Edmond Rostand Quotes

"How obvious it is now — the gift you gave him. All those letters, they were you... All those beautiful powerful words, they were you!.. The voice from the shadows, that was you... You always loved me!" Roxanne

Oh! We have our pockets full,
we poets, of love-letters, writ to Chloes, Daphnes — creation of our noddle-heads. Our lady-loves, — phantasms of our brains. — Dream-fancies blown into soap-bubbles! Come! Take it, and change feigned love words into true; I breathed my sighs and moans haphazard-wise; Call all these wandering love-birds home to nest. You'll see that I was in these lettered lines, — Eloquent all the more, the less sincere! — Take it, and make an end!

[...] Eso es muy corto, joven; yo os abono
que podíais variar bastante el tono.
Por ejemplo: Agresivo: «Si en mi cara
tuviese tal nariz, me la amputara.»
Amistoso: «¿Se baña en vuestro vaso
al beber, o un embudo usáis al caso?»
Descriptivo: «¿Es un cabo? ¿Una escollera?
Mas ¿qué digo? ¡Si es una cordillera!»
Curioso: «¿De qué os sirve ese accesorio?
¿De alacena, de caja o de escritorio?»
Burlón: «¿Tanto a los pájaros amáis,
que en el rostro una alcándara les dais?»
Brutal: «¿Podéis fumar sin que el vecino — ¡Fuego en la chimenea! — grite?» Fino:
«Para colgar las capas y sombreros
esa percha muy útil ha de seros.»
Solícito: «Compradle una sombrilla:
el sol ardiente su color mancilla.»
Previsor: «Tal nariz es un exceso:
buscad a la cabeza contrapeso.»
Dramático: «Evitad riñas y enojos:
si os llegara a sangrar, diera un Mar Rojo.»
Enfático: «¡Oh nariz!… ¡Qué vendaval
te podría resfriar? Sólo el mistral.»
Pedantesco: «Aristófanes no cita
más que a un ser sólo que con vos compita
en ostentar nariz de tanto vuelo:
El Hipocampelephantocamelo.»
Respetuoso: «Señor, bésoos la mano:
digna es vuestra nariz de un soberano.»
Ingenuo: «¿De qué hazaña o qué portento
en memoria, se alzó este monumento?»
Lisonjero: «Nariz como la vuestra
es para un perfumista linda muestra.»
Lírico: «¿Es una concha? ¿Sois tritón?»
Rústico: «¿Eso es nariz o es un melón?»
Militar: «Si a un castillo se acomete,
aprontad la nariz: ¡terrible ariete!»
Práctico: «¿La ponéis en lotería?
¡El premio gordo esa nariz sería!»
Y finalmente, a Píramo imitando:
«¡Malhadada nariz, que, perturbando
del rostro de tu dueño la armonía,
te sonroja tu propia villanía!»
Algo por el estilo me dijerais
si más letras e ingenio vos tuvierais;
mas veo que de ingenio, por la traza,
tenéis el que tendrá una calabaza
y ocho letras tan sólo, a lo que infiero:
las que forman el nombre:
Majadero. Sobre que, si a la faz de este concurso
me hubieseis dirigido tal discurso
e, ingenioso, estas flores dedicado,
ni una tan sólo hubierais te

Sans doute
Je peux apprendre à coqueriquer: je glougloute.

Cyrano’s response is telling; consenting to eat only for fear that to refuse to do so might grieve the sweetmeat vendor, he takes a single grape, a glass of water, and half a macaroon. His abstemiousness with regard to the pleasures of the table extends symbolically to all pleasures of the flesh; a facet of his idealism, which leads him to prefer contemplation of the stars and the moon over more earthly and earthy delights, we will see as the play progresses that this tendency toward self-denial comes close to a philosophy of life — such that he manages to reach the end of the play and the end of his life without having conquered the object of his desire.

Sois satisfait des fleurs, des fruits, même des feuilles,
Si c'est dans ton jardin à toi que tu les cueilles !
Puis, s'il advient d'un peu triompher, par hasard,
Ne pas être obligé d'en rien rendre à César,
Vis-à-vis de soi-même en garder le mérite,
Bref, dédaignant d'être le lierre parasite,
Lors même qu'on n'est pas le chêne ou le tilleul,
Ne pas monter bien haut, peut-être, mais tout seul !

