All language subtitles for Cyrano.2022.1080p.WEBRip.DDP5.1.Atmos.X264-NOGRP-English

I'm hungry.

A lady never complains.

We can't eat dresses.

If only the Duke had sent bread.

I think he wants to marry you.

I'd rather marry you.

He's a Duke.

And you, my dear,
a rapidly ageing orphan.

Ah, Marie!

Well, I won't be rescued.
I'm not in distress.

We have no money. Not a bean.

Your whole life,
our country has been at war

and everyone must make
compromises in a war.

Everyone must make
compromises in a war.

I don't love
the Duke de Guiche.

Wear the dress he sent.

No. Red is vulgar,
and it reeks of lechery.

Have you seen my shoes?

- If you don't love him...
- Or even like him.

Why did you accept his
invitation to the theater?

Because we can't
afford the tickets,

and I want to see the play.

He's here.

He's here.

He's here.
Now, don't be rude to him.

I'm not rude.

I am enigmatically distant
and fashionably late.

Where are my shoes?

If you anger him,
he'll ruin us.

Marry the Duke
and you'll be rich.

A clever marriage
is your only option.

I have no intention
of marrying anyone.

Believe me,
spinsterhood is bleak.

And love, does that mean
nothing to you?

It might smell rosy
for a year or two,

but love doesn't last.

What lasts is compromise
and sacrifice.

Children need love.

Adults need money.

- Hello, Jacques.
- Marie. Marie.

Tell your mistress she's two
months behind with the rent.

It's coming, I promise.

Two months!

Marie!

It's perfectly fetching.

I just long to see you
in crimson silk.

- I couldn't wear that dress.
- Oh?

I don't have the shoes
to match. Sorry.

Oh, I'll rectify
your errant shoelessness.

Maybe the good Duke

should've send you
the dress, Valvert.

Oh, no, I tried it.

It was too loose on the bust.

At least you have
more than one pair of shoes.

Who's that?

The Duke de Guiche.

Second only to the King.

No, the lady.

Oh, Roxanne.

Well above your station,
my friend.

Oh, what superb ribbons,
Duke de Guiche.

Gorgeous piping. And trim.

Doeskin and beaver, ladies.

Doeskin and beaver.

Yes, thank you.

Stop there, sir.

In you go, sir.

Be swift, be crafty...

take from the women
and the men without swords.

And children?

A child with
a full purse is an adult.

Thief!

Hey!

Stop that boy!

Hey! Stop him!

Play! Play! Play!

- Play! Play! Play!
- Play! Play!

Play! Play! Play!

Have you seen Cyrano?

Not yet.

Would you like an orange?
Yeah?

Pay! Pay! Pay!

Theater.

Inhale it, my boy. Literally.

Can you feel it? Yes?

Tonight you will see
the magnificent Montfleury,

the greatest actor
of his generation.

Montfleury.

Him?

Montfleury!

Bravo! Bravo!

Happy is he who,

far from court
and Society's sway...

in isolation self-imposed...

shuns company.

And who...

when the soft wind
whistles wishingly...

Montfleury,
what are you doing here?

Cyrano?

- Cyrano?
- Yes.

After your performance
last week,

I sent you a letter
urging you to retire.

Cyrano.

Happy is he who,

far from court
and Society's...

Did you receive my letter?

Yes, I received your letter,
and I burnt it.

I am a professional actor.

- Yes, you are!
- Bravo!

I've received numerous prizes.

He has.

I have performed at court
for the King himself.

- Indeed, you have.
- Yes!

Yes.

I have been
successfully entertaining

the people
for over three decades.

And now I will act!

- Act! Act! Act!
- Act! Act! Act!

Act! Act! Act!

Act!

Happy he who shuns...

Final warning!

In insulting me,
you insult the dramatic muse.

And worse, you...
you desecrate this theater,

this crucible of human...

humanity.

Hear, hear!

This sacred wooden O.

No, sir. Untrue.

- Huh?
- I'm sorry, but you lie.

