(projector ticking) (melodic music) (bright adventurous music) (audience applauding) (soft playful music) >> Thrice fan his burning cheeks- >> Cyrano: Clown, the king of clowns!

Leave the stage at once!

(dramatic music) >> Man: Who is it?

>> It's Cyrano.

I was afraid he'd do this.

>> Thrice happy he who hides from pomp and power.

>> Cyrano: Wretch!

Did I not forbid you to appear this month?

(dramatic music) (audience murmuring) >> Man: Yes, be quiet.

>> Man: Quiet!

>> Man: Go on Montfleury.

>> Thrice happy he who- >> He who, indeed.

Donkeys say rather hee-haw!

(dramatic music) Begone!

Or must I come and help you off the stage myself?

What!

Still there?

>> Where balmy zephyrs fan his burning cheek.

>> Fat swine, if you dare breathe on balmy zephyr more, I'll fan your cheeks for you!

>> Monsieurs, if you will protect me.

>> Proceed, proceed.

>> Go on.

>> Sir, I will not allow you to insult me in this manner.

>> Really?

What manner would you prefer?

>> Quiet, down there!

We'll tolerate no more of this.

Go on with the play, Montfleury.

>> Throw that man out!

Throw him out!

>> Unless these gentlemen retain their seats, my sword may bite their ribbons.

>> Who is this braggart?

>> My cousin, sir.

>> Well, Montfleury?

Still no exit?

Very well then, I enter with knife to carve this fat, stuffed goose.

(dramatic music) (audience yelling) >> Man: Who does he think he is?

>> I pray you do not crowd my scabbard here.

She may put her tongue out at you.

(audience yelling) Silence.

I say be silent!

And I offer one universal challenge to you all.

Will all who wish to die please raise their hands?

Approach, young heroes.

I will take your names.

To the first man who falls I'll build a monument.

Who will head the list?

You, sir?

No.

You?

No, no.

Anyone?

Anyone at all?

Not one name?

Not one finger?

Very well then, I go on.

Attend to me, Full Moon.

I clap my hands three times, thus.

(Cyrano clapping) At the third you will eclipse yourself.

Ready?

One.

(Cyrano clapping) >> How dare you?

I demand!

I insist!

I call upon all the nobles- >> Two!

(Cyrano clapping) >> This is an outrage.

You hear, an outrage.

Nothing on earth will move me from this stage.

>> Three!

(Cyrano clapping) (audience talking excitedly) (audience laughing) >> Fair ladies.

>> Man: Boo!

>> And noble gentlemen.

(audience laughing and booing) But, Monsieur de Bergerac, why have you done this to our Montfleury, an admirable actor?

>> I have two reasons, either one conclusive.

First, he is an abominable actor, who mouths his verse and moans his tragedy.

Second.

Well, that's my secret.

>> But, but you, you've closed the play!

>> It is not a very good play.

>> Huh!

And of their money?

Possibly you would like that returned to these good people.

Yes?

>> Yes.

Here!

Catch!

(audience murmuring) >> Well, Monsieur, you are hereby authorized to close our play every night on these terms.

Ladies and gentlemen, your money will be returned.

Kindly pass out, quietly.

Goodnight, goodnight.

(audience murmuring) >> Your cousin is an extraordinary man, Madame.

>> Oh, I agree.

Soldier, poet, philosopher, musician, playwright.

>> All those?

>> Yes, and the best swordsman in Paris.

>> Really?

Now, I should have thought the Vicomte here had that honor.

>> Tell me, Madame, that comic mask, that nose, presently he will take it off?

>> No, Monsieur, he keeps it.

And heaven help the man who smiles.

Good night.

(audience murmuring) >> Oh, Monsieur!

Monsieur!

Uh, when do you leave Paris?

>> Sir?

>> Why, after what you've just done to Montfleury, did you not know that the Compte de Guiche was his patron?

Who is yours?

>> No one.

>> No one?

No patron?

>> I said not.

>> But the Compte de Guiche has a long arm.

>> Mine is longer by three feet of steel.

>> Yes, but, but what a scare.

>> You may go now.

>> But- >> You may go.

Well, tell me, why are you staring at my nose?

>> Oh, I was not staring.

>> Does it astonish you?

>> Why, why no, I've been careful not to look.

>> Oh, and why not, if you please?

It disgusts you, then?

>> Man: But, no, I never- >> Does its color appear to you unwholesome?

>> Man: By no means.

>> Then, possibly you find it just a trifle large?

>> No, small, very small, tiny!

Infinitesimal!

>> What?

You accuse me of absurdity?

Small, my nose?

Why magnificent, my nose!

You pug, you knob, you button head.

Know that I glory in this nose of mine, for a great nose indicates a great man.

Congenial, courteous, intellectual, virile, courageous.

Whilst that face of yours, that blank, inglorious concavity which my right hand finds on top of you is as devoid of pride, of poetry, of soul, of picturesqueness, of contour, of character, of nose, in short, as that which is at the bottom of that limp spine of yours my left foot.

>> Man: Oh, help!

My!

(crowd laughing) >> Presently, this fellow will grow tiresome.

>> Oh, he blows his horn.

>> Well, will no one put him in his place?

>> If you will allow me.

Observe.

Monsieur.

Your nose.

Your nose is rather large.

>> Rather?

>> Oh, well.

>> Is that all?

>> Well, of course, you- >> Ah, no young sir, you're too simple.

Why, you might have said a great many things.

Why waste your opportunity?

For example, thus.

Aggressive.

I, sir, if that great nose were mine, I'd have it amputated on the spot.

Practical.

How do you drink with such a nose?

You must have had a cup made especially.

Descriptive.

'Tis a rock, a crag, a cape.

A cape?

Say rather, a peninsula.

Inquisitive.

What is that receptacle?

A razor case or a portfolio?

Kindly.

Ah, do you love the little birds so much that when they come and sing to you, you give them this to perch on?

Cautious.

Take care.

A weight like that might make you top heavy.

Eloquent.

When it blows the typhoon howls and the clouds darken.

Dramatic.

When it bleeds, (gasping) the Red Sea.

Simple.

Eh, when do they unveil the monument?

Military.

Beware, a secret weapon!

Enterprising.

What a sign for some perfumer!

Respectful.

Sir, I recognize in you a man of parts, a man of, mmm, prominence.

Or, literary.

Was this the nose that launched a thousand ships?

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.

A-S-S. (crowd murmuring) Ass.

(crowd laughing) >> You, sir!

Poppy!

Dolt!

Bumpkin!

Fool!

>> How do you do?

And I, Cyrano Savinien Hercule de Bergerac.

>> Vicomte, come.

>> Such arrogance, this scarecrow who.

Look at him!

No ribbons.

No lace.

Not even gloves.

>> True.

I carry my adornments only on my soul.

Decked with deeds instead of ribbons.

Mantled in my good name, and crowned with a white plume of freedom.

>> 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 impertinence.

I left it in his face.

>> So be it!

(crowd murmuring) >> You shall die exquisitely.

>> Oh, a poet.

>> Oh, yes, a poet if you will.

So, uh, while we fight, I'll improvise a ballad for you, and as I end the refrain, shhh, thrust home.

>> Will you?

>> I will.

(blade whooshing) Ballad au Duel at the Theatre de Burgoyne between de Bergerac, and uh, a barbarian.

>> What do you mean by that?

>> Oh, that is the title.

(crowd laughing) Stop, let me choose my rhymes.

So, here we go.

Lightly I toss my hat away.

Languidly o'er my arm let fall the cloak that covers my bright array.

Then, out swords, and to work withal.

(crowd oohing) A Lancelot in his lady's hall, a Spartacus at the Hippodrome, I dally a while with you, dear jackal.

(swords clashing) Just as I end the refrain, thrust home!

(swords clashing) >> Ah!

>> Ah, ah.

(swords clashing) (men grunting) Where shall I skewer my peacock again?

