Cyrano De Bergerac
(Best Version is with Jose Ferrier)
(Realizing that De Guiche has only an ulterior motive for making the offer, Cyrano has just abruptly, proudly and rather rudely rejected De Guiche's offer of publication and production of one of Cyrano's plays. Cyrano has airily dismissed De Guiche, and De Guiche has departed, insulted. Cyrano is pleased.)
The scene opens:
Le Bret (Cyrano's Friend):
(As the door closes, Le Bret comes down, shaking his clenched hands to heaven.)
You have done it now; You have made your fortune!
Cyrano:
There you go again, growling!
Le Bret:
At least this latest pose of yours-- --Ruining every chance that comes your way-- --Becomes exaggerated!
Cyrano:
Then I exaggerate!
Le Bret:
Oh, you do!
Cyrano:
Yes; On principle. There are things in this world a man does well to carry to extremes.
Le Bret:
Stop trying to be the Three Musketeers in one. Fortune and glory---
(Cyrano jumps to his feet)
Cyrano:
What would you have me do? Seek for the patronage of some great man, and like a creeping vine on a tall tree, crawl upward, where I cannot stand alone? No thank you!
Dedicate, as others do, poems to pawnbrokers?
Be a buffoon in the vile hope of teasing out a smile on some cold face? No thank you!
Eat a toad for breakfast every morning?
Make my knees callous, and cultivate a supple spine--wear out my belly, groveling in the dust? No thank you!
Scratch the back of any swine who roots up gold for me?
Tickle the horns of Mammon with my left hand, while my right, too proud to know his partner's business, takes in the fee? No thank you!
Use the fire God gave me to burn incense all day long under the nose of wood and stone? No thank you!
Shall I go leaping into ladies' laps and licking fingers? --Or, to change the form-- Navigating with Madrigals for oars, my sails full of the sighs of dowagers? No thank you!
Publish verses at my own expense? No thank you!
Be the patron saint of a small group of literary souls who dine together every Tuesday? No I thank you!
Shall I labor day and night to build a reputation on one song, and never write another?
Shall I find true genius only among geniuses, palpitate over little paragraphs, and struggle to insinuate my name in the columns of the Mercury! No thank you!
Calculate, scheme, be afraid, love more to make a visit than a poem, seek introductions, favors, influences? --No thank you! No, I thank you! And again, I thank you!
(Softer and quietly Cyrano continues, though still earnest...)
--But... To walk in my own way and be alone, free, with an eye to see things as they are, a voice that means manhood-- to cock my hat where I choose-- At a word, a Yes, a No, to fight, to write, to travel my own road under the sun, under the stars, nor doubt if fame or fortune lie beyond the bourne-- Never to make a line I have not heard in my own heart; yet, with all modesty to say, "My soul, be satisfied with flowers, with fruit, with weeds even; but gather them in the one garden you may call your own."
So, when I win some triumph, by some chance, render no share to Caesar-- in a word, I am too proud to be a parasite, and if nature wants the germ that grows towering to heaven like the mountain pine, or like the Oak, sheltering multitudes-- I stand, not high it may be, but alone!
Le Bret:
Alone, yes! --But why stand against the world? What Devil has possessed you now, to go everywhere making yourself enemies?
Cyrano:
Watching you other people make friends everywhere-- as a dog makes friends! I mark the manner of these canine courtesies and think: "My friends are of a cleaner breed; Here comes, thank God, another enemy!"
Le Bret:
But this is madness!
Cyrano:
It is my pleasure to displease. I love hatred. Imagine how it feels to face the volley of a thousand angry eyes-- The bile of envy and the froth of fear spattering little drops about me-- --You, good nature all around you, soft and warm, you are like those Italians, in great cowls comfortable and loose-- Your chin sinks down into the folds, your shoulders droop. But I-- The Spanish ruff I wear around my throat is like a ring of enemies; hard, proud, each point another pride, another thorn-- So that I hold myself erect perforce wearing the hatred of the common herd haughtily, the harsh collar of Old Spain, at once a fetter, and a Halo!
NOTE:
It is interesting to note that "a large television magazine" recently listed Cyrano De Bergerac as having "one star" (out of a possible five). The thought was relayed that in so doing, that breed has dutifully performed its own small service in perpetuating the raw dynamics of natural selection.
Copyright © 1982-2009 truth-or-consequences.Com, All Rights Reserved