You've made this stage
your personal sty!

The dramatic muse
has fled the building.

She scampered off when you
started gilding the lily

with your great big voice.

The poor muse had no choice.

I love this place
and all it means.

Poetry, romance,
terror, truth.

I've loved it here

- since early youth.
- Ha!

Can't stand aside
while you dishonor it

with your pumping
and your hideous jigs.

I will not abide
your thumping

and, ugh, dreadful wigs.

Montfleury,
you've abandoned the truth.

You've lost your core.

You don't remember how
truth feels or what it's for.

So, now leave this stage,
never to return.

And I'll applaud
the new integrity you'll earn.

Exit, Montfleury.

Shh!

I'm not moving one step

from the center of this stage.

I am necessary.

If you will not leave
by invitation,

then I am compelled
to use force.

Help! Help me, someone!
Protect me!

Arrest him! Help!

Please! Help me!

Please, Cyrano. Please.

Will anyone here
defend this great sausage?

I will duel
with any volunteer,

with all the honor
commensurate to his station.

Is anyone willing
to fight for Montfleury?

You are no Samson.

I am no Goliath either,
but I fight

like the two combined.

I think not.

Goliath was a giant.

Care to think again?

No volunteers?

You came here
to see Montfleury

and yet you're not willing
to fight for him?

- Montfleury...
- Sir, please.

I will count to three,

and you will exit
stage right hurriedly.

Please.

- One...
- Do something.

- Two...
- Think of the play.

Three!

Ladies and gentlemen,
please.

Jodelet! I came to see a play!

We paid to see a play!

And I have saved you
from seeing a fiasco!

I paid to see Montfleury!

Yes,
what about their money?

Always the money. Here.

Oh, at this price, sir,

you can close
the theaters every night.

Ladies and gentlemen,

you will be refunded
in full at the door.

Dinner?

Oh, I'd love to. But no money.

You had a full bag of coins.

All donated
to the long-suffering

- patrons of this theater.
- How will you eat?

The gesture
is more than the meal.

You.

You're a freak.

The insult is antique,
but I accept it.

Freak.

Is that it?

Have you exhausted
your dictionary of scorn?

Who is this savage who dares
to present himself in public

without ribbons,
bows or braids?

I am not au courant,
it's true.

But think of my deeds
as my ribbons,

my humor as a bow.

Oh, do pipe down,
or else you'll drown.

In verbosity.

A fellow poet.

Pleasure to meet you.
Cyrano de Bergerac.

I accept your challenge.

I'll make short work of this.

Ah.

Isn't he a hoot?

A palpable miss.

It's hard to hit a target
quite so small.

The man is barely
four feet tall.

You are a disgrace!

Cyrano! Cyrano! Cyrano!

Cyrano!

Yes. It all goes in.

And God, how it hurts.

He went too far.

Valvert insulted him,

and then challenged him
to a duel.

Valvert is a Comte,
and in my retinue.

I guarantee you

Cyrano took no pleasure
from it.

You know him?

They're from the same town

- in the south west.
- Cyrano is my oldest friend.

It would be to your advantage
to end the friendship.

Roxanne, I won't wait forever.

Did I miss a proposal?

Oh, don't push your luck,
pretty thing.

Don't do that.

How about a drinking song?

Like soldiers do.

We're better than that.

At least, I am.

May I ask you a question?

Anything.

Uh, it's a little personal.

I have no secrets from you.

Are you in love?

Whatever gave you that idea?

Ah, see,
I knew you wouldn't like it.

Do I seem offended?

No. But your guard is up.

Uh, it's just some things
are private.

What gave me that idea

was your performance
at the theater today.

I sensed you were playing

to one particular member
of the audience.

Oh, who?

Let's not
continue this charade.

If you want to unburden, fine.

If you don't,
that's fine, too.

Yes.

Yes.

Yes.

I am in love.

I dare.

My sole purpose on this Earth
is to love Roxanne.

Do you feel better now?

Do you?

No, I don't think I have.