(sword whooshing) (swords clashing) Nay, better for you to have shunned this brawl.

Here in the heart, through your ribbons, gay, in the belly 'neath your silken shawl?

(crowd murmuring) Now, come my points floats, light as the foam, ready to drive you back to the wall, and then as I end the refrain, thrust home.

Oh, for a rhyme.

Why, your fight is fading.

You break.

You cower.

You cringe, you crawl.

How can I tell you're allowed to say something to turn on my head forestall.

Life with a tunny, death with it's gall.

Show me the turn on my fancy roam, free for a time till the rhyme's recall, then as I end the refrain, thrust home!

Refrain.

Prince, pray God that is Lord of all, pardon you soul, for your time has come.

(swords clashing) Pass, fling you aslant, asprawl.

Then as I end the refrain.

(swords clashing) Thrust home!

(crowd cheering) >> Ladies and gentlemen, please, please, the performance is over.

Close the house.

A strike, but leave the lights.

We rehearse the new farce tonight.

(crowd talking excitedly) >> Wait.

You have only to watch a fight, or have you ruined if you listen to them.

Think of the enemies you've made.

Montfleury, the Vicomte, if he lives, all those foppish marquis, the Comte de Guiche.

>> That politician.

>> He's the Cardinal's nephew.

There's power there!

>> And power here.

>> Young fool!

Take an example from me.

20 years a captain, while others who know only how to deploy their forces at court now dangle a marshal's baton.

>> Ah.

Well, someday I will avenge you, too.

>> Impossible.

Come on, let's go to dinner.

>> Dinner?

No, not I.

>> Why not?

>> Because I have no money.

>> But the purse of gold.

>> Farewell, paternal pension.

>> Then you have until the first of next month?

>> Nothing.

>> What a fool.

>> Yes, but, what a moment.

>> Pardon, Monsieur.

A man ought never to go hungry.

I have everything here.

Please.

>> My dear child, I cannot bend this Gascon pride of mine to accept such a kindness.

>> But, I.

>> Yet, for fear that I may give you pain if I refuse, I will take something.

A grape.

One only.

And a glass of water.

No, clear.

And, uh, half a macaroon.

>> Nothing more?

>> Why, yes.

Your hand to kiss.

>> Thank you, sir.

Good night.

>> Idiot.

>> Dinner.

Drink.

Dessert.

Mon Dieux, I was hungry, abominably.

>> Tell me.

>> Anything.

>> Why to you hate this Montfleury?

>> A very bad actor.

>> Ah, come now, the real reason, the truth.

>> That fat goat who cannot hold his belly in his arms still dreams of being sweetly dangerous among the women.

Sighs and languishes, making sheep's eyes out of his great frog's face.

I hate him ever since one day he dared smile upon.

Oh, my friend, I seemed to see over some flower a great snail crawling.

>> Eh, what?

Is it possible?

>> For me to love?

I love.

>> Whom?

May I know?

>> Whom I love?

Think a moment.

Think of me.

Me, whom the plainest woman would despise.

Me, with this nose of mine that marches on before me by a quarter of an hour.

Whom shall I love?

Why, of course, it must be the woman in the world most beautiful.

>> Most beautiful?

>> In these eyes of mine.

Beyond compare.

>> Wait.

Your cousin, Roxane.

>> Yes.

Roxane.

>> Well?

Why not?

If you love her, tell her so.

>> My old friend.

Look at me and tell me how much hope remains for me with this protuberance.

>> Ah.

>> Ahh, I have no more illusions.

Now and then I may grow tender walking alone in the blue cool of evening through some garden fresh with flowers after the benediction of the rain.

My poor big devil of a nose inhales April.

And I follow with my eyes where some boy with a girl upon his arm, passes a patch of silver.

And I feel somehow, I wish I had a woman, too, walking with me under the moon, and holding my arm and smiling.

And then I dream and I forget.

And then I see the shadow of my profile on the wall.

(fist thumping) >> My friend.

>> My friend.

I have my bitter days, knowing myself so ugly, so alone.

>> Ah, but your wit, your courage.

Why, that poor child who just now offered you your dinner, your saw it, her eyes did not avoid you.

>> That is true.

>> Well, then, Roxane herself.

>> What?

>> Watching your duel, pale.

>> Pale?

>> Yes, her lips parted.

Her hand at her breast, thus.

I saw it.

Speak to her, speak, man.

>> She might laugh at me.

It is the one thing in this world I fear.

>> Pardon, Monsieur, a lady outside asking for you.

>> Monsieur.

>> A Duenna.

>> I have a message for you from a, a certain lady.

She desires to know when and where she may see you privately.

She has certain things to tell you.

>> Certain?

>> Things.

>> She wishes to see me?

>> We go tomorrow at dawn to hear mass at St. Rupe.

And afterwards, where would you suggest?

>> Eh, where, I, eh.

Where?

>> Well?

>> I am thinking.

>> And you think?

>> Where?

>> The shop at Ragueneau.

>> Yes, yes, Ragueneau, the pastry cook.

>> Who dwells?

>> Who?

Well?

>> Rue Saint Honore.

>> Eh, Rue Saint Honore.

>> We are agreed.

7 o'clock.

Until then, Monsieur.

>> I'll be there.

Me!

To see me!

>> Ah, not quite so gloomy.

>> Well, after all, she knows that I exist.

Imagine, she has asked to see me!

>> So, now you're going to be happy?

>> Happy.

I'm going to be a storm.

A flame!

I need to fight whole armies all alone!

I have ten hearts!

I have a hundred arms!

I feel too strong to war with mortals!

Bring me giants!

>> Hey!

Quiet, please, shhh.

We're rehearsing back here.

>> So sorry.

Ha, ha, ha.

(upbeat orchestral music) >> Ragueneau: Cyrano!

Cyrano!

>> Ragueneau.

>> Oh, thank goodness you're still here.

>> Well, what's the matter?

>> I'm afraid to go home.

>> Why?

>> You know those comic verses I wrote?

About the Comte de Guiche?

Cyrano, he's hired ruffians, bullies.

A hundred of them waiting for me on the way home.

They're gonna beat me, cane me!

Please, would you permit me to spend the night with you?

>> A hundred men, is that all?

Ragueneau, you're going home tonight.

>> But they're armed!

They're cutthroats!

>> Take this lantern.

Forward march.

I say that I'll be the man that sees you to your shop.

Not you, I want no help from any.

>> There's a hundred, you're mad.

>> Cyrano: Those are the odds I want.

>> Why risk your life for this pastry cook?

>> First, because this pastry cook is a friend of mine.

Second, because this pastry cook is also a poet.

And, most important, if anything should happen to this pastry cook, tomorrow morning at seven his shop will be closed.

Goodnight.

(dramatic music) (suspenseful music) (man whistling) (dramatic music) (swords clashing) >> Cyrano!

Look!

Look out behind you!

(dramatic music) (lantern shattering) (flames crackling) >> Man: Ah!

(swords clashing) (dramatic music) >> Heh!

(dramatic music) I have been robbed.

There are no hundred here.

(blade thudding) >> It's, it's, it's!

>> Be quick.

Inside!

Throw the bolt!

(swords clashing) (dramatic music) >> Man: Ah!

(dramatic music) (swords clashing) >> Man: Yah!

(swords clashing) >> Man: Ah!

(swords clashing) (dramatic music) >> Ah!

(swords clashing) (dramatic music) >> Ah!

(swords clashing) (dramatic music) >> Man: Cyrano!

>> Cyrano: No!

(dramatic music) (sword clattering) (dramatic music) >> Ah.

How do you feel?

>> Well, pleasantly exhilarated.

Come, I know a little tavern not far- >> Where's Ragueneau?

>> Ragueneau?

Ragueneau!

Little boy, come out.

All's well!

>> Is it over?

>> Cyrano: All over.

>> Really?

So soon?

(Cyrano laughing) Oh, if only I'd had my sword.

How many did we kill?

>> Oh, about eight.

>> Eight.

