Telling Roxane the Truth

I grow weary, so very weary. My sight blurs at each attempt I make to focus, and my mind is slowing down. Roxane is coming to visit me today, and it pains me greatly that she will have to see me like this. Since this morning when the accident happened, I’ve been thinking about Roxane, and about why I never told her. I never admitted my love for her, and remorse has begun to envelop me like a quilt drawn up too tightly around my neck on the hottest of nights. I must tell her. I simply must. But how will I do it? Will she be angered by my dishonesty? Should I even venture to call it dishonesty? After all, she never inquired as to if I loved her.  So, I guess I have given no falsehood. But still, I feel as if she may be angry with me for not rescuing her from her sorrow and mourning over Christian’s death.

            The clock strikes the hour! I must be off to see Roxane, and tell her the truth. I pray that my state does not deter her, and that my words are lovingly honest, and clearer than the brightest of oceans. I love her, and I am desperately hoping that the feeling is reciprocated.

Avis de Décès

Cyrano de Bergerac

Age 36

Born: 1619, Paris, France

Deceased: 1655, Sannois, France

“On n'aime que ce qu'on ne possède pas tout entier.”

-Marcel Proust

This past week, on the twenty sixth of July, a brilliant man was taken from this world. Cyrano de Bergerac, a poet, a soldier and a man of great wit passed away from complications of a blow to the head from a lackey. Cyrano was a man of honor, who refused money and assistance in his final few weeks so as to not cause trouble for those offering aid. In his earlier years, he served in the guard alongside many notable Gascons. As his final breath left him he passed away with an ultimate utterance of, “My white plume.” His exceptional way with words will never be forgotten.

The Siege of Arras

           The siege of Arras has begun! It becomes increasingly difficult each day to smuggle my love letters to Roxane across enemy lines so they can be mailed. Of course, these letters are not signed by me but by Christian, as Roxane is still unaware of my love. I write Roxane twice every day, pretending to be Christian; something that I have done for him for the past weeks so that she knows he hasn’t forgotten him.  And today, after hearing the news of Roxane’s visit to the battlefield, I finally admitted to Christian how many letters I’ve been sending.  He was quite shocked, to say the least.

Roxane arrived soon after that and Christian ran off to speak with her. Because we were in the midst of a battle, I gave him a letter for Roxane to have if his death came suddenly on the battlefield. He returned to me, and admitted that Roxane said she’d love him even if he were ugly, because his words were the only beauty that truly mattered to her. Hearing this statement gave me an abrupt burst of courage. I decided I would tell her!

Christian went of to battle with the other Gascons, and I was left to face Roxane. As the words were about to escape my lips, we received the news that Christian had been killed. Christian has died, and I am no longer able to profess my love to Roxane. The fates are cruel, so very, very cruel.

How on Earth will I Help Christian?

          Christian the buffoon! He had plans to meet with Roxane, but as always could not speak a single believable word of love. After he stuttered through a few too many “I love you’s” and made Roxane leave her balcony and storm into her house, I had to intercede. He begged and begged for me to teach him how to speak eloquently to her and make her love him more, but just telling him what to say simply wouldn’t do. We were able to draw Roxane from her room and out onto the balcony, but she nearly exited again when Christian spoke too haltingly. I decided at that moment to speak for him. Roxane noticed the change in voice and nearly discovered that it was in fact me, and not Christian who was speaking to her, but I covered quickly, telling her that it was merely an illusion of the night. She pleaded with me to come into the light and climb up the shrubbery onto her balcony, but I refused, knowing that she would see my face if I did so. Everything was finally turning out to be a success until Christian asked Roxane for a kiss. A kiss! I couldn’t believe his audacity, and his carelessness when he shouted up to her. Did he not understand that she would hear the difference in his voice and become suspicious especially when he tried to speak and returned to his senseless muttering? He is unbelievable! I don’t know for how much longer I can keep doing this for him. Curse him and his beautiful face for his startling lack of wit! What frustration he causes me! 

An Interesting Chat with Roxane Today...

Oh what a day today has been! Roxane visited me, and we reminisced about the naive memories of our youth. I remember it so clearly, the way she was so beautiful in her summer dress, her  curls tied back into a bow of matching color. We played in the fields and streams of Bergerac, the world so peaceful and wondrous in our innocent eyes. A fond memory of hers, she recalled, was the way in which she’d scold me, almost like a mother, when I’d get into trouble and hurt myself. It was while reciting the very words she used to say to me that she noticed the cut on my hand and said in a joking tone, “Now what have you been doing to yourself! Let me see…” It made me chuckle, and she bandaged my hand as she used to do when we were juvenile

All was well until she confessed to me a newborn secret of hers. She’s in love! At first, her description sounded like it could be any man.  As it became more detailed I thought maybe…maybe it was me.  But alas, it was Baron Christian de Neuvillete! How could I ever have been so foolish to think that she’d love me; that she’d see past my nose and into my heart? I wished so deeply that it was me.

I love her so sincerely and profoundly, but I am no good for her. He is beautiful and I am not. He is quite dim and unable to speak the beautiful words that I know delight Roxane so much, and it saddens me that she loves him so. However, I will do anything to please her.  So I have promised her that I shall protect and befriend Christian now that he has joined the guards in my ranks just this morning. The things we do for love!

"La Clorise" at the Hall de Hotel Bourgogne

            Yesterday evening, I had the pleasure of spending the evening at the Hall of the Hotel de Bourgogne to watch La Clorise… well, that is if one considers watching that half-wit, Montfleury, prattle through his lines with hardly a true emotion in his words pleasure! Hah! I endured his dreadful lack of thespian prowess for hardly a scene before I intervened. I demanded that he leave the stage immediately, and frightened him off into the wings. Of course, I knew that most of the attendees would demand a refund, so I was sure to pay the manager a hefty sum to compensate for his loss.

All the while, I felt a gaze upon me. When I looked up into the balcony, my eyes fell upon the fairest and most beautiful woman in all of France; The Lady Roxane. My heart fluttered so loudly I hardly doubted that the entire theater could hear it beating. We locked eyes for a moment, but I quickly looked away, embarrassed. Even though I love her, and would and treat her like a princess, I know she will never love me. She will never be able to see past my atrocious nose that masks who I truly am. I try not to be offended by rude remarks and stares that I receive because of it, but at times the harshness gets to me.   It has, over the years, made my confidence deteriorate. I hope that my witty and ornate words of love speak to her louder than does my nose. My very existence would be overcome with elation if she returned my feelings. I just have to win her heart, but how?