Isn't she magnificent?

Uh, she is,
though perhaps a little vain.

Yes, but magnificently so.

There's some pretension
in there, too.

She's full of it.

I wasn't sure
about her hair today.

Agreed.

But even her imperfections
are perfect.

In our little town,
back in the day,

she was
practically worshipped.

To some she was notorious.

To me, glorious.

Does she know?

Do you think a person
of her beauty

in mind, body, and soul
doesn't know about it?

I mean, does she know
that you're in love with her?

- No. No.
- Hmm.

No. Someone like me
supposing to love perfection?

No. If I confessed...

she'd never see me again.

You don't have
a very high opinion of her.

What? She's the Alps.

No, but you don't think
she has the depth

- to look beyond your...
- Careful.

- ...unique physique.
- Not bad.

Thank you.

To love you for who you are
and not for how you look.

Yes, but don't you see?

I am simply not worthy of her.

When you were fighting
Valvert, she was anxious.

Oh, she turned quite pale.

Her lips trembled.

They parted.

She touched her heart. Oh!

You should tell her.

You love her.

No. My fate
is to love her from afar.

To confess is to shatter
the beautiful dream.

You forget,
I've seen you in battle.

You're a fighter to the end.

But in love
you've raised the white flag.

Have faith in her.
Tell her the truth.

A word.

Roxanne wishes
to meet with you alone.

What? Why?

She won't say, no matter
how much I berate her.

But she says it's urgent.

Take me to her at once.

Not now, you vulgar person.
At night?

Then when?

She'll go to early
Mass tomorrow.

After she leaves the church,
she'll meet with you.

Somewhere discreet,
she said it must be private.

Ooh.

I'll thank you,
Captain Le Bret,

to lower that eyebrow.

There is nothing
unseemly here.

I bow to your expertise
in the matter.

A venue, please.

I've never seen him silent
before, it's quite appealing.

Let me think.

- Where?
- I'm thinking where.

- Where?
- Ragueneau's.

Seven o'clock.
She'll be there.

I will too.

And so will I. Good night.

She wants to see me privately.

- There it is.
- Alone.

Oh, no. I cannot succumb
to hope!

Hope is madness. Hope is hell.

Hope is life!

Oh, I need an army
to vanquish!

I have ten hearts,
I have twenty arms.

I could kill a hundred men.

Good night, my friend.

And good luck tomorrow.

This could be it.

Oh, have faith.

Where are you off to,
this late hour?

Some things are private.

Thank you for dinner.

Well, I'd hoped to fight 100,
but ten will do.

Morning, Ragueneau.

Cyrano! Just the man!

- What time is it?
- Almost 6:00.

I'm up with the muse,
so to speak.

A poem. Her soul eludes me.

Needs your expert ear.

I'm told
you have a private room.

I mean, a room
where two people

can have some privacy.

Bit early for an assignation.

I mean talk privately
without interruption.

I'll show you.

Simultaneously, I'll recite
what I have so far.

The poem is entitled
"Constellation."

Good, eh?

Terrific.

Dear Roxanne.

Dear Roxanne.

"My heavenly earthly desire."

Heavenly earthly, eh?

How's this?

Something more private?

Ah, I understand. Discretion.

Now...

"Jupiter and Pluto
are planets,

"revolving like us,
far apart."

"May I woo you with my art."

- Good.
- That's it thus far.

There's a long way to go,
but be brutal.

Do you think the planetary
metaphor holds?

Perhaps consider sublimation.

Right.

A different pattern
of imagery.

Maybe something
you know intimately.

Ah. Mmm.

Anything in mind?

Baking?

Sensuality and longing

expressed through
the act of baking.

Why not?

Rising dough.

Flour. Ovens.

Heat.

Oh, my God. Thank you.

Thank you!

Thank you!

Roxanne!

Roxanne.

Do you like rabbit stew?

I loathe rabbits.

I hate their taste, and I hate
the way they savage a garden.

Shank of lamb?

She likes tongue.