Eight?

Oh!

>> This gentleman begins to annoy me.

>> No, the sauce and meat must rhyme.

Add a pinch of marigold and thyme.

Your house, of course needs a stronger roof.

Eh?

There's proof.

Cyrano.

Cyrano.

Come in and eat something.

>> What time is it?

>> Not quite seven.

Oh, now, please, Cyrano.

A man without breakfast is like- >> Oh.

Could she have changed her mind?

>> Aw, she wouldn't dare.

We were magnificent last night.

And at the theater, too.

Then, as I end the refrain- >> When she arrives, where can we converse undisturbed?

>> Wherever you like.

My shop is yours.

The little dining room is quite romantic.

Thrust home!

Yea gods, what a line.

Then as I end the re- >> Vanish.

>> Uh, huh, she's come.

>> Shhhh, I see her.

Welcome.

(light playful music) Uh, pardon, one word.

>> Oh, yes?

>> Have you a good digestion?

>> Oh, wonderful.

>> Good.

Here are some eclairs.

>> Oh.

>> Uh, cream puffs.

Some jellyrolls.

And do you like nature?

>> Woman: I adore it.

>> Then go out and eat these in the sunshine.

Do not return.

>> But why?

>> Until you have finished them.

>> What do I do then?

>> Blessed above all others be the hour when you remember to remember me, and came to tell me what?

>> To tell you that, but before I dare tell you, are you, I wonder, still the same big brother almost that you used to be when we were children, playing by the pond in the old garden down there?

>> At Bergerac.

Those lovely summers.

>> You use to make swords out of bulrushes.

>> And you, dandelion dolls with golden hair.

>> In those days I could tell you everything.

And you did everything I wished.

>> Little Roxane, a sweet tyrant in short skirts and long hair.

>> Was I pretty?

>> Not too plain.

>> Sometimes when you had fallen or hurt your hand, you used to come running to me, and I would be your mother and say, "Oh," in a very grownup voice, "Now, what have you been doing to yourself?

Let me see."

Oh!

>> No, what.

>> Wait, let me see.

Still, at your age?

Now how did you do that?

>> Playing with the big boys at the Place de Neanne.

>> Come here then.

>> Cyrano: Such a wise little mother.

>> And tell me, while I wash this blood away how many you played with?

>> Oh, about a hundred.

>> A hundred?

>> Well, more or less.

>> Tell me.

>> No.

Tell me what you were going to tell me, if you dared.

>> I think I do dare now.

It seems so like those happy days long ago.

Yes, I dare.

Listen, I love someone.

>> Yes?

>> Someone who does not know.

>> Cyrano: Yes?

>> Someone who loves me, too, but is afraid of me and keeps away and never says one word.

>> Cyrano: Yes.

>> Give me back your hand.

Why, how hot it is.

Yes, he loves me, I am sure of it.

>> Yes.

>> And he is a soldier, too, in your own regiment, your company.

>> Yes.

>> And such a man.

He is proud, noble, young, brave, beautiful!

>> Beautiful?

>> What's the matter?

>> Oh, nothing.

This, my hand.

>> Well, I love him.

That is all.

And I have never seen him anywhere except at the theater.

>> You have never spoken?

>> Only with our eyes.

>> Well, then, how do you know?

>> Well, people talk about people, and I hear things, and, and I know.

>> You say he is in the guards?

His name?

>> Baron Christian de Neuvillette.

>> de Neuvillette.

He is not in the guards.

>> Yes, since last week.

He is only lately come to Paris from Normandy.

>> So soon.

So soon we lose our hearts.

But- >> Monsieur de Bergerac, I have eaten all the cakes.

>> Good.

Now go out and enjoy nature.

But my dear child, you love only words, wit, poetry.

Why, for all you know, the man may be a savage or a fool.

>> Not with such eyes.

I read his soul in them.

>> Yes, all our souls are written in our eyes.

And you have brought me here to tell me this?

I do not yet quite understand, madam, the reason for your confidence.

>> They say that in your company, it frightens me, you are all Gascons.

>> And pick a quarrel with any outsider who intrudes himself.

Is that what you have heard?

>> I'm so afraid for him.

>> Not without reason.

>> And I thought you, if you whom they all respect and fear.

>> You want me to defend your little Baron?

>> Will you?

Just for me?

Because I have always been your friend?

>> And this is what you want of me?

>> Will you be his friend?

>> I will be his friend.

>> And never let him fight a duel?

>> No, never.

>> Promise?

>> I promise.

>> Oh, thank you, thank you.

I knew I could rely on you.

Well, now I must go.

Oh, you never told me about last night.

Why, you must have been a hero.

Have him write and tell me all about it, and about himself.

Oh, you are a darling.

We are great friends, are we not?

He must write to me.

A hundred men against one.

You shall tell me the whole story someday when we have time.

A hundred men.

What courage!

>> I have done better since.

>> Well?

>> Let us leave this place, eh?

>> But the whole company is on its way here.

>> Oh, no.

>> They're on my heels.

Naturally I told them all about last night and they're wild.

Here they are.

>> Captain, why did you?

>> Perhaps I can stop them.

>> Never mind.

>> Cyrano!

(triumphant horn music) (men talking excitedly) >> Eight dead men in the street.

Scandalous.

You know my edict against dueling, Nephew.

I expect to have it enforced.

Furthermore, I wish to know who was responsible for last night's outrage at the Place de Neanne.

>> I understand, Your Eminence.

>> Very well.

And now I have news that should be more to your liking.

I fear, in confidence, our uneasy armistice with Spain is doomed.

>> My colonelcy?

>> Your commission has been prepared.

>> Oh, thank you, Uncle, thank you.

>> Oh, one thing more.

Last night at the theater, the duel in rhyme?

That guardsman with a nose?

>> De Bergerac, that impossible Gascon.

>> Yes, impossible.

>> His treatment of Montfleury.

>> Abominable.

>> The arrogance with which he closed the play.

>> Incredible.

>> It will be a miracle if the Vicomte survives.

>> A sorrow.

>> What will you do with him, Your Eminence?

>> I?

Nothing.

I thought I might leave that to you.

>> To me?

>> Yes.

Place him somewhere in your service, with a comfortable allowance.

He looked a little threadbare.

>> I, you, but Your Eminence, you detest dueling.

>> Of course I do.

Why didn't you prevent it?

I should much prefer that Monsieur de Beregrac live by the pen rather than die by the sword.

Do you not agree, Antoine?

>> By all means, Your Eminence.

By all means.

>> And then, as I end the refrain, thrust home.

(crowd talking excitedly) (triumphant horn music) >> We can meet later if you like.

>> Monsieur de Bergerac.

>> Cyrano: Your Excellency.

>> I have come to express my admiration for both your exploits last night.

>> Indeed.

Thank you.

>> My dear fellow, we may have had our differences, but I am disposed to forget them.

>> That is very generous of you, sir.

>> No, truly.

You are, it seems, a man of many skills.

A rare combination, soldier and poet.

Would you care to join my following?

>> No, sir.

I do not follow.

>> I am told you have written a play.

As you know, my uncle, the Cardinal, is also a dramatist.

I might help you there.

>> Cyrano, now at last you can have it performed.

>> Why not?

I could take it to him.

>> Really?

>> Of course.

Let him rewrite a few lines here and there, and he'll find a theater for you.

>> Rewrite my lines?

Impossible.

>> Uh, when he likes a thing, he pays well.

>> Yes, but not so well as I.

When I have made a line that sings itself, I pay myself a hundred times.

>> You are proud, my friend.

>> You have observed that.

>> Cyrano!

See what we found in the street.

Plumes dropped in their flight by those fine birds who showed their tail feathers!

(crowd laughing) 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?

(crowd laughing) >> Sir, will you not return these to your friends?

(sword clanking) >> Have you read Don Quixote?

>> I have and found myself the hero.

>> Be so good as to read once more the chapter 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.

>> Antoine: Gentlemen.

