By David G. Anderson

As a published play Cyrano de Bergerac bears the subordinate title, Heroic Comedy in Five Acts. Interestingly, there is no recognized genre of Heroic Comedy. Comedies are easily identified by their ending, in which all unmarried couples get married. Tragedies are marked with the hero dying, a good character being denied by the fates the one strength needed in order to achieve success. Whatever the genre, Cyrano de Bergerac, a poetic drama in Alexandrine verse, is set during the reign of Louis XIII and comes very close to the ideal play. John Simon, theatre critic for New York magazine, measured it as “not a great play, merely a perfect one.”

Michael Portillo, Theatre critic for New Statesman, Ltd, wrote, “Cyrano, comes close to perfection. Its hero is one of the great theatrical inventions.” In his desire to create a perfect central figure, Monsieur Rostand borrows from history to find his sword-wielding poet, philosopher, soldier, and brawler. The real de Bergerac, a poet, dramatist and philosopher, was in the military, but he struggled with regiment. He did indeed sport a large nose; however, unlike Rostand’s creation he was an indiscriminate, virile lover. The play’s Cyrano embodies those wonderful characteristics: courage, intelligence and wit, and stirs them with flamboyance and gallantry. Combined together, they are a recipe for panache. Panache was originally defined by the French as a “white plume,” but has since taken on a broader meaning of style and flair exhibited by rare individuals; a quality the French seem to claim as theirs exclusively.

Early in the play, Le Bret, Cyrano’s best friend upbraids the hero for having magnanimously given away all his gold (a full month’s worth) to appease the patrons of a play’s performance that he has dramatically interrupted:

Le Bret: “What folly!”

Cyrano: “but—what a gesture.”

A multitude of such gestures are sprinkled throughout the play. They spring from an inner source of integrity, acumen, and pure love. Cyrano may be physically disfigured, but he is spiritually radiant.

When Cyrano finally captures the spotlight in Act 1, we are somewhat shocked by his loud and belligerent behavior, entertained by his levity, enchanted by his flamboyant eloquence, and then drawn in with his courage, code of honor, lyrical dialog, gallant bravado and masculine esprit—his panache! “Cyrano displays what Rostand himself described as true ‘panache’: ‘not greatness . . . but something which . . . stirs above it . . . the spirit of gallantry’” (Cyrano de Bergerac, Drama for Students, Daniel Moran, p. 67). This gallantry is exhibited when confronted by the Vicomte de Valvert, who feebly attempts to insult Cyrano with, “Your nose is…rather large.” This proves a catalyst to the famous tirade de nez, where Cyrano’s indomitable wit is demonstrated with verbal virtuosity, listing twenty different things Valvet could have said in twenty different styles. Now insulted, the impertinent Valvert unwisely chooses to duel with Cyrano. Panache is on full display when the superior swordsman not only throttles the upstart, but composes and recites a four-stanza ballad while thrusting and parrying, concluding his tour de force.

Fearful that the incomparable Roxane will “laugh” at any romantic overtures, Cyrano makes another gesture. He proposes a joint conspiracy with the “beautiful” Christian where, combining their talents, they “make one hero of romance.” Act 3’s romantic balcony scene easily recalls visions of Romeo and Juliet, with Cyrano portrayed as a pseudo-Romeo expressing from the deepest recesses of his heart all the emotions trapped within. “Dramatic irony grows almost oppressive, when phrases like, ‘My heart/Hides behind phrases,’ and ‘It is my voice, my own / That makes you tremble’ brings Cyrano closer to Roxane but not vice-versa” (Moran p.70). Christian climbs the trellis to receive the coveted kiss as his reward. The broken-hearted Cyrano remains below, alone, and is more reminiscent of the abandoned Antonio at the end of The Merchant of Venice than Romeo. Cyrano laments, “I have won what I have won. Yet now, / At the feast of love, I am but Lazarus!” He is alluding to the biblical beggar who starved at the gate of the rich man who feasted daily, indicative of his torment and suffering when the feast is so near.

Actions at the field of Wagram in Act 4 reveal a tenderness and courage further defining the gallant spirit of Cyrano. He finds his men complaining of hunger. To alleviate their distress, he sings a woeful song of native Gascoyne so sincerely that it makes them weep. To the Duke he explains, they weep “for homesickness—a hunger / More noble than that of the flesh,” thus continuing the theme of the spirit over flesh which permeates the play. The climax occurs when Roxane arrives to give aid and seek forgiveness of Christian “for being light and vain” and for loving him “only because you were beautiful.” Christian, feeling guilt, and no longer wanting to be part of the charade, persuades Cyrano to confess that it is he who has wooed so well and written daily. “However, when Christian dies moments before Cyrano can reveal his true self to Roxane, he forsakes the chance to tell her, highlighting once again his panache in sacrificing his own happiness for hers” (Moran, p.71).

And so it goes, throughout his life, and to the end.

Like an artist, every stroke of Cyrano’s sword paints a picture—a kaleidoscope of gestures, feelings, and emotions designed to capture his charismatic nature. Perhaps he is “panache” personified. “Rostand produces an Aristotelian catharsis by evoking pity for a man who suffers more than he deserves” (Nineteenth-Century French Studies, Patricia Williams, p.121). More so—he has left us with a tear in our eye, a lump in our throat and a superb definition of “panache” in five acts.