that the child is given proper care. Is this compassion normal for Leontes? In that same scene, he orders his infant daughter to death by exposure to the elements and thinks happily of setting fire to his wife: clearly, he is not feeling any strong need to treat anyone with compassion or mercy. Yet some concern remains for his boy. In Act 3, his sudden remorse betrays some knowledge Leontes must have of his wife's faithfulness. He can only interpret Mamillius' death as punishment if he believes that the child is his. Mamillius' sudden death from sickness, caused by the boy's anxiety, which in turn was caused by the king's treatment of Hermione, finally sticks to Leontes' conscience. Sorrow and then guilt set in, accomplishing what the words of the oracle could not. Leontes has deliberately persevered in his delusions, isolating himself from love of his wife and son, from compassion, and from his court. Guilt returns him to them. A close look at Antigonus and Camillo illuminates the important theme of conflict between loyalty and conscience. Shakespeare sets up strong parallels between Camillo and Antigonus, making each man an alternate version of the other . The difference is that Camillo follows his conscience. Although he has told his king that he will commit murder, instead he chooses to help the intended victim to escape. Antigonus, on the other hand, sticks to his oath and leaves an infant to what seems to be a certain death. The gods do not validate his choice: although the ghost of Hermione seems to recognize that Antigonus acts under extreme pressure , the gods still punish him for his role in Perdita's abandonment. Self-deception has been necessary for him to be able to do what he knows is wrong: although he previously defended Hermione's virtue, in Scene Three he seems to have accepted that Perdita is a bastard. To ease his conscience, he has convinced himself that Leontes' absurd suspicions are the truth. Shakespeare calls attention to Antigonus' failure through the character's name. It is a male form of "Antigone," the great heroine of Sophocles' drama who defies the king and dies for her beliefs . Although Sophocles' play was not performed for the English audiences of Shakespeare's time, the story was known, and Antigonus' ignoble and comic death becomes all the more embarrassing in light of Antigone's glorious martyrdom. His comic death at the hands of an angry bear is a rich moment. Many critics have pointed to his death as the play's moment of transformation from tragedy to comedy and romance. The Shepherd calls attention to Scene Three as a time of contrasts and cycles. His son finds death, but the Shepherd finds life; the rest of the play will move towards repairing the damage that Leontes has caused. Bears hibernate during the winter and then emerge during spring, acting out the death and rebirth alluded to by the shepherd. The fact that Perdita is found by shepherds also has obvious Christian connotations. Like the good shepherd of Christ's parables, the Shepherd is looking for his lost sheep. He finds the infant instead, and immediately the old man feels compassion for the child. Shakespeare synthesizes Christian and pagan worldviews to create a new myth of death and rebirth in The Winter's Tale, and miraculous death and rebirth is one of the play's most important themes. The next act is set in the countryside during a time of feasting, and the pastoral setting is a welcome change from the oppressive atmosphere of the tyrant-ruled Sicilian court.

cliffnotes

all_chapterized_books/1134-chapters/1.txt

finished_summaries/cliffnotes/The Winter's Tale/section_0_part_0.txt

The Winter's Tale.act 1.scene 1

scene 1

{"name": "Scene 1", "url": "https://web.archive.org/web/20201130173005/https://www.cliffsnotes.com/literature/w/the-winters-tale/summary-and-analysis/act-i-scene-1", "summary": "Archidamus, a lord of Bohemia, tells Camillo, a lord of Sicilia, that should he ever visit Bohemia that he would find great differences between the two countries. Camillo responds that he thinks his king plans an exchange visit during the coming summer. Archidamus predicts that although their entertainments cannot match Sicilia's, they will manage to express their love. When Camillo protests the apology, Archidamus emphasizes that he knows that his country of Bohemia cannot produce \"such magnificence.\" Archidamus then envisions offering drinks that will drug the visitors; if unable to praise their hosts, they will at least not be able to blame them for inadequate \"magnificence.\" Camillo then tells Archidamus that Leontes is being so generous because of the great love that he has had for the Bohemian king since childhood. All of the formal, diplomatic gifts that the kings have exchanged during the intervening years of separation have maintained the strong friendship that still binds them. Camillo calls for help from the heavens to maintain this love. Archidamus comments that no earthly force could be strong enough to alter that love. Then he praises Leontes' son, Prince Mamillius, as the most promising young man he has ever observed. Camillo agrees, claiming that Leontes' elderly subjects remain alive only for the joy of observing Mamillius when he grows to adulthood. Archidamus, more realistically, states that the elderly would find a reason to continue to survive even if Mamillius did not exist.", "analysis": "The conversation between Archidamus and Camillo establishes the two main settings of the play and introduces the theme of deep and lasting friendship between the two kings. We can also infer that Leontes possesses natural riches far beyond those of Polixenes . The fact that no single main character appears in this scene forces our initial focus onto the contrasting settings; Sicilia is established as being the preferable location. While Archidamus bemoans the impossibility of matching the hospitality of Sicilia, he introduces a human temptation that will cause great harm throughout the play -- that is, confusing reality with illusion. First, he is stymied by reality: \"We cannot with such magnificence -- in so rare -- I know not what to say.\" Then, he envisions a means to avoid the reality: \"We will give you sleepy drinks, that your senses, unintelligent of our insufficience, may, though they cannot praise us, as little accuse us.\" A little later, Archidamus reverses his vision and returns to reality, when he counters Camillo's claim about Mamillius: \"They that went on crutches ere he was born desire yet their life to see him a man.\" Archidamus doubts that the elderly would die without the inspiration of Mamillius, and he bluntly declares: \"If the King had no son, they would desire to live on crutches till he had one.\" Archidamus then speaks of the long friendship between the two kings, and he says that he doubts if there is \"in the world either malice or matter to alter it.\" In fact, no reality does exist to alter that friendship, but illusion can, and will, alter it."}

Sicilia. The palace of LEONTES Enter CAMILLO and ARCHIDAMUS ARCHIDAMUS. If you shall chance, Camillo, to visit Bohemia, on the like occasion whereon my services are now on foot, you shall see, as I have said, great difference betwixt our Bohemia and your Sicilia. CAMILLO. I think this coming summer the King of Sicilia means to pay Bohemia the visitation which he justly owes him. ARCHIDAMUS. Wherein our entertainment shall shame us we will be justified in our loves; for indeed- CAMILLO. Beseech you- ARCHIDAMUS. Verily, I speak it in the freedom of my knowledge: we cannot with such magnificence, in so rare- I know not what to say. We will give you sleepy drinks, that your senses, unintelligent of our insufficience, may, though they cannot praise us, as little accuse us. CAMILLO. You pay a great deal too dear for what's given freely. ARCHIDAMUS. Believe me, I speak as my understanding instructs me and as mine honesty puts it to utterance. CAMILLO. Sicilia cannot show himself overkind to Bohemia. They were train'd together in their childhoods; and there rooted betwixt them then such an affection which cannot choose but branch now. Since their more mature dignities and royal necessities made separation of their society, their encounters, though not personal, have been royally attorneyed with interchange of gifts, letters, loving embassies; that they have seem'd to be together, though absent; shook hands, as over a vast; and embrac'd as it were from the ends of opposed winds. The heavens continue their loves! ARCHIDAMUS. I think there is not in the world either malice or matter to alter it. You have an unspeakable comfort of your young Prince Mamillius; it is a gentleman of the greatest promise that ever came into my note. CAMILLO. I very well agree with you in the hopes of him. It is a gallant child; one that indeed physics the subject, makes old hearts fresh; they that went on crutches ere he was born desire yet their life to see him a man. ARCHIDAMUS. Would they else be content to die? CAMILLO. Yes; if there were no other excuse why they should desire to live. ARCHIDAMUS. If the King had no son, they would desire to live on crutches till he had one. Exeunt

Scene 1

https://web.archive.org/web/20201130173005/https://www.cliffsnotes.com/literature/w/the-winters-tale/summary-and-analysis/act-i-scene-1

Archidamus, a lord of Bohemia, tells Camillo, a lord of Sicilia, that should he ever visit Bohemia that he would find great differences between the two countries. Camillo responds that he thinks his king plans an exchange visit during the coming summer. Archidamus predicts that although their entertainments cannot match Sicilia's, they will manage to express their love. When Camillo protests the apology, Archidamus emphasizes that he knows that his country of Bohemia cannot produce "such magnificence." Archidamus then envisions offering drinks that will drug the visitors; if unable to praise their hosts, they will at least not be able to blame them for inadequate "magnificence." Camillo then tells Archidamus that Leontes is being so generous because of the great love that he has had for the Bohemian king since childhood. All of the formal, diplomatic gifts that the kings have exchanged during the intervening years of separation have maintained the strong friendship that still binds them. Camillo calls for help from the heavens to maintain this love. Archidamus comments that no earthly force could be strong enough to alter that love. Then he praises Leontes' son, Prince Mamillius, as the most promising young man he has ever observed. Camillo agrees, claiming that Leontes' elderly subjects remain alive only for the joy of observing Mamillius when he grows to adulthood. Archidamus, more realistically, states that the elderly would find a reason to continue to survive even if Mamillius did not exist.

The conversation between Archidamus and Camillo establishes the two main settings of the play and introduces the theme of deep and lasting friendship between the two kings. We can also infer that Leontes possesses natural riches far beyond those of Polixenes . The fact that no single main character appears in this scene forces our initial focus onto the contrasting settings; Sicilia is established as being the preferable location. While Archidamus bemoans the impossibility of matching the hospitality of Sicilia, he introduces a human temptation that will cause great harm throughout the play -- that is, confusing reality with illusion. First, he is stymied by reality: "We cannot with such magnificence -- in so rare -- I know not what to say." Then, he envisions a means to avoid the reality: "We will give you sleepy drinks, that your senses, unintelligent of our insufficience, may, though they cannot praise us, as little accuse us." A little later, Archidamus reverses his vision and returns to reality, when he counters Camillo's claim about Mamillius: "They that went on crutches ere he was born desire yet their life to see him a man." Archidamus doubts that the elderly would die without the inspiration of Mamillius, and he bluntly declares: "If the King had no son, they would desire to live on crutches till he had one." Archidamus then speaks of the long friendship between the two kings, and he says that he doubts if there is "in the world either malice or matter to alter it." In fact, no reality does exist to alter that friendship, but illusion can, and will, alter it.

cliffnotes

all_chapterized_books/1134-chapters/4.txt

finished_summaries/cliffnotes/The Winter's Tale/section_3_part_0.txt

The Winter's Tale.act 2.scene 2

scene 2

{"name": "Scene 2", "url": "https://web.archive.org/web/20201130173005/https://www.cliffsnotes.com/literature/w/the-winters-tale/summary-and-analysis/act-ii-scene-2", "summary": "Paulina and her attendants appear at the prison to request a visit with Hermione. The gaoler replies that he has orders not to allow visitors. Paulina then requests a chance to speak to one of the queen's ladies, Emilia if possible. The gaoler agrees to bring Emilia to Paulina if she dismisses her attendants, and if he himself can attend the conference. Paulina cooperates, but she expresses in asides the building fury that she feels about her good queen's imprisonment. Emilia reports that Hermione is doing as well as one \"so great and so forlorn\" might expect in her situation. Blaming the fears and sadnesses that weigh upon the queen, Emilia reports the premature delivery of a daughter. In spite of the \"dangerous unsafe lunes i' the king,\" Paulina decides to show Leontes his infant daughter, and she pledges a blistering advocacy for the queen. If Hermione will trust her with the infant, Paulina feels that the sight of the innocent baby will persuade Leontes to change his attitude toward the queen. Emilia praises Paulina as the most suitable woman to undertake the brave errand. In fact, she says, Hermione had thought of the same plan but had rejected it because she feared that anyone whom she might ask to do so would turn her down. When Emilia exits to ask for the baby, the gaoler tells Paulina that he cannot allow the baby to leave the prison unless he sees a warrant. Paulina convinces him that the baby entered the prison as an innocent in her mother's womb and therefore needs no warrant in order to leave. This argument easily sways the simple gaoler, but Paulina further soothes his fears by pledging to stand between him and any danger from Leontes.", "analysis": "Compared to Hermione's gentle, obedient reaction to Leontes' tyranny, Paulina's rage is graphically gathering as she prepares to confront her king. Obviously she has no intention of using the diplomatic ploys of Camillo or the other advisers; she will voice only her own absolute outrage at the mistreatment of the innocent. Well aware of the \"lunes\" that now control Leontes, Paulina determines that a direct attack of Truth will shake him loose from his insanity. And clearly, Leontes' actions can be called insane for they have destroyed a peaceful court life and a happy family life. The scene is focused on Hermione's hard and unjust imprisonment and Paulina's resulting rebellion: \"Here's ado,/ To lock up honesty and honor from/ The access of gentle visitors.\" Paulina must claw her way into a position to argue the queen's case. She is not only a singular volunteer, but she is the most qualified person to do so, according to Emilia: \"There is no lady living/ So meet for this great errand.\" Paulina believes that she knows what Leontes really wants, and what truly motivates him. She believes that he wants to love his wife and child, but needs a new cause to do so. She is correct, but only after many tragedies and many years will this be proven. At present, Paulina chooses her own dangerous, unswerving course."}

Sicilia. A prison Enter PAULINA, a GENTLEMAN, and ATTENDANTS PAULINA. The keeper of the prison- call to him; Let him have knowledge who I am. Exit GENTLEMAN Good lady! No court in Europe is too good for thee; What dost thou then in prison? Re-enter GENTLEMAN with the GAOLER Now, good sir, You know me, do you not? GAOLER. For a worthy lady, And one who much I honour. PAULINA. Pray you, then, Conduct me to the Queen. GAOLER. I may not, madam; To the contrary I have express commandment. PAULINA. Here's ado, to lock up honesty and honour from Th' access of gentle visitors! Is't lawful, pray you, To see her women- any of them? Emilia? GAOLER. So please you, madam, To put apart these your attendants, Shall bring Emilia forth. PAULINA. I pray now, call her. Withdraw yourselves. Exeunt ATTENDANTS GAOLER. And, madam, I must be present at your conference. PAULINA. Well, be't so, prithee. Exit GAOLER Here's such ado to make no stain a stain As passes colouring. Re-enter GAOLER, with EMILIA Dear gentlewoman, How fares our gracious lady? EMILIA. As well as one so great and so forlorn May hold together. On her frights and griefs, Which never tender lady hath borne greater, She is, something before her time, deliver'd. PAULINA. A boy? EMILIA. A daughter, and a goodly babe, Lusty, and like to live. The Queen receives Much comfort in't; says 'My poor prisoner, I am as innocent as you.' PAULINA. I dare be sworn. These dangerous unsafe lunes i' th' King, beshrew them! He must be told on't, and he shall. The office Becomes a woman best; I'll take't upon me; If I prove honey-mouth'd, let my tongue blister, And never to my red-look'd anger be The trumpet any more. Pray you, Emilia, Commend my best obedience to the Queen; If she dares trust me with her little babe, I'll show't the King, and undertake to be Her advocate to th' loud'st. We do not know How he may soften at the sight o' th' child: The silence often of pure innocence Persuades when speaking fails. EMILIA. Most worthy madam, Your honour and your goodness is so evident That your free undertaking cannot miss A thriving issue; there is no lady living So meet for this great errand. Please your ladyship To visit the next room, I'll presently Acquaint the Queen of your most noble offer Who but to-day hammer'd of this design, But durst not tempt a minister of honour, Lest she should be denied. PAULINA. Tell her, Emilia, I'll use that tongue I have; if wit flow from't As boldness from my bosom, let't not be doubted I shall do good. EMILIA. Now be you blest for it! I'll to the Queen. Please you come something nearer. GAOLER. Madam, if't please the Queen to send the babe, I know not what I shall incur to pass it, Having no warrant. PAULINA. You need not fear it, sir. This child was prisoner to the womb, and is By law and process of great Nature thence Freed and enfranchis'd- not a party to The anger of the King, nor guilty of, If any be, the trespass of the Queen. GAOLER. I do believe it. PAULINA. Do not you fear. Upon mine honour, I Will stand betwixt you and danger. Exeunt

Scene 2

https://web.archive.org/web/20201130173005/https://www.cliffsnotes.com/literature/w/the-winters-tale/summary-and-analysis/act-ii-scene-2

Paulina and her attendants appear at the prison to request a visit with Hermione. The gaoler replies that he has orders not to allow visitors. Paulina then requests a chance to speak to one of the queen's ladies, Emilia if possible. The gaoler agrees to bring Emilia to Paulina if she dismisses her attendants, and if he himself can attend the conference. Paulina cooperates, but she expresses in asides the building fury that she feels about her good queen's imprisonment. Emilia reports that Hermione is doing as well as one "so great and so forlorn" might expect in her situation. Blaming the fears and sadnesses that weigh upon the queen, Emilia reports the premature delivery of a daughter. In spite of the "dangerous unsafe lunes i' the king," Paulina decides to show Leontes his infant daughter, and she pledges a blistering advocacy for the queen. If Hermione will trust her with the infant, Paulina feels that the sight of the innocent baby will persuade Leontes to change his attitude toward the queen. Emilia praises Paulina as the most suitable woman to undertake the brave errand. In fact, she says, Hermione had thought of the same plan but had rejected it because she feared that anyone whom she might ask to do so would turn her down. When Emilia exits to ask for the baby, the gaoler tells Paulina that he cannot allow the baby to leave the prison unless he sees a warrant. Paulina convinces him that the baby entered the prison as an innocent in her mother's womb and therefore needs no warrant in order to leave. This argument easily sways the simple gaoler, but Paulina further soothes his fears by pledging to stand between him and any danger from Leontes.

Compared to Hermione's gentle, obedient reaction to Leontes' tyranny, Paulina's rage is graphically gathering as she prepares to confront her king. Obviously she has no intention of using the diplomatic ploys of Camillo or the other advisers; she will voice only her own absolute outrage at the mistreatment of the innocent. Well aware of the "lunes" that now control Leontes, Paulina determines that a direct attack of Truth will shake him loose from his insanity. And clearly, Leontes' actions can be called insane for they have destroyed a peaceful court life and a happy family life. The scene is focused on Hermione's hard and unjust imprisonment and Paulina's resulting rebellion: "Here's ado,/ To lock up honesty and honor from/ The access of gentle visitors." Paulina must claw her way into a position to argue the queen's case. She is not only a singular volunteer, but she is the most qualified person to do so, according to Emilia: "There is no lady living/ So meet for this great errand." Paulina believes that she knows what Leontes really wants, and what truly motivates him. She believes that he wants to love his wife and child, but needs a new cause to do so. She is correct, but only after many tragedies and many years will this be proven. At present, Paulina chooses her own dangerous, unswerving course.

cliffnotes

all_chapterized_books/1134-chapters/6.txt

finished_summaries/cliffnotes/The Winter's Tale/section_5_part_0.txt

The Winter's Tale.act 3.scene 1

scene 1

{"name": "Scene 1", "url": "https://web.archive.org/web/20201130173005/https://www.cliffsnotes.com/literature/w/the-winters-tale/summary-and-analysis/act-iii-scene-1", "summary": "Walking through the streets of a Sicilian town, Cleomenes and Dion exchange their impressions of the general appearance and, especially, the religious atmosphere that they observed on the \"island of Delphos .\" Cleomenes remembers vividly the thundering voice of the oracle; Dion says that he hopes that the trip will prove as successful for the queen as it has for them. Both messengers are certain that Apollo's divination will clear up all doubts surrounding the accusations against Hermione. The two messengers exit to mount fresh horses in order to speed their delivery of the sealed message.", "analysis": "At first glance, this brief scene seems to serve only as extraneous travelogue. It serves this purpose, but more important, it adds to the dramatic tension as preparations are being made for Hermione's trial. By verifying the \"religious\" authenticity of their visit to Delphos and by anticipating the divine perception of Hermione's innocence, the messengers seem now to bear an unimpeachable testimony against Leontes' tyranny. As was mentioned earlier, the scene also employs the license that is recognizable in the Pastoral Romance genre when Delphos is described as an island."}

Sicilia. On the road to the Capital Enter CLEOMENES and DION CLEOMENES. The climate's delicate, the air most sweet, Fertile the isle, the temple much surpassing The common praise it bears. DION. I shall report, For most it caught me, the celestial habits- Methinks I so should term them- and the reverence Of the grave wearers. O, the sacrifice! How ceremonious, solemn, and unearthly, It was i' th' off'ring! CLEOMENES. But of all, the burst And the ear-deaf'ning voice o' th' oracle, Kin to Jove's thunder, so surpris'd my sense That I was nothing. DION. If th' event o' th' journey Prove as successful to the Queen- O, be't so!- As it hath been to us rare, pleasant, speedy, The time is worth the use on't. CLEOMENES. Great Apollo Turn all to th' best! These proclamations, So forcing faults upon Hermione, I little like. DION. The violent carriage of it Will clear or end the business. When the oracle- Thus by Apollo's great divine seal'd up- Shall the contents discover, something rare Even then will rush to knowledge. Go; fresh horses. And gracious be the issue! Exeunt

Scene 1

https://web.archive.org/web/20201130173005/https://www.cliffsnotes.com/literature/w/the-winters-tale/summary-and-analysis/act-iii-scene-1

Walking through the streets of a Sicilian town, Cleomenes and Dion exchange their impressions of the general appearance and, especially, the religious atmosphere that they observed on the "island of Delphos ." Cleomenes remembers vividly the thundering voice of the oracle; Dion says that he hopes that the trip will prove as successful for the queen as it has for them. Both messengers are certain that Apollo's divination will clear up all doubts surrounding the accusations against Hermione. The two messengers exit to mount fresh horses in order to speed their delivery of the sealed message.

At first glance, this brief scene seems to serve only as extraneous travelogue. It serves this purpose, but more important, it adds to the dramatic tension as preparations are being made for Hermione's trial. By verifying the "religious" authenticity of their visit to Delphos and by anticipating the divine perception of Hermione's innocence, the messengers seem now to bear an unimpeachable testimony against Leontes' tyranny. As was mentioned earlier, the scene also employs the license that is recognizable in the Pastoral Romance genre when Delphos is described as an island.

cliffnotes

all_chapterized_books/1134-chapters/9.txt

finished_summaries/cliffnotes/The Winter's Tale/section_8_part_0.txt

The Winter's Tale.act 4.scene 1

scene 1

{"name": "Scene 1", "url": "https://web.archive.org/web/20201130173005/https://www.cliffsnotes.com/literature/w/the-winters-tale/summary-and-analysis/act-iv-scene-1", "summary": "A Chorus symbolizing Time announces that sixteen years have passed. During those years, Leontes has replaced his jealousy with seclusion, while Florizel and Perdita have grown up and matured in Bohemia.", "analysis": "As in ancient Greek plays, a Chorus substitutes narrative for dramatic action. In addition to preparing the audience for an adult Florizel and Perdita, when next we see them, the narrative transcends the focus from the actions of Leontes to the actions of the Bohemian cast of characters."}

Enter TIME, the CHORUS TIME. I, that please some, try all, both joy and terror Of good and bad, that makes and unfolds error, Now take upon me, in the name of Time, To use my wings. Impute it not a crime To me or my swift passage that I slide O'er sixteen years, and leave the growth untried Of that wide gap, since it is in my pow'r To o'erthrow law, and in one self-born hour To plant and o'erwhelm custom. Let me pass The same I am, ere ancient'st order was Or what is now receiv'd. I witness to The times that brought them in; so shall I do To th' freshest things now reigning, and make stale The glistering of this present, as my tale Now seems to it. Your patience this allowing, I turn my glass, and give my scene such growing As you had slept between. Leontes leaving- Th' effects of his fond jealousies so grieving That he shuts up himself- imagine me, Gentle spectators, that I now may be In fair Bohemia; and remember well I mention'd a son o' th' King's, which Florizel I now name to you; and with speed so pace To speak of Perdita, now grown in grace Equal with wond'ring. What of her ensues I list not prophesy; but let Time's news Be known when 'tis brought forth. A shepherd's daughter, And what to her adheres, which follows after, Is th' argument of Time. Of this allow, If ever you have spent time worse ere now; If never, yet that Time himself doth say He wishes earnestly you never may. Exit

Scene 1

https://web.archive.org/web/20201130173005/https://www.cliffsnotes.com/literature/w/the-winters-tale/summary-and-analysis/act-iv-scene-1

A Chorus symbolizing Time announces that sixteen years have passed. During those years, Leontes has replaced his jealousy with seclusion, while Florizel and Perdita have grown up and matured in Bohemia.

As in ancient Greek plays, a Chorus substitutes narrative for dramatic action. In addition to preparing the audience for an adult Florizel and Perdita, when next we see them, the narrative transcends the focus from the actions of Leontes to the actions of the Bohemian cast of characters.

cliffnotes

all_chapterized_books/1134-chapters/10.txt

finished_summaries/cliffnotes/The Winter's Tale/section_9_part_0.txt

The Winter's Tale.act 4.scene 2

scene 2

{"name": "Scene 2", "url": "https://web.archive.org/web/20201130173005/https://www.cliffsnotes.com/literature/w/the-winters-tale/summary-and-analysis/act-iv-scene-2", "summary": "Polixenes and Camillo enter; they are in the middle of a discussion. The King of Bohemia has asked Camillo to drop his request to return to Sicilia, but Camillo cannot; he urges Polixenes to allow him to return to his beloved Sicilia because the penitent Leontes has requested him to do so. Camillo is growing old; he longs both to die at home and to ease the sorrows of the Sicilian king. Polixenes pleads with Camillo to stay; he claims that the goodness and administrative skills of Camillo can never be equaled. And as for the grief in Sicilia, Polixenes prefers not to be reminded of it. Edging toward his own problems, Polixenes asks Camillo if he has seen Prince Florizel recently. The king hints that a living son can create as much grief as a dead one. Camillo has neither seen Florizel nor can he guess where the prince goes. He knows only that the prince is often absent and has been neglecting his court duties. The king, however, does know where Florizel goes. Spies have reported that Florizel has been seen dawdling about the home of a shepherd, whose financial circumstances have mysteriously improved. Camillo recognizes the description of this shepherd: His household is said to include a daughter of unusual rarity. In order to discover why Florizel visits the shepherd's home, suspecting the lure of the shepherd's daughter, Polixenes wants Camillo to accompany him to the site. There, in disguise, they should be able to extract an answer of some kind from the simple shepherd. Camillo agrees to drop his request to return to Sicilia and accompany Polixenes on this mission.", "analysis": "This scene begins with the central conflict of the subplot. Its complications include Camillo's presence near the persuasive Polixenes, who opposes Camillo's yearning to return home to Sicilia. Another, later conflict, barely sketched here, will be the conflict between the desire of Polixenes, who wants his son to perform filial and royal duties, and Florizel, who wants only to be with Perdita. Camillo's characterization remains impressive. He behaves superbly as the able and trusted administrator who always exercises independent judgment. As in the first act, he now struggles with a conflict between his desire to serve both kings who want him and his own stronger personal motivation to return home. Polixenes is developing into a more manipulative and selfish character than we discerned earlier. However, he cannot be mistaken for an evil villain. Like Leontes, he must confront the question of loyal obedience within a family that he loves, but unlike Leontes, he does not permit a few observations to fester until he becomes mad. Before we leave this scene, note that two favorite Elizabethan dramatic gimmicks are promised for the audience's interest -- love and disguise."}

Bohemia. The palace of POLIXENES Enter POLIXENES and CAMILLO POLIXENES. I pray thee, good Camillo, be no more importunate: 'tis a sickness denying thee anything; a death to grant this. CAMILLO. It is fifteen years since I saw my country; though I have for the most part been aired abroad, I desire to lay my bones there. Besides, the penitent King, my master, hath sent for me; to whose feeling sorrows I might be some allay, or I o'erween to think so, which is another spur to my departure. POLIXENES. As thou lov'st me, Camillo, wipe not out the rest of thy services by leaving me now. The need I have of thee thine own goodness hath made. Better not to have had thee than thus to want thee; thou, having made me businesses which none without thee can sufficiently manage, must either stay to execute them thyself, or take away with thee the very services thou hast done; which if I have not enough considered- as too much I cannot- to be more thankful to thee shall be my study; and my profit therein the heaping friendships. Of that fatal country Sicilia, prithee, speak no more; whose very naming punishes me with the remembrance of that penitent, as thou call'st him, and reconciled king, my brother; whose loss of his most precious queen and children are even now to be afresh lamented. Say to me, when saw'st thou the Prince Florizel, my son? Kings are no less unhappy, their issue not being gracious, than they are in losing them when they have approved their virtues. CAMILLO. Sir, it is three days since I saw the Prince. What his happier affairs may be are to me unknown; but I have missingly noted he is of late much retired from court, and is less frequent to his princely exercises than formerly he hath appeared. POLIXENES. I have considered so much, Camillo, and with some care, so far that I have eyes under my service which look upon his removedness; from whom I have this intelligence, that he is seldom from the house of a most homely shepherd- a man, they say, that from very nothing, and beyond the imagination of his neighbours, is grown into an unspeakable estate. CAMILLO. I have heard, sir, of such a man, who hath a daughter of most rare note. The report of her is extended more than can be thought to begin from such a cottage. POLIXENES. That's likewise part of my intelligence; but, I fear, the angle that plucks our son thither. Thou shalt accompany us to the place; where we will, not appearing what we are, have some question with the shepherd; from whose simplicity I think it not uneasy to get the cause of my son's resort thither. Prithee be my present partner in this business, and lay aside the thoughts of Sicilia. CAMILLO. I willingly obey your command. POLIXENES. My best Camillo! We must disguise ourselves. Exeunt

Scene 2

https://web.archive.org/web/20201130173005/https://www.cliffsnotes.com/literature/w/the-winters-tale/summary-and-analysis/act-iv-scene-2

Polixenes and Camillo enter; they are in the middle of a discussion. The King of Bohemia has asked Camillo to drop his request to return to Sicilia, but Camillo cannot; he urges Polixenes to allow him to return to his beloved Sicilia because the penitent Leontes has requested him to do so. Camillo is growing old; he longs both to die at home and to ease the sorrows of the Sicilian king. Polixenes pleads with Camillo to stay; he claims that the goodness and administrative skills of Camillo can never be equaled. And as for the grief in Sicilia, Polixenes prefers not to be reminded of it. Edging toward his own problems, Polixenes asks Camillo if he has seen Prince Florizel recently. The king hints that a living son can create as much grief as a dead one. Camillo has neither seen Florizel nor can he guess where the prince goes. He knows only that the prince is often absent and has been neglecting his court duties. The king, however, does know where Florizel goes. Spies have reported that Florizel has been seen dawdling about the home of a shepherd, whose financial circumstances have mysteriously improved. Camillo recognizes the description of this shepherd: His household is said to include a daughter of unusual rarity. In order to discover why Florizel visits the shepherd's home, suspecting the lure of the shepherd's daughter, Polixenes wants Camillo to accompany him to the site. There, in disguise, they should be able to extract an answer of some kind from the simple shepherd. Camillo agrees to drop his request to return to Sicilia and accompany Polixenes on this mission.

This scene begins with the central conflict of the subplot. Its complications include Camillo's presence near the persuasive Polixenes, who opposes Camillo's yearning to return home to Sicilia. Another, later conflict, barely sketched here, will be the conflict between the desire of Polixenes, who wants his son to perform filial and royal duties, and Florizel, who wants only to be with Perdita. Camillo's characterization remains impressive. He behaves superbly as the able and trusted administrator who always exercises independent judgment. As in the first act, he now struggles with a conflict between his desire to serve both kings who want him and his own stronger personal motivation to return home. Polixenes is developing into a more manipulative and selfish character than we discerned earlier. However, he cannot be mistaken for an evil villain. Like Leontes, he must confront the question of loyal obedience within a family that he loves, but unlike Leontes, he does not permit a few observations to fester until he becomes mad. Before we leave this scene, note that two favorite Elizabethan dramatic gimmicks are promised for the audience's interest -- love and disguise.

cliffnotes

all_chapterized_books/1134-chapters/11.txt

finished_summaries/cliffnotes/The Winter's Tale/section_10_part_0.txt

The Winter's Tale.act 4.scene 3

scene 3

{"name": "Scene 3", "url": "https://web.archive.org/web/20201130173005/https://www.cliffsnotes.com/literature/w/the-winters-tale/summary-and-analysis/act-iv-scene-3", "summary": "Autolycus enters singing a bawdy ballad. He interrupts his song to announce that he was once a well-dressed servant to Prince Florizel, but he is now out of service. Now, he collects odds and ends. There are hints that he steals them. With the help of harlots and dice, he has acquired his current attire. His favorite source of income, he says, \"is the silly cheat,\" because he fears punishments for committing truly violent crimes. His spirits soar as he spots a prize! -- who is none other than the kind-hearted clown. The shepherd's son is struggling with calculations on the income from the wool of 1,500 sheep and with his responsibility to buy supplies for the sheep-shearing feast. All the details of this transaction arc mixed with thoughts about his family, particularly about his \"sister,\" who is to be the \"queen\" of the feast. Obviously, they are preparing to entertain a large number of people. Autolycus goes to work. He grovels on the ground and begs the shocked clown to tear the rags off his back. But the clown protests that Autolycus needs more on his back, not less. Autolycus insists that the loathsome rags offend him more than his scars from many beatings. He claims that he was beaten and robbed by a footman who forced him to put on these detestable garments. The gentle, gullible clown assists Autolycus to his feet. However, as Autolycus winces to avoid aggravating his non-existent wounds, he picks the pocket of the clown. When the clown offers him money, Autolycus must, of course, refuse; so, he holds off the clown's charity by insisting that a nearby kinsman will aid him. Pressed for a description of his robber, Autolycus describes himself. The clown protests against this thief who \"haunts wakes, fairs, and bear-baitings.\" Declaring himself well enough to walk to his relative's home, Autolycus sends the clown on to complete his errands. As soon as the good man exits, the rogue flaunts the stolen purse, mocks the clown's attempt to buy supplies without money, and declares that he will also cheat the guests at the sheep-shearing festival. Autolycus leaves as he entered, singing.", "analysis": "Obviously, this scene mixes comedy and pathos, its humor being tempered by the serious effect of the theft from the kind shepherd's son. It also sets up the causal and time sequences for Perdita's role in the sheep-shearing feast during the spring season. In addition, minor characterization developments occur. Shakespeare adds qualities of gullibility and slow-wittedness to the previously revealed quality of kindness in the clown. But the scene's real intrigue focuses on the clown's confusion of illusion with reality. As Autolycus identifies an illusory rogue by providing his own biography, the clown cries out against this imaginary thief to the real thief, the real Autolycus. And the clown never realizes that he himself is the real victim in this scene."}

Bohemia. A road near the SHEPHERD'S cottage Enter AUTOLYCUS, singing When daffodils begin to peer, With heigh! the doxy over the dale, Why, then comes in the sweet o' the year, For the red blood reigns in the winter's pale. The white sheet bleaching on the hedge, With heigh! the sweet birds, O, how they sing! Doth set my pugging tooth on edge, For a quart of ale is a dish for a king. The lark, that tirra-lirra chants, With heigh! with heigh! the thrush and the jay, Are summer songs for me and my aunts, While we lie tumbling in the hay. I have serv'd Prince Florizel, and in my time wore three-pile; but now I am out of service. But shall I go mourn for that, my dear? The pale moon shines by night; And when I wander here and there, I then do most go right. If tinkers may have leave to live, And bear the sow-skin budget, Then my account I well may give And in the stocks avouch it. My traffic is sheets; when the kite builds, look to lesser linen. My father nam'd me Autolycus; who, being, I as am, litter'd under Mercury, was likewise a snapper-up of unconsidered trifles. With die and drab I purchas'd this caparison; and my revenue is the silly-cheat. Gallows and knock are too powerful on the highway; beating and hanging are terrors to me; for the life to come, I sleep out the thought of it. A prize! a prize! Enter CLOWN CLOWN. Let me see: every 'leven wether tods; every tod yields pound and odd shilling; fifteen hundred shorn, what comes the wool to? AUTOLYCUS. [Aside] If the springe hold, the cock's mine. CLOWN. I cannot do 't without counters. Let me see: what am I to buy for our sheep-shearing feast? Three pound of sugar, five pound of currants, rice- what will this sister of mine do with rice? But my father hath made her mistress of the feast, and she lays it on. She hath made me four and twenty nosegays for the shearers- three-man song-men all, and very good ones; but they are most of them means and bases; but one Puritan amongst them, and he sings psalms to hornpipes. I must have saffron to colour the warden pies; mace; dates- none, that's out of my note; nutmegs, seven; race or two of ginger, but that I may beg; four pound of prunes, and as many of raisins o' th' sun. AUTOLYCUS. [Grovelling on the ground] O that ever I was born! CLOWN. I' th' name of me! AUTOLYCUS. O, help me, help me! Pluck but off these rags; and then, death, death! CLOWN. Alack, poor soul! thou hast need of more rags to lay on thee, rather than have these off. AUTOLYCUS. O sir, the loathsomeness of them offend me more than the stripes I have received, which are mighty ones and millions. CLOWN. Alas, poor man! a million of beating may come to a great matter. AUTOLYCUS. I am robb'd, sir, and beaten; my money and apparel ta'en from me, and these detestable things put upon me. CLOWN. What, by a horseman or a footman? AUTOLYCUS. A footman, sweet sir, a footman. CLOWN. Indeed, he should be a footman, by the garments he has left with thee; if this be a horseman's coat, it hath seen very hot service. Lend me thy hand, I'll help thee. Come, lend me thy hand. [Helping him up] AUTOLYCUS. O, good sir, tenderly, O! CLOWN. Alas, poor soul! AUTOLYCUS. O, good sir, softly, good sir; I fear, sir, my shoulder blade is out. CLOWN. How now! Canst stand? AUTOLYCUS. Softly, dear sir [Picks his pocket]; good sir, softly. You ha' done me a charitable office. CLOWN. Dost lack any money? I have a little money for thee. AUTOLYCUS. No, good sweet sir; no, I beseech you, sir. I have a kinsman not past three quarters of a mile hence, unto whom I was going; I shall there have money or anything I want. Offer me no money, I pray you; that kills my heart. CLOWN. What manner of fellow was he that robb'd you? AUTOLYCUS. A fellow, sir, that I have known to go about with troll-my-dames; I knew him once a servant of the Prince. I cannot tell, good sir, for which of his virtues it was, but he was certainly whipt out of the court. CLOWN. His vices, you would say; there's no virtue whipt out of the court. They cherish it to make it stay there; and yet it will no more but abide. AUTOLYCUS. Vices, I would say, sir. I know this man well; he hath been since an ape-bearer; then a process-server, a bailiff; then he compass'd a motion of the Prodigal Son, and married a tinker's wife within a mile where my land and living lies; and, having flown over many knavish professions, he settled only in rogue. Some call him Autolycus. CLOWN. Out upon him! prig, for my life, prig! He haunts wakes, fairs, and bear-baitings. AUTOLYCUS. Very true, sir; he, sir, he; that's the rogue that put me into this apparel. CLOWN. Not a more cowardly rogue in all Bohemia; if you had but look'd big and spit at him, he'd have run. AUTOLYCUS. I must confess to you, sir, I am no fighter; I am false of heart that way, and that he knew, I warrant him. CLOWN. How do you now? AUTOLYCUS. Sweet sir, much better than I was; I can stand and walk. I will even take my leave of you and pace softly towards my kinsman's. CLOWN. Shall I bring thee on the way? AUTOLYCUS. No, good-fac'd sir; no, sweet sir. CLOWN. Then fare thee well. I must go buy spices for our sheep-shearing. AUTOLYCUS. Prosper you, sweet sir! Exit CLOWN Your purse is not hot enough to purchase your spice. I'll be with you at your sheep-shearing too. If I make not this cheat bring out another, and the shearers prove sheep, let me be unroll'd, and my name put in the book of virtue! [Sings] Jog on, jog on, the footpath way, And merrily hent the stile-a; A merry heart goes all the day, Your sad tires in a mile-a. Exit

Scene 3

https://web.archive.org/web/20201130173005/https://www.cliffsnotes.com/literature/w/the-winters-tale/summary-and-analysis/act-iv-scene-3

Autolycus enters singing a bawdy ballad. He interrupts his song to announce that he was once a well-dressed servant to Prince Florizel, but he is now out of service. Now, he collects odds and ends. There are hints that he steals them. With the help of harlots and dice, he has acquired his current attire. His favorite source of income, he says, "is the silly cheat," because he fears punishments for committing truly violent crimes. His spirits soar as he spots a prize! -- who is none other than the kind-hearted clown. The shepherd's son is struggling with calculations on the income from the wool of 1,500 sheep and with his responsibility to buy supplies for the sheep-shearing feast. All the details of this transaction arc mixed with thoughts about his family, particularly about his "sister," who is to be the "queen" of the feast. Obviously, they are preparing to entertain a large number of people. Autolycus goes to work. He grovels on the ground and begs the shocked clown to tear the rags off his back. But the clown protests that Autolycus needs more on his back, not less. Autolycus insists that the loathsome rags offend him more than his scars from many beatings. He claims that he was beaten and robbed by a footman who forced him to put on these detestable garments. The gentle, gullible clown assists Autolycus to his feet. However, as Autolycus winces to avoid aggravating his non-existent wounds, he picks the pocket of the clown. When the clown offers him money, Autolycus must, of course, refuse; so, he holds off the clown's charity by insisting that a nearby kinsman will aid him. Pressed for a description of his robber, Autolycus describes himself. The clown protests against this thief who "haunts wakes, fairs, and bear-baitings." Declaring himself well enough to walk to his relative's home, Autolycus sends the clown on to complete his errands. As soon as the good man exits, the rogue flaunts the stolen purse, mocks the clown's attempt to buy supplies without money, and declares that he will also cheat the guests at the sheep-shearing festival. Autolycus leaves as he entered, singing.

Obviously, this scene mixes comedy and pathos, its humor being tempered by the serious effect of the theft from the kind shepherd's son. It also sets up the causal and time sequences for Perdita's role in the sheep-shearing feast during the spring season. In addition, minor characterization developments occur. Shakespeare adds qualities of gullibility and slow-wittedness to the previously revealed quality of kindness in the clown. But the scene's real intrigue focuses on the clown's confusion of illusion with reality. As Autolycus identifies an illusory rogue by providing his own biography, the clown cries out against this imaginary thief to the real thief, the real Autolycus. And the clown never realizes that he himself is the real victim in this scene.

cliffnotes

all_chapterized_books/1134-chapters/13.txt

finished_summaries/cliffnotes/The Winter's Tale/section_12_part_0.txt

The Winter's Tale.act 5.scene 1

scene 1

{"name": "Scene 1", "url": "https://web.archive.org/web/20201130173005/https://www.cliffsnotes.com/literature/w/the-winters-tale/summary-and-analysis/act-v-scene-1", "summary": "Back in Sicilia, Leontes' subjects are urging him to end his long years of penitence. Cleomenes urges that Leontes \"do as the heavens have done, forget your evil;/ With them forgive yourself.\" But Leontes says that he cannot forgive himself as long as he remembers the virtues of Hermione and feels the absence of an heir. Paulina agrees with him and reminds her king that he killed Hermione. When Dion suggests that Leontes remarry in order to create another heir, Paulina argues that not only are all women unworthy, but that it's impossible to counter Apollo's oracle. She also counsels Leontes to trust that a worthy heir will appear when needed. In the presence of witnesses, Paulina extracts Leontes' pledge not to remarry until she selects the time and person; she envisions an older woman who looks exactly like Hermione at a time \"when your first queen's again in breath.\" Suddenly, they are interrupted by a servant who announces that Prince Florizel has arrived with a beautiful bride. Leontes guesses that the visit has been forced \"by need and accident.\" Paulina attacks the servant's praise of the princess's beauty because she detects disloyalty to Hermione's superior beauty. The servant, however, apologizes but predicts that all will be similarly affected by this beautiful princess: Women will love her, that she is a womanMore worth than any man; men, that she isThe rarest of all women. During the pause before Florizel's entrance, Paulina reminds her king that Mamillius would have been much like this prince. Leontes lashes: \"Prithee, no more; cease. Thou know'st/ He dies to me again when talked of.\" When Florizel. enters, Leontes notes the young man's resemblance to Polixenes, and he praises the beauty of Perdita, but still, he says, he deeply regrets the loss of so many loved ones. The king then repeats his wish to see Polixenes again, and Florizel spins a tale about being here to represent Polixenes, who is too infirm to come himself. He describes Perdita as being the daughter of Smalus of Libya. Claiming that he sent the major portion of his party back to Bohemia after Perdita's weeping departure from Smalus, the young prince then boldly tells a fabricated story about their strange arrival. As Leontes expresses his envy of Polixenes' wonderful family, a Bohemian lord enters with Polixenes' request that Leontes arrest the disobedient prince and the shepherd's daughter who married him. This lord says that Polixenes is in the city, but has paused to confront the shepherd and the clown. Florizel protests, \"Camillo has betrayed me.\" The Bohemian lord confirms that Camillo is with Polixenes. Perdita says that she regrets the suffering of her father and the unlikelihood of her marriage being recognized. Leontes regrets that Florizel angered his father and that Perdita failed to qualify for a royal marriage. Although Florizel has voiced doubts , he begs Leontes to petition Polixenes for permission to allow him to keep Perdita as his wife. Leontes' eagerness to cooperate, because of his fascination for Perdita, brings a protest from Paulina; \"Your eye hath too much youth in't.\" The king swears that he thinks only of Hermione when he stares at Perdita.", "analysis": "Although chances for \"renewal\" once seemed impossible, they now seem resolvable. Leontes is almost to be purged of the sickness that once twisted him. Perdita, the lost heir, has returned, although she has not yet been recognized. And Leontes, by sympathizing with the young couple's spirit of love, begins to take steps that can heal most of his past destruction of the spiritual and natural order."}

ACT V. SCENE I. Sicilia. The palace of LEONTES Enter LEONTES, CLEOMENES, DION, PAULINA, and OTHERS CLEOMENES. Sir, you have done enough, and have perform'd A saint-like sorrow. No fault could you make Which you have not redeem'd; indeed, paid down More penitence than done trespass. At the last, Do as the heavens have done: forget your evil; With them forgive yourself. LEONTES. Whilst I remember Her and her virtues, I cannot forget My blemishes in them, and so still think of The wrong I did myself; which was so much That heirless it hath made my kingdom, and Destroy'd the sweet'st companion that e'er man Bred his hopes out of. PAULINA. True, too true, my lord. If, one by one, you wedded all the world, Or from the all that are took something good To make a perfect woman, she you kill'd Would be unparallel'd. LEONTES. I think so. Kill'd! She I kill'd! I did so; but thou strik'st me Sorely, to say I did. It is as bitter Upon thy tongue as in my thought. Now, good now, Say so but seldom. CLEOMENES. Not at all, good lady. You might have spoken a thousand things that would Have done the time more benefit, and grac'd Your kindness better. PAULINA. You are one of those Would have him wed again. DION. If you would not so, You pity not the state, nor the remembrance Of his most sovereign name; consider little What dangers, by his Highness' fail of issue, May drop upon his kingdom and devour Incertain lookers-on. What were more holy Than to rejoice the former queen is well? What holier than, for royalty's repair, For present comfort, and for future good, To bless the bed of majesty again With a sweet fellow to't? PAULINA. There is none worthy, Respecting her that's gone. Besides, the gods Will have fulfill'd their secret purposes; For has not the divine Apollo said, Is't not the tenour of his oracle, That King Leontes shall not have an heir Till his lost child be found? Which that it shall, Is all as monstrous to our human reason As my Antigonus to break his grave And come again to me; who, on my life, Did perish with the infant. 'Tis your counsel My lord should to the heavens be contrary, Oppose against their wills. [To LEONTES] Care not for issue; The crown will find an heir. Great Alexander Left his to th' worthiest; so his successor Was like to be the best. LEONTES. Good Paulina, Who hast the memory of Hermione, I know, in honour, O that ever I Had squar'd me to thy counsel! Then, even now, I might have look'd upon my queen's full eyes, Have taken treasure from her lips- PAULINA. And left them More rich for what they yielded. LEONTES. Thou speak'st truth. No more such wives; therefore, no wife. One worse, And better us'd, would make her sainted spirit Again possess her corpse, and on this stage, Where we offend her now, appear soul-vex'd, And begin 'Why to me'- PAULINA. Had she such power, She had just cause. LEONTES. She had; and would incense me To murder her I married. PAULINA. I should so. Were I the ghost that walk'd, I'd bid you mark Her eye, and tell me for what dull part in't You chose her; then I'd shriek, that even your ears Should rift to hear me; and the words that follow'd Should be 'Remember mine.' LEONTES. Stars, stars, And all eyes else dead coals! Fear thou no wife; I'll have no wife, Paulina. PAULINA. Will you swear Never to marry but by my free leave? LEONTES. Never, Paulina; so be blest my spirit! PAULINA. Then, good my lords, bear witness to his oath. CLEOMENES. You tempt him over-much. PAULINA. Unless another, As like Hermione as is her picture, Affront his eye. CLEOMENES. Good madam- PAULINA. I have done. Yet, if my lord will marry- if you will, sir, No remedy but you will- give me the office To choose you a queen. She shall not be so young As was your former; but she shall be such As, walk'd your first queen's ghost, it should take joy To see her in your arms. LEONTES. My true Paulina, We shall not marry till thou bid'st us. PAULINA. That Shall be when your first queen's again in breath; Never till then. Enter a GENTLEMAN GENTLEMAN. One that gives out himself Prince Florizel, Son of Polixenes, with his princess- she The fairest I have yet beheld- desires access To your high presence. LEONTES. What with him? He comes not Like to his father's greatness. His approach, So out of circumstance and sudden, tells us 'Tis not a visitation fram'd, but forc'd By need and accident. What train? GENTLEMAN. But few, And those but mean. LEONTES. His princess, say you, with him? GENTLEMAN. Ay; the most peerless piece of earth, I think, That e'er the sun shone bright on. PAULINA. O Hermione, As every present time doth boast itself Above a better gone, so must thy grave Give way to what's seen now! Sir, you yourself Have said and writ so, but your writing now Is colder than that theme: 'She had not been, Nor was not to be equall'd.' Thus your verse Flow'd with her beauty once; 'tis shrewdly ebb'd, To say you have seen a better. GENTLEMAN. Pardon, madam. The one I have almost forgot- your pardon; The other, when she has obtain'd your eye, Will have your tongue too. This is a creature, Would she begin a sect, might quench the zeal Of all professors else, make proselytes Of who she but bid follow. PAULINA. How! not women? GENTLEMAN. Women will love her that she is a woman More worth than any man; men, that she is The rarest of all women. LEONTES. Go, Cleomenes; Yourself, assisted with your honour'd friends, Bring them to our embracement. Exeunt Still, 'tis strange He thus should steal upon us. PAULINA. Had our prince, Jewel of children, seen this hour, he had pair'd Well with this lord; there was not full a month Between their births. LEONTES. Prithee no more; cease. Thou know'st He dies to me again when talk'd of. Sure, When I shall see this gentleman, thy speeches Will bring me to consider that which may Unfurnish me of reason. Re-enter CLEOMENES, with FLORIZEL, PERDITA, and ATTENDANTS They are come. Your mother was most true to wedlock, Prince; For she did print your royal father off, Conceiving you. Were I but twenty-one, Your father's image is so hit in you His very air, that I should call you brother, As I did him, and speak of something wildly By us perform'd before. Most dearly welcome! And your fair princess- goddess! O, alas! I lost a couple that 'twixt heaven and earth Might thus have stood begetting wonder as You, gracious couple, do. And then I lost- All mine own folly- the society, Amity too, of your brave father, whom, Though bearing misery, I desire my life Once more to look on him. FLORIZEL. By his command Have I here touch'd Sicilia, and from him Give you all greetings that a king, at friend, Can send his brother; and, but infirmity, Which waits upon worn times, hath something seiz'd His wish'd ability, he had himself The lands and waters 'twixt your throne and his Measur'd, to look upon you; whom he loves, He bade me say so, more than all the sceptres And those that bear them living. LEONTES. O my brother- Good gentleman!- the wrongs I have done thee stir Afresh within me; and these thy offices, So rarely kind, are as interpreters Of my behind-hand slackness! Welcome hither, As is the spring to th' earth. And hath he too Expos'd this paragon to th' fearful usage, At least ungentle, of the dreadful Neptune, To greet a man not worth her pains, much less Th' adventure of her person? FLORIZEL. Good, my lord, She came from Libya. LEONTES. Where the warlike Smalus, That noble honour'd lord, is fear'd and lov'd? FLORIZEL. Most royal sir, from thence; from him whose daughter His tears proclaim'd his, parting with her; thence, A prosperous south-wind friendly, we have cross'd, To execute the charge my father gave me For visiting your Highness. My best train I have from your Sicilian shores dismiss'd; Who for Bohemia bend, to signify Not only my success in Libya, sir, But my arrival and my wife's in safety Here where we are. LEONTES. The blessed gods Purge all infection from our air whilst you Do climate here! You have a holy father, A graceful gentleman, against whose person, So sacred as it is, I have done sin, For which the heavens, taking angry note, Have left me issueless; and your father's blest, As he from heaven merits it, with you, Worthy his goodness. What might I have been, Might I a son and daughter now have look'd on, Such goodly things as you! Enter a LORD LORD. Most noble sir, That which I shall report will bear no credit, Were not the proof so nigh. Please you, great sir, Bohemia greets you from himself by me; Desires you to attach his son, who has- His dignity and duty both cast off- Fled from his father, from his hopes, and with A shepherd's daughter. LEONTES. Where's Bohemia? Speak. LORD. Here in your city; I now came from him. I speak amazedly; and it becomes My marvel and my message. To your court Whiles he was hast'ning- in the chase, it seems, Of this fair couple- meets he on the way The father of this seeming lady and Her brother, having both their country quitted With this young prince. FLORIZEL. Camillo has betray'd me; Whose honour and whose honesty till now Endur'd all weathers. LORD. Lay't so to his charge; He's with the King your father. LEONTES. Who? Camillo? LORD. Camillo, sir; I spake with him; who now Has these poor men in question. Never saw I Wretches so quake. They kneel, they kiss the earth; Forswear themselves as often as they speak. Bohemia stops his ears, and threatens them With divers deaths in death. PERDITA. O my poor father! The heaven sets spies upon us, will not have Our contract celebrated. LEONTES. You are married? FLORIZEL. We are not, sir, nor are we like to be; The stars, I see, will kiss the valleys first. The odds for high and low's alike. LEONTES. My lord, Is this the daughter of a king? FLORIZEL. She is, When once she is my wife. LEONTES. That 'once,' I see by your good father's speed, Will come on very slowly. I am sorry, Most sorry, you have broken from his liking Where you were tied in duty; and as sorry Your choice is not so rich in worth as beauty, That you might well enjoy her. FLORIZEL. Dear, look up. Though Fortune, visible an enemy, Should chase us with my father, pow'r no jot Hath she to change our loves. Beseech you, sir, Remember since you ow'd no more to time Than I do now. With thought of such affections, Step forth mine advocate; at your request My father will grant precious things as trifles. LEONTES. Would he do so, I'd beg your precious mistress, Which he counts but a trifle. PAULINA. Sir, my liege, Your eye hath too much youth in't. Not a month Fore your queen died, she was more worth such gazes Than what you look on now. LEONTES. I thought of her Even in these looks I made. [To FLORIZEL] But your petition Is yet unanswer'd. I will to your father. Your honour not o'erthrown by your desires, I am friend to them and you. Upon which errand I now go toward him; therefore, follow me, And mark what way I make. Come, good my lord. Exeunt

Scene 1

https://web.archive.org/web/20201130173005/https://www.cliffsnotes.com/literature/w/the-winters-tale/summary-and-analysis/act-v-scene-1

Back in Sicilia, Leontes' subjects are urging him to end his long years of penitence. Cleomenes urges that Leontes "do as the heavens have done, forget your evil;/ With them forgive yourself." But Leontes says that he cannot forgive himself as long as he remembers the virtues of Hermione and feels the absence of an heir. Paulina agrees with him and reminds her king that he killed Hermione. When Dion suggests that Leontes remarry in order to create another heir, Paulina argues that not only are all women unworthy, but that it's impossible to counter Apollo's oracle. She also counsels Leontes to trust that a worthy heir will appear when needed. In the presence of witnesses, Paulina extracts Leontes' pledge not to remarry until she selects the time and person; she envisions an older woman who looks exactly like Hermione at a time "when your first queen's again in breath." Suddenly, they are interrupted by a servant who announces that Prince Florizel has arrived with a beautiful bride. Leontes guesses that the visit has been forced "by need and accident." Paulina attacks the servant's praise of the princess's beauty because she detects disloyalty to Hermione's superior beauty. The servant, however, apologizes but predicts that all will be similarly affected by this beautiful princess: Women will love her, that she is a womanMore worth than any man; men, that she isThe rarest of all women. During the pause before Florizel's entrance, Paulina reminds her king that Mamillius would have been much like this prince. Leontes lashes: "Prithee, no more; cease. Thou know'st/ He dies to me again when talked of." When Florizel. enters, Leontes notes the young man's resemblance to Polixenes, and he praises the beauty of Perdita, but still, he says, he deeply regrets the loss of so many loved ones. The king then repeats his wish to see Polixenes again, and Florizel spins a tale about being here to represent Polixenes, who is too infirm to come himself. He describes Perdita as being the daughter of Smalus of Libya. Claiming that he sent the major portion of his party back to Bohemia after Perdita's weeping departure from Smalus, the young prince then boldly tells a fabricated story about their strange arrival. As Leontes expresses his envy of Polixenes' wonderful family, a Bohemian lord enters with Polixenes' request that Leontes arrest the disobedient prince and the shepherd's daughter who married him. This lord says that Polixenes is in the city, but has paused to confront the shepherd and the clown. Florizel protests, "Camillo has betrayed me." The Bohemian lord confirms that Camillo is with Polixenes. Perdita says that she regrets the suffering of her father and the unlikelihood of her marriage being recognized. Leontes regrets that Florizel angered his father and that Perdita failed to qualify for a royal marriage. Although Florizel has voiced doubts , he begs Leontes to petition Polixenes for permission to allow him to keep Perdita as his wife. Leontes' eagerness to cooperate, because of his fascination for Perdita, brings a protest from Paulina; "Your eye hath too much youth in't." The king swears that he thinks only of Hermione when he stares at Perdita.