>> Gentlemen.

Gentlemen.

>> You've done it now.

You've made your fortune.

He was willing to forget.

>> There you go again, growling.

>> Yes, this latest pose of yours, ruining every opportunity that comes your way becomes exaggerated.

>> Very well, then, I exaggerate.

There are certain things in this world a man does well to carry to extremes.

>> Ah, your precious independence.

Your white plume.

>> What?

>> 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 an 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 lacks 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 the- >> 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.

(men shouting) >> Now, let me see.

Where shall we begin?

I set out 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?

(Cyrano chuckling) >> His name is Christian de Neuvillette.

(soft dramatic music) >> I see.

Very well.

As I was saying.

I was.

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 nose full.

>> Whenever he took a notion, and then 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- >> Christian: Nose!

>> Aw, putting in my oar.

The quarrel 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 at once.

I had the bottom then- >> Christian: A nosegay!

>> A monstrous crab tree.

He went down for as they wave.

I charged- >> To the ear!

I skewered two of them, disarmed the third, another lunged and I carried- >> Through your nose!

>> All right, out of here!

All of you, go!

Leave me with him.

(dramatic music) 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.

>> This is rather sudden.

>> Oh, please, forgive me.

If you knew how much I have admired you.

>> Yes, yes, and all those noses.

>> Please, I apologize.

>> Well, Roxane expects a letter.

>> From me?

>> Yes, why not?

>> Oh, no.

Once I write, that ruins everything.

>> Why?

>> Because, any schoolboy could write to her more gracefully than I. I'm a fool!

>> You did not attack me like a fool.

>> Anyone can pick a quarrel.

No, I'm never at a loss for words among men, but with any women?

Paralyzed.

Speechless, dumb.

I'm one of those stammering idiots who cannot 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 the words I gave you day-by-day?

Send to her the letters that I write?

>> What do you mean?

>> I mean, that Roxane shall have no disillusionment.

Come, shall we win her both together?

For you?

>> Oh, but Cyrano.

>> Christian, why not?

>> I, I'm afraid.

>> Afraid that when you have her all alone you will lose her.

Have no fear, it is yourself she loves.

Give her yourself.

Put into words my words upon your lips.

Will you?

Will you?

>> Does it mean so much to you?

>> It means, it means a comedy, a situation for a poet.

Come, shall we collaborate?

I'll be your cloak of darkness, your enchanted sword, your ring to charm the fairy princess.

Think, is the prize not worth the danger?

>> My friend.

>> My friend.

>> Take my heart.

I shall have it all the more.

Plucking the flowers, we but keep the plant in bloom.

Thus do I love thee, my darling.

>> Idiot.

There are a dozen ways to read that line.

Can't you give it some meaning?

Any meaning!

Thus do I love thee!

Thus do I love thee.

Thus do I love thee.

Thus do I love thee, thee, thee!

>> Who knows your smile has known a perfect thing.

You are a white rose, wherein love lies in ambush for his natural prey.

In the garden of my heart, you are the most, eh, the most... >> Fragrant blossom.

>> As the tender sapling thirsts for rain, as the eagle seeks the sky, as the wave hurtles toward the shore, my heart yearns for you.

>> Good, good.

You know, you're beginning to have a feel for words.

>> Words, words, I'm sick of words.

>> Those are your weapons.

How else do you conquer?

>> Yes, but when, when?

They're fighting in the north now.

You know that.

The regiment could be called up any day, and I've never even kissed her.

>> Patience, my boy, patience.

>> I've been patient.

Why, she sees the Compte de Guiche as often as she does me.

Do you suppose she's playing with me?

Making a fool of me?

>> Impossible.

>> How can you say?

How do you know?

Cyrano, you have her confidence.

You could find out.

>> Nonsense, I say.

Oh, very well.

I'll scout the terrain.

>> Listen, Cyrano, intelligently, discreetly.

>> Yes.

>> With finesse.

>> Cyrano: And, uh, what do you think of Christian after all these weeks?

>> Roxane: He is beautiful and brilliant, and I love him.

>> Good.

Uh, do you find him intellectual?

>> More so than you even.

>> Huh?

>> Oh, I didn't mean- >> No, no, no, I am glad.

>> No man ever so beautifully said those things.

Those pretty nothings that are everything.

Sometimes he, he, he falls into a reverie.

His inspiration fails.

But, then all at once, he will say something absolutely, ah.

>> Really?

>> How like a man!

You think because a man has a handsome face he must be a fool.

>> Not necessarily.

Uh, he talks well about, uh, matters of the heart?

>> He does not talk.

He rhapsodizes, dreams.

Only the other night he said to me, extemporaneously, mind you.

>> Oh, of course.

>> "Take my heart.

I shall have it all the more.

Plucking the flowers we but keep the plant in bloom."

Well?

>> Mmm, passable.

He writes well?

>> Wonderfully.

Listen: "Knowing you have in store more heart to give than I to find heart room."

>> The first he has too much heart, then too little.

Just how much heart does he need?

>> You are teasing me.

You are jealous!

>> Jealous?

>> Yes.

You poets are all alike.

Would you dare criticize these lines?

"Only believe that unto you my whole heart gives one cry.

And writing writes down more than you receive.

Sending you kisses through my fingertips.

Lady, oh, read my letter with your lips."

>> Yes, those last lines, but he overwrites.

>> Listen to this.

>> Do you know them all by heart?

>> Every one.

>> Well, I may call that flattering.

>> He is a master.

>> Oh, come.

>> Yes, a master.

>> Ah, a master.

If you will.

And, uh, when do you bestow the laurel wreath?

How many prodigies of poetry must this new Hercules perform?

>> I do not know.

My friend, you men own the world and all that's in it.

Woman is at best a prize, a property valued much the same as a horse or a dog, unlike the pear and sheen of skin and soundness of teeth and limb.

Well, if I must be chattel, then the terms shall be mine, and the price according to my own values, dear.

>> I see.

Christian tells me that you meet tonight.

What would you have him speak about?

>> Oh, nothing, and everything.

I shall say, speak to me of love in your own words.

Improvise, rhapsodize.

Be eloquent.

But you will not tell him, will you?

>> Ah, perish the thought.

>> Madame, Compte de Guiche.

(playful music) >> Madame.

Monsieur.

>> Madame.

Monsieur.

(apple crunching) >> Christian, wait!

>> Christian: No.

>> There's still time to learn your lines.

>> No.

>> I have some brilliant phrases for you, delicate, sensitive.

>> No.

I'll have not more of it.

Taking all my words, my sentences all from you, making our love a little comedy.

>> Don't you real- >> It was a game at first, but now she cares.

>> Ah?

>> Thanks to you.

>> Uh.

>> I'm not afraid any longer.

I'll speak for myself now.

>> Oh, undoubtedly.

>> I will.

You shall see!

Besides, I know enough to take a woman in my arms, and tonight, I will.

(knuckles rapping) >> Cyrano: Christian!

>> Thank you, my friend, and goodbye.

>> Christian, I beg of you.

>> Leave me!

>> You're making a grave error.

>> Go away!

>> So be it.

>> Christian.

>> Roxane.

>> I am so glad you are early.

Let us stay out here in the moonlight.

It's so pleasant.

Sit down.

There, so.

Now speak to me.

>> I love you.

>> Yes, speak to me of love.

>> I love you.

>> Now, be eloquent.

Be brilliant for me.

Tonight of all nights.

>> I love you so.

>> You have your scene.

Now improvise, rhapsodize.

>> I love you very much!

>> I ask for cream, and you give me milk and water.

Tell me first a little how you love me.

>> Very much!

>> Is that all you feel?

>> Your throat, if only I might kiss it.

>> Christian!

>> But, Roxane, I love you.

>> Again.

>> No, not again.

I do not love you.

>> That is better.

>> I, I adore you!

>> Oh!

>> I know I grow absurd.

>> And that distresses me as much as if you had grown ugly.

Oh, please.

