A
mouth, through a mouth and through another mouth, has Cyrano de
Bergerac say:
'Out
of the question!
It
makes my blood run cold, the mere suggestion
Of
changing a comma.'
Why
so many mouths to utter these simple lines? Because they were issued
first by the playwright, then the translator and then the character,
based on a real person but played by an actor, so actually I'm
missing a mouth. There should be four, or maybe five, since the the
real person and the character aren't entirely one and the same, and
the actor, when he's not acting, is his own person, unless his whole
identity has become inseparable from this being he plays on the
stage.
But
why these lines when there are others that are more comical,
particularly those in reference to his nose, or those composed as he
duels?
All
in good time, gentleman. In good time, ladies. Time, people.
Kiddies,
run off and play. Watch Pinocchio. Save Cyrano for when your noses
too have grown a little.
I
guess I should comment – while we're on it – on noses. The
Jewish, the Roman, the button, the beak, the conk, the snout. The
Jewish are said to be hooked, the Roman, aquiline, which also means
hooked but is a nobler sounding word, or is described as
over-pronounced or over-projected, and I think there's the Greek too
although I don't know what that sort is said to look like.
Apparently, there are fourteen types. As well as plenty that have
broken away from their original owners to, as in Gogol's story, lead
lives of their own, except they didn't decide to, no, they were
forced to by accident or design.
What
of my own? Well, I can't say I've ever been fond of it. Its size, its
shape, but it's mine and doesn't do too bad a job detecting smells.
My paternal grandfather's pet name for me was button-nose, but I
always thought that was in jest because as far as I could see it
wasn't a button at all. Not cute or small, but long and prominent.
And to my dismay, a feature that couldn't possibly, through my eyes,
be overlooked or denied.
Another
pet name given to me around about this time, or maybe a little later,
was Erica Snozz, but that came to me from the maternal side.
So
who was right? Who was telling the truth and who was veiling it?
And
the winner was: The Snozz, which made it take on Gonzo-like
proportions, except with oversized nostrils that flared like a
bull's. Gonzo (formerly the Great), if you're aware of the muppet of
whom I'm speaking of, doesn't have any nostrils or any nose-hole at
all that you can see, just a baby elephant trunk planted on his face.
However he still maintains he's a handsome devil.
Was
mine, is mine really like that? No, I should think not. But my
nostrils are flared and if you stare at things long enough, well...
Peace
now reigns. Although I don't suppose I would appreciate cracks about
it or, like Cyrano, anticipate them and so make them myself. Cyrano
excels in quick repartee; I don't. He also likes to issue challenges
to fight and assembles poems as he does so: And at the Coda's end I
hit! I can't say I possess the sword-fighting or the couplet-writing
skill.
Yet
the real, historical Cyrano de Bergerac had in all likelihood a most
average-looking nose. The myth of its unusual longness was invented
by an enthusiast, posthumously, after a new edition of his writings
had been published and now outshines even his most enduring work,
ably assisted of course by Edmond Rostand's heroic comedy. The
latter, too, has withstood the test of time.
And
finally, it's time to explain my opening scene, which actually comes
in Act II The Poet's Bakery, on page 54, chosen not because they are
the finest sparring lines Cyrano speaks, but because they are the
truest. He's as proudly wedded to his nose as to the lines he
writes.
Recommendation: Cyrano
de Bergerac, Emond Rostand (Translated by Christopher Fry, Oxford
World's Classics)
Picture credit: Actor Benoît Constant Coquelin dressed as Cyrano de Bergerac. Illustration by Percy Anderson, 1906 (source: Wikipedia)
This post was penned in 2019.
