Cyrano de Bergerac Page #4

- Cyrano.

See what we found in the street.

Plumes dropped in their flight

by those fine birds

who showed their

tail feathers!

The man who hired

those scoundrels,

he must be an

angry man today.

Who was it?

Do you know?

It was I.

I hired them to do the sort

of work we do not soil our hands with.

Punishing an insolent poet.

They ought to be mounted

before they spoil.

What shall we do with them?

Sir, will you not return these

to your friends?

Have you read Don Quixote?

I have and found

myself the hero.

Be so good as to read once more

the capture of the windmills.

Chapter 13.

Windmills, remember,

if you fight with them...

may swing round their huge arms

and cast you down into the mire.

Or up among the stars.

Gentlemen.

Gentlemen.

Gentlemen.

You've done it, now.

You've made your fortune.

He was willing to forget.

There you go again, growling.

Yesss,

this latest pose of yours,

ruining every opportunity

that comes you way,

becomes exaggerated.

Very well, then, I exaggerate.

There are certain things

in this world

a man does well

to carry to extremes.

Your precious independence.

Your white plume.

How do you expect

to succeed in life?

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.

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 calloused.

Cultivate a supple spine.

Wear out my belly

groveling in the dust.

No, thank you.

With my left hand scratch the back

of any swine that roots up gold for me

while my right, too proud to know

his partner's business, takes in the fee.

No, thank you.

Shall I use the fire God gave me

to burn incense all day long?

No, thank you.

Struggle to insinuate my name

into the columns of the Gazette?

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.

But, to sing, to laugh, to dream,

to walk in my own way,

free with and eye

to see things as they are.

A voice that means manhood.

To cut my have

the right shoes.

And a word, a yes, a no,

to fight, or write,

but never to make

a line I have not heard

in my own heart.

To travel any

road under the sun,

under the stars,

nor care if fame or fortune

lie beyond the bourne.

Yet, with all modesty to say,

my soul be satisfied

with flowers,

with weeds,

with thorns, even,

but gather them in the one garden

you may call your own.

In a word, I'm too proud

to be a parasite.

And if mine intellect the germ

that grows towering to heaven

like the mountain pine

I stand not high, it may be,

but alone.

Alone, yes, but why

go about making enemies?

Watching other people

making friends...everywhere,

as a dog makes friends.

I mark the manner of

these canine courtesies,

and think, here comes,

thank heaven, another enemy.

Yes, tell this to all the world,

and then to me say very softly

that she loves you not.

Let me be alone

for a moment.

Cyrano, wait.

Give us your story

of the fight.

Presently.

No, the story, now!

Oh, let him alone.

There's time enough.

I want it now!

As an example for that young

tadpole sneaking out the doorway.

You, there.

Are you addressing me?

Yes, you flat-footed

Norman farmer.

You wish something of me?

Listen, Monsieur de...de...de

whatever your name is.

de Neuvillette!

Baron Christan de Neuvillette.

Very well, de Neuvillette.

As you are a newcomer here,

you should know there is a

certain subject or object, if you prefer,

that is never mentioned among us.

And that is...?

Look at me!

You understand?

You mean...?

Thus we never speak that word.

To even breathe it is

to have to do with him.

He has exterminated several

whose mere tone of voice suggested...

Would you die before your time?

Just mention anything convex.

Or cartilaginous.

One word. One syllable.

One gesture. Nay, one sneeze.

And your handkerchief

becomes your winding sheet.

Captain.

Sir?

What is the proper thing to do

when Gascons grow too boastful?

Prove to them that one may

be a Norman and still have courage.

I thank you.

Come on, Cyrano, your story.

Now, let me see.

Where shall we begin?

I followed with our host

to meet those scoundrels

not knowing where

they might attack.

No lamps in those narrow

back streets.

No moon in the sky.

Dark. Everything dark.

It was so dark, Mon Dieux,

you could not see beyond...

Your nose!

Who...is that...man...there?

A new recruit.

Arrived last week.

A recruit, eh?

Ha, ha-.

His name is Christian de Neuvillette.

I see.

Very well.

As I was saying.

It grew dark.

You could not see

your hand before your eyes.

I marched on thinking our all for

the sake of one amateur poet

- Who wrote a verse whenever he took a..

- A nose full.

...whenever he took a notion.,

and might antagonize

some dangerous man.

One powerful enough

to make me pay...

Through the nose!

...pay the piper!

After all, I thought,

why am I putting in my..

Nose!

...putting in my oar in a quarrel

that was none of mine,

however now that I am here,

I may as well go through with it.

Come Gascon, do your duty.

Suddenly a sword

flashed in the dark!

I caught it fair...

On the nose!

...on my blade!

Before I knew it,

there I was...

Rubbing noses!

...crossing swords with

harvard's joy once.

I had the bottom then...

A nosegay!

...a monstrous crab tree.

He went down for as a wave.

I charged...

Who was in the air hard.

...at the two of them.

Another lunged,

and I parried...

Through your nose!

Right out of here!

All of you go!

Leave me with him.

To my arms, sir.

You have courage.

- That pleases me.

- Why?

Come, do you not know

I am her brother?

Whose?

Hers. Roxane.

Brother?

You?

Well, a distant cousin.

Much the same.

- Then she has told you?

- Everything.

- She loves me?

- Perhaps.

My dear sir, more than I can say.

I am honored.

- Rather sudden.

- Oh, please, forgive me.

If you knew how

much I have admired you.

- Yes, yes, and all those noses.

- Please. I apologize.

Roxane expects a letter.

- From me?

- Yes, why not?

Oh,, No.

- Once I write, that ruins everything.

- Why?

Because, any schoolboy can write

to her more gracefully than I.

A fool!

- You did not attack me like a fool.

- Anyone can pick a quarrel.

No, I'm never at loss

for words among men,

but with any women...

paralyzed...speechless, dumb.

I'm one of those

stammering idiots

who can not court a woman.

Really?

As for myself,

it seems to me that

given the opportunity,

and if I put my mind to it,

I could do that..

rather well.

Oh, is I had words to say

what I have here!

If I were handsome

like you.

Together, we could make

one mighty hero of romance.

If only I had your wit.

Borrow it, then.

What?

Tell me,

would you dare repeat to her

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