Gather your dreams together into words.

>> I, I.

>> I know, you love me!

Good night!

>> Oh, but wait, please!

I was going to say- >> That you adore me.

Yes, I know that, too.

No.

>> I- >> Go away.

(door slamming) (Cyrano clapping) >> A great success.

>> Help me!

>> Not I.

Speak for yourself, my friend.

>> Why I, I can't.

>> Well, at least you know enough to take a woman in your arms.

>> Oh, Cyrano, please!

>> What, and make your love a little comedy?

>> Oh, Cyrano, I cannot live unless I win her back now.

This moment!

>> This moment.

How the devil am I to teach you now, this mo.

Her window.

>> Help me, Cyrano, help me.

>> Shhhh.

>> Cyrano: It does seem fairly dark.

>> Christian: Well?

Well?

>> It is more than you deserve.

One must try what can be done.

Stand over there.

Idiot, here, before the balcony.

I'll whisper you what to say.

>> She may hear- >> Shhhh!

Call her.

>> Roxane.

Roxane?

>> Who's calling?

>> Christian: Christian.

>> You again?

>> I had to tell you.

>> No, go away.

You tell me nothing.

>> Christian: Please.

>> You do not love me anymore.

>> Not anymore.

>> No, not anymore.

>> I love you evermore.

>> I love you evermore.

>> And evermore and more.

>> And evermore and more.

>> A little better.

>> Love grows and struggles like an angry child.

>> Breaking my heart.

>> Breaking my heart.

>> His cradle.

>> His cradle.

>> Better still.

But such a babe is dangerous.

Why not have smothered it new born?

>> And so I do.

>> And so I do.

>> And yet he lives.

>> And yet he lives.

>> I found as you shall find.

>> I found as you shall, you shall find.

>> This newborn babe.

>> This newborn babe.

>> An infant Hercules.

>> An infant Hercules!

>> Good.

>> Strong enough at birth.

>> To strangle those two serpents.

>> To strangle those two serpents, doubt and what?

>> Pride.

>> Pride!

>> Why, very good.

Only, tell me why you speak so haltingly.

Has your imagination gone lame?

>> Yes, this grows too difficult.

>> Your words tonight hesitate, why?

>> Through the warm summer gloom, they grope in darkness toward the light of you.

My words are heavy with honey, like returning bees.

Yet they must fly so high.

>> Come nearer then.

Stand you on the bench.

>> Cyrano: No.

>> Roxane: Then I'll come down.

>> Cyrano: No!

>> And why so great a no?

>> Let me enjoy the one moment I ever, my one chance to speak to you unseen.

>> Unseen?

>> Yes.

Yes.

Night making all things dimly beautiful, one veil over us both.

You need no eyes to hear my heart.

Oh, tonight, let it seem as if I speak for the first time.

>> For the first time?

>> Cyrano: Yes.

>> Your voice even is not the same.

>> How should it be?

I have another voice tonight.

My own.

Myself!

Daring!

>> Why daring?

>> Because, what am I, what is any man that he dare ask for you?

Therefore my heart has hidden behind poetic words and tinsel phrases.

>> But are they not sweet, those pretty phrases?

>> Not enough sweet for you and me tonight.

>> You never spoke to me like this.

>> I tell you, there comes one moment once, and heaven help those who pass that moment by, when beauty stands looking into the soul with grave, sweet eyes that sicken at pretty words.

>> Yes.

That is love.

>> Love.

A 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.

Roxane.

>> Yes.

That is love.

>> Yes, that is love.

That wind of terrible and jealous beauty, that dark fire, that soaring, blinding music.

Yet, you may take my happiness to make you happier even though you never know I gave it to you.

Only let me hear, sometimes, all alone, the distant laughter of your joy.

Do you begin to understand a little?

Can you feel my soul there in the darkness breathe on you?

Oh, only tonight, now I dare say these things.

I to you, and you hear them.

It is my voice, mine, my own that makes you tremble there in the green gloom, above me, for you do tremble as a blossom among the leaves.

You tremble, and I can feel all the way down along this jasmine branch whether you will unhold the passion of you trembling.

>> Yes, I do tremble.

And I weep, and I love you, and I am yours, and you have made me thus.

>> I have done this to you.

I myself.

Only let me ask one thing more.

>> One kiss!

>> You ask me for- >> I, yes.

That is to say, I mean.

You've gone too far.

>> If she's willing, why not make the most of it?

>> I, I ask.

I know I ask too much.

>> Only one?

Is that all?

>> All?

How much more than all?

I know I startle you, I, I ask, I ask you to refuse.

>> Why?

Why?

Why?

>> Christian, be quiet.

>> What is that you say?

>> I am angry with myself because I know I go too far, and so I say to myself, Christian, be quiet!

Watch it, someone comes.

>> Well, sir, I am looking for the house of Madame Roxane Robin.

>> This is not the house.

That way.

To the right.

Keep to the right.

>> I thank you, sir.

I shall say my beads for you to the very last bead.

>> Win me that kiss?

>> No!

>> Sooner or later.

>> True, that is true.

Sooner or later must be so because she is young and you are handsome.

Since it must be, I'd rather be myself the cause, if it must be.

>> Are you still there?

>> Cyrano: Yes.

>> We were speaking of... >> A kiss.

>> Roxane: A kiss.

>> And what is a kiss when all is done?

A vow taken before the shrine of memory.

A rosy dot over the I of loving.

A secret whisper to two listening lips apart.

>> Shhh.

>> A moment made immortal with a rush of wings unseen.

A sacrament of blossoms.

A new song sung by two hearts to an old, simple tune.

>> Hush.

>> Cyrano: Why?

What shame?

>> No.

No shame.

Then come.

Gather your sacred blossom.

Your moment made immortal.

>> Climb!

>> But, I- >> Climb, animal!

(dramatic music) >> Roxane.

(dramatic music) (solemn music) (Cyrano sighing) >> Ah, Roxane.

I have won what I have wanted.

A feast of love.

And I am faint with hunger.

Yet, I have something here that is mine now and was not mine before.

I spoke the words that won her.

She kisses my words.

My words upon his lips.

(gate clicking) What, dear Father, lost your way again?

>> But, she lives here, Madame Robin.

>> Oh, I thought you said Rolen?

>> No, R-O-B-I-N, Robin.

>> Oh, Robin, I see.

>> I'm too old to chase wild geese.

My feet.

>> Oh, what a shame.

(knuckles rapping) However, I'm sure there's someone at home.

>> What is it?

>> Yeah, I'm looking for the young lady, Madame Rolen.

>> Rolen?

>> Robin!

>> Servant: Madame, a letter for you.

>> Roxane: Yes, yes, I heard.

Cyrano.

>> Uh, passing by cousin, I saw this light.

>> Uh, some matter profitable to the soul.

A very noble lord gave it to me.

>> What is it?

(soft dramatic music) >> Father, this letter concerns you.

"Madame, the Cardinal will have his way, although against your will.

That is why I am sending this to you by a most holy man.

Intelligent, discreet.

You will communicate to him our order to perform here and at once the rite of holy matrimony.

You and Christian will be married privately in your house.

Be resigned to the Cardinal's command, who sends herewith his blessings.

Your very humble and et cetera."

Oh, this is terrible.

>> Oh, you're to be the, uh- >> I am to be the bridegroom.

>> Uh, look here.

A postscript.

"Give to the monastery in my name 120 pieces of gold."

>> 120!

Oh, a worthy lord.

A very worthy lord.

Daughter, resign yourself.

>> I am resigned.

de Guiche is coming.

Do not let him enter.

>> Not let him enter?

>> Until we are married, please.

(door slamming) >> Guiche: What is that?

>> Cyrano: Me!

>> Guiche: Why, where did you come from?

>> Cyrano: The moon.

>> Guiche: You.

>> Cyrano: From the moon, where I have just returned from the moon.

>> Guiche: This fellow's mad!

>> Cyrano: Like a bomb, I tell you, I fell from the moon!