For heaven's sake, Marie.

Go and eat.

Fine.

And I'll pray for your sins
while I do.

A huge slab of tongue.
Keep it coming.

Righto.

I have a confession to make.

Shall we sit?

Oh, you're wounded.

A scratch.

I know your shoddy work.

The dressing is loose.

Your confession?

Can wait a moment.

It's only a scratch.

It's a wound,
and it needs cleaning.

I've been wounded many times.

This is not a wound.

Then we'll call it a cut.

"Scratch" is more accurate.

I dispute "more."

A thing is either accurate
or it isn't.

There are no degrees
of accuracy.

You taught me that.

As you wish.

I'll settle for "cut."

A deep one.

How did you get it?

Last night. A duel.

And look what happens.

You should see the other guys.

I'm not impressed
by your swordsmanship.

Oh, I know.

Or rather, I know you pretend
you're not.

I'd be very angry with you
if you died.

Only angry?

Incandescent.

This might hurt.

So brave.

Will you make your confession?

Yes, I must.

And there's only so much
tongue Marie can chew on.

I feel shy.

Never mind.

Yesterday, at the theater...

Yes?

I can barely believe
I'm saying this.

I realized, or became aware,
suddenly

that I was in love.

I see.

I am madly in love,
but the man in question has no idea.

And I don't know
how to tell him.

Perhaps he feels the same?

It's possible. I have hopes.

How do you know you love him?

Because it's as if
I've always known.

Always known him.

He was always there,

but this intense
romantic connection

had not yet manifested.

I understand.

Supposing it's all a delusion?

No, you're clearly in love.

My mind is racing.
I'm feverish.

Would you like some water?

- No. It's got your blood in it.
- You were saying?

I don't know
what I was saying.

Tell me about him.
It might reassure you there's no delusion.

Yes.

Good.

I feel he is rather proud.

And very charming.

He is mysterious,
but not obscure.

And his face is so bright
with intelligence.

What else?

Um...

He's very beautiful,
obviously.

Is he?

Yes. But his natural modesty

means he's completely
unaware of it.

I've met people like that.

- They are so rare.
- Yes.

Perhaps I could make
a confession, too?

Yes, but I haven't made
mine yet.

I'm sorry. Please continue.

This man I love is a guard.

- Ha!
- In your regiment.

- Of course he is.
- Of course?

In the sense that...

I interrupted.
Please continue.

It's embarrassing to admit,

but I've never
actually spoken to him.

- Of your love?
- Of anything.

It was love at first sight.

A thunderbolt. It's madness.

Fantastical.

And yet it's absolutely

real.

- Cyrano?
- Here.

- You seem...
- Just the wound playing up.

Poor you.

I have some ointment at home.

Supposing he's an idiot.

He might just be
an incredibly beautiful man

with the mind of a rabbit.

Except he isn't.

He can't be.

I need him not to be.

Anyway, I've made
some discreet inquiries

and I am told
that he is Christian.

Christian Neuvillette.

"Neuvillette"?
Never heard of him.

He's a new recruit.

- He starts today.
- Ah.

To the point.

To your presence here...

I know how the guards
treat the new recruits,

your ancient initiation
rituals and so on.

So, please,
will you protect him?

I can refuse you nothing.

And never let him
fight a duel?

No.

And guard his life
with your own?

- Yes.
- And be his friend?

I might not like him.

All the same. Befriend him.

Yes.

And make him write to me.

And I'll write back.

We'll exchange long,
poetic love letters.

I will suggest
that he write to you,

but I cannot control the content
or length of his letters.

You are always so kind.

Hmm.

No.

You said you have a confession
to make, too.

It's not important.

I will support you
as you've supported me.

Really, it's nothing.

How's the hand?

Painless.

A scratch.

How many men
did you duel with last night?

A hundred.

Really?

Ten.

All the same, what courage.

I've done better since.

And one, two, three.

One, two, three.
One, two, three.

One, two, three.
One, two, three.

One, two, three.
One, two, three.

