Eloquence I will lend you

It isn't often that Sarah reads things I haven't read, but when she does, she often picks good ones. Recently, Sarah was away nannying for two weeks and came home with Cyrano De Bergerac by Edmond Rostand, insisting I read it. (For those of you new to the blog, Sarah is one of my multitudinous younger sisters who is the sensible one in our room.) There were reasons  I wanted to read this book (once I heard about it), not the least of which is that one of our friends and Sarah insisted that we get together for a day of baking and reading the play (Cyrano is a play) and that I be assigned the part of Roxane. Now, when people assertively assign you parts, you begin to want to know what this character is like, that they think you have to play her.
Cyrano De Bergerac is, in its essence, a play about love and friendship. It is a comic tragedy (I was laughing aloud and didn't see the tragedy coming so it kind of stunned me) and figures a terribly witty and hilarious man with a terrible nose who thinks no woman can ever love him. He is in love with his beautiful cousin, Roxane, but knows that she will not think of him since he is so ugly. When Roxane confides in Cyrano that she is in love with his fellow-soldier, Christian De Neuvelitte, Cyrano hides his own love and helps Christian (a comely, but stupid youth) to win Roxane's heart by teaching him clever things to say to the lady.

"Eloquence I will lend you!....And you, to me, shall lend all-conquering physical charm...and between us we will compose a hero of romance!...Roxane shall not have disallusions! Tell me, shall we win her heart, we two as one? will you submit to feel, transmitted from my leather doublet into your doublet stitched with silk, the soul I wish to share?"

At a simple level, Cyrano is a good laugh and an improbable love triangle. There are many scenes that had me laughing aloud, as when Cyrano dares people to comment on his nose and beats them up when they do, or denounces them in a torrent of scathing wit; there are many wonderful side-characters like Raganeau, the pastry-cook-poet-turned-jack-of-all-trades and Le Bret, Cyrano's faithful companion.
But on a deeper level, I was impressed with the noble values portrayed through Cyrano's choices. When (SPOILER) Christian dies in battle, having told Cyrano that he wants Roxane to know the truth and choose between her two lovers, Cyrano will not take advantage of the situation and ask Roxane to marry him. Roxane is a new widow and, believing that the soul she loves belongs to the man that died, is in deep mourning. If I was the guy who was still very much in possession of the soul Roxane loved, I would have mourned dumb little Chris for a few months and then had out with it in Roxane's hearing, telling her the truth--especially since Christian had asked Cyrano to do just that.

Fourteen years pass (FOURTEEN) and Cyrano visits Roxane every Saturday without fail, where they spend the evening talking about good times. On one such evening, Roxane realizes that it was not Christian who wrote the eloquent farewell letter she wears about her neck, but Cyrano. She quizzes him and Cyrano is still unwilling to spill that Christian was a dummy. He like Christian, for all that, and sacrificed his own love and happiness to see his friend happy:

Roxane: "And he...for fourteen years, has played the part of the comical old friend who came to cheer me!"
Cyrano: "Roxane!"
R: "So it was you."
C: "No, no Roxane!"
R: "I ought to have divined it, if only by the way in which he speaks my name!"
C: "No, it was not I!"
R: "So it was you!"
C: "I swear to you..."
R: "Ah, I detect at last the whole generous imposture: the letters...were yours."
C: "No!"
R: "The tender fancy, the dear folly...yours!"

And on the scene goes with many more exclamation points and emphatic denials from Cyrano and the whole pivot of the book and the part that turns it, for me, from a funny farce to a touching play is this quote:

Roxane: "Ah, how many things within the hours have died...how many have been born! Why, why have you been silent these longs years, when on this letter, in which he had no part, the tears were yours?"
Cyrano: (handing her the letter) "Because...the blood was his."

How much smoother and better life would go if more men (and women) had the character to give up a thing they desire so deeply because though the tears were theirs, the blood was his; this is the measure of a true man. There would be nothing easier than for Cyrano to have told Roxane the whole thing (while Christian was still alive); she would probably have chosen Cyrano and the play would have closed in a rosy pomp of the Gascony Cadets singing and rapiers flashing. But Cyrano waited because he knew he was the better man; he waited because he didn't want to be so weak as to take advantage of a widowed woman. He waited because he might have cried for love, but Christian died for it.
That is the kind of friendship we need more people to display. That is the kind of selfless love given to us by Jesus Christ. And to think, of all things, I was reminded of it in a book about a man with an "unfortunate profile."

And for the record, I did think I was a bit like Roxane:

Roxane: (throwing a folded tablecloth to Cyrano) "Unfold the cloth...hey, be nimble!"

"You Can't Get a Man To Manage!"

I stumbled across a simply hilarious play a while back before I graduated, while I did a literature-based unit study on the Victorian Era. It was appropriately named "The Society for the Suppression of Gossip" and I fell in love with it immediately. I hope you don't take these women's advice, but do have fun reading!

Mrs Hartwell: "What is the pleasure of this Society?"

Miss Wise: "My pleasure is that we don't want any disccusion. Discussion is what the men like, and I don't want to be like a horrid man!"