Although chances for "renewal" once seemed impossible, they now seem resolvable. Leontes is almost to be purged of the sickness that once twisted him. Perdita, the lost heir, has returned, although she has not yet been recognized. And Leontes, by sympathizing with the young couple's spirit of love, begins to take steps that can heal most of his past destruction of the spiritual and natural order.

cliffnotes

all_chapterized_books/1134-chapters/14.txt

finished_summaries/cliffnotes/The Winter's Tale/section_13_part_0.txt

The Winter's Tale.act 5.scene 2

scene 2

{"name": "Scene 2", "url": "https://web.archive.org/web/20201130173005/https://www.cliffsnotes.com/literature/w/the-winters-tale/summary-and-analysis/act-v-scene-2", "summary": "Autolycus organizes the majority of the events in this scene, which is a great help since it is told in fragments. First, Autolycus questions three gentlemen about proceedings in the nearby palace of Leontes. Gradually, he gathers information about the shepherd's testimony. The first gentleman heard only a vague reference to someone's finding a child; thus, he could not guess from what he saw whether or not Leontes and Camillo gestured in joy or sorrow. A second gentleman knows that people are celebrating because \"the king's daughter is found.\" A third gentleman, steward to Paulina, fists enough evidence to dispel doubt about this truth \"pregnant/ By circumstance.\" All major characters in the royal drama were observed to have behaved with a mixture of joy and sorrow when they learned about all of the sorrows that occurred sixteen years ago and rejoiced at today's news. Now, they are gathering at the site of a remarkably lifelike statue of Hermione to eat dinner, during which they hope to witness new and exciting discoveries. Autolycus reflects on how close he came to being the one to reveal these facts. When he sees the clown and the shepherd, he observes: \"Here come those I have done good to against my will.\" He acknowledges the clown's favorite reward: I know you are now, sir, a gentleman born.\" Autolycus patiently listens to the two men boast that they have been \"gentlemen born\" for four hours. Then, Autolycus begs them to forgive his transgression and to provide a favorable report to Prince Florizel. Both the clown and shepherd agree because they believe that as \"gentlemen\" they should be generous. Thus, they invite Autolycus to accompany them in the capacity of a servant to view Hermione's statue.", "analysis": "This scene dramatizes the effect of repentance and reconciliation that is, reward. Leontes has repented and Autolycus has nearly done away with his knavery. All of the major characters are reconciled. Rewards are given to the clown and the shepherd. Their primary reward, the rank of gentlemen, along with the reconciliation accomplished by the recognition of Perdita's royal rank, helps restore order because all are placed in a proper rank for the marriage. Unity with universal order is achieved by unifying most of the straggling elements of the plot. Narration informs the audience about the reconciliations. All of the emotional scenes occur offstage. But Shakespeare does provide guidelines for action which could be used to enliven the dull narrative: \". . . the king and Camillo/ . . . seemed almost) With staring on one another, to tear the cases/ Of their eyes. A notable passion of wonder appeared in them.\""}

Sicilia. Before the palace of LEONTES Enter AUTOLYCUS and a GENTLEMAN AUTOLYCUS. Beseech you, sir, were you present at this relation? FIRST GENTLEMAN. I was by at the opening of the fardel, heard the old shepherd deliver the manner how he found it; whereupon, after a little amazedness, we were all commanded out of the chamber; only this, methought I heard the shepherd say he found the child. AUTOLYCUS. I would most gladly know the issue of it. FIRST GENTLEMAN. I make a broken delivery of the business; but the changes I perceived in the King and Camillo were very notes of admiration. They seem'd almost, with staring on one another, to tear the cases of their eyes; there was speech in their dumbness, language in their very gesture; they look'd as they had heard of a world ransom'd, or one destroyed. A notable passion of wonder appeared in them; but the wisest beholder that knew no more but seeing could not say if th' importance were joy or sorrow- but in the extremity of the one it must needs be. Enter another GENTLEMAN Here comes a gentleman that happily knows more. The news, Rogero? SECOND GENTLEMAN. Nothing but bonfires. The oracle is fulfill'd: the King's daughter is found. Such a deal of wonder is broken out within this hour that ballad-makers cannot be able to express it. Enter another GENTLEMAN Here comes the Lady Paulina's steward; he can deliver you more. How goes it now, sir? This news, which is call'd true, is so like an old tale that the verity of it is in strong suspicion. Has the King found his heir? THIRD GENTLEMAN. Most true, if ever truth were pregnant by circumstance. That which you hear you'll swear you see, there is such unity in the proofs. The mantle of Queen Hermione's; her jewel about the neck of it; the letters of Antigonus found with it, which they know to be his character; the majesty of the creature in resemblance of the mother; the affection of nobleness which nature shows above her breeding; and many other evidences- proclaim her with all certainty to be the King's daughter. Did you see the meeting of the two kings? SECOND GENTLEMAN. No. THIRD GENTLEMAN. Then you have lost a sight which was to be seen, cannot be spoken of. There might you have beheld one joy crown another, so and in such manner that it seem'd sorrow wept to take leave of them; for their joy waded in tears. There was casting up of eyes, holding up of hands, with countenance of such distraction that they were to be known by garment, not by favour. Our king, being ready to leap out of himself for joy of his found daughter, as if that joy were now become a loss, cries 'O, thy mother, thy mother!' then asks Bohemia forgiveness; then embraces his son-in-law; then again worries he his daughter with clipping her. Now he thanks the old shepherd, which stands by like a weather-bitten conduit of many kings' reigns. I never heard of such another encounter, which lames report to follow it and undoes description to do it. SECOND GENTLEMAN. What, pray you, became of Antigonus, that carried hence the child? THIRD GENTLEMAN. Like an old tale still, which will have matter to rehearse, though credit be asleep and not an ear open: he was torn to pieces with a bear. This avouches the shepherd's son, who has not only his innocence, which seems much, to justify him, but a handkerchief and rings of his that Paulina knows. FIRST GENTLEMAN. What became of his bark and his followers? THIRD GENTLEMAN. Wreck'd the same instant of their master's death, and in the view of the shepherd; so that all the instruments which aided to expose the child were even then lost when it was found. But, O, the noble combat that 'twixt joy and sorrow was fought in Paulina! She had one eye declin'd for the loss of her husband, another elevated that the oracle was fulfill'd. She lifted the Princess from the earth, and so locks her in embracing as if she would pin her to her heart, that she might no more be in danger of losing. FIRST GENTLEMAN. The dignity of this act was worth the audience of kings and princes; for by such was it acted. THIRD GENTLEMAN. One of the prettiest touches of all, and that which angl'd for mine eyes- caught the water, though not the fish- was, when at the relation of the Queen's death, with the manner how she came to't bravely confess'd and lamented by the King, how attentivenes wounded his daughter; till, from one sign of dolour to another, she did with an 'Alas!'- I would fain say- bleed tears; for I am sure my heart wept blood. Who was most marble there changed colour; some swooned, all sorrowed. If all the world could have seen't, the woe had been universal. FIRST GENTLEMAN. Are they returned to the court? THIRD GENTLEMAN. No. The Princess hearing of her mother's statue, which is in the keeping of Paulina- a piece many years in doing and now newly perform'd by that rare Italian master, Julio Romano, who, had he himself eternity and could put breath into his work, would beguile nature of her custom, so perfectly he is her ape. He so near to Hermione hath done Hermione that they say one would speak to her and stand in hope of answer- thither with all greediness of affection are they gone, and there they intend to sup. SECOND GENTLEMAN. I thought she had some great matter there in hand; for she hath privately twice or thrice a day, ever since the death of Hermione, visited that removed house. Shall we thither, and with our company piece the rejoicing? FIRST GENTLEMAN. Who would be thence that has the benefit of access? Every wink of an eye some new grace will be born. Our absence makes us unthrifty to our knowledge. Let's along. Exeunt GENTLEMEN AUTOLYCUS. Now, had I not the dash of my former life in me, would preferment drop on my head. I brought the old man and his son aboard the Prince; told him I heard them talk of a fardel and I know not what; but he at that time over-fond of the shepherd's daughter- so he then took her to be- who began to be much sea-sick, and himself little better, extremity of weather continuing, this mystery remained undiscover'd. But 'tis all one to me; for had I been the finder-out of this secret, it would not have relish'd among my other discredits. Enter SHEPHERD and CLOWN Here come those I have done good to against my will, and already appearing in the blossoms of their fortune. SHEPHERD. Come, boy; I am past moe children, but thy sons and daughters will be all gentlemen born. CLOWN. You are well met, sir. You denied to fight with me this other day, because I was no gentleman born. See you these clothes? Say you see them not and think me still no gentleman born. You were best say these robes are not gentlemen born. Give me the lie, do; and try whether I am not now a gentleman born. AUTOLYCUS. I know you are now, sir, a gentleman born. CLOWN. Ay, and have been so any time these four hours. SHEPHERD. And so have I, boy. CLOWN. So you have; but I was a gentleman born before my father; for the King's son took me by the hand and call'd me brother; and then the two kings call'd my father brother; and then the Prince, my brother, and the Princess, my sister, call'd my father father. And so we wept; and there was the first gentleman-like tears that ever we shed. SHEPHERD. We may live, son, to shed many more. CLOWN. Ay; or else 'twere hard luck, being in so preposterous estate as we are. AUTOLYCUS. I humbly beseech you, sir, to pardon me all the faults I have committed to your worship, and to give me your good report to the Prince my master. SHEPHERD. Prithee, son, do; for we must be gentle, now we are gentlemen. CLOWN. Thou wilt amend thy life? AUTOLYCUS. Ay, an it like your good worship. CLOWN. Give me thy hand. I will swear to the Prince thou art as honest a true fellow as any is in Bohemia. SHEPHERD. You may say it, but not swear it. CLOWN. Not swear it, now I am a gentleman? Let boors and franklins say it: I'll swear it. SHEPHERD. How if it be false, son? CLOWN. If it be ne'er so false, a true gentleman may swear it in the behalf of his friend. And I'll swear to the Prince thou art a tall fellow of thy hands and that thou wilt not be drunk; but I know thou art no tall fellow of thy hands and that thou wilt be drunk. But I'll swear it; and I would thou wouldst be a tall fellow of thy hands. AUTOLYCUS. I will prove so, sir, to my power. CLOWN. Ay, by any means, prove a tall fellow. If I do not wonder how thou dar'st venture to be drunk not being a tall fellow, trust me not. Hark! the kings and the princes, our kindred, are going to see the Queen's picture. Come, follow us; we'll be thy good masters. Exeunt

Scene 2

https://web.archive.org/web/20201130173005/https://www.cliffsnotes.com/literature/w/the-winters-tale/summary-and-analysis/act-v-scene-2

Autolycus organizes the majority of the events in this scene, which is a great help since it is told in fragments. First, Autolycus questions three gentlemen about proceedings in the nearby palace of Leontes. Gradually, he gathers information about the shepherd's testimony. The first gentleman heard only a vague reference to someone's finding a child; thus, he could not guess from what he saw whether or not Leontes and Camillo gestured in joy or sorrow. A second gentleman knows that people are celebrating because "the king's daughter is found." A third gentleman, steward to Paulina, fists enough evidence to dispel doubt about this truth "pregnant/ By circumstance." All major characters in the royal drama were observed to have behaved with a mixture of joy and sorrow when they learned about all of the sorrows that occurred sixteen years ago and rejoiced at today's news. Now, they are gathering at the site of a remarkably lifelike statue of Hermione to eat dinner, during which they hope to witness new and exciting discoveries. Autolycus reflects on how close he came to being the one to reveal these facts. When he sees the clown and the shepherd, he observes: "Here come those I have done good to against my will." He acknowledges the clown's favorite reward: I know you are now, sir, a gentleman born." Autolycus patiently listens to the two men boast that they have been "gentlemen born" for four hours. Then, Autolycus begs them to forgive his transgression and to provide a favorable report to Prince Florizel. Both the clown and shepherd agree because they believe that as "gentlemen" they should be generous. Thus, they invite Autolycus to accompany them in the capacity of a servant to view Hermione's statue.

This scene dramatizes the effect of repentance and reconciliation that is, reward. Leontes has repented and Autolycus has nearly done away with his knavery. All of the major characters are reconciled. Rewards are given to the clown and the shepherd. Their primary reward, the rank of gentlemen, along with the reconciliation accomplished by the recognition of Perdita's royal rank, helps restore order because all are placed in a proper rank for the marriage. Unity with universal order is achieved by unifying most of the straggling elements of the plot. Narration informs the audience about the reconciliations. All of the emotional scenes occur offstage. But Shakespeare does provide guidelines for action which could be used to enliven the dull narrative: ". . . the king and Camillo/ . . . seemed almost) With staring on one another, to tear the cases/ Of their eyes. A notable passion of wonder appeared in them."

cliffnotes

all_chapterized_books/1134-chapters/15.txt

finished_summaries/cliffnotes/The Winter's Tale/section_14_part_0.txt

The Winter's Tale.act 5.scene 3

scene 3

{"name": "Scene 3", "url": "https://web.archive.org/web/20201130173005/https://www.cliffsnotes.com/literature/w/the-winters-tale/summary-and-analysis/act-v-scene-3", "summary": "As the celebration party strolls through Paulina's estate on their way to Hermione's statue, Leontes praises the hostess for her years of good service. When Paulina reveals Hermione, who is standing like a statue, the group is stunned into silence. Leontes speaks first of the statue's lifelike appearance, then notes: \"Hermione was not so much wrinkled, nothing/ So aged as this seems.\" Paulina explains that the artist imagined how she would look now. Not surprisingly, Leontes feels rebuked by the lifelike statue. Perdita tries to touch it, but Paulina warns her that the paint on the statue is not yet dry. Leontes' painful sorrow is so evident that Camillo, Polixenes, and Paulina each try to ease his suffering. Leontes' intense desire for Hermione increases, and when Paulina tries to draw the curtain in front of the statue, she is forbidden to do so by Leontes. Perdita also expresses a desire to continue to look at the statue. Then Paulina offers to make the statue move if no one accuses her of consorting with evil spirits. Leontes encourages her. Calling for music, Paulina commands Hermione to descend from her pedestal. Leontes touches Hermione and wonders at her warmth: \"If this be magic, let it be an art/ Lawful as eating.\" Hermione embraces Leontes, and Polixenes and Camillo suddenly wonder aloud if she is alive. When Paulina turns Hermione's attention to Perdita, Hermione speaks. First, she praises the gods, then she asks Perdita how she survived; finally, she states that with hope in the oracle's message, she preserved herself for this very moment. Paulina blesses the reunited family and then offers to withdraw: I, an old turtle , Will wing me to some withered bough and there My mate, that's never to be found again, Lament till I am lost. But Leontes forestalls her loneliness by arranging a match with Camillo. After some conciliatory remarks to all aggrieved parties, Leontes organizes a departure to exchange reminiscences.", "analysis": "In this scene, Leontes, Camillo, Hermione, and Paulina all earn their rewards. In contrast, Polixenes, Florizel, and Perdita receive their rewards. The thematic confusion of illusion with reality is best illustrated by the statue. This time, Leontes errs by confusing the real Hermione with her illusory role as a lifeless statue: \"The fixture of her eye has motion in 't,/ As we are mocked with art.\" Magic is mentioned, but the reality is its own miracle. Because of the general repentance, reconciliation and rewards and the specific reunion of family and friends, the ending is more clearly an element of the Romance than being in the genre of Comedy, History, or Tragedy. In the conclusion, the concept of renewal is added to the themes of prosperity and destruction that are more typical of Shakespearean tragedies. Thus, after Leontes has passed through sufficient years of repentance, he and all other major parties are poised for reconciliation, rewards and, above all, the renewal of their families. This renewal is precipitated by the daughter -- a feature this play has in common with the other \"problem plays.\" Symbolic of this renewal is the resurrection of Hermione. Reminiscent of the sadness, as well as the joy that love brings in the \"problem plays\" is Paulina's dirge to her brave, dead husband, Antigonus. Although love and marriage dominate the action, this reminder of all the suffering endured by the loving family and friends since the beginning of the play haunts the observer. Yet, perhaps the entire possibility of a happy ending is suspect. Even when reality seems in focus again, Shakespeare confronts us with the unprovable illusion/reality controversies of resurrection and rebirth. Allusion to seasonal cycles of rebirth as a part of nature cannot prove within the world of this play that all destruction is a part of a cycle of rebirth. Time is still a shadow, and the play ends with memories of the world's mixture of illusion and reality, happiness and sadness, love and hate. Any of these lovers is capable of inflicting destruction and grief on their loved ones. But from the thematic perspective, with all characters now correctly exercising the use of Free Will, they are expected to contribute to the orderly maintenance of the universe. Their exit is an orderly representation of the Cosmic Dance and level of the Heavenly Order coming together in harmony."}

Sicilia. A chapel in PAULINA's house Enter LEONTES, POLIXENES, FLORIZEL, PERDITA, CAMILLO, PAULINA, LORDS and ATTENDANTS LEONTES. O grave and good Paulina, the great comfort That I have had of thee! PAULINA. What, sovereign sir, I did not well, I meant well. All my services You have paid home; but that you have vouchsaf'd, With your crown'd brother and these your contracted Heirs of your kingdoms, my poor house to visit, It is a surplus of your grace, which never My life may last to answer. LEONTES. O Paulina, We honour you with trouble; but we came To see the statue of our queen. Your gallery Have we pass'd through, not without much content In many singularities; but we saw not That which my daughter came to look upon, The statue of her mother. PAULINA. As she liv'd peerless, So her dead likeness, I do well believe, Excels whatever yet you look'd upon Or hand of man hath done; therefore I keep it Lonely, apart. But here it is. Prepare To see the life as lively mock'd as ever Still sleep mock'd death. Behold; and say 'tis well. [PAULINA draws a curtain, and discovers HERMIONE standing like a statue] I like your silence; it the more shows off Your wonder; but yet speak. First, you, my liege. Comes it not something near? LEONTES. Her natural posture! Chide me, dear stone, that I may say indeed Thou art Hermione; or rather, thou art she In thy not chiding; for she was as tender As infancy and grace. But yet, Paulina, Hermione was not so much wrinkled, nothing So aged as this seems. POLIXENES. O, not by much! PAULINA. So much the more our carver's excellence, Which lets go by some sixteen years and makes her As she liv'd now. LEONTES. As now she might have done, So much to my good comfort as it is Now piercing to my soul. O, thus she stood, Even with such life of majesty- warm life, As now it coldly stands- when first I woo'd her! I am asham'd. Does not the stone rebuke me For being more stone than it? O royal piece, There's magic in thy majesty, which has My evils conjur'd to remembrance, and From thy admiring daughter took the spirits, Standing like stone with thee! PERDITA. And give me leave, And do not say 'tis superstition that I kneel, and then implore her blessing. Lady, Dear queen, that ended when I but began, Give me that hand of yours to kiss. PAULINA. O, patience! The statue is but newly fix'd, the colour's Not dry. CAMILLO. My lord, your sorrow was too sore laid on, Which sixteen winters cannot blow away, So many summers dry. Scarce any joy Did ever so long live; no sorrow But kill'd itself much sooner. POLIXENES. Dear my brother, Let him that was the cause of this have pow'r To take off so much grief from you as he Will piece up in himself. PAULINA. Indeed, my lord, If I had thought the sight of my poor image Would thus have wrought you- for the stone is mine- I'd not have show'd it. LEONTES. Do not draw the curtain. PAULINA. No longer shall you gaze on't, lest your fancy May think anon it moves. LEONTES. Let be, let be. Would I were dead, but that methinks already- What was he that did make it? See, my lord, Would you not deem it breath'd, and that those veins Did verily bear blood? POLIXENES. Masterly done! The very life seems warm upon her lip. LEONTES. The fixture of her eye has motion in't, As we are mock'd with art. PAULINA. I'll draw the curtain. My lord's almost so far transported that He'll think anon it lives. LEONTES. O sweet Paulina, Make me to think so twenty years together! No settled senses of the world can match The pleasure of that madness. Let 't alone. PAULINA. I am sorry, sir, I have thus far stirr'd you; but I could afflict you farther. LEONTES. Do, Paulina; For this affliction has a taste as sweet As any cordial comfort. Still, methinks, There is an air comes from her. What fine chisel Could ever yet cut breath? Let no man mock me, For I will kiss her. PAULINA. Good my lord, forbear. The ruddiness upon her lip is wet; You'll mar it if you kiss it; stain your own With oily painting. Shall I draw the curtain? LEONTES. No, not these twenty years. PERDITA. So long could I Stand by, a looker-on. PAULINA. Either forbear, Quit presently the chapel, or resolve you For more amazement. If you can behold it, I'll make the statue move indeed, descend, And take you by the hand, but then you'll think- Which I protest against- I am assisted By wicked powers. LEONTES. What you can make her do I am content to look on; what to speak I am content to hear; for 'tis as easy To make her speak as move. PAULINA. It is requir'd You do awake your faith. Then all stand still; Or those that think it is unlawful business I am about, let them depart. LEONTES. Proceed. No foot shall stir. PAULINA. Music, awake her: strike. [Music] 'Tis time; descend; be stone no more; approach; Strike all that look upon with marvel. Come; I'll fill your grave up. Stir; nay, come away. Bequeath to death your numbness, for from him Dear life redeems you. You perceive she stirs. [HERMIONE comes down from the pedestal] Start not; her actions shall be holy as You hear my spell is lawful. Do not shun her Until you see her die again; for then You kill her double. Nay, present your hand. When she was young you woo'd her; now in age Is she become the suitor? LEONTES. O, she's warm! If this be magic, let it be an art Lawful as eating. POLIXENES. She embraces him. CAMILLO. She hangs about his neck. If she pertain to life, let her speak too. POLIXENES. Ay, and make it manifest where she has liv'd, Or how stol'n from the dead. PAULINA. That she is living, Were it but told you, should be hooted at Like an old tale; but it appears she lives Though yet she speak not. Mark a little while. Please you to interpose, fair madam. Kneel, And pray your mother's blessing. Turn, good lady; Our Perdita is found. HERMIONE. You gods, look down, And from your sacred vials pour your graces Upon my daughter's head! Tell me, mine own, Where hast thou been preserv'd? Where liv'd? How found Thy father's court? For thou shalt hear that I, Knowing by Paulina that the oracle Gave hope thou wast in being, have preserv'd Myself to see the issue. PAULINA. There's time enough for that, Lest they desire upon this push to trouble Your joys with like relation. Go together, You precious winners all; your exultation Partake to every one. I, an old turtle, Will wing me to some wither'd bough, and there My mate, that's never to be found again, Lament till I am lost. LEONTES. O peace, Paulina! Thou shouldst a husband take by my consent, As I by thine a wife. This is a match, And made between's by vows. Thou hast found mine; But how, is to be question'd; for I saw her, As I thought, dead; and have, in vain, said many A prayer upon her grave. I'll not seek far- For him, I partly know his mind- to find thee An honourable husband. Come, Camillo, And take her by the hand whose worth and honesty Is richly noted, and here justified By us, a pair of kings. Let's from this place. What! look upon my brother. Both your pardons, That e'er I put between your holy looks My ill suspicion. This your son-in-law, And son unto the King, whom heavens directing, Is troth-plight to your daughter. Good Paulina, Lead us from hence where we may leisurely Each one demand and answer to his part Perform'd in this wide gap of time since first We were dissever'd. Hastily lead away. Exeunt THE END

Scene 3

https://web.archive.org/web/20201130173005/https://www.cliffsnotes.com/literature/w/the-winters-tale/summary-and-analysis/act-v-scene-3

As the celebration party strolls through Paulina's estate on their way to Hermione's statue, Leontes praises the hostess for her years of good service. When Paulina reveals Hermione, who is standing like a statue, the group is stunned into silence. Leontes speaks first of the statue's lifelike appearance, then notes: "Hermione was not so much wrinkled, nothing/ So aged as this seems." Paulina explains that the artist imagined how she would look now. Not surprisingly, Leontes feels rebuked by the lifelike statue. Perdita tries to touch it, but Paulina warns her that the paint on the statue is not yet dry. Leontes' painful sorrow is so evident that Camillo, Polixenes, and Paulina each try to ease his suffering. Leontes' intense desire for Hermione increases, and when Paulina tries to draw the curtain in front of the statue, she is forbidden to do so by Leontes. Perdita also expresses a desire to continue to look at the statue. Then Paulina offers to make the statue move if no one accuses her of consorting with evil spirits. Leontes encourages her. Calling for music, Paulina commands Hermione to descend from her pedestal. Leontes touches Hermione and wonders at her warmth: "If this be magic, let it be an art/ Lawful as eating." Hermione embraces Leontes, and Polixenes and Camillo suddenly wonder aloud if she is alive. When Paulina turns Hermione's attention to Perdita, Hermione speaks. First, she praises the gods, then she asks Perdita how she survived; finally, she states that with hope in the oracle's message, she preserved herself for this very moment. Paulina blesses the reunited family and then offers to withdraw: I, an old turtle , Will wing me to some withered bough and there My mate, that's never to be found again, Lament till I am lost. But Leontes forestalls her loneliness by arranging a match with Camillo. After some conciliatory remarks to all aggrieved parties, Leontes organizes a departure to exchange reminiscences.

In this scene, Leontes, Camillo, Hermione, and Paulina all earn their rewards. In contrast, Polixenes, Florizel, and Perdita receive their rewards. The thematic confusion of illusion with reality is best illustrated by the statue. This time, Leontes errs by confusing the real Hermione with her illusory role as a lifeless statue: "The fixture of her eye has motion in 't,/ As we are mocked with art." Magic is mentioned, but the reality is its own miracle. Because of the general repentance, reconciliation and rewards and the specific reunion of family and friends, the ending is more clearly an element of the Romance than being in the genre of Comedy, History, or Tragedy. In the conclusion, the concept of renewal is added to the themes of prosperity and destruction that are more typical of Shakespearean tragedies. Thus, after Leontes has passed through sufficient years of repentance, he and all other major parties are poised for reconciliation, rewards and, above all, the renewal of their families. This renewal is precipitated by the daughter -- a feature this play has in common with the other "problem plays." Symbolic of this renewal is the resurrection of Hermione. Reminiscent of the sadness, as well as the joy that love brings in the "problem plays" is Paulina's dirge to her brave, dead husband, Antigonus. Although love and marriage dominate the action, this reminder of all the suffering endured by the loving family and friends since the beginning of the play haunts the observer. Yet, perhaps the entire possibility of a happy ending is suspect. Even when reality seems in focus again, Shakespeare confronts us with the unprovable illusion/reality controversies of resurrection and rebirth. Allusion to seasonal cycles of rebirth as a part of nature cannot prove within the world of this play that all destruction is a part of a cycle of rebirth. Time is still a shadow, and the play ends with memories of the world's mixture of illusion and reality, happiness and sadness, love and hate. Any of these lovers is capable of inflicting destruction and grief on their loved ones. But from the thematic perspective, with all characters now correctly exercising the use of Free Will, they are expected to contribute to the orderly maintenance of the universe. Their exit is an orderly representation of the Cosmic Dance and level of the Heavenly Order coming together in harmony.

sparknotes

all_chapterized_books/1134-chapters/act_1_chapters_1_to_2.txt

finished_summaries/sparknotes/The Winter's Tale/section_0_part_0.txt

The Winter's Tale.act 1.scenes 1-2

act 1, scenes 1-2

{"name": "Act I, Scenes i-ii", "url": "https://web.archive.org/web/20210124213436/https://www.sparknotes.com/shakespeare/winterstale/section1/", "summary": "In the kingdom of Sicilia, King Leontes is being visited by his childhood friend, King Polixenes of Bohemia. One of Leontes's lords, Camillo, discusses the striking differences between the two kingdoms with a Bohemian nobleman, Archidamus. The conversation then turns to the great and enduring friendship between the two kings, and the beauty and promise of Leontes's young son,Mamillius. These two lords go out, and Leontes comes in, along with his wife Hermione , Mamillius, and Polixenes, who is making ready to depart for home. Leontes pleads with him to stay a little longer in Sicilia, but his friend refuses, declaring that he has been away from Bohemia for nine months, which is long enough. Hermione then takes up the argument, and Polixenes yields to her entreaties, promising to stay for a little longer. He tells the Sicilian queen how wonderful his childhood with Leontes was--how \"we were, fair queen / Two lads that thought there was no more behind / But such a day tomorrow as today / And to be boy eternal\". Leontes, meanwhile, tells Hermione that she has never spoken to better effect than in convincing Polixenes to stay--save for once, when she agreed to marry him. But as his wife and his friend walk together, apart from him, he feels stirrings of jealousy, and tells the audience that he suspects them of being lovers. He turns to his son and notes that the boy resembles him, and this reassures him that Mamillius is, in fact, his son and not someone else's; his suspicion of his wife remains, however, and grows quickly, until he is certain that she is sleeping with Polixenes. He sends the two of them to walk in the garden together, promising to join them later, and then calls Camillo over, asking if he has noticed anything peculiar about Polixenes's behavior lately. Camillo says that he has not, and Leontes accuses him of being negligent, and then declares that Hermione and Polixenes have made him a cuckold--that is, a betrayed husband. Camillo, appalled, refuses to believe it, but his king insists that it is true, and orders the lord to act as cupbearer to Polixenes--and then poison him at the first opportunity. Camillo promises to obey, but his conscience is greatly troubled, and when Leontes has gone and Polixenes reappears, the Bohemian king realizes that something is amiss. Saying that Leontes just gave him a peculiar and threatening look, he demands to know what is going on, and Camillo, after a moment of anguish, tells him of the Sicilian king's suspicions and desire to have him poisoned. He begs protection of Polixenes, who accepts him as a servant, and they decide to flee the country immediately by sneaking out of the castle and taking ship for Bohemia. Camillo promises to use his authority in Sicilia to help their escape, and the two men slip away together.", "analysis": "ii - Commentary The appearance of the two lords at the opening of the play is a typical Shakespearean device, in which minor characters prepare the audience for what they are about to see. In Antony and Cleopatra, for instance, two Roman soldiers comment on Antony's decline; in King Lear, Gloucester and Kent discuss the division of the kingdom that their monarch is about to undertake. In this play, however, one may question whether the audience does see what Camillo and Archidamus prepare us for. They describe two kings with \"rooted between them...such an affection which cannot choose but branch now...the heavens continue their loves!\". What we see, however, is one king's deepening jealousy of the other--for although Leontes is trying to persuade his friend to stay as their scene together opens, we are meant to believe that he already suspects Polixenes and his wife of adultery. The opening can be played many different ways, of course, and one could legitimately suggest that Leontes's jealousy does not take flight until after Hermione convinces Polixenes to stay. But a number of clues suggest otherwise. For one thing, all the cheerful speeches belong to Hermione and Polixenes. The Bohemian king is given a long discourse on the bliss of his childhood friendship with Leontes, while the Sicilian king is conspicuously silent until he is left alone to nurse his jealousy, speaking only in short, clipped sentences--\"Stay your thanks awhile / And pay them when you part\", he says after Polixenes has spoken for nine lines, and after another lengthy speech by the Bohemian king, he replies tersely \"We are tougher, brother, / Than you can put us to't\". Polixenes uses the flowery language that one would expect between royal friends in Shakespeare, but Leontes seems to have already put their friendship behind him. Meanwhile, the initial speech by Polixenes calls attention the fact that he has been in Sicilia for \"Nine changes of the watery star\", which coincides, rather obviously, with the length of Hermione's pregnancy, and suggests that Shakespeare wishes to call attention to the idea of infidelity from the beginning. And when Leontes later says \"I am angling now, / Although you perceive me not how I give line\", one can easily imagine that the entire business of asking Polixenes to stay is another \"angling,\" designed to trap the Bohemian king and enable Leontes to dispose of him. The roots of Leontes's jealousy are uncertain. Shakespeare allows him some of the play's most brilliant, and biting lines--\"And many a man there is, even at this present, / Now while I speak this, holds his wife by th'arm, / That little thinks she has been sluiced in's absence / And his pond fished by his next neighbor, by / Sir Smile, his neighbor\"--but refuses to give an easy explanation as to why he is so certain of Hermione's infidelity. The play allows no possibility of her guilt, but he does see her \"paddling palms and pinching fingers\", which suggest a degree of physical intimacy with her husband's friend. Still, a wide gulf remains between such behavior and Leontes's grim certainty of sexual relations. There is a traditional male fear of illegitimacy at work, of course, as we observe in the king's attempts to see his own likeness in Mamillius's face--in a time when male heirs were critical to dynastic survival, wifely adultery was a great fear, as one could witness with Henry VIII and his execution of multiple wives only a half-century before Shakespeare. At the same time, a number of critics have found a clue to Leontes's madness in the intensity of his friendship with Polixenes, whose depiction of their unfallen, innocent boyhood suggests that they have \"tripped since\" by marrying. \" Of this make no conclusion,\" Hermione protests, \"lest you say / Your queen and I are devils\", but the real suggestion is that the closeness of Polixenes and Leontes was so great that it is difficult for the adult king of Sicilia to separate himself from his friend, even now that they are married. \" To mingle friendship far is mingling bloods\", Leontes says, but that is exactly what he does--he feels corrupted, in some odd sense, by his marriage to Hermione, and so he projects his guilt upon his friend, \"mingling friendship\" too far and so destroying it."}

Sicilia. The palace of LEONTES Enter CAMILLO and ARCHIDAMUS ARCHIDAMUS. If you shall chance, Camillo, to visit Bohemia, on the like occasion whereon my services are now on foot, you shall see, as I have said, great difference betwixt our Bohemia and your Sicilia. CAMILLO. I think this coming summer the King of Sicilia means to pay Bohemia the visitation which he justly owes him. ARCHIDAMUS. Wherein our entertainment shall shame us we will be justified in our loves; for indeed- CAMILLO. Beseech you- ARCHIDAMUS. Verily, I speak it in the freedom of my knowledge: we cannot with such magnificence, in so rare- I know not what to say. We will give you sleepy drinks, that your senses, unintelligent of our insufficience, may, though they cannot praise us, as little accuse us. CAMILLO. You pay a great deal too dear for what's given freely. ARCHIDAMUS. Believe me, I speak as my understanding instructs me and as mine honesty puts it to utterance. CAMILLO. Sicilia cannot show himself overkind to Bohemia. They were train'd together in their childhoods; and there rooted betwixt them then such an affection which cannot choose but branch now. Since their more mature dignities and royal necessities made separation of their society, their encounters, though not personal, have been royally attorneyed with interchange of gifts, letters, loving embassies; that they have seem'd to be together, though absent; shook hands, as over a vast; and embrac'd as it were from the ends of opposed winds. The heavens continue their loves! ARCHIDAMUS. I think there is not in the world either malice or matter to alter it. You have an unspeakable comfort of your young Prince Mamillius; it is a gentleman of the greatest promise that ever came into my note. CAMILLO. I very well agree with you in the hopes of him. It is a gallant child; one that indeed physics the subject, makes old hearts fresh; they that went on crutches ere he was born desire yet their life to see him a man. ARCHIDAMUS. Would they else be content to die? CAMILLO. Yes; if there were no other excuse why they should desire to live. ARCHIDAMUS. If the King had no son, they would desire to live on crutches till he had one. Exeunt Sicilia. The palace of LEONTES Enter LEONTES, POLIXENES, HERMIONE, MAMILLIUS, CAMILLO, and ATTENDANTS POLIXENES. Nine changes of the wat'ry star hath been The shepherd's note since we have left our throne Without a burden. Time as long again Would be fill'd up, my brother, with our thanks; And yet we should for perpetuity Go hence in debt. And therefore, like a cipher, Yet standing in rich place, I multiply With one 'We thank you' many thousands moe That go before it. LEONTES. Stay your thanks a while, And pay them when you part. POLIXENES. Sir, that's to-morrow. I am question'd by my fears of what may chance Or breed upon our absence, that may blow No sneaping winds at home, to make us say 'This is put forth too truly.' Besides, I have stay'd To tire your royalty. LEONTES. We are tougher, brother, Than you can put us to't. POLIXENES. No longer stay. LEONTES. One sev'night longer. POLIXENES. Very sooth, to-morrow. LEONTES. We'll part the time between's then; and in that I'll no gainsaying. POLIXENES. Press me not, beseech you, so. There is no tongue that moves, none, none i' th' world, So soon as yours could win me. So it should now, Were there necessity in your request, although 'Twere needful I denied it. My affairs Do even drag me homeward; which to hinder Were in your love a whip to me; my stay To you a charge and trouble. To save both, Farewell, our brother. LEONTES. Tongue-tied, our Queen? Speak you. HERMIONE. I had thought, sir, to have held my peace until You had drawn oaths from him not to stay. You, sir, Charge him too coldly. Tell him you are sure All in Bohemia's well- this satisfaction The by-gone day proclaim'd. Say this to him, He's beat from his best ward. LEONTES. Well said, Hermione. HERMIONE. To tell he longs to see his son were strong; But let him say so then, and let him go; But let him swear so, and he shall not stay; We'll thwack him hence with distaffs. [To POLIXENES] Yet of your royal presence I'll adventure the borrow of a week. When at Bohemia You take my lord, I'll give him my commission To let him there a month behind the gest Prefix'd for's parting.- Yet, good deed, Leontes, I love thee not a jar o' th' clock behind What lady she her lord.- You'll stay? POLIXENES. No, madam. HERMIONE. Nay, but you will? POLIXENES. I may not, verily. HERMIONE. Verily! You put me off with limber vows; but I, Though you would seek t' unsphere the stars with oaths, Should yet say 'Sir, no going.' Verily, You shall not go; a lady's 'verily' is As potent as a lord's. Will go yet? Force me to keep you as a prisoner, Not like a guest; so you shall pay your fees When you depart, and save your thanks. How say you? My prisoner or my guest? By your dread 'verily,' One of them you shall be. POLIXENES. Your guest, then, madam: To be your prisoner should import offending; Which is for me less easy to commit Than you to punish. HERMIONE. Not your gaoler then, But your kind. hostess. Come, I'll question you Of my lord's tricks and yours when you were boys. You were pretty lordings then! POLIXENES. We were, fair Queen, Two lads that thought there was no more behind But such a day to-morrow as to-day, And to be boy eternal. HERMIONE. Was not my lord The verier wag o' th' two? POLIXENES. We were as twinn'd lambs that did frisk i' th' sun And bleat the one at th' other. What we chang'd Was innocence for innocence; we knew not The doctrine of ill-doing, nor dream'd That any did. Had we pursu'd that life, And our weak spirits ne'er been higher rear'd With stronger blood, we should have answer'd heaven Boldly 'Not guilty,' the imposition clear'd Hereditary ours. HERMIONE. By this we gather You have tripp'd since. POLIXENES. O my most sacred lady, Temptations have since then been born to 's, for In those unfledg'd days was my wife a girl; Your precious self had then not cross'd the eyes Of my young playfellow. HERMIONE. Grace to boot! Of this make no conclusion, lest you say Your queen and I are devils. Yet, go on; Th' offences we have made you do we'll answer, If you first sinn'd with us, and that with us You did continue fault, and that you slipp'd not With any but with us. LEONTES. Is he won yet? HERMIONE. He'll stay, my lord. LEONTES. At my request he would not. Hermione, my dearest, thou never spok'st To better purpose. HERMIONE. Never? LEONTES. Never but once. HERMIONE. What! Have I twice said well? When was't before? I prithee tell me; cram's with praise, and make's As fat as tame things. One good deed dying tongueless Slaughters a thousand waiting upon that. Our praises are our wages; you may ride's With one soft kiss a thousand furlongs ere With spur we heat an acre. But to th' goal: My last good deed was to entreat his stay; What was my first? It has an elder sister, Or I mistake you. O, would her name were Grace! But once before I spoke to th' purpose- When? Nay, let me have't; I long. LEONTES. Why, that was when Three crabbed months had sour'd themselves to death, Ere I could make thee open thy white hand And clap thyself my love; then didst thou utter 'I am yours for ever.' HERMIONE. 'Tis Grace indeed. Why, lo you now, I have spoke to th' purpose twice: The one for ever earn'd a royal husband; Th' other for some while a friend. [Giving her hand to POLIXENES] LEONTES. [Aside] Too hot, too hot! To mingle friendship far is mingling bloods. I have tremor cordis on me; my heart dances, But not for joy, not joy. This entertainment May a free face put on; derive a liberty From heartiness, from bounty, fertile bosom, And well become the agent. 'T may, I grant; But to be paddling palms and pinching fingers, As now they are, and making practis'd smiles As in a looking-glass; and then to sigh, as 'twere The mort o' th' deer. O, that is entertainment My bosom likes not, nor my brows! Mamillius, Art thou my boy? MAMILLIUS. Ay, my good lord. LEONTES. I' fecks! Why, that's my bawcock. What! hast smutch'd thy nose? They say it is a copy out of mine. Come, Captain, We must be neat- not neat, but cleanly, Captain. And yet the steer, the heifer, and the calf, Are all call'd neat.- Still virginalling Upon his palm?- How now, you wanton calf, Art thou my calf? MAMILLIUS. Yes, if you will, my lord. LEONTES. Thou want'st a rough pash and the shoots that I have, To be full like me; yet they say we are Almost as like as eggs. Women say so, That will say anything. But were they false As o'er-dy'd blacks, as wind, as waters- false As dice are to be wish'd by one that fixes No bourn 'twixt his and mine; yet were it true To say this boy were like me. Come, sir page, Look on me with your welkin eye. Sweet villain! Most dear'st! my collop! Can thy dam?- may't be? Affection! thy intention stabs the centre. Thou dost make possible things not so held, Communicat'st with dreams- how can this be?- With what's unreal thou coactive art, And fellow'st nothing. Then 'tis very credent Thou mayst co-join with something; and thou dost- And that beyond commission; and I find it, And that to the infection of my brains And hard'ning of my brows. POLIXENES. What means Sicilia? HERMIONE. He something seems unsettled. POLIXENES. How, my lord! What cheer? How is't with you, best brother? HERMIONE. You look As if you held a brow of much distraction. Are you mov'd, my lord? LEONTES. No, in good earnest. How sometimes nature will betray its folly, Its tenderness, and make itself a pastime To harder bosoms! Looking on the lines Of my boy's face, methoughts I did recoil Twenty-three years; and saw myself unbreech'd, In my green velvet coat; my dagger muzzl'd, Lest it should bite its master and so prove, As ornaments oft do, too dangerous. How like, methought, I then was to this kernel, This squash, this gentleman. Mine honest friend, Will you take eggs for money? MAMILLIUS. No, my lord, I'll fight. LEONTES. You will? Why, happy man be's dole! My brother, Are you so fond of your young prince as we Do seem to be of ours? POLIXENES. If at home, sir, He's all my exercise, my mirth, my matter; Now my sworn friend, and then mine enemy; My parasite, my soldier, statesman, all. He makes a July's day short as December, And with his varying childness cures in me Thoughts that would thick my blood. LEONTES. So stands this squire Offic'd with me. We two will walk, my lord, And leave you to your graver steps. Hermione, How thou lov'st us show in our brother's welcome; Let what is dear in Sicily be cheap; Next to thyself and my young rover, he's Apparent to my heart. HERMIONE. If you would seek us, We are yours i' th' garden. Shall's attend you there? LEONTES. To your own bents dispose you; you'll be found, Be you beneath the sky. [Aside] I am angling now, Though you perceive me not how I give line. Go to, go to! How she holds up the neb, the bill to him! And arms her with the boldness of a wife To her allowing husband! Exeunt POLIXENES, HERMIONE, and ATTENDANTS Gone already! Inch-thick, knee-deep, o'er head and ears a fork'd one! Go, play, boy, play; thy mother plays, and I Play too; but so disgrac'd a part, whose issue Will hiss me to my grave. Contempt and clamour Will be my knell. Go, play, boy, play. There have been, Or I am much deceiv'd, cuckolds ere now; And many a man there is, even at this present, Now while I speak this, holds his wife by th' arm That little thinks she has been sluic'd in's absence, And his pond fish'd by his next neighbour, by Sir Smile, his neighbour. Nay, there's comfort in't, Whiles other men have gates and those gates open'd, As mine, against their will. Should all despair That hath revolted wives, the tenth of mankind Would hang themselves. Physic for't there's none; It is a bawdy planet, that will strike Where 'tis predominant; and 'tis pow'rfull, think it, From east, west, north, and south. Be it concluded, No barricado for a belly. Know't, It will let in and out the enemy With bag and baggage. Many thousand on's Have the disease, and feel't not. How now, boy! MAMILLIUS. I am like you, they say. LEONTES. Why, that's some comfort. What! Camillo there? CAMILLO. Ay, my good lord. LEONTES. Go play, Mamillius; thou'rt an honest man. Exit MAMILLIUS Camillo, this great sir will yet stay longer. CAMILLO. You had much ado to make his anchor hold; When you cast out, it still came home. LEONTES. Didst note it? CAMILLO. He would not stay at your petitions; made His business more material. LEONTES. Didst perceive it? [Aside] They're here with me already; whisp'ring, rounding, 'Sicilia is a so-forth.' 'Tis far gone When I shall gust it last.- How came't, Camillo, That he did stay? CAMILLO. At the good Queen's entreaty. LEONTES. 'At the Queen's' be't. 'Good' should be pertinent; But so it is, it is not. Was this taken By any understanding pate but thine? For thy conceit is soaking, will draw in More than the common blocks. Not noted, is't, But of the finer natures, by some severals Of head-piece extraordinary? Lower messes Perchance are to this business purblind? Say. CAMILLO. Business, my lord? I think most understand Bohemia stays here longer. LEONTES. Ha? CAMILLO. Stays here longer. LEONTES. Ay, but why? CAMILLO. To satisfy your Highness, and the entreaties Of our most gracious mistress. LEONTES. Satisfy Th' entreaties of your mistress! Satisfy! Let that suffice. I have trusted thee, Camillo, With all the nearest things to my heart, as well My chamber-councils, wherein, priest-like, thou Hast cleans'd my bosom- I from thee departed Thy penitent reform'd; but we have been Deceiv'd in thy integrity, deceiv'd In that which seems so. CAMILLO. Be it forbid, my lord! LEONTES. To bide upon't: thou art not honest; or, If thou inclin'st that way, thou art a coward, Which hoxes honesty behind, restraining From course requir'd; or else thou must be counted A servant grafted in my serious trust, And therein negligent; or else a fool That seest a game play'd home, the rich stake drawn, And tak'st it all for jest. CAMILLO. My gracious lord, I may be negligent, foolish, and fearful: In every one of these no man is free But that his negligence, his folly, fear, Among the infinite doings of the world, Sometime puts forth. In your affairs, my lord, If ever I were wilfull-negligent, It was my folly; if industriously I play'd the fool, it was my negligence, Not weighing well the end; if ever fearful To do a thing where I the issue doubted, Whereof the execution did cry out Against the non-performance, 'twas a fear Which oft infects the wisest. These, my lord, Are such allow'd infirmities that honesty Is never free of. But, beseech your Grace, Be plainer with me; let me know my trespass By its own visage; if I then deny it, 'Tis none of mine. LEONTES. Ha' not you seen, Camillo- But that's past doubt; you have, or your eye-glass Is thicker than a cuckold's horn- or heard- For to a vision so apparent rumour Cannot be mute- or thought- for cogitation Resides not in that man that does not think- My wife is slippery? If thou wilt confess- Or else be impudently negative, To have nor eyes nor ears nor thought- then say My wife's a hobby-horse, deserves a name As rank as any flax-wench that puts to Before her troth-plight. Say't and justify't. CAMILLO. I would not be a stander-by to hear My sovereign mistress clouded so, without My present vengeance taken. Shrew my heart! You never spoke what did become you less Than this; which to reiterate were sin As deep as that, though true. LEONTES. Is whispering nothing? Is leaning cheek to cheek? Is meeting noses? Kissing with inside lip? Stopping the career Of laughter with a sigh?- a note infallible Of breaking honesty. Horsing foot on foot? Skulking in corners? Wishing clocks more swift; Hours, minutes; noon, midnight? And all eyes Blind with the pin and web but theirs, theirs only, That would unseen be wicked- is this nothing? Why, then the world and all that's in't is nothing; The covering sky is nothing; Bohemia nothing; My is nothing; nor nothing have these nothings, If this be nothing. CAMILLO. Good my lord, be cur'd Of this diseas'd opinion, and betimes; For 'tis most dangerous. LEONTES. Say it be, 'tis true. CAMILLO. No, no, my lord. LEONTES. It is; you lie, you lie. I say thou liest, Camillo, and I hate thee; Pronounce thee a gross lout, a mindless slave, Or else a hovering temporizer that Canst with thine eyes at once see good and evil, Inclining to them both. Were my wife's liver Infected as her life, she would not live The running of one glass. CAMILLO. Who does her? LEONTES. Why, he that wears her like her medal, hanging About his neck, Bohemia; who- if I Had servants true about me that bare eyes To see alike mine honour as their profits, Their own particular thrifts, they would do that Which should undo more doing. Ay, and thou, His cupbearer- whom I from meaner form Have bench'd and rear'd to worship; who mayst see, Plainly as heaven sees earth and earth sees heaven, How I am gall'd- mightst bespice a cup To give mine enemy a lasting wink; Which draught to me were cordial. CAMILLO. Sir, my lord, I could do this; and that with no rash potion, But with a ling'ring dram that should not work Maliciously like poison. But I cannot Believe this crack to be in my dread mistress, So sovereignly being honourable. I have lov'd thee- LEONTES. Make that thy question, and go rot! Dost think I am so muddy, so unsettled, To appoint myself in this vexation; sully The purity and whiteness of my sheets- Which to preserve is sleep, which being spotted Is goads, thorns, nettles, tails of wasps; Give scandal to the blood o' th' Prince, my son- Who I do think is mine, and love as mine- Without ripe moving to 't? Would I do this? Could man so blench? CAMILLO. I must believe you, sir. I do; and will fetch off Bohemia for't; Provided that, when he's remov'd, your Highness Will take again your queen as yours at first, Even for your son's sake; and thereby for sealing The injury of tongues in courts and kingdoms Known and allied to yours. LEONTES. Thou dost advise me Even so as I mine own course have set down. I'll give no blemish to her honour, none. CAMILLO. My lord, Go then; and with a countenance as clear As friendship wears at feasts, keep with Bohemia And with your queen. I am his cupbearer; If from me he have wholesome beverage, Account me not your servant. LEONTES. This is all: Do't, and thou hast the one half of my heart; Do't not, thou split'st thine own. CAMILLO. I'll do't, my lord. LEONTES. I will seem friendly, as thou hast advis'd me. Exit CAMILLO. O miserable lady! But, for me, What case stand I in? I must be the poisoner Of good Polixenes; and my ground to do't Is the obedience to a master; one Who, in rebellion with himself, will have All that are his so too. To do this deed, Promotion follows. If I could find example Of thousands that had struck anointed kings And flourish'd after, I'd not do't; but since Nor brass, nor stone, nor parchment, bears not one, Let villainy itself forswear't. I must Forsake the court. To do't, or no, is certain To me a break-neck. Happy star reign now! Here comes Bohemia. Enter POLIXENES POLIXENES. This is strange. Methinks My favour here begins to warp. Not speak? Good day, Camillo. CAMILLO. Hail, most royal sir! POLIXENES. What is the news i' th' court? CAMILLO. None rare, my lord. POLIXENES. The King hath on him such a countenance As he had lost some province, and a region Lov'd as he loves himself; even now I met him With customary compliment, when he, Wafting his eyes to th' contrary and falling A lip of much contempt, speeds from me; So leaves me to consider what is breeding That changes thus his manners. CAMILLO. I dare not know, my lord. POLIXENES. How, dare not! Do not. Do you know, and dare not Be intelligent to me? 'Tis thereabouts; For, to yourself, what you do know, you must, And cannot say you dare not. Good Camillo, Your chang'd complexions are to me a mirror Which shows me mine chang'd too; for I must be A party in this alteration, finding Myself thus alter'd with't. CAMILLO. There is a sickness Which puts some of us in distemper; but I cannot name the disease; and it is caught Of you that yet are well. POLIXENES. How! caught of me? Make me not sighted like the basilisk; I have look'd on thousands who have sped the better By my regard, but kill'd none so. Camillo- As you are certainly a gentleman; thereto Clerk-like experienc'd, which no less adorns Our gentry than our parents' noble names, In whose success we are gentle- I beseech you, If you know aught which does behove my knowledge Thereof to be inform'd, imprison't not In ignorant concealment. CAMILLO. I may not answer. POLIXENES. A sickness caught of me, and yet I well? I must be answer'd. Dost thou hear, Camillo? I conjure thee, by all the parts of man Which honour does acknowledge, whereof the least Is not this suit of mine, that thou declare What incidency thou dost guess of harm Is creeping toward me; how far off, how near; Which way to be prevented, if to be; If not, how best to bear it. CAMILLO. Sir, I will tell you; Since I am charg'd in honour, and by him That I think honourable. Therefore mark my counsel, Which must be ev'n as swiftly followed as I mean to utter it, or both yourself and me Cry lost, and so goodnight. POLIXENES. On, good Camillo. CAMILLO. I am appointed him to murder you. POLIXENES. By whom, Camillo? CAMILLO. By the King. POLIXENES. For what? CAMILLO. He thinks, nay, with all confidence he swears, As he had seen 't or been an instrument To vice you to't, that you have touch'd his queen Forbiddenly. POLIXENES. O, then my best blood turn To an infected jelly, and my name Be yok'd with his that did betray the Best! Turn then my freshest reputation to A savour that may strike the dullest nostril Where I arrive, and my approach be shunn'd, Nay, hated too, worse than the great'st infection That e'er was heard or read! CAMILLO. Swear his thought over By each particular star in heaven and By all their influences, you may as well Forbid the sea for to obey the moon As or by oath remove or counsel shake The fabric of his folly, whose foundation Is pil'd upon his faith and will continue The standing of his body. POLIXENES. How should this grow? CAMILLO. I know not; but I am sure 'tis safer to Avoid what's grown than question how 'tis born. If therefore you dare trust my honesty, That lies enclosed in this trunk which you Shall bear along impawn'd, away to-night. Your followers I will whisper to the business; And will, by twos and threes, at several posterns, Clear them o' th' city. For myself, I'll put My fortunes to your service, which are here By this discovery lost. Be not uncertain, For, by the honour of my parents, I Have utt'red truth; which if you seek to prove, I dare not stand by; nor shall you be safer Than one condemn'd by the King's own mouth, thereon His execution sworn. POLIXENES. I do believe thee: I saw his heart in's face. Give me thy hand; Be pilot to me, and thy places shall Still neighbour mine. My ships are ready, and My people did expect my hence departure Two days ago. This jealousy Is for a precious creature; as she's rare, Must it be great; and, as his person's mighty, Must it be violent; and as he does conceive He is dishonour'd by a man which ever Profess'd to him, why, his revenges must In that be made more bitter. Fear o'ershades me. Good expedition be my friend, and comfort The gracious Queen, part of this theme, but nothing Of his ill-ta'en suspicion! Come, Camillo; I will respect thee as a father, if Thou bear'st my life off hence. Let us avoid. CAMILLO. It is in mine authority to command The keys of all the posterns. Please your Highness To take the urgent hour. Come, sir, away. Exeunt

Act I, Scenes i-ii

https://web.archive.org/web/20210124213436/https://www.sparknotes.com/shakespeare/winterstale/section1/

In the kingdom of Sicilia, King Leontes is being visited by his childhood friend, King Polixenes of Bohemia. One of Leontes's lords, Camillo, discusses the striking differences between the two kingdoms with a Bohemian nobleman, Archidamus. The conversation then turns to the great and enduring friendship between the two kings, and the beauty and promise of Leontes's young son,Mamillius. These two lords go out, and Leontes comes in, along with his wife Hermione , Mamillius, and Polixenes, who is making ready to depart for home. Leontes pleads with him to stay a little longer in Sicilia, but his friend refuses, declaring that he has been away from Bohemia for nine months, which is long enough. Hermione then takes up the argument, and Polixenes yields to her entreaties, promising to stay for a little longer. He tells the Sicilian queen how wonderful his childhood with Leontes was--how "we were, fair queen / Two lads that thought there was no more behind / But such a day tomorrow as today / And to be boy eternal". Leontes, meanwhile, tells Hermione that she has never spoken to better effect than in convincing Polixenes to stay--save for once, when she agreed to marry him. But as his wife and his friend walk together, apart from him, he feels stirrings of jealousy, and tells the audience that he suspects them of being lovers. He turns to his son and notes that the boy resembles him, and this reassures him that Mamillius is, in fact, his son and not someone else's; his suspicion of his wife remains, however, and grows quickly, until he is certain that she is sleeping with Polixenes. He sends the two of them to walk in the garden together, promising to join them later, and then calls Camillo over, asking if he has noticed anything peculiar about Polixenes's behavior lately. Camillo says that he has not, and Leontes accuses him of being negligent, and then declares that Hermione and Polixenes have made him a cuckold--that is, a betrayed husband. Camillo, appalled, refuses to believe it, but his king insists that it is true, and orders the lord to act as cupbearer to Polixenes--and then poison him at the first opportunity. Camillo promises to obey, but his conscience is greatly troubled, and when Leontes has gone and Polixenes reappears, the Bohemian king realizes that something is amiss. Saying that Leontes just gave him a peculiar and threatening look, he demands to know what is going on, and Camillo, after a moment of anguish, tells him of the Sicilian king's suspicions and desire to have him poisoned. He begs protection of Polixenes, who accepts him as a servant, and they decide to flee the country immediately by sneaking out of the castle and taking ship for Bohemia. Camillo promises to use his authority in Sicilia to help their escape, and the two men slip away together.

ii - Commentary The appearance of the two lords at the opening of the play is a typical Shakespearean device, in which minor characters prepare the audience for what they are about to see. In Antony and Cleopatra, for instance, two Roman soldiers comment on Antony's decline; in King Lear, Gloucester and Kent discuss the division of the kingdom that their monarch is about to undertake. In this play, however, one may question whether the audience does see what Camillo and Archidamus prepare us for. They describe two kings with "rooted between them...such an affection which cannot choose but branch now...the heavens continue their loves!". What we see, however, is one king's deepening jealousy of the other--for although Leontes is trying to persuade his friend to stay as their scene together opens, we are meant to believe that he already suspects Polixenes and his wife of adultery. The opening can be played many different ways, of course, and one could legitimately suggest that Leontes's jealousy does not take flight until after Hermione convinces Polixenes to stay. But a number of clues suggest otherwise. For one thing, all the cheerful speeches belong to Hermione and Polixenes. The Bohemian king is given a long discourse on the bliss of his childhood friendship with Leontes, while the Sicilian king is conspicuously silent until he is left alone to nurse his jealousy, speaking only in short, clipped sentences--"Stay your thanks awhile / And pay them when you part", he says after Polixenes has spoken for nine lines, and after another lengthy speech by the Bohemian king, he replies tersely "We are tougher, brother, / Than you can put us to't". Polixenes uses the flowery language that one would expect between royal friends in Shakespeare, but Leontes seems to have already put their friendship behind him. Meanwhile, the initial speech by Polixenes calls attention the fact that he has been in Sicilia for "Nine changes of the watery star", which coincides, rather obviously, with the length of Hermione's pregnancy, and suggests that Shakespeare wishes to call attention to the idea of infidelity from the beginning. And when Leontes later says "I am angling now, / Although you perceive me not how I give line", one can easily imagine that the entire business of asking Polixenes to stay is another "angling," designed to trap the Bohemian king and enable Leontes to dispose of him. The roots of Leontes's jealousy are uncertain. Shakespeare allows him some of the play's most brilliant, and biting lines--"And many a man there is, even at this present, / Now while I speak this, holds his wife by th'arm, / That little thinks she has been sluiced in's absence / And his pond fished by his next neighbor, by / Sir Smile, his neighbor"--but refuses to give an easy explanation as to why he is so certain of Hermione's infidelity. The play allows no possibility of her guilt, but he does see her "paddling palms and pinching fingers", which suggest a degree of physical intimacy with her husband's friend. Still, a wide gulf remains between such behavior and Leontes's grim certainty of sexual relations. There is a traditional male fear of illegitimacy at work, of course, as we observe in the king's attempts to see his own likeness in Mamillius's face--in a time when male heirs were critical to dynastic survival, wifely adultery was a great fear, as one could witness with Henry VIII and his execution of multiple wives only a half-century before Shakespeare. At the same time, a number of critics have found a clue to Leontes's madness in the intensity of his friendship with Polixenes, whose depiction of their unfallen, innocent boyhood suggests that they have "tripped since" by marrying. " Of this make no conclusion," Hermione protests, "lest you say / Your queen and I are devils", but the real suggestion is that the closeness of Polixenes and Leontes was so great that it is difficult for the adult king of Sicilia to separate himself from his friend, even now that they are married. " To mingle friendship far is mingling bloods", Leontes says, but that is exactly what he does--he feels corrupted, in some odd sense, by his marriage to Hermione, and so he projects his guilt upon his friend, "mingling friendship" too far and so destroying it.