One, two, three.
One, two, three.

One, two, three.

And one, two. One, two.

One, two. One, two.

One, two. One, two.

One, two, three.

Captain.

I heard of your
recent adventures.

I've come to express
my admiration.

Cyrano.

I'm inviting you
to join my retinue.

I thank the Duke
for his generous offer,

but I must decline.

Carry on!

There are a great many
advantages to following me.

I know.

But I follow no one.

I'm told that you write poetry

in common with a great
many men these days.

However, I'm told that you
write poetry uncommonly well.

I like to publish
those that I admire.

I could put you into print,
distinguish you.

I'd only change a few lines.
I pay handsomely.

You could buy a fine pair
of calfskin gloves.

I'm not for sale.
Neither is my work.

- Aren't you proud.
- Aren't you observant.

Take this seriously.

Those men last night
were incompetent.

Others may not be.

Someone's taken against you.

Join my retinue,
you'll be protected.

First, you try to recruit me,
then you try to buy me.

When you learn
I have no price,

you warn me
that my life is threatened

by an unknown enemy.

I saw you last night.

The blood of those men
is on your hands.

You're a tyrant
posing as a noble.

Oh, what a shame we can't
accommodate each other.

'Cause you know something?

You'd make
a sweet little companion

to the acquisition
I will make.

- Mmm-hmm.
- Roxanne.

Guards!

Don't push him too far.

To be his enemy
is a badge of honor.

- Which might get you killed.
- Let him try.

I'll best any he sends.

Let them come.

He offered you a good wage.

I belong here.

With you. With them.

Left! Left! Left!
Right! Left!

I will not be his toy.

What would you have me do,
Le Bret?

Join his retinue?
No, thank you.

Dedicate poems to de Guiche?

No, thank you.

Ah! I've heard how this works.

Who's first?

Do you want me
to swallow insults?

To crawl? To kneel? To beg?

Play both sides? Flatter?
No, thank you.

Live for other people's
opinions of me?

No, thank you. I prefer
a different life. My own.

I answer to no one,
and I am content, thank you.

She doesn't love you?

Don't

ever say it.

Who's next?

I am.

Cyrano!

Cyrano! Cyrano! Cyrano!

What's so funny?

First, I fight an elephant,
and now a mole?

What's your name?

Why?

I just like to know the names
of the men I kill.

I'm Christian Neuvillette,
sir.

Embrace me.

Sir!

I'm her brother.

Aw.

Whose brother?

Who do you think?

- Roxanne.
- Roxanne?

Yes.

You don't look
like her brother.

We're old friends,
like siblings but not.

We're very close.

- And what...
- She's told me everything.

The theater, love
at first sight, all of it.

She loves me?

She believes so.

Sir, I am so glad to know you!

Yes, enough of that.

Please forgive me
for insulting you earlier.

- I just...
- Yes. Yes, yes.

- She loves me!
- Now, listen.

She loves me!

Roxanne wants
a letter from you.

Oh.

- No?
- Impossible.

If I write to her,
it'll drive her away.

- Really? Why?
- I can't write love letters.

- Rabbit.
- Sorry?

You just say what you feel.

As long as it's true,
you can't go wrong.

But a woman like Roxanne
wants wit, romance.

Maybe even poetry.

You're right.

You'd better leave town.

Oh, I didn't mean it.

I'm very confused.

Are you here to help me
or hinder me?

- Help.
- Good.

You see, in battle
I have inordinate courage.

I can do anything.

But with women, my whole life
I've been useless.

Silent. I'm...

What's the word for

when you're bad
at expressing yourself?

- Inarticulate.
- That's it.

I can't explain what I feel,

not on paper,
and not on paper.

I don't know
how to speak romantically.

Roxanne will be
extremely disappointed.

She must not be.

But I have no wit.

Borrow mine.

My words upon your lips.

I can't. It's a lie.

I'd be deceiving
the woman I love.

It's better than losing her.

Call it a fantasy, call it
a dream, call it pretend.