>> Guiche: Now see here!

>> Cyrano: I say the moon!

>> Guiche: Very well, if you say so.

>> Cyrano: Thank you.

>> Guiche: Raving mad.

>> Cyrano: Where am I?

>> My dear sir!

>> Cyrano: What place is this, what country?

>> Please, let me pass.

>> His face, good heavens, masked a robber.

Where am I?

>> A lady is waiting for me.

>> So, this is Paris, huh?

>> Fool!

>> Dear old Paris.

Excuse my appearance.

I arrived by the last thunderbolt a trifled singed as I passed through the ether.

>> Monsieur!

>> Cyrano: Sir?

>> That will do, now.

I wish- >> Cyrano: I know, you wish to learn from my own lips the nature of the moon's inhabitants, the character of its surface, if any.

>> I desire no such thing, I- >> Cyrano: Of course not.

You wish to know by what mysterious means I reached the moon.

Well, a very secret affair of state, but confidentially, a new invention of my own.

>> Drunk, two, as well as mad.

>> Cyrano: Oh, no, in truth I had my choice of several inventions.

>> Uh?

>> Cyrano: Yes, several ways to violate the virgin sky.

>> Several?

>> Cyrano: Several.

As, for instance, smoke, having a natural tendency to rise, blow in a globe enough to raise me.

>> Yes, that makes one.

>> Cyrano: Again, I might construct a rocket in the shape of a huge locust driven by impulses up within a saltpeter from the rear and thus speed upwards by leaps and bounds!

>> Guiche: Yes, another?

>> Cyrano: Finally, seated on an iron plate, hurl a magnet into the air.

The iron falls.

I catch the magnet, throw it again, and so proceed indefinitely.

>> Guiche: Excellent, and which did you adopt?

>> Cyrano: Why, none of them.

Yet another.

>> Guiche: Which was?

(playful music) >> Cyrano: Guess.

>> I can't!

>> Cyrano: Try.

>> Interesting idiot, this.

>> Cyrano: Have you guessed it yet?

>> Why, no, what is it?

>> Alas, you will never know, but no matter.

You are free and they are bound in wedlock.

>> Am I drunk?

That voice!

And that nose!

Cyrano!

>> Cyrano.

This very moment they have exchanged vows.

>> Who?

My sincere compliments.

You, also, my traveler in space.

>> My Lord, the heads of Capathieu and God have joined together.

>> Quite so!

Madame, kindly bid your husband farewell.

Your regiment leaves tonight, sir.

Report at once!

>> But, the cadets are not called.

>> They are, indeed, and under my command.

Out there we may have an accounting.

>> Somehow, that news fails to disquiet me.

>> Here are the orders.

Baron, deliver this.

>> Christian!

>> The bridal night is not so near.

>> Somehow that news fails to disquiet me.

>> Baron, you have your orders.

(dramatic music) >> Farewell, Roxane.

>> Take care of him for me.

Promise me never to let him do anything dangerous.

>> I'll do my best.

I cannot promise.

>> Watch over him always.

Make him be careful!

>> Yes, yes, I'll try.

>> Be sure to keep him warm and dry!

>> Yes, if possible.

>> Have him write to me every single day!

>> That, I promise you.

(dramatic music) (cannons booming) >> Soldier: Halt!

(soft dramatic music) (cannons booming) (soft dramatic music) >> The situation is simple, gentlemen.

We have besieged Arras.

The Prince of Spain has besieged us.

Consequently, we are surrounded.

>> A fine war, where the besiegers are besieged and starved to death.

>> Yes, but the Marshal has devised a brilliant plan for bringing in food this very night.

Now, see here.

>> Spare us the details, Colonel.

Merely inform us when the food arrives.

>> True, we are hungry.

But why blame me?

I am only your Colonel.

Oh, yes, I know you disprove of me.

Call me courtier, politician.

Well, I can afford your little hates.

My conduct under fire is well known.

It was only yesterday I repelled a Spanish attack, pouring my men down like an avalanche.

I, myself lead the charge.

>> Cyrano: And your white scarf?

>> Man: Cyrano!

>> Man: Who is he?

>> Man: Where's he come from?

>> Man: I don't know.

>> And your white scarf?

>> Eh, you heard that episode?

Yes, I was so far in advance I was in danger of being captured.

But I thought quickly, took off and flung away the scarf that marked my military rank.

And so being inconspicuous, escaped among my own force.

Rallied them, returned, and won the day.

What do you say to that?

>> Still, an officer does not likely resign the privilege of being a target.

>> How pleasant for you that you are denied that privilege.

>> Pleasant?

Lend me your scarf.

With your permission I shall lead the first charge tonight wearing it over my shoulder.

>> What bluster.

You're safe making that offer, and you know it.

My scarf lies on the river bank between the lines.

A spot swept by artillery, impossible to reach alive.

>> Yes.

Here.

(men laughing) >> Thank you.

This bit of white is what I need to make a signal.

I was hesitating.

You have decided me.

>> Stand or I'll fire!

>> Hold you fire.

>> There's a man down there running away.

>> Yes, a Spaniard.

But very useful as a spy to both sides.

As I was about to tell you, the Marshal has withdrawn more than half our forces here.

>> Fortunately, the Spaniards do not know that.

>> Oh, yes, they do now, and they will attack tonight.

At this point.

>> Your revenge, eh?

>> I make no great pretense in loving you.

But since you gentlemen esteem yourselves invincible, the bravest of the brave, and all that.

Why need we be personal?

The Marshal needs a diversion, and I serve him in choosing as I choose.

As you can see, Captain, the great thing is to gain time.

To hold until the Marshal returns.

>> Captain: And to gain time?

>> You will all be so kind as to lay down your lives.

>> Cyrano: Christian?

>> Yes.

>> Roxane?

>> I should like to say farewell to her with my whole heart for her to keep.

>> I have taken the liberty of... >> But, wait.

>> Huh?

>> This little spot.

>> Spot?

>> Yes.

A tear.

>> It is nothing.

A poet while he writes is like a lover in his lady's arms, believing his imagination, everything seems real.

There's half the charm of writing.

Now, I made this letter so pathetic that while I was writing it, I wept.

>> You wept?

>> Why, yes, because it is a little thing to die, but not to see her, that is terrible.

And I shall never.

You will never.

>> Give me that.

(triumphant horn music) >> Soldier: Halt!

Who goes there?

>> Man: On the service of the king!

(triumphant horn music) >> Guiche: The king!

Fall in line fold!

>> Good evening.

>> Guiche: On the king's service, you?

(sweeping romantic music) (men talking excitedly) >> Guiche: Gentlemen!

What are you doing here?

>> We heard rumors at home you were hungry, so we came prepared.

The Spaniards adored the fare, but they missed the fowl!

(men shouting) >> But why did you come here into this, this danger?

>> They said in Paris there was no fighting.

>> Oh.

>> Besides, it was your own fault.

(soft romantic music) Think of the letters you have written me.

How many times?

Every day!

>> Every day?

>> Of course.

>> And each one more wonderful than the last.

>> All this for a few absurd love letters?

>> Hush.

Absurd?

Your letters?

No, never.

Every one was like hearing your voice that night in the dark, remember?

Like your arms around me.

I read them over and over.

Every page was like a petal fallen from your soul.

Like the light and the fire of a great love.

Sweet and strong and true.

>> Sweet and strong?

True?

>> Oh, my Christian.

I came here to ask forgiveness.

It is time to be forgiven.

Now, when we may die so soon.

Forgive me for being light and vain and loving you only because you were handsome.

For now- >> Now?

>> I love you for yourself.

For what you are.

>> Roxane.

>> How you must have suffered, for you saw how frivolous I was.

And to be loved for the mere costume, for the poor, casual body you went about in.

To a soul like yours, that must have been torture.

>> No.

>> I understand.

You cannot perfectly believe in me, a love like this.

>> I want no love like this.

I want love only for- >> Only for what every woman sees in you.