sparknotes

all_chapterized_books/1134-chapters/act_2_chapters_1_to_3.txt

finished_summaries/sparknotes/The Winter's Tale/section_1_part_0.txt

The Winter's Tale.act 2.scenes 1-3

act 2, scenes 1-3

{"name": "Act II, Scenes i-iii", "url": "https://web.archive.org/web/20210124213436/https://www.sparknotes.com/shakespeare/winterstale/section2/", "summary": "Hermione asks her little boy, Mamillius, to sit by her and tell her a story. Meanwhile, Leontes storms in, having just learned of Polixenes's escape and Camillo's role in accomplishing it. To his diseased mind, this is proof positive that his suspicions were correct--he decides that Camillo must have been in Polixenes's pay from the beginning. He orders Mamillius taken away from Hermione, and then accuses his wife of being pregnant with the king of Bohemia's child. Hermione, astonished, denies it vigorously, but to no avail, and her husband orders her taken away to jail, along with her ladies-in-waiting. When she has been dragged off, the lords of Sicilia plead with Leontes, declaring that he is mistaken and his queen is innocent; Hermione's most vocal defender is a lord named Antigonus. The king will have none of it, however--he is certain of his own rightness, and says that anyway, the matter is none of their concern. However, he does promise to ask the celebrated oracle of Apollo, at Delphi, for a verdict before proceeding against his wife. In prison, Antigonus's wife Paulina attempts to visit Hermione, but is rebuffed by the guards. She is, however, allowed to speak with one of the queen's ladies, Emilia, who reports that her mistress has given birth to a beautiful daughter. Overriding the uncertain jailer, Paulina decides to take the child from the cell and bring it to Leontes, in the hopes that the sight of his new-born daughter will release the king from his madness. Meanwhile, Mamillius has fallen ill since Hermione's imprisonment. Leontes, of course, attributes his son's ailment to shame over his mother's infidelity; meanwhile, he angrily wishes that Polixenes had not managed to escape his wrath. Paulina brings the child to the king, and he grows furious with her, demanding of Antigonus why he cannot manage to control his wife better. Paulina, instead of falling silent, argues with Leontes, defending Hermione's honor and then laying the baby before the angry king before she departs. When she is gone, Leontes orders Antigonus to take the child away and throw it into the fire, so that he will never have to see another man's bastard call him father. His lords are horrified by this order, and beg him to recon sider. He relents after a moment, but only a little--instead of burning the infant, he tells Antigonus to carry it into the wilderness and leave it there. As the unhappy nobleman takes the child and departs, word arrives that his messengers to the Oracle of Delphi have returned, bringing with them the divine verdict on the matter.", "analysis": "iii - Commentary Despite its title, The Winter's Tale is only set during the winter months during the first three acts; in the latter two, spring and summer enter, bringing renewal. The resonance of the title for the opening acts is suggested in this scene by Mamillius, who promises to tell his mother a story, and then says \"a sad tale's best for winter\". And, indeed, the portion of the play set in winter is \"a sad tale\"--but by bringing about a happy ending in the summer sun, the playwright seems to suggest that Mamillius is only partially correct, and that the best winter story will end not with sadness, but with the promise of spring. This is the little prince's only real contribution to the story, save as a victim of the retribution against Leontes--he is quickly cleared off the stage, and his parents step to the fore. If we had any doubt of the king's madness before now, it is quickly swept away when he enters, and declares that Camillo must have been hired by Polixenes to kill him--\"Camillo was his help in this, his pander. / There is a plot against my life, my crown. All's true that is mistrusted\". This blindness, accusing Polixenes of the very crime of which he himself is guilty, is the mark of a true paranoid, unencumbered by facts, yet nevertheless certain that \"all's true that is mistrusted. \" Hermione, meanwhile, makes a strong showing, even if the play only allows her the twin emotions of outrage and grief. She does the best with her maddened husband as anyone could, offering him a way out of his folly--\"Should a villain say so,\" she says of his accusation, \"He were as much more villain. You, my lord, / Do but mistake\". But, of course, in his mind he does not mistake, and so her pleas are fruitless. Equally fruitless is the work of Paulina, who embodies good sense and natural feeling; the audience sympathizes with her hope that Leontes will regain his faith in his wife when he sees his child. His reaction to her attempt at reasoning with him is revealing, since it suggests that a deep misogyny, a fear of female power, is at work in the Sicilian king. Again and again, he demands of Antigonus why he \"canst not rule her?\", and then mocks husband and wife both--\"A manking witch!\" he calls Paulina, and \"Thou dotard,\" he says to the loyal nobleman, \"thou art woman-tired, unroosted / By thy Dame Partlet here\". In some awful way, then, the king seems to see himself as an enforcer of patriarchal discipline--my wife was rebellious, too, he seems to say, but I didn't let her get away with it."}

Sicilia. The palace of LEONTES Enter HERMIONE, MAMILLIUS, and LADIES HERMIONE. Take the boy to you; he so troubles me, 'Tis past enduring. FIRST LADY. Come, my gracious lord, Shall I be your playfellow? MAMILLIUS. No, I'll none of you. FIRST LADY. Why, my sweet lord? MAMILLIUS. You'll kiss me hard, and speak to me as if I were a baby still. I love you better. SECOND LADY. And why so, my lord? MAMILLIUS. Not for because Your brows are blacker; yet black brows, they say, Become some women best; so that there be not Too much hair there, but in a semicircle Or a half-moon made with a pen. SECOND LADY. Who taught't this? MAMILLIUS. I learn'd it out of women's faces. Pray now, What colour are your eyebrows? FIRST LADY. Blue, my lord. MAMILLIUS. Nay, that's a mock. I have seen a lady's nose That has been blue, but not her eyebrows. FIRST LADY. Hark ye: The Queen your mother rounds apace. We shall Present our services to a fine new prince One of these days; and then you'd wanton with us, If we would have you. SECOND LADY. She is spread of late Into a goodly bulk. Good time encounter her! HERMIONE. What wisdom stirs amongst you? Come, sir, now I am for you again. Pray you sit by us, And tell's a tale. MAMILLIUS. Merry or sad shall't be? HERMIONE. As merry as you will. MAMILLIUS. A sad tale's best for winter. I have one Of sprites and goblins. HERMIONE. Let's have that, good sir. Come on, sit down; come on, and do your best To fright me with your sprites; you're pow'rfull at it. MAMILLIUS. There was a man- HERMIONE. Nay, come, sit down; then on. MAMILLIUS. Dwelt by a churchyard- I will tell it softly; Yond crickets shall not hear it. HERMIONE. Come on then, And give't me in mine ear. Enter LEONTES, ANTIGONUS, LORDS, and OTHERS LEONTES. he met there? his train? Camillo with him? FIRST LORD. Behind the tuft of pines I met them; never Saw I men scour so on their way. I ey'd them Even to their ships. LEONTES. How blest am I In my just censure, in my true opinion! Alack, for lesser knowledge! How accurs'd In being so blest! There may be in the cup A spider steep'd, and one may drink, depart, And yet partake no venom, for his knowledge Is not infected; but if one present Th' abhorr'd ingredient to his eye, make known How he hath drunk, he cracks his gorge, his sides, With violent hefts. I have drunk, and seen the spider. Camillo was his help in this, his pander. There is a plot against my life, my crown; All's true that is mistrusted. That false villain Whom I employ'd was pre-employ'd by him; He has discover'd my design, and I Remain a pinch'd thing; yea, a very trick For them to play at will. How came the posterns So easily open? FIRST LORD. By his great authority; Which often hath no less prevail'd than so On your command. LEONTES. I know't too well. Give me the boy. I am glad you did not nurse him; Though he does bear some signs of me, yet you Have too much blood in him. HERMIONE. What is this? Sport? LEONTES. Bear the boy hence; he shall not come about her; Away with him; and let her sport herself [MAMILLIUS is led out] With that she's big with- for 'tis Polixenes Has made thee swell thus. HERMIONE. But I'd say he had not, And I'll be sworn you would believe my saying, Howe'er you lean to th' nayward. LEONTES. You, my lords, Look on her, mark her well; be but about To say 'She is a goodly lady' and The justice of your hearts will thereto ad 'Tis pity she's not honest- honourable.' Praise her but for this her without-door form, Which on my faith deserves high speech, and straight The shrug, the hum or ha, these petty brands That calumny doth use- O, I am out!- That mercy does, for calumny will sear Virtue itself- these shrugs, these hum's and ha's, When you have said she's goodly, come between, Ere you can say she's honest. But be't known, From him that has most cause to grieve it should be, She's an adultress. HERMIONE. Should a villain say so, The most replenish'd villain in the world, He were as much more villain: you, my lord, Do but mistake. LEONTES. You have mistook, my lady, Polixenes for Leontes. O thou thing! Which I'll not call a creature of thy place, Lest barbarism, making me the precedent, Should a like language use to all degrees And mannerly distinguishment leave out Betwixt the prince and beggar. I have said She's an adultress; I have said with whom. More, she's a traitor; and Camillo is A federary with her, and one that knows What she should shame to know herself But with her most vile principal- that she's A bed-swerver, even as bad as those That vulgars give bold'st titles; ay, and privy To this their late escape. HERMIONE. No, by my life, Privy to none of this. How will this grieve you, When you shall come to clearer knowledge, that You thus have publish'd me! Gentle my lord, You scarce can right me throughly then to say You did mistake. LEONTES. No; if I mistake In those foundations which I build upon, The centre is not big enough to bear A school-boy's top. Away with her to prison. He who shall speak for her is afar off guilty But that he speaks. HERMIONE. There's some ill planet reigns. I must be patient till the heavens look With an aspect more favourable. Good my lords, I am not prone to weeping, as our sex Commonly are- the want of which vain dew Perchance shall dry your pities- but I have That honourable grief lodg'd here which burns Worse than tears drown. Beseech you all, my lords, With thoughts so qualified as your charities Shall best instruct you, measure me; and so The King's will be perform'd! LEONTES. [To the GUARD] Shall I be heard? HERMIONE. Who is't that goes with me? Beseech your highness My women may be with me, for you see My plight requires it. Do not weep, good fools; There is no cause; when you shall know your mistress Has deserv'd prison, then abound in tears As I come out: this action I now go on Is for my better grace. Adieu, my lord. I never wish'd to see you sorry; now I trust I shall. My women, come; you have leave. LEONTES. Go, do our bidding; hence! Exeunt HERMIONE, guarded, and LADIES FIRST LORD. Beseech your Highness, call the Queen again. ANTIGONUS. Be certain what you do, sir, lest your justice Prove violence, in the which three great ones suffer, Yourself, your queen, your son. FIRST LORD. For her, my lord, I dare my life lay down- and will do't, sir, Please you t' accept it- that the Queen is spotless I' th' eyes of heaven and to you- I mean In this which you accuse her. ANTIGONUS. If it prove She's otherwise, I'll keep my stables where I lodge my wife; I'll go in couples with her; Than when I feel and see her no farther trust her; For every inch of woman in the world, Ay, every dram of woman's flesh is false, If she be. LEONTES. Hold your peaces. FIRST LORD. Good my lord- ANTIGONUS. It is for you we speak, not for ourselves. You are abus'd, and by some putter-on That will be damn'd for't. Would I knew the villain! I would land-damn him. Be she honour-flaw'd- I have three daughters: the eldest is eleven; The second and the third, nine and some five; If this prove true, they'll pay for 't. By mine honour, I'll geld 'em all; fourteen they shall not see To bring false generations. They are co-heirs; And I had rather glib myself than they Should not produce fair issue. LEONTES. Cease; no more. You smell this business with a sense as cold As is a dead man's nose; but I do see't and feel't As you feel doing thus; and see withal The instruments that feel. ANTIGONUS. If it be so, We need no grave to bury honesty; There's not a grain of it the face to sweeten Of the whole dungy earth. LEONTES. What! Lack I credit? FIRST LORD. I had rather you did lack than I, my lord, Upon this ground; and more it would content me To have her honour true than your suspicion, Be blam'd for't how you might. LEONTES. Why, what need we Commune with you of this, but rather follow Our forceful instigation? Our prerogative Calls not your counsels; but our natural goodness Imparts this; which, if you- or stupified Or seeming so in skill- cannot or will not Relish a truth like us, inform yourselves We need no more of your advice. The matter, The loss, the gain, the ord'ring on't, is all Properly ours. ANTIGONUS. And I wish, my liege, You had only in your silent judgment tried it, Without more overture. LEONTES. How could that be? Either thou art most ignorant by age, Or thou wert born a fool. Camillo's flight, Added to their familiarity- Which was as gross as ever touch'd conjecture, That lack'd sight only, nought for approbation But only seeing, all other circumstances Made up to th' deed- doth push on this proceeding. Yet, for a greater confirmation- For, in an act of this importance, 'twere Most piteous to be wild- I have dispatch'd in post To sacred Delphos, to Apollo's temple, Cleomenes and Dion, whom you know Of stuff'd sufficiency. Now, from the oracle They will bring all, whose spiritual counsel had, Shall stop or spur me. Have I done well? FIRST LORD. Well done, my lord. LEONTES. Though I am satisfied, and need no more Than what I know, yet shall the oracle Give rest to th' minds of others such as he Whose ignorant credulity will not Come up to th' truth. So have we thought it good From our free person she should be confin'd, Lest that the treachery of the two fled hence Be left her to perform. Come, follow us; We are to speak in public; for this business Will raise us all. ANTIGONUS. [Aside] To laughter, as I take it, If the good truth were known. Exeunt Sicilia. A prison Enter PAULINA, a GENTLEMAN, and ATTENDANTS PAULINA. The keeper of the prison- call to him; Let him have knowledge who I am. Exit GENTLEMAN Good lady! No court in Europe is too good for thee; What dost thou then in prison? Re-enter GENTLEMAN with the GAOLER Now, good sir, You know me, do you not? GAOLER. For a worthy lady, And one who much I honour. PAULINA. Pray you, then, Conduct me to the Queen. GAOLER. I may not, madam; To the contrary I have express commandment. PAULINA. Here's ado, to lock up honesty and honour from Th' access of gentle visitors! Is't lawful, pray you, To see her women- any of them? Emilia? GAOLER. So please you, madam, To put apart these your attendants, Shall bring Emilia forth. PAULINA. I pray now, call her. Withdraw yourselves. Exeunt ATTENDANTS GAOLER. And, madam, I must be present at your conference. PAULINA. Well, be't so, prithee. Exit GAOLER Here's such ado to make no stain a stain As passes colouring. Re-enter GAOLER, with EMILIA Dear gentlewoman, How fares our gracious lady? EMILIA. As well as one so great and so forlorn May hold together. On her frights and griefs, Which never tender lady hath borne greater, She is, something before her time, deliver'd. PAULINA. A boy? EMILIA. A daughter, and a goodly babe, Lusty, and like to live. The Queen receives Much comfort in't; says 'My poor prisoner, I am as innocent as you.' PAULINA. I dare be sworn. These dangerous unsafe lunes i' th' King, beshrew them! He must be told on't, and he shall. The office Becomes a woman best; I'll take't upon me; If I prove honey-mouth'd, let my tongue blister, And never to my red-look'd anger be The trumpet any more. Pray you, Emilia, Commend my best obedience to the Queen; If she dares trust me with her little babe, I'll show't the King, and undertake to be Her advocate to th' loud'st. We do not know How he may soften at the sight o' th' child: The silence often of pure innocence Persuades when speaking fails. EMILIA. Most worthy madam, Your honour and your goodness is so evident That your free undertaking cannot miss A thriving issue; there is no lady living So meet for this great errand. Please your ladyship To visit the next room, I'll presently Acquaint the Queen of your most noble offer Who but to-day hammer'd of this design, But durst not tempt a minister of honour, Lest she should be denied. PAULINA. Tell her, Emilia, I'll use that tongue I have; if wit flow from't As boldness from my bosom, let't not be doubted I shall do good. EMILIA. Now be you blest for it! I'll to the Queen. Please you come something nearer. GAOLER. Madam, if't please the Queen to send the babe, I know not what I shall incur to pass it, Having no warrant. PAULINA. You need not fear it, sir. This child was prisoner to the womb, and is By law and process of great Nature thence Freed and enfranchis'd- not a party to The anger of the King, nor guilty of, If any be, the trespass of the Queen. GAOLER. I do believe it. PAULINA. Do not you fear. Upon mine honour, I Will stand betwixt you and danger. Exeunt Sicilia. The palace of LEONTES Enter LEONTES, ANTIGONUS, LORDS, and SERVANTS LEONTES. Nor night nor day no rest! It is but weakness To bear the matter thus- mere weakness. If The cause were not in being- part o' th' cause, She, th' adultress; for the harlot king Is quite beyond mine arm, out of the blank And level of my brain, plot-proof; but she I can hook to me- say that she were gone, Given to the fire, a moiety of my rest Might come to me again. Who's there? FIRST SERVANT. My lord? LEONTES. How does the boy? FIRST SERVANT. He took good rest to-night; 'Tis hop'd his sickness is discharg'd. LEONTES. To see his nobleness! Conceiving the dishonour of his mother, He straight declin'd, droop'd, took it deeply, Fasten'd and fix'd the shame on't in himself, Threw off his spirit, his appetite, his sleep, And downright languish'd. Leave me solely. Go, See how he fares. [Exit SERVANT] Fie, fie! no thought of him! The very thought of my revenges that way Recoil upon me- in himself too mighty, And in his parties, his alliance. Let him be, Until a time may serve; for present vengeance, Take it on her. Camillo and Polixenes Laugh at me, make their pastime at my sorrow. They should not laugh if I could reach them; nor Shall she, within my pow'r. Enter PAULINA, with a CHILD FIRST LORD. You must not enter. PAULINA. Nay, rather, good my lords, be second to me. Fear you his tyrannous passion more, alas, Than the Queen's life? A gracious innocent soul, More free than he is jealous. ANTIGONUS. That's enough. SECOND SERVANT. Madam, he hath not slept to-night; commanded None should come at him. PAULINA. Not so hot, good sir; I come to bring him sleep. 'Tis such as you, That creep like shadows by him, and do sigh At each his needless heavings- such as you Nourish the cause of his awaking: I Do come with words as medicinal as true, Honest as either, to purge him of that humour That presses him from sleep. LEONTES. What noise there, ho? PAULINA. No noise, my lord; but needful conference About some gossips for your Highness. LEONTES. How! Away with that audacious lady! Antigonus, I charg'd thee that she should not come about me; I knew she would. ANTIGONUS. I told her so, my lord, On your displeasure's peril, and on mine, She should not visit you. LEONTES. What, canst not rule her? PAULINA. From all dishonesty he can: in this, Unless he take the course that you have done- Commit me for committing honour- trust it, He shall not rule me. ANTIGONUS. La you now, you hear! When she will take the rein, I let her run; But she'll not stumble. PAULINA. Good my liege, I come- And I beseech you hear me, who professes Myself your loyal servant, your physician, Your most obedient counsellor; yet that dares Less appear so, in comforting your evils, Than such as most seem yours- I say I come From your good Queen. LEONTES. Good Queen! PAULINA. Good Queen, my lord, good Queen- I say good Queen; And would by combat make her good, so were I A man, the worst about you. LEONTES. Force her hence. PAULINA. Let him that makes but trifles of his eyes First hand me. On mine own accord I'll off; But first I'll do my errand. The good Queen, For she is good, hath brought you forth a daughter; Here 'tis; commends it to your blessing. [Laying down the child] LEONTES. Out! A mankind witch! Hence with her, out o' door! A most intelligencing bawd! PAULINA. Not so. I am as ignorant in that as you In so entitling me; and no less honest Than you are mad; which is enough, I'll warrant, As this world goes, to pass for honest. LEONTES. Traitors! Will you not push her out? Give her the bastard. [To ANTIGONUS] Thou dotard, thou art woman-tir'd, unroosted By thy Dame Partlet here. Take up the bastard; Take't up, I say; give't to thy crone. PAULINA. For ever Unvenerable be thy hands, if thou Tak'st up the Princess by that forced baseness Which he has put upon't! LEONTES. He dreads his wife. PAULINA. So I would you did; then 'twere past all doubt You'd call your children yours. LEONTES. A nest of traitors! ANTIGONUS. I am none, by this good light. PAULINA. Nor I; nor any But one that's here; and that's himself; for he The sacred honour of himself, his Queen's, His hopeful son's, his babe's, betrays to slander, Whose sting is sharper than the sword's; and will not- For, as the case now stands, it is a curse He cannot be compell'd to 't- once remove The root of his opinion, which is rotten As ever oak or stone was sound. LEONTES. A callat Of boundless tongue, who late hath beat her husband, And now baits me! This brat is none of mine; It is the issue of Polixenes. Hence with it, and together with the dam Commit them to the fire. PAULINA. It is yours. And, might we lay th' old proverb to your charge, So like you 'tis the worse. Behold, my lords, Although the print be little, the whole matter And copy of the father- eye, nose, lip, The trick of's frown, his forehead; nay, the valley, The pretty dimples of his chin and cheek; his smiles; The very mould and frame of hand, nail, finger. And thou, good goddess Nature, which hast made it So like to him that got it, if thou hast The ordering of the mind too, 'mongst all colours No yellow in't, lest she suspect, as he does, Her children not her husband's! LEONTES. A gross hag! And, lozel, thou art worthy to be hang'd That wilt not stay her tongue. ANTIGONUS. Hang all the husbands That cannot do that feat, you'll leave yourself Hardly one subject. LEONTES. Once more, take her hence. PAULINA. A most unworthy and unnatural lord Can do no more. LEONTES. I'll ha' thee burnt. PAULINA. I care not. It is an heretic that makes the fire, Not she which burns in't. I'll not call you tyrant But this most cruel usage of your Queen- Not able to produce more accusation Than your own weak-hing'd fancy- something savours Of tyranny, and will ignoble make you, Yea, scandalous to the world. LEONTES. On your allegiance, Out of the chamber with her! Were I a tyrant, Where were her life? She durst not call me so, If she did know me one. Away with her! PAULINA. I pray you, do not push me; I'll be gone. Look to your babe, my lord; 'tis yours. Jove send her A better guiding spirit! What needs these hands? You that are thus so tender o'er his follies Will never do him good, not one of you. So, so. Farewell; we are gone. Exit LEONTES. Thou, traitor, hast set on thy wife to this. My child! Away with't. Even thou, that hast A heart so tender o'er it, take it hence, And see it instantly consum'd with fire; Even thou, and none but thou. Take it up straight. Within this hour bring me word 'tis done, And by good testimony, or I'll seize thy life, With that thou else call'st thine. If thou refuse, And wilt encounter with my wrath, say so; The bastard brains with these my proper hands Shall I dash out. Go, take it to the fire; For thou set'st on thy wife. ANTIGONUS. I did not, sir. These lords, my noble fellows, if they please, Can clear me in't. LORDS. We can. My royal liege, He is not guilty of her coming hither. LEONTES. You're liars all. FIRST LORD. Beseech your Highness, give us better credit. We have always truly serv'd you; and beseech So to esteem of us; and on our knees we beg, As recompense of our dear services Past and to come, that you do change this purpose, Which being so horrible, so bloody, must Lead on to some foul issue. We all kneel. LEONTES. I am a feather for each wind that blows. Shall I live on to see this bastard kneel And call me father? Better burn it now Than curse it then. But be it; let it live. It shall not neither. [To ANTIGONUS] You, Sir, come you hither. You that have been so tenderly officious With Lady Margery, your midwife there, To save this bastard's life- for 'tis a bastard, So sure as this beard's grey- what will you adventure To save this brat's life? ANTIGONUS. Anything, my lord, That my ability may undergo, And nobleness impose. At least, thus much: I'll pawn the little blood which I have left To save the innocent- anything possible. LEONTES. It shall be possible. Swear by this sword Thou wilt perform my bidding. ANTIGONUS. I will, my lord. LEONTES. Mark, and perform it- seest thou? For the fail Of any point in't shall not only be Death to thyself, but to thy lewd-tongu'd wife, Whom for this time we pardon. We enjoin thee, As thou art liegeman to us, that thou carry This female bastard hence; and that thou bear it To some remote and desert place, quite out Of our dominions; and that there thou leave it, Without more mercy, to it own protection And favour of the climate. As by strange fortune It came to us, I do in justice charge thee, On thy soul's peril and thy body's torture, That thou commend it strangely to some place Where chance may nurse or end it. Take it up. ANTIGONUS. I swear to do this, though a present death Had been more merciful. Come on, poor babe. Some powerful spirit instruct the kites and ravens To be thy nurses! Wolves and bears, they say, Casting their savageness aside, have done Like offices of pity. Sir, be prosperous In more than this deed does require! And blessing Against this cruelty fight on thy side, Poor thing, condemn'd to loss! Exit with the child LEONTES. No, I'll not rear Another's issue. Enter a SERVANT SERVANT. Please your Highness, posts From those you sent to th' oracle are come An hour since. Cleomenes and Dion, Being well arriv'd from Delphos, are both landed, Hasting to th' court. FIRST LORD. So please you, sir, their speed Hath been beyond account. LEONTES. Twenty-three days They have been absent; 'tis good speed; foretells The great Apollo suddenly will have The truth of this appear. Prepare you, lords; Summon a session, that we may arraign Our most disloyal lady; for, as she hath Been publicly accus'd, so shall she have A just and open trial. While she lives, My heart will be a burden to me. Leave me; And think upon my bidding. Exeunt

Act II, Scenes i-iii

https://web.archive.org/web/20210124213436/https://www.sparknotes.com/shakespeare/winterstale/section2/

Hermione asks her little boy, Mamillius, to sit by her and tell her a story. Meanwhile, Leontes storms in, having just learned of Polixenes's escape and Camillo's role in accomplishing it. To his diseased mind, this is proof positive that his suspicions were correct--he decides that Camillo must have been in Polixenes's pay from the beginning. He orders Mamillius taken away from Hermione, and then accuses his wife of being pregnant with the king of Bohemia's child. Hermione, astonished, denies it vigorously, but to no avail, and her husband orders her taken away to jail, along with her ladies-in-waiting. When she has been dragged off, the lords of Sicilia plead with Leontes, declaring that he is mistaken and his queen is innocent; Hermione's most vocal defender is a lord named Antigonus. The king will have none of it, however--he is certain of his own rightness, and says that anyway, the matter is none of their concern. However, he does promise to ask the celebrated oracle of Apollo, at Delphi, for a verdict before proceeding against his wife. In prison, Antigonus's wife Paulina attempts to visit Hermione, but is rebuffed by the guards. She is, however, allowed to speak with one of the queen's ladies, Emilia, who reports that her mistress has given birth to a beautiful daughter. Overriding the uncertain jailer, Paulina decides to take the child from the cell and bring it to Leontes, in the hopes that the sight of his new-born daughter will release the king from his madness. Meanwhile, Mamillius has fallen ill since Hermione's imprisonment. Leontes, of course, attributes his son's ailment to shame over his mother's infidelity; meanwhile, he angrily wishes that Polixenes had not managed to escape his wrath. Paulina brings the child to the king, and he grows furious with her, demanding of Antigonus why he cannot manage to control his wife better. Paulina, instead of falling silent, argues with Leontes, defending Hermione's honor and then laying the baby before the angry king before she departs. When she is gone, Leontes orders Antigonus to take the child away and throw it into the fire, so that he will never have to see another man's bastard call him father. His lords are horrified by this order, and beg him to recon sider. He relents after a moment, but only a little--instead of burning the infant, he tells Antigonus to carry it into the wilderness and leave it there. As the unhappy nobleman takes the child and departs, word arrives that his messengers to the Oracle of Delphi have returned, bringing with them the divine verdict on the matter.

iii - Commentary Despite its title, The Winter's Tale is only set during the winter months during the first three acts; in the latter two, spring and summer enter, bringing renewal. The resonance of the title for the opening acts is suggested in this scene by Mamillius, who promises to tell his mother a story, and then says "a sad tale's best for winter". And, indeed, the portion of the play set in winter is "a sad tale"--but by bringing about a happy ending in the summer sun, the playwright seems to suggest that Mamillius is only partially correct, and that the best winter story will end not with sadness, but with the promise of spring. This is the little prince's only real contribution to the story, save as a victim of the retribution against Leontes--he is quickly cleared off the stage, and his parents step to the fore. If we had any doubt of the king's madness before now, it is quickly swept away when he enters, and declares that Camillo must have been hired by Polixenes to kill him--"Camillo was his help in this, his pander. / There is a plot against my life, my crown. All's true that is mistrusted". This blindness, accusing Polixenes of the very crime of which he himself is guilty, is the mark of a true paranoid, unencumbered by facts, yet nevertheless certain that "all's true that is mistrusted. " Hermione, meanwhile, makes a strong showing, even if the play only allows her the twin emotions of outrage and grief. She does the best with her maddened husband as anyone could, offering him a way out of his folly--"Should a villain say so," she says of his accusation, "He were as much more villain. You, my lord, / Do but mistake". But, of course, in his mind he does not mistake, and so her pleas are fruitless. Equally fruitless is the work of Paulina, who embodies good sense and natural feeling; the audience sympathizes with her hope that Leontes will regain his faith in his wife when he sees his child. His reaction to her attempt at reasoning with him is revealing, since it suggests that a deep misogyny, a fear of female power, is at work in the Sicilian king. Again and again, he demands of Antigonus why he "canst not rule her?", and then mocks husband and wife both--"A manking witch!" he calls Paulina, and "Thou dotard," he says to the loyal nobleman, "thou art woman-tired, unroosted / By thy Dame Partlet here". In some awful way, then, the king seems to see himself as an enforcer of patriarchal discipline--my wife was rebellious, too, he seems to say, but I didn't let her get away with it.

sparknotes

all_chapterized_books/1134-chapters/act_3_chapters_1_to_2.txt

finished_summaries/sparknotes/The Winter's Tale/section_2_part_0.txt

The Winter's Tale.act 3.scenes 1-2

act 3, scenes 1-2

{"name": "", "url": "https://web.archive.org/web/20210124213436/https://www.sparknotes.com/shakespeare/winterstale/section3/", "summary": "Making their way back from Delphi, the lords Dion and Cleomenes discuss events in their native Sicilia, and express their hope that the message they bring from the Oracle will vindicate the unfortunate Hermione. Meanwhile, Leontes convenes a court, with himself as judge, in order to give his wife a fair trial. She is brought from the prison to appear before him, and the indictment, charging her with adultery and conspiracy in the escape of Polixenes and Camillo, is read to the entire court. Hermione defends herself eloquently, saying: that she loved the Bohemian king \"as in honor he required\", but no more, certainly not in a sexual fashion; that she is ignorant of any conspiracy; and that Camillo is an honest man. Leontes, paying little heed to her words, declares that she is guilty, and that her punishment must be death. Hermione laughs bitterly at this and says that given her sufferings so far, death would be a blessed release. At this juncture, the two lords arrive with the Oracle's message. It is unsealed and read aloud--\"Hermione is chaste,\" it reports, \"Polixenes blameless, Camillo a true subject, Leontes a jealous tyrant, his innocent babe truly begotten, and the king shall live without an heir if that which is lost be not found\". The courtiers rejoice, while Leontes refuses to believe it; at that moment, however, a servant rushes in with word that Mamillius has died, and the enormity of the king's mistake suddenly comes crashing down on him. Hermione faints, and she is quickly carried away by her ladies and Paulina, who are frantically attempting to revive her. Leontes, now grief-stricken, pours curses upon his own head, and Paulina re-enters and tells him that Hermione, too, has died, and that he has murdered her. One of the lords rebukes her, but Leontes accepts her accusation as no more than his due. Ordering a single grave for the body of his wife and son, he pledges to spend the rest of his life doing penance for his sin.", "analysis": "ii - Commentary One of the most striking features of the early part of the play--which serves to highlight Leontes's madness--is the fact that everyone is on Hermione's side.\" If th'event o' th'journey / Prove as succesful to the queen--O be't so!\" says Dion, and Cleomenes echoes him \"These proclamations, / So forcing fault upon Hermione, / I little like\". This general sentiment links up with the emphasis upon Leontes's role as a \"tyrant,\" a phrase that is used repeatedly, culminating in the Delphic Oracle's verdict. The link between the personal and political suggests parallels with Hamlet, in which a personal, even sexual betrayal leads to \"something rotten in the state of Denmark. \" What is rotten in the state of Sicilia, however, stems not from real crimes, but imaginary ones--from a Hamlet-figure who is mistaken in his suspicions. The revelation of the Oracle is the tragic climax of the play--the moment of awful illumination for Leontes, and the moment of greatest disaster, since it leaves us with Mamillius and Hermione dead, and the baby seemingly lost forever. Hermione's final speech before she passes away is a masterpiece of pathos and wronged innocence. She lists all the terrible things that have befallen her, and then asks \"Now, my liege, / Tell me what blessings I have here alive, / That I should fear to die?\". She dies immediately after, and it is important to note that there is no reason for the audience to doubt Paulina's report of her mistress's death at this stage in the play--only later, in the resurrection scene, does the offstage death come to seem suspicious. But even in the midst of all this woe, the playwright offers a suggestion that this is not a truly unhappy, tragic play. Things seem dark now, but the Oracle's prophecy, with its suggestion that the lost infant may yet be found, offers hope for the future. So when Leontes goes out, saying \"lead me / To these sorrows\", one has hope that the sorrows will not be permanent."}

Sicilia. On the road to the Capital Enter CLEOMENES and DION CLEOMENES. The climate's delicate, the air most sweet, Fertile the isle, the temple much surpassing The common praise it bears. DION. I shall report, For most it caught me, the celestial habits- Methinks I so should term them- and the reverence Of the grave wearers. O, the sacrifice! How ceremonious, solemn, and unearthly, It was i' th' off'ring! CLEOMENES. But of all, the burst And the ear-deaf'ning voice o' th' oracle, Kin to Jove's thunder, so surpris'd my sense That I was nothing. DION. If th' event o' th' journey Prove as successful to the Queen- O, be't so!- As it hath been to us rare, pleasant, speedy, The time is worth the use on't. CLEOMENES. Great Apollo Turn all to th' best! These proclamations, So forcing faults upon Hermione, I little like. DION. The violent carriage of it Will clear or end the business. When the oracle- Thus by Apollo's great divine seal'd up- Shall the contents discover, something rare Even then will rush to knowledge. Go; fresh horses. And gracious be the issue! Exeunt Sicilia. A court of justice Enter LEONTES, LORDS, and OFFICERS LEONTES. This sessions, to our great grief we pronounce, Even pushes 'gainst our heart- the party tried, The daughter of a king, our wife, and one Of us too much belov'd. Let us be clear'd Of being tyrannous, since we so openly Proceed in justice, which shall have due course, Even to the guilt or the purgation. Produce the prisoner. OFFICER. It is his Highness' pleasure that the Queen Appear in person here in court. Enter HERMIONE, as to her trial, PAULINA, and LADIES Silence! LEONTES. Read the indictment. OFFICER. [Reads] 'Hermione, Queen to the worthy Leontes, King of Sicilia, thou art here accused and arraigned of high treason, in committing adultery with Polixenes, King of Bohemia; and conspiring with Camillo to take away the life of our sovereign lord the King, thy royal husband: the pretence whereof being by circumstances partly laid open, thou, Hermione, contrary to the faith and allegiance of true subject, didst counsel and aid them, for their better safety, to fly away by night.' HERMIONE. Since what I am to say must be but that Which contradicts my accusation, and The testimony on my part no other But what comes from myself, it shall scarce boot me To say 'Not guilty.' Mine integrity Being counted falsehood shall, as I express it, Be so receiv'd. But thus- if pow'rs divine Behold our human actions, as they do, I doubt not then but innocence shall make False accusation blush, and tyranny Tremble at patience. You, my lord, best know- Who least will seem to do so- my past life Hath been as continent, as chaste, as true, As I am now unhappy; which is more Than history can pattern, though devis'd And play'd to take spectators; for behold me- A fellow of the royal bed, which owe A moiety of the throne, a great king's daughter, The mother to a hopeful prince- here standing To prate and talk for life and honour fore Who please to come and hear. For life, I prize it As I weigh grief, which I would spare; for honour, 'Tis a derivative from me to mine, And only that I stand for. I appeal To your own conscience, sir, before Polixenes Came to your court, how I was in your grace, How merited to be so; since he came, With what encounter so uncurrent I Have strain'd t' appear thus; if one jot beyond The bound of honour, or in act or will That way inclining, hard'ned be the hearts Of all that hear me, and my near'st of kin Cry fie upon my grave! LEONTES. I ne'er heard yet That any of these bolder vices wanted Less impudence to gainsay what they did Than to perform it first. HERMIONE. That's true enough; Though 'tis a saying, sir, not due to me. LEONTES. You will not own it. HERMIONE. More than mistress of Which comes to me in name of fault, I must not At all acknowledge. For Polixenes, With whom I am accus'd, I do confess I lov'd him as in honour he requir'd; With such a kind of love as might become A lady like me; with a love even such, So and no other, as yourself commanded; Which not to have done, I think had been in me Both disobedience and ingratitude To you and toward your friend; whose love had spoke, Ever since it could speak, from an infant, freely, That it was yours. Now for conspiracy: I know not how it tastes, though it be dish'd For me to try how; all I know of it Is that Camillo was an honest man; And why he left your court, the gods themselves, Wotting no more than I, are ignorant. LEONTES. You knew of his departure, as you know What you have underta'en to do in's absence. HERMIONE. Sir, You speak a language that I understand not. My life stands in the level of your dreams, Which I'll lay down. LEONTES. Your actions are my dreams. You had a bastard by Polixenes, And I but dream'd it. As you were past all shame- Those of your fact are so- so past all truth; Which to deny concerns more than avails; for as Thy brat hath been cast out, like to itself, No father owning it- which is indeed More criminal in thee than it- so thou Shalt feel our justice; in whose easiest passage Look for no less than death. HERMIONE. Sir, spare your threats. The bug which you would fright me with I seek. To me can life be no commodity. The crown and comfort of my life, your favour, I do give lost, for I do feel it gone, But know not how it went; my second joy And first fruits of my body, from his presence I am barr'd, like one infectious; my third comfort, Starr'd most unluckily, is from my breast- The innocent milk in it most innocent mouth- Hal'd out to murder; myself on every post Proclaim'd a strumpet; with immodest hatred The child-bed privilege denied, which 'longs To women of all fashion; lastly, hurried Here to this place, i' th' open air, before I have got strength of limit. Now, my liege, Tell me what blessings I have here alive That I should fear to die. Therefore proceed. But yet hear this- mistake me not: no life, I prize it not a straw, but for mine honour Which I would free- if I shall be condemn'd Upon surmises, all proofs sleeping else But what your jealousies awake, I tell you 'Tis rigour, and not law. Your honours all, I do refer me to the oracle: Apollo be my judge! FIRST LORD. This your request Is altogether just. Therefore, bring forth, And in Apollo's name, his oracle. Exeunt certain OFFICERS HERMIONE. The Emperor of Russia was my father; O that he were alive, and here beholding His daughter's trial! that he did but see The flatness of my misery; yet with eyes Of pity, not revenge! Re-enter OFFICERS, with CLEOMENES and DION OFFICER. You here shall swear upon this sword of justice That you, Cleomenes and Dion, have Been both at Delphos, and from thence have brought This seal'd-up oracle, by the hand deliver'd Of great Apollo's priest; and that since then You have not dar'd to break the holy seal Nor read the secrets in't. CLEOMENES, DION. All this we swear. LEONTES. Break up the seals and read. OFFICER. [Reads] 'Hermione is chaste; Polixenes blameless; Camillo a true subject; Leontes a jealous tyrant; his innocent babe truly begotten; and the King shall live without an heir, if that which is lost be not found.' LORDS. Now blessed be the great Apollo! HERMIONE. Praised! LEONTES. Hast thou read truth? OFFICER. Ay, my lord; even so As it is here set down. LEONTES. There is no truth at all i' th' oracle. The sessions shall proceed. This is mere falsehood. Enter a SERVANT SERVANT. My lord the King, the King! LEONTES. What is the business? SERVANT. O sir, I shall be hated to report it: The Prince your son, with mere conceit and fear Of the Queen's speed, is gone. LEONTES. How! Gone? SERVANT. Is dead. LEONTES. Apollo's angry; and the heavens themselves Do strike at my injustice. [HERMIONE swoons] How now, there! PAULINA. This news is mortal to the Queen. Look down And see what death is doing. LEONTES. Take her hence. Her heart is but o'ercharg'd; she will recover. I have too much believ'd mine own suspicion. Beseech you tenderly apply to her Some remedies for life. Exeunt PAULINA and LADIES with HERMIONE Apollo, pardon My great profaneness 'gainst thine oracle. I'll reconcile me to Polixenes, New woo my queen, recall the good Camillo- Whom I proclaim a man of truth, of mercy. For, being transported by my jealousies To bloody thoughts and to revenge, I chose Camillo for the minister to poison My friend Polixenes; which had been done But that the good mind of Camillo tardied My swift command, though I with death and with Reward did threaten and encourage him, Not doing it and being done. He, most humane And fill'd with honour, to my kingly guest Unclasp'd my practice, quit his fortunes here, Which you knew great, and to the certain hazard Of all incertainties himself commended, No richer than his honour. How he glisters Thorough my rust! And how his piety Does my deeds make the blacker! Re-enter PAULINA PAULINA. Woe the while! O, cut my lace, lest my heart, cracking it, Break too! FIRST LORD. What fit is this, good lady? PAULINA. What studied torments, tyrant, hast for me? What wheels, racks, fires? what flaying, boiling In leads or oils? What old or newer torture Must I receive, whose every word deserves To taste of thy most worst? Thy tyranny Together working with thy jealousies, Fancies too weak for boys, too green and idle For girls of nine- O, think what they have done, And then run mad indeed, stark mad; for all Thy by-gone fooleries were but spices of it. That thou betray'dst Polixenes, 'twas nothing; That did but show thee, of a fool, inconstant, And damnable ingrateful. Nor was't much Thou wouldst have poison'd good Camillo's honour, To have him kill a king- poor trespasses, More monstrous standing by; whereof I reckon The casting forth to crows thy baby daughter To be or none or little, though a devil Would have shed water out of fire ere done't; Nor is't directly laid to thee, the death Of the young Prince, whose honourable thoughts- Thoughts high for one so tender- cleft the heart That could conceive a gross and foolish sire Blemish'd his gracious dam. This is not, no, Laid to thy answer; but the last- O lords, When I have said, cry 'Woe!'- the Queen, the Queen, The sweet'st, dear'st creature's dead; and vengeance For't not dropp'd down yet. FIRST LORD. The higher pow'rs forbid! PAULINA. I say she's dead; I'll swear't. If word nor oath Prevail not, go and see. If you can bring Tincture or lustre in her lip, her eye, Heat outwardly or breath within, I'll serve you As I would do the gods. But, O thou tyrant! Do not repent these things, for they are heavier Than all thy woes can stir; therefore betake thee To nothing but despair. A thousand knees Ten thousand years together, naked, fasting, Upon a barren mountain, and still winter In storm perpetual, could not move the gods To look that way thou wert. LEONTES. Go on, go on. Thou canst not speak too much; I have deserv'd All tongues to talk their bitt'rest. FIRST LORD. Say no more; Howe'er the business goes, you have made fault I' th' boldness of your speech. PAULINA. I am sorry for't. All faults I make, when I shall come to know them. I do repent. Alas, I have show'd too much The rashness of a woman! He is touch'd To th' noble heart. What's gone and what's past help Should be past grief. Do not receive affliction At my petition; I beseech you, rather Let me be punish'd that have minded you Of what you should forget. Now, good my liege, Sir, royal sir, forgive a foolish woman. The love I bore your queen- lo, fool again! I'll speak of her no more, nor of your children; I'll not remember you of my own lord, Who is lost too. Take your patience to you, And I'll say nothing. LEONTES. Thou didst speak but well When most the truth; which I receive much better Than to be pitied of thee. Prithee, bring me To the dead bodies of my queen and son. One grave shall be for both. Upon them shall The causes of their death appear, unto Our shame perpetual. Once a day I'll visit The chapel where they lie; and tears shed there Shall be my recreation. So long as nature Will bear up with this exercise, so long I daily vow to use it. Come, and lead me To these sorrows. Exeunt

https://web.archive.org/web/20210124213436/https://www.sparknotes.com/shakespeare/winterstale/section3/

Making their way back from Delphi, the lords Dion and Cleomenes discuss events in their native Sicilia, and express their hope that the message they bring from the Oracle will vindicate the unfortunate Hermione. Meanwhile, Leontes convenes a court, with himself as judge, in order to give his wife a fair trial. She is brought from the prison to appear before him, and the indictment, charging her with adultery and conspiracy in the escape of Polixenes and Camillo, is read to the entire court. Hermione defends herself eloquently, saying: that she loved the Bohemian king "as in honor he required", but no more, certainly not in a sexual fashion; that she is ignorant of any conspiracy; and that Camillo is an honest man. Leontes, paying little heed to her words, declares that she is guilty, and that her punishment must be death. Hermione laughs bitterly at this and says that given her sufferings so far, death would be a blessed release. At this juncture, the two lords arrive with the Oracle's message. It is unsealed and read aloud--"Hermione is chaste," it reports, "Polixenes blameless, Camillo a true subject, Leontes a jealous tyrant, his innocent babe truly begotten, and the king shall live without an heir if that which is lost be not found". The courtiers rejoice, while Leontes refuses to believe it; at that moment, however, a servant rushes in with word that Mamillius has died, and the enormity of the king's mistake suddenly comes crashing down on him. Hermione faints, and she is quickly carried away by her ladies and Paulina, who are frantically attempting to revive her. Leontes, now grief-stricken, pours curses upon his own head, and Paulina re-enters and tells him that Hermione, too, has died, and that he has murdered her. One of the lords rebukes her, but Leontes accepts her accusation as no more than his due. Ordering a single grave for the body of his wife and son, he pledges to spend the rest of his life doing penance for his sin.

ii - Commentary One of the most striking features of the early part of the play--which serves to highlight Leontes's madness--is the fact that everyone is on Hermione's side." If th'event o' th'journey / Prove as succesful to the queen--O be't so!" says Dion, and Cleomenes echoes him "These proclamations, / So forcing fault upon Hermione, / I little like". This general sentiment links up with the emphasis upon Leontes's role as a "tyrant," a phrase that is used repeatedly, culminating in the Delphic Oracle's verdict. The link between the personal and political suggests parallels with Hamlet, in which a personal, even sexual betrayal leads to "something rotten in the state of Denmark. " What is rotten in the state of Sicilia, however, stems not from real crimes, but imaginary ones--from a Hamlet-figure who is mistaken in his suspicions. The revelation of the Oracle is the tragic climax of the play--the moment of awful illumination for Leontes, and the moment of greatest disaster, since it leaves us with Mamillius and Hermione dead, and the baby seemingly lost forever. Hermione's final speech before she passes away is a masterpiece of pathos and wronged innocence. She lists all the terrible things that have befallen her, and then asks "Now, my liege, / Tell me what blessings I have here alive, / That I should fear to die?". She dies immediately after, and it is important to note that there is no reason for the audience to doubt Paulina's report of her mistress's death at this stage in the play--only later, in the resurrection scene, does the offstage death come to seem suspicious. But even in the midst of all this woe, the playwright offers a suggestion that this is not a truly unhappy, tragic play. Things seem dark now, but the Oracle's prophecy, with its suggestion that the lost infant may yet be found, offers hope for the future. So when Leontes goes out, saying "lead me / To these sorrows", one has hope that the sorrows will not be permanent.

sparknotes

all_chapterized_books/1134-chapters/act_3,_scene_3-act_4,_scene_3.txt

finished_summaries/sparknotes/The Winter's Tale/section_3_part_0.txt

The Winter's Tale.act 3-4.scene 3-3

act 3, scene 3-act 4, scene 3

{"name": "Act III, Scene iii-Act IV, Scene iii", "url": "https://web.archive.org/web/20210124213436/https://www.sparknotes.com/shakespeare/winterstale/section4/", "summary": "Unaware of the Oracle's revelations, Antigonus has arrived on the desolate Bohemian coast, bearing the infant princess. He tells the audience how Hermione appeared to him in a dream, telling him to name the babe Perdita, and declaring that he would never see his home, or his wife Paulina, again. He lays the infant down in the woods, and places gold and jewels beside her, and a note telling the child's name, and then makes ready to depart. A storm has come up, however, and a bear appears and chases him off stage. After a time, a Shepherd comes in and finds the baby; he is joined by his son, a Clown, who reports seeing a man killed by a bear, and a ship go down in the storm. The two men then discover the wealth left with Perdita, and they rejoice in their good fortune and vow to raise the child themselves. On the empty stage, an actor appears, playing Time, and announces that in the space between acts, sixteen years have passed. The scene shifts to Polixenes's castle in Bohemia, where the king is conversing with Camillo. Camillo asks leave of Polixenes to return to his native Sicily, since sixteen years away have made him homesick--and besides, the still-grieving Leontes would welcome him home with open arms. Polixenes replies that he cannot manage the kingdom without Camillo's assistance, and the two men discuss the king's son, Florizel, who has been spending a great deal of time away from court, at the house of a wealthy shepherd--a shepherd whose daughter is reputed to be a great beauty. Somewhat worried, Polixenes decides that they will visit this shepherd's house, but in disguise, and see what Florizel is up to. Meanwhile, in the Bohemian countryside, a jovial vagabond, peddler, and thief named Autolycus is wandering along a highway and singing loudly. He comes upon the Clown on his way to market, counting a substantial sum of money with which he plans to buy supplies for a country sheepshearing . Autolycus accosts him and pretends to be the victim of a robbery. As the Clown commiserates with him, the crafty thief picks his pocket, and when his victim has gone on his way, Autolycus resolves to make an appearance at the sheepshearing--in a different disguise, of course.", "analysis": "Commentary The end of Act III, even before the entrance of Time in Act IV, marks the play's shift in mood. The scene on the sea-coast of Bohemia begins darkly, with the abandonment of Perdita, followed by Antigonus's death at the hands of Shakespeare's finest stage-direction: Exit, pursued by a bear. But the sudden appearance of the Shepherd and his son, with their comic dialogue and their discovery of the baby provides the first hint that this may not be a tragedy after all--indeed, it may be instead a classic fairy tale, complete with a lost princess raised in ignorance of her heritage. A number of critics have criticized the appearance of Time, personified, and pointed out that having sixteen years pass between Acts gives the play a disjointed feeling. These complaints are valid, as far as they go, but the disjunction between Acts I-III and Acts IV-V is built into the narrative, and has as much to do with theme, mood, and setting as it does with the sixteen-year gulf. Indeed, after the brief scene with Camillo and Polixenes, which serves to set the stage for the Act's events, we are plunged immediately into a world that is completely different from the winter-time Sicilia of the earlier action. Bohemia was an oppressive winter wilderness when Antigonus landed there, but with the entrance of Autolycus it has become a different place. As his song puts it, \"When daffodils begin to peer, / When heigh! The doxy over the dale, / Why, then comes in the sweet o'the year, / For the red blood reigns in the winter's pale.\" Winter has given way to \"the sweet o'the year,\" a time of flowers and fairy tales rather than jealousy and death. Autolycus is one of Shakespeare's more endearing rogues. His name is taken from Greek myth: in Homer, he was the finest mortal thief, while Ovid made him the son of Hermes, the trickster god and patron of thieves. He robs and cheats with abandon, but no one seems really hurt by him--certainly the Clown recovers well from being fleeced, well enough to accept Autolycus as a servant later in the play. His songs add a cheery musical backdrop to Act IV, which is one of the most song-filled portions of any of Shakespeare plays, and his cheerful attitude toward sex contrasts with Leontes's morbid obsession with infidelity. And his small-scale villainy serves a purpose, if only to prevent the bucolic paradise around the Shepherd's farm from seeming too perfectly idyllic. The romantic comedy of Florizel and Perdita needs him--his cheerful misbehavior provides an entertaining counterpoint to their earnest devotion."}

Bohemia. The sea-coast Enter ANTIGONUS with the CHILD, and a MARINER ANTIGONUS. Thou art perfect then our ship hath touch'd upon The deserts of Bohemia? MARINER. Ay, my lord, and fear We have landed in ill time; the skies look grimly And threaten present blusters. In my conscience, The heavens with that we have in hand are angry And frown upon 's. ANTIGONUS. Their sacred wills be done! Go, get aboard; Look to thy bark. I'll not be long before I call upon thee. MARINER. Make your best haste; and go not Too far i' th' land; 'tis like to be loud weather; Besides, this place is famous for the creatures Of prey that keep upon't. ANTIGONUS. Go thou away; I'll follow instantly. MARINER. I am glad at heart To be so rid o' th' business. Exit ANTIGONUS. Come, poor babe. I have heard, but not believ'd, the spirits o' th' dead May walk again. If such thing be, thy mother Appear'd to me last night; for ne'er was dream So like a waking. To me comes a creature, Sometimes her head on one side some another- I never saw a vessel of like sorrow, So fill'd and so becoming; in pure white robes, Like very sanctity, she did approach My cabin where I lay; thrice bow'd before me; And, gasping to begin some speech, her eyes Became two spouts; the fury spent, anon Did this break from her: 'Good Antigonus, Since fate, against thy better disposition, Hath made thy person for the thrower-out Of my poor babe, according to thine oath, Places remote enough are in Bohemia, There weep, and leave it crying; and, for the babe Is counted lost for ever, Perdita I prithee call't. For this ungentle business, Put on thee by my lord, thou ne'er shalt see Thy wife Paulina more.' so, with shrieks, She melted into air. Affrighted much, I did in time collect myself, and thought This was so and no slumber. Dreams are toys; Yet, for this once, yea, superstitiously, I will be squar'd by this. I do believe Hermione hath suffer'd death, and that Apollo would, this being indeed the issue Of King Polixenes, it should here be laid, Either for life or death, upon the earth Of its right father. Blossom, speed thee well! [Laying down the child] There lie, and there thy character; there these [Laying down a bundle] Which may, if fortune please, both breed thee, pretty, And still rest thine. The storm begins. Poor wretch, That for thy mother's fault art thus expos'd To loss and what may follow! Weep I cannot, But my heart bleeds; and most accurs'd am I To be by oath enjoin'd to this. Farewell! The day frowns more and more. Thou'rt like to have A lullaby too rough; I never saw The heavens so dim by day. [Noise of hunt within] A savage clamour! Well may I get aboard! This is the chase; I am gone for ever. Exit, pursued by a bear Enter an old SHEPHERD SHEPHERD. I would there were no age between ten and three and twenty, or that youth would sleep out the rest; for there is nothing in the between but getting wenches with child, wronging the ancientry, stealing, fighting- [Horns] Hark you now! Would any but these boil'd brains of nineteen and two and twenty hunt this weather? They have scar'd away two of my best sheep, which I fear the wolf will sooner find than the master. If any where I have them, 'tis by the sea-side, browsing of ivy. Good luck, an't be thy will! What have we here? [Taking up the child] Mercy on's, a barne! A very pretty barne. A boy or a child, I wonder? A pretty one; a very pretty one- sure, some scape. Though I am not bookish, yet I can read waiting-gentlewoman in the scape. This has been some stair-work, some trunk-work, some behind-door-work; they were warmer that got this than the poor thing is here. I'll take it up for pity; yet I'll tarry till my son come; he halloo'd but even now. Whoa-ho-hoa! Enter CLOWN CLOWN. Hilloa, loa! SHEPHERD. What, art so near? If thou'lt see a thing to talk on when thou art dead and rotten, come hither. What ail'st thou, man? CLOWN. I have seen two such sights, by sea and by land! But I am not to say it is a sea, for it is now the sky; betwixt the firmament and it you cannot thrust a bodkin's point. SHEPHERD. Why, boy, how is it? CLOWN. I would you did but see how it chafes, how it rages, how it takes up the shore! But that's not to the point. O, the most piteous cry of the poor souls! Sometimes to see 'em, and not to see 'em; now the ship boring the moon with her mainmast, and anon swallowed with yeast and froth, as you'd thrust a cork into a hogshead. And then for the land service- to see how the bear tore out his shoulder-bone; how he cried to me for help, and said his name was Antigonus, a nobleman! But to make an end of the ship- to see how the sea flap-dragon'd it; but first, how the poor souls roared, and the sea mock'd them; and how the poor gentleman roared, and the bear mock'd him, both roaring louder than the sea or weather. SHEPHERD. Name of mercy, when was this, boy? CLOWN. Now, now; I have not wink'd since I saw these sights; the men are not yet cold under water, nor the bear half din'd on the gentleman; he's at it now. SHEPHERD. Would I had been by to have help'd the old man! CLOWN. I would you had been by the ship-side, to have help'd her; there your charity would have lack'd footing. SHEPHERD. Heavy matters, heavy matters! But look thee here, boy. Now bless thyself; thou met'st with things dying, I with things new-born. Here's a sight for thee; look thee, a bearing-cloth for a squire's child! Look thee here; take up, take up, boy; open't. So, let's see- it was told me I should be rich by the fairies. This is some changeling. Open't. What's within, boy? CLOWN. You're a made old man; if the sins of your youth are forgiven you, you're well to live. Gold! all gold! SHEPHERD. This is fairy gold, boy, and 'twill prove so. Up with't, keep it close. Home, home, the next way! We are lucky, boy; and to be so still requires nothing but secrecy. Let my sheep go. Come, good boy, the next way home. CLOWN. Go you the next way with your findings. I'll go see if the bear be gone from the gentleman, and how much he hath eaten. They are never curst but when they are hungry. If there be any of him left, I'll bury it. SHEPHERD. That's a good deed. If thou mayest discern by that which is left of him what he is, fetch me to th' sight of him. CLOWN. Marry, will I; and you shall help to put him i' th' ground. SHEPHERD. 'Tis a lucky day, boy; and we'll do good deeds on't. Exeunt Enter TIME, the CHORUS TIME. I, that please some, try all, both joy and terror Of good and bad, that makes and unfolds error, Now take upon me, in the name of Time, To use my wings. Impute it not a crime To me or my swift passage that I slide O'er sixteen years, and leave the growth untried Of that wide gap, since it is in my pow'r To o'erthrow law, and in one self-born hour To plant and o'erwhelm custom. Let me pass The same I am, ere ancient'st order was Or what is now receiv'd. I witness to The times that brought them in; so shall I do To th' freshest things now reigning, and make stale The glistering of this present, as my tale Now seems to it. Your patience this allowing, I turn my glass, and give my scene such growing As you had slept between. Leontes leaving- Th' effects of his fond jealousies so grieving That he shuts up himself- imagine me, Gentle spectators, that I now may be In fair Bohemia; and remember well I mention'd a son o' th' King's, which Florizel I now name to you; and with speed so pace To speak of Perdita, now grown in grace Equal with wond'ring. What of her ensues I list not prophesy; but let Time's news Be known when 'tis brought forth. A shepherd's daughter, And what to her adheres, which follows after, Is th' argument of Time. Of this allow, If ever you have spent time worse ere now; If never, yet that Time himself doth say He wishes earnestly you never may. Exit Bohemia. The palace of POLIXENES Enter POLIXENES and CAMILLO POLIXENES. I pray thee, good Camillo, be no more importunate: 'tis a sickness denying thee anything; a death to grant this. CAMILLO. It is fifteen years since I saw my country; though I have for the most part been aired abroad, I desire to lay my bones there. Besides, the penitent King, my master, hath sent for me; to whose feeling sorrows I might be some allay, or I o'erween to think so, which is another spur to my departure. POLIXENES. As thou lov'st me, Camillo, wipe not out the rest of thy services by leaving me now. The need I have of thee thine own goodness hath made. Better not to have had thee than thus to want thee; thou, having made me businesses which none without thee can sufficiently manage, must either stay to execute them thyself, or take away with thee the very services thou hast done; which if I have not enough considered- as too much I cannot- to be more thankful to thee shall be my study; and my profit therein the heaping friendships. Of that fatal country Sicilia, prithee, speak no more; whose very naming punishes me with the remembrance of that penitent, as thou call'st him, and reconciled king, my brother; whose loss of his most precious queen and children are even now to be afresh lamented. Say to me, when saw'st thou the Prince Florizel, my son? Kings are no less unhappy, their issue not being gracious, than they are in losing them when they have approved their virtues. CAMILLO. Sir, it is three days since I saw the Prince. What his happier affairs may be are to me unknown; but I have missingly noted he is of late much retired from court, and is less frequent to his princely exercises than formerly he hath appeared. POLIXENES. I have considered so much, Camillo, and with some care, so far that I have eyes under my service which look upon his removedness; from whom I have this intelligence, that he is seldom from the house of a most homely shepherd- a man, they say, that from very nothing, and beyond the imagination of his neighbours, is grown into an unspeakable estate. CAMILLO. I have heard, sir, of such a man, who hath a daughter of most rare note. The report of her is extended more than can be thought to begin from such a cottage. POLIXENES. That's likewise part of my intelligence; but, I fear, the angle that plucks our son thither. Thou shalt accompany us to the place; where we will, not appearing what we are, have some question with the shepherd; from whose simplicity I think it not uneasy to get the cause of my son's resort thither. Prithee be my present partner in this business, and lay aside the thoughts of Sicilia. CAMILLO. I willingly obey your command. POLIXENES. My best Camillo! We must disguise ourselves. Exeunt Bohemia. A road near the SHEPHERD'S cottage Enter AUTOLYCUS, singing When daffodils begin to peer, With heigh! the doxy over the dale, Why, then comes in the sweet o' the year, For the red blood reigns in the winter's pale. The white sheet bleaching on the hedge, With heigh! the sweet birds, O, how they sing! Doth set my pugging tooth on edge, For a quart of ale is a dish for a king. The lark, that tirra-lirra chants, With heigh! with heigh! the thrush and the jay, Are summer songs for me and my aunts, While we lie tumbling in the hay. I have serv'd Prince Florizel, and in my time wore three-pile; but now I am out of service. But shall I go mourn for that, my dear? The pale moon shines by night; And when I wander here and there, I then do most go right. If tinkers may have leave to live, And bear the sow-skin budget, Then my account I well may give And in the stocks avouch it. My traffic is sheets; when the kite builds, look to lesser linen. My father nam'd me Autolycus; who, being, I as am, litter'd under Mercury, was likewise a snapper-up of unconsidered trifles. With die and drab I purchas'd this caparison; and my revenue is the silly-cheat. Gallows and knock are too powerful on the highway; beating and hanging are terrors to me; for the life to come, I sleep out the thought of it. A prize! a prize! Enter CLOWN CLOWN. Let me see: every 'leven wether tods; every tod yields pound and odd shilling; fifteen hundred shorn, what comes the wool to? AUTOLYCUS. [Aside] If the springe hold, the cock's mine. CLOWN. I cannot do 't without counters. Let me see: what am I to buy for our sheep-shearing feast? Three pound of sugar, five pound of currants, rice- what will this sister of mine do with rice? But my father hath made her mistress of the feast, and she lays it on. She hath made me four and twenty nosegays for the shearers- three-man song-men all, and very good ones; but they are most of them means and bases; but one Puritan amongst them, and he sings psalms to hornpipes. I must have saffron to colour the warden pies; mace; dates- none, that's out of my note; nutmegs, seven; race or two of ginger, but that I may beg; four pound of prunes, and as many of raisins o' th' sun. AUTOLYCUS. [Grovelling on the ground] O that ever I was born! CLOWN. I' th' name of me! AUTOLYCUS. O, help me, help me! Pluck but off these rags; and then, death, death! CLOWN. Alack, poor soul! thou hast need of more rags to lay on thee, rather than have these off. AUTOLYCUS. O sir, the loathsomeness of them offend me more than the stripes I have received, which are mighty ones and millions. CLOWN. Alas, poor man! a million of beating may come to a great matter. AUTOLYCUS. I am robb'd, sir, and beaten; my money and apparel ta'en from me, and these detestable things put upon me. CLOWN. What, by a horseman or a footman? AUTOLYCUS. A footman, sweet sir, a footman. CLOWN. Indeed, he should be a footman, by the garments he has left with thee; if this be a horseman's coat, it hath seen very hot service. Lend me thy hand, I'll help thee. Come, lend me thy hand. [Helping him up] AUTOLYCUS. O, good sir, tenderly, O! CLOWN. Alas, poor soul! AUTOLYCUS. O, good sir, softly, good sir; I fear, sir, my shoulder blade is out. CLOWN. How now! Canst stand? AUTOLYCUS. Softly, dear sir [Picks his pocket]; good sir, softly. You ha' done me a charitable office. CLOWN. Dost lack any money? I have a little money for thee. AUTOLYCUS. No, good sweet sir; no, I beseech you, sir. I have a kinsman not past three quarters of a mile hence, unto whom I was going; I shall there have money or anything I want. Offer me no money, I pray you; that kills my heart. CLOWN. What manner of fellow was he that robb'd you? AUTOLYCUS. A fellow, sir, that I have known to go about with troll-my-dames; I knew him once a servant of the Prince. I cannot tell, good sir, for which of his virtues it was, but he was certainly whipt out of the court. CLOWN. His vices, you would say; there's no virtue whipt out of the court. They cherish it to make it stay there; and yet it will no more but abide. AUTOLYCUS. Vices, I would say, sir. I know this man well; he hath been since an ape-bearer; then a process-server, a bailiff; then he compass'd a motion of the Prodigal Son, and married a tinker's wife within a mile where my land and living lies; and, having flown over many knavish professions, he settled only in rogue. Some call him Autolycus. CLOWN. Out upon him! prig, for my life, prig! He haunts wakes, fairs, and bear-baitings. AUTOLYCUS. Very true, sir; he, sir, he; that's the rogue that put me into this apparel. CLOWN. Not a more cowardly rogue in all Bohemia; if you had but look'd big and spit at him, he'd have run. AUTOLYCUS. I must confess to you, sir, I am no fighter; I am false of heart that way, and that he knew, I warrant him. CLOWN. How do you now? AUTOLYCUS. Sweet sir, much better than I was; I can stand and walk. I will even take my leave of you and pace softly towards my kinsman's. CLOWN. Shall I bring thee on the way? AUTOLYCUS. No, good-fac'd sir; no, sweet sir. CLOWN. Then fare thee well. I must go buy spices for our sheep-shearing. AUTOLYCUS. Prosper you, sweet sir! Exit CLOWN Your purse is not hot enough to purchase your spice. I'll be with you at your sheep-shearing too. If I make not this cheat bring out another, and the shearers prove sheep, let me be unroll'd, and my name put in the book of virtue! [Sings] Jog on, jog on, the footpath way, And merrily hent the stile-a; A merry heart goes all the day, Your sad tires in a mile-a. Exit

Act III, Scene iii-Act IV, Scene iii

https://web.archive.org/web/20210124213436/https://www.sparknotes.com/shakespeare/winterstale/section4/

Unaware of the Oracle's revelations, Antigonus has arrived on the desolate Bohemian coast, bearing the infant princess. He tells the audience how Hermione appeared to him in a dream, telling him to name the babe Perdita, and declaring that he would never see his home, or his wife Paulina, again. He lays the infant down in the woods, and places gold and jewels beside her, and a note telling the child's name, and then makes ready to depart. A storm has come up, however, and a bear appears and chases him off stage. After a time, a Shepherd comes in and finds the baby; he is joined by his son, a Clown, who reports seeing a man killed by a bear, and a ship go down in the storm. The two men then discover the wealth left with Perdita, and they rejoice in their good fortune and vow to raise the child themselves. On the empty stage, an actor appears, playing Time, and announces that in the space between acts, sixteen years have passed. The scene shifts to Polixenes's castle in Bohemia, where the king is conversing with Camillo. Camillo asks leave of Polixenes to return to his native Sicily, since sixteen years away have made him homesick--and besides, the still-grieving Leontes would welcome him home with open arms. Polixenes replies that he cannot manage the kingdom without Camillo's assistance, and the two men discuss the king's son, Florizel, who has been spending a great deal of time away from court, at the house of a wealthy shepherd--a shepherd whose daughter is reputed to be a great beauty. Somewhat worried, Polixenes decides that they will visit this shepherd's house, but in disguise, and see what Florizel is up to. Meanwhile, in the Bohemian countryside, a jovial vagabond, peddler, and thief named Autolycus is wandering along a highway and singing loudly. He comes upon the Clown on his way to market, counting a substantial sum of money with which he plans to buy supplies for a country sheepshearing . Autolycus accosts him and pretends to be the victim of a robbery. As the Clown commiserates with him, the crafty thief picks his pocket, and when his victim has gone on his way, Autolycus resolves to make an appearance at the sheepshearing--in a different disguise, of course.

