My Hero



This idea was, of course, stolen from my wonderful friend Greyfox's page, which I have no problem with, so I hope he doesn't either. But every now and then I get asked if I have a hero, and most of the time it takes me twenty minutes or so to think of the answer, but once I remember, it is always the same person. Same thing with a favorite play, in fact. As in the hero is the play and the play is the hero, or at least the hero's name is the title of the play, or- Oh, you know what I mean! Jeez.

So at any rate, if you're not at this point saying, so who is this hero, the you ought to be. Unless you already know. And if that's the case, what are you doing here anyway? Don't you think you're going to be bored or something? Hmph. Back to the point. The person I have in mind is Cyrano de Bergerac, in my mind the most incredible tragic hero ever written. For those of you who aren't familiar with the name, he was the hero of a late nineteenth century play called (yeah, I know, I said this already) Cyrano de Bergerac. Rostand (the playwright) was, not to put too fine a point on it, and, as everything I say in my pages here, in my very own occasionally humble oppinion, a genius. Pure and simple. Cyrano de Bergerac was written in French, and I actually read that version before the English, understanding, perhaps, one word in three, I still fell in love with the play then and there. Because I love language, and I love the way words sound together, when they're put together well, even when I don't necessarily understand them. And I did know the basic story, so I could at least follow along. I've since gotten the English copy as well, which is very good also, though nowhere near a match for the French. Also, if you're familiar with the movie Roxanne, that's a recent remake of the old tale, turned away from tragedy. But, I'll move on.

Anyhow, Cyrano de Bergerac was born a wonderful guy, except for one little (or perhaps I should say large) thing. He had a huge nose. And we aren't just talkin' big here, we're talking Pinochio at court. Now, as you might imagine, he was a wee bit sensitive about this nose of his, and by the time the play actually begins, he is a fully grown adult, with more than a little skill at the sword, an incredibly sharp tongue backed by an equally sharp brain, and a temper that is lost very very easily. And when it's lost, he generally attacks somebody verbally, and when they give up there, out swords, and to business. The difficulty comes when he falls in love. But I'll go into that in a few minutes.

Now there's one speech, my favorite monologue in the whole wide world, that I think kinda defines the whole play. Feel free to go read it.

So, here he is, a man with a gigantic nose ("'Tis a rock- a crag- a cape- A cape? say rather, a peninsula!"), and with more pride than any other half dozen men. And the strength and skill to back it up. The play begins with him sending an actor (a supposed master of tragedy) fleeing from the stage, with threats to kill him if he doesn't. Partly because he's a bad actor, and partly ... for personal reasons. One man only steps forward in hopes of putting Cyrano in his place, failing from a miserable lack of wit ("These, my dear sir, are things you might have said had you some tinge of letters, or of wit to color your discourse. But wit,- not so, you never had an atom- and of letters, you need but three to write you down- an Ass.") Valvert (the ass) responds stupidly referring to Cyrano's appearance, that he has no gloves or lace, and looks a sorry sight. Which brings on another of the wonderful short speeches in the play:

I carry my adornments on my soul. I do not dress up like a popinjay; but inwardly, I keep my daintiness. I do not bear with me, by any cahnce, an insult not yet washed away- a conscience yellow with unpurged bile- an honor frayed to rags, a set of scruples badly worn. I go caparisoned in gems unseen, trailing white plumes of freedom, garlanded with my good name- no figure of a man, but a soul clothed in shining armor, hung with deeds for decorations, twirling- thus- with bristling wit, and swinging at my side Courage, and on the stones of this old town making the sharp truth ring, like golden spurs!

But-

But I have no gloves! A pity too! I had one- the last one of an old pair- And lost that. Very careless of me. Some gentleman offered me an impertinance. I left it- in his face.

They then fight a duel- to the rhythm of an extemporaneous ballade that Cyrano makes up on the spot, and every movement fits the poem. Now, if that the best opening scenes I've ever heard of, I can't for the life of me tell you what is. Unless it's- nemmind that. It continues in like tone, never losing it's humor, even as the tragedy develops. You see, Cyrano falls in love, with the beautiful Roxane. Who has recently gained a crush on the handsome (if somewhat dumb) Christian, newly joined to Cyrano's regiment in the army. And Cyrano is so loathe to hurt Roxane in any way, that, rather than declaring his own heart to the lady, he writes letters, poems, and speeches for Christian to deliver to her. ("All those [words] that blossom in my heart, I'll fling to you- Armfuls of loose bloom! Love, I love beyond breath, beyond reason, beyond love's own power of loving! Your name is like a golden bell hung in my heart; and when I think of you, I tremble, and the bell swings and rings- 'Roxane!'... 'Roxane!'... along my veins, 'Roxanne!'...") as his own. Roxane falls in love with the Christian of the letters and speeches (of course) and no, I'm not going to tell you what happens next:p Read it yourself.

Anyway. Cyrano. He is the tragic hero. He is strong and intelligent, but with a single weakness- his nose and how seriously he takes it himself, even when those around him might not. He cannot believe that anybody can ever see beyond it. Yet where many would bow down before this, unable to accept or respect themselves, as they see that nobody else can, Cyrano only grows in pride, and his temper grows shorter, until none dare speak the word 'nose' anywhere near him. He has wit such as few others, and a turn of phrase that I, personally, would kill for. I can speak for no others, of course. But for me, Cyrano is as close to perfect as you can come. He has ideals, and he will not let them be smeared by anything. He has pride that can never be trodden down. He has the wit and the skill with the sword to defend them. So. There ya go. That's all I'm saying right now 'bout Cyrano- I do recommend you read the play, or see the movie or something because it seriously is an incredible one.

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