Mrs. Major Warner: "Miss Wise, if you had married a horrid man long ago, you might have a different opinion of them."

Miss Wise: "I daresay it wouldn't improve my opinion of them."

Mrs. Starch: "For my part I have never regretted that I became Mrs. Starch."

Mrs. Major Warner: "Nor do I regret that I became Mrs. Major Warner. Men are not so bad after all, when you know how to manage them. I never feared matrimoney."

Miss Wise: "Nor would I, but men aren't worth the managing. I have a higher mission than to manage an insignificant man."

Miss Filbert: (aside) "Good reason! You can't get a man to manage,"

Miss Nutt: "Mrs. President, if we are not going to talk about anything but matrimony, how are we going to suppress gossip?"

Miss Prudence: "We are wasting our valuable time. If we have a mission, we had better begin; if we have not, we had better go home."

********

I hope you enjoyed reading that little bit, and you can read the rest of this brief and hilarious play here: 

"The Society for the Suppression of Gossip"

The Unveiling of my "Play"!

In the spirit of the "'Heigh-Ho for a Husband' Blog Party" I knew I just had to pretend to be the tiniest bit Shakespearean as a nod to the inspiration for this whole event. I am not sure I succeeded, but I was content and rather pleased than otherwise with what came out of it all. Therefore I give you my one-act play, "Thus Goes Everyone in the World" and I hope you enjoy it. The dialog is actually the both sides of Rachel counseling one another. It amused me quite a bit, and another friend quite a bit, and I hope you share some of our sentiments. :)

“Thus Goes Everyone in the World”

A humorous dialog by Rachel Heffington

Scene: Two cousins, ages nineteen and twenty-two stand alone in a garden as a friend who has just announced her engagement waves goodbye and walks off arm and arm with her fiancé.

Amelia: “And now I may truly say with Beatrice, ‘Thus goes everyone in the world but I…and I may sit in a corner and cry ‘heigh-ho’ for a husband’!”

Sophia: “It does seem so, does it not?”

Amelia: “In truth, it does. But do not despair, my dear cousin—we are by no means out of the running yet.”

Sophia: (sighing) “My mind tells me so, but my heart—oh Amelia, does your heart not contradict your mind?”

Amelia: “Indeed, constantly. And may I be struck down were it not so. My mind and heart are as alike as a kitten is to a raging bull.”

Sophia: “Mine as well.”

Amelia: “Were my heart to dictate the pace of my life I would have been married at eighteen—and yet I can see it would have been in no way the best sort of thing. No, dreams work rather in the way of wines—they only grow better and dearer with the passage of time.”

Sophia: “And what are your dreams?”

Amelia: “They bear little resemblance when voiced to how they appeared in my heart. However I will publish abroad that a tall, rather handsome, somewhat dark man figures strongly in them” (laughs) “But my tongue can say little of his demeanor, his carriage, and all the thousand things that make him mine.”

Sophia: “How easily you speak of your dreams. I prefer to keep mine locked away in my heart—at least they will not be pulled to shreds there.”

Amelia: “Why this sad countenance, cousin? In faith, you look as if the last man on earth had died in fearful agonies on your dainty slippers. I let my dreams out of their gilded cage that they may see the daylight while they may. True, I could coddle them and keep them close and young forever in my secret heart, but I have a dim hope that some of them may come homing back to me, at a distant day, not entirely empty-handed.”

Sophia: “A fair prospect, Amelia. But I have learned my heart well—it is not likely to change from now until forever.”

Amelia: “And that is something I have never been able to accomplish.”

Sophia: “Is your heart so complex?”

Amelia: “It is a perfect Chinese puzzle-box full of all a manner of secret drawers and springs. No sooner have I set my mind on contentment one day, then the next I am dreary and sad. I laugh in the face of the most toothed gale, and weep when the whole world is smiling.”

Sophia: “Well for my part I can easily comprehend why men do not love me—I am young and quiet and not very clever, but I do think it queer that you are not married yet.”

Amelia: “Do you? And would who among my acquaintance would you choose as my husband?” (winks at Sophia) “Ah, indeed you are right—there is no one that would have me.”

Sophia: “I do wonder they have not discovered your charms. There are other virtues beyond a fair face and figure.”

Amelia: “Well said, my dear Sophia. You speak the truth in saying so—beauty is not the only currency love accepts as payment.”

Sophia: “A beautiful heart and ladylike manners are more precious than a comely face.”

Amelia: “A truth again, darling, but until men look upon women with their hearts instead of their eyes, I fear we could all be perfect saints and it would make little difference.”

Sophia: “I wonder that you can speak so lightly on the subject, and smile over it too! Your admissions are full of horrid sentiments. Do you despair so over your singleness?”

Amelia: “Do not worry about me, Sophia. If I have learned one thing in my two years seniority over you, it is to laugh at myself. Only when I begin to take my ‘plight’ seriously do I succumb to vague sensations of melancholia. You may have my hand upon it—when I am laughing, I am well. Besides—I have found it excellent practice to poke fun at myself—it takes some of the sting away to laugh instead of cry.”