Commentary The end of Act III, even before the entrance of Time in Act IV, marks the play's shift in mood. The scene on the sea-coast of Bohemia begins darkly, with the abandonment of Perdita, followed by Antigonus's death at the hands of Shakespeare's finest stage-direction: Exit, pursued by a bear. But the sudden appearance of the Shepherd and his son, with their comic dialogue and their discovery of the baby provides the first hint that this may not be a tragedy after all--indeed, it may be instead a classic fairy tale, complete with a lost princess raised in ignorance of her heritage. A number of critics have criticized the appearance of Time, personified, and pointed out that having sixteen years pass between Acts gives the play a disjointed feeling. These complaints are valid, as far as they go, but the disjunction between Acts I-III and Acts IV-V is built into the narrative, and has as much to do with theme, mood, and setting as it does with the sixteen-year gulf. Indeed, after the brief scene with Camillo and Polixenes, which serves to set the stage for the Act's events, we are plunged immediately into a world that is completely different from the winter-time Sicilia of the earlier action. Bohemia was an oppressive winter wilderness when Antigonus landed there, but with the entrance of Autolycus it has become a different place. As his song puts it, "When daffodils begin to peer, / When heigh! The doxy over the dale, / Why, then comes in the sweet o'the year, / For the red blood reigns in the winter's pale." Winter has given way to "the sweet o'the year," a time of flowers and fairy tales rather than jealousy and death. Autolycus is one of Shakespeare's more endearing rogues. His name is taken from Greek myth: in Homer, he was the finest mortal thief, while Ovid made him the son of Hermes, the trickster god and patron of thieves. He robs and cheats with abandon, but no one seems really hurt by him--certainly the Clown recovers well from being fleeced, well enough to accept Autolycus as a servant later in the play. His songs add a cheery musical backdrop to Act IV, which is one of the most song-filled portions of any of Shakespeare plays, and his cheerful attitude toward sex contrasts with Leontes's morbid obsession with infidelity. And his small-scale villainy serves a purpose, if only to prevent the bucolic paradise around the Shepherd's farm from seeming too perfectly idyllic. The romantic comedy of Florizel and Perdita needs him--his cheerful misbehavior provides an entertaining counterpoint to their earnest devotion.

sparknotes

all_chapterized_books/1134-chapters/12.txt

finished_summaries/sparknotes/The Winter's Tale/section_4_part_0.txt

The Winter's Tale.act 4.scene 4

act 4, scene 4

{"name": "Act IV, Scene iv, lines 1-440", "url": "https://web.archive.org/web/20210124213436/https://www.sparknotes.com/shakespeare/winterstale/section5/", "summary": "On the day of the sheepshearing, Perdita and Florizel walk together outside her home. She is decked out in flowers, and he compliments her on her grace and beauty. It quickly becomes apparent that the couple is deeply in love, but Perdita expresses concern over the possibility of their eventual union, pointing out that Florizel's father is bound to oppose it. The prince reassures her, declaring that \"I'll be thine, my fair, / Or not my father's\". As they talk together, the Shepherd comes in with a huge crowd, including the Clown, a group of shepherdesses, and the disguised Polixenes and Camillo. The Shepherd tells his adoptive daughter to act the hostess, as is proper, and so she busies herself distributing flowers to the new arrivals, which leads to a discussion of horticulture with Polixenes. Watching and listening to her, Florizel is inspired to another effusive declaration of his love. At this point we learn that he is going by the alias of Doricles./PARAGRAPH Polixenes remarks to Camillo that Perdita is \"the prettiest lowborn lass that ever / ran on the greensward. Nothing she does or seems / But smacks of something greater than herself, too noble for this place\". He asks the Shepherd about \"Doricles,\" and the Shepherd tells him that his daughter's suitor is some high-born fellow, and that the two are deeply in love--\"I think there is not half a kiss to choose / Who loves another best\". Meanwhile, a peddler arrives, with the promise of entertaining the company with songs. He is allowed in--it is Autolycus, in a peddler's costume--and sets about selling ballads to the Clown and the shepherdesses, and then singing for the entire group. As he does so, Polixenes asks Florizel why he has not bought anything for his love, and the prince replies that he knows that Perdita does not desire such silly things as the peddler is offering. He then decides to take this moment to ask the Shepherd to seal their betrothal, and the old man gladly agrees to do so./PARAGRAPH Before they make the compact, however, Polixenes asks Florizel why he does not consult his father before getting engaged, and the prince replies that there are reasons, which he dares not share, why his father cannot know of his betrothal. He urges the Shepherd to \"mark our contract\", but the king now casts aside his disguise and declares that the betrothal shall not go forward: the Shepherd will be executed for allowing a prince to court his daughter; Perdita's beauty shall be \"scratched with briers\"; and Florizel will be disinherited if he ever speaks of her again. He relents slightly, after a moment, and decides to spare the life of the Shepherd and the face of his daughter, but tells them that if they ever see the prince again, there lives will be forfeit. Polixenes then departs, ordering his son to follow him to court, and leaving everyone horrified.", "analysis": "440 - Commentary Perdita and Florizel make an appealing couple. Shakespeare gives him a number of excellent speeches to direct toward his beloved, including this one--\"When you speak, sweet, / I'd have you do it ever: when you sing, / I'd have you buy and sell so, so give alms, / Pray so, and, for the ord'ring of your affairs, / to sing them too: when you do dance, I wish you / A wave o' the sea, that you might ever do / Nothing but that, move still, still so / And own no other function\". Meanwhile, Perdita is implicitly linked with the Roman goddess Proserpina , who was kidnapped and forced to marry Pluto, god of the underworld, but who lives only half the year underground, and brings the spring with her every year on her return to the brighter world. Perdita is like Proserpina in that she, too, brings the spring--she is crowned with flowers, and dispenses them to all the guests, and the audience feels that this \"winter's tale\" has broken out into spring color, and it is all due to her arrival. The flowers occasion a debate between Polixenes and Perdita over the value of interbreeding flowers--he argues that a gardener can legitimately \"mend nature--change it rather\", while she prefers a purer nature, unsullied by human hands. Some critics have argued that this debate illuminates Shakespeare's own inner debate over the relation between his art and nature. The scene is ironic, however, for Polixenes argues for something in flowers--\"you see, sweet maid, we marry / A gentler scion to the wildest stock\"--that he opposes in his son's case, namely, the mixing of royal and common blood. The Bohemian king forfeits our sympathies almost completely in this scene, for while we may sympathize with his anger at his son, nothing can justify the absurd heights of his vitriol against the manifestly worthy Shepherd and the wonderful Perdita. Meanwhile, Autolycus's appearance as the peddler provides both a comic counterpoint to the more serious love-plot, and an opportunity for Shakespeare to satirize the ballad-sellers of his own London, and the eager buyers who snatched up their wares. \"Here's one to a very doleful tune,\" Autolycus declares, \"how a usurer's wife was brought to bed of twenty moneybags at a burden, and how she longed to eat adders' heads and toads carbonedoed. \" The guileless shepherdess asks, \"Is it true, think you?\" to which the salesman replies, \"Very true, and but a month old\". The sale is made, and the audience can only applaud the virtuousity of the huckster."}

Bohemia. The SHEPHERD'S cottage Enter FLORIZEL and PERDITA FLORIZEL. These your unusual weeds to each part of you Do give a life- no shepherdess, but Flora Peering in April's front. This your sheep-shearing Is as a meeting of the petty gods, And you the Queen on't. PERDITA. Sir, my gracious lord, To chide at your extremes it not becomes me- O, pardon that I name them! Your high self, The gracious mark o' th' land, you have obscur'd With a swain's wearing; and me, poor lowly maid, Most goddess-like prank'd up. But that our feasts In every mess have folly, and the feeders Digest it with a custom, I should blush To see you so attir'd; swoon, I think, To show myself a glass. FLORIZEL. I bless the time When my good falcon made her flight across Thy father's ground. PERDITA. Now Jove afford you cause! To me the difference forges dread; your greatness Hath not been us'd to fear. Even now I tremble To think your father, by some accident, Should pass this way, as you did. O, the Fates! How would he look to see his work, so noble, Vilely bound up? What would he say? Or how Should I, in these my borrowed flaunts, behold The sternness of his presence? FLORIZEL. Apprehend Nothing but jollity. The gods themselves, Humbling their deities to love, have taken The shapes of beasts upon them: Jupiter Became a bull and bellow'd; the green Neptune A ram and bleated; and the fire-rob'd god, Golden Apollo, a poor humble swain, As I seem now. Their transformations Were never for a piece of beauty rarer, Nor in a way so chaste, since my desires Run not before mine honour, nor my lusts Burn hotter than my faith. PERDITA. O, but, sir, Your resolution cannot hold when 'tis Oppos'd, as it must be, by th' pow'r of the King. One of these two must be necessities, Which then will speak, that you must change this purpose, Or I my life. FLORIZEL. Thou dearest Perdita, With these forc'd thoughts, I prithee, darken not The mirth o' th' feast. Or I'll be thine, my fair, Or not my father's; for I cannot be Mine own, nor anything to any, if I be not thine. To this I am most constant, Though destiny say no. Be merry, gentle; Strangle such thoughts as these with any thing That you behold the while. Your guests are coming. Lift up your countenance, as it were the day Of celebration of that nuptial which We two have sworn shall come. PERDITA. O Lady Fortune, Stand you auspicious! FLORIZEL. See, your guests approach. Address yourself to entertain them sprightly, And let's be red with mirth. Enter SHEPHERD, with POLIXENES and CAMILLO, disguised; CLOWN, MOPSA, DORCAS, with OTHERS SHEPHERD. Fie, daughter! When my old wife liv'd, upon This day she was both pantler, butler, cook; Both dame and servant; welcom'd all; serv'd all; Would sing her song and dance her turn; now here At upper end o' th' table, now i' th' middle; On his shoulder, and his; her face o' fire With labour, and the thing she took to quench it She would to each one sip. You are retired, As if you were a feasted one, and not The hostess of the meeting. Pray you bid These unknown friends to's welcome, for it is A way to make us better friends, more known. Come, quench your blushes, and present yourself That which you are, Mistress o' th' Feast. Come on, And bid us welcome to your sheep-shearing, As your good flock shall prosper. PERDITA. [To POLIXENES] Sir, welcome. It is my father's will I should take on me The hostess-ship o' th' day. [To CAMILLO] You're welcome, sir. Give me those flow'rs there, Dorcas. Reverend sirs, For you there's rosemary and rue; these keep Seeming and savour all the winter long. Grace and remembrance be to you both! And welcome to our shearing. POLIXENES. Shepherdess- A fair one are you- well you fit our ages With flow'rs of winter. PERDITA. Sir, the year growing ancient, Not yet on summer's death nor on the birth Of trembling winter, the fairest flow'rs o' th' season Are our carnations and streak'd gillyvors, Which some call nature's bastards. Of that kind Our rustic garden's barren; and I care not To get slips of them. POLIXENES. Wherefore, gentle maiden, Do you neglect them? PERDITA. For I have heard it said There is an art which in their piedness shares With great creating nature. POLIXENES. Say there be; Yet nature is made better by no mean But nature makes that mean; so over that art Which you say adds to nature, is an art That nature makes. You see, sweet maid, we marry A gentler scion to the wildest stock, And make conceive a bark of baser kind By bud of nobler race. This is an art Which does mend nature- change it rather; but The art itself is nature. PERDITA. So it is. POLIXENES. Then make your garden rich in gillyvors, And do not call them bastards. PERDITA. I'll not put The dibble in earth to set one slip of them; No more than were I painted I would wish This youth should say 'twere well, and only therefore Desire to breed by me. Here's flow'rs for you: Hot lavender, mints, savory, marjoram; The marigold, that goes to bed wi' th' sun, And with him rises weeping; these are flow'rs Of middle summer, and I think they are given To men of middle age. Y'are very welcome. CAMILLO. I should leave grazing, were I of your flock, And only live by gazing. PERDITA. Out, alas! You'd be so lean that blasts of January Would blow you through and through. Now, my fair'st friend, I would I had some flow'rs o' th' spring that might Become your time of day- and yours, and yours, That wear upon your virgin branches yet Your maidenheads growing. O Proserpina, From the flowers now that, frighted, thou let'st fall From Dis's waggon!- daffodils, That come before the swallow dares, and take The winds of March with beauty; violets, dim But sweeter than the lids of Juno's eyes Or Cytherea's breath; pale primroses, That die unmarried ere they can behold Bright Phoebus in his strength- a malady Most incident to maids; bold oxlips, and The crown-imperial; lilies of all kinds, The flow'r-de-luce being one. O, these I lack To make you garlands of, and my sweet friend To strew him o'er and o'er! FLORIZEL. What, like a corse? PERDITA. No; like a bank for love to lie and play on; Not like a corse; or if- not to be buried, But quick, and in mine arms. Come, take your flow'rs. Methinks I play as I have seen them do In Whitsun pastorals. Sure, this robe of mine Does change my disposition. FLORIZEL. What you do Still betters what is done. When you speak, sweet, I'd have you do it ever. When you sing, I'd have you buy and sell so; so give alms; Pray so; and, for the ord'ring your affairs, To sing them too. When you do dance, I wish you A wave o' th' sea, that you might ever do Nothing but that; move still, still so, And own no other function. Each your doing, So singular in each particular, Crowns what you are doing in the present deeds, That all your acts are queens. PERDITA. O Doricles, Your praises are too large. But that your youth, And the true blood which peeps fairly through't, Do plainly give you out an unstain'd shepherd, With wisdom I might fear, my Doricles, You woo'd me the false way. FLORIZEL. I think you have As little skill to fear as I have purpose To put you to't. But, come; our dance, I pray. Your hand, my Perdita; so turtles pair That never mean to part. PERDITA. I'll swear for 'em. POLIXENES. This is the prettiest low-born lass that ever Ran on the green-sward; nothing she does or seems But smacks of something greater than herself, Too noble for this place. CAMILLO. He tells her something That makes her blood look out. Good sooth, she is The queen of curds and cream. CLOWN. Come on, strike up. DORCAS. Mopsa must be your mistress; marry, garlic, To mend her kissing with! MOPSA. Now, in good time! CLOWN. Not a word, a word; we stand upon our manners. Come, strike up. [Music] Here a dance Of SHEPHERDS and SHEPHERDESSES POLIXENES. Pray, good shepherd, what fair swain is this Which dances with your daughter? SHEPHERD. They call him Doricles, and boasts himself To have a worthy feeding; but I have it Upon his own report, and I believe it: He looks like sooth. He says he loves my daughter; I think so too; for never gaz'd the moon Upon the water as he'll stand and read, As 'twere my daughter's eyes; and, to be plain, I think there is not half a kiss to choose Who loves another best. POLIXENES. She dances featly. SHEPHERD. So she does any thing; though I report it That should be silent. If young Doricles Do light upon her, she shall bring him that Which he not dreams of. Enter a SERVANT SERVANT. O master, if you did but hear the pedlar at the door, you would never dance again after a tabor and pipe; no, the bagpipe could not move you. He sings several tunes faster than you'll tell money; he utters them as he had eaten ballads, and all men's ears grew to his tunes. CLOWN. He could never come better; he shall come in. I love a ballad but even too well, if it be doleful matter merrily set down, or a very pleasant thing indeed and sung lamentably. SERVANT. He hath songs for man or woman of all sizes; no milliner can so fit his customers with gloves. He has the prettiest love-songs for maids; so without bawdry, which is strange; with such delicate burdens of dildos and fadings, 'jump her and thump her'; and where some stretch-mouth'd rascal would, as it were, mean mischief, and break a foul gap into the matter, he makes the maid to answer 'Whoop, do me no harm, good man'- puts him off, slights him, with 'Whoop, do me no harm, good man.' POLIXENES. This is a brave fellow. CLOWN. Believe me, thou talkest of an admirable conceited fellow. Has he any unbraided wares? SERVANT. He hath ribbons of all the colours i' th' rainbow; points, more than all the lawyers in Bohemia can learnedly handle, though they come to him by th' gross; inkles, caddisses, cambrics, lawns. Why he sings 'em over as they were gods or goddesses; you would think a smock were she-angel, he so chants to the sleeve-hand and the work about the square on't. CLOWN. Prithee bring him in; and let him approach singing. PERDITA. Forewarn him that he use no scurrilous words in's tunes. Exit SERVANT CLOWN. You have of these pedlars that have more in them than you'd think, sister. PERDITA. Ay, good brother, or go about to think. Enter AUTOLYCUS, Singing Lawn as white as driven snow; Cypress black as e'er was crow; Gloves as sweet as damask roses; Masks for faces and for noses; Bugle bracelet, necklace amber, Perfume for a lady's chamber; Golden quoifs and stomachers, For my lads to give their dears; Pins and poking-sticks of steel- What maids lack from head to heel. Come, buy of me, come; come buy, come buy; Buy, lads, or else your lasses cry. Come, buy. CLOWN. If I were not in love with Mopsa, thou shouldst take no money of me; but being enthrall'd as I am, it will also be the bondage of certain ribbons and gloves. MOPSA. I was promis'd them against the feast; but they come not too late now. DORCAS. He hath promis'd you more than that, or there be liars. MOPSA. He hath paid you all he promis'd you. May be he has paid you more, which will shame you to give him again. CLOWN. Is there no manners left among maids? Will they wear their plackets where they should bear their faces? Is there not milking-time, when you are going to bed, or kiln-hole, to whistle off these secrets, but you must be tittle-tattling before all our guests? 'Tis well they are whisp'ring. Clammer your tongues, and not a word more. MOPSA. I have done. Come, you promis'd me a tawdry-lace, and a pair of sweet gloves. CLOWN. Have I not told thee how I was cozen'd by the way, and lost all my money? AUTOLYCUS. And indeed, sir, there are cozeners abroad; therefore it behoves men to be wary. CLOWN. Fear not thou, man; thou shalt lose nothing here. AUTOLYCUS. I hope so, sir; for I have about me many parcels of charge. CLOWN. What hast here? Ballads? MOPSA. Pray now, buy some. I love a ballad in print a-life, for then we are sure they are true. AUTOLYCUS. Here's one to a very doleful tune: how a usurer's wife was brought to bed of twenty money-bags at a burden, and how she long'd to eat adders' heads and toads carbonado'd. MOPSA. Is it true, think you? AUTOLYCUS. Very true, and but a month old. DORCAS. Bless me from marrying a usurer! AUTOLYCUS. Here's the midwife's name to't, one Mistress Taleporter, and five or six honest wives that were present. Why should I carry lies abroad? MOPSA. Pray you now, buy it. CLOWN. Come on, lay it by; and let's first see moe ballads; we'll buy the other things anon. AUTOLYCUS. Here's another ballad, of a fish that appeared upon the coast on Wednesday the fourscore of April, forty thousand fathom above water, and sung this ballad against the hard hearts of maids. It was thought she was a woman, and was turn'd into a cold fish for she would not exchange flesh with one that lov'd her. The ballad is very pitiful, and as true. DORCAS. Is it true too, think you? AUTOLYCUS. Five justices' hands at it; and witnesses more than my pack will hold. CLOWN. Lay it by too. Another. AUTOLYCUS. This is a merry ballad, but a very pretty one. MOPSA. Let's have some merry ones. AUTOLYCUS. Why, this is a passing merry one, and goes to the tune of 'Two maids wooing a man.' There's scarce a maid westward but she sings it; 'tis in request, I can tell you. MOPSA. can both sing it. If thou'lt bear a part, thou shalt hear; 'tis in three parts. DORCAS. We had the tune on't a month ago. AUTOLYCUS. I can bear my part; you must know 'tis my occupation. Have at it with you. SONG AUTOLYCUS. Get you hence, for I must go Where it fits not you to know. DORCAS. Whither? MOPSA. O, whither? DORCAS. Whither? MOPSA. It becomes thy oath full well Thou to me thy secrets tell. DORCAS. Me too! Let me go thither MOPSA. Or thou goest to th' grange or mill. DORCAS. If to either, thou dost ill. AUTOLYCUS. Neither. DORCAS. What, neither? AUTOLYCUS. Neither. DORCAS. Thou hast sworn my love to be. MOPSA. Thou hast sworn it more to me. Then whither goest? Say, whither? CLOWN. We'll have this song out anon by ourselves; my father and the gentlemen are in sad talk, and we'll not trouble them. Come, bring away thy pack after me. Wenches, I'll buy for you both. Pedlar, let's have the first choice. Follow me, girls. Exit with DORCAS and MOPSA AUTOLYCUS. And you shall pay well for 'em. Exit AUTOLYCUS, Singing Will you buy any tape, Or lace for your cape, My dainty duck, my dear-a? Any silk, any thread, Any toys for your head, Of the new'st and fin'st, fin'st wear-a? Come to the pedlar; Money's a meddler That doth utter all men's ware-a. Re-enter SERVANT SERVANT. Master, there is three carters, three shepherds, three neat-herds, three swineherds, that have made themselves all men of hair; they call themselves Saltiers, and they have dance which the wenches say is a gallimaufry of gambols, because they are not in't; but they themselves are o' th' mind, if it be not too rough for some that know little but bowling, it will please plentifully. SHEPHERD. Away! We'll none on't; here has been too much homely foolery already. I know, sir, we weary you. POLIXENES. You weary those that refresh us. Pray, let's see these four threes of herdsmen. SERVANT. One three of them, by their own report, sir, hath danc'd before the King; and not the worst of the three but jumps twelve foot and a half by th' squier. SHEPHERD. Leave your prating; since these good men are pleas'd, let them come in; but quickly now. SERVANT. Why, they stay at door, sir. Exit Here a dance of twelve SATYRS POLIXENES. [To SHEPHERD] O, father, you'll know more of that hereafter. [To CAMILLO] Is it not too far gone? 'Tis time to part them. He's simple and tells much. [To FLORIZEL] How now, fair shepherd! Your heart is full of something that does take Your mind from feasting. Sooth, when I was young And handed love as you do, I was wont To load my she with knacks; I would have ransack'd The pedlar's silken treasury and have pour'd it To her acceptance: you have let him go And nothing marted with him. If your lass Interpretation should abuse and call this Your lack of love or bounty, you were straited For a reply, at least if you make a care Of happy holding her. FLORIZEL. Old sir, I know She prizes not such trifles as these are. The gifts she looks from me are pack'd and lock'd Up in my heart, which I have given already, But not deliver'd. O, hear me breathe my life Before this ancient sir, whom, it should seem, Hath sometime lov'd. I take thy hand- this hand, As soft as dove's down and as white as it, Or Ethiopian's tooth, or the fann'd snow that's bolted By th' northern blasts twice o'er. POLIXENES. What follows this? How prettily the young swain seems to wash The hand was fair before! I have put you out. But to your protestation; let me hear What you profess. FLORIZEL. Do, and be witness to't. POLIXENES. And this my neighbour too? FLORIZEL. And he, and more Than he, and men- the earth, the heavens, and all: That, were I crown'd the most imperial monarch, Thereof most worthy, were I the fairest youth That ever made eye swerve, had force and knowledge More than was ever man's, I would not prize them Without her love; for her employ them all; Commend them and condemn them to her service Or to their own perdition. POLIXENES. Fairly offer'd. CAMILLO. This shows a sound affection. SHEPHERD. But, my daughter, Say you the like to him? PERDITA. I cannot speak So well, nothing so well; no, nor mean better. By th' pattern of mine own thoughts I cut out The purity of his. SHEPHERD. Take hands, a bargain! And, friends unknown, you shall bear witness to't: I give my daughter to him, and will make Her portion equal his. FLORIZEL. O, that must be I' th' virtue of your daughter. One being dead, I shall have more than you can dream of yet; Enough then for your wonder. But come on, Contract us fore these witnesses. SHEPHERD. Come, your hand; And, daughter, yours. POLIXENES. Soft, swain, awhile, beseech you; Have you a father? FLORIZEL. I have, but what of him? POLIXENES. Knows he of this? FLORIZEL. He neither does nor shall. POLIXENES. Methinks a father Is at the nuptial of his son a guest That best becomes the table. Pray you, once more, Is not your father grown incapable Of reasonable affairs? Is he not stupid With age and alt'ring rheums? Can he speak, hear, Know man from man, dispute his own estate? Lies he not bed-rid, and again does nothing But what he did being childish? FLORIZEL. No, good sir; He has his health, and ampler strength indeed Than most have of his age. POLIXENES. By my white beard, You offer him, if this be so, a wrong Something unfilial. Reason my son Should choose himself a wife; but as good reason The father- all whose joy is nothing else But fair posterity- should hold some counsel In such a business. FLORIZEL. I yield all this; But, for some other reasons, my grave sir, Which 'tis not fit you know, I not acquaint My father of this business. POLIXENES. Let him know't. FLORIZEL. He shall not. POLIXENES. Prithee let him. FLORIZEL. No, he must not. SHEPHERD. Let him, my son; he shall not need to grieve At knowing of thy choice. FLORIZEL. Come, come, he must not. Mark our contract. POLIXENES. [Discovering himself] Mark your divorce, young sir, Whom son I dare not call; thou art too base To be acknowledg'd- thou a sceptre's heir, That thus affects a sheep-hook! Thou, old traitor, I am sorry that by hanging thee I can but Shorten thy life one week. And thou, fresh piece Of excellent witchcraft, who of force must know The royal fool thou cop'st with- SHEPHERD. O, my heart! POLIXENES. I'll have thy beauty scratch'd with briers and made More homely than thy state. For thee, fond boy, If I may ever know thou dost but sigh That thou no more shalt see this knack- as never I mean thou shalt- we'll bar thee from succession; Not hold thee of our blood, no, not our kin, Farre than Deucalion off. Mark thou my words. Follow us to the court. Thou churl, for this time, Though full of our displeasure, yet we free thee From the dead blow of it. And you, enchantment, Worthy enough a herdsman- yea, him too That makes himself, but for our honour therein, Unworthy thee- if ever henceforth thou These rural latches to his entrance open, Or hoop his body more with thy embraces, I will devise a death as cruel for thee As thou art tender to't. Exit PERDITA. Even here undone! I was not much afeard; for once or twice I was about to speak and tell him plainly The self-same sun that shines upon his court Hides not his visage from our cottage, but Looks on alike. [To FLORIZEL] Will't please you, sir, be gone? I told you what would come of this. Beseech you, Of your own state take care. This dream of mine- Being now awake, I'll queen it no inch farther, But milk my ewes and weep. CAMILLO. Why, how now, father! Speak ere thou diest. SHEPHERD. I cannot speak nor think, Nor dare to know that which I know. [To FLORIZEL] O sir, You have undone a man of fourscore-three That thought to fill his grave in quiet, yea, To die upon the bed my father died, To lie close by his honest bones; but now Some hangman must put on my shroud and lay me Where no priest shovels in dust. [To PERDITA] O cursed wretch, That knew'st this was the Prince, and wouldst adventure To mingle faith with him!- Undone, undone! If I might die within this hour, I have liv'd To die when I desire. Exit FLORIZEL. Why look you so upon me? I am but sorry, not afeard; delay'd, But nothing alt'red. What I was, I am: More straining on for plucking back; not following My leash unwillingly. CAMILLO. Gracious, my lord, You know your father's temper. At this time He will allow no speech- which I do guess You do not purpose to him- and as hardly Will he endure your sight as yet, I fear; Then, till the fury of his Highness settle, Come not before him. FLORIZEL. I not purpose it. I think Camillo? CAMILLO. Even he, my lord. PERDITA. How often have I told you 'twould be thus! How often said my dignity would last But till 'twere known! FLORIZEL. It cannot fail but by The violation of my faith; and then Let nature crush the sides o' th' earth together And mar the seeds within! Lift up thy looks. From my succession wipe me, father; I Am heir to my affection. CAMILLO. Be advis'd. FLORIZEL. I am- and by my fancy; if my reason Will thereto be obedient, I have reason; If not, my senses, better pleas'd with madness, Do bid it welcome. CAMILLO. This is desperate, sir. FLORIZEL. So call it; but it does fulfil my vow: I needs must think it honesty. Camillo, Not for Bohemia, nor the pomp that may Be thereat glean'd, for all the sun sees or The close earth wombs, or the profound seas hides In unknown fathoms, will I break my oath To this my fair belov'd. Therefore, I pray you, As you have ever been my father's honour'd friend, When he shall miss me- as, in faith, I mean not To see him any more- cast your good counsels Upon his passion. Let myself and Fortune Tug for the time to come. This you may know, And so deliver: I am put to sea With her who here I cannot hold on shore. And most opportune to her need I have A vessel rides fast by, but not prepar'd For this design. What course I mean to hold Shall nothing benefit your knowledge, nor Concern me the reporting. CAMILLO. O my lord, I would your spirit were easier for advice. Or stronger for your need. FLORIZEL. Hark, Perdita. [Takes her aside] [To CAMILLO] I'll hear you by and by. CAMILLO. He's irremovable, Resolv'd for flight. Now were I happy if His going I could frame to serve my turn, Save him from danger, do him love and honour, Purchase the sight again of dear Sicilia And that unhappy king, my master, whom I so much thirst to see. FLORIZEL. Now, good Camillo, I am so fraught with curious business that I leave out ceremony. CAMILLO. Sir, I think You have heard of my poor services i' th' love That I have borne your father? FLORIZEL. Very nobly Have you deserv'd. It is my father's music To speak your deeds; not little of his care To have them recompens'd as thought on. CAMILLO. Well, my lord, If you may please to think I love the King, And through him what's nearest to him, which is Your gracious self, embrace but my direction. If your more ponderous and settled project May suffer alteration, on mine honour, I'll point you where you shall have such receiving As shall become your Highness; where you may Enjoy your mistress, from the whom, I see, There's no disjunction to be made but by, As heavens forfend! your ruin- marry her; And with my best endeavours in your absence Your discontenting father strive to qualify, And bring him up to liking. FLORIZEL. How, Camillo, May this, almost a miracle, be done? That I may call thee something more than man, And after that trust to thee. CAMILLO. Have you thought on A place whereto you'll go? FLORIZEL. Not any yet; But as th' unthought-on accident is guilty To what we wildly do, so we profess Ourselves to be the slaves of chance and flies Of every wind that blows. CAMILLO. Then list to me. This follows, if you will not change your purpose But undergo this flight: make for Sicilia, And there present yourself and your fair princess- For so, I see, she must be- fore Leontes. She shall be habited as it becomes The partner of your bed. Methinks I see Leontes opening his free arms and weeping His welcomes forth; asks thee there 'Son, forgiveness!' As 'twere i' th' father's person; kisses the hands Of your fresh princess; o'er and o'er divides him 'Twixt his unkindness and his kindness- th' one He chides to hell, and bids the other grow Faster than thought or time. FLORIZEL. Worthy Camillo, What colour for my visitation shall I Hold up before him? CAMILLO. Sent by the King your father To greet him and to give him comforts. Sir, The manner of your bearing towards him, with What you as from your father shall deliver, Things known betwixt us three, I'll write you down; The which shall point you forth at every sitting What you must say, that he shall not perceive But that you have your father's bosom there And speak his very heart. FLORIZEL. I am bound to you. There is some sap in this. CAMILLO. A course more promising Than a wild dedication of yourselves To unpath'd waters, undream'd shores, most certain To miseries enough; no hope to help you, But as you shake off one to take another; Nothing so certain as your anchors, who Do their best office if they can but stay you Where you'll be loath to be. Besides, you know Prosperity's the very bond of love, Whose fresh complexion and whose heart together Affliction alters. PERDITA. One of these is true: I think affliction may subdue the cheek, But not take in the mind. CAMILLO. Yea, say you so? There shall not at your father's house these seven years Be born another such. FLORIZEL. My good Camillo, She is as forward of her breeding as She is i' th' rear o' our birth. CAMILLO. I cannot say 'tis pity She lacks instructions, for she seems a mistress To most that teach. PERDITA. Your pardon, sir; for this I'll blush you thanks. FLORIZEL. My prettiest Perdita! But, O, the thorns we stand upon! Camillo- Preserver of my father, now of me; The medicine of our house- how shall we do? We are not furnish'd like Bohemia's son; Nor shall appear in Sicilia. CAMILLO. My lord, Fear none of this. I think you know my fortunes Do all lie there. It shall be so my care To have you royally appointed as if The scene you play were mine. For instance, sir, That you may know you shall not want- one word. [They talk aside] Re-enter AUTOLYCUS AUTOLYCUS. Ha, ha! what a fool Honesty is! and Trust, his sworn brother, a very simple gentleman! I have sold all my trumpery; not a counterfeit stone, not a ribbon, glass, pomander, brooch, table-book, ballad, knife, tape, glove, shoe-tie, bracelet, horn-ring, to keep my pack from fasting. They throng who should buy first, as if my trinkets had been hallowed and brought a benediction to the buyer; by which means I saw whose purse was best in picture; and what I saw, to my good use I rememb'red. My clown, who wants but something to be a reasonable man, grew so in love with the wenches' song that he would not stir his pettitoes till he had both tune and words, which so drew the rest of the herd to me that all their other senses stuck in ears. You might have pinch'd a placket, it was senseless; 'twas nothing to geld a codpiece of a purse; I would have fil'd keys off that hung in chains. No hearing, no feeling, but my sir's song, and admiring the nothing of it. So that in this time of lethargy I pick'd and cut most of their festival purses; and had not the old man come in with whoobub against his daughter and the King's son and scar'd my choughs from the chaff, I had not left a purse alive in the whole army. CAMILLO, FLORIZEL, and PERDITA come forward CAMILLO. Nay, but my letters, by this means being there So soon as you arrive, shall clear that doubt. FLORIZEL. And those that you'll procure from King Leontes? CAMILLO. Shall satisfy your father. PERDITA. Happy be you! All that you speak shows fair. CAMILLO. [seeing AUTOLYCUS] Who have we here? We'll make an instrument of this; omit Nothing may give us aid. AUTOLYCUS. [Aside] If they have overheard me now- why, hanging. CAMILLO. How now, good fellow! Why shak'st thou so? Fear not, man; here's no harm intended to thee. AUTOLYCUS. I am a poor fellow, sir. CAMILLO. Why, be so still; here's nobody will steal that from thee. Yet for the outside of thy poverty we must make an exchange; therefore discase thee instantly- thou must think there's a necessity in't- and change garments with this gentleman. Though the pennyworth on his side be the worst, yet hold thee, there's some boot. [Giving money] AUTOLYCUS. I am a poor fellow, sir. [Aside] I know ye well enough. CAMILLO. Nay, prithee dispatch. The gentleman is half flay'd already. AUTOLYCUS. Are you in camest, sir? [Aside] I smell the trick on't. FLORIZEL. Dispatch, I prithee. AUTOLYCUS. Indeed, I have had earnest; but I cannot with conscience take it. CAMILLO. Unbuckle, unbuckle. FLORIZEL and AUTOLYCUS exchange garments Fortunate mistress- let my prophecy Come home to ye!- you must retire yourself Into some covert; take your sweetheart's hat And pluck it o'er your brows, muffle your face, Dismantle you, and, as you can, disliken The truth of your own seeming, that you may- For I do fear eyes over- to shipboard Get undescried. PERDITA. I see the play so lies That I must bear a part. CAMILLO. No remedy. Have you done there? FLORIZEL. Should I now meet my father, He would not call me son. CAMILLO. Nay, you shall have no hat. [Giving it to PERDITA] Come, lady, come. Farewell, my friend. AUTOLYCUS. Adieu, sir. FLORIZEL. O Perdita, what have we twain forgot! Pray you a word. [They converse apart] CAMILLO. [Aside] What I do next shall be to tell the King Of this escape, and whither they are bound; Wherein my hope is I shall so prevail To force him after; in whose company I shall re-view Sicilia, for whose sight I have a woman's longing. FLORIZEL. Fortune speed us! Thus we set on, Camillo, to th' sea-side. CAMILLO. The swifter speed the better. Exeunt FLORIZEL, PERDITA, and CAMILLO AUTOLYCUS. I understand the business, I hear it. To have an open ear, a quick eye, and a nimble hand, is necessary for a cut-purse; a good nose is requisite also, to smell out work for th' other senses. I see this is the time that the unjust man doth thrive. What an exchange had this been without boot! What a boot is here with this exchange! Sure, the gods do this year connive at us, and we may do anything extempore. The Prince himself is about a piece of iniquity- stealing away from his father with his clog at his heels. If I thought it were a piece of honesty to acquaint the King withal, I would not do't. I hold it the more knavery to conceal it; and therein am I constant to my profession. Re-enter CLOWN and SHEPHERD Aside, aside- here is more matter for a hot brain. Every lane's end, every shop, church, session, hanging, yields a careful man work. CLOWN. See, see; what a man you are now! There is no other way but to tell the King she's a changeling and none of your flesh and blood. SHEPHERD. Nay, but hear me. CLOWN. Nay- but hear me. SHEPHERD. Go to, then. CLOWN. She being none of your flesh and blood, your flesh and blood has not offended the King; and so your flesh and blood is not to be punish'd by him. Show those things you found about her, those secret things- all but what she has with her. This being done, let the law go whistle; I warrant you. SHEPHERD. I will tell the King all, every word- yea, and his son's pranks too; who, I may say, is no honest man, neither to his father nor to me, to go about to make me the King's brother-in-law. CLOWN. Indeed, brother-in-law was the farthest off you could have been to him; and then your blood had been the dearer by I know how much an ounce. AUTOLYCUS. [Aside] Very wisely, puppies! SHEPHERD. Well, let us to the King. There is that in this fardel will make him scratch his beard. AUTOLYCUS. [Aside] I know not what impediment this complaint may be to the flight of my master. CLOWN. Pray heartily he be at palace. AUTOLYCUS. [Aside] Though I am not naturally honest, I am so sometimes by chance. Let me pocket up my pedlar's excrement. [Takes off his false beard] How now, rustics! Whither are you bound? SHEPHERD. To th' palace, an it like your worship. AUTOLYCUS. Your affairs there, what, with whom, the condition of that fardel, the place of your dwelling, your names, your ages, of what having, breeding, and anything that is fitting to be known- discover. CLOWN. We are but plain fellows, sir. AUTOLYCUS. A lie: you are rough and hairy. Let me have no lying; it becomes none but tradesmen, and they often give us soldiers the lie; but we pay them for it with stamped coin, not stabbing steel; therefore they do not give us the lie. CLOWN. Your worship had like to have given us one, if you had not taken yourself with the manner. SHEPHERD. Are you a courtier, an't like you, sir? AUTOLYCUS. Whether it like me or no, I am a courtier. Seest thou not the air of the court in these enfoldings? Hath not my gait in it the measure of the court? Receives not thy nose court-odour from me? Reflect I not on thy baseness court-contempt? Think'st thou, for that I insinuate, that toaze from thee thy business, I am therefore no courtier? I am courtier cap-a-pe, and one that will either push on or pluck back thy business there; whereupon I command the to open thy affair. SHEPHERD. My business, sir, is to the King. AUTOLYCUS. What advocate hast thou to him? SHEPHERD. I know not, an't like you. CLOWN. Advocate's the court-word for a pheasant; say you have none. SHEPHERD. None, sir; I have no pheasant, cock nor hen. AUTOLYCUS. How blessed are we that are not simple men! Yet nature might have made me as these are, Therefore I will not disdain. CLOWN. This cannot be but a great courtier. SHEPHERD. His garments are rich, but he wears them not handsomely. CLOWN. He seems to be the more noble in being fantastical. A great man, I'll warrant; I know by the picking on's teeth. AUTOLYCUS. The fardel there? What's i' th' fardel? Wherefore that box? SHEPHERD. Sir, there lies such secrets in this fardel and box which none must know but the King; and which he shall know within this hour, if I may come to th' speech of him. AUTOLYCUS. Age, thou hast lost thy labour. SHEPHERD. Why, Sir? AUTOLYCUS. The King is not at the palace; he is gone aboard a new ship to purge melancholy and air himself; for, if thou be'st capable of things serious, thou must know the King is full of grief. SHEPHERD. So 'tis said, sir- about his son, that should have married a shepherd's daughter. AUTOLYCUS. If that shepherd be not in hand-fast, let him fly; the curses he shall have, the tortures he shall feel, will break the back of man, the heart of monster. CLOWN. Think you so, sir? AUTOLYCUS. Not he alone shall suffer what wit can make heavy and vengeance bitter; but those that are germane to him, though remov'd fifty times, shall all come under the hangman- which, though it be great pity, yet it is necessary. An old sheep-whistling rogue, a ram-tender, to offer to have his daughter come into grace! Some say he shall be ston'd; but that death is too soft for him, say I. Draw our throne into a sheep-cote!- all deaths are too few, the sharpest too easy. CLOWN. Has the old man e'er a son, sir, do you hear, an't like you, sir? AUTOLYCUS. He has a son- who shall be flay'd alive; then 'nointed over with honey, set on the head of a wasp's nest; then stand till he be three quarters and a dram dead; then recover'd again with aqua-vitae or some other hot infusion; then, raw as he is, and in the hottest day prognostication proclaims, shall he be set against a brick wall, the sun looking with a southward eye upon him, where he is to behold him with flies blown to death. But what talk we of these traitorly rascals, whose miseries are to be smil'd at, their offences being so capital? Tell me, for you seem to be honest plain men, what you have to the King. Being something gently consider'd, I'll bring you where he is aboard, tender your persons to his presence, whisper him in your behalfs; and if it be in man besides the King to effect your suits, here is man shall do it. CLOWN. He seems to be of great authority. Close with him, give him gold; and though authority be a stubborn bear, yet he is oft led by the nose with gold. Show the inside of your purse to the outside of his hand, and no more ado. Remember- ston'd and flay'd alive. SHEPHERD. An't please you, sir, to undertake the business for us, here is that gold I have. I'll make it as much more, and leave this young man in pawn till I bring it you. AUTOLYCUS. After I have done what I promised? SHEPHERD. Ay, sir. AUTOLYCUS. Well, give me the moiety. Are you a party in this business? CLOWN. In some sort, sir; but though my case be a pitiful one, I hope I shall not be flay'd out of it. AUTOLYCUS. O, that's the case of the shepherd's son! Hang him, he'll be made an example. CLOWN. Comfort, good comfort! We must to the King and show our strange sights. He must know 'tis none of your daughter nor my sister; we are gone else. Sir, I will give you as much as this old man does, when the business is performed; and remain, as he says, your pawn till it be brought you. AUTOLYCUS. I will trust you. Walk before toward the sea-side; go on the right-hand; I will but look upon the hedge, and follow you. CLOWN. We are blest in this man, as I may say, even blest. SHEPHERD. Let's before, as he bids us. He was provided to do us good. Exeunt SHEPHERD and CLOWN AUTOLYCUS. If I had a mind to be honest, I see Fortune would not suffer me: she drops booties in my mouth. I am courted now with a double occasion- gold, and a means to do the Prince my master good; which who knows how that may turn back to my advancement? I will bring these two moles, these blind ones, aboard him. If he think it fit to shore them again, and that the complaint they have to the King concerns him nothing, let him call me rogue for being so far officious; for I am proof against that title, and what shame else belongs to't. To him will I present them. There may be matter in it. Exit

Act IV, Scene iv, lines 1-440

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On the day of the sheepshearing, Perdita and Florizel walk together outside her home. She is decked out in flowers, and he compliments her on her grace and beauty. It quickly becomes apparent that the couple is deeply in love, but Perdita expresses concern over the possibility of their eventual union, pointing out that Florizel's father is bound to oppose it. The prince reassures her, declaring that "I'll be thine, my fair, / Or not my father's". As they talk together, the Shepherd comes in with a huge crowd, including the Clown, a group of shepherdesses, and the disguised Polixenes and Camillo. The Shepherd tells his adoptive daughter to act the hostess, as is proper, and so she busies herself distributing flowers to the new arrivals, which leads to a discussion of horticulture with Polixenes. Watching and listening to her, Florizel is inspired to another effusive declaration of his love. At this point we learn that he is going by the alias of Doricles./PARAGRAPH Polixenes remarks to Camillo that Perdita is "the prettiest lowborn lass that ever / ran on the greensward. Nothing she does or seems / But smacks of something greater than herself, too noble for this place". He asks the Shepherd about "Doricles," and the Shepherd tells him that his daughter's suitor is some high-born fellow, and that the two are deeply in love--"I think there is not half a kiss to choose / Who loves another best". Meanwhile, a peddler arrives, with the promise of entertaining the company with songs. He is allowed in--it is Autolycus, in a peddler's costume--and sets about selling ballads to the Clown and the shepherdesses, and then singing for the entire group. As he does so, Polixenes asks Florizel why he has not bought anything for his love, and the prince replies that he knows that Perdita does not desire such silly things as the peddler is offering. He then decides to take this moment to ask the Shepherd to seal their betrothal, and the old man gladly agrees to do so./PARAGRAPH Before they make the compact, however, Polixenes asks Florizel why he does not consult his father before getting engaged, and the prince replies that there are reasons, which he dares not share, why his father cannot know of his betrothal. He urges the Shepherd to "mark our contract", but the king now casts aside his disguise and declares that the betrothal shall not go forward: the Shepherd will be executed for allowing a prince to court his daughter; Perdita's beauty shall be "scratched with briers"; and Florizel will be disinherited if he ever speaks of her again. He relents slightly, after a moment, and decides to spare the life of the Shepherd and the face of his daughter, but tells them that if they ever see the prince again, there lives will be forfeit. Polixenes then departs, ordering his son to follow him to court, and leaving everyone horrified.