I can do better than that.

>> No, it, it was best before.

>> You do not altogether know me.

I was a child.

I am a woman now.

If you were less handsome- >> No.

>> Unattractive, ugly even, I should love you, still.

>> You mean that?

>> I do mean that.

>> Ugly?

>> Even then.

Now are you happy?

>> Yes.

>> What is it?

>> Nothing, only, Cyrano.

>> Cyrano.

>> He has something to tell you.

>> Where are you going?

>> I will return in a moment.

Cyrano.

>> Your wife, sir, she goes with me?

>> No, sir, she remains.

>> There is still time for her to escape.

>> She stays!

>> Very well.

Someone give me a musket.

I stay here also.

>> Sir, you show courage.

>> What, shall I run away and leave a woman?

>> Colonel, my compliments, sir.

What is wrong?

>> Wait.

>> Well, what is it?

You look so... >> She does not love me.

>> You think not?

>> She loves you.

>> No.

>> She loves only my soul.

>> No.

>> Yes!

That means you.

And you love her.

>> I?

>> I see.

I know.

You wrote her everyday, every day!

>> Perfectly simple.

>> Simple?

For a month we've been blockaded here.

How did you send all those letters?

>> Before daylight, I managed- >> To face death everyday.

You love her.

>> Yes.

>> Tell her so.

>> No.

>> Why not?

>> Why?

Look at me.

>> She would love me if I were ugly.

>> She said that?

>> Yes.

Now, go to her.

>> Nonsense.

Do not believe any such madness.

Go back to her.

You never will be ugly.

Go, it is you she loves.

>> That is what we shall see.

>> No!

No!

>> Let her chose between us.

>> No!

>> Tell her everything!

>> Why do you torture me?

>> Shall I ruin your happiness because I was born with a pretty face?

>> Am I to ruin yours because I happen to have power to say what you perhaps feel?

>> Tell her!

>> Do not drive me too far.

>> I'm tired of being my own rival.

>> Still.

>> My secret marriage, that can be annulled.

>> I beg you.

>> I want her love for the poor fool than I am, or not at all.

For I am going through with this, I'll know one way or the other.

Now, go!

Tell her.

Let her chose one of us.

>> It will be you.

>> I hope so.

>> Soldier: Captain!

The Spanish fires are going out.

>> It begins.

I need a scout.

Where's Cyrano?

>> Captain, let me go.

>> No, my boy, Cyrano knows the terrain.

He knows their lines.

>> So do I.

Please, allow me.

>> Very well.

We must know from which direction the advance comes.

Their weight and numbers.

>> I understand.

(soft dramatic music) >> Roxane.

>> Cyrano.

>> Christian thinks, Christian thinks you ought to know that- >> But I do know.

He still doubts what I just told him just now.

I saw that.

>> Yes, but was it true what you told him just now?

>> It was true.

I said that I should love him, even if he were... >> The word comes hard before me?

Say it, I shall not be hurt.

Ugly?

>> Even then I should love him.

>> Disfigured?

>> Or disfigured.

>> Even grotesque?

>> How could he ever be grotesque, ever to me?

>> But, you could love him so, as much as?

>> Yes, and more.

>> Roxane.

(explosion booming) What is it?

Are they fighting?

What is happening?

>> The Spaniards advance.

There is time.

>> Where is Christian?

>> Cyrano: At the parapet.

>> Oh, of course.

What is it that you wish to tell me?

>> Roxane.

Believe me, this is difficult, and for once I lack words.

Christian asked me to, he told me... (soft dramatic music) >> Christian!

(dramatic music) >> To your places, gentlemen.

>> Is he dead?

>> Captain: No, but dying.

>> I will not let him!

(cannons booming) >> Cyrano.

Did you?

>> Yes, my friend.

I have told her.

She loves you.

>> Roxane.

>> Yes, my darling.

Christian!

He is not dead?

>> Yes.

(Roxane crying) (solemn music) Come, you must go now.

>> Wait a little.

He is dead.

No one else knew him but you.

Was he not a hero?

>> Yes, Roxane.

>> A heart deeper than we knew.

>> Yes, Roxane.

>> A poet.

A soul magnificently tender.

>> Yes, Roxane.

>> But he is dead now.

>> Why, so am I.

For I am dead and my love mourns for me and does not know.

Will never know.

(cannons booming) Take her away quickly.

>> Wait.

A letter over his heart.

(Roxane crying) >> I have two deaths to avenge now.

Christian's and my own.

(dramatic music) (guns firing) (cannons booming) (dramatic music) >> Man: Fire!

(dramatic music) >> Man: Surrender or you die!

(explosion booming) (men yelling) (dramatic music) (cannons booming) (men yelling) (dramatic music) (swords clashing) (dramatic music) (cannon booming) (swords clashing) (dramatic music) (men yelling) (swords clashing) (dramatic music) >> Look, it's the signal!

(swords clashing) (dramatic music) >> Man: Ah!

>> We fought, we died, we fought again.

"Who are these men who are so fond of death?"

one Spaniard cried.

On and on they came.

Then when all seemed lost, we heard the trumpets of our returning troops.

The battle was ours!

>> Glorious!

Ah, you have been fortunate, Monseiur de Bergerac.

You have lived while we, we waste our youth.

There is no war and no hope for any.

>> No hope for any?

My fellow, I have just realized we are both fools.

But mine is the greater folly, for I am an older fool.

What is more, everything I told you was a lie.

>> Another satire for the Gazette?

>> Yes.

>> Another glove flung in the face of power?

Oh, why do you do it, Cyrano?

Why do you attack- >> Stupidity?

Deceit?

Corruption?

I'm too old to change.

I'm an old dog with nothing left but his teeth.

>> Ah, but teeth can be pulled.

That can be painful.

>> That insolent wretch.

That scoundrel de Bergerac.

This time he's gone too far.

I swear it, he's signed his death warrant.

>> And who will deliver it?

His sword is still very powerful, my friend.

>> There are may ways a man can die.

Who knows?

He may meet with an accident.

Soon.

(bell tolling) >> But, uh, tell me, Madame.

How long will you continue to remain here, forever in mourning?

>> Forever.

>> Was Christian all that?

>> If you knew him you would not ask.

His last letter is still at my heart, keeps me warm.

>> And, uh, Cyrano?

Do you see him often?

>> Every week.

My old friend takes the place of my Gazette.

>> Hmm.

>> Brings me all the news.

Every Saturday under that tree out there, I wait for him, embroidering.

The hour strikes, I need not turn to look.

At the last stroke I hear his cane tapping the walk.

>> His satires have made him many enemies.

>> But they still fear that sword of his.

No one dare touch him.

>> Hmm, that may be so.

>> It is not violence I fear for him, but solitude, poverty.

Old gray Decembers stealing on wolf's feet into his darkened room.

It seems to me he has worn the same old coat for many months now.

>> Eh, that is nothing strange in this world.

You need not pity him overmuch.

He lives his life, his own life his own way, thought, word and deed free.

>> My Lord Duke.

>> Oh, yes, I know.

I have all, he has nothing.

Nevertheless, today I should be proud to shake his hand.

Ah, well, adieu.

Will I ever see you again?

>> Come whenever you like.

>> Then you have forgiven me?

>> I am here.

>> Do you know?

When a man wins everything in this world, when he succeeds too much, he feels, somehow, a thousand small displeasures with himself, whose whole sum is not quite remorse, but rather a sort of vague disgust, dry illusions, pained regrets.

Yes, now and then, I envy your Cyrano.

>> The sentiment does you honor.

>> Madame, I must tell you, it is true that no one has yet dared to attack your friend Cyrano.

Nevertheless, at the theater last night, I heard some things.

Keep him at home all you can.

Tomorrow when you see him, tell him to be careful.

>> I thank you.

>> Cyrano: Good night, Ragueneau.

>> Cyrano, you're not leaving?

You will not have dinner here with me?

>> Cyrano: My regrets.