A dream might be a lie,
but it's also true.

Wait, what?

Sometimes illusion is kind.

- Is it?
- I think so.

Read a book or two.
You'll find out.

There's no need to be
patronizing.

- I'm sorry.
- Accepted.

But will the deceit work?

Is the prize
not worth the risk?

Yes.

Oh, Roxanne...

Oh, Roxanne...

will be so pleased
to receive your letter.

May I ask,
why are you helping me?

What can you gain?

My words go to waste
unless spoken aloud.

I will make you eloquent
while you make me handsome.

Hmm.

Here.

Just sign your name
on the bottom.

Great. When did you write it?

- A while ago.
- But...

I always have
a letter in my pocket

written to an imaginary woman.

It's the romantic custom here.

But don't you need to
make it specific to her?

Count on vanity
to make Roxanne

think it is only for her.

But the letter itself is
applicable to all women?

Not all.

I'm convinced we're destined
to be friends for life.

You think?

The very best of friends.

And I, my heart will lend.

Roxanne's?

Thank you.

Come on, children.
Hurry up.

Roxanne...

Every day I think
I couldn't love him any more,

then a new letter arrives,
and my heart expands

to accommodate more love.

He understands me
instinctively.

He knows exactly what
I respond to, what thrills me.

It's uncanny.

I'm pleased for you.

Are you really?

Why wouldn't I be?

It's quite tedious having to
listen to someone waxing on

about finding true love.

I wanted to meet with him.

In private.

Can you arrange it?

Would you love him
if he wasn't handsome?

I cannot imagine it.

He is beautiful, and he
expresses himself beautifully.

It's perfectly logical.

"The more you take
of my heart,

the more I have to give.

Since I need a heart
to long for you,

keep mine and send me yours."

First he has too much heart,
and then not enough?

You're jealous.

Me?

It's fascinating.

You're both brilliant,
but exact opposites in style.

Christian is overt,

passionate,

fiery.

Whereas I?

You are coded,

witty,

rueful.

"Coded"?

His words
aren't better than yours,

just differently put.

But both are
endlessly quotable.

You know his letters by heart?

Every one.

You will arrange the meeting?

As ever, I am at your service.

I've come to say goodbye.

I leave tonight for the front.

It's grim,
but orders are orders.

We're losing the war.

They've promoted the nobility
to turn it around.

As you can see,
they've made me a colonel.

Me.

Shows how desperate they are.

Does this new rank put you
in command of the guards?

It does. Cyrano is mine.

And the guards
are being sent to the front?

Naturally.
They're in my regiment.

- All of them?
- Of course.

Why so upset, dear lady?

You are going to war.

You might die.

You are leaving tonight.

I am beside myself.

Can I take this
as a sign of your affection?

I must tell you.

Cyrano and I
are no longer friends.

Oh?

I ended the friendship,
as you counseled.

Good.

I know how you could
make him suffer.

Oh?

Why don't you leave him
and all the guards behind?

Here in the city
with the women and children.

Oh, he'll hate that.

More than hate,
it would humiliate him.

No heroics, no medals.

His warrior pride
is his great weakness.

Am I to understand this
as an act of love?

It is.

I hereby bury his orders
to the front.

Poor little Cyrano,

and his poor little friends.

Marie, some tea.

I'm afraid
we are out of tea, sir.

Leave us.

I like your tricks.

I wager you know some more.

No, sir.

Oh, I think you do.

How can I leave you?

Maybe I won't.

Roxanne,

I...

love you.

I love you.

It's a terrible shame,
but leave you must.

The battle can't happen...

without the colonel.

I so admire your bravery.

Yeah, I'm not brave.

- I'm dutiful.
- You are too modest.

It is you who will lead
the charge into battle.

I could not love a man
who hides from danger.

Do you love me?

I love the man
for whom I fear.

So I must go to war?

Yes.

This is folly.

She said
she wants to meet me,

so what's wrong
with surprising her?

You're not prepared.

She loves me,
I don't need to prepare.