440 - Commentary Perdita and Florizel make an appealing couple. Shakespeare gives him a number of excellent speeches to direct toward his beloved, including this one--"When you speak, sweet, / I'd have you do it ever: when you sing, / I'd have you buy and sell so, so give alms, / Pray so, and, for the ord'ring of your affairs, / to sing them too: when you do dance, I wish you / A wave o' the sea, that you might ever do / Nothing but that, move still, still so / And own no other function". Meanwhile, Perdita is implicitly linked with the Roman goddess Proserpina , who was kidnapped and forced to marry Pluto, god of the underworld, but who lives only half the year underground, and brings the spring with her every year on her return to the brighter world. Perdita is like Proserpina in that she, too, brings the spring--she is crowned with flowers, and dispenses them to all the guests, and the audience feels that this "winter's tale" has broken out into spring color, and it is all due to her arrival. The flowers occasion a debate between Polixenes and Perdita over the value of interbreeding flowers--he argues that a gardener can legitimately "mend nature--change it rather", while she prefers a purer nature, unsullied by human hands. Some critics have argued that this debate illuminates Shakespeare's own inner debate over the relation between his art and nature. The scene is ironic, however, for Polixenes argues for something in flowers--"you see, sweet maid, we marry / A gentler scion to the wildest stock"--that he opposes in his son's case, namely, the mixing of royal and common blood. The Bohemian king forfeits our sympathies almost completely in this scene, for while we may sympathize with his anger at his son, nothing can justify the absurd heights of his vitriol against the manifestly worthy Shepherd and the wonderful Perdita. Meanwhile, Autolycus's appearance as the peddler provides both a comic counterpoint to the more serious love-plot, and an opportunity for Shakespeare to satirize the ballad-sellers of his own London, and the eager buyers who snatched up their wares. "Here's one to a very doleful tune," Autolycus declares, "how a usurer's wife was brought to bed of twenty moneybags at a burden, and how she longed to eat adders' heads and toads carbonedoed. " The guileless shepherdess asks, "Is it true, think you?" to which the salesman replies, "Very true, and but a month old". The sale is made, and the audience can only applaud the virtuousity of the huckster.

sparknotes

all_chapterized_books/1134-chapters/act_5_chapters_1_to_3.txt

finished_summaries/sparknotes/The Winter's Tale/section_6_part_0.txt

The Winter's Tale.act 5.scenes 1-3

act 5, scenes 1-3

{"name": "Act V, Scenes i-iii", "url": "https://web.archive.org/web/20210124213436/https://www.sparknotes.com/shakespeare/winterstale/section7/", "summary": "In Sicilia, Leontes is still in mourning for Hermione and Mamillius, although some of his lords urge him to forget the past, forgive himself, and marry again. Paulina, however, encourages his continued contrition, and extracts from him a promise that he will never take another wife until she gives him leave. Word comes of the arrival of Prince Florizel and his new wife Perdita from Bohemia, and the couple is ushered into Leontes's presence and greeted eagerly--since the Sicilian king has had no word from Bohemia for years. Everyone remarks on the beauty and grace of Perdita, and Florizel pretends to be on a diplomatic mission from his father. As they talk, however, a lord brings news that Polixenes himself, along with Camillo, are in the city, in pursuit of Florizel--and that they have the Shepherd and the Clown in their custody. Leontes, stunned, immediately resolves to go down and meet his former friend, bringing the despairing Florizel and Perdita with them. What follows is told second-hand, by several lords of Leontes's court to the newly-arrived Autolycus. Briefly, once the Shepherd tells everyone his story of finding Perdita on the Bohemian coast, and reveals the tokens that were left on her, Leontes and Polixenes realize who she is; both kings--but especially Leontes--are overcome with joy, and there is general rejoicing. The lords also tell Autolycus that the happy group has not yet returned to court, since Perdita expressed a wish to see a statue of her mother, recently finished in Paulina's country house. Then the Clown and Shepherd come in, having both been made gentlemen, and Autolycus pledges to amend his life and become their loyal servant. The scene shifts to Paulina's home, and she unveils the statue, which impresses everyone with its realism and attention to detail--as well as the fact that the sculptor made Hermione look exactly sixteen years older than the queen was when she died. Leontes is overcome by the sight of her, and tries to touch the statue's hand. Paulina keeps him back, saying that she did not expect it to move him to such grief, and offers to draw the curtain, but the king refuses to allow it. Paulina then offers to make the statue come down from the pedestal--and, to everyone's amazement, there is music and the statue moves. It steps down, and embraces Leontes: it is the real Hermione, alive again. She blesses her daughter, saying that she hoped to see her again, and then Leontes, now overcome with happiness, betrothes Paulina and Camillo and then leads the company out, rejoicing in the apparent miracle.", "analysis": "iii - Commentary We return, finally, to Sicilia, and although sixteen years have passed, Leontes is still in exactly the same place where we left him--mourning his wife, and repenting his crimes--while Paulina is still fanning the flames of guilt within him. This frozen-ness, the sense of time halting until a curse is lifted, is a typical fairy tale trope, and Leontes's Sicily resembles the enchanted castle of the Beast, or the thorn-choked palace of Sleeping Beauty in which everyone sleeps, waiting for the Prince to awaken them. When the awakening comes in this fairy tale, though, as Leontes is finally released from his suffering by the restoration of his daughter, the scene is kept offstage. We are given an eloquent account of it from Leontes's courtiers--\"There might you have beheld one joy crown another, so and in such manner that it seemed sorrow wept to take leave of them, for their joy waded in tears\"--but Shakespeare makes a wise dramatic choice, knowing that one joyful climax is enough for a play. And despite the rejoicing over Perdita, The Winter's Tale's true climax is reserved for the final scene. The final scene is a difficult one for critics to interpret, since the playwright deliberately obscures whether Hermione has actually been resurrected, or whether she never really died and was hidden away by Paulina. Certainly there are suggestions that the latter is the case--including the fact that the queen died off-stage, with only Paulina as a witness. Also, Paulina's insistence in V.i that the king promise to never marry again implies that she anticipates Hermione's return. But at the same time, the characters seem to accept the event as a true miracle, and who are we to argue with them? In either case, the resurrection of the wronged queen closes the circle, thematically--what began with death and winter now ends with spring and a true rebirth. Antigonus and Mamillius, Leontes's victims, are forgotten--Paulina mentions \"my mate, that's never to be found again\", but this sorrowful mood is out of place, and so she is quickly given a new husband. Mamillius is not needed, since both kingdoms now have an heir--the same heir, in fact--and both marriages and friendships are restored; for good, one supposes."}

ACT V. SCENE I. Sicilia. The palace of LEONTES Enter LEONTES, CLEOMENES, DION, PAULINA, and OTHERS CLEOMENES. Sir, you have done enough, and have perform'd A saint-like sorrow. No fault could you make Which you have not redeem'd; indeed, paid down More penitence than done trespass. At the last, Do as the heavens have done: forget your evil; With them forgive yourself. LEONTES. Whilst I remember Her and her virtues, I cannot forget My blemishes in them, and so still think of The wrong I did myself; which was so much That heirless it hath made my kingdom, and Destroy'd the sweet'st companion that e'er man Bred his hopes out of. PAULINA. True, too true, my lord. If, one by one, you wedded all the world, Or from the all that are took something good To make a perfect woman, she you kill'd Would be unparallel'd. LEONTES. I think so. Kill'd! She I kill'd! I did so; but thou strik'st me Sorely, to say I did. It is as bitter Upon thy tongue as in my thought. Now, good now, Say so but seldom. CLEOMENES. Not at all, good lady. You might have spoken a thousand things that would Have done the time more benefit, and grac'd Your kindness better. PAULINA. You are one of those Would have him wed again. DION. If you would not so, You pity not the state, nor the remembrance Of his most sovereign name; consider little What dangers, by his Highness' fail of issue, May drop upon his kingdom and devour Incertain lookers-on. What were more holy Than to rejoice the former queen is well? What holier than, for royalty's repair, For present comfort, and for future good, To bless the bed of majesty again With a sweet fellow to't? PAULINA. There is none worthy, Respecting her that's gone. Besides, the gods Will have fulfill'd their secret purposes; For has not the divine Apollo said, Is't not the tenour of his oracle, That King Leontes shall not have an heir Till his lost child be found? Which that it shall, Is all as monstrous to our human reason As my Antigonus to break his grave And come again to me; who, on my life, Did perish with the infant. 'Tis your counsel My lord should to the heavens be contrary, Oppose against their wills. [To LEONTES] Care not for issue; The crown will find an heir. Great Alexander Left his to th' worthiest; so his successor Was like to be the best. LEONTES. Good Paulina, Who hast the memory of Hermione, I know, in honour, O that ever I Had squar'd me to thy counsel! Then, even now, I might have look'd upon my queen's full eyes, Have taken treasure from her lips- PAULINA. And left them More rich for what they yielded. LEONTES. Thou speak'st truth. No more such wives; therefore, no wife. One worse, And better us'd, would make her sainted spirit Again possess her corpse, and on this stage, Where we offend her now, appear soul-vex'd, And begin 'Why to me'- PAULINA. Had she such power, She had just cause. LEONTES. She had; and would incense me To murder her I married. PAULINA. I should so. Were I the ghost that walk'd, I'd bid you mark Her eye, and tell me for what dull part in't You chose her; then I'd shriek, that even your ears Should rift to hear me; and the words that follow'd Should be 'Remember mine.' LEONTES. Stars, stars, And all eyes else dead coals! Fear thou no wife; I'll have no wife, Paulina. PAULINA. Will you swear Never to marry but by my free leave? LEONTES. Never, Paulina; so be blest my spirit! PAULINA. Then, good my lords, bear witness to his oath. CLEOMENES. You tempt him over-much. PAULINA. Unless another, As like Hermione as is her picture, Affront his eye. CLEOMENES. Good madam- PAULINA. I have done. Yet, if my lord will marry- if you will, sir, No remedy but you will- give me the office To choose you a queen. She shall not be so young As was your former; but she shall be such As, walk'd your first queen's ghost, it should take joy To see her in your arms. LEONTES. My true Paulina, We shall not marry till thou bid'st us. PAULINA. That Shall be when your first queen's again in breath; Never till then. Enter a GENTLEMAN GENTLEMAN. One that gives out himself Prince Florizel, Son of Polixenes, with his princess- she The fairest I have yet beheld- desires access To your high presence. LEONTES. What with him? He comes not Like to his father's greatness. His approach, So out of circumstance and sudden, tells us 'Tis not a visitation fram'd, but forc'd By need and accident. What train? GENTLEMAN. But few, And those but mean. LEONTES. His princess, say you, with him? GENTLEMAN. Ay; the most peerless piece of earth, I think, That e'er the sun shone bright on. PAULINA. O Hermione, As every present time doth boast itself Above a better gone, so must thy grave Give way to what's seen now! Sir, you yourself Have said and writ so, but your writing now Is colder than that theme: 'She had not been, Nor was not to be equall'd.' Thus your verse Flow'd with her beauty once; 'tis shrewdly ebb'd, To say you have seen a better. GENTLEMAN. Pardon, madam. The one I have almost forgot- your pardon; The other, when she has obtain'd your eye, Will have your tongue too. This is a creature, Would she begin a sect, might quench the zeal Of all professors else, make proselytes Of who she but bid follow. PAULINA. How! not women? GENTLEMAN. Women will love her that she is a woman More worth than any man; men, that she is The rarest of all women. LEONTES. Go, Cleomenes; Yourself, assisted with your honour'd friends, Bring them to our embracement. Exeunt Still, 'tis strange He thus should steal upon us. PAULINA. Had our prince, Jewel of children, seen this hour, he had pair'd Well with this lord; there was not full a month Between their births. LEONTES. Prithee no more; cease. Thou know'st He dies to me again when talk'd of. Sure, When I shall see this gentleman, thy speeches Will bring me to consider that which may Unfurnish me of reason. Re-enter CLEOMENES, with FLORIZEL, PERDITA, and ATTENDANTS They are come. Your mother was most true to wedlock, Prince; For she did print your royal father off, Conceiving you. Were I but twenty-one, Your father's image is so hit in you His very air, that I should call you brother, As I did him, and speak of something wildly By us perform'd before. Most dearly welcome! And your fair princess- goddess! O, alas! I lost a couple that 'twixt heaven and earth Might thus have stood begetting wonder as You, gracious couple, do. And then I lost- All mine own folly- the society, Amity too, of your brave father, whom, Though bearing misery, I desire my life Once more to look on him. FLORIZEL. By his command Have I here touch'd Sicilia, and from him Give you all greetings that a king, at friend, Can send his brother; and, but infirmity, Which waits upon worn times, hath something seiz'd His wish'd ability, he had himself The lands and waters 'twixt your throne and his Measur'd, to look upon you; whom he loves, He bade me say so, more than all the sceptres And those that bear them living. LEONTES. O my brother- Good gentleman!- the wrongs I have done thee stir Afresh within me; and these thy offices, So rarely kind, are as interpreters Of my behind-hand slackness! Welcome hither, As is the spring to th' earth. And hath he too Expos'd this paragon to th' fearful usage, At least ungentle, of the dreadful Neptune, To greet a man not worth her pains, much less Th' adventure of her person? FLORIZEL. Good, my lord, She came from Libya. LEONTES. Where the warlike Smalus, That noble honour'd lord, is fear'd and lov'd? FLORIZEL. Most royal sir, from thence; from him whose daughter His tears proclaim'd his, parting with her; thence, A prosperous south-wind friendly, we have cross'd, To execute the charge my father gave me For visiting your Highness. My best train I have from your Sicilian shores dismiss'd; Who for Bohemia bend, to signify Not only my success in Libya, sir, But my arrival and my wife's in safety Here where we are. LEONTES. The blessed gods Purge all infection from our air whilst you Do climate here! You have a holy father, A graceful gentleman, against whose person, So sacred as it is, I have done sin, For which the heavens, taking angry note, Have left me issueless; and your father's blest, As he from heaven merits it, with you, Worthy his goodness. What might I have been, Might I a son and daughter now have look'd on, Such goodly things as you! Enter a LORD LORD. Most noble sir, That which I shall report will bear no credit, Were not the proof so nigh. Please you, great sir, Bohemia greets you from himself by me; Desires you to attach his son, who has- His dignity and duty both cast off- Fled from his father, from his hopes, and with A shepherd's daughter. LEONTES. Where's Bohemia? Speak. LORD. Here in your city; I now came from him. I speak amazedly; and it becomes My marvel and my message. To your court Whiles he was hast'ning- in the chase, it seems, Of this fair couple- meets he on the way The father of this seeming lady and Her brother, having both their country quitted With this young prince. FLORIZEL. Camillo has betray'd me; Whose honour and whose honesty till now Endur'd all weathers. LORD. Lay't so to his charge; He's with the King your father. LEONTES. Who? Camillo? LORD. Camillo, sir; I spake with him; who now Has these poor men in question. Never saw I Wretches so quake. They kneel, they kiss the earth; Forswear themselves as often as they speak. Bohemia stops his ears, and threatens them With divers deaths in death. PERDITA. O my poor father! The heaven sets spies upon us, will not have Our contract celebrated. LEONTES. You are married? FLORIZEL. We are not, sir, nor are we like to be; The stars, I see, will kiss the valleys first. The odds for high and low's alike. LEONTES. My lord, Is this the daughter of a king? FLORIZEL. She is, When once she is my wife. LEONTES. That 'once,' I see by your good father's speed, Will come on very slowly. I am sorry, Most sorry, you have broken from his liking Where you were tied in duty; and as sorry Your choice is not so rich in worth as beauty, That you might well enjoy her. FLORIZEL. Dear, look up. Though Fortune, visible an enemy, Should chase us with my father, pow'r no jot Hath she to change our loves. Beseech you, sir, Remember since you ow'd no more to time Than I do now. With thought of such affections, Step forth mine advocate; at your request My father will grant precious things as trifles. LEONTES. Would he do so, I'd beg your precious mistress, Which he counts but a trifle. PAULINA. Sir, my liege, Your eye hath too much youth in't. Not a month Fore your queen died, she was more worth such gazes Than what you look on now. LEONTES. I thought of her Even in these looks I made. [To FLORIZEL] But your petition Is yet unanswer'd. I will to your father. Your honour not o'erthrown by your desires, I am friend to them and you. Upon which errand I now go toward him; therefore, follow me, And mark what way I make. Come, good my lord. Exeunt Sicilia. Before the palace of LEONTES Enter AUTOLYCUS and a GENTLEMAN AUTOLYCUS. Beseech you, sir, were you present at this relation? FIRST GENTLEMAN. I was by at the opening of the fardel, heard the old shepherd deliver the manner how he found it; whereupon, after a little amazedness, we were all commanded out of the chamber; only this, methought I heard the shepherd say he found the child. AUTOLYCUS. I would most gladly know the issue of it. FIRST GENTLEMAN. I make a broken delivery of the business; but the changes I perceived in the King and Camillo were very notes of admiration. They seem'd almost, with staring on one another, to tear the cases of their eyes; there was speech in their dumbness, language in their very gesture; they look'd as they had heard of a world ransom'd, or one destroyed. A notable passion of wonder appeared in them; but the wisest beholder that knew no more but seeing could not say if th' importance were joy or sorrow- but in the extremity of the one it must needs be. Enter another GENTLEMAN Here comes a gentleman that happily knows more. The news, Rogero? SECOND GENTLEMAN. Nothing but bonfires. The oracle is fulfill'd: the King's daughter is found. Such a deal of wonder is broken out within this hour that ballad-makers cannot be able to express it. Enter another GENTLEMAN Here comes the Lady Paulina's steward; he can deliver you more. How goes it now, sir? This news, which is call'd true, is so like an old tale that the verity of it is in strong suspicion. Has the King found his heir? THIRD GENTLEMAN. Most true, if ever truth were pregnant by circumstance. That which you hear you'll swear you see, there is such unity in the proofs. The mantle of Queen Hermione's; her jewel about the neck of it; the letters of Antigonus found with it, which they know to be his character; the majesty of the creature in resemblance of the mother; the affection of nobleness which nature shows above her breeding; and many other evidences- proclaim her with all certainty to be the King's daughter. Did you see the meeting of the two kings? SECOND GENTLEMAN. No. THIRD GENTLEMAN. Then you have lost a sight which was to be seen, cannot be spoken of. There might you have beheld one joy crown another, so and in such manner that it seem'd sorrow wept to take leave of them; for their joy waded in tears. There was casting up of eyes, holding up of hands, with countenance of such distraction that they were to be known by garment, not by favour. Our king, being ready to leap out of himself for joy of his found daughter, as if that joy were now become a loss, cries 'O, thy mother, thy mother!' then asks Bohemia forgiveness; then embraces his son-in-law; then again worries he his daughter with clipping her. Now he thanks the old shepherd, which stands by like a weather-bitten conduit of many kings' reigns. I never heard of such another encounter, which lames report to follow it and undoes description to do it. SECOND GENTLEMAN. What, pray you, became of Antigonus, that carried hence the child? THIRD GENTLEMAN. Like an old tale still, which will have matter to rehearse, though credit be asleep and not an ear open: he was torn to pieces with a bear. This avouches the shepherd's son, who has not only his innocence, which seems much, to justify him, but a handkerchief and rings of his that Paulina knows. FIRST GENTLEMAN. What became of his bark and his followers? THIRD GENTLEMAN. Wreck'd the same instant of their master's death, and in the view of the shepherd; so that all the instruments which aided to expose the child were even then lost when it was found. But, O, the noble combat that 'twixt joy and sorrow was fought in Paulina! She had one eye declin'd for the loss of her husband, another elevated that the oracle was fulfill'd. She lifted the Princess from the earth, and so locks her in embracing as if she would pin her to her heart, that she might no more be in danger of losing. FIRST GENTLEMAN. The dignity of this act was worth the audience of kings and princes; for by such was it acted. THIRD GENTLEMAN. One of the prettiest touches of all, and that which angl'd for mine eyes- caught the water, though not the fish- was, when at the relation of the Queen's death, with the manner how she came to't bravely confess'd and lamented by the King, how attentivenes wounded his daughter; till, from one sign of dolour to another, she did with an 'Alas!'- I would fain say- bleed tears; for I am sure my heart wept blood. Who was most marble there changed colour; some swooned, all sorrowed. If all the world could have seen't, the woe had been universal. FIRST GENTLEMAN. Are they returned to the court? THIRD GENTLEMAN. No. The Princess hearing of her mother's statue, which is in the keeping of Paulina- a piece many years in doing and now newly perform'd by that rare Italian master, Julio Romano, who, had he himself eternity and could put breath into his work, would beguile nature of her custom, so perfectly he is her ape. He so near to Hermione hath done Hermione that they say one would speak to her and stand in hope of answer- thither with all greediness of affection are they gone, and there they intend to sup. SECOND GENTLEMAN. I thought she had some great matter there in hand; for she hath privately twice or thrice a day, ever since the death of Hermione, visited that removed house. Shall we thither, and with our company piece the rejoicing? FIRST GENTLEMAN. Who would be thence that has the benefit of access? Every wink of an eye some new grace will be born. Our absence makes us unthrifty to our knowledge. Let's along. Exeunt GENTLEMEN AUTOLYCUS. Now, had I not the dash of my former life in me, would preferment drop on my head. I brought the old man and his son aboard the Prince; told him I heard them talk of a fardel and I know not what; but he at that time over-fond of the shepherd's daughter- so he then took her to be- who began to be much sea-sick, and himself little better, extremity of weather continuing, this mystery remained undiscover'd. But 'tis all one to me; for had I been the finder-out of this secret, it would not have relish'd among my other discredits. Enter SHEPHERD and CLOWN Here come those I have done good to against my will, and already appearing in the blossoms of their fortune. SHEPHERD. Come, boy; I am past moe children, but thy sons and daughters will be all gentlemen born. CLOWN. You are well met, sir. You denied to fight with me this other day, because I was no gentleman born. See you these clothes? Say you see them not and think me still no gentleman born. You were best say these robes are not gentlemen born. Give me the lie, do; and try whether I am not now a gentleman born. AUTOLYCUS. I know you are now, sir, a gentleman born. CLOWN. Ay, and have been so any time these four hours. SHEPHERD. And so have I, boy. CLOWN. So you have; but I was a gentleman born before my father; for the King's son took me by the hand and call'd me brother; and then the two kings call'd my father brother; and then the Prince, my brother, and the Princess, my sister, call'd my father father. And so we wept; and there was the first gentleman-like tears that ever we shed. SHEPHERD. We may live, son, to shed many more. CLOWN. Ay; or else 'twere hard luck, being in so preposterous estate as we are. AUTOLYCUS. I humbly beseech you, sir, to pardon me all the faults I have committed to your worship, and to give me your good report to the Prince my master. SHEPHERD. Prithee, son, do; for we must be gentle, now we are gentlemen. CLOWN. Thou wilt amend thy life? AUTOLYCUS. Ay, an it like your good worship. CLOWN. Give me thy hand. I will swear to the Prince thou art as honest a true fellow as any is in Bohemia. SHEPHERD. You may say it, but not swear it. CLOWN. Not swear it, now I am a gentleman? Let boors and franklins say it: I'll swear it. SHEPHERD. How if it be false, son? CLOWN. If it be ne'er so false, a true gentleman may swear it in the behalf of his friend. And I'll swear to the Prince thou art a tall fellow of thy hands and that thou wilt not be drunk; but I know thou art no tall fellow of thy hands and that thou wilt be drunk. But I'll swear it; and I would thou wouldst be a tall fellow of thy hands. AUTOLYCUS. I will prove so, sir, to my power. CLOWN. Ay, by any means, prove a tall fellow. If I do not wonder how thou dar'st venture to be drunk not being a tall fellow, trust me not. Hark! the kings and the princes, our kindred, are going to see the Queen's picture. Come, follow us; we'll be thy good masters. Exeunt Sicilia. A chapel in PAULINA's house Enter LEONTES, POLIXENES, FLORIZEL, PERDITA, CAMILLO, PAULINA, LORDS and ATTENDANTS LEONTES. O grave and good Paulina, the great comfort That I have had of thee! PAULINA. What, sovereign sir, I did not well, I meant well. All my services You have paid home; but that you have vouchsaf'd, With your crown'd brother and these your contracted Heirs of your kingdoms, my poor house to visit, It is a surplus of your grace, which never My life may last to answer. LEONTES. O Paulina, We honour you with trouble; but we came To see the statue of our queen. Your gallery Have we pass'd through, not without much content In many singularities; but we saw not That which my daughter came to look upon, The statue of her mother. PAULINA. As she liv'd peerless, So her dead likeness, I do well believe, Excels whatever yet you look'd upon Or hand of man hath done; therefore I keep it Lonely, apart. But here it is. Prepare To see the life as lively mock'd as ever Still sleep mock'd death. Behold; and say 'tis well. [PAULINA draws a curtain, and discovers HERMIONE standing like a statue] I like your silence; it the more shows off Your wonder; but yet speak. First, you, my liege. Comes it not something near? LEONTES. Her natural posture! Chide me, dear stone, that I may say indeed Thou art Hermione; or rather, thou art she In thy not chiding; for she was as tender As infancy and grace. But yet, Paulina, Hermione was not so much wrinkled, nothing So aged as this seems. POLIXENES. O, not by much! PAULINA. So much the more our carver's excellence, Which lets go by some sixteen years and makes her As she liv'd now. LEONTES. As now she might have done, So much to my good comfort as it is Now piercing to my soul. O, thus she stood, Even with such life of majesty- warm life, As now it coldly stands- when first I woo'd her! I am asham'd. Does not the stone rebuke me For being more stone than it? O royal piece, There's magic in thy majesty, which has My evils conjur'd to remembrance, and From thy admiring daughter took the spirits, Standing like stone with thee! PERDITA. And give me leave, And do not say 'tis superstition that I kneel, and then implore her blessing. Lady, Dear queen, that ended when I but began, Give me that hand of yours to kiss. PAULINA. O, patience! The statue is but newly fix'd, the colour's Not dry. CAMILLO. My lord, your sorrow was too sore laid on, Which sixteen winters cannot blow away, So many summers dry. Scarce any joy Did ever so long live; no sorrow But kill'd itself much sooner. POLIXENES. Dear my brother, Let him that was the cause of this have pow'r To take off so much grief from you as he Will piece up in himself. PAULINA. Indeed, my lord, If I had thought the sight of my poor image Would thus have wrought you- for the stone is mine- I'd not have show'd it. LEONTES. Do not draw the curtain. PAULINA. No longer shall you gaze on't, lest your fancy May think anon it moves. LEONTES. Let be, let be. Would I were dead, but that methinks already- What was he that did make it? See, my lord, Would you not deem it breath'd, and that those veins Did verily bear blood? POLIXENES. Masterly done! The very life seems warm upon her lip. LEONTES. The fixture of her eye has motion in't, As we are mock'd with art. PAULINA. I'll draw the curtain. My lord's almost so far transported that He'll think anon it lives. LEONTES. O sweet Paulina, Make me to think so twenty years together! No settled senses of the world can match The pleasure of that madness. Let 't alone. PAULINA. I am sorry, sir, I have thus far stirr'd you; but I could afflict you farther. LEONTES. Do, Paulina; For this affliction has a taste as sweet As any cordial comfort. Still, methinks, There is an air comes from her. What fine chisel Could ever yet cut breath? Let no man mock me, For I will kiss her. PAULINA. Good my lord, forbear. The ruddiness upon her lip is wet; You'll mar it if you kiss it; stain your own With oily painting. Shall I draw the curtain? LEONTES. No, not these twenty years. PERDITA. So long could I Stand by, a looker-on. PAULINA. Either forbear, Quit presently the chapel, or resolve you For more amazement. If you can behold it, I'll make the statue move indeed, descend, And take you by the hand, but then you'll think- Which I protest against- I am assisted By wicked powers. LEONTES. What you can make her do I am content to look on; what to speak I am content to hear; for 'tis as easy To make her speak as move. PAULINA. It is requir'd You do awake your faith. Then all stand still; Or those that think it is unlawful business I am about, let them depart. LEONTES. Proceed. No foot shall stir. PAULINA. Music, awake her: strike. [Music] 'Tis time; descend; be stone no more; approach; Strike all that look upon with marvel. Come; I'll fill your grave up. Stir; nay, come away. Bequeath to death your numbness, for from him Dear life redeems you. You perceive she stirs. [HERMIONE comes down from the pedestal] Start not; her actions shall be holy as You hear my spell is lawful. Do not shun her Until you see her die again; for then You kill her double. Nay, present your hand. When she was young you woo'd her; now in age Is she become the suitor? LEONTES. O, she's warm! If this be magic, let it be an art Lawful as eating. POLIXENES. She embraces him. CAMILLO. She hangs about his neck. If she pertain to life, let her speak too. POLIXENES. Ay, and make it manifest where she has liv'd, Or how stol'n from the dead. PAULINA. That she is living, Were it but told you, should be hooted at Like an old tale; but it appears she lives Though yet she speak not. Mark a little while. Please you to interpose, fair madam. Kneel, And pray your mother's blessing. Turn, good lady; Our Perdita is found. HERMIONE. You gods, look down, And from your sacred vials pour your graces Upon my daughter's head! Tell me, mine own, Where hast thou been preserv'd? Where liv'd? How found Thy father's court? For thou shalt hear that I, Knowing by Paulina that the oracle Gave hope thou wast in being, have preserv'd Myself to see the issue. PAULINA. There's time enough for that, Lest they desire upon this push to trouble Your joys with like relation. Go together, You precious winners all; your exultation Partake to every one. I, an old turtle, Will wing me to some wither'd bough, and there My mate, that's never to be found again, Lament till I am lost. LEONTES. O peace, Paulina! Thou shouldst a husband take by my consent, As I by thine a wife. This is a match, And made between's by vows. Thou hast found mine; But how, is to be question'd; for I saw her, As I thought, dead; and have, in vain, said many A prayer upon her grave. I'll not seek far- For him, I partly know his mind- to find thee An honourable husband. Come, Camillo, And take her by the hand whose worth and honesty Is richly noted, and here justified By us, a pair of kings. Let's from this place. What! look upon my brother. Both your pardons, That e'er I put between your holy looks My ill suspicion. This your son-in-law, And son unto the King, whom heavens directing, Is troth-plight to your daughter. Good Paulina, Lead us from hence where we may leisurely Each one demand and answer to his part Perform'd in this wide gap of time since first We were dissever'd. Hastily lead away. Exeunt THE END

Act V, Scenes i-iii

https://web.archive.org/web/20210124213436/https://www.sparknotes.com/shakespeare/winterstale/section7/

In Sicilia, Leontes is still in mourning for Hermione and Mamillius, although some of his lords urge him to forget the past, forgive himself, and marry again. Paulina, however, encourages his continued contrition, and extracts from him a promise that he will never take another wife until she gives him leave. Word comes of the arrival of Prince Florizel and his new wife Perdita from Bohemia, and the couple is ushered into Leontes's presence and greeted eagerly--since the Sicilian king has had no word from Bohemia for years. Everyone remarks on the beauty and grace of Perdita, and Florizel pretends to be on a diplomatic mission from his father. As they talk, however, a lord brings news that Polixenes himself, along with Camillo, are in the city, in pursuit of Florizel--and that they have the Shepherd and the Clown in their custody. Leontes, stunned, immediately resolves to go down and meet his former friend, bringing the despairing Florizel and Perdita with them. What follows is told second-hand, by several lords of Leontes's court to the newly-arrived Autolycus. Briefly, once the Shepherd tells everyone his story of finding Perdita on the Bohemian coast, and reveals the tokens that were left on her, Leontes and Polixenes realize who she is; both kings--but especially Leontes--are overcome with joy, and there is general rejoicing. The lords also tell Autolycus that the happy group has not yet returned to court, since Perdita expressed a wish to see a statue of her mother, recently finished in Paulina's country house. Then the Clown and Shepherd come in, having both been made gentlemen, and Autolycus pledges to amend his life and become their loyal servant. The scene shifts to Paulina's home, and she unveils the statue, which impresses everyone with its realism and attention to detail--as well as the fact that the sculptor made Hermione look exactly sixteen years older than the queen was when she died. Leontes is overcome by the sight of her, and tries to touch the statue's hand. Paulina keeps him back, saying that she did not expect it to move him to such grief, and offers to draw the curtain, but the king refuses to allow it. Paulina then offers to make the statue come down from the pedestal--and, to everyone's amazement, there is music and the statue moves. It steps down, and embraces Leontes: it is the real Hermione, alive again. She blesses her daughter, saying that she hoped to see her again, and then Leontes, now overcome with happiness, betrothes Paulina and Camillo and then leads the company out, rejoicing in the apparent miracle.

iii - Commentary We return, finally, to Sicilia, and although sixteen years have passed, Leontes is still in exactly the same place where we left him--mourning his wife, and repenting his crimes--while Paulina is still fanning the flames of guilt within him. This frozen-ness, the sense of time halting until a curse is lifted, is a typical fairy tale trope, and Leontes's Sicily resembles the enchanted castle of the Beast, or the thorn-choked palace of Sleeping Beauty in which everyone sleeps, waiting for the Prince to awaken them. When the awakening comes in this fairy tale, though, as Leontes is finally released from his suffering by the restoration of his daughter, the scene is kept offstage. We are given an eloquent account of it from Leontes's courtiers--"There might you have beheld one joy crown another, so and in such manner that it seemed sorrow wept to take leave of them, for their joy waded in tears"--but Shakespeare makes a wise dramatic choice, knowing that one joyful climax is enough for a play. And despite the rejoicing over Perdita, The Winter's Tale's true climax is reserved for the final scene. The final scene is a difficult one for critics to interpret, since the playwright deliberately obscures whether Hermione has actually been resurrected, or whether she never really died and was hidden away by Paulina. Certainly there are suggestions that the latter is the case--including the fact that the queen died off-stage, with only Paulina as a witness. Also, Paulina's insistence in V.i that the king promise to never marry again implies that she anticipates Hermione's return. But at the same time, the characters seem to accept the event as a true miracle, and who are we to argue with them? In either case, the resurrection of the wronged queen closes the circle, thematically--what began with death and winter now ends with spring and a true rebirth. Antigonus and Mamillius, Leontes's victims, are forgotten--Paulina mentions "my mate, that's never to be found again", but this sorrowful mood is out of place, and so she is quickly given a new husband. Mamillius is not needed, since both kingdoms now have an heir--the same heir, in fact--and both marriages and friendships are restored; for good, one supposes.

gradesaver

all_chapterized_books/2266-chapters/1.txt

finished_summaries/gradesaver/King Lear/section_0_part_1.txt

King Lear.act 1.scene 1

act 1 scene 1

{"name": "act 1, scene i", "url": "https://web.archive.org/web/20210417230554/https://www.gradesaver.com/king-lear/study-guide/summary-act-i", "summary": "Gloucester and Kent, loyal to King Lear, objectively discuss his division of the kingdom and to which dukes, Cornwall and Albany, they believe it will equally fall. Kent is introduced to Gloucester's illegitimate son, Edmund. Gloucester nonchalantly admits that the boy's breeding has been his charge ever since impregnating another woman soon after his legitimate son, Edgar, was born. Kent is pleased to meet Edmund. Gloucester mentions that Edmund has been nine years in military service and will return shortly. Lear enters and sends Gloucester to find France and Burgundy, Cordelia's suitors. He then begins to discuss the partitioning of Britain he has devised to each of his three daughters and their husbands. Lear decides to ask each of his daughters to express how much they love him before he hands over their piece of the kingdom. As oldest, Goneril speaks first, expressing her love as all encompassing. Regan adds that she is enemy to other joys. Lear gives each their parcel, wishing them well. Cordelia, as the youngest and most liked daughter, is saved the choicest piece of land. However, she responds to her father's request by saying she has nothing to add. She loves only as much as her obligation entitles and will save some of her love for a husband. Lear is enraged and hurt. After giving her a few chances, he strips Cordelia of any title or relation. Kent intercedes on her behalf but he too is estranged by Lear. Kent cries that honesty will continue to be his guide in any kingdom. Cordelia's suitors enter. Lear apprises them of Cordelia's new state of non-inheritance. Burgundy cannot accept her under the circumstances, but France finds her more appealing and takes her as his wife. Cordelia is not unhappy to leave her sisters and leaves with France. Goneril and Regan conspire to take rule away from Lear quickly as he is becoming more unreasonable", "analysis": ""}

Actus Primus. Scoena Prima. Enter Kent, Gloucester, and Edmond. Kent. I thought the King had more affected the Duke of Albany, then Cornwall Glou. It did alwayes seeme so to vs: But now in the diuision of the Kingdome, it appeares not which of the Dukes hee valewes most, for qualities are so weigh'd, that curiosity in neither, can make choise of eithers moity Kent. Is not this your Son, my Lord? Glou. His breeding Sir, hath bin at my charge. I haue so often blush'd to acknowledge him, that now I am braz'd too't Kent. I cannot conceiue you Glou. Sir, this yong Fellowes mother could; wherevpon she grew round womb'd, and had indeede (Sir) a Sonne for her Cradle, ere she had a husband for her bed. Do you smell a fault? Kent. I cannot wish the fault vndone, the issue of it, being so proper Glou. But I haue a Sonne, Sir, by order of Law, some yeere elder then this; who, yet is no deerer in my account, though this Knaue came somthing sawcily to the world before he was sent for: yet was his Mother fayre, there was good sport at his making, and the horson must be acknowledged. Doe you know this Noble Gentleman, Edmond? Edm. No, my Lord Glou. My Lord of Kent: Remember him heereafter, as my Honourable Friend Edm. My seruices to your Lordship Kent. I must loue you, and sue to know you better Edm. Sir, I shall study deseruing Glou. He hath bin out nine yeares, and away he shall againe. The King is comming. Sennet. Enter King Lear, Cornwall, Albany, Gonerill, Regan, Cordelia, and attendants. Lear. Attend the Lords of France & Burgundy, Gloster Glou. I shall, my Lord. Enter. Lear. Meane time we shal expresse our darker purpose. Giue me the Map there. Know, that we haue diuided In three our Kingdome: and 'tis our fast intent, To shake all Cares and Businesse from our Age, Conferring them on yonger strengths, while we Vnburthen'd crawle toward death. Our son of Cornwal, And you our no lesse louing Sonne of Albany, We haue this houre a constant will to publish Our daughters seuerall Dowers, that future strife May be preuented now. The Princes, France & Burgundy, Great Riuals in our yongest daughters loue, Long in our Court, haue made their amorous soiourne, And heere are to be answer'd. Tell me my daughters (Since now we will diuest vs both of Rule, Interest of Territory, Cares of State) Which of you shall we say doth loue vs most, That we, our largest bountie may extend Where Nature doth with merit challenge. Gonerill, Our eldest borne, speake first Gon. Sir, I loue you more then word can weild y matter, Deerer then eye-sight, space, and libertie, Beyond what can be valewed, rich or rare, No lesse then life, with grace, health, beauty, honor: As much as Childe ere lou'd, or Father found. A loue that makes breath poore, and speech vnable, Beyond all manner of so much I loue you Cor. What shall Cordelia speake? Loue, and be silent Lear. Of all these bounds euen from this Line, to this, With shadowie Forrests, and with Champains rich'd With plenteous Riuers, and wide-skirted Meades We make thee Lady. To thine and Albanies issues Be this perpetuall. What sayes our second Daughter? Our deerest Regan, wife of Cornwall? Reg. I am made of that selfe-mettle as my Sister, And prize me at her worth. In my true heart, I finde she names my very deede of loue: Onely she comes too short, that I professe My selfe an enemy to all other ioyes, Which the most precious square of sense professes, And finde I am alone felicitate In your deere Highnesse loue Cor. Then poore Cordelia, And yet not so, since I am sure my loue's More ponderous then my tongue Lear. To thee, and thine hereditarie euer, Remaine this ample third of our faire Kingdome, No lesse in space, validitie, and pleasure Then that conferr'd on Gonerill. Now our Ioy, Although our last and least; to whose yong loue, The Vines of France, and Milke of Burgundie, Striue to be interest. What can you say, to draw A third, more opilent then your Sisters? speake Cor. Nothing my Lord Lear. Nothing? Cor. Nothing Lear. Nothing will come of nothing, speake againe Cor. Vnhappie that I am, I cannot heaue My heart into my mouth: I loue your Maiesty According to my bond, no more nor lesse Lear. How, how Cordelia? Mend your speech a little, Least you may marre your Fortunes Cor. Good my Lord, You haue begot me, bred me, lou'd me. I returne those duties backe as are right fit, Obey you, Loue you, and most Honour you. Why haue my Sisters Husbands, if they say They loue you all? Happily when I shall wed, That Lord, whose hand must take my plight, shall carry Halfe my loue with him, halfe my Care, and Dutie, Sure I shall neuer marry like my Sisters Lear. But goes thy heart with this? Cor. I my good Lord Lear. So young, and so vntender? Cor. So young my Lord, and true Lear. Let it be so, thy truth then be thy dowre: For by the sacred radience of the Sunne, The misteries of Heccat and the night: By all the operation of the Orbes, From whom we do exist, and cease to be, Heere I disclaime all my Paternall care, Propinquity and property of blood, And as a stranger to my heart and me, Hold thee from this for euer. The barbarous Scythian, Or he that makes his generation messes To gorge his appetite, shall to my bosome Be as well neighbour'd, pittied, and releeu'd, As thou my sometime Daughter Kent. Good my Liege Lear. Peace Kent, Come not betweene the Dragon and his wrath, I lou'd her most, and thought to set my rest On her kind nursery. Hence and avoid my sight: So be my graue my peace, as here I giue Her Fathers heart from her; call France, who stirres? Call Burgundy, Cornwall, and Albanie, With my two Daughters Dowres, digest the third, Let pride, which she cals plainnesse, marry her: I doe inuest you ioyntly with my power, Preheminence, and all the large effects That troope with Maiesty. Our selfe by Monthly course, With reseruation of an hundred Knights, By you to be sustain'd, shall our abode Make with you by due turne, onely we shall retaine The name, and all th' addition to a King: the Sway, Reuennew, Execution of the rest, Beloued Sonnes be yours, which to confirme, This Coronet part betweene you Kent. Royall Lear, Whom I haue euer honor'd as my King, Lou'd as my Father, as my Master follow'd, As my great Patron thought on in my praiers Le. The bow is bent & drawne, make from the shaft Kent. Let it fall rather, though the forke inuade The region of my heart, be Kent vnmannerly, When Lear is mad, what wouldest thou do old man? Think'st thou that dutie shall haue dread to speake, When power to flattery bowes? To plainnesse honour's bound, When Maiesty falls to folly, reserue thy state, And in thy best consideration checke This hideous rashnesse, answere my life, my iudgement: Thy yongest Daughter do's not loue thee least, Nor are those empty hearted, whose low sounds Reuerbe no hollownesse Lear. Kent, on thy life no more Kent. My life I neuer held but as pawne To wage against thine enemies, nere feare to loose it, Thy safety being motiue Lear. Out of my sight Kent. See better Lear, and let me still remaine The true blanke of thine eie Lear. Now by Apollo, Kent. Now by Apollo, King Thou swear'st thy Gods in vaine Lear. O Vassall! Miscreant Alb. Cor. Deare Sir forbeare Kent. Kill thy Physition, and thy fee bestow Vpon the foule disease, reuoke thy guift, Or whil'st I can vent clamour from my throate, Ile tell thee thou dost euill Lea. Heare me recreant, on thine allegeance heare me; That thou hast sought to make vs breake our vowes, Which we durst neuer yet; and with strain'd pride, To come betwixt our sentences, and our power, Which, nor our nature, nor our place can beare; Our potencie made good, take thy reward. Fiue dayes we do allot thee for prouision, To shield thee from disasters of the world, And on the sixt to turne thy hated backe Vpon our kingdome: if on the tenth day following, Thy banisht trunke be found in our Dominions, The moment is thy death, away. By Iupiter, This shall not be reuok'd, Kent. Fare thee well King, sith thus thou wilt appeare, Freedome liues hence, and banishment is here; The Gods to their deere shelter take thee Maid, That iustly think'st, and hast most rightly said: And your large speeches, may your deeds approue, That good effects may spring from words of loue: Thus Kent, O Princes, bids you all adew, Hee'l shape his old course, in a Country new. Enter. Flourish. Enter Gloster with France, and Burgundy, Attendants. Cor. Heere's France and Burgundy, my Noble Lord Lear. My Lord of Burgundie, We first addresse toward you, who with this King Hath riuald for our Daughter; what in the least Will you require in present Dower with her, Or cease your quest of Loue? Bur. Most Royall Maiesty, I craue no more then hath your Highnesse offer'd, Nor will you tender lesse? Lear. Right Noble Burgundy, When she was deare to vs, we did hold her so, But now her price is fallen: Sir, there she stands, If ought within that little seeming substance, Or all of it with our displeasure piec'd, And nothing more may fitly like your Grace, Shee's there, and she is yours Bur. I know no answer Lear. Will you with those infirmities she owes, Vnfriended, new adopted to our hate, Dow'rd with our curse, and stranger'd with our oath, Take her or, leaue her Bur. Pardon me Royall Sir, Election makes not vp in such conditions Le. Then leaue her sir, for by the powre that made me, I tell you all her wealth. For you great King, I would not from your loue make such a stray, To match you where I hate, therefore beseech you T' auert your liking a more worthier way, Then on a wretch whom Nature is asham'd Almost t' acknowledge hers Fra. This is most strange, That she whom euen but now, was your obiect, The argument of your praise, balme of your age, The best, the deerest, should in this trice of time Commit a thing so monstrous, to dismantle So many folds of fauour: sure her offence Must be of such vnnaturall degree, That monsters it: Or your fore-voucht affection Fall into taint, which to beleeue of her Must be a faith that reason without miracle Should neuer plant in me Cor. I yet beseech your Maiesty. If for I want that glib and oylie Art, To speake and purpose not, since what I will intend, Ile do't before I speake, that you make knowne It is no vicious blot, murther, or foulenesse, No vnchaste action or dishonoured step That hath depriu'd me of your Grace and fauour, But euen for want of that, for which I am richer, A still soliciting eye, and such a tongue, That I am glad I haue not, though not to haue it, Hath lost me in your liking Lear. Better thou had'st Not beene borne, then not t'haue pleas'd me better Fra. Is it but this? A tardinesse in nature, Which often leaues the history vnspoke That it intends to do: my Lord of Burgundy, What say you to the Lady? Loue's not loue When it is mingled with regards, that stands Aloofe from th' intire point, will you haue her? She is herselfe a Dowrie Bur. Royall King, Giue but that portion which your selfe propos'd, And here I take Cordelia by the hand, Dutchesse of Burgundie Lear. Nothing, I haue sworne, I am firme Bur. I am sorry then you haue so lost a Father, That you must loose a husband Cor. Peace be with Burgundie, Since that respect and Fortunes are his loue, I shall not be his wife Fra. Fairest Cordelia, that art most rich being poore, Most choise forsaken, and most lou'd despis'd, Thee and thy vertues here I seize vpon, Be it lawfull I take vp what's cast away. Gods, Gods! 'Tis strange, that from their cold'st neglect My Loue should kindle to enflam'd respect. Thy dowrelesse Daughter King, throwne to my chance, Is Queene of vs, of ours, and our faire France: Not all the Dukes of watrish Burgundy, Can buy this vnpriz'd precious Maid of me. Bid them farewell Cordelia, though vnkinde, Thou loosest here a better where to finde Lear. Thou hast her France, let her be thine, for we Haue no such Daughter, nor shall euer see That face of hers againe, therfore be gone, Without our Grace, our Loue, our Benizon: Come Noble Burgundie. Flourish. Exeunt. Fra. Bid farwell to your Sisters Cor. The Iewels of our Father, with wash'd eies Cordelia leaues you, I know you what you are, And like a Sister am most loth to call Your faults as they are named. Loue well our Father: To your professed bosomes I commit him, But yet alas, stood I within his Grace, I would prefer him to a better place, So farewell to you both Regn. Prescribe not vs our dutie Gon. Let your study Be to content your Lord, who hath receiu'd you At Fortunes almes, you haue obedience scanted, And well are worth the want that you haue wanted Cor. Time shall vnfold what plighted cunning hides, Who couers faults, at last with shame derides: Well may you prosper Fra. Come my faire Cordelia. Exit France and Cor. Gon. Sister, it is not little I haue to say, Of what most neerely appertaines to vs both, I thinke our Father will hence to night Reg. That's most certaine, and with you: next moneth with vs Gon. You see how full of changes his age is, the obseruation we haue made of it hath beene little; he alwaies lou'd our Sister most, and with what poore iudgement he hath now cast her off, appeares too grossely Reg. 'Tis the infirmity of his age, yet he hath euer but slenderly knowne himselfe Gon. The best and soundest of his time hath bin but rash, then must we looke from his age, to receiue not alone the imperfections of long ingraffed condition, but therewithall the vnruly way-wardnesse, that infirme and cholericke yeares bring with them Reg. Such vnconstant starts are we like to haue from him, as this of Kents banishment Gon. There is further complement of leaue-taking betweene France and him, pray you let vs sit together, if our Father carry authority with such disposition as he beares, this last surrender of his will but offend vs Reg. We shall further thinke of it Gon. We must do something, and i'th' heate. Exeunt.

act 1, scene i

https://web.archive.org/web/20210417230554/https://www.gradesaver.com/king-lear/study-guide/summary-act-i

Gloucester and Kent, loyal to King Lear, objectively discuss his division of the kingdom and to which dukes, Cornwall and Albany, they believe it will equally fall. Kent is introduced to Gloucester's illegitimate son, Edmund. Gloucester nonchalantly admits that the boy's breeding has been his charge ever since impregnating another woman soon after his legitimate son, Edgar, was born. Kent is pleased to meet Edmund. Gloucester mentions that Edmund has been nine years in military service and will return shortly. Lear enters and sends Gloucester to find France and Burgundy, Cordelia's suitors. He then begins to discuss the partitioning of Britain he has devised to each of his three daughters and their husbands. Lear decides to ask each of his daughters to express how much they love him before he hands over their piece of the kingdom. As oldest, Goneril speaks first, expressing her love as all encompassing. Regan adds that she is enemy to other joys. Lear gives each their parcel, wishing them well. Cordelia, as the youngest and most liked daughter, is saved the choicest piece of land. However, she responds to her father's request by saying she has nothing to add. She loves only as much as her obligation entitles and will save some of her love for a husband. Lear is enraged and hurt. After giving her a few chances, he strips Cordelia of any title or relation. Kent intercedes on her behalf but he too is estranged by Lear. Kent cries that honesty will continue to be his guide in any kingdom. Cordelia's suitors enter. Lear apprises them of Cordelia's new state of non-inheritance. Burgundy cannot accept her under the circumstances, but France finds her more appealing and takes her as his wife. Cordelia is not unhappy to leave her sisters and leaves with France. Goneril and Regan conspire to take rule away from Lear quickly as he is becoming more unreasonable

gradesaver

all_chapterized_books/2266-chapters/2.txt

finished_summaries/gradesaver/King Lear/section_0_part_2.txt

King Lear.act 1.scene 2

act 1 scene 2

{"name": "act 1, scene ii", "url": "https://web.archive.org/web/20210417230554/https://www.gradesaver.com/king-lear/study-guide/summary-act-i", "summary": "The scene centers around Edmund, at first alone on stage, crying out against his position as bastard to the material world. He is envious of Edgar, the legitimate son, and wishes to gain what he has by forging a treasonous letter concerning Gloucester from Edgar. Gloucester enters, amazed at the events which have occurred during the last scene. He wishes to know why Edmund is hiding a letter and demands to see it. He shrewdly acts as if he is embarrassed to show it to Gloucester and continually makes excuses for Edgar's apparent behavior. Gloucester reads the letter detailing \"Edgar's\" call to Edmund to take their father's land from him. Edmund asks that he not make too quick a judgment before they talk to Edgar as perhaps he is simply testing Edmund. He suggests forming a meeting where Edmund can ask Edgar about his proposals while Gloucester listens in secret. Gloucester agrees, musing on the effects of nature and its predictions. He leaves directly before Edgar enters. Edmund brings up the astronomical predictions he had discussed with Gloucester and alerts Edgar that Gloucester is very upset with him, though he knows not why. Edmund offers to take Edgar back to his lodging until he can bring he and Gloucester together and advises him to go armed. Edgar leaves and Edmund notes that he will soon take his due through wit", "analysis": ""}

Scena Secunda. Enter Bastard. Bast. Thou Nature art my Goddesse, to thy Law My seruices are bound, wherefore should I Stand in the plague of custome, and permit The curiosity of Nations, to depriue me? For that I am some twelue, or fourteene Moonshines Lag of a Brother? Why Bastard? Wherefore base? When my Dimensions are as well compact, My minde as generous, and my shape as true As honest Madams issue? Why brand they vs With Base? With basenes Bastardie? Base, Base? Who in the lustie stealth of Nature, take More composition, and fierce qualitie, Then doth within a dull stale tyred bed Goe to th' creating a whole tribe of Fops Got 'tweene a sleepe, and wake? Well then, Legitimate Edgar, I must haue your land, Our Fathers loue, is to the Bastard Edmond, As to th' legitimate: fine word: Legitimate. Well, my Legittimate, if this Letter speed, And my inuention thriue, Edmond the base Shall to'th' Legitimate: I grow, I prosper: Now Gods, stand vp for Bastards. Enter Gloucester. Glo. Kent banish'd thus? and France in choller parted? And the King gone to night? Prescrib'd his powre, Confin'd to exhibition? All this done Vpon the gad? Edmond, how now? What newes? Bast. So please your Lordship, none Glou. Why so earnestly seeke you to put vp y Letter? Bast. I know no newes, my Lord Glou. What Paper were you reading? Bast. Nothing my Lord Glou. No? what needed then that terrible dispatch of it into your Pocket? The quality of nothing, hath not such neede to hide it selfe. Let's see: come, if it bee nothing, I shall not neede Spectacles Bast. I beseech you Sir, pardon mee; it is a Letter from my Brother, that I haue not all ore-read; and for so much as I haue perus'd, I finde it not fit for your ore-looking Glou. Giue me the Letter, Sir Bast. I shall offend, either to detaine, or giue it: The Contents, as in part I vnderstand them, Are too blame Glou. Let's see, let's see Bast. I hope for my Brothers iustification, hee wrote this but as an essay, or taste of my Vertue Glou. reads. This policie, and reuerence of Age, makes the world bitter to the best of our times: keepes our Fortunes from vs, till our oldnesse cannot rellish them. I begin to finde an idle and fond bondage, in the oppression of aged tyranny, who swayes not as it hath power, but as it is suffer'd. Come to me, that of this I may speake more. If our Father would sleepe till I wak'd him, you should enioy halfe his Reuennew for euer, and liue the beloued of your Brother. Edgar. Hum? Conspiracy? Sleepe till I wake him, you should enioy halfe his Reuennew: my Sonne Edgar, had hee a hand to write this? A heart and braine to breede it in? When came you to this? Who brought it? Bast. It was not brought mee, my Lord; there's the cunning of it. I found it throwne in at the Casement of my Closset Glou. You know the character to be your Brothers? Bast. If the matter were good my Lord, I durst swear it were his: but in respect of that, I would faine thinke it were not Glou. It is his Bast. It is his hand, my Lord: but I hope his heart is not in the Contents Glo. Has he neuer before sounded you in this busines? Bast. Neuer my Lord. But I haue heard him oft maintaine it to be fit, that Sonnes at perfect age, and Fathers declin'd, the Father should bee as Ward to the Son, and the Sonne manage his Reuennew Glou. O Villain, villain: his very opinion in the Letter. Abhorred Villaine, vnnaturall, detested, brutish Villaine; worse then brutish: Go sirrah, seeke him: Ile apprehend him. Abhominable Villaine, where is he? Bast. I do not well know my L[ord]. If it shall please you to suspend your indignation against my Brother, til you can deriue from him better testimony of his intent, you shold run a certaine course: where, if you violently proceed against him, mistaking his purpose, it would make a great gap in your owne Honor, and shake in peeces, the heart of his obedience. I dare pawne downe my life for him, that he hath writ this to feele my affection to your Honor, & to no other pretence of danger Glou. Thinke you so? Bast. If your Honor iudge it meete, I will place you where you shall heare vs conferre of this, and by an Auricular assurance haue your satisfaction, and that without any further delay, then this very Euening Glou. He cannot bee such a Monster. Edmond seeke him out: winde me into him, I pray you: frame the Businesse after your owne wisedome. I would vnstate my selfe, to be in a due resolution Bast. I will seeke him Sir, presently: conuey the businesse as I shall find meanes, and acquaint you withall Glou. These late Eclipses in the Sun and Moone portend no good to vs: though the wisedome of Nature can reason it thus, and thus, yet Nature finds it selfe scourg'd by the sequent effects. Loue cooles, friendship falls off, Brothers diuide. In Cities, mutinies; in Countries, discord; in Pallaces, Treason; and the Bond crack'd, 'twixt Sonne and Father. This villaine of mine comes vnder the prediction; there's Son against Father, the King fals from byas of Nature, there's Father against Childe. We haue seene the best of our time. Machinations, hollownesse, treacherie, and all ruinous disorders follow vs disquietly to our Graues. Find out this Villain, Edmond, it shall lose thee nothing, do it carefully: and the Noble & true-harted Kent banish'd; his offence, honesty. 'Tis strange. Exit Bast. This is the excellent foppery of the world, that when we are sicke in fortune, often the surfets of our own behauiour, we make guilty of our disasters, the Sun, the Moone, and Starres, as if we were villaines on necessitie, Fooles by heauenly compulsion, Knaues, Theeues, and Treachers by Sphericall predominance. Drunkards, Lyars, and Adulterers by an inforc'd obedience of Planatary influence; and all that we are euill in, by a diuine thrusting on. An admirable euasion of Whore-master-man, to lay his Goatish disposition on the charge of a Starre, My father compounded with my mother vnder the Dragons taile, and my Natiuity was vnder Vrsa Maior, so that it followes, I am rough and Leacherous. I should haue bin that I am, had the maidenlest Starre in the Firmament twinkled on my bastardizing. Enter Edgar. Pat: he comes like the Catastrophe of the old Comedie: my Cue is villanous Melancholly, with a sighe like Tom o' Bedlam. - O these Eclipses do portend these diuisions. Fa, Sol, La, Me Edg. How now Brother Edmond, what serious contemplation are you in? Bast. I am thinking Brother of a prediction I read this other day, what should follow these Eclipses Edg. Do you busie your selfe with that? Bast. I promise you, the effects he writes of, succeede vnhappily. When saw you my Father last? Edg. The night gone by Bast. Spake you with him? Edg. I, two houres together Bast. Parted you in good termes? Found you no displeasure in him, by word, nor countenance? Edg. None at all, Bast. Bethink your selfe wherein you may haue offended him: and at my entreaty forbeare his presence, vntill some little time hath qualified the heat of his displeasure, which at this instant so rageth in him, that with the mischiefe of your person, it would scarsely alay Edg. Some Villaine hath done me wrong Edm. That's my feare, I pray you haue a continent forbearance till the speed of his rage goes slower: and as I say, retire with me to my lodging, from whence I will fitly bring you to heare my Lord speake: pray ye goe, there's my key: if you do stirre abroad, goe arm'd Edg. Arm'd, Brother? Edm. Brother, I aduise you to the best, I am no honest man, if ther be any good meaning toward you: I haue told you what I haue seene, and heard: But faintly. Nothing like the image, and horror of it, pray you away Edg. Shall I heare from you anon? Enter. Edm. I do serue you in this businesse: A Credulous Father, and a Brother Noble, Whose nature is so farre from doing harmes, That he suspects none: on whose foolish honestie My practises ride easie: I see the businesse. Let me, if not by birth, haue lands by wit, All with me's meete, that I can fashion fit. Enter.

act 1, scene ii

https://web.archive.org/web/20210417230554/https://www.gradesaver.com/king-lear/study-guide/summary-act-i

The scene centers around Edmund, at first alone on stage, crying out against his position as bastard to the material world. He is envious of Edgar, the legitimate son, and wishes to gain what he has by forging a treasonous letter concerning Gloucester from Edgar. Gloucester enters, amazed at the events which have occurred during the last scene. He wishes to know why Edmund is hiding a letter and demands to see it. He shrewdly acts as if he is embarrassed to show it to Gloucester and continually makes excuses for Edgar's apparent behavior. Gloucester reads the letter detailing "Edgar's" call to Edmund to take their father's land from him. Edmund asks that he not make too quick a judgment before they talk to Edgar as perhaps he is simply testing Edmund. He suggests forming a meeting where Edmund can ask Edgar about his proposals while Gloucester listens in secret. Gloucester agrees, musing on the effects of nature and its predictions. He leaves directly before Edgar enters. Edmund brings up the astronomical predictions he had discussed with Gloucester and alerts Edgar that Gloucester is very upset with him, though he knows not why. Edmund offers to take Edgar back to his lodging until he can bring he and Gloucester together and advises him to go armed. Edgar leaves and Edmund notes that he will soon take his due through wit

gradesaver

all_chapterized_books/2266-chapters/3.txt

finished_summaries/gradesaver/King Lear/section_0_part_3.txt

King Lear.act 1.scene 3

act 1 scene 3

{"name": "act 1, scene iii", "url": "https://web.archive.org/web/20210417230554/https://www.gradesaver.com/king-lear/study-guide/summary-act-i", "summary": "Scene iii reintroduces Goneril, as she is outraged by the offenses she contends Lear has been showing her since moving into her residence. He has struck Oswald for criticizing his fool, his knights are riotous and so on, she claims. Lear is out hunting. Goneril commands Oswald to allow her privacy from Lear and to treat Lear with \"weary negligence\". She does not want him to be happy, hoping that he will move to Regan's where she knows he will face the same contempt. She demands Oswald to treat his knights coldly as well. She leaves to write Regan", "analysis": ""}

Scena Tertia. Enter Gonerill, and Steward. Gon. Did my Father strike my Gentleman for chiding of his Foole? Ste. I Madam Gon. By day and night, he wrongs me, euery howre He flashes into one grosse crime, or other, That sets vs all at ods: Ile not endure it; His Knights grow riotous, and himselfe vpbraides vs On euery trifle. When he returnes from hunting, I will not speake with him, say I am sicke, If you come slacke of former seruices, You shall do well, the fault of it Ile answer Ste. He's comming Madam, I heare him Gon. Put on what weary negligence you please, You and your Fellowes: I'de haue it come to question; If he distaste it, let him to my Sister, Whose mind and mine I know in that are one, Remember what I haue said Ste. Well Madam Gon. And let his Knights haue colder lookes among you: what growes of it no matter, aduise your fellowes so, Ile write straight to my Sister to hold my course; prepare for dinner. Exeunt.

act 1, scene iii

https://web.archive.org/web/20210417230554/https://www.gradesaver.com/king-lear/study-guide/summary-act-i

Scene iii reintroduces Goneril, as she is outraged by the offenses she contends Lear has been showing her since moving into her residence. He has struck Oswald for criticizing his fool, his knights are riotous and so on, she claims. Lear is out hunting. Goneril commands Oswald to allow her privacy from Lear and to treat Lear with "weary negligence". She does not want him to be happy, hoping that he will move to Regan's where she knows he will face the same contempt. She demands Oswald to treat his knights coldly as well. She leaves to write Regan

gradesaver

all_chapterized_books/2266-chapters/4.txt

finished_summaries/gradesaver/King Lear/section_0_part_4.txt

King Lear.act 1.scene 4

act 1 scene 4

{"name": "act 1, scene iv", "url": "https://web.archive.org/web/20210417230554/https://www.gradesaver.com/king-lear/study-guide/summary-act-i", "summary": "Kent enters, disguised and hoping to serve in secret as a servant to Lear so that he can help him though he is condemned. Lear accepts to try him as a servant. Oswald comes in quickly before exiting again curtly. A knight tells Lear that Goneril is not well and that Oswald answered him curtly as well. The knight fears Lear is being treated wrongly. Lear had blamed himself for any coldness but agrees to look into a problem in Goneril's household. Lear's fool has hidden himself since Cordelia's departure so Lear sends the knight for him. Oswald reenters, showing Lear the negligence Goneril had suggested. Lear and Kent strike him, endearing Kent in Lear's eyes. Oswald exits as Fool enters. Fool persistently mocks and ridicules Lear for his actions in scene i, his mistreatment of Cordelia, trust in Goneril and Regan, and giving up of his authority. He calls Lear himself a fool, noting he has given away all other titles. The fool notes that he is punished by Lear if he lies, punished by the household if he speaks the truth, and often punished for staying silent. Goneril harps on the trouble Lear and his retinue are causing, such as the insolence of Fool and the riotous behavior of the knights. She states that he is not showing her the proper respect and consideration by allowing these actions to occur. Lear is incredulous. Goneril continues by adding that as Lear's large, frenzied train cannot be controlled she will have to ask him to keep fewer than his hundred knights. Outraged, Lear admits that Goneril's offense makes Cordelia's seem small. As Albany enters, Lear curses Goneril with infertility or, in its stead, a thankless child. He then finds that his train has already been halved and again rages against the incredible impudence Goneril has shown him. He angrily leaves for Regan's residence. Albany does not approve of Goneril's behavior and is criticized by her for being weak. Goneril sends Oswald with a letter to her sister, detailing her fear that Lear is dangerous and should be curtailed as soon as possible", "analysis": ""}