I have a magnificent roast waiting for me, a rare wine, a gift from my publisher.

>> Fine, to be sure.

Uh, have you seen Moliere's new play?

>> No.

>> Heh, ah, well, it's- >> What is it?

>> Well, he, he- >> Speak.

>> He stole a scene from you, word for word.

You know, "What the devil was he doing there?"

That one.

He stole it, bodily.

>> Well, he showed good taste.

It, uh, played well?

>> Oh, beautifully.

They laughed and laughed.

Oh, how they laughed.

>> Moliere has genius.

Christian had good looks.

With me, it was always thus.

Good night, my friend.

(soft dramatic music) >> Man: Hold, there.

You!

>> Are you addressing me?

>> Yes, you, Monsieur of the long nose.

>> Insolence.

>> Foulmouthed scribbler.

>> What?

>> Lair, plagiarist!

>> Liar?

(dramatic music) (man whistling) (dramatic music) (wagon rumbling) (whip snapping) (dramatic music) (wagon rumbling) (solemn music) >> Ragueneau: Doctor?

>> Why pretend?

It is very grave.

Keep him quiet at all costs.

If he attempts to rise, he will die.

>> Shh-shh.

Thank you.

(bell ringing) >> Nun: Monsieur.

>> Ah, Sister.

(nun gasping) What is the matter with you?

Shall I tell you something, Sister?

Yesterday, Friday, mind you, I ate meat again.

>> Yes, I know.

That is why you are so pale.

Please come to me to the refectory before you go.

I'll make you a great bowl of hot soup.

>> Of course, of course.

>> You're quite reasonable today.

>> Eh, perhaps you'll convert me.

>> Oh, no.

Not for the world.

>> Why, now I think of it, that is so.

You, bursting with holiness, and yet you never preach.

Astonishing.

And now I shall astonish you.

I'm going to let you pray for me tonight at Vespers.

Absolutely struck dumb, eh?

>> I did not wait for you to say I might.

>> Now may the devil admire me if never hope to see the end of that embroidery.

>> After 14 years, late for the first time.

>> Yes.

Yes, maddening.

I was detained by a visitor.

Most unexpected.

An old friend of mine.

At least a very old acquaintance.

>> Did you tell him to go away?

>> For the time being, yes.

I said excuse me.

You see, it is Saturday.

I have a previous engagement, one I cannot miss.

Even for you.

Come back an hour from now.

>> Your friend will have to wait.

I shall not let you go till dark.

>> Perhaps a little before dark, I must go.

>> Oh?

Then tell me now the court news, my Gazette.

>> Ah, yes, well.

Let me see.

Saturday the 19th.

The King fell ill after eight helpings of grape marmalade.

Grape marmalade will no longer be served at court.

Sunday.

The royal pulse is now normal.

Monday.

Everyone was talking about the success of Moliere's new play.

Tuesday.

The King fell ill after six helpings of marone glacee.

Marone glacee will no longer be served at court.

Wednesday.

The Compte de Firske spoke to Madame de Monte Glas.

She said no.

Thursday.

Nothing.

Friday.

Madame de Monte Glas said yes.

Saturday the 25th.

(cane clattering) >> Cyrano!

What is it?

Cyrano!

>> Oh, no, no, it is nothing.

>> Roxane: But?

>> The old wound at Arras sometimes.

>> Roxane: My poor friend.

>> No, no, no, no.

It is nothing.

It will soon be gone.

There.

'Tis gone.

>> We all have our old wounds.

I have mine here, under this faded scrap of writing.

It's hard to read now.

All for the blood and the tears.

>> His letter?

Did you not promise me that someday you would let me read it?

>> This letter?

You wish to- >> I do wish it.

Today.

(solemn music) >> Open it and read.

(solemn music) "Farewell, Roxane, because today I die."

>> Aloud.

"I know that it will be today, my own dearly beloved.

Yet, my heart still so heavy with love I have not told.

And I shall die without telling you.

No more shall my eyes drink the sight of you like wine, never more with a look that is a kiss, follow the sweet grace of you."

>> How you read it, his letter.

>> "I remember now the way you have of pushing back a lock of hair with one hand from your forehead, and my heart cries out."

>> His letter.

>> "Cries out and keeps crying."

>> And you read it so.

>> "Farewell, my dear, my dearest."

>> In a voice.

>> "My own heart's own, my own treasure."

>> In such a voice.

>> "My love."

>> As I remember hearing long ago.

>> "I am never away from you.

Even now I shall not leave you.

In another world, I shall still be that one who loves you, loves you beyond measure, beyond..." >> But how can you read it now?

And all those 14 years he has been the old friend who came to me to be amusing.

>> Roxane.

>> It was you.

>> No, no, Roxane, no.

>> And I might have know it every time that I heard you speak my name.

>> No, it was not I.

>> It was you!

>> I swear.

>> The letters, that was you.

>> No.

>> And the dear foolish words, that was you.

>> No.

>> And the voice in the dark, that was you.

>> On my honor.

>> And the soul.

It was all you.

>> I never loved you.

>> Yes, you loved me.

Even now you love me.

>> No!

>> And twice you're great to know.

>> Oh, no, no, my own dear love, I love you not.

>> Why were you silent for so many years?

All the while.

Every night, and every day, he gave me nothing.

You knew that.

You knew in that letter lying on my breast.

Your tears.

You knew they were your tears.

>> The blood was his.

>> Ragueneau: Cyrano!

>> Here!

He's here.

Oh, what recklessness.

>> No.

>> I knew it!

>> Oh, madame, he has killed himself coming here.

>> No!

Shh.

>> That faintness, what is it?

>> Nothing.

I did not finish my Gazette.

Saturday the 26th.

An hour or so before dinner, Monseiur de Bergerac died, foully murdered.

>> Cyrano, what have they done to you?

>> How fate loves a jest.

Behold me ambushed, taken unawares.

My noble foe, a lackey.

My battlefield, a gutter.

It seems too logical.

They have missed everything, even my death.

>> Roxane: Sisters!

Sisters!

>> No, no, do not go away.

I may not be here when you return.

>> You shall not die.

I love you!

>> No, my lady, it's not in the story.

When beauty said I love you to the beast all his ugliness changed and dissolved, like magic.

But, you see, I am still the same.

>> And I have done this to you.

>> You?

Why no.

>> All my fault, mine!

>> On the contrary.

I have never known womanhood in its sweetness, but for you.

My mother did not like to look at me.

I never had a sister.

Later, I feared those sweetheart with mockery behind her smile.

But, because of you, I have had across my life one whispering, silken gown.

>> I never loved but one man in my life.

I have lost him twice.

(Roxane crying) >> I would not have you mourning any less that good, noble Christian.

But perhaps, I ask only this.

When the great cold gathers around my bones, that you may give a double meaning to your widow's weeds.

The tears you let fall for him, may for a little be my tears.

>> Oh, my love!

>> No, not here.

Not lying down.

Let no one help me.

No one need help me.

It is coming.

I feel already shod with marble.

Gloved with lead.

Very well, let the old fellow come now.

He shall find me on my feet.

Sword in hand.

>> Cyrano!

>> He's delirious.

>> I see him now.

He grins.

He is looking at my nose, that skeleton!

You there.

Who are you?

A hundred against one, eh?

I know them now, my ancient enemies.

Falsehood, there!

There, prejudice!

Compromise, cowardice.

What's that?

Surrender?

No, never!

Never!

Ah, you too, vanity.

I knew you would overthrow me in the end.

No, I fight on, I fight on, I fight, aw!

(sword clattering) All my laurels you have riven away.

And my roses.

Yet, in spite of you, there is one crown I bear away with me.

And tonight when I enter before God, my salute shall sweep away the stars from the blue threshold.

One thing without stain, unspotted from the world, in spite of doom, mine own, and that is my white plume.

(Cyrano thudding) (dramatic music) (bell tolling) (soaring dramatic music) (bright adventurous music)