My nose is Gargantuan! You little Pig-snout, you tiny Monkey-Nostrils, you virtually invisible Pekinese-Puss, don't you realize that a nose like mine is both scepter and orb, a monument to me superiority? A great nose is the banner of a great man, a generous heart, a towering spirit, an expansive soul — such as I unmistakably am, and such as you dare not to dream of being, with your bilious weasel's eyes and no nose to keep them apart! With your face as lacking in all distinction — as lacking, I say, in interest, as lacking in pride, in imagination, in honesty, in lyricism — in a word, as lacking in nose as that other offensively bland expanse at the opposite end of your cringing spine — which I now remove from my sight by stringent application of my boot!

Eh bien ! Oui, c’est mon vice. Déplaire est mon plaisir. J’aime qu’on me haïsse.

Cyrano: The leaves — -
Roxane: What color — -Perfect Venetian red! Look at them fall.
Cyrano: Yes — -they know how to die. A little way
From the branch to the earth, a little fear
Of mingling with the common dust — -and yet
They go down gracefully — -a fall that seems
Like flying!

Call no one. Leave me not;
When you come back, I should be gone for aye.

Yes, I'd rather be shy than smart; a foolish diffidence constrains my heart. I reach for a star; then, from a morbid dread of ridicule, I pluck a flower instead.

My heart always timidly hides itself behind my mind. I set out to bring down stars from the sky, then, for fear of ridicule, I stop and pick little flowers of eloquence.

Tu marcheras, j'irai dans l'ombre à ton côté : je serai ton esprit, tu seras ma beauté.

All my laurels you have riven away, and my roses; yet in spite of you, there is one crown I bear away with me... One thing without stain, unspotted from the world, in spite of doom mine own! And that is... my white plume.

Valvert: Villain, clod-poll, flat-foot, refuse of the earth! Cyrano: [taking off his hat and bowing as if the Vicomte had been introducing himself] Ah? … And mine, Cyrano-Savinien-Hercule of Bergerac! Valvert: [exasperated] Buffoon! Cyrano: [giving a sudden cry, as if seized with a cramp] Aï! … Valvert: [who had started toward the back, turning] What is he saying now? Cyrano: [screwing his face as if in pain] It must have leave to stir … it has a cramp! It is bad for it to be kept still so long! Valvert: What is the matter? Cyrano: My rapier prickles like a foot asleep! Valvert: [drawing] So be it! Cyrano: I shall give you a charming little hurt! Valvert: [contemptous] Poet! Cyrano: Yes, a poet, … and, to such an extent, that while we fence, I will, hop!, extempore, compose you a ballade! Valvert: A ballade? Cyrano: I fear you do not know what that is. Valvert: But … Cyrano: [as if saying a lesson] The ballade is composed of three stanzas of eight lines each … Valvert: [stamps with his feet] Oh! Cyrano: [continuing] And an envoi of four. Valvert: You … Cyrano: I will with the same breath fight you and compose one. And, at the last line, I will hit you. <p> Valvert: Indeed you will not! Cyrano: No? … [Declaiming] Ballade of the duel which in Burgundy house
Monsieur de Bergerac fought with a jackanape … Valvert: And what is that, if you please? Cyrano: That is the title. [ … ] Cyrano: [closing his eyes a second] Wait. I am settling upon the rhymes. There. I have them. [in declaiming, he suits the action to the word]
Of my broad felt made lighter,
I cast my mantle broad,
And stand, poet and fighter,
To do and to record.
I bow, I draw my sword … En garde! With steel and wit
I play you at first abord … At the last line, I hit!<p> [They begin fencing] <p> You should have been politer;
Where had you best be gored?
The left side or the right — ah?
Or next your azure cord?
Or where the spleen is stored?
Or in the stomach pit?
Come we to quick accord … At the last line, I hit! <p> You falter, you turn whiter?
You do so to afford
Your foe a rhyme in "iter"? … You thrust at me — I ward — And balance is restored.
Laridon! Look to your spit! … No, you shall not be floored
Before my cue to hit! <p> [He announces solemnly] <p> Envoi <p> Prince, call upon the Lord! … I skirmish … feint a bit … I lunge! … I keep my word!
[The Vicomte staggers, Cyrano bows.]
At the last line, I hit!''