Scena Quarta. Enter Kent. Kent. If but as will I other accents borrow, That can my speech defuse, my good intent May carry through it selfe to that full issue For which I raiz'd my likenesse. Now banisht Kent, If thou canst serue where thou dost stand condemn'd, So may it come, thy Master whom thou lou'st, Shall find thee full of labours. Hornes within. Enter Lear and Attendants. Lear. Let me not stay a iot for dinner, go get it ready: how now, what art thou? Kent. A man Sir Lear. What dost thou professe? What would'st thou with vs? Kent. I do professe to be no lesse then I seeme; to serue him truely that will put me in trust, to loue him that is honest, to conuerse with him that is wise and saies little, to feare iudgement, to fight when I cannot choose, and to eate no fish Lear. What art thou? Kent. A very honest hearted Fellow, and as poore as the King Lear. If thou be'st as poore for a subiect, as hee's for a King, thou art poore enough. What wouldst thou? Kent. Seruice Lear. Who wouldst thou serue? Kent. You Lear. Do'st thou know me fellow? Kent. No Sir, but you haue that in your countenance, which I would faine call Master Lear. What's that? Kent. Authority Lear. What seruices canst thou do? Kent. I can keepe honest counsaile, ride, run, marre a curious tale in telling it, and deliuer a plaine message bluntly: that which ordinary men are fit for, I am quallified in, and the best of me, is Dilligence Lear. How old art thou? Kent. Not so young Sir to loue a woman for singing, nor so old to dote on her for any thing. I haue yeares on my backe forty eight Lear. Follow me, thou shalt serue me, if I like thee no worse after dinner, I will not part from thee yet. Dinner ho, dinner, where's my knaue? my Foole? Go you and call my Foole hither. You you Sirrah, where's my Daughter? Enter Steward. Ste. So please you- Enter. Lear. What saies the Fellow there? Call the Clotpole backe: wher's my Foole? Ho, I thinke the world's asleepe, how now? Where's that Mungrell? Knigh. He saies my Lord, your Daughters is not well Lear. Why came not the slaue backe to me when I call'd him? Knigh. Sir, he answered me in the roundest manner, he would not Lear. He would not? Knight. My Lord, I know not what the matter is, but to my iudgement your Highnesse is not entertain'd with that Ceremonious affection as you were wont, theres a great abatement of kindnesse appeares as well in the generall dependants, as in the Duke himselfe also, and your Daughter Lear. Ha? Saist thou so? Knigh. I beseech you pardon me my Lord, if I bee mistaken, for my duty cannot be silent, when I thinke your Highnesse wrong'd Lear. Thou but remembrest me of mine owne Conception, I haue perceiued a most faint neglect of late, which I haue rather blamed as mine owne iealous curiositie, then as a very pretence and purpose of vnkindnesse; I will looke further intoo't: but where's my Foole? I haue not seene him this two daies Knight. Since my young Ladies going into France Sir, the Foole hath much pined away Lear. No more of that, I haue noted it well, goe you and tell my Daughter, I would speake with her. Goe you call hither my Foole; Oh you Sir, you, come you hither Sir, who am I Sir? Enter Steward. Ste. My Ladies Father Lear. My Ladies Father? my Lords knaue, you whorson dog, you slaue, you curre Ste. I am none of these my Lord, I beseech your pardon Lear. Do you bandy lookes with me, you Rascall? Ste. Ile not be strucken my Lord Kent. Nor tript neither, you base Foot-ball plaier Lear. I thanke thee fellow. Thou seru'st me, and Ile loue thee Kent. Come sir, arise, away, Ile teach you differences: away, away, if you will measure your lubbers length againe, tarry, but away, goe too, haue you wisedome, so Lear. Now my friendly knaue I thanke thee, there's earnest of thy seruice. Enter Foole. Foole. Let me hire him too, here's my Coxcombe Lear. How now my pretty knaue, how dost thou? Foole. Sirrah, you were best take my Coxcombe Lear. Why my Boy? Foole. Why? for taking ones part that's out of fauour, nay, & thou canst not smile as the wind sits, thou'lt catch colde shortly, there take my Coxcombe; why this fellow ha's banish'd two on's Daughters, and did the third a blessing against his will, if thou follow him, thou must needs weare my Coxcombe. How now Nunckle? would I had two Coxcombes and two Daughters Lear. Why my Boy? Fool. If I gaue them all my liuing, I'ld keepe my Coxcombes my selfe, there's mine, beg another of thy Daughters Lear. Take heed Sirrah, the whip Foole. Truth's a dog must to kennell, hee must bee whipt out, when the Lady Brach may stand by'th' fire and stinke Lear. A pestilent gall to me Foole. Sirha, Ile teach thee a speech Lear. Do Foole. Marke it Nuncle; Haue more then thou showest, Speake lesse then thou knowest, Lend lesse then thou owest, Ride more then thou goest, Learne more then thou trowest, Set lesse then thou throwest; Leaue thy drinke and thy whore, And keepe in a dore, And thou shalt haue more, Then two tens to a score Kent. This is nothing Foole Foole. Then 'tis like the breath of an vnfeed Lawyer, you gaue me nothing for't, can you make no vse of nothing Nuncle? Lear. Why no Boy, Nothing can be made out of nothing Foole. Prythee tell him, so much the rent of his land comes to, he will not beleeue a Foole Lear. A bitter Foole Foole. Do'st thou know the difference my Boy, betweene a bitter Foole, and a sweet one Lear. No Lad, teach me Foole. Nunckle, giue me an egge, and Ile giue thee two Crownes Lear. What two Crownes shall they be? Foole. Why after I haue cut the egge i'th' middle and eate vp the meate, the two Crownes of the egge: when thou clouest thy Crownes i'th' middle, and gau'st away both parts, thou boar'st thine Asse on thy backe o're the durt, thou hadst little wit in thy bald crowne, when thou gau'st thy golden one away; if I speake like my selfe in this, let him be whipt that first findes it so. Fooles had nere lesse grace in a yeere, For wisemen are growne foppish, And know not how their wits to weare, Their manners are so apish Le. When were you wont to be so full of Songs sirrah? Foole. I haue vsed it Nunckle, ere since thou mad'st thy Daughters thy Mothers, for when thou gau'st them the rod, and put'st downe thine owne breeches, then they For sodaine ioy did weepe, And I for sorrow sung, That such a King should play bo-peepe, And goe the Foole among. Pry'thy Nunckle keepe a Schoolemaster that can teach thy Foole to lie, I would faine learne to lie Lear. And you lie sirrah, wee'l haue you whipt Foole. I maruell what kin thou and thy daughters are, they'l haue me whipt for speaking true: thou'lt haue me whipt for lying, and sometimes I am whipt for holding my peace. I had rather be any kind o' thing then a foole, and yet I would not be thee Nunckle, thou hast pared thy wit o' both sides, and left nothing i'th' middle; heere comes one o'the parings. Enter Gonerill. Lear. How now Daughter? what makes that Frontlet on? You are too much of late i'th' frowne Foole. Thou wast a pretty fellow when thou hadst no need to care for her frowning, now thou art an O without a figure, I am better then thou art now, I am a Foole, thou art nothing. Yes forsooth I will hold my tongue, so your face bids me, though you say nothing. Mum, mum, he that keepes nor crust, nor crum, Weary of all, shall want some. That's a sheal'd Pescod Gon. Not only Sir this, your all-lycenc'd Foole, But other of your insolent retinue Do hourely Carpe and Quarrell, breaking forth In ranke, and (not to be endur'd) riots Sir. I had thought by making this well knowne vnto you, To haue found a safe redresse, but now grow fearefull By what your selfe too late haue spoke and done, That you protect this course, and put it on By your allowance, which if you should, the fault Would not scape censure, nor the redresses sleepe, Which in the tender of a wholesome weale, Mighty in their working do you that offence, Which else were shame, that then necessitie Will call discreet proceeding Foole. For you know Nunckle, the Hedge-Sparrow fed the Cuckoo so long, that it's had it head bit off by it young, so out went the Candle, and we were left darkling Lear. Are you our Daughter? Gon. I would you would make vse of your good wisedome (Whereof I know you are fraught), and put away These dispositions, which of late transport you From what you rightly are Foole. May not an Asse know, when the Cart drawes the Horse? Whoop Iugge I loue thee Lear. Do's any heere know me? This is not Lear: Do's Lear walke thus? Speake thus? Where are his eies? Either his Notion weakens, his Discernings Are Lethargied. Ha! Waking? 'Tis not so? Who is it that can tell me who I am? Foole. Lears shadow Lear. Your name, faire Gentlewoman? Gon. This admiration Sir, is much o'th' sauour Of other your new prankes. I do beseech you To vnderstand my purposes aright: As you are Old, and Reuerend, should be Wise. Heere do you keepe a hundred Knights and Squires, Men so disorder'd, so debosh'd and bold, That this our Court infected with their manners, Shewes like a riotous Inne; Epicurisme and Lust Makes it more like a Tauerne, or a Brothell, Then a grac'd Pallace. The shame it selfe doth speake For instant remedy. Be then desir'd By her, that else will take the thing she begges, A little to disquantity your Traine, And the remainders that shall still depend, To be such men as may besort your Age, Which know themselues, and you Lear. Darknesse, and Diuels. Saddle my horses: call my Traine together. Degenerate Bastard, Ile not trouble thee; Yet haue I left a daughter Gon. You strike my people, and your disorder'd rable, make Seruants of their Betters. Enter Albany. Lear. Woe, that too late repents: Is it your will, speake Sir? Prepare my Horses. Ingratitude! thou Marble-hearted Fiend, More hideous when thou shew'st thee in a Child, Then the Sea-monster Alb. Pray Sir be patient Lear. Detested Kite, thou lyest. My Traine are men of choice, and rarest parts, That all particulars of dutie know, And in the most exact regard, support The worships of their name. O most small fault, How vgly did'st thou in Cordelia shew? Which like an Engine, wrencht my frame of Nature From the fixt place: drew from my heart all loue, And added to the gall. O Lear, Lear, Lear! Beate at this gate that let thy Folly in, And thy deere Iudgement out. Go, go, my people Alb. My Lord, I am guiltlesse, as I am ignorant Of what hath moued you Lear. It may be so, my Lord. Heare Nature, heare deere Goddesse, heare: Suspend thy purpose, if thou did'st intend To make this Creature fruitfull: Into her Wombe conuey stirrility, Drie vp in her the Organs of increase, And from her derogate body, neuer spring A Babe to honor her. If she must teeme, Create her childe of Spleene, that it may liue And be a thwart disnatur'd torment to her. Let it stampe wrinkles in her brow of youth, With cadent Teares fret Channels in her cheekes, Turne all her Mothers paines, and benefits To laughter, and contempt: That she may feele, How sharper then a Serpents tooth it is, To haue a thanklesse Childe. Away, away. Enter. Alb. Now Gods that we adore, Whereof comes this? Gon. Neuer afflict your selfe to know more of it: But let his disposition haue that scope As dotage giues it. Enter Lear. Lear. What fiftie of my Followers at a clap? Within a fortnight? Alb. What's the matter, Sir? Lear. Ile tell thee: Life and death, I am asham'd That thou hast power to shake my manhood thus, That these hot teares, which breake from me perforce Should make thee worth them. Blastes and Fogges vpon thee: Th' vntented woundings of a Fathers curse Pierce euerie sense about thee. Old fond eyes, Beweepe this cause againe, Ile plucke ye out, And cast you with the waters that you loose To temper Clay. Ha? Let it be so. I haue another daughter, Who I am sure is kinde and comfortable: When she shall heare this of thee, with her nailes Shee'l flea thy Woluish visage. Thou shalt finde, That Ile resume the shape which thou dost thinke I haue cast off for euer. Exit Gon. Do you marke that? Alb. I cannot be so partiall Gonerill, To the great loue I beare you Gon. Pray you content. What Oswald, hoa? You Sir, more Knaue then Foole, after your Master Foole. Nunkle Lear, Nunkle Lear, Tarry, take the Foole with thee: A Fox, when one has caught her, And such a Daughter, Should sure to the Slaughter, If my Cap would buy a Halter, So the Foole followes after. Exit Gon. This man hath had good Counsell, A hundred Knights? 'Tis politike, and safe to let him keepe At point a hundred Knights: yes, that on euerie dreame, Each buz, each fancie, each complaint, dislike, He may enguard his dotage with their powres, And hold our liues in mercy. Oswald, I say Alb. Well, you may feare too farre Gon. Safer then trust too farre; Let me still take away the harmes I feare, Not feare still to be taken. I know his heart, What he hath vtter'd I haue writ my Sister: If she sustaine him, and his hundred Knights When I haue shew'd th' vnfitnesse. Enter Steward. How now Oswald? What haue you writ that Letter to my Sister? Stew. I Madam Gon. Take you some company, and away to horse, Informe her full of my particular feare, And thereto adde such reasons of your owne, As may compact it more. Get you gone, And hasten your returne; no, no, my Lord, This milky gentlenesse, and course of yours Though I condemne not, yet vnder pardon You are much more at task for want of wisedome, Then prais'd for harmefull mildnesse Alb. How farre your eies may pierce I cannot tell; Striuing to better, oft we marre what's well Gon. Nay then- Alb. Well, well, th' euent. Exeunt.

act 1, scene iv

https://web.archive.org/web/20210417230554/https://www.gradesaver.com/king-lear/study-guide/summary-act-i

Kent enters, disguised and hoping to serve in secret as a servant to Lear so that he can help him though he is condemned. Lear accepts to try him as a servant. Oswald comes in quickly before exiting again curtly. A knight tells Lear that Goneril is not well and that Oswald answered him curtly as well. The knight fears Lear is being treated wrongly. Lear had blamed himself for any coldness but agrees to look into a problem in Goneril's household. Lear's fool has hidden himself since Cordelia's departure so Lear sends the knight for him. Oswald reenters, showing Lear the negligence Goneril had suggested. Lear and Kent strike him, endearing Kent in Lear's eyes. Oswald exits as Fool enters. Fool persistently mocks and ridicules Lear for his actions in scene i, his mistreatment of Cordelia, trust in Goneril and Regan, and giving up of his authority. He calls Lear himself a fool, noting he has given away all other titles. The fool notes that he is punished by Lear if he lies, punished by the household if he speaks the truth, and often punished for staying silent. Goneril harps on the trouble Lear and his retinue are causing, such as the insolence of Fool and the riotous behavior of the knights. She states that he is not showing her the proper respect and consideration by allowing these actions to occur. Lear is incredulous. Goneril continues by adding that as Lear's large, frenzied train cannot be controlled she will have to ask him to keep fewer than his hundred knights. Outraged, Lear admits that Goneril's offense makes Cordelia's seem small. As Albany enters, Lear curses Goneril with infertility or, in its stead, a thankless child. He then finds that his train has already been halved and again rages against the incredible impudence Goneril has shown him. He angrily leaves for Regan's residence. Albany does not approve of Goneril's behavior and is criticized by her for being weak. Goneril sends Oswald with a letter to her sister, detailing her fear that Lear is dangerous and should be curtailed as soon as possible

gradesaver

all_chapterized_books/2266-chapters/5.txt

finished_summaries/gradesaver/King Lear/section_0_part_5.txt

King Lear.act 1.scene 5

act 1 scene 5

{"name": "act 1, scene v", "url": "https://web.archive.org/web/20210417230554/https://www.gradesaver.com/king-lear/study-guide/summary-act-i", "summary": "Impatient, Lear sends the disguised Kent to bring letters to Gloucester. The Fool wisely warns that Regan will likely act no better than her sister had. He criticizes Lear for giving away his own home and place, using examples such as a snail carrying his shell. Lear recognizes he will have to subdue his fatherly instincts toward Regan as well. Fool points out that Lear has gotten old before he is wise. Lear cries out, praying that he will not go mad.", "analysis": "Analysis: The kingdom's division as alluded to by Kent and Gloucester is strange in that it is not mentioned in the context of Lear's daughters. The seeming arbitrariness this sheds on Lear's enactment of the love test provides a contrast through which to view the misplaced importance Lear is placing on words, appearance, and position. We will soon learn that Kent and Gloucester are two of the only men who could provide Lear with sound, sincere advice, thus endowing their original take of the situation with a greater significance. They have no problem with Lear's decision to divide the kingdom as he is old and is attempting to escape greater conflict after his death. Thus Kent's revolt against Lear's actions arises not from Lear's initial undertaking but from his reaction to Cordelia. Notice too that he does not protest when Lear asks for an estimation/competition for love from his daughters or when Goneril and Regan respond in very coarse, superficial words. He only strikes against Lear's rule when Lear does not notice the sincerity of Cordelia's words and then moves to strip her of his love and titles. This is not only foolish but hurtful and unjust. The love test was foolish but, on the surface, harmed little. Yet, Goneril and Regan likely knew that their sister would not compete with them if their were extravagant enough in their claims of love toward their father. Of course, they did not love him with their all, but in Lear's old and insecure state, they knew he would fall for their insincerity and Cordelia would refrain from competing on such a hypocritical level. Notice the sonorous quality of the sisters' names. The two oldest have very harsh, coarse sounding names, lacking in femininity or beauty. Cordelia's name is much more melodic and feminine. This is the first constructed quality which sets her apart from her sisters. Also pay attention to the inflated verse Goneril and Regan use when addressing their father as opposed to the much harsher prose they regress to upon his exit in scene i. Their true voices are symbolized by the harsh prose we receive from them when alone, just as their names reverberate with crudeness. Cordelia however often speaks in rhyming couplets, a much more elevated form than her sisters, which allows her to be further set apart from their hypocrisy. We also note that Kent will at times, especially in his defense of Cordelia, slip into rhyming couplets. Shakespeare stresses the elevation of language to symbolize the true nature of characters, highlighting Kent and Cordelia as honorable characters. Cordelia frequently however understates her sincerity and true affections. She is aware that her sisters speak superficially, employing terms of value and worth in expressing their love, and refuses to echo their hypocrisy, thus responding more coldly than she likely otherwise would. Her asides to the audience give an unadulterated view into her thoughts, similar to the true voices of Goneril and Regan we meet at the end of scene i. Her response \"Nothing\" echoes these asides instead of disguising them and illustrates to the reader how Cordelia as a character is stripped of pretense and artifice. The idea is echoed literally and symbolically in Lear's comment of scene iv, \"Nothing can be made out of nothing\". In the very same scene that Lear admits he has overreacted toward Cordelia, though only at this point acknowledging that Goneril's offense is greater, he perceives that truth and sincerity cannot be represented by pretense. Regardless of how well Lear has been fooled by the artifice of his older daughters, he allows the Fool to counteract his elderly need for praise and love. Not surprisingly in Shakespeare's plays, the Fool is often the least foolish, directing the lead characters to their miscues in slightly comedic or condescending ways. His singing to Lear illustrates further the use of language and the presentation of language which Shakespeare employs to distinguish between different characters' qualities or the different intentions of single characters. King Lear is a parable, encrusted with symbolic figures and actions toward a predicted and fabled end. Suspension of disbelief must be enacted on a level as many readers are moved to question Lear's decision making and early blindness toward truth and goodness. As one critic raises, how would Kent and France recognize Cordelia's sincerity and inner beauty when her own father cannot. On a realistic level, Lear has started to regress toward dementia and old age. We know by Kent and Gloucester's loyalty toward him, that he had once been more reasonable. On the figurative and more appropriate level, Lear is a allegorical figure in a parable and must move blindly toward this character demise in order to be resurrected to honesty and the goodness his fallen daughter represents in the end. He committed a fatal and selfish human error which cannot be mended without the journey and transformation he must undergo. The story of King Lear had been kicked around in old British literature and lore, but Shakespeare appears to be the first to allow it to end as tragically as the story's course first suggests. With this in mind, Lear's life is headed in an almost inevitable downward spiral. The plot centers more around how Lear will handle this spiral and his conquering of artifice and insincerity. Blindness is one of the most frequently employed metaphors in King Lear. Blindness will become a physical problem for Gloucester later in the play, but its metaphoric weight is used to foreshadow and heighten this development. Lear is blind to the blatant hypocrisy of his two oldest daughters from the first moment we meet him. However, unlike the implication that he was once a more noble man since he has the support of seemingly noble subcharacters, Kent and Gloucester, we are not given the impression that he ever knew well enough to previously suspect Goneril or Regan of ingratitude or dishonesty. They have obviously shown their true colors at some point before though since Cordelia responds in such a manner to alert us that she will not sink as low in hypocrisy as her sisters will. For instance, she comments, \"A still-soliciting eye, and such a tongue/ That I am glad I have not, though not to have it/ Hath lost me in your liking\". Thus, although Lear has obviously favored Cordelia, he has been blind to the inherent ingratitude of his two other daughters and is foolish enough to trust them with his livelihood after more foolishly disinheriting Cordelia and exiling Kent. A good example of this is presented in the very first scene. Lear cries to Kent, \"Out of my sight. to which Kent retorts, \"See better, Lear, and let me still remain/ The true blank of thine eye\". He wishes to be allowed to remain the one who could center Lear's focus. Yet even when Kent reenters the play disguised, he cannot alter the course that Lear has begun. Lear becomes increasingly blind to the truth around him. Sight, or the lack of it, is referenced a few scenes later more explicitly when Lear himself notices that he has lost sight of what is important, so to say. He cries, \"Does any here know me. This is not Lear. Does Lear walk thus. speak thus. Where are his eyes. Kent cannot become his eyes as the tragic plot and subplot move toward blindness and disillusion. The subplot of child betraying sibling and father eerily and intentionally mirrors the plot of children betraying father and father betraying child. Shakespeare's method of juxtaposing the two plots through the interspersing of a scene relating to the plot with a scene centered around Edmund's sinister conspiracy allows the audience to have a heightened awareness of the actions of one through the other. In both, the strong, honorable patriarch is undone by the ingratitude of at least one of his children. Both patriarchs seem to have contributed slightly to the misdeeds of their children. Gloucester directly separates his sons as legitimate and illegitimate and mentions it frequently. He also notes that he sent Edmund away, likely because of his illegitimacy, for a long period of time and plans to do so again. Stripped of property and title, one is less surprised by Edmund's move to undo his destiny. However, Shakespeare creates in the characters of Edgar and Gloucester hearts which seem honorable and trusting, making Edmund's plot to betray them more disgusting. Note that Gloucester immediately believes the letter which Edmund shows him, not at once questioning Edmund's honesty although it would be doubtful that Gloucester had any previous reason to suspect or distrust Edgar. Similarly, Edgar immediately believes Edmund when he tells him he should worry about his safety and his relationship with his father. The audience gains from these interactions that Edmund has done nothing in the past to arouse suspicion. Instead it seems that he has been waiting patiently to upset the familial balance and now hurries to do so when threatened with further military service. But remember, we must also keep in mind that an attempt to make sense out of every encounter and character intention is not the purpose of the play. Instead, we must explore the character flaws and relationship developments as they are entwined within the parable Shakespeare is constructing and expanding. The parable's breadth is exaggerated and amplified by the doubling of themes in the plot and subplot. The demise of the father's position through betrayal by his own children was considered to be one of the cruelest, harshest offenses imaginable. This reflection of plot, for which the seeds are planted in Act I, magnifies the horrors of the tragedy. In this manner, blindness is one of the main symbolic and physical vehicles through which Shakespeare describes the horrors of ingratitude, insincerity, and hypocrisy. Goneril is represented to the audience as one of the most evil participants in the familial crimes taking place. This character description is illustrated through the contrast Shakespeare establishes between her and her husband. Woman as the most evil of characters is not a new experiment for Shakespeare. Shortly before writing King Lear, he created a Lady Macbeth who expressed the need to sacrifice one's own children if necessary to gain more power and who urged her more weakhearted husband to kill the kindhearted King. Though in the end of Macbeth Lady Macbeth is suffering from her evil, she was still the instigator who brought about the continued evils by urging her husband to yearn for more and more power. Here, Goneril also yearns for power but does not feel the need to aim indirectly for it. Albany is basically told to stay out of her way as he is too weak to know what is best. She places more trust in her servant Oswald, it seems, as she sends him off to run her important letter to Regan whereas she pushes Albany off to the side. She manipulates how her sister will act and the manner in which they will strip Lear of his property and authority. The stories she creates of Lear's riotous knights and so on are supported by nothing in Shakespeare's text. The characters in Lear's train who speak to him are well behaved, polite, and honorable. They try to protect him and Lear himself is shown well when he places the blame for Goneril's coldness on himself instead of her and her household. Thus we exit the first Act with the knowledge of Cordelia's goodness, Lear's previous goodness and impending madness, Fool's truth telling, Edmund's plotting, and Goneril's evil. The parable is well in place"}

Scena Quinta. Enter Lear, Kent, Gentleman, and Foole. Lear. Go you before to Gloster with these Letters; acquaint my Daughter no further with any thing you know, then comes from her demand out of the Letter, if your Dilligence be not speedy, I shall be there afore you Kent. I will not sleepe my Lord, till I haue deliuered your Letter. Enter. Foole. If a mans braines were in's heeles, wert not in danger of kybes? Lear. I Boy Foole. Then I prythee be merry, thy wit shall not go slip-shod Lear. Ha, ha, ha Fool. Shalt see thy other Daughter will vse thee kindly, for though she's as like this, as a Crabbe's like an Apple, yet I can tell what I can tell Lear. What can'st tell Boy? Foole. She will taste as like this as, a Crabbe do's to a Crab: thou canst, tell why ones nose stands i'th' middle on's face? Lear. No Foole. Why to keepe ones eyes of either side 's nose, that what a man cannot smell out, he may spy into Lear. I did her wrong Foole. Can'st tell how an Oyster makes his shell? Lear. No Foole. Nor I neither; but I can tell why a Snaile ha's a house Lear. Why? Foole. Why to put's head in, not to giue it away to his daughters, and leaue his hornes without a case Lear. I will forget my Nature, so kind a Father? Be my Horsses ready? Foole. Thy Asses are gone about 'em; the reason why the seuen Starres are no mo then seuen, is a pretty reason Lear. Because they are not eight Foole. Yes indeed, thou would'st make a good Foole Lear. To tak't againe perforce; Monster Ingratitude! Foole. If thou wert my Foole Nunckle, Il'd haue thee beaten for being old before thy time Lear. How's that? Foole. Thou shouldst not haue bin old, till thou hadst bin wise Lear. O let me not be mad, not mad sweet Heauen: keepe me in temper, I would not be mad. How now are the Horses ready? Gent. Ready my Lord Lear. Come Boy Fool. She that's a Maid now, & laughs at my departure, Shall not be a Maid long, vnlesse things be cut shorter. Exeunt.

act 1, scene v

https://web.archive.org/web/20210417230554/https://www.gradesaver.com/king-lear/study-guide/summary-act-i

Impatient, Lear sends the disguised Kent to bring letters to Gloucester. The Fool wisely warns that Regan will likely act no better than her sister had. He criticizes Lear for giving away his own home and place, using examples such as a snail carrying his shell. Lear recognizes he will have to subdue his fatherly instincts toward Regan as well. Fool points out that Lear has gotten old before he is wise. Lear cries out, praying that he will not go mad.

Analysis: The kingdom's division as alluded to by Kent and Gloucester is strange in that it is not mentioned in the context of Lear's daughters. The seeming arbitrariness this sheds on Lear's enactment of the love test provides a contrast through which to view the misplaced importance Lear is placing on words, appearance, and position. We will soon learn that Kent and Gloucester are two of the only men who could provide Lear with sound, sincere advice, thus endowing their original take of the situation with a greater significance. They have no problem with Lear's decision to divide the kingdom as he is old and is attempting to escape greater conflict after his death. Thus Kent's revolt against Lear's actions arises not from Lear's initial undertaking but from his reaction to Cordelia. Notice too that he does not protest when Lear asks for an estimation/competition for love from his daughters or when Goneril and Regan respond in very coarse, superficial words. He only strikes against Lear's rule when Lear does not notice the sincerity of Cordelia's words and then moves to strip her of his love and titles. This is not only foolish but hurtful and unjust. The love test was foolish but, on the surface, harmed little. Yet, Goneril and Regan likely knew that their sister would not compete with them if their were extravagant enough in their claims of love toward their father. Of course, they did not love him with their all, but in Lear's old and insecure state, they knew he would fall for their insincerity and Cordelia would refrain from competing on such a hypocritical level. Notice the sonorous quality of the sisters' names. The two oldest have very harsh, coarse sounding names, lacking in femininity or beauty. Cordelia's name is much more melodic and feminine. This is the first constructed quality which sets her apart from her sisters. Also pay attention to the inflated verse Goneril and Regan use when addressing their father as opposed to the much harsher prose they regress to upon his exit in scene i. Their true voices are symbolized by the harsh prose we receive from them when alone, just as their names reverberate with crudeness. Cordelia however often speaks in rhyming couplets, a much more elevated form than her sisters, which allows her to be further set apart from their hypocrisy. We also note that Kent will at times, especially in his defense of Cordelia, slip into rhyming couplets. Shakespeare stresses the elevation of language to symbolize the true nature of characters, highlighting Kent and Cordelia as honorable characters. Cordelia frequently however understates her sincerity and true affections. She is aware that her sisters speak superficially, employing terms of value and worth in expressing their love, and refuses to echo their hypocrisy, thus responding more coldly than she likely otherwise would. Her asides to the audience give an unadulterated view into her thoughts, similar to the true voices of Goneril and Regan we meet at the end of scene i. Her response "Nothing" echoes these asides instead of disguising them and illustrates to the reader how Cordelia as a character is stripped of pretense and artifice. The idea is echoed literally and symbolically in Lear's comment of scene iv, "Nothing can be made out of nothing". In the very same scene that Lear admits he has overreacted toward Cordelia, though only at this point acknowledging that Goneril's offense is greater, he perceives that truth and sincerity cannot be represented by pretense. Regardless of how well Lear has been fooled by the artifice of his older daughters, he allows the Fool to counteract his elderly need for praise and love. Not surprisingly in Shakespeare's plays, the Fool is often the least foolish, directing the lead characters to their miscues in slightly comedic or condescending ways. His singing to Lear illustrates further the use of language and the presentation of language which Shakespeare employs to distinguish between different characters' qualities or the different intentions of single characters. King Lear is a parable, encrusted with symbolic figures and actions toward a predicted and fabled end. Suspension of disbelief must be enacted on a level as many readers are moved to question Lear's decision making and early blindness toward truth and goodness. As one critic raises, how would Kent and France recognize Cordelia's sincerity and inner beauty when her own father cannot. On a realistic level, Lear has started to regress toward dementia and old age. We know by Kent and Gloucester's loyalty toward him, that he had once been more reasonable. On the figurative and more appropriate level, Lear is a allegorical figure in a parable and must move blindly toward this character demise in order to be resurrected to honesty and the goodness his fallen daughter represents in the end. He committed a fatal and selfish human error which cannot be mended without the journey and transformation he must undergo. The story of King Lear had been kicked around in old British literature and lore, but Shakespeare appears to be the first to allow it to end as tragically as the story's course first suggests. With this in mind, Lear's life is headed in an almost inevitable downward spiral. The plot centers more around how Lear will handle this spiral and his conquering of artifice and insincerity. Blindness is one of the most frequently employed metaphors in King Lear. Blindness will become a physical problem for Gloucester later in the play, but its metaphoric weight is used to foreshadow and heighten this development. Lear is blind to the blatant hypocrisy of his two oldest daughters from the first moment we meet him. However, unlike the implication that he was once a more noble man since he has the support of seemingly noble subcharacters, Kent and Gloucester, we are not given the impression that he ever knew well enough to previously suspect Goneril or Regan of ingratitude or dishonesty. They have obviously shown their true colors at some point before though since Cordelia responds in such a manner to alert us that she will not sink as low in hypocrisy as her sisters will. For instance, she comments, "A still-soliciting eye, and such a tongue/ That I am glad I have not, though not to have it/ Hath lost me in your liking". Thus, although Lear has obviously favored Cordelia, he has been blind to the inherent ingratitude of his two other daughters and is foolish enough to trust them with his livelihood after more foolishly disinheriting Cordelia and exiling Kent. A good example of this is presented in the very first scene. Lear cries to Kent, "Out of my sight. to which Kent retorts, "See better, Lear, and let me still remain/ The true blank of thine eye". He wishes to be allowed to remain the one who could center Lear's focus. Yet even when Kent reenters the play disguised, he cannot alter the course that Lear has begun. Lear becomes increasingly blind to the truth around him. Sight, or the lack of it, is referenced a few scenes later more explicitly when Lear himself notices that he has lost sight of what is important, so to say. He cries, "Does any here know me. This is not Lear. Does Lear walk thus. speak thus. Where are his eyes. Kent cannot become his eyes as the tragic plot and subplot move toward blindness and disillusion. The subplot of child betraying sibling and father eerily and intentionally mirrors the plot of children betraying father and father betraying child. Shakespeare's method of juxtaposing the two plots through the interspersing of a scene relating to the plot with a scene centered around Edmund's sinister conspiracy allows the audience to have a heightened awareness of the actions of one through the other. In both, the strong, honorable patriarch is undone by the ingratitude of at least one of his children. Both patriarchs seem to have contributed slightly to the misdeeds of their children. Gloucester directly separates his sons as legitimate and illegitimate and mentions it frequently. He also notes that he sent Edmund away, likely because of his illegitimacy, for a long period of time and plans to do so again. Stripped of property and title, one is less surprised by Edmund's move to undo his destiny. However, Shakespeare creates in the characters of Edgar and Gloucester hearts which seem honorable and trusting, making Edmund's plot to betray them more disgusting. Note that Gloucester immediately believes the letter which Edmund shows him, not at once questioning Edmund's honesty although it would be doubtful that Gloucester had any previous reason to suspect or distrust Edgar. Similarly, Edgar immediately believes Edmund when he tells him he should worry about his safety and his relationship with his father. The audience gains from these interactions that Edmund has done nothing in the past to arouse suspicion. Instead it seems that he has been waiting patiently to upset the familial balance and now hurries to do so when threatened with further military service. But remember, we must also keep in mind that an attempt to make sense out of every encounter and character intention is not the purpose of the play. Instead, we must explore the character flaws and relationship developments as they are entwined within the parable Shakespeare is constructing and expanding. The parable's breadth is exaggerated and amplified by the doubling of themes in the plot and subplot. The demise of the father's position through betrayal by his own children was considered to be one of the cruelest, harshest offenses imaginable. This reflection of plot, for which the seeds are planted in Act I, magnifies the horrors of the tragedy. In this manner, blindness is one of the main symbolic and physical vehicles through which Shakespeare describes the horrors of ingratitude, insincerity, and hypocrisy. Goneril is represented to the audience as one of the most evil participants in the familial crimes taking place. This character description is illustrated through the contrast Shakespeare establishes between her and her husband. Woman as the most evil of characters is not a new experiment for Shakespeare. Shortly before writing King Lear, he created a Lady Macbeth who expressed the need to sacrifice one's own children if necessary to gain more power and who urged her more weakhearted husband to kill the kindhearted King. Though in the end of Macbeth Lady Macbeth is suffering from her evil, she was still the instigator who brought about the continued evils by urging her husband to yearn for more and more power. Here, Goneril also yearns for power but does not feel the need to aim indirectly for it. Albany is basically told to stay out of her way as he is too weak to know what is best. She places more trust in her servant Oswald, it seems, as she sends him off to run her important letter to Regan whereas she pushes Albany off to the side. She manipulates how her sister will act and the manner in which they will strip Lear of his property and authority. The stories she creates of Lear's riotous knights and so on are supported by nothing in Shakespeare's text. The characters in Lear's train who speak to him are well behaved, polite, and honorable. They try to protect him and Lear himself is shown well when he places the blame for Goneril's coldness on himself instead of her and her household. Thus we exit the first Act with the knowledge of Cordelia's goodness, Lear's previous goodness and impending madness, Fool's truth telling, Edmund's plotting, and Goneril's evil. The parable is well in place

gradesaver

all_chapterized_books/2266-chapters/6.txt

finished_summaries/gradesaver/King Lear/section_1_part_1.txt

King Lear.act 2.scene 1

act 2 scene 1

{"name": "act 2, scene i", "url": "https://web.archive.org/web/20210417230554/https://www.gradesaver.com/king-lear/study-guide/summary-act-ii", "summary": "Act II begins with a return to the secondary plot of Edmund, Edgar, and Gloucester. Edmund speaks with the courtier, Curan, who advises him that Regan and Cornwall will arrive shortly at Gloucester's castle. He also passes on the gossip that there may soon be a war between Cornwall and Albany. After Curan leaves, Edmund expresses his delight over the news he has learned as he can use that in his plot. Edgar enters and Edmund cleverly asks if he has offended Cornwall or Albany. Edgar says he has not. Edmund cries that he hears Gloucester coming and forces Edgar to draw his sword with him. Telling Edgar to flee, Edmund then wounds himself with his sword before calling out to Gloucester for help. Gloucester arrives quickly and sends servants to chase down the villain. Edmund explains that he would not allow Edgar to persuade him into murdering their father causing Edgar to slash him with his sword. He continues that Edgar threatened him and by no means intended to permit Edmund, an \"unpossessing bastard\", to stop him from his evil plot. Gloucester is indignant and claims that Edgar will be captured and punished. He promises that Edmund will become the heir of his land. At this point, Cornwall and Regan enter the scene, wondering if the gossip they had heard about Edgar is correct. Gloucester confirms it is. Edmund cleverly confirms Regan's fear that Edgar was acting as part of Lear's riotous knights. Cornwall acknowledges the good act Edmund has done for Gloucester and promises to take him into their favor. After Gloucester and Edmund thank them, Regan explains why she and Cornwall have come to Gloucester's castle. She had received a letter from Goneril and so had left home to avoid Lear. She asks for Gloucester's assistance", "analysis": ""}

Actus Secundus. Scena Prima. Enter Bastard, and Curan, seuerally. Bast. Saue thee Curan Cur. And you Sir, I haue bin With your Father, and giuen him notice That the Duke of Cornwall, and Regan his Duchesse Will be here with him this night Bast. How comes that? Cur. Nay I know not, you haue heard of the newes abroad, I meane the whisper'd ones, for they are yet but ear-kissing arguments Bast. Not I: pray you what are they? Cur. Haue you heard of no likely Warres toward, 'Twixt the Dukes of Cornwall, and Albany? Bast. Not a word Cur. You may do then in time, Fare you well Sir. Enter. Bast. The Duke be here to night? The better best, This weaues it selfe perforce into my businesse, My Father hath set guard to take my Brother, And I haue one thing of a queazie question Which I must act, Briefenesse, and Fortune worke. Enter Edgar. Brother, a word, discend; Brother I say, My Father watches: O Sir, fly this place, Intelligence is giuen where you are hid; You haue now the good aduantage of the night, Haue you not spoken 'gainst the Duke of Cornewall? Hee's comming hither, now i'th' night, i'th' haste, And Regan with him, haue you nothing said Vpon his partie 'gainst the Duke of Albany? Aduise your selfe Edg. I am sure on't, not a word Bast. I heare my Father comming, pardon me: In cunning, I must draw my Sword vpon you: Draw, seeme to defend your selfe, Now quit you well. Yeeld, come before my Father, light hoa, here, Fly Brother, Torches, Torches, so farewell. Exit Edgar. Some blood drawne on me, would beget opinion Of my more fierce endeauour. I haue seene drunkards Do more then this in sport; Father, Father, Stop, stop, no helpe? Enter Gloster, and Seruants with Torches. Glo. Now Edmund, where's the villaine? Bast. Here stood he in the dark, his sharpe Sword out, Mumbling of wicked charmes, coniuring the Moone To stand auspicious Mistris Glo. But where is he? Bast. Looke Sir, I bleed Glo. Where is the villaine, Edmund? Bast. Fled this way Sir, when by no meanes he could Glo. Pursue him, ho: go after. By no meanes, what? Bast. Perswade me to the murther of your Lordship, But that I told him the reuenging Gods, 'Gainst Paricides did all the thunder bend, Spoke with how manifold, and strong a Bond The Child was bound to'th' Father; Sir in fine, Seeing how lothly opposite I stood To his vnnaturall purpose, in fell motion With his prepared Sword, he charges home My vnprouided body, latch'd mine arme; And when he saw my best alarum'd spirits Bold in the quarrels right, rouz'd to th' encounter, Or whether gasted by the noyse I made, Full sodainely he fled Glost. Let him fly farre: Not in this Land shall he remaine vncaught And found; dispatch, the Noble Duke my Master, My worthy Arch and Patron comes to night, By his authoritie I will proclaime it, That he which finds him shall deserue our thankes, Bringing the murderous Coward to the stake: He that conceales him death Bast. When I disswaded him from his intent, And found him pight to doe it, with curst speech I threaten'd to discouer him; he replied, Thou vnpossessing Bastard, dost thou thinke, If I would stand against thee, would the reposall Of any trust, vertue, or worth in thee Make thy words faith'd? No, what should I denie, (As this I would, though thou didst produce My very Character) I'ld turne it all To thy suggestion, plot, and damned practise: And thou must make a dullard of the world, If they not thought the profits of my death Were very pregnant and potentiall spirits To make thee seeke it. Tucket within. Glo. O strange and fastned Villaine, Would he deny his Letter, said he? Harke, the Dukes Trumpets, I know not wher he comes; All Ports Ile barre, the villaine shall not scape, The Duke must grant me that: besides, his picture I will send farre and neere, that all the kingdome May haue due note of him, and of my land, (Loyall and naturall Boy) Ile worke the meanes To make thee capable. Enter Cornewall, Regan, and Attendants. Corn. How now my Noble friend, since I came hither (Which I can call but now,) I haue heard strangenesse Reg. If it be true, all vengeance comes too short Which can pursue th' offender; how dost my Lord? Glo. O Madam, my old heart is crack'd, it's crack'd Reg. What, did my Fathers Godsonne seeke your life? He whom my Father nam'd, your Edgar? Glo. O Lady, Lady, shame would haue it hid Reg. Was he not companion with the riotous Knights That tended vpon my Father? Glo. I know not Madam, 'tis too bad, too bad Bast. Yes Madam, he was of that consort Reg. No maruaile then, though he were ill affected, 'Tis they haue put him on the old mans death, To haue th' expence and wast of his Reuenues: I haue this present euening from my Sister Beene well inform'd of them, and with such cautions, That if they come to soiourne at my house, Ile not be there Cor. Nor I, assure thee Regan; Edmund, I heare that you haue shewne your Father A Child-like Office Bast. It was my duty Sir Glo. He did bewray his practise, and receiu'd This hurt you see, striuing to apprehend him Cor. Is he pursued? Glo. I my good Lord Cor. If he be taken, he shall neuer more Be fear'd of doing harme, make your owne purpose, How in my strength you please: for you Edmund, Whose vertue and obedience doth this instant So much commend it selfe, you shall be ours, Nature's of such deepe trust, we shall much need: You we first seize on Bast. I shall serue you Sir truely, how euer else Glo. For him I thanke your Grace Cor. You know not why we came to visit you? Reg. Thus out of season, thredding darke ey'd night, Occasions Noble Gloster of some prize, Wherein we must haue vse of your aduise. Our Father he hath writ, so hath our Sister, Of differences, which I best thought it fit To answere from our home: the seuerall Messengers From hence attend dispatch, our good old Friend, Lay comforts to your bosome, and bestow Your needfull counsaile to our businesses, Which craues the instant vse Glo. I serue you Madam, Your Graces are right welcome. Exeunt. Flourish.

act 2, scene i

https://web.archive.org/web/20210417230554/https://www.gradesaver.com/king-lear/study-guide/summary-act-ii

Act II begins with a return to the secondary plot of Edmund, Edgar, and Gloucester. Edmund speaks with the courtier, Curan, who advises him that Regan and Cornwall will arrive shortly at Gloucester's castle. He also passes on the gossip that there may soon be a war between Cornwall and Albany. After Curan leaves, Edmund expresses his delight over the news he has learned as he can use that in his plot. Edgar enters and Edmund cleverly asks if he has offended Cornwall or Albany. Edgar says he has not. Edmund cries that he hears Gloucester coming and forces Edgar to draw his sword with him. Telling Edgar to flee, Edmund then wounds himself with his sword before calling out to Gloucester for help. Gloucester arrives quickly and sends servants to chase down the villain. Edmund explains that he would not allow Edgar to persuade him into murdering their father causing Edgar to slash him with his sword. He continues that Edgar threatened him and by no means intended to permit Edmund, an "unpossessing bastard", to stop him from his evil plot. Gloucester is indignant and claims that Edgar will be captured and punished. He promises that Edmund will become the heir of his land. At this point, Cornwall and Regan enter the scene, wondering if the gossip they had heard about Edgar is correct. Gloucester confirms it is. Edmund cleverly confirms Regan's fear that Edgar was acting as part of Lear's riotous knights. Cornwall acknowledges the good act Edmund has done for Gloucester and promises to take him into their favor. After Gloucester and Edmund thank them, Regan explains why she and Cornwall have come to Gloucester's castle. She had received a letter from Goneril and so had left home to avoid Lear. She asks for Gloucester's assistance

gradesaver

all_chapterized_books/2266-chapters/7.txt

finished_summaries/gradesaver/King Lear/section_1_part_2.txt

King Lear.act 2.scene 2

act 2 scene 2

{"name": "act 2, scene ii", "url": "https://web.archive.org/web/20210417230554/https://www.gradesaver.com/king-lear/study-guide/summary-act-ii", "summary": "Oswald, Goneril's servant, and Kent, still disguised as Lear's servant Caius, meet at Gloucester's castle after first trekking to Cornwall's residence with messages. Oswald does not first recognize Kent but Kent recognizes him and responds to him curtly with curses and name-calling. He claims that Oswald comes with letters against the King and sides with his evil daughter. He calls Oswald to draw his sword at which Oswald cries out for help. The noise brings in Edmund, Cornwall, Regan, Gloucester, and some servants. When asked what the commotion is, Kent continues to insult Oswald, who is breathless. Oswald claims that he has spared Kent because of his grey beard at which Kent scoffs. He describes that Oswald is like a dog, ignorantly following a master. To Cornwall's incredulousness, Kent says that he does not like the look of his face. Oswald explains that Kent had no reason to strike him in Lear's company or to draw on him at Gloucester's. Kent refers to Cornwall and Regan as cowards and they call for the stocks. Regan comments that they should leave him not only until noon, as Cornwall had suggested, but for over a day. Gloucester protests but is overruled. After the others have exited, Gloucester apologizes to Kent and admits that the Duke is to blame. Alone, Kent muses over a letter he has received from Cordelia, implying that she knows he has taken disguise and promises to try to save her father from the evil of her sisters. Kent recognizes he is at the bottom of luck. He falls asleep", "analysis": ""}

Scena Secunda. Enter Kent, and Steward seuerally. Stew. Good dawning to thee Friend, art of this house? Kent. I Stew. Where may we set our horses? Kent. I'th' myre Stew. Prythee, if thou lou'st me, tell me Kent. I loue thee not Ste. Why then I care not for thee Kent. If I had thee in Lipsbury Pinfold, I would make thee care for me Ste. Why do'st thou vse me thus? I know thee not Kent. Fellow I know thee Ste. What do'st thou know me for? Kent. A Knaue, a Rascall, an eater of broken meates, a base, proud, shallow, beggerly, three-suited-hundred pound, filthy woosted-stocking knaue, a Lilly-liuered, action-taking, whoreson glasse-gazing super-seruiceable finicall Rogue, one Trunke-inheriting slaue, one that would'st be a Baud in way of good seruice, and art nothing but the composition of a Knaue, Begger, Coward, Pandar, and the Sonne and Heire of a Mungrill Bitch, one whom I will beate into clamours whining, if thou deny'st the least sillable of thy addition Stew. Why, what a monstrous Fellow art thou, thus to raile on one, that is neither knowne of thee, nor knowes thee? Kent. What a brazen-fac'd Varlet art thou, to deny thou knowest me? Is it two dayes since I tript vp thy heeles, and beate thee before the King? Draw you rogue, for though it be night, yet the Moone shines, Ile make a sop oth' Moonshine of you, you whoreson Cullyenly Barber-monger, draw Stew. Away, I haue nothing to do with thee Kent. Draw you Rascall, you come with Letters against the King, and take Vanitie the puppets part, against the Royaltie of her Father: draw you Rogue, or Ile so carbonado your shanks, draw you Rascall, come your waies Ste. Helpe, ho, murther, helpe Kent. Strike you slaue: stand rogue, stand you neat slaue, strike Stew. Helpe hoa, murther, murther. Enter Bastard, Cornewall, Regan, Gloster, Seruants. Bast. How now, what's the matter? Part Kent. With you goodman Boy, if you please, come, Ile flesh ye, come on yong Master Glo. Weapons? Armes? what's the matter here? Cor. Keepe peace vpon your liues, he dies that strikes againe, what is the matter? Reg. The Messengers from our Sister, and the King? Cor. What is your difference, speake? Stew. I am scarce in breath my Lord Kent. No Maruell, you haue so bestir'd your valour, you cowardly Rascall, nature disclaimes in thee: a Taylor made thee Cor. Thou art a strange fellow, a Taylor make a man? Kent. A Taylor Sir, a Stone-cutter, or a Painter, could not haue made him so ill, though they had bin but two yeares oth' trade Cor. Speake yet, how grew your quarrell? Ste. This ancient Ruffian Sir, whose life I haue spar'd at sute of his gray-beard Kent. Thou whoreson Zed, thou vnnecessary letter: my Lord, if you will giue me leaue, I will tread this vnboulted villaine into morter, and daube the wall of a Iakes with him. Spare my gray-beard, you wagtaile? Cor. Peace sirrah, You beastly knaue, know you no reuerence? Kent. Yes Sir, but anger hath a priuiledge Cor. Why art thou angrie? Kent. That such a slaue as this should weare a Sword, Who weares no honesty: such smiling rogues as these, Like Rats oft bite the holy cords a twaine, Which are t' intrince, t' vnloose: smooth euery passion That in the natures of their Lords rebell, Being oile to fire, snow to the colder moodes, Reuenge, affirme, and turne their Halcion beakes With euery gall, and varry of their Masters, Knowing naught (like dogges) but following: A plague vpon your Epilepticke visage, Smoile you my speeches, as I were a Foole? Goose, if I had you vpon Sarum Plaine, I'ld driue ye cackling home to Camelot Corn. What art thou mad old Fellow? Glost. How fell you out, say that? Kent. No contraries hold more antipathy, Then I, and such a knaue Corn. Why do'st thou call him Knaue? What is his fault? Kent. His countenance likes me not Cor. No more perchance do's mine, nor his, nor hers Kent. Sir, 'tis my occupation to be plaine, I haue seene better faces in my Time, Then stands on any shoulder that I see Before me, at this instant Corn. This is some Fellow, Who hauing beene prais'd for bluntnesse, doth affect A saucy roughnes, and constraines the garb Quite from his Nature. He cannot flatter he, An honest mind and plaine, he must speake truth, And they will take it so, if not, hee's plaine. These kind of Knaues I know, which in this plainnesse Harbour more craft, and more corrupter ends, Then twenty silly-ducking obseruants, That stretch their duties nicely Kent. Sir, in good faith, in sincere verity, Vnder th' allowance of your great aspect, Whose influence like the wreath of radient fire On flickring Phoebus front Corn. What mean'st by this? Kent. To go out of my dialect, which you discommend so much; I know Sir, I am no flatterer, he that beguild you in a plaine accent, was a plaine Knaue, which for my part I will not be, though I should win your displeasure to entreat me too't Corn. What was th' offence you gaue him? Ste. I neuer gaue him any: It pleas'd the King his Master very late To strike at me vpon his misconstruction, When he compact, and flattering his displeasure Tript me behind: being downe, insulted, rail'd, And put vpon him such a deale of Man, That worthied him, got praises of the King, For him attempting, who was selfe-subdued, And in the fleshment of this dead exploit, Drew on me here againe Kent. None of these Rogues, and Cowards But Aiax is there Foole Corn. Fetch forth the Stocks? You stubborne ancient Knaue, you reuerent Bragart, Wee'l teach you Kent. Sir, I am too old to learne: Call not your Stocks for me, I serue the King. On whose imployment I was sent to you, You shall doe small respects, show too bold malice Against the Grace, and Person of my Master, Stocking his Messenger Corn. Fetch forth the Stocks; As I haue life and Honour, there shall he sit till Noone Reg. Till noone? till night my Lord, and all night too Kent. Why Madam, if I were your Fathers dog, You should not vse me so Reg. Sir, being his Knaue, I will. Stocks brought out. Cor. This is a Fellow of the selfe same colour, Our Sister speakes of. Come, bring away the Stocks Glo. Let me beseech your Grace, not to do so, The King his Master, needs must take it ill That he so slightly valued in his Messenger, Should haue him thus restrained Cor. Ile answere that Reg. My Sister may recieue it much more worsse, To haue her Gentleman abus'd, assaulted Corn. Come my Lord, away. Enter. Glo. I am sorry for thee friend, 'tis the Dukes pleasure, Whose disposition all the world well knowes Will not be rub'd nor stopt, Ile entreat for thee Kent. Pray do not Sir, I haue watch'd and trauail'd hard, Some time I shall sleepe out, the rest Ile whistle: A good mans fortune may grow out at heeles: Giue you good morrow Glo. The Duke's too blame in this, 'Twill be ill taken. Enter. Kent. Good King, that must approue the common saw, Thou out of Heauens benediction com'st To the warme Sun. Approach thou Beacon to this vnder Globe, That by thy comfortable Beames I may Peruse this Letter. Nothing almost sees miracles But miserie. I know 'tis from Cordelia, Who hath most fortunately beene inform'd Of my obscured course. And shall finde time From this enormous State, seeking to giue Losses their remedies. All weary and o're-watch'd, Take vantage heauie eyes, not to behold This shamefull lodging. Fortune goodnight, Smile once more, turne thy wheele. Enter Edgar. Edg. I heard my selfe proclaim'd, And by the happy hollow of a Tree, Escap'd the hunt. No Port is free, no place That guard, and most vnusall vigilance Do's not attend my taking. Whiles I may scape I will preserue myselfe: and am bethought To take the basest, and most poorest shape That euer penury in contempt of man, Brought neere to beast; my face Ile grime with filth, Blanket my loines, else all my haires in knots, And with presented nakednesse out-face The Windes, and persecutions of the skie; The Country giues me proofe, and president Of Bedlam beggers, who with roaring voices, Strike in their num'd and mortified Armes. Pins, Wodden-prickes, Nayles, Sprigs of Rosemarie: And with this horrible obiect, from low Farmes, Poore pelting Villages, Sheeps-Coates, and Milles, Sometimes with Lunaticke bans, sometime with Praiers Inforce their charitie: poore Turlygod poore Tom, That's something yet: Edgar I nothing am. Enter. Enter Lear, Foole, and Gentleman. Lea. 'Tis strange that they should so depart from home, And not send backe my Messengers Gent. As I learn'd, The night before, there was no purpose in them Of this remoue Kent. Haile to thee Noble Master Lear. Ha? Mak'st thou this shame thy pastime? Kent. No my Lord Foole. Hah, ha, he weares Cruell Garters Horses are tide by the heads, Dogges and Beares by'th' necke, Monkies by'th' loynes, and Men by'th' legs: when a man ouerlustie at legs, then he weares wodden nether-stocks Lear. What's he, That hath so much thy place mistooke To set thee heere? Kent. It is both he and she, Your Son, and Daughter Lear. No Kent. Yes Lear. No I say Kent. I say yea Lear. By Iupiter I sweare no Kent. By Iuno, I sweare I Lear. They durst not do't: They could not, would not do't: 'tis worse then murther, To do vpon respect such violent outrage: Resolue me with all modest haste, which way Thou might'st deserue, or they impose this vsage, Comming from vs Kent. My Lord, when at their home I did commend your Highnesse Letters to them, Ere I was risen from the place, that shewed My dutie kneeling, came there a reeking Poste, Stew'd in his haste, halfe breathlesse, painting forth From Gonerill his Mistris, salutations; Deliuer'd Letters spight of intermission, Which presently they read; on those contents They summon'd vp their meiney, straight tooke Horse, Commanded me to follow, and attend The leisure of their answer, gaue me cold lookes, And meeting heere the other Messenger, Whose welcome I perceiu'd had poison'd mine, Being the very fellow which of late Displaid so sawcily against your Highnesse, Hauing more man then wit about me, drew; He rais'd the house, with loud and coward cries, Your Sonne and Daughter found this trespasse worth The shame which heere it suffers Foole. Winters not gon yet, if the wil'd Geese fly that way, Fathers that weare rags, do make their Children blind, But Fathers that beare bags, shall see their children kind. Fortune that arrant whore, nere turns the key toth' poore. But for all this thou shalt haue as many Dolors for thy Daughters, as thou canst tell in a yeare Lear. Oh how this Mother swels vp toward my heart! Historica passio, downe thou climing sorrow, Thy Elements below where is this Daughter? Kent. With the Earle Sir, here within Lear. Follow me not, stay here. Enter. Gen. Made you no more offence, But what you speake of? Kent. None: How chance the King comes with so small a number? Foole. And thou hadst beene set i'th' Stockes for that question, thoud'st well deseru'd it Kent. Why Foole? Foole. Wee'l set thee to schoole to an Ant, to teach thee ther's no labouring i'th' winter. All that follow their noses, are led by their eyes, but blinde men, and there's not a nose among twenty, but can smell him that's stinking; let go thy hold when a great wheele runs downe a hill, least it breake thy necke with following. But the great one that goes vpward, let him draw thee after: when a wiseman giues thee better counsell giue me mine againe, I would haue none but knaues follow it, since a Foole giues it. That Sir, which serues and seekes for gaine, And followes but for forme; Will packe, when it begins to raine, And leaue thee in the storme, But I will tarry, the Foole will stay, And let the wiseman flie: The knaue turnes Foole that runnes away, The Foole no knaue perdie. Enter Lear, and Gloster] : Kent. Where learn'd you this Foole? Foole. Not i'th' Stocks Foole Lear. Deny to speake with me? They are sicke, they are weary, They haue trauail'd all the night? meere fetches, The images of reuolt and flying off. Fetch me a better answer Glo. My deere Lord, You know the fiery quality of the Duke, How vnremoueable and fixt he is In his owne course Lear. Vengeance, Plague, Death, Confusion: Fiery? What quality? Why Gloster, Gloster, I'ld speake with the Duke of Cornewall, and his wife Glo. Well my good Lord, I haue inform'd them so Lear. Inform'd them? Do'st thou vnderstand me man Glo. I my good Lord Lear. The King would speake with Cornwall, The deere Father Would with his Daughter speake, commands, tends, seruice, Are they inform'd of this? My breath and blood: Fiery? The fiery Duke, tell the hot Duke that- No, but not yet, may be he is not well, Infirmity doth still neglect all office, Whereto our health is bound, we are not our selues, When Nature being opprest, commands the mind To suffer with the body; Ile forbeare, And am fallen out with my more headier will, To take the indispos'd and sickly fit, For the sound man. Death on my state: wherefore Should he sit heere? This act perswades me, That this remotion of the Duke and her Is practise only. Giue me my Seruant forth; Goe tell the Duke, and's wife, Il'd speake with them: Now, presently: bid them come forth and heare me, Or at their Chamber doore Ile beate the Drum, Till it crie sleepe to death Glo. I would haue all well betwixt you. Enter. Lear. Oh me my heart! My rising heart! But downe Foole. Cry to it Nunckle, as the Cockney did to the Eeles, when she put 'em i'th' Paste aliue, she knapt 'em o'th' coxcombs with a sticke, and cryed downe wantons, downe; 'twas her Brother, that in pure kindnesse to his Horse buttered his Hay. Enter Cornewall, Regan, Gloster, Seruants. Lear. Good morrow to you both Corn. Haile to your Grace. Kent here set at liberty. Reg. I am glad to see your Highnesse Lear. Regan, I thinke you are. I know what reason I haue to thinke so, if thou should'st not be glad, I would diuorce me from thy Mother Tombe, Sepulchring an Adultresse. O are you free? Some other time for that. Beloued Regan, Thy Sisters naught: oh Regan, she hath tied Sharpe-tooth'd vnkindnesse, like a vulture heere, I can scarce speake to thee, thou'lt not beleeue With how deprau'd a quality. Oh Regan Reg. I pray you Sir, take patience, I haue hope You lesse know how to value her desert, Then she to scant her dutie Lear. Say? How is that? Reg. I cannot thinke my Sister in the least Would faile her Obligation. If Sir perchance She haue restrained the Riots of your Followres, 'Tis on such ground, and to such wholesome end, As cleeres her from all blame Lear. My curses on her Reg. O Sir, you are old, Nature in you stands on the very Verge Of his confine: you should be rul'd, and led By some discretion, that discernes your state Better then you your selfe: therefore I pray you, That to our Sister, you do make returne, Say you haue wrong'd her Lear. Aske her forgiuenesse? Do you but marke how this becomes the house? Deere daughter, I confesse that I am old; Age is vnnecessary: on my knees I begge, That you'l vouchsafe me Rayment, Bed, and Food Reg. Good Sir, no more: these are vnsightly trickes: Returne you to my Sister Lear. Neuer Regan: She hath abated me of halfe my Traine; Look'd blacke vpon me, strooke me with her Tongue Most Serpent-like, vpon the very Heart. All the stor'd Vengeances of Heauen, fall On her ingratefull top: strike her yong bones You taking Ayres, with Lamenesse Corn. Fye sir, fie Le. You nimble Lightnings, dart your blinding flames Into her scornfull eyes: Infect her Beauty, You Fen-suck'd Fogges, drawne by the powrfull Sunne, To fall, and blister Reg. O the blest Gods! So will you wish on me, when the rash moode is on Lear. No Regan, thou shalt neuer haue my curse: Thy tender-hefted Nature shall not giue Thee o're to harshnesse: Her eyes are fierce, but thine Do comfort, and not burne. 'Tis not in thee To grudge my pleasures, to cut off my Traine, To bandy hasty words, to scant my sizes, And in conclusion, to oppose the bolt Against my comming in. Thou better know'st The Offices of Nature, bond of Childhood, Effects of Curtesie, dues of Gratitude: Thy halfe o'th' Kingdome hast thou not forgot, Wherein I thee endow'd Reg. Good Sir, to'th' purpose. Tucket within. Lear. Who put my man i'th' Stockes? Enter Steward. Corn. What Trumpet's that? Reg. I know't, my Sisters: this approues her Letter, That she would soone be heere. Is your Lady come? Lear. This is a Slaue, whose easie borrowed pride Dwels in the sickly grace of her he followes. Out Varlet, from my sight Corn. What meanes your Grace? Enter Gonerill. Lear. Who stockt my Seruant? Regan, I haue good hope Thou did'st not know on't. Who comes here? O Heauens! If you do loue old men; if your sweet sway Allow Obedience; if you your selues are old, Make it your cause: Send downe, and take my part. Art not asham'd to looke vpon this Beard? O Regan, will you take her by the hand? Gon. Why not by'th' hand Sir? How haue I offended? All's not offence that indiscretion findes, And dotage termes so Lear. O sides, you are too tough! Will you yet hold? How came my man i'th' Stockes? Corn. I set him there, Sir: but his owne Disorders Deseru'd much lesse aduancement Lear. You? Did you? Reg. I pray you Father being weake, seeme so. If till the expiration of your Moneth You will returne and soiourne with my Sister, Dismissing halfe your traine, come then to me, I am now from home, and out of that prouision Which shall be needfull for your entertainement Lear. Returne to her? and fifty men dismiss'd? No, rather I abiure all roofes, and chuse To wage against the enmity oth' ayre, To be a Comrade with the Wolfe, and Owle, Necessities sharpe pinch. Returne with her? Why the hot-bloodied France, that dowerlesse tooke Our yongest borne, I could as well be brought To knee his Throne, and Squire-like pension beg, To keepe base life a foote; returne with her? Perswade me rather to be slaue and sumpter To this detested groome Gon. At your choice Sir Lear. I prythee Daughter do not make me mad, I will not trouble thee my Child; farewell: Wee'l no more meete, no more see one another. But yet thou art my flesh, my blood, my Daughter, Or rather a disease that's in my flesh, Which I must needs call mine. Thou art a Byle, A plague sore, or imbossed Carbuncle In my corrupted blood. But Ile not chide thee, Let shame come when it will, I do not call it, I do not bid the Thunder-bearer shoote, Nor tell tales of thee to high-iudging Ioue, Mend when thou can'st, be better at thy leisure, I can be patient, I can stay with Regan, I and my hundred Knights Reg. Not altogether so, I look'd not for you yet, nor am prouided For your fit welcome, giue eare Sir to my Sister, For those that mingle reason with your passion, Must be content to thinke you old, and so, But she knowes what she doe's Lear. Is this well spoken? Reg. I dare auouch it Sir, what fifty Followers? Is it not well? What should you need of more? Yea, or so many? Sith that both charge and danger, Speake 'gainst so great a number? How in one house Should many people, vnder two commands Hold amity? 'Tis hard, almost impossible Gon. Why might not you my Lord, receiue attendance From those that she cals Seruants, or from mine? Reg. Why not my Lord? If then they chanc'd to slacke ye, We could comptroll them; if you will come to me, (For now I spie a danger) I entreate you To bring but fiue and twentie, to no more Will I giue place or notice Lear. I gaue you all Reg. And in good time you gaue it Lear. Made you my Guardians, my Depositaries, But kept a reseruation to be followed With such a number? What, must I come to you With fiue and twenty? Regan, said you so? Reg. And speak't againe my Lord, no more with me Lea. Those wicked Creatures yet do look wel fauor'd When others are more wicked, not being the worst Stands in some ranke of praise, Ile go with thee, Thy fifty yet doth double fiue and twenty, And thou art twice her Loue Gon. Heare me my Lord; What need you fiue and twenty? Ten? Or fiue? To follow in a house, where twice so many Haue a command to tend you? Reg. What need one? Lear. O reason not the need: our basest Beggers Are in the poorest thing superfluous. Allow not Nature, more then Nature needs: Mans life is cheape as Beastes. Thou art a Lady; If onely to go warme were gorgeous, Why Nature needs not what thou gorgeous wear'st, Which scarcely keepes thee warme, but for true need: You Heauens, giue me that patience, patience I need, You see me heere (you Gods) a poore old man, As full of griefe as age, wretched in both, If it be you that stirres these Daughters hearts Against their Father, foole me not so much, To beare it tamely: touch me with Noble anger, And let not womens weapons, water drops, Staine my mans cheekes. No you vnnaturall Hags, I will haue such reuenges on you both, That all the world shall- I will do such things, What they are yet, I know not, but they shalbe The terrors of the earth? you thinke Ile weepe, No, Ile not weepe, I haue full cause of weeping. Storme and Tempest. But this heart shal break into a hundred thousand flawes Or ere Ile weepe; O Foole, I shall go mad. Exeunt. Corn. Let vs withdraw, 'twill be a Storme Reg. This house is little, the old man and's people, Cannot be well bestow'd Gon. 'Tis his owne blame hath put himselfe from rest, And must needs taste his folly Reg. For his particular, Ile receiue him gladly, But not one follower Gon. So am I purpos'd, Where is my Lord of Gloster? Enter Gloster. Corn. Followed the old man forth, he is return'd Glo. The King is in high rage Corn. Whether is he going? Glo. He cals to Horse, but will I know not whether Corn. 'Tis best to giue him way, he leads himselfe Gon. My Lord, entreate him by no meanes to stay Glo. Alacke the night comes on, and the high windes Do sorely ruffle, for many Miles about There's scarce a Bush Reg. O Sir, to wilfull men, The iniuries that they themselues procure, Must be their Schoole-Masters: shut vp your doores, He is attended with a desperate traine, And what they may incense him too, being apt, To haue his eare abus'd, wisedome bids feare Cor. Shut vp your doores my Lord, 'tis a wil'd night, My Regan counsels well: come out oth' storme. Exeunt.