Sophia: “A Job’s comfort, Amelia.”

Amelia: “Were it anyone else’s comfort besides, I would not care. I am determined to be a cheerful single woman at eighty, if that is my lot.”

Sophia: “Again! These horrid premonitions!”

Amelia: “A premonition and a jest are two vastly different things, my dear Sophia, as you would learn if you listened a bit less with that wayward heart and a bit more with your ear. I admit that we women are partly to blame for the gentleman-populace’s demand of perfect Dianas. For though beauty is not the only coinage that has value, we have demanded payment in kind.”

Sophia: “What do you mean, pray tell?”

Amelia: “In those secret dreams of yours do you sigh over a man who more resembles a gorilla than any other piece of creation?”

Sophia: (horrified) “Indeed not!”

Amelia: “Then neither do the men spin daydreams of wart-spackled hags.”

Sophia: “You speak in terrible extremes.”

Amelia: “Do I?”

Sophia: “Ah. You do sometimes worry over getting a husband—I know that wistful look.”

Amelia: “It is less a problem of my getting a husband—I am rather more worried about a husband getting me, for the man must be the forward partner in all such cases.”

Sophia: “And they are so slow about it while we are both wasting away and bound to be old maids forever!”

Amelia: “How direly you put it, Sophia-dear. If that were to be my destiny, I would subscribe as a mail-order bride on Tuesday. However, an old maid is a condition of the heart, not the circumstance.”

Sophia: “If the men would only come we’d have nothing to worry about.”

Amelia: “Methinks you speak rather too hurriedly, Sophia.”

Sophia: “Probably. But oh, Amelia, is it not maddening to you that you have the respect of every young man you know?”

Amelia: “I cannot understand what you mean. Why should it be maddening?”

Sophia: “Do not affect denseness, cousin, you know what I mean. That you should be respected by all but loved by none!”

Amelia: “You’ve put a different paint to the idea and it begins to sound a woeful case. However, I would rather be respected by all than loved by a handful. ‘Twould be a slight upon my character otherwise.”

Sophia: “How so?”

Amelia: “Look upon it in the light of my heart: Were I held in contempt by all my acquaintance save a single man who was fond of me, how would that vouch for my character and his?”

Sophia: “Must you be so clever always?”

Amelia: “Must you be so bent on dismal ends for us all?”

Sophia: “There is not a single man who could turn your head, is there, Amelia?”

Amelia: “I should hope he was single.”

Sophia: “Ridiculous girl.”

Amelia: “Is this fair? One moment I am too clever for the world, the next a ridiculous girl? I troth your mind runs the gamut from one end to the other far too fast for me to keep up with it.”

Sophia: “Is there any man that has ever captured your fancy?”

Amelia: “I am a woman, Sophia. Does the question merit an answer?”

Sophia: “It does, and I demand one.”

Amelia: “Then I will tell you, there has been such a man in my past and there will be one, I am sure, in my future.”

Sophia: “And still you smile!”

Amelia: “Would you have me weep? There are but two choices in the case and I prefer the one that the gentlemen find more attractive.”

Sophia: “What a queer girl you are, Amelia. Sober one moment and merry the next.”

Amelia: “As is the very world you live in, Sophia. Look about you, darling. What is the largest cross you bear? Ah, you blush because it is that which we have spent half an hour talking of. You weep and sigh and walk about in moroseness because you haven’t a man to complete you. Is life not more than marriage, and is a woman not more than the man that she is joined to?”

Sophia: “It sounds wrong for you to say so.”

Amelia: “The only Man that can ever complete me has done so already.”

Sophia: “You speak aright, dear cousin.”

Amelia: “So then, why are you sad? Let us be merry while we have our youth. We are not entirely obsolete as we are.”

Sophia: “And if we are never married?”

Amelia: “Then it let it be said that we died in the pursuit of fine, noble things.”

Sophia: “Such as?”

Amelia: “Oh, such things as we ought—in seeking out charity, contentment, and devotion. Or, as we would have it: life, liberty, and the pursuit of a husband.”

The End

Thus Goes Everyone in the World

It is a well-known fact that "mind over matter" really  can work. One can forget where one is in the beauty of imaginings. I am sitting here at the computer desk hoary-headed, covered in plaster-dust from cleaning a construction zone today, and yet I held the most fascinating conversation with the two sides of myself that is resulting in a little bit of a play. I have never written a play, and this is not to be a full play, but it is a dialog, which is rather what plays are made of. And it all came from me scraping plaster, paint, and who-knows-what off of windows. Who knows but some of the dust I swept up could be Brilliancy Dust? Would that I could bottle it up and sell it to the rest of you. ;) Anyway, here's to imaginings! :)

"Why this sad countenance, cousin? In faith, you look as if the last man on earth had died in fearful agonies upon your dainty slippers! I let my dreams out of their gilded cage that they may see the daylight while they may. True, I could coddle them and keep them close and young forever in my secret heart, but I have a dim hope that some of them may come homing back to me, at some distant day, not altogether empty-handed."

~Thus Goes Everyone in the World by Rachel Heffington