one thing without stain unspotted from the world

i believe we do not so much choose our passions as they choose us. something about them strikes a chord in our being, ringing through the years, until we cannot tell their booming tone from our own heartbeat. for some it's a hobby. for some it's a sports team. for some it's a religion.

for me, it's cyrano de bergerac.

where i first read the story is lost in the peeling facade of my history. i assume it came through an english class but what year i could not say. junior high? high school? all i know is at some point i was introduced to this tragic hero, cyrano-savinien-hercule de bergerac and ever since i've found myself shaped by this piece of beautiful fiction, so much more true than reality at times.

tonight i watched the jose ferrer version for the first time on the big screen. strangely enough, it was part of showcase cinema's "heartthrob thursdays." it certainly is a romantic story, but not like most of the other choices, like charade or when harry met sally. which probably explains why i was was one of two people in the entire theater. should have known when the theater didn't even know what movie i was talking about that it wouldn't be well attended.

as i sat there in the dark, watching these lines that have been woven into the very fibre of my being come to life, i realized how often some of these lines come up in my thoughts.

"i carry my adornments on my soul"
"what a fool - but what a gesture"
"to make myself in all things admirable"
"i seemed to see over some flower a great snail crawling"
"my old friend - look at me and tell me how much hopes remains for me"
"she might laugh at me; and that is the one thing in this world i fear"
"BRING ME GIANTS"
"oh...i have done better since"
"to sing, to laugh, to dream"
"never to make a line i have not heard in my own heart"
"those pretty nothings that are everything"
"lady, o read my letter with your lips"
"night making all things dimly beautiful"
"what am i, what is any man, that he dare ask for you?"
"there comes one moment, once"
"love, i love beyond breath, beyond reason, beyond love's own power of loving"
"a secret whispered to listening lips apart"
"a moment made immortal"
"somehow that news fails to disquiet me"
"it is a little thing to die, but - not to see her, that is terrible"
" i did not wait for you to say i might"
"i have missed everything, even my death"
"i have had one friend not quite all a friend"
"ah you too vanity! i knew you would overthrow me in the end"
and of course...
"my white plume"

and so many more. i cannot tell if i love this play because of who i am or if what i am is because i love this play. i wonder if i had read the play at a different time in my life - perhaps after i had become a little more cynical - if it would still hold the same resonance it does. there are perfect moments when you are exactly who you need to be to connect with something. that definitely happened with me and rostand's play.

the strangest moment of the night came after the movie had ended and the lights came up. as i turned around to put my coat on, i glanced up and looked for the first time at the other member in the audience. there, four rows from the top, was an older gentleman, looking very much the literature professor type. and before he slipped his coat on, i noticed something: we were wearing similar shirts. and i had a strange, sci-fi moment, where i wondered if perhaps i was looking at myself from the future, doing much of what i do now - sneaking off to catch my favorite movie alone. a little eerie. a little scary. a little thought-provoking.
Æ

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