act 2, scene ii

https://web.archive.org/web/20210417230554/https://www.gradesaver.com/king-lear/study-guide/summary-act-ii

Oswald, Goneril's servant, and Kent, still disguised as Lear's servant Caius, meet at Gloucester's castle after first trekking to Cornwall's residence with messages. Oswald does not first recognize Kent but Kent recognizes him and responds to him curtly with curses and name-calling. He claims that Oswald comes with letters against the King and sides with his evil daughter. He calls Oswald to draw his sword at which Oswald cries out for help. The noise brings in Edmund, Cornwall, Regan, Gloucester, and some servants. When asked what the commotion is, Kent continues to insult Oswald, who is breathless. Oswald claims that he has spared Kent because of his grey beard at which Kent scoffs. He describes that Oswald is like a dog, ignorantly following a master. To Cornwall's incredulousness, Kent says that he does not like the look of his face. Oswald explains that Kent had no reason to strike him in Lear's company or to draw on him at Gloucester's. Kent refers to Cornwall and Regan as cowards and they call for the stocks. Regan comments that they should leave him not only until noon, as Cornwall had suggested, but for over a day. Gloucester protests but is overruled. After the others have exited, Gloucester apologizes to Kent and admits that the Duke is to blame. Alone, Kent muses over a letter he has received from Cordelia, implying that she knows he has taken disguise and promises to try to save her father from the evil of her sisters. Kent recognizes he is at the bottom of luck. He falls asleep

gradesaver

all_chapterized_books/2266-chapters/8.txt

finished_summaries/gradesaver/King Lear/section_2_part_1.txt

King Lear.act 3.scene 1

act 3 scene 1

{"name": "act 3, scene i", "url": "https://web.archive.org/web/20210417230554/https://www.gradesaver.com/king-lear/study-guide/summary-act-iii", "summary": "As it continues to storm, Kent enters the stage asking who else is there and where is the King. A gentleman, one of Lear's knights, answers, describing the King as struggling and becoming one with the raging elements of nature. The King has been left alone except for his fool. Kent recognizes the gentleman and fills him in on the events he has learned concerning the Dukes and the news from France. He explains that a conflict has grown between Albany and Cornwall which is momentarily forgotten because they are united against Lear. He then mentions that French spies and soldiers have moved onto the island, nearly ready to admit openly to their invasion. He urges the gentleman to hurry to Dover where he will find allies to whom he can give an honest report of the treatment to the King and his declining health. Kent gives him his purse and a ring to confirm his honor and to show to Cordelia if he sees her. They move out to look for Lear before the gentleman leaves on his mission", "analysis": ""}

Actus Tertius. Scena Prima. Storme still. Enter Kent, and a Gentleman, seuerally. Kent. Who's there besides foule weather? Gen. One minded like the weather, most vnquietly Kent. I know you: Where's the King? Gent. Contending with the fretfull Elements; Bids the winde blow the Earth into the Sea, Or swell the curled Waters 'boue the Maine, That things might change, or cease Kent. But who is with him? Gent. None but the Foole, who labours to out-iest His heart-strooke iniuries Kent. Sir, I do know you, And dare vpon the warrant of my note Commend a deere thing to you. There is diuision (Although as yet the face of it is couer'd With mutuall cunning) 'twixt Albany, and Cornwall: Who haue, as who haue not, that their great Starres Thron'd and set high; Seruants, who seeme no lesse, Which are to France the Spies and Speculations Intelligent of our State. What hath bin seene, Either in snuffes, and packings of the Dukes, Or the hard Reine which both of them hath borne Against the old kinde King; or something deeper, Whereof (perchance) these are but furnishings Gent. I will talke further with you Kent. No, do not: For confirmation that I am much more Then my out-wall; open this Purse, and take What it containes. If you shall see Cordelia, (As feare not but you shall) shew her this Ring, And she will tell you who that Fellow is That yet you do not know. Fye on this Storme, I will go seeke the King Gent. Giue me your hand, Haue you no more to say? Kent. Few words, but to effect more then all yet; That when we haue found the King, in which your pain That way, Ile this: He that first lights on him, Holla the other. Exeunt.

act 3, scene i

https://web.archive.org/web/20210417230554/https://www.gradesaver.com/king-lear/study-guide/summary-act-iii

As it continues to storm, Kent enters the stage asking who else is there and where is the King. A gentleman, one of Lear's knights, answers, describing the King as struggling and becoming one with the raging elements of nature. The King has been left alone except for his fool. Kent recognizes the gentleman and fills him in on the events he has learned concerning the Dukes and the news from France. He explains that a conflict has grown between Albany and Cornwall which is momentarily forgotten because they are united against Lear. He then mentions that French spies and soldiers have moved onto the island, nearly ready to admit openly to their invasion. He urges the gentleman to hurry to Dover where he will find allies to whom he can give an honest report of the treatment to the King and his declining health. Kent gives him his purse and a ring to confirm his honor and to show to Cordelia if he sees her. They move out to look for Lear before the gentleman leaves on his mission

gradesaver

all_chapterized_books/2266-chapters/9.txt

finished_summaries/gradesaver/King Lear/section_2_part_2.txt

King Lear.act 3.scene 2

act 3 scene 2

{"name": "act 3, scene ii", "url": "https://web.archive.org/web/20210417230554/https://www.gradesaver.com/king-lear/study-guide/summary-act-iii", "summary": "We meet Lear, raging against the storm, daring the storm to break up the Earth. Fool pleads with him to dodge his pride and ask for his daughters' forgiveness so that he can take shelter in the castle. Lear notes that the storm, unlike his daughters, owes him nothing and has no obligation to treat him any better. Still, the storm is joining to help his ungrateful daughters in their unnecessary punishing of him. The fool says he is foolish, nevertheless, to reside in the house of of the storm but Lear responds that he will say nothing to his daughters. Kent enters, pleased to have found the King, and remarks that he has never witnessed a more violent storm. Lear cries that the gods will now show who has committed any wrongs by their treatment in the storm and Kent pushes him toward a cave where they can find a little shelter. Lear agrees to go, recognizing the cold which must be ravaging he and his fool. Before entering the hovel, Fool prophecies that when the abuses of England are reformed, the country will come into great confusion", "analysis": ""}

Scena Secunda. Storme still. Enter Lear, and Foole. Lear. Blow windes, & crack your cheeks; Rage, blow You Cataracts, and Hyrricano's spout, Till you haue drench'd our Steeples, drown the Cockes. You Sulph'rous and Thought-executing Fires, Vaunt-curriors of Oake-cleauing Thunder-bolts, Sindge my white head. And thou all-shaking Thunder, Strike flat the thicke Rotundity o'th' world, Cracke Natures moulds, all germaines spill at once That makes ingratefull Man Foole. O Nunkle, Court holy-water in a dry house, is better then this Rain-water out o' doore. Good Nunkle, in, aske thy Daughters blessing, heere's a night pitties neither Wisemen, nor Fooles Lear. Rumble thy belly full: spit Fire, spowt Raine: Nor Raine, Winde, Thunder, Fire are my Daughters; I taxe not you, you Elements with vnkindnesse. I neuer gaue you Kingdome, call'd you Children; You owe me no subscription. Then let fall Your horrible pleasure. Heere I stand your Slaue, A poore, infirme, weake, and dispis'd old man: But yet I call you Seruile Ministers, That will with two pernicious Daughters ioyne Your high-engender'd Battailes, 'gainst a head So old, and white as this. O, ho! 'tis foule Foole. He that has a house to put's head in, has a good Head-peece: The Codpiece that will house, before the head has any; The Head, and he shall Lowse: so Beggers marry many. The man y makes his Toe, what he his Hart shold make, Shall of a Corne cry woe, and turne his sleepe to wake. For there was neuer yet faire woman, but shee made mouthes in a glasse. Enter Kent Lear. No, I will be the patterne of all patience, I will say nothing Kent. Who's there? Foole. Marry here's Grace, and a Codpiece, that's a Wiseman, and a Foole Kent. Alas Sir are you here? Things that loue night, Loue not such nights as these: The wrathfull Skies Gallow the very wanderers of the darke And make them keepe their Caues: Since I was man, Such sheets of Fire, such bursts of horrid Thunder, Such groanes of roaring Winde, and Raine, I neuer Remember to haue heard. Mans Nature cannot carry Th' affliction, nor the feare Lear. Let the great Goddes That keepe this dreadfull pudder o're our heads, Finde out their enemies now. Tremble thou Wretch, That hast within thee vndivulged Crimes Vnwhipt of Iustice. Hide thee, thou Bloudy hand; Thou Periur'd, and thou Simular of Vertue That art Incestuous. Caytiffe, to peeces shake That vnder couert, and conuenient seeming Ha's practis'd on mans life. Close pent-vp guilts, Riue your concealing Continents, and cry These dreadfull Summoners grace. I am a man, More sinn'd against, then sinning Kent. Alacke, bare-headed? Gracious my Lord, hard by heere is a Houell, Some friendship will it lend you 'gainst the Tempest: Repose you there, while I to this hard house, (More harder then the stones whereof 'tis rais'd, Which euen but now, demanding after you, Deny'd me to come in) returne, and force Their scanted curtesie Lear. My wits begin to turne. Come on my boy. How dost my boy? Art cold? I am cold my selfe. Where is this straw, my Fellow? The Art of our Necessities is strange, And can make vilde things precious. Come, your Houel; Poore Foole, and Knaue, I haue one part in my heart That's sorry yet for thee Foole. He that has and a little-tyne wit, With heigh-ho, the Winde and the Raine, Must make content with his Fortunes fit, Though the Raine it raineth euery day Le. True Boy: Come bring vs to this Houell. Enter. Foole. This is a braue night to coole a Curtizan: Ile speake a Prophesie ere I go: When Priests are more in word, then matter; When Brewers marre their Malt with water; When Nobles are their Taylors Tutors, No Heretiques burn'd, but wenches Sutors; When euery Case in Law, is right; No Squire in debt, nor no poore Knight; When Slanders do not liue in Tongues; Nor Cut-purses come not to throngs; When Vsurers tell their Gold i'th' Field, And Baudes, and whores, do Churches build, Then shal the Realme of Albion, come to great confusion: Then comes the time, who liues to see't, That going shalbe vs'd with feet. This prophecie Merlin shall make, for I liue before his time. Enter.

act 3, scene ii

https://web.archive.org/web/20210417230554/https://www.gradesaver.com/king-lear/study-guide/summary-act-iii

We meet Lear, raging against the storm, daring the storm to break up the Earth. Fool pleads with him to dodge his pride and ask for his daughters' forgiveness so that he can take shelter in the castle. Lear notes that the storm, unlike his daughters, owes him nothing and has no obligation to treat him any better. Still, the storm is joining to help his ungrateful daughters in their unnecessary punishing of him. The fool says he is foolish, nevertheless, to reside in the house of of the storm but Lear responds that he will say nothing to his daughters. Kent enters, pleased to have found the King, and remarks that he has never witnessed a more violent storm. Lear cries that the gods will now show who has committed any wrongs by their treatment in the storm and Kent pushes him toward a cave where they can find a little shelter. Lear agrees to go, recognizing the cold which must be ravaging he and his fool. Before entering the hovel, Fool prophecies that when the abuses of England are reformed, the country will come into great confusion

gradesaver

all_chapterized_books/2266-chapters/22.txt

finished_summaries/gradesaver/King Lear/section_2_part_3.txt

King Lear.act 3.scene 3

act 3 scene 3

{"name": "act 3, scene iii", "url": "https://web.archive.org/web/20210417230554/https://www.gradesaver.com/king-lear/study-guide/summary-act-iii", "summary": "Gloucester and Edmund speak in confidence. Gloucester complains of the unnatural dealings of Cornwall and Regan, taking over his home and forbidding him to help or appeal for Lear. Edmund feigns agreement. Taking him further in confidence, Gloucester alerts him to the division between Albany and Cornwall. He then tells him that he has received a letter, which he has locked in the closet because of it dangerous contents, divulging that a movement has started to avenge Lear at home. Gloucester plans to go find him and aid him until the forces arrive to help. He tells Edmund to accompany the Duke so that his absence is not felt and if they ask for him to report that he went to bed ill. Gloucester notes that he is risking his life but if he can save the King, his death would not be in vain. After he departs, Edmund tells the audience that he will alert Cornwall immediately of Gloucester's plans and the treasonous letter. The young will gain, he comments, where the old have faltered", "analysis": ""}

Enter Gloster, and Edmund. Glo. Alacke, alacke Edmund, I like not this vnnaturall dealing; when I desired their leaue that I might pity him, they tooke from me the vse of mine owne house, charg'd me on paine of perpetuall displeasure, neither to speake of him, entreat for him, or any way sustaine him Bast. Most sauage and vnnaturall Glo. Go too; say you nothing. There is diuision betweene the Dukes, and a worsse matter then that: I haue receiued a Letter this night, 'tis dangerous to be spoken, I haue lock'd the Letter in my Closset, these iniuries the King now beares, will be reuenged home; ther is part of a Power already footed, we must incline to the King, I will looke him, and priuily relieue him; goe you and maintaine talke with the Duke, that my charity be not of him perceiued; If he aske for me, I am ill, and gone to bed, if I die for it, (as no lesse is threatned me) the King my old Master must be relieued. There is strange things toward Edmund, pray you be carefull. Enter. Bast. This Curtesie forbid thee, shall the Duke Instantly know, and of that Letter too; This seemes a faire deseruing, and must draw me That which my Father looses: no lesse then all, The yonger rises, when the old doth fall. Enter.

act 3, scene iii

https://web.archive.org/web/20210417230554/https://www.gradesaver.com/king-lear/study-guide/summary-act-iii

Gloucester and Edmund speak in confidence. Gloucester complains of the unnatural dealings of Cornwall and Regan, taking over his home and forbidding him to help or appeal for Lear. Edmund feigns agreement. Taking him further in confidence, Gloucester alerts him to the division between Albany and Cornwall. He then tells him that he has received a letter, which he has locked in the closet because of it dangerous contents, divulging that a movement has started to avenge Lear at home. Gloucester plans to go find him and aid him until the forces arrive to help. He tells Edmund to accompany the Duke so that his absence is not felt and if they ask for him to report that he went to bed ill. Gloucester notes that he is risking his life but if he can save the King, his death would not be in vain. After he departs, Edmund tells the audience that he will alert Cornwall immediately of Gloucester's plans and the treasonous letter. The young will gain, he comments, where the old have faltered

gradesaver

all_chapterized_books/2266-chapters/10.txt

finished_summaries/gradesaver/King Lear/section_2_part_4.txt

King Lear.act 3.scene 4

act 3 scene 4

{"name": "act 3, scene iv", "url": "https://web.archive.org/web/20210417230554/https://www.gradesaver.com/king-lear/study-guide/summary-act-iii", "summary": "Kent and Lear find their way to the cave, where Lear asks to be left alone. He notes that the storm rages harsher in his own mind and body due to the \"filial ingratitude\" he has been forced to endure. Thinking it may lead to madness, Lear tries not to think of his daughters' betrayal. Feeling the cruelty of the elements, Lear remarks that he has taken too little care of the poor who often do not have shelter from such storms in life. The fool enters the cave first and is frightened by the presence of Edgar disguised as poor Tom. Edgar enters, speaking in confused jargon and pointing to the foul fiend who bothers him greatly. Lear decides that Tom must have been betrayed by daughters in order to have fallen to such a state of despair and madness. Kent attempts to tell Lear that Tom has no daughters, but Lear can comprehend no other reason. Fool notes that the cold night would turn them all into madmen. Lear finds Tom intriguing and asks him about his life, to which Edgar replies that Tom was a serving man who was ruined by a woman he had loved. Lear realizes that man is no more than what they have been stripped to and begins to take off his clothes before Fool stops him. Gloucester finds his way to the cave. He questions the King's company before remarking that he and Lear must both hate what their bodies have given birth to, namely Edgar, Regan, and Goneril. Although he has been barred from securing shelter in his own castle for Lear, Gloucester entreats the King to come with him to a better shelter. Lear wishes to stay and talk with Tom, terming him a philosopher. Kent urges Gloucester to plead with Lear to go, but Gloucester notes it is no surprise that Lear's wits are not about him when his own daughters seek his death. Lear is persuaded to follow Gloucester when they agree to allow Tom to accompany him", "analysis": ""}

Scena Quarta. Enter Lear, Kent, and Foole. Kent. Here is the place my Lord, good my Lord enter, The tirrany of the open night's too rough For Nature to endure. Storme still Lear. Let me alone Kent. Good my Lord enter heere Lear. Wilt breake my heart? Kent. I had rather breake mine owne, Good my Lord enter Lear. Thou think'st 'tis much that this contentious storme Inuades vs to the skin so: 'tis to thee, But where the greater malady is fixt, The lesser is scarce felt. Thou'dst shun a Beare, But if thy flight lay toward the roaring sea, Thou'dst meete the Beare i'th' mouth, when the mind's free, The bodies delicate: the tempest in my mind, Doth from my sences take all feeling else, Saue what beates there, Filliall ingratitude, Is it not as this mouth should teare this hand For lifting food too't? But I will punish home; No, I will weepe no more; in such a night, To shut me out? Poure on, I will endure: In such a night as this? O Regan, Gonerill, Your old kind Father, whose franke heart gaue all, O that way madnesse lies, let me shun that: No more of that Kent. Good my Lord enter here Lear. Prythee go in thy selfe, seeke thine owne ease, This tempest will not giue me leaue to ponder On things would hurt me more, but Ile goe in, In Boy, go first. You houselesse pouertie, Enter. Nay get thee in; Ile pray, and then Ile sleepe. Poore naked wretches, where so ere you are That bide the pelting of this pittilesse storme, How shall your House-lesse heads, and vnfed sides, Your lop'd, and window'd raggednesse defend you From seasons such as these? O I haue tane Too little care of this: Take Physicke, Pompe, Expose thy selfe to feele what wretches feele, That thou maist shake the superflux to them, And shew the Heauens more iust. Enter Edgar, and Foole. Edg. Fathom, and halfe, Fathom and halfe; poore Tom Foole. Come not in heere Nuncle, here's a spirit, helpe me, helpe me Kent. Giue my thy hand, who's there? Foole. A spirite, a spirite, he sayes his name's poore Tom Kent. What art thou that dost grumble there i'th' straw? Come forth Edg. Away, the foule Fiend followes me, through the sharpe Hauthorne blow the windes. Humh, goe to thy bed and warme thee Lear. Did'st thou giue all to thy Daughters? And art thou come to this? Edgar. Who giues any thing to poore Tom? Whom the foule fiend hath led through Fire, and through Flame, through Sword, and Whirle-Poole, o're Bog, and Quagmire, that hath laid Kniues vnder his Pillow, and Halters in his Pue, set Rats-bane by his Porredge, made him Proud of heart, to ride on a Bay trotting Horse, ouer foure incht Bridges, to course his owne shadow for a Traitor. Blisse thy fiue Wits, Toms a cold. O do, de, do, de, do, de, blisse thee from Whirle-Windes, Starre-blasting, and taking, do poore Tom some charitie, whom the foule Fiend vexes. There could I haue him now, and there, and there againe, and there. Storme still. Lear. Ha's his Daughters brought him to this passe? Could'st thou saue nothing? Would'st thou giue 'em all? Foole. Nay, he reseru'd a Blanket, else we had bin all sham'd Lea. Now all the plagues that in the pendulous ayre Hang fated o're mens faults, light on thy Daughters Kent. He hath no Daughters Sir Lear. Death Traitor, nothing could haue subdu'd Nature To such a lownesse, but his vnkind Daughters. Is it the fashion, that discarded Fathers, Should haue thus little mercy on their flesh: Iudicious punishment, 'twas this flesh begot Those Pelicane Daughters Edg. Pillicock sat on Pillicock hill, alow: alow, loo, loo Foole. This cold night will turne vs all to Fooles, and Madmen Edgar. Take heed o'th' foule Fiend, obey thy Parents, keepe thy words Iustice, sweare not, commit not, with mans sworne Spouse: set not thy Sweet-heart on proud array. Tom's a cold Lear. What hast thou bin? Edg. A Seruingman? Proud in heart, and minde; that curl'd my haire, wore Gloues in my cap; seru'd the Lust of my Mistris heart, and did the acte of darkenesse with her. Swore as many Oathes, as I spake words, & broke them in the sweet face of Heauen. One, that slept in the contriuing of Lust, and wak'd to doe it. Wine lou'd I deerely, Dice deerely; and in Woman, out-Paramour'd the Turke. False of heart, light of eare, bloody of hand; Hog in sloth, Foxe in stealth, Wolfe in greedinesse, Dog in madnes, Lyon in prey. Let not the creaking of shooes, Nor the rustling of Silkes, betray thy poore heart to woman. Keepe thy foote out of Brothels, thy hand out of Plackets, thy pen from Lenders Bookes, and defye the foule Fiend. Still through the Hauthorne blowes the cold winde: Sayes suum, mun, nonny, Dolphin my Boy, Boy Sesey: let him trot by. Storme still. Lear. Thou wert better in a Graue, then to answere with thy vncouer'd body, this extremitie of the Skies. Is man no more then this? Consider him well. Thou ow'st the Worme no Silke; the Beast, no Hide; the Sheepe, no Wooll; the Cat, no perfume. Ha? Here's three on's are sophisticated. Thou art the thing it selfe; vnaccommodated man, is no more but such a poore, bare, forked Animall as thou art. Off, off you Lendings: Come, vnbutton heere. Enter Gloucester, with a Torch. Foole. Prythee Nunckle be contented, 'tis a naughtie night to swimme in. Now a little fire in a wilde Field, were like an old Letchers heart, a small spark, all the rest on's body, cold: Looke, heere comes a walking fire Edg. This is the foule Flibbertigibbet; hee begins at Curfew, and walkes at first Cocke: Hee giues the Web and the Pin, squints the eye, and makes the Hare-lippe; Mildewes the white Wheate, and hurts the poore Creature of earth. Swithold footed thrice the old, He met the Night-Mare, and her nine-fold; Bid her a-light, and her troth-plight, And aroynt thee Witch, aroynt thee Kent. How fares your Grace? Lear. What's he? Kent. Who's there? What is't you seeke? Glou. What are you there? Your Names? Edg. Poore Tom, that eates the swimming Frog, the Toad, the Tod-pole, the wall-Neut, and the water: that in the furie of his heart, when the foule Fiend rages, eats Cow-dung for Sallets; swallowes the old Rat, and the ditch-Dogge; drinkes the green Mantle of the standing Poole: who is whipt from Tything to Tything, and stockt, punish'd, and imprison'd: who hath three Suites to his backe, sixe shirts to his body: Horse to ride, and weapon to weare: But Mice, and Rats, and such small Deare, Haue bin Toms food, for seuen long yeare: Beware my Follower. Peace Smulkin, peace thou Fiend Glou. What, hath your Grace no better company? Edg. The Prince of Darkenesse is a Gentleman. Modo he's call'd, and Mahu Glou. Our flesh and blood, my Lord, is growne so vilde, that it doth hate what gets it Edg. Poore Tom's a cold Glou. Go in with me; my duty cannot suffer T' obey in all your daughters hard commands: Though their Iniunction be to barre my doores, And let this Tyrannous night take hold vpon you, Yet haue I ventured to come seeke you out, And bring you where both fire, and food is ready Lear. First let me talke with this Philosopher, What is the cause of Thunder? Kent. Good my Lord take his offer, Go into th' house Lear. Ile talke a word with this same lerned Theban: What is your study? Edg. How to preuent the Fiend, and to kill Vermine Lear. Let me aske you one word in priuate Kent. Importune him once more to go my Lord, His wits begin t' vnsettle Glou. Canst thou blame him? Storm still His Daughters seeke his death: Ah, that good Kent, He said it would be thus: poore banish'd man: Thou sayest the King growes mad, Ile tell thee Friend I am almost mad my selfe. I had a Sonne, Now out-law'd from my blood: he sought my life But lately: very late: I lou'd him (Friend) No Father his Sonne deerer: true to tell thee, The greefe hath craz'd my wits. What a night's this? I do beseech your grace Lear. O cry you mercy, Sir: Noble Philosopher, your company Edg. Tom's a cold Glou. In fellow there, into th' Houel; keep thee warm Lear. Come, let's in all Kent. This way, my Lord Lear. With him; I will keepe still with my Philosopher Kent. Good my Lord, sooth him: Let him take the Fellow Glou. Take him you on Kent. Sirra, come on: go along with vs Lear. Come, good Athenian Glou. No words, no words, hush Edg. Childe Rowland to the darke Tower came, His word was still, fie, foh, and fumme, I smell the blood of a Brittish man. Exeunt.

act 3, scene iv

https://web.archive.org/web/20210417230554/https://www.gradesaver.com/king-lear/study-guide/summary-act-iii

Kent and Lear find their way to the cave, where Lear asks to be left alone. He notes that the storm rages harsher in his own mind and body due to the "filial ingratitude" he has been forced to endure. Thinking it may lead to madness, Lear tries not to think of his daughters' betrayal. Feeling the cruelty of the elements, Lear remarks that he has taken too little care of the poor who often do not have shelter from such storms in life. The fool enters the cave first and is frightened by the presence of Edgar disguised as poor Tom. Edgar enters, speaking in confused jargon and pointing to the foul fiend who bothers him greatly. Lear decides that Tom must have been betrayed by daughters in order to have fallen to such a state of despair and madness. Kent attempts to tell Lear that Tom has no daughters, but Lear can comprehend no other reason. Fool notes that the cold night would turn them all into madmen. Lear finds Tom intriguing and asks him about his life, to which Edgar replies that Tom was a serving man who was ruined by a woman he had loved. Lear realizes that man is no more than what they have been stripped to and begins to take off his clothes before Fool stops him. Gloucester finds his way to the cave. He questions the King's company before remarking that he and Lear must both hate what their bodies have given birth to, namely Edgar, Regan, and Goneril. Although he has been barred from securing shelter in his own castle for Lear, Gloucester entreats the King to come with him to a better shelter. Lear wishes to stay and talk with Tom, terming him a philosopher. Kent urges Gloucester to plead with Lear to go, but Gloucester notes it is no surprise that Lear's wits are not about him when his own daughters seek his death. Lear is persuaded to follow Gloucester when they agree to allow Tom to accompany him

gradesaver

all_chapterized_books/2266-chapters/11.txt

finished_summaries/gradesaver/King Lear/section_2_part_5.txt

King Lear.act 3.scene 5

act 3 scene 5

{"name": "act 3, scene v", "url": "https://web.archive.org/web/20210417230554/https://www.gradesaver.com/king-lear/study-guide/summary-act-iii", "summary": "Cornwall and Edmund converse over the information Edmund has shared with him. Edmund plays the part of a tortured son doing his duty for the kingdom. Cornwall muses that Edgar's disloyalty is better understood in terms of his own father's betrayal. Handing over the letter Gloucester had received, Edmund cries out wishing that he were not the filial traitor. Cornwall makes Edmund the new Earl of Gloucester and demands he find where his father is hiding. In an aside, Edmund hopes he will find Gloucester aiding the King to further incriminate him although it would be greater filial ingratitude on his part. Cornwall offers himself as a new and more loving father to Edmund", "analysis": ""}

Scena Quinta. Enter Cornwall, and Edmund. Corn. I will haue my reuenge, ere I depart his house Bast. How my Lord, I may be censured, that Nature thus giues way to Loyaltie, something feares mee to thinke of Cornw. I now perceiue, it was not altogether your Brothers euill disposition made him seeke his death: but a prouoking merit set a-worke by a reprouable badnesse in himselfe Bast. How malicious is my fortune, that I must repent to be iust? This is the Letter which hee spoake of; which approues him an intelligent partie to the aduantages of France. O Heauens! that this Treason were not; or not I the detector Corn. Go with me to the Dutchesse Bast. If the matter of this Paper be certain, you haue mighty businesse in hand Corn. True or false, it hath made thee Earle of Gloucester: seeke out where thy Father is, that hee may bee ready for our apprehension Bast. If I finde him comforting the King, it will stuffe his suspition more fully. I will perseuer in my course of Loyalty, though the conflict be sore betweene that, and my blood Corn. I will lay trust vpon thee: and thou shalt finde a deere Father in my loue. Exeunt.

act 3, scene v

https://web.archive.org/web/20210417230554/https://www.gradesaver.com/king-lear/study-guide/summary-act-iii

Cornwall and Edmund converse over the information Edmund has shared with him. Edmund plays the part of a tortured son doing his duty for the kingdom. Cornwall muses that Edgar's disloyalty is better understood in terms of his own father's betrayal. Handing over the letter Gloucester had received, Edmund cries out wishing that he were not the filial traitor. Cornwall makes Edmund the new Earl of Gloucester and demands he find where his father is hiding. In an aside, Edmund hopes he will find Gloucester aiding the King to further incriminate him although it would be greater filial ingratitude on his part. Cornwall offers himself as a new and more loving father to Edmund

gradesaver

all_chapterized_books/2266-chapters/12.txt

finished_summaries/gradesaver/King Lear/section_2_part_6.txt

King Lear.act 3.scene 6

act 3 scene 6

{"name": "act 3, scene vi", "url": "https://web.archive.org/web/20210417230554/https://www.gradesaver.com/king-lear/study-guide/summary-act-iii", "summary": "Gloucester finds the group slightly better shelter and then heads off to get assistance. Edgar speaks of the foul fiend and Fool tells the King a rhyme, concluding that the madman is the man who has too greatly indulged his own children. Lear pretends to hold a trial for his evil daughters, placing Edgar, the fool, and Kent on the bench to try them. Lear tries Goneril first and then Regan before crying that someone had accepted a bribe and allowed one to escape. Kent calls for him to remain patient as he had often been in the past and Edgar notes in an aside that he has nearly threatened his disguise with tears. He tells Lear that he will punish the daughters himself. Lear appreciates the gesture and claims that he will take Tom as one of the hundred in his train if he will agree to change his seemingly Persian garments. As Gloucester returns, he urges Kent to keep the King in his arms due to the death threats circulating. There is a caravan waiting which will take Lear to Dover and safety if they hurry. Edgar is left on stage and soliloquizes that the King's pains are so much greater than his own and he will pledge himself to helping him escape safely", "analysis": ""}

Scena Sexta. Enter Kent, and Gloucester. Glou. Heere is better then the open ayre, take it thankfully: I will peece out the comfort with what addition I can: I will not be long from you. Exit Kent. All the powre of his wits, haue giuen way to his impatience: the Gods reward your kindnesse. Enter Lear, Edgar, and Foole. Edg. Fraterretto cals me, and tells me Nero is an Angler in the Lake of Darknesse: pray Innocent, and beware the foule Fiend Foole. Prythee Nunkle tell me, whether a madman be a Gentleman, or a Yeoman Lear. A King, a King Foole. No, he's a Yeoman, that ha's a Gentleman to his Sonne: for hee's a mad Yeoman that sees his Sonne a Gentleman before him Lear. To haue a thousand with red burning spits Come hizzing in vpon 'em Edg. Blesse thy fiue wits Kent. O pitty: Sir, where is the patience now That you so oft haue boasted to retaine? Edg. My teares begin to take his part so much, They marre my counterfetting Lear. The little dogges, and all; Trey, Blanch, and Sweet-heart: see, they barke at me Edg. Tom, will throw his head at them: Auaunt you Curres, be thy mouth or blacke or white: Tooth that poysons if it bite: Mastiffe, Grey-hound, Mongrill, Grim, Hound or Spaniell, Brache, or Hym: Or Bobtaile tight, or Troudle taile, Tom will make him weepe and waile, For with throwing thus my head; Dogs leapt the hatch, and all are fled. Do, de, de, de: sese: Come, march to Wakes and Fayres, And Market Townes: poore Tom thy horne is dry, Lear. Then let them Anatomize Regan: See what breeds about her heart. Is there any cause in Nature that make these hard-hearts. You sir, I entertaine for one of my hundred; only, I do not like the fashion of your garments. You will say they are Persian; but let them bee chang'd. Enter Gloster. Kent. Now good my Lord, lye heere, and rest awhile Lear. Make no noise, make no noise, draw the Curtaines: so, so, wee'l go to Supper i'th' morning Foole. And Ile go to bed at noone Glou. Come hither Friend: Where is the King my Master? Kent. Here Sir, but trouble him not, his wits are gon Glou. Good friend, I prythee take him in thy armes; I haue ore-heard a plot of death vpon him: There is a Litter ready, lay him in't, And driue toward Douer friend, where thou shalt meete Both welcome, and protection. Take vp thy Master, If thou should'st dally halfe an houre, his life With thine, and all that offer to defend him, Stand in assured losse. Take vp, take vp, And follow me, that will to some prouision Giue thee quicke conduct. Come, come, away. Exeunt.

act 3, scene vi

https://web.archive.org/web/20210417230554/https://www.gradesaver.com/king-lear/study-guide/summary-act-iii

Gloucester finds the group slightly better shelter and then heads off to get assistance. Edgar speaks of the foul fiend and Fool tells the King a rhyme, concluding that the madman is the man who has too greatly indulged his own children. Lear pretends to hold a trial for his evil daughters, placing Edgar, the fool, and Kent on the bench to try them. Lear tries Goneril first and then Regan before crying that someone had accepted a bribe and allowed one to escape. Kent calls for him to remain patient as he had often been in the past and Edgar notes in an aside that he has nearly threatened his disguise with tears. He tells Lear that he will punish the daughters himself. Lear appreciates the gesture and claims that he will take Tom as one of the hundred in his train if he will agree to change his seemingly Persian garments. As Gloucester returns, he urges Kent to keep the King in his arms due to the death threats circulating. There is a caravan waiting which will take Lear to Dover and safety if they hurry. Edgar is left on stage and soliloquizes that the King's pains are so much greater than his own and he will pledge himself to helping him escape safely

gradesaver

all_chapterized_books/2266-chapters/13.txt

finished_summaries/gradesaver/King Lear/section_2_part_7.txt

King Lear.act 3.scene 7

act 3 scene 7

{"name": "act 3, scene vii", "url": "https://web.archive.org/web/20210417230554/https://www.gradesaver.com/king-lear/study-guide/summary-act-iii", "summary": "Cornwall calls for Goneril to bring the letter concerning France's invasion to her husband and calls to his servants to seek out the traitor, Gloucester. Regan and Goneril call for tortuous punishment. Edmund is asked to accompany Goneril so as not to be present when his father is brought in. Oswald enters and alerts the court to the news of Gloucester's successful move of the King to Dover. As Goneril and Edmund depart, Cornwall sends servants in search of Gloucester. Gloucester enters with servants and Cornwall commands that he be bound to a chair. Regan plucks his beard as he protests that they are his guests and friends. They interrogate him on the letter he received from France and his part helping King Lear. Gloucester responds that he received the letter from an objective third-party but he is not believed. He admits that he sent the King to Dover, explaining that he was not safe out in the terrible storm nor in the company of those who would leave him in such conditions. He hopes that Lear's horrific children will have revenge light upon them. Cornwall answers that he will see no such thing, blinding one of his eyes. A servant speaks up in Gloucester's defense and is quickly stabbed by Regan using the sword Cornwall had drawn. Before the servant dies, he cries that Gloucester has one eye remaining to see harm come to the Duke and Duchess. Cornwall immediately blinds the other eye. Gloucester calls out for Edmund to help him in the time of peril to which Regan replies that it was Edmund who had alerted them to Gloucester's treachery. At this low point, Gloucester realizes the wrong he has shown Edgar if Edmund has done such evil. Regan has Gloucester thrown out of the castle and then helps Cornwall, who has received an injury, out of the room. Two servants discuss the incomprehensible evil of Cornwall and Regan, proposing to aid Gloucester in his blind stumbles. One of the servants leaves to find him while the other searches for ointments to sooth Gloucester's wounds.", "analysis": "Analysis: The theme of madness is explored deeply in Act III as we encounter at least three different forms of madness in at least three different characters. King Lear most notably goes, or is driven, to a madness he had predicted in this Act, but he is accompanied by two others whom are meant to be playing fools or madmen but to whom he grants the greatest sincerity. These two men, the two Lear places on the bench of his fictitious jury, are Edgar as poor Tom and Lear's Fool. Edgar feigns a madness as poor Tom that provides a great contrast to Lear's actual madness by bringing into question what madness is and how it was looked upon in Shakespeare's day. History shows that in Shakespeare's time lunatics were viewed as comic entertainment. Elizabethans would go to certain places simply in order to watch lunatics act crazy. Furthermore, Edgar's character was believable on the level of a mad trickster, a common character in the day who was known to trick others into believing him out of his wits. In a time such as this, one had to be careful to illuminate a lunacy which would be taken seriously if that was Shakespeare's intent, which concerning King Lear we must assume it was. The reasons which justify his serious plunge into insanity are many as the audience is privy to the actions of his daughters and the indignity he has been shown since giving up his title which could easily drop an old proud former king into madness. The horrific action of all but two children in the play, Cordelia and Edgar, is summed up in a neat sentence by Gloucester as he enters the hovel to speak to Lear. He cries, \"Our flesh and blood, my lord, is grown so vile/ That it doth hate what gets it\". The vileness, the evil, of Lear's two daughters and of Edmund is such a betrayal that it has made the skin crawl and wish to reject the beings it helped to create. They have forsworn any human tie to their parents in such a vile way that hatred is the only word which can describe the relation. We also learn from Gloucester that Lear's daughters are now trying to kill him. Not only have they stripped him of all dignity, condescendingly and hypothetically turned many of his own knights against him, and thrown him unsheltered out into a raging dangerous storm, but they have finally cut the corner of pretense in which they said they would accept their father if he came without train and resolved to kill their own father who gave them all of his kingdom. Lear's fault in facing them was a quick temper and a love quantified into value and material weight. This love, as we have discussed, could not have always existed in this form as we know from Lear's reaction in Act I that Cordelia had been his favorite daughter and that she had never rejected him or his wish previously. Thus, the self-centered plea for love seems to be a fault of old age as well as ego. As Gloucester mentions flesh and blood, Lear's daughters have turned out for blood and power, in a way again similar to the ambition of Lady Macbeth, to which they have no need to battle for but of which they can seemingly not get enough. The rumors continue along the vein of a rift between Albany and Cornwall and we will soon encounter a major rivalry between Regan and Goneril. Their undoing, their evil, is thus based on an arrogant ambition and a horrific filial ingratitude. This evil leads Lear to his belief that madness on a large scale can only result from the betrayal of daughters. He has sincerely been led astray in his trust and loyalty and thus plunges into a darkness and a madness which the storm, the hovel, and the night quite literally and symbolically portray. Vividly Shakespeare portrays the transformation of man into storm and storm into man as Lear goes mad. Personifying the storm with himself and the children he has begotten, Lear wails, \"Rumble thy bellyful. Spit, fire. Spout, rain. Nor rain, wind, thunder, fire are my daughters\". The storm is given a belly and the elements are compared to daughters. Note even the sound effects are called for at key points in the dialogue to echo Lear's mutation. Storm still \" is included by Shakespeare, for example, between poor Tom's continuing rants and Lear's conclusion that his madness must be the result of the betrayal of his daughters. In this state of rugged, stripped, essential man, Lear is able to focus on some important human issues that he has overlooked as king. Left to battle the elements of nature and the storms that are its products like the poor, Lear is forced to think on the daily lives of the homeless and his ignorance of the poor's situation. He comments, \"Poor naked wretches, wheresoe'er you are,/ That bide the pelting of this pitiless storm,/ How shall your houseless heads and unfed sides,/ Your looped and windowed raggedness, defend you/ From seasons such as these. O, I have ta'en/ Too little care of this. This is a climactic moment for Lear, as he stands on the threshold of madness. He will descend, it seems, as soon as he comes face to face with Edgar the reflection of madness he holds as philosophy and wisdom. And perhaps Lear comes much closer to a wisdom of humankind as a result. Madly, he attempts to strip himself naked only moments later before being stopped by the Fool, whose madness becomes simple complacency as he tries to look out for his master's safekeeping. In this, we see again how sane the Fool has been all along and how real Lear's madness is to make the Fool's speech become so practical. Lear is trying to physically strip himself of the artifice he has noticed within himself and most of mankind. He wishes to be put on par with poor Tom, a man who has lived much closer, he thinks, to the truth of nature. Edgar's character of poor Tom of Bedlam was based greatly on a text published shortly before Shakespeare's writing of King Lear. Harsnet's Declaration of Egregious Popishe Impostures, published in 1603, seems to provide much of the basis for Tom's language as well as the mention of the surreptitious \"foul fiend\" which plagues Tom constantly, biting at his back and instigating other evils upon him. With a feigned demonic madness, Tom's character is questioned less by the other characters allowing Edgar to provide commentary through his asides and the irony he often provides, especially in the contrast established between the disguised and acted madness he chooses and the uncontrollable, anguished madness which overtakes Lear. Tom also provides the physical character to represent the man Lear realizes he has ignored during his rule as King of Britain. Immediately after Lear cries out in recognition of his ignorance, he meets poor Tom. This allows Shakespeare to give more distinct meaning to Lear's, and later Gloucester's, wish for greater equality among the population in terms of money and favors. Lear exclaims, \"Take physic, pomp;/ Expose thyself to feel what wretches feel,/ That thou mayst shake the superflux to them/ And show the heavens more just\". In much the same vein as Robin Hood, Shakespeare here promotes a system where the rich would share their excess, their artifice, with the poor in order to even out the ranks a bit. Lear, in this manner, places himself at an equitable level with Tom and refuses to leave the stormy outdoors for shelter unless he can bring Tom with him. Lear has made his greatest leaps in humane awareness since his descent toward madness and his acquaintance with Tom. He states this for the audience when he remarks, \"Is man no more than this. Consider him well. Thou ow'st the/ worm no silk, the beast no hide, the sheep no wool, the cat no perfumeThou art the thing itself; unaccomodated man is no/ more but such a poor, bare, forked animal as thou art\". Clothing, excesses such as Lear referred to when speaking to Regan and Goneril about the need of his train, is superfluous and a great symbol of the artifice Lear has finally stripped from his body. Regan and Goneril move ever closer to their tragic ends as they progress substantially in their evil, as evidenced through their desire to kill Lear and the blinding of Gloucester. Regan, thought at first to be the tenderer of the two by Lear, leads the charge against Gloucester. Gloucester responds finally to the demands of why he sent Lear to Dover by addressing her and her sister as the basest of evils. It is her nails he mentions, not the power of Cornwall, even though the two have been joined in the punishment of Gloucester. He declares, \"Because I would not see thy cruel nails/ Pluck out his poor old eyes\". Ironically, this statement has greater truth for Gloucester himself. Regan taunts Gloucester after one eye is blinded and then takes the sword herself to kill a servant who stands up for Gloucester's honor. Moreover, she happily brags to Gloucester that his trusted Edmund was the one who alerted them to his treachery and then sends Gloucester out to \"smell his way to Dover\". In truth, we recognize this woman as more of a beast, a \"bare, forked animal\" than any of the characters against whom she is battling"}

Scena Septima. Enter Cornwall, Regan, Gonerill, Bastard, and Seruants. Corn. Poste speedily to my Lord your husband, shew him this Letter, the Army of France is landed: seeke out the Traitor Glouster Reg. Hang him instantly Gon. Plucke out his eyes Corn. Leaue him to my displeasure. Edmond, keepe you our Sister company: the reuenges wee are bound to take vppon your Traitorous Father, are not fit for your beholding. Aduice the Duke where you are going, to a most festinate preparation: we are bound to the like. Our Postes shall be swift, and intelligent betwixt vs. Farewell deere Sister, farewell my Lord of Glouster. Enter Steward. How now? Where's the King? Stew. My Lord of Glouster hath conuey'd him hence Some fiue or six and thirty of his Knights Hot Questrists after him, met him at gate, Who, with some other of the Lords, dependants, Are gone with him toward Douer; where they boast To haue well armed Friends Corn. Get horses for your Mistris Gon. Farewell sweet Lord, and Sister. Exit Corn. Edmund farewell: go seek the Traitor Gloster, Pinnion him like a Theefe, bring him before vs: Though well we may not passe vpon his life Without the forme of Iustice: yet our power Shall do a curt'sie to our wrath, which men May blame, but not comptroll. Enter Gloucester, and Seruants. Who's there? the Traitor? Reg. Ingratefull Fox, 'tis he Corn. Binde fast his corky armes Glou. What meanes your Graces? Good my Friends consider you are my Ghests: Do me no foule play, Friends Corn. Binde him I say Reg. Hard, hard: O filthy Traitor Glou. Vnmercifull Lady, as you are, I'me none Corn. To this Chaire binde him, Villaine, thou shalt finde Glou. By the kinde Gods, 'tis most ignobly done To plucke me by the Beard Reg. So white, and such a Traitor? Glou. Naughty Ladie, These haires which thou dost rauish from my chin Will quicken and accuse thee. I am your Host, With Robbers hands, my hospitable fauours You should not ruffle thus. What will you do? Corn. Come Sir. What Letters had you late from France? Reg. Be simple answer'd, for we know the truth Corn. And what confederacie haue you with the Traitors, late footed in the Kingdome? Reg. To whose hands You haue sent the Lunaticke King: Speake Glou. I haue a Letter guessingly set downe Which came from one that's of a newtrall heart, And not from one oppos'd Corn. Cunning Reg. And false Corn. Where hast thou sent the King? Glou. To Douer Reg. Wherefore to Douer? Was't thou not charg'd at perill Corn. Wherefore to Douer? Let him answer that Glou. I am tyed to'th' Stake, And I must stand the Course Reg. Wherefore to Douer? Glou. Because I would not see thy cruell Nailes Plucke out his poore old eyes: nor thy fierce Sister, In his Annointed flesh, sticke boarish phangs. The Sea, with such a storme as his bare head, In Hell-blacke-night indur'd, would haue buoy'd vp And quench'd the Stelled fires: Yet poore old heart, he holpe the Heauens to raine. If Wolues had at thy Gate howl'd that sterne time, Thou should'st haue said, good Porter turne the Key: All Cruels else subscribe: but I shall see The winged Vengeance ouertake such Children Corn. See't shalt thou neuer. Fellowes hold y Chaire, Vpon these eyes of thine, Ile set my foote Glou. He that will thinke to liue, till he be old, Giue me some helpe. - O cruell! O you Gods Reg. One side will mocke another: Th' other too Corn. If you see vengeance Seru. Hold your hand, my Lord: I haue seru'd you euer since I was a Childe: But better seruice haue I neuer done you, Then now to bid you hold Reg. How now, you dogge? Ser. If you did weare a beard vpon your chin, I'ld shake it on this quarrell. What do you meane? Corn. My Villaine? Seru. Nay then come on, and take the chance of anger Reg. Giue me thy Sword. A pezant stand vp thus? Killes him. Ser. Oh I am slaine: my Lord, you haue one eye left To see some mischefe on him. Oh Corn. Lest it see more, preuent it; Out vilde gelly: Where is thy luster now? Glou. All darke and comfortlesse? Where's my Sonne Edmund? Edmund, enkindle all the sparkes of Nature To quit this horrid acte Reg. Out treacherous Villaine, Thou call'st on him, that hates thee. It was he That made the ouerture of thy Treasons to vs: Who is too good to pitty thee Glou. O my Follies! then Edgar was abus'd, Kinde Gods, forgiue me that, and prosper him Reg. Go thrust him out at gates, and let him smell His way to Douer. Exit with Glouster. How is't my Lord? How looke you? Corn. I haue receiu'd a hurt: Follow me Lady; Turne out that eyelesse Villaine: throw this Slaue Vpon the Dunghill: Regan, I bleed apace, Vntimely comes this hurt. Giue me your arme. Exeunt.

act 3, scene vii

https://web.archive.org/web/20210417230554/https://www.gradesaver.com/king-lear/study-guide/summary-act-iii

Cornwall calls for Goneril to bring the letter concerning France's invasion to her husband and calls to his servants to seek out the traitor, Gloucester. Regan and Goneril call for tortuous punishment. Edmund is asked to accompany Goneril so as not to be present when his father is brought in. Oswald enters and alerts the court to the news of Gloucester's successful move of the King to Dover. As Goneril and Edmund depart, Cornwall sends servants in search of Gloucester. Gloucester enters with servants and Cornwall commands that he be bound to a chair. Regan plucks his beard as he protests that they are his guests and friends. They interrogate him on the letter he received from France and his part helping King Lear. Gloucester responds that he received the letter from an objective third-party but he is not believed. He admits that he sent the King to Dover, explaining that he was not safe out in the terrible storm nor in the company of those who would leave him in such conditions. He hopes that Lear's horrific children will have revenge light upon them. Cornwall answers that he will see no such thing, blinding one of his eyes. A servant speaks up in Gloucester's defense and is quickly stabbed by Regan using the sword Cornwall had drawn. Before the servant dies, he cries that Gloucester has one eye remaining to see harm come to the Duke and Duchess. Cornwall immediately blinds the other eye. Gloucester calls out for Edmund to help him in the time of peril to which Regan replies that it was Edmund who had alerted them to Gloucester's treachery. At this low point, Gloucester realizes the wrong he has shown Edgar if Edmund has done such evil. Regan has Gloucester thrown out of the castle and then helps Cornwall, who has received an injury, out of the room. Two servants discuss the incomprehensible evil of Cornwall and Regan, proposing to aid Gloucester in his blind stumbles. One of the servants leaves to find him while the other searches for ointments to sooth Gloucester's wounds.

