CLOSE READING, ACT 1

CYRANO.

A mortal danger without knowing it,

Undreamed-of-in-her-own-dreams exquisite

A roseleaf ambush where love lurks to seize

The unwary heart. The unwary eye that sees

Her smile sees pearled perfection. She can knit

Grace from a twine of air. The heavens sit

In every gesture. Of divinities

She’s most divine. O Venus, amorous queen,

You never stepped into your shell; Dian—

You never glided through the summer’s green

As she steps into her chair and then is seen

Gliding through dirty Paris—

LE BRET There’s no ban

On uttering her name---your cousin’s name?

CYRANO. It rhymes, and that’s enough. Let not the shame

Of the dusty air besmirch it---

LE BRET. Oh—absurd.

This is the finest news I ever heard.

You love her? Fine---so go and tell her so.

Tonight you’re covered in a golden glow

Of glory in her eyes.

CYRANO. This gross protuberance.

Look at it, and tell me what exuberance

Of hope can swell the rest of me. I’m under

No illusion. Oh, sometimes, bemused by the wonder

Of a blue evening, a garden of lilac and rose,

Letting this wretched devil of a nose

Breathe in the perfume, I follow with my eye---

Under that silver glory in the sky---

Some woman on the arm of a cavalier,

And dream that I too could be strolling there,

With such a girl on my arm, under the moon.

My heart lifts, I forget my curse, but soon,

Suddenly, I perceive what kills it all---

My profile shadowed on the garden wall.

LE BRET. My friend---

CYRANO. My friend, why should providence allot

Such ugliness, such loneliness?

LE BRET. You’re not crying?

CYRANO. Oh, never, never that. To see

A long tear straggling along this nose would be

Intolerably ugly. I wouldn’t permit

A crystal tear fraught with such exquisite

Limpidity to be defiled by my

Gross snout. Tears are sublime things, and I,

Wedding a nymph to a rhinoceros,

Would render the sublime ridiculous.

LE BRET. All right, not crying, but still sad. Yet love

Is an imponderable, not a matter of----

Well, nasal mensuration. March right in.

If love, as they say, is a lottery, you can----

CYRANO. Argh.

I love Cleopatra. Have I Antony’s

Glamour and glow and glory? And if she’s

Hero, though I can swim, I’m no Leander.

A new Roxane needs a new Alexander,

And I’m the Great in only one respect.

Helen of Paris---whom can she select

But Paris of Paris? I’m not he.

LE BRET. But your wit,

Your courage---they can earn love. Surely it

Was proved just now. The girl who offered you

Food---did her eyes show hate, revulsion?