Cyrano rants about "fortune and glory"
From Project Gutenberg's
Etext of Cyrano De Bergerac by Edmond Rostand.
Translated from the French by Gladys Thomas and Mary F Guillemard.
Scene 2.VIII.
LE BRET:
Oh! lay aside that pride of musketeer, Fortune
and glory wait you!. . .
CYRANO:
Ay, and then?. . . Seek a protector, choose a
patron out, And like the crawling ivy round a tree That licks the bark to gain
the trunk's support, Climb high by creeping ruse instead of force?
No,
grammercy! What! I, like all the rest Dedicate verse to bankers?--play buffoon
In cringing hope to see, at last, a smile Not disapproving, on a patron's lips?
Grammercy, no! What! learn to swallow toads? --With frame aweary climbing
stairs?--a skin Grown grimed and horny,--here, about the knees? And,
acrobat-like, teach my back to bend?--
No, grammercy! Or,--double-faced and
sly-- Run with the hare, while hunting with the hounds; And, oily-tongued, to
win the oil of praise, Flatter the great man to his very nose?
No,
grammercy! Steal soft from lap to lap, --A little great man in a circle small,
Or navigate, with madrigals for sails, Blown gently windward by old ladies'
sighs?
No, grammercy! Bribe kindly editors To spread abroad my verses?
Grammercy! Or try to be elected as the pope Of tavern-councils held by
imbeciles?
No, grammercy! Toil to gain reputation By one small sonnet,
'stead of making many?
No, grammercy! Or flatter sorry bunglers? Be
terrorized by every prating paper? Say ceaselessly, 'Oh, had I but the chance
Of a fair notice in the "Mercury"!'
Grammercy, no! Grow pale, fear,
calculate? Prefer to make a visit to a rhyme? Seek introductions, draw
petitions up?
No, grammercy! and no! and no again!
But--sing? Dream,
laugh, go lightly, solitary, free, With eyes that look straight
forward--fearless voice!
To cock your beaver just the way you choose,-- For
'yes' or 'no' show fight, or turn a rhyme!
--To work without one thought of
gain or fame, To realize that journey to the moon! Never to pen a line that has
not sprung Straight from the heart within.
Embracing then Modesty, say to
oneself, 'Good my friend, Be thou content with flowers,--fruit,--nay, leaves,
But pluck them from no garden but thine own!'
And then, if glory come by
chance your way, To pay no tribute unto Caesar, none, But keep the merit all
your own! In short, Disdaining tendrils of the parasite, To be content, if
neither oak nor elm-- Not to mount high, perchance, but mount alone!
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