Analysis: The theme of madness is explored deeply in Act III as we encounter at least three different forms of madness in at least three different characters. King Lear most notably goes, or is driven, to a madness he had predicted in this Act, but he is accompanied by two others whom are meant to be playing fools or madmen but to whom he grants the greatest sincerity. These two men, the two Lear places on the bench of his fictitious jury, are Edgar as poor Tom and Lear's Fool. Edgar feigns a madness as poor Tom that provides a great contrast to Lear's actual madness by bringing into question what madness is and how it was looked upon in Shakespeare's day. History shows that in Shakespeare's time lunatics were viewed as comic entertainment. Elizabethans would go to certain places simply in order to watch lunatics act crazy. Furthermore, Edgar's character was believable on the level of a mad trickster, a common character in the day who was known to trick others into believing him out of his wits. In a time such as this, one had to be careful to illuminate a lunacy which would be taken seriously if that was Shakespeare's intent, which concerning King Lear we must assume it was. The reasons which justify his serious plunge into insanity are many as the audience is privy to the actions of his daughters and the indignity he has been shown since giving up his title which could easily drop an old proud former king into madness. The horrific action of all but two children in the play, Cordelia and Edgar, is summed up in a neat sentence by Gloucester as he enters the hovel to speak to Lear. He cries, "Our flesh and blood, my lord, is grown so vile/ That it doth hate what gets it". The vileness, the evil, of Lear's two daughters and of Edmund is such a betrayal that it has made the skin crawl and wish to reject the beings it helped to create. They have forsworn any human tie to their parents in such a vile way that hatred is the only word which can describe the relation. We also learn from Gloucester that Lear's daughters are now trying to kill him. Not only have they stripped him of all dignity, condescendingly and hypothetically turned many of his own knights against him, and thrown him unsheltered out into a raging dangerous storm, but they have finally cut the corner of pretense in which they said they would accept their father if he came without train and resolved to kill their own father who gave them all of his kingdom. Lear's fault in facing them was a quick temper and a love quantified into value and material weight. This love, as we have discussed, could not have always existed in this form as we know from Lear's reaction in Act I that Cordelia had been his favorite daughter and that she had never rejected him or his wish previously. Thus, the self-centered plea for love seems to be a fault of old age as well as ego. As Gloucester mentions flesh and blood, Lear's daughters have turned out for blood and power, in a way again similar to the ambition of Lady Macbeth, to which they have no need to battle for but of which they can seemingly not get enough. The rumors continue along the vein of a rift between Albany and Cornwall and we will soon encounter a major rivalry between Regan and Goneril. Their undoing, their evil, is thus based on an arrogant ambition and a horrific filial ingratitude. This evil leads Lear to his belief that madness on a large scale can only result from the betrayal of daughters. He has sincerely been led astray in his trust and loyalty and thus plunges into a darkness and a madness which the storm, the hovel, and the night quite literally and symbolically portray. Vividly Shakespeare portrays the transformation of man into storm and storm into man as Lear goes mad. Personifying the storm with himself and the children he has begotten, Lear wails, "Rumble thy bellyful. Spit, fire. Spout, rain. Nor rain, wind, thunder, fire are my daughters". The storm is given a belly and the elements are compared to daughters. Note even the sound effects are called for at key points in the dialogue to echo Lear's mutation. Storm still " is included by Shakespeare, for example, between poor Tom's continuing rants and Lear's conclusion that his madness must be the result of the betrayal of his daughters. In this state of rugged, stripped, essential man, Lear is able to focus on some important human issues that he has overlooked as king. Left to battle the elements of nature and the storms that are its products like the poor, Lear is forced to think on the daily lives of the homeless and his ignorance of the poor's situation. He comments, "Poor naked wretches, wheresoe'er you are,/ That bide the pelting of this pitiless storm,/ How shall your houseless heads and unfed sides,/ Your looped and windowed raggedness, defend you/ From seasons such as these. O, I have ta'en/ Too little care of this. This is a climactic moment for Lear, as he stands on the threshold of madness. He will descend, it seems, as soon as he comes face to face with Edgar the reflection of madness he holds as philosophy and wisdom. And perhaps Lear comes much closer to a wisdom of humankind as a result. Madly, he attempts to strip himself naked only moments later before being stopped by the Fool, whose madness becomes simple complacency as he tries to look out for his master's safekeeping. In this, we see again how sane the Fool has been all along and how real Lear's madness is to make the Fool's speech become so practical. Lear is trying to physically strip himself of the artifice he has noticed within himself and most of mankind. He wishes to be put on par with poor Tom, a man who has lived much closer, he thinks, to the truth of nature. Edgar's character of poor Tom of Bedlam was based greatly on a text published shortly before Shakespeare's writing of King Lear. Harsnet's Declaration of Egregious Popishe Impostures, published in 1603, seems to provide much of the basis for Tom's language as well as the mention of the surreptitious "foul fiend" which plagues Tom constantly, biting at his back and instigating other evils upon him. With a feigned demonic madness, Tom's character is questioned less by the other characters allowing Edgar to provide commentary through his asides and the irony he often provides, especially in the contrast established between the disguised and acted madness he chooses and the uncontrollable, anguished madness which overtakes Lear. Tom also provides the physical character to represent the man Lear realizes he has ignored during his rule as King of Britain. Immediately after Lear cries out in recognition of his ignorance, he meets poor Tom. This allows Shakespeare to give more distinct meaning to Lear's, and later Gloucester's, wish for greater equality among the population in terms of money and favors. Lear exclaims, "Take physic, pomp;/ Expose thyself to feel what wretches feel,/ That thou mayst shake the superflux to them/ And show the heavens more just". In much the same vein as Robin Hood, Shakespeare here promotes a system where the rich would share their excess, their artifice, with the poor in order to even out the ranks a bit. Lear, in this manner, places himself at an equitable level with Tom and refuses to leave the stormy outdoors for shelter unless he can bring Tom with him. Lear has made his greatest leaps in humane awareness since his descent toward madness and his acquaintance with Tom. He states this for the audience when he remarks, "Is man no more than this. Consider him well. Thou ow'st the/ worm no silk, the beast no hide, the sheep no wool, the cat no perfumeThou art the thing itself; unaccomodated man is no/ more but such a poor, bare, forked animal as thou art". Clothing, excesses such as Lear referred to when speaking to Regan and Goneril about the need of his train, is superfluous and a great symbol of the artifice Lear has finally stripped from his body. Regan and Goneril move ever closer to their tragic ends as they progress substantially in their evil, as evidenced through their desire to kill Lear and the blinding of Gloucester. Regan, thought at first to be the tenderer of the two by Lear, leads the charge against Gloucester. Gloucester responds finally to the demands of why he sent Lear to Dover by addressing her and her sister as the basest of evils. It is her nails he mentions, not the power of Cornwall, even though the two have been joined in the punishment of Gloucester. He declares, "Because I would not see thy cruel nails/ Pluck out his poor old eyes". Ironically, this statement has greater truth for Gloucester himself. Regan taunts Gloucester after one eye is blinded and then takes the sword herself to kill a servant who stands up for Gloucester's honor. Moreover, she happily brags to Gloucester that his trusted Edmund was the one who alerted them to his treachery and then sends Gloucester out to "smell his way to Dover". In truth, we recognize this woman as more of a beast, a "bare, forked animal" than any of the characters against whom she is battling

gradesaver

all_chapterized_books/2266-chapters/14.txt

finished_summaries/gradesaver/King Lear/section_3_part_1.txt

King Lear.act 4.scene 1

act 4 scene 1

{"name": "act 4, scene i", "url": "https://web.archive.org/web/20210417230554/https://www.gradesaver.com/king-lear/study-guide/summary-act-iv", "summary": "Edgar is alone on stage soliloquizing about his fate. He seems more optimistic than earlier, hoping that he has seen the worst. This changes when Gloucester and an old man enters, displaying to Edgar the cruelty of Regan and Cornwall's punishment. Gloucester urges the old man aiding him to leave him, noting that his blindness should not affect him as \"I have no way, and therefore want no eyes;/ I stumbled when I saw\". He then laments the fool he has been toward his loyal son, Edgar. The old man tells him a mad beggarman is present to which Gloucester replies that he cannot be too mad if he knows to beg. Ironically, he notes that his introduction to a madman the night before had made him think of Edgar. This causes Edgar further pain. Gloucester again urges the old man to leave, commenting that poor Tom can lead him. He reasons that the time is such that madmen will lead the blind and tells the old man to meet them in a mile with new clothes for the beggar. The old man agrees to and leaves. Edgar wishes he did not have to deceive his father but reasons that he must. He speaks in his poor Tom manner of all of the fiends whom have plagued him. Gloucester gives him his purse, hoping to even out some of the inequality which exists between them, and asks him to lead him to the summit of the high cliff in Dover and leave him there", "analysis": ""}

Actus Quartus. Scena Prima. Enter Edgar. Edg. Yet better thus, and knowne to be contemn'd, Then still contemn'd and flatter'd, to be worst: The lowest, and most deiected thing of Fortune, Stands still in esperance, liues not in feare: The lamentable change is from the best, The worst returnes to laughter. Welcome then, Thou vnsubstantiall ayre that I embrace: The Wretch that thou hast blowne vnto the worst, Owes nothing to thy blasts. Enter Glouster, and an Oldman. But who comes heere? My Father poorely led? World, World, O world! But that thy strange mutations make vs hate thee, Life would not yeelde to age Oldm. O my good Lord, I haue bene your Tenant, And your Fathers Tenant, these fourescore yeares Glou. Away, get thee away: good Friend be gone, Thy comforts can do me no good at all, Thee, they may hurt Oldm. You cannot see your way Glou. I haue no way, and therefore want no eyes: I stumbled when I saw. Full oft 'tis seene, Our meanes secure vs, and our meere defects Proue our Commodities. Oh deere Sonne Edgar, The food of thy abused Fathers wrath: Might I but liue to see thee in my touch, I'ld say I had eyes againe Oldm. How now? who's there? Edg. O Gods! Who is't can say I am at the worst? I am worse then ere I was Old. 'Tis poore mad Tom Edg. And worse I may be yet: the worst is not, So long as we can say this is the worst Oldm. Fellow, where goest? Glou. Is it a Beggar-man? Oldm. Madman, and beggar too Glou. He has some reason, else he could not beg. I'th' last nights storme, I such a fellow saw; Which made me thinke a Man, a Worme. My Sonne Came then into my minde, and yet my minde Was then scarse Friends with him. I haue heard more since: As Flies to wanton Boyes, are we to th' Gods, They kill vs for their sport Edg. How should this be? Bad is the Trade that must play Foole to sorrow, Ang'ring it selfe, and others. Blesse thee Master Glou. Is that the naked Fellow? Oldm. I, my Lord Glou. Get thee away: If for my sake Thou wilt ore-take vs hence a mile or twaine I'th' way toward Douer, do it for ancient loue, And bring some couering for this naked Soule, Which Ile intreate to leade me Old. Alacke sir, he is mad Glou. 'Tis the times plague, When Madmen leade the blinde: Do as I bid thee, or rather do thy pleasure: Aboue the rest, be gone Oldm. Ile bring him the best Parrell that I haue Come on't what will. Exit Glou. Sirrah, naked fellow Edg. Poore Tom's a cold. I cannot daub it further Glou. Come hither fellow Edg. And yet I must: Blesse thy sweete eyes, they bleede Glou. Know'st thou the way to Douer? Edg. Both style, and gate; Horseway, and foot-path: poore Tom hath bin scarr'd out of his good wits. Blesse thee good mans sonne, from the foule Fiend Glou. Here take this purse, y whom the heau'ns plagues Haue humbled to all strokes: that I am wretched Makes thee the happier: Heauens deale so still: Let the superfluous, and Lust-dieted man, That slaues your ordinance, that will not see Because he do's not feele, feele your powre quickly: So distribution should vndoo excesse, And each man haue enough. Dost thou know Douer? Edg. I Master Glou. There is a Cliffe, whose high and bending head Lookes fearfully in the confined Deepe: Bring me but to the very brimme of it, And Ile repayre the misery thou do'st beare With something rich about me: from that place, I shall no leading neede Edg. Giue me thy arme; Poore Tom shall leade thee. Exeunt.

act 4, scene i

https://web.archive.org/web/20210417230554/https://www.gradesaver.com/king-lear/study-guide/summary-act-iv

Edgar is alone on stage soliloquizing about his fate. He seems more optimistic than earlier, hoping that he has seen the worst. This changes when Gloucester and an old man enters, displaying to Edgar the cruelty of Regan and Cornwall's punishment. Gloucester urges the old man aiding him to leave him, noting that his blindness should not affect him as "I have no way, and therefore want no eyes;/ I stumbled when I saw". He then laments the fool he has been toward his loyal son, Edgar. The old man tells him a mad beggarman is present to which Gloucester replies that he cannot be too mad if he knows to beg. Ironically, he notes that his introduction to a madman the night before had made him think of Edgar. This causes Edgar further pain. Gloucester again urges the old man to leave, commenting that poor Tom can lead him. He reasons that the time is such that madmen will lead the blind and tells the old man to meet them in a mile with new clothes for the beggar. The old man agrees to and leaves. Edgar wishes he did not have to deceive his father but reasons that he must. He speaks in his poor Tom manner of all of the fiends whom have plagued him. Gloucester gives him his purse, hoping to even out some of the inequality which exists between them, and asks him to lead him to the summit of the high cliff in Dover and leave him there

gradesaver

all_chapterized_books/2266-chapters/15.txt

finished_summaries/gradesaver/King Lear/section_3_part_2.txt

King Lear.act 4.scene 2

act 4 scene 2

{"name": "act 4, scene ii", "url": "https://web.archive.org/web/20210417230554/https://www.gradesaver.com/king-lear/study-guide/summary-act-iv", "summary": "Goneril and Edmund are en route to Goneril's home when Goneril asks Oswald why her husband has not met them. Oswald answers that Albany is a changed man. To all events Oswald expects he would be pleased by, he is upset and vice versa. The examples Oswald gives are the landing of the French army at which Albany smiled and Edmund's betrayal of Gloucester to which Albany was very displeased. Goneril is disgusted and sends Edmund back to Cornwall's with a kiss, telling him that she will have to become master of her household until she can become Edmund's mistress. After Edmund's departure, Albany enters and greets Goneril with disgust toward her character and the events with which she and Regan have been involved. He notes that humanity is in danger because of people like her. Goneril responds that he is weak, idly sitting by and allowing the French to invade their land without putting up protest or guarding against traitors. He lacks ambition and wisdom. The woman form she takes, Albany proclaims, disguises the fiend which exists beneath and if it were not for this cover, he would wish to destroy her. A messenger enters, conveying the news that Cornwall has died from the wound given him during the conflict with the servant who had stood up for Gloucester after one of his eye's had been blinded. In this manner, Albany learns of the treatment and subsequent blindness imparted to Gloucester by the hands of Regan and Cornwall. Though horrified, Albany remarks that the gods are at least conscious of justice and have already worked toward avenging the death of Gloucester by killing Cornwall. The messenger then delivers a letter to Goneril from Regan. In an aside, Goneril comments that the news of Cornwall's death is bad for her in that it leaves Regan a widow so she could easily marry Edmund. However, it may be a positive event since it takes Cornwall's threat to her reign out of the picture. She leaves to read and answer the letter. Albany asks the messenger of Edmund's location when Gloucester was blinded. The messenger informs him that Edmund was with Goneril at the time but that Edmund knew of the events which were to take place because it was he who had informed on Gloucester's treason. Albany swears to fight for Gloucester who has loved the good king and received such horrible treatment", "analysis": ""}

Scena Secunda. Enter Gonerill, Bastard, and Steward. Gon. Welcome my Lord. I meruell our mild husband Not met vs on the way. Now, where's your Master? Stew. Madam within, but neuer man so chang'd: I told him of the Army that was Landed: He smil'd at it. I told him you were comming, His answer was, the worse. Of Glosters Treachery, And of the loyall Seruice of his Sonne When I inform'd him, then he call'd me Sot, And told me I had turn'd the wrong side out: What most he should dislike, seemes pleasant to him; What like, offensiue Gon. Then shall you go no further. It is the Cowish terror of his spirit That dares not vndertake: Hee'l not feele wrongs Which tye him to an answer: our wishes on the way May proue effects. Backe Edmond to my Brother, Hasten his Musters, and conduct his powres. I must change names at home, and giue the Distaffe Into my Husbands hands. This trustie Seruant Shall passe betweene vs: ere long you are like to heare (If you dare venture in your owne behalfe) A Mistresses command. Weare this; spare speech, Decline your head. This kisse, if it durst speake Would stretch thy Spirits vp into the ayre: Conceiue, and fare thee well Bast. Yours in the rankes of death. Enter. Gon. My most deere Gloster. Oh, the difference of man, and man, To thee a Womans seruices are due, My Foole vsurpes my body Stew. Madam, here come's my Lord. Enter Albany. Gon. I haue beene worth the whistle Alb. Oh Gonerill, You are not worth the dust which the rude winde Blowes in your face Gon. Milke-Liuer'd man, That bear'st a cheeke for blowes, a head for wrongs, Who hast not in thy browes an eye-discerning Thine Honor, from thy suffering Alb. See thy selfe diuell: Proper deformitie seemes not in the Fiend So horrid as in woman Gon. Oh vaine Foole. Enter a Messenger. Mes. Oh my good Lord, the Duke of Cornwals dead, Slaine by his Seruant, going to put out The other eye of Glouster Alb. Glousters eyes Mes. A Seruant that he bred, thrill'd with remorse, Oppos'd against the act: bending his Sword To his great Master, who, threat-enrag'd Flew on him, and among'st them fell'd him dead, But not without that harmefull stroke, which since Hath pluckt him after Alb. This shewes you are aboue You Iustices, that these our neather crimes So speedily can venge. But (O poore Glouster) Lost he his other eye? Mes. Both, both, my Lord. This Leter Madam, craues a speedy answer: 'Tis from your Sister Gon. One way I like this well. But being widdow, and my Glouster with her, May all the building in my fancie plucke Vpon my hatefull life. Another way The Newes is not so tart. Ile read, and answer Alb. Where was his Sonne, When they did take his eyes? Mes. Come with my Lady hither Alb. He is not heere Mes. No my good Lord, I met him backe againe Alb. Knowes he the wickednesse? Mes. I my good Lord: 'twas he inform'd against him And quit the house on purpose, that their punishment Might haue the freer course Alb. Glouster, I liue To thanke thee for the loue thou shew'dst the King, And to reuenge thine eyes. Come hither Friend, Tell me what more thou know'st. Exeunt.

act 4, scene ii

https://web.archive.org/web/20210417230554/https://www.gradesaver.com/king-lear/study-guide/summary-act-iv

Goneril and Edmund are en route to Goneril's home when Goneril asks Oswald why her husband has not met them. Oswald answers that Albany is a changed man. To all events Oswald expects he would be pleased by, he is upset and vice versa. The examples Oswald gives are the landing of the French army at which Albany smiled and Edmund's betrayal of Gloucester to which Albany was very displeased. Goneril is disgusted and sends Edmund back to Cornwall's with a kiss, telling him that she will have to become master of her household until she can become Edmund's mistress. After Edmund's departure, Albany enters and greets Goneril with disgust toward her character and the events with which she and Regan have been involved. He notes that humanity is in danger because of people like her. Goneril responds that he is weak, idly sitting by and allowing the French to invade their land without putting up protest or guarding against traitors. He lacks ambition and wisdom. The woman form she takes, Albany proclaims, disguises the fiend which exists beneath and if it were not for this cover, he would wish to destroy her. A messenger enters, conveying the news that Cornwall has died from the wound given him during the conflict with the servant who had stood up for Gloucester after one of his eye's had been blinded. In this manner, Albany learns of the treatment and subsequent blindness imparted to Gloucester by the hands of Regan and Cornwall. Though horrified, Albany remarks that the gods are at least conscious of justice and have already worked toward avenging the death of Gloucester by killing Cornwall. The messenger then delivers a letter to Goneril from Regan. In an aside, Goneril comments that the news of Cornwall's death is bad for her in that it leaves Regan a widow so she could easily marry Edmund. However, it may be a positive event since it takes Cornwall's threat to her reign out of the picture. She leaves to read and answer the letter. Albany asks the messenger of Edmund's location when Gloucester was blinded. The messenger informs him that Edmund was with Goneril at the time but that Edmund knew of the events which were to take place because it was he who had informed on Gloucester's treason. Albany swears to fight for Gloucester who has loved the good king and received such horrible treatment

gradesaver

all_chapterized_books/2266-chapters/16.txt

finished_summaries/gradesaver/King Lear/section_3_part_3.txt

King Lear.act 4.scene 3

act 4 scene 3

{"name": "act 4, scene iii", "url": "https://web.archive.org/web/20210417230554/https://www.gradesaver.com/king-lear/study-guide/summary-act-iv", "summary": "We learn from Kent's conversation with a gentleman that the King of France has had to return to France for important business and has left the Marshal of France in charge. The gentleman informs him also of Cordelia's response to Kent's letter. She was very moved, lamenting against her sisters and their treatment of her father. Kent comments that the stars must control people's characters if one man and one woman could have children of such different qualities, like Cordelia and her sisters. Kent notifies the gentleman that Lear refuses to see Cordelia as he is ashamed of his behavior toward her. The gentleman confirms that Albany and Cornwall's powers are advancing. Deciding to leave Lear with him, Kent goes off to handle confidential business", "analysis": ""}

Scena Tertia. Enter with Drum and Colours, Cordelia, Gentlemen, and Souldiours. Cor. Alacke, 'tis he: why he was met euen now As mad as the vext Sea, singing alowd. Crown'd with ranke Fenitar, and furrow weeds, With Hardokes, Hemlocke, Nettles, Cuckoo flowres, Darnell, and all the idle weedes that grow In our sustaining Corne. A Centery send forth; Search euery Acre in the high-growne field, And bring him to our eye. What can mans wisedome In the restoring his bereaued Sense; he that helpes him, Take all my outward worth Gent. There is meanes Madam: Our foster Nurse of Nature, is repose, The which he lackes: that to prouoke in him Are many Simples operatiue, whose power Will close the eye of Anguish Cord. All blest Secrets, All you vnpublish'd Vertues of the earth Spring with my teares; be aydant, and remediate In the Goodmans desires: seeke, seeke for him, Least his vngouern'd rage, dissolue the life That wants the meanes to leade it. Enter Messenger. Mes. Newes Madam, The Brittish Powres are marching hitherward Cor. 'Tis knowne before. Our preparation stands In expectation of them. O deere Father, It is thy businesse that I go about: Therfore great France My mourning, and importun'd teares hath pittied: No blowne Ambition doth our Armes incite, But loue, deere loue, and our ag'd Fathers Rite: Soone may I heare, and see him. Exeunt.

act 4, scene iii

https://web.archive.org/web/20210417230554/https://www.gradesaver.com/king-lear/study-guide/summary-act-iv

We learn from Kent's conversation with a gentleman that the King of France has had to return to France for important business and has left the Marshal of France in charge. The gentleman informs him also of Cordelia's response to Kent's letter. She was very moved, lamenting against her sisters and their treatment of her father. Kent comments that the stars must control people's characters if one man and one woman could have children of such different qualities, like Cordelia and her sisters. Kent notifies the gentleman that Lear refuses to see Cordelia as he is ashamed of his behavior toward her. The gentleman confirms that Albany and Cornwall's powers are advancing. Deciding to leave Lear with him, Kent goes off to handle confidential business

gradesaver

all_chapterized_books/2266-chapters/17.txt

finished_summaries/gradesaver/King Lear/section_3_part_4.txt

King Lear.act 4.scene 4

act 4 scene 4

{"name": "act 4, scene iv", "url": "https://web.archive.org/web/20210417230554/https://www.gradesaver.com/king-lear/study-guide/summary-act-iv", "summary": "Pained, Cordelia laments the mad state of Lear and asks the doctor if there is a way to cure him. Rest might be the simple answer, the doctor replies, since Lear has been deprived of it. Cordelia prays for him and hopes that he will be revived. She must leave briefly on business for France", "analysis": ""}

Scena Quarta. Enter Regan, and Steward. Reg. But are my Brothers Powres set forth? Stew. I Madam Reg. Himselfe in person there? Stew. Madam with much ado: Your Sister is the better Souldier Reg. Lord Edmund spake not with your Lord at home? Stew. No Madam Reg. What might import my Sisters Letter to him? Stew. I know not, Lady Reg. Faith he is poasted hence on serious matter: It was great ignorance, Glousters eyes being out To let him liue. Where he arriues, he moues All hearts against vs: Edmund, I thinke is gone In pitty of his misery, to dispatch His nighted life: Moreouer to descry The strength o'th' Enemy Stew. I must needs after him, Madam, with my Letter Reg. Our troopes set forth to morrow, stay with vs: The wayes are dangerous Stew. I may not Madam: My Lady charg'd my dutie in this busines Reg. Why should she write to Edmund? Might not you transport her purposes by word? Belike, Some things, I know not what. Ile loue thee much Let me vnseale the Letter Stew. Madam, I had rather- Reg. I know your Lady do's not loue her Husband, I am sure of that: and at her late being heere, She gaue strange Eliads, and most speaking lookes To Noble Edmund. I know you are of her bosome Stew. I, Madam? Reg. I speake in vnderstanding: Y'are: I know't, Therefore I do aduise you take this note: My Lord is dead: Edmond, and I haue talk'd, And more conuenient is he for my hand Then for your Ladies: You may gather more: If you do finde him, pray you giue him this; And when your Mistris heares thus much from you, I pray desire her call her wisedome to her. So fare you well: If you do chance to heare of that blinde Traitor, Preferment fals on him, that cuts him off Stew. Would I could meet Madam, I should shew What party I do follow Reg. Fare thee well. Exeunt.

act 4, scene iv

https://web.archive.org/web/20210417230554/https://www.gradesaver.com/king-lear/study-guide/summary-act-iv

Pained, Cordelia laments the mad state of Lear and asks the doctor if there is a way to cure him. Rest might be the simple answer, the doctor replies, since Lear has been deprived of it. Cordelia prays for him and hopes that he will be revived. She must leave briefly on business for France

gradesaver

all_chapterized_books/2266-chapters/18.txt

finished_summaries/gradesaver/King Lear/section_3_part_5.txt

King Lear.act 4.scene 5

act 4 scene 5

{"name": "act 4, scene v", "url": "https://web.archive.org/web/20210417230554/https://www.gradesaver.com/king-lear/study-guide/summary-act-iv", "summary": "Regan and Oswald discuss how Albany's powers are afoot. Oswald points out that Goneril is the better soldier and informs Regan that Edmund did not have a chance to speak with Albany. Regan asks what the letter which Oswald brought from Goneril for Edmund says but Oswald knows only that it must be of great importance. Regan regrets blinding Gloucester because allowing him to live arouses sympathy which results in more parties turned against Regan and her company. Stating that Edmund has gone in search of Gloucester to put him out of his misery, she then claims that he is checking out the strength of the enemy forces. She urges Oswald to remain with her because the roads are dangerous. She is jealous of what she fears the contents of the letter may be, namely entreaties to Edmund for his love. Advising him to remind Edmund of the matters he had discussed with her considering their marriage, Regan allows Oswald to continue. Oswald agrees to halt Gloucester if he comes upon him and thus show to whom his loyalty lies", "analysis": ""}

Scena Quinta. Enter Gloucester, and Edgar. Glou. When shall I come to th' top of that same hill? Edg. You do climbe vp it now. Look how we labor Glou. Me thinkes the ground is eeuen Edg. Horrible steepe. Hearke, do you heare the Sea? Glou. No truly Edg. Why then your other Senses grow imperfect By your eyes anguish Glou. So may it be indeed. Me thinkes thy voyce is alter'd, and thou speak'st In better phrase, and matter then thou did'st Edg. Y'are much deceiu'd: In nothing am I chang'd But in my Garments Glou. Me thinkes y'are better spoken Edg. Come on Sir, Heere's the place: stand still: how fearefull And dizie 'tis, to cast ones eyes so low, The Crowes and Choughes, that wing the midway ayre Shew scarse so grosse as Beetles. Halfe way downe Hangs one that gathers Sampire: dreadfull Trade: Me thinkes he seemes no bigger then his head. The Fishermen, that walk'd vpon the beach Appeare like Mice: and yond tall Anchoring Barke, Diminish'd to her Cocke: her Cocke, a Buoy Almost too small for sight. The murmuring Surge, That on th' vnnumbred idle Pebble chafes Cannot be heard so high. Ile looke no more, Least my braine turne, and the deficient sight Topple downe headlong Glou. Set me where you stand Edg. Giue me your hand: You are now within a foote of th' extreme Verge: For all beneath the Moone would I not leape vpright Glou. Let go my hand: Heere Friend's another purse: in it, a Iewell Well worth a poore mans taking. Fayries, and Gods Prosper it with thee. Go thou further off, Bid me farewell, and let me heare thee going Edg. Now fare ye well, good Sir Glou. With all my heart Edg. Why I do trifle thus with his dispaire, Is done to cure it Glou. O you mighty Gods! This world I do renounce, and in your sights Shake patiently my great affliction off: If I could beare it longer, and not fall To quarrell with your great opposelesse willes, My snuffe, and loathed part of Nature should Burne it selfe out. If Edgar liue, O blesse him: Now Fellow, fare thee well Edg. Gone Sir, farewell: And yet I know not how conceit may rob The Treasury of life, when life it selfe Yeelds to the Theft. Had he bin where he thought, By this had thought bin past. Aliue, or dead? Hoa, you Sir: Friend, heare you Sir, speake: Thus might he passe indeed: yet he reuiues. What are you Sir? Glou. Away, and let me dye Edg. Had'st thou beene ought But Gozemore, Feathers, Ayre, (So many fathome downe precipitating) Thou'dst shiuer'd like an Egge: but thou do'st breath: Hast heauy substance, bleed'st not, speak'st, art sound, Ten Masts at each, make not the altitude Which thou hast perpendicularly fell, Thy life's a Myracle. Speake yet againe Glou. But haue I falne, or no? Edg. From the dread Somnet of this Chalkie Bourne Looke vp a height, the shrill-gorg'd Larke so farre Cannot be seene, or heard: Do but looke vp Glou. Alacke, I haue no eyes: Is wretchednesse depriu'd that benefit To end it selfe by death? 'Twas yet some comfort, When misery could beguile the Tyrants rage, And frustrate his proud will Edg. Giue me your arme. Vp, so: How is't? Feele you your Legges? You stand Glou. Too well, too well Edg. This is aboue all strangenesse, Vpon the crowne o'th' Cliffe. What thing was that Which parted from you? Glou. A poore vnfortunate Beggar Edg. As I stood heere below, me thought his eyes Were two full Moones: he had a thousand Noses, Hornes wealk'd, and waued like the enraged Sea: It was some Fiend: Therefore thou happy Father, Thinke that the cleerest Gods, who make them Honors Of mens Impossibilities, haue preserued thee Glou. I do remember now: henceforth Ile beare Affliction, till it do cry out it selfe Enough, enough, and dye. That thing you speake of, I tooke it for a man: often 'twould say The Fiend, the Fiend, he led me to that place Edgar. Beare free and patient thoughts. Enter Lear. But who comes heere? The safer sense will ne're accommodate His Master thus Lear. No, they cannot touch me for crying. I am the King himselfe Edg. O thou side-piercing sight! Lear. Nature's aboue Art, in that respect. Ther's your Presse-money. That fellow handles his bow, like a Crowkeeper: draw mee a Cloathiers yard. Looke, looke, a Mouse: peace, peace, this peece of toasted Cheese will doo't. There's my Gauntlet, Ile proue it on a Gyant. Bring vp the browne Billes. O well flowne Bird: i'th' clout, i'th' clout: Hewgh. Giue the word Edg. Sweet Mariorum Lear. Passe Glou. I know that voice Lear. Ha! Gonerill with a white beard? They flatter'd me like a Dogge, and told mee I had the white hayres in my Beard, ere the blacke ones were there. To say I, and no, to euery thing that I said: I, and no too, was no good Diuinity. When the raine came to wet me once, and the winde to make me chatter: when the Thunder would not peace at my bidding, there I found 'em, there I smelt 'em out. Go too, they are not men o'their words; they told me, I was euery thing: 'Tis a Lye, I am not Agu-proofe Glou. The tricke of that voyce, I do well remember: Is't not the King? Lear. I, euery inch a King. When I do stare, see how the Subiect quakes. I pardon that mans life. What was thy cause? Adultery? thou shalt not dye: dye for Adultery? No, the Wren goes too't, and the small gilded Fly Do's letcher in my sight. Let Copulation thriue: For Glousters bastard Son was kinder to his Father, Then my Daughters got 'tweene the lawfull sheets. Too't Luxury pell-mell, for I lacke Souldiers. Behold yond simpring Dame, whose face betweene her Forkes presages Snow; that minces Vertue, & do's shake the head to heare of pleasures name. The Fitchew, nor the soyled Horse goes too't with a more riotous appetite: Downe from the waste they are Centaures, though Women all aboue: but to the Girdle do the Gods inherit, beneath is all the Fiends. There's hell, there's darkenes, there is the sulphurous pit; burning, scalding, stench, consumption: Fye, fie, fie; pah, pah: Giue me an Ounce of Ciuet; good Apothecary sweeten my immagination: There's money for thee Glou. O let me kisse that hand Lear. Let me wipe it first, It smelles of Mortality Glou. O ruin'd peece of Nature, this great world Shall so weare out to naught. Do'st thou know me? Lear. I remember thine eyes well enough: dost thou squiny at me? No, doe thy worst blinde Cupid, Ile not loue. Reade thou this challenge, marke but the penning of it Glou. Were all thy Letters Sunnes, I could not see Edg. I would not take this from report, It is, and my heart breakes at it Lear. Read Glou. What with the Case of eyes? Lear. Oh ho, are you there with me? No eies in your head, nor no mony in your purse? Your eyes are in a heauy case, your purse in a light, yet you see how this world goes Glou. I see it feelingly Lear. What, art mad? A man may see how this world goes, with no eyes. Looke with thine eares: See how yond Iustice railes vpon yond simple theefe. Hearke in thine eare: Change places, and handy-dandy, which is the Iustice, which is the theefe: Thou hast seene a Farmers dogge barke at a Beggar? Glou. I Sir Lear. And the Creature run from the Cur: there thou might'st behold the great image of Authoritie, a Dogg's obey'd in Office. Thou, Rascall Beadle, hold thy bloody hand: why dost thou lash that Whore? Strip thy owne backe, thou hotly lusts to vse her in that kind, for which thou whip'st her. The Vsurer hangs the Cozener. Thorough tatter'd cloathes great Vices do appeare: Robes, and Furr'd gownes hide all. Place sinnes with Gold, and the strong Lance of Iustice, hurtlesse breakes: Arme it in ragges, a Pigmies straw do's pierce it. None do's offend, none, I say none, Ile able 'em; take that of me my Friend, who haue the power to seale th' accusers lips. Get thee glasse-eyes, and like a scuruy Politician, seeme to see the things thou dost not. Now, now, now, now. Pull off my Bootes: harder, harder, so Edg. O matter, and impertinency mixt, Reason in Madnesse Lear. If thou wilt weepe my Fortunes, take my eyes. I know thee well enough, thy name is Glouster: Thou must be patient; we came crying hither: Thou know'st, the first time that we smell the Ayre We wawle, and cry. I will preach to thee: Marke Glou. Alacke, alacke the day Lear. When we are borne, we cry that we are come To this great stage of Fooles. This a good blocke: It were a delicate stratagem to shoo A Troope of Horse with Felt: Ile put't in proofe, And when I haue stolne vpon these Son in Lawes, Then kill, kill, kill, kill, kill, kill. Enter a Gentleman. Gent. Oh heere he is: lay hand vpon him, Sir. Your most deere Daughter- Lear. No rescue? What, a Prisoner? I am euen The Naturall Foole of Fortune. Vse me well, You shall haue ransome. Let me haue Surgeons, I am cut to'th' Braines Gent. You shall haue any thing Lear. No Seconds? All my selfe? Why, this would make a man, a man of Salt To vse his eyes for Garden water-pots. I wil die brauely, Like a smugge Bridegroome. What? I will be Iouiall: Come, come, I am a King, Masters, know you that? Gent. You are a Royall one, and we obey you Lear. Then there's life in't. Come, and you get it, You shall get it by running: Sa, sa, sa, sa. Enter. Gent. A sight most pittifull in the meanest wretch, Past speaking of in a King. Thou hast a Daughter Who redeemes Nature from the generall curse Which twaine haue brought her to Edg. Haile gentle Sir Gent. Sir, speed you: what's your will? Edg. Do you heare ought (Sir) of a Battell toward Gent. Most sure, and vulgar: Euery one heares that, which can distinguish sound Edg. But by your fauour: How neere's the other Army? Gent. Neere, and on speedy foot: the maine descry Stands on the hourely thought Edg. I thanke you Sir, that's all Gent. Though that the Queen on special cause is here Her Army is mou'd on. Enter. Edg. I thanke you Sir Glou. You euer gentle Gods, take my breath from me, Let not my worser Spirit tempt me againe To dye before you please Edg. Well pray you Father Glou. Now good sir, what are you? Edg. A most poore man, made tame to Fortunes blows Who, by the Art of knowne, and feeling sorrowes, Am pregnant to good pitty. Giue me your hand, Ile leade you to some biding Glou. Heartie thankes: The bountie, and the benizon of Heauen To boot, and boot. Enter Steward. Stew. A proclaim'd prize: most happie That eyelesse head of thine, was first fram'd flesh To raise my fortunes. Thou old, vnhappy Traitor, Breefely thy selfe remember: the Sword is out That must destroy thee Glou. Now let thy friendly hand Put strength enough too't Stew. Wherefore, bold Pezant, Dar'st thou support a publish'd Traitor? Hence, Least that th' infection of his fortune take Like hold on thee. Let go his arme Edg. Chill not let go Zir, Without vurther 'casion Stew. Let go Slaue, or thou dy'st Edg. Good Gentleman goe your gate, and let poore volke passe: and 'chud ha' bin zwaggerd out of my life, 'twould not ha' bin zo long as 'tis, by a vortnight. Nay, come not neere th' old man: keepe out che vor' ye, or Ile try whither your Costard, or my Ballow be the harder; chill be plaine with you Stew. Out Dunghill Edg. Chill picke your teeth Zir: come, no matter vor your foynes Stew. Slaue thou hast slaine me: Villain, take my purse; If euer thou wilt thriue, bury my bodie, And giue the Letters which thou find'st about me, To Edmund Earle of Glouster: seeke him out Vpon the English party. Oh vntimely death, death Edg. I know thee well. A seruiceable Villaine, As duteous to the vices of thy Mistris, As badnesse would desire Glou. What, is he dead? Edg. Sit you downe Father: rest you. Let's see these Pockets; the Letters that he speakes of May be my Friends: hee's dead; I am onely sorry He had no other Deathsman. Let vs see: Leaue gentle waxe, and manners: blame vs not To know our enemies mindes, we rip their hearts, Their Papers is more lawfull. Reads the Letter. Let our reciprocall vowes be remembred. You haue manie opportunities to cut him off: if your will want not, time and place will be fruitfully offer'd. There is nothing done. If hee returne the Conqueror, then am I the Prisoner, and his bed, my Gaole, from the loathed warmth whereof, deliuer me, and supply the place for your Labour. Your (Wife, so I would say) affectionate Seruant. Gonerill. Oh indistinguish'd space of Womans will, A plot vpon her vertuous Husbands life, And the exchange my Brother: heere, in the sands Thee Ile rake vp, the poste vnsanctified Of murtherous Letchers: and in the mature time, With this vngracious paper strike the sight Of the death-practis'd Duke: for him 'tis well, That of thy death, and businesse, I can tell Glou. The King is mad: How stiffe is my vilde sense That I stand vp, and haue ingenious feeling Of my huge Sorrowes? Better I were distract, So should my thoughts be seuer'd from my greefes, Drum afarre off. And woes, by wrong imaginations loose The knowledge of themselues Edg. Giue me your hand: Farre off methinkes I heare the beaten Drumme. Come Father, Ile bestow you with a Friend. Exeunt.

act 4, scene v

https://web.archive.org/web/20210417230554/https://www.gradesaver.com/king-lear/study-guide/summary-act-iv

Regan and Oswald discuss how Albany's powers are afoot. Oswald points out that Goneril is the better soldier and informs Regan that Edmund did not have a chance to speak with Albany. Regan asks what the letter which Oswald brought from Goneril for Edmund says but Oswald knows only that it must be of great importance. Regan regrets blinding Gloucester because allowing him to live arouses sympathy which results in more parties turned against Regan and her company. Stating that Edmund has gone in search of Gloucester to put him out of his misery, she then claims that he is checking out the strength of the enemy forces. She urges Oswald to remain with her because the roads are dangerous. She is jealous of what she fears the contents of the letter may be, namely entreaties to Edmund for his love. Advising him to remind Edmund of the matters he had discussed with her considering their marriage, Regan allows Oswald to continue. Oswald agrees to halt Gloucester if he comes upon him and thus show to whom his loyalty lies

gradesaver

all_chapterized_books/2266-chapters/23.txt

finished_summaries/gradesaver/King Lear/section_3_part_7.txt

King Lear.act 4.scene 7

act 4 scene 7

{"name": "act 4, scene vii", "url": "https://web.archive.org/web/20210417230554/https://www.gradesaver.com/king-lear/study-guide/summary-act-iv", "summary": "Cordelia thanks Kent for the goodness he has shown her father and the bravery he has espoused. She asks him to discard his disguise but he knows that he will be able to work better for Lear if he remains disguised. The Doctor remarks that Lear has slept for a long while so that they may try waking him. Lear is brought in, still sleeping. Hoping to resolve the horrors committed by her sisters, Cordelia kisses Lear and reflects on the vileness and ingratitude of her sisters, treating Lear worse than a dog by shutting their doors on him in the storm. Lear wakes and Cordelia addresses him. Lear feels awakened from the grave and wishes they had left him. Very drowsy at first, Lear thinks Cordelia is a spirit and then realizes he should know her and Kent but has difficulty putting his memory together. Finally he recognizes Cordelia, to her delight, but thinks he is in France. The Doctor advises them to give Lear his space so Cordelia takes him for a walk. The gentleman remains and asks Kent if the rumors of Cornwall's death and Edgar's position in Germany with the Earl of Kent are true. Kent confirms the first, but leaves the latter unanswered. The gentleman warns that the battle to come will be bloody.", "analysis": "Analysis: Act IV begins on a misleading high note as Edgar is pleased that any changes in his life will have to bring better times. Things cannot get worse, he implies. The paradox is established then with Gloucester's subsequent entrance and Edgar realizes that his life has gotten worse now that he knows the terrible treatment his father has endured. It is important to keep in mind that Edgar does not know how Edmund deceived his father into believing Edgar was the evil doer. All Edgar knows is that he had to run for his life because of the feelings Gloucester, Cornwall, and Albany held against him. Yet, even though he is incredibly saddened by Gloucester's appearance and torment, he does not once act reluctant to aid his father. Oddly however, to the audience, must have been Edgar's desire to remain disguised. He is still not sure of Gloucester's feelings toward him and leads him to Dover regardless. But he does soon learn of the events which have occurred, when Gloucester, thinking he is alone with the old man, wails, \"O dear son Edgar,/ The food of thy abused father's wrath,/ Might I but live to see thee in my touch/ I'ld say I had eyes again. Thus, though Edgar cannot know yet of the plot led by Edmund, he is aware that his father dearly wishes to see him and be reconciled to him. So why not give him this favor. The most practical answers critics provide concern the theatrical quality of leaving Edgar in his beggar/madman attire. This disguise materially is quite important to the theme of artifice which flows throughout the play. Picking up from Lear's discussion of poor Tom's \"Persian\" robes when in fact he was wearing rags, we have moved through Lear's realization that rich clothing and authority does not shield one from having to be human underneath. Need is often hugely exploited by the wealthier and more powerful, Lear learns, as he becomes more cognizant of the many poor in his kingdom whom he has ignored. This metaphor is again employed by Albany in scene ii who notes that a woman's form saves Goneril from him ripping her apart but does not excuse the monster she is underneath. Another allusion to this deceptive form is given by Lear in scene vi who compares women, especially the women his daughters have represented, to centaurs as fiends from waist down. The covering of clothing or womanly ways, in the case of evil Regan and Goneril, is a heavily significant symbolic weapon displayed by Shakespeare. Thus many critics point to the symbolic utility of having Edgar dressed as a poor beggarman leading a once authoritative and wealthy, now blind and ruined, old man. Not only can Shakespeare further emphasize the dignified position which should be afforded to elders with this move, but he can make social commentary. The essential man, the philosopher for whom Lear saw Tom as, is stripped of social pretense and is leading the once powerful Earl. Moreover, he is the mad man leading the blind. Gloucester now too has been stripped of the illusions he once entertained and thus is rather fitted for this predicament. He gives voice to this element in the text by proclaiming, \"'Tis the time's plague when madmen lead the blind\". Gloucester himself has finally developed as a character whom has learned, like Lear has in his madness, of the errors in his life and of the things he has not given enough of his attention. He admits to the audience the central paradox of the entire play, one which we have pointed out since the beginning as it was highlighted very early by Shakespeare in many of the character's lines and references. I have no way, and therefore want no eyes;/ I stumbled when I saw. Full oft 'tis seen/ Our means secure us, and our mere defects/ Prove our commodities\". The eyes are not the necessary vessels, such as the heart or mind might be, to a better understanding of humankind. He too, as Lear did, tries to equalize the financial inequalities by giving poor Tom his purse. Money provides another agent of the artifice which is becoming abhorrent to Gloucester and Lear but is desired by Goneril and Regan. Their battle for Edmund's hand stems not from love, as they eagerly wish to give up their husbands in order to take Edmund's side, but from their ambition and thirst for power. With Cornwall dead and Albany viewed as weak and overly moral, both sisters see Edmund as the proper choice for a mate. He has shown himself to be ambitious and loyal, even at the price of his own father's torture. Goneril views Edmund head and shoulders above a man who does not condone her ambition and refuses to fight for the power she wants to gain. She, as with Regan, likely hopes to rule a reunited kingdom and knows that her husband will not help her in this endeavor. Oswald, ever loyal to his mistress, retorts rightly to Regan that, \"Your sister is the better soldier \". Albany has raised himself in the standards of nobility and clearly has separated himself from the evil of the two sisters, Cornwall, Edmund, and even Oswald. Though often paired with Cornwall earlier, he here moves so far from this category that Edgar later vows to defend him. Albany's angry outburst at Goneril echoes what the audience is likely thinking of her. It deepens their hatred for her when they realize that he does not even know yet about the blinding of Gloucester and he has no idea of the adulterous plans which Goneril has just hatched. We then look at Regan in scene v through the lens of the hatred toward Goneril and find her steeped in a hypocrisy just as great. Regan tries to manipulates Oswald, Goneril's loyal steward, to work for her means and when she cannot, she warns him to threaten Edmund. By the time Cordelia enters the Act, she is already a paramount of good will and honor simply in comparison. Her complete absence in the text, excepting the few times that Kent has mentioned her and the letter from her, has created a curiosity, a void, which allows for a greater suspense and then satisfaction when she fills that void. Some critics feel that the reason she is absent for such a long period has more to do with the fact that the Fool may have been played by the same actor. They point to the Fool's entrance after Cordelia's banishment and his disappearance before her return. In any case, the last time Cordelia was present in a scene was the very first scene of Act I in which she acted rather coldly when questioned by her father. We are given good reason when she points to the nature of her sisters, quantifying love and manipulating their father, as well as by the support she receives from Kent and France and by the way her father had previously favored her. Yet, we are given no proof from her own mouth until this point in the fourth act. Similar to Edmund's caretaking of Gloucester, she immediately forgives her father for the misjudgment he has made and strives to bring him back to his comfort and sanity. Echoing an the earlier outrage of Gloucester, she bemoans the manner in which her sisters turned Lear out by crying, Was this a face To be opposed against the jarring winds. To stand against the deep dread-bolted thunder. In the most terrible and nimble stroke Of quick cross lightening to watch, poor perdu With this thin helm. Mine enemy's dog, Though he had bit me, should have stood the night Against my fire; and wast thou fain, poor father, To hovel thee with swine and rogues forlorn In short and musty straw. Alack, alack, 'Tis wonder that thy life and wits at once Had not concluded all. The audience had not heard any sort of passion from the earlier Cordelia but we hear her now, and the change is extremely welcomed by the audience. This nature of extremes allows for the conclusion many make, linking Cordelia to a Christ figure. Ironically, this idea persists although she is a character in a pagan setting. Standing above the baseness of her fellow creatures, she has arrived in order to nurse her father back to health, having them change his garments and bring him into the music. In a sense, she brings him back from the dead, as he moans, \"You do me wrong to take me out o' th' grave\". Moreover, she turns her other cheek to the abuses her father had committed and eagerly forgives him and accepts him back into her life. Truly, there are Christian overtures in this, and throughout much of the play if we look for them. At any rate, Cordelia's sense of forgiveness and the goodness she exudes sets her far above her sisters and justifies the far lengths France and Kent have gone to defend her"}

Scaena Septima. Enter Cordelia, Kent, and Gentleman. Cor. O thou good Kent, How shall I liue and worke To match thy goodnesse? My life will be too short, And euery measure faile me Kent. To be acknowledg'd Madam is ore-pai'd, All my reports go with the modest truth, Nor more, nor clipt, but so Cor. Be better suited, These weedes are memories of those worser houres: I prythee put them off Kent. Pardon deere Madam, Yet to be knowne shortens my made intent, My boone I make it, that you know me not, Till time, and I, thinke meet Cor. Then be't so my good Lord: How do's the King? Gent. Madam sleepes still Cor. O you kind Gods! Cure this great breach in his abused Nature, Th' vntun'd and iarring senses, O winde vp, Of this childe-changed Father Gent. So please your Maiesty, That we may wake the King, he hath slept long? Cor. Be gouern'd by your knowledge, and proceede I'th' sway of your owne will: is he array'd? Enter Lear in a chaire carried by Seruants] Gent. I Madam: in the heauinesse of sleepe, We put fresh garments on him. Be by good Madam when we do awake him, I doubt of his Temperance Cor. O my deere Father, restauratian hang Thy medicine on my lippes, and let this kisse Repaire those violent harmes, that my two Sisters Haue in thy Reuerence made Kent. Kind and deere Princesse Cor. Had you not bin their Father, these white flakes Did challenge pitty of them. Was this a face To be oppos'd against the iarring windes? Mine Enemies dogge, though he had bit me, Should haue stood that night against my fire, And was't thou faine (poore Father) To houell thee with Swine and Rogues forlorne, In short, and musty straw? Alacke, alacke, 'Tis wonder that thy life and wits, at once Had not concluded all. He wakes, speake to him Gen. Madam do you, 'tis fittest Cor. How does my Royall Lord? How fares your Maiesty? Lear. You do me wrong to take me out o'th' graue, Thou art a Soule in blisse, but I am bound Vpon a wheele of fire, that mine owne teares Do scal'd, like molten Lead Cor. Sir, do you know me? Lear. You are a spirit I know, where did you dye? Cor. Still, still, farre wide Gen. He's scarse awake, Let him alone a while Lear. Where haue I bin? Where am I? Faire day light? I am mightily abus'd; I should eu'n dye with pitty To see another thus. I know not what to say: I will not sweare these are my hands: let's see, I feele this pin pricke, would I were assur'd Of my condition Cor. O looke vpon me Sir, And hold your hand in benediction o're me, You must not kneele Lear. Pray do not mocke me: I am a very foolish fond old man, Fourescore and vpward, Not an houre more, nor lesse: And to deale plainely, I feare I am not in my perfect mind. Me thinkes I should know you, and know this man, Yet I am doubtfull: For I am mainely ignorant What place this is: and all the skill I haue Remembers not these garments: nor I know not Where I did lodge last night. Do not laugh at me, For (as I am a man) I thinke this Lady To be my childe Cordelia Cor. And so I am: I am Lear. Be your teares wet? Yes faith: I pray weepe not, If you haue poyson for me, I will drinke it: I know you do not loue me, for your Sisters Haue (as I do remember) done me wrong. You haue some cause, they haue not Cor. No cause, no cause Lear. Am I in France? Kent. In your owne kingdome Sir Lear. Do not abuse me Gent. Be comforted good Madam, the great rage You see is kill'd in him: desire him to go in, Trouble him no more till further setling Cor. Wilt please your Highnesse walke? Lear. You must beare with me: Pray you now forget, and forgiue, I am old and foolish. Exeunt.

act 4, scene vii

https://web.archive.org/web/20210417230554/https://www.gradesaver.com/king-lear/study-guide/summary-act-iv

Cordelia thanks Kent for the goodness he has shown her father and the bravery he has espoused. She asks him to discard his disguise but he knows that he will be able to work better for Lear if he remains disguised. The Doctor remarks that Lear has slept for a long while so that they may try waking him. Lear is brought in, still sleeping. Hoping to resolve the horrors committed by her sisters, Cordelia kisses Lear and reflects on the vileness and ingratitude of her sisters, treating Lear worse than a dog by shutting their doors on him in the storm. Lear wakes and Cordelia addresses him. Lear feels awakened from the grave and wishes they had left him. Very drowsy at first, Lear thinks Cordelia is a spirit and then realizes he should know her and Kent but has difficulty putting his memory together. Finally he recognizes Cordelia, to her delight, but thinks he is in France. The Doctor advises them to give Lear his space so Cordelia takes him for a walk. The gentleman remains and asks Kent if the rumors of Cornwall's death and Edgar's position in Germany with the Earl of Kent are true. Kent confirms the first, but leaves the latter unanswered. The gentleman warns that the battle to come will be bloody.

Analysis: Act IV begins on a misleading high note as Edgar is pleased that any changes in his life will have to bring better times. Things cannot get worse, he implies. The paradox is established then with Gloucester's subsequent entrance and Edgar realizes that his life has gotten worse now that he knows the terrible treatment his father has endured. It is important to keep in mind that Edgar does not know how Edmund deceived his father into believing Edgar was the evil doer. All Edgar knows is that he had to run for his life because of the feelings Gloucester, Cornwall, and Albany held against him. Yet, even though he is incredibly saddened by Gloucester's appearance and torment, he does not once act reluctant to aid his father. Oddly however, to the audience, must have been Edgar's desire to remain disguised. He is still not sure of Gloucester's feelings toward him and leads him to Dover regardless. But he does soon learn of the events which have occurred, when Gloucester, thinking he is alone with the old man, wails, "O dear son Edgar,/ The food of thy abused father's wrath,/ Might I but live to see thee in my touch/ I'ld say I had eyes again. Thus, though Edgar cannot know yet of the plot led by Edmund, he is aware that his father dearly wishes to see him and be reconciled to him. So why not give him this favor. The most practical answers critics provide concern the theatrical quality of leaving Edgar in his beggar/madman attire. This disguise materially is quite important to the theme of artifice which flows throughout the play. Picking up from Lear's discussion of poor Tom's "Persian" robes when in fact he was wearing rags, we have moved through Lear's realization that rich clothing and authority does not shield one from having to be human underneath. Need is often hugely exploited by the wealthier and more powerful, Lear learns, as he becomes more cognizant of the many poor in his kingdom whom he has ignored. This metaphor is again employed by Albany in scene ii who notes that a woman's form saves Goneril from him ripping her apart but does not excuse the monster she is underneath. Another allusion to this deceptive form is given by Lear in scene vi who compares women, especially the women his daughters have represented, to centaurs as fiends from waist down. The covering of clothing or womanly ways, in the case of evil Regan and Goneril, is a heavily significant symbolic weapon displayed by Shakespeare. Thus many critics point to the symbolic utility of having Edgar dressed as a poor beggarman leading a once authoritative and wealthy, now blind and ruined, old man. Not only can Shakespeare further emphasize the dignified position which should be afforded to elders with this move, but he can make social commentary. The essential man, the philosopher for whom Lear saw Tom as, is stripped of social pretense and is leading the once powerful Earl. Moreover, he is the mad man leading the blind. Gloucester now too has been stripped of the illusions he once entertained and thus is rather fitted for this predicament. He gives voice to this element in the text by proclaiming, "'Tis the time's plague when madmen lead the blind". Gloucester himself has finally developed as a character whom has learned, like Lear has in his madness, of the errors in his life and of the things he has not given enough of his attention. He admits to the audience the central paradox of the entire play, one which we have pointed out since the beginning as it was highlighted very early by Shakespeare in many of the character's lines and references. I have no way, and therefore want no eyes;/ I stumbled when I saw. Full oft 'tis seen/ Our means secure us, and our mere defects/ Prove our commodities". The eyes are not the necessary vessels, such as the heart or mind might be, to a better understanding of humankind. He too, as Lear did, tries to equalize the financial inequalities by giving poor Tom his purse. Money provides another agent of the artifice which is becoming abhorrent to Gloucester and Lear but is desired by Goneril and Regan. Their battle for Edmund's hand stems not from love, as they eagerly wish to give up their husbands in order to take Edmund's side, but from their ambition and thirst for power. With Cornwall dead and Albany viewed as weak and overly moral, both sisters see Edmund as the proper choice for a mate. He has shown himself to be ambitious and loyal, even at the price of his own father's torture. Goneril views Edmund head and shoulders above a man who does not condone her ambition and refuses to fight for the power she wants to gain. She, as with Regan, likely hopes to rule a reunited kingdom and knows that her husband will not help her in this endeavor. Oswald, ever loyal to his mistress, retorts rightly to Regan that, "Your sister is the better soldier ". Albany has raised himself in the standards of nobility and clearly has separated himself from the evil of the two sisters, Cornwall, Edmund, and even Oswald. Though often paired with Cornwall earlier, he here moves so far from this category that Edgar later vows to defend him. Albany's angry outburst at Goneril echoes what the audience is likely thinking of her. It deepens their hatred for her when they realize that he does not even know yet about the blinding of Gloucester and he has no idea of the adulterous plans which Goneril has just hatched. We then look at Regan in scene v through the lens of the hatred toward Goneril and find her steeped in a hypocrisy just as great. Regan tries to manipulates Oswald, Goneril's loyal steward, to work for her means and when she cannot, she warns him to threaten Edmund. By the time Cordelia enters the Act, she is already a paramount of good will and honor simply in comparison. Her complete absence in the text, excepting the few times that Kent has mentioned her and the letter from her, has created a curiosity, a void, which allows for a greater suspense and then satisfaction when she fills that void. Some critics feel that the reason she is absent for such a long period has more to do with the fact that the Fool may have been played by the same actor. They point to the Fool's entrance after Cordelia's banishment and his disappearance before her return. In any case, the last time Cordelia was present in a scene was the very first scene of Act I in which she acted rather coldly when questioned by her father. We are given good reason when she points to the nature of her sisters, quantifying love and manipulating their father, as well as by the support she receives from Kent and France and by the way her father had previously favored her. Yet, we are given no proof from her own mouth until this point in the fourth act. Similar to Edmund's caretaking of Gloucester, she immediately forgives her father for the misjudgment he has made and strives to bring him back to his comfort and sanity. Echoing an the earlier outrage of Gloucester, she bemoans the manner in which her sisters turned Lear out by crying, Was this a face To be opposed against the jarring winds. To stand against the deep dread-bolted thunder. In the most terrible and nimble stroke Of quick cross lightening to watch, poor perdu With this thin helm. Mine enemy's dog, Though he had bit me, should have stood the night Against my fire; and wast thou fain, poor father, To hovel thee with swine and rogues forlorn In short and musty straw. Alack, alack, 'Tis wonder that thy life and wits at once Had not concluded all. The audience had not heard any sort of passion from the earlier Cordelia but we hear her now, and the change is extremely welcomed by the audience. This nature of extremes allows for the conclusion many make, linking Cordelia to a Christ figure. Ironically, this idea persists although she is a character in a pagan setting. Standing above the baseness of her fellow creatures, she has arrived in order to nurse her father back to health, having them change his garments and bring him into the music. In a sense, she brings him back from the dead, as he moans, "You do me wrong to take me out o' th' grave". Moreover, she turns her other cheek to the abuses her father had committed and eagerly forgives him and accepts him back into her life. Truly, there are Christian overtures in this, and throughout much of the play if we look for them. At any rate, Cordelia's sense of forgiveness and the goodness she exudes sets her far above her sisters and justifies the far lengths France and Kent have gone to defend her

gradesaver

all_chapterized_books/2266-chapters/19.txt

finished_summaries/gradesaver/King Lear/section_4_part_1.txt

King Lear.act 5.scene 1

act 5 scene 1

{"name": "act 5, scene i", "url": "https://web.archive.org/web/20210417230554/https://www.gradesaver.com/king-lear/study-guide/summary-act-v", "summary": "Edmund sends an officer to learn of Albany's plans since he has become so fickle. Regan approaches Edmund, sweetly asking him if he loves her sister and if he has ever found his way into her bed. He replies that though he loves in \"honored love\" he has done nothing adulterous or to break their vow. Warning him to stay away from Goneril, Regan threatens that she will not put up with her sister's entreaties to him. Goneril and Albany enter as Goneril tells the audience that her battle for Edmund is more important to her than the battle with France. Albany informs Regan of Cordelia and Lear's reunion. Regan wonders why he brings up the subject of the King and his grievances. Goneril points out that they must join together against France and ignore their personal conflicts. As the two camps separate, Regan pleads with Goneril to accompany her instead of the other camp where Edmund will be present. Goneril refuses at first but then sees Regan's purpose and agrees. Edgar finds Albany alone and asks him to read the letter to Edmund from Goneril he had intercepted. Though he cannot stay while Albany reads it, he prays him to let the herald cry when the time is right and he will appear again. Albany leaves to read it when Edmund reenters to report of the oncoming enemy. In soliloquy, Edmund wonders what he will do about pledging his love to both sisters. He could take both of them, one, or neither. He decides to use Albany while in battle and after winning, to allow Goneril to kill him. Moreover, he plans to forbid any mercy Albany may show Cordelia and Lear because his rule of the state is his highest priority", "analysis": ""}

Actus Quintus. Scena Prima. Enter with Drumme and Colours, Edmund, Regan. Gentlemen, and Souldiers. Bast. Know of the Duke if his last purpose hold, Or whether since he is aduis'd by ought To change the course, he's full of alteration, And selfereprouing, bring his constant pleasure Reg. Our Sisters man is certainely miscarried Bast. 'Tis to be doubted Madam Reg. Now sweet Lord, You know the goodnesse I intend vpon you: Tell me but truly, but then speake the truth, Do you not loue my Sister? Bast. In honour'd Loue Reg. But haue you neuer found my Brothers way, To the fore-fended place? Bast. No by mine honour, Madam Reg. I neuer shall endure her, deere my Lord Be not familiar with her Bast. Feare not, she and the Duke her husband. Enter with Drum and Colours, Albany, Gonerill, Soldiers. Alb. Our very louing Sister, well be-met: Sir, this I heard, the King is come to his Daughter With others, whom the rigour of our State Forc'd to cry out Regan. Why is this reasond? Gone. Combine together 'gainst the Enemie: For these domesticke and particular broiles, Are not the question heere Alb. Let's then determine with th' ancient of warre On our proceeding Reg. Sister you'le go with vs? Gon. No Reg. 'Tis most conuenient, pray go with vs Gon. Oh ho, I know the Riddle, I will goe. Exeunt. both the Armies. Enter Edgar. Edg. If ere your Grace had speech with man so poore, Heare me one word Alb. Ile ouertake you, speake Edg. Before you fight the Battaile, ope this Letter: If you haue victory, let the Trumpet sound For him that brought it: wretched though I seeme, I can produce a Champion, that will proue What is auouched there. If you miscarry, Your businesse of the world hath so an end, And machination ceases. Fortune loues you Alb. Stay till I haue read the Letter Edg. I was forbid it: When time shall serue, let but the Herald cry, And Ile appeare againe. Enter. Alb. Why farethee well, I will o're-looke thy paper. Enter Edmund. Bast. The Enemy's in view, draw vp your powers, Heere is the guesse of their true strength and Forces, By dilligent discouerie, but your hast Is now vrg'd on you Alb. We will greet the time. Enter. Bast. To both these Sisters haue I sworne my loue: Each iealous of the other, as the stung Are of the Adder. Which of them shall I take? Both? One? Or neither? Neither can be enioy'd If both remaine aliue: To take the Widdow, Exasperates, makes mad her Sister Gonerill, And hardly shall I carry out my side, Her husband being aliue. Now then, wee'l vse His countenance for the Battaile, which being done, Let her who would be rid of him, deuise His speedy taking off. As for the mercie Which he intends to Lear and to Cordelia, The Battaile done, and they within our power, Shall neuer see his pardon: for my state, Stands on me to defend, not to debate. Enter.

act 5, scene i

https://web.archive.org/web/20210417230554/https://www.gradesaver.com/king-lear/study-guide/summary-act-v

Edmund sends an officer to learn of Albany's plans since he has become so fickle. Regan approaches Edmund, sweetly asking him if he loves her sister and if he has ever found his way into her bed. He replies that though he loves in "honored love" he has done nothing adulterous or to break their vow. Warning him to stay away from Goneril, Regan threatens that she will not put up with her sister's entreaties to him. Goneril and Albany enter as Goneril tells the audience that her battle for Edmund is more important to her than the battle with France. Albany informs Regan of Cordelia and Lear's reunion. Regan wonders why he brings up the subject of the King and his grievances. Goneril points out that they must join together against France and ignore their personal conflicts. As the two camps separate, Regan pleads with Goneril to accompany her instead of the other camp where Edmund will be present. Goneril refuses at first but then sees Regan's purpose and agrees. Edgar finds Albany alone and asks him to read the letter to Edmund from Goneril he had intercepted. Though he cannot stay while Albany reads it, he prays him to let the herald cry when the time is right and he will appear again. Albany leaves to read it when Edmund reenters to report of the oncoming enemy. In soliloquy, Edmund wonders what he will do about pledging his love to both sisters. He could take both of them, one, or neither. He decides to use Albany while in battle and after winning, to allow Goneril to kill him. Moreover, he plans to forbid any mercy Albany may show Cordelia and Lear because his rule of the state is his highest priority

gradesaver

all_chapterized_books/2266-chapters/20.txt

finished_summaries/gradesaver/King Lear/section_4_part_2.txt

King Lear.act 5.scene 2

act 5 scene 2

{"name": "act 5, scene ii", "url": "https://web.archive.org/web/20210417230554/https://www.gradesaver.com/king-lear/study-guide/summary-act-v", "summary": "The army of France, accompanied by Cordelia and Lear, crosses the stage with their battle colors and drums and exits. Next, Edgar and Gloucester enter. Edgar offers Gloucester rest under a nearby tree while he goes into battle. The noises of the battle begin and end, at which time Edgar reenters the stage to speak with Gloucester. He calls for Gloucester to come with him as Cordelia and Lear have lost and been taken captive. Entertaining ideas of suicide again, Gloucester tries to remain but Edgar talks him into accompanying him, noting that men must endure the ups and downs of life", "analysis": ""}

Scena Secunda. Alarum within. Enter with Drumme and Colours, Lear, Cordelia, and Souldiers, ouer the Stage, and Exeunt. Enter Edgar, and Gloster. Edg. Heere Father, take the shadow of this Tree For your good hoast: pray that the right may thriue: If euer I returne to you againe, Ile bring you comfort Glo. Grace go with you Sir. Enter. Alarum and Retreat within. Enter Edgar. Edgar. Away old man, giue me thy hand, away: King Lear hath lost, he and his Daughter tane, Giue me thy hand: Come on Glo. No further Sir, a man may rot euen heere Edg. What in ill thoughts againe? Men must endure Their going hence, euen as their comming hither, Ripenesse is all come on Glo. And that's true too. Exeunt.

act 5, scene ii

https://web.archive.org/web/20210417230554/https://www.gradesaver.com/king-lear/study-guide/summary-act-v

The army of France, accompanied by Cordelia and Lear, crosses the stage with their battle colors and drums and exits. Next, Edgar and Gloucester enter. Edgar offers Gloucester rest under a nearby tree while he goes into battle. The noises of the battle begin and end, at which time Edgar reenters the stage to speak with Gloucester. He calls for Gloucester to come with him as Cordelia and Lear have lost and been taken captive. Entertaining ideas of suicide again, Gloucester tries to remain but Edgar talks him into accompanying him, noting that men must endure the ups and downs of life