Why can't you relax?

Can you at least take a look

at these
conversational witticisms?

- No, thank you.
- Memorize this now!

I'm going to speak to her
in my own words.

I strongly advise
against that.

And when the moment is right,
I'll take her in my arms.

There will be no moment
if you don't study these.

I'll be fine.

All your fancy words
and phrases

are now a part
of my vocabulary.

I'll simply...
I'll simply repeat them.

No, wait, what is it?

Regurgitate?

That's it!
That's what I will do.

Off you go then.

I'm very grateful
for your help...

but, with extreme respect,

I don't think
I need you anymore.

Very well.

Fly to Roxanne.

Dazzle her
with your transcendent words.

Yeah.

Can you imagine?

Champagne!

"We don't write poems
to be happy.

We write to discover meaning.

We write to revenge loss
and explicate love

to miss nothing
in the profound hope

that upon our deaths

we continue...

to live in the words."

Christian.

Hello.

How did you know
I was here?

Which is not to say
that I flatter myself

by thinking you are here
to see me.

I... I heard about this...

Women's-only salon?

Oh.

Yes. From a friend.

Is she here?

No, she's a man.

I mean, he is.

Will you come with me?

So we can talk?

Of course.

- Whoa.
- Isn't it beautiful?

Mmm.
It is very steep.

Do you suffer from vertigo?

No. But I don't like heights.

There are some silences
that are comfortable

and then there are some

that are freighted
with tension.

What do you think
the nature of this one is?

I think it's a bit of both.

I agree.

Talk to me.

- I love you.
- Yes.

Sometimes raw, simple words

are the most potent
deployment of language.

I love you.

The sheer surprise
of repetition.

But say some more.

What else?

I love you so much.

When you write, you say it
in a thousand different ways

without ever resorting

to those three
overused little words.

Which little words?

Please, my dearest Christian,

speak to me
like you do in your letters.

You are an angel to be adored.

My love is so, so big,
it is...

it is absord.

I'm sorry?

You are a beautiful flower.

May I smell your neck?

Or give it a peck
at this violet hour?

Neuvillette, sir.

- Don't go! Please wait.
- My passion has rendered me...

- What is it?
- Stupid?

No, but it does begin
with an "S."

Let me know
when you've found it.

And I am not a flower.

I need more.

I need more.

I need more.

Speechless!

That's the word.

That went well.

You spied on us?

I couldn't resist.

Help me.

Please.

No.

You don't need me.

Help me. I beg you.

If I don't win her back,
I'll die.

Then you'd better improve

your regurgitation skills.

All right, I need you.

I was an idiot to believe
I didn't. I apologize.

- You need me?
- Always.

- Am I essential?
- Of course.

Will you say my words
without pedantry,

prevarication, or quibbling?

- Just say yes.
- Yes.

Good. Follow me.

Right. Now, you stand there.

And I will be here.

And when she returns,

I will whisper
what you must say to her.

No.

Yes. I will feed you
the words.

It's madness!
How can it possibly work?

Do not ruin this again.

Roxanne.

Roxanne.

Who's there?

Speechless Christian.

I must talk to you.

I'd rather read your letters.

Please.

Do you regret
what happened this evening?

Yes.

Yes?

That's your considered
explanation and apology?

I'm beginning to fear you're
just a weird young man

who likes writing letters.

Maybe you don't even love me.

Good night.

Wait.

I could no more stop
loving you...

I could no more stop
loving you...

...than I could stop
the sun rising.

...than I can stop
the sun rising.

Really?

My cruel love has never
stopped growing in my soul...

From the day
it was born there.

...from the day it was born.

- There.
- There.

If your love is cruel,
you should have killed it.

I tried.

It has the strength
of Hercules.

I tried.
It has the strength of...

Hercules.

...Hercules.

- Got anything better?
- Shh.

Do continue. Please.

Roxanne, my love for you
is so powerful...

Roxanne, my love for you
is so powerful...

...it has strangled
the two serpents...

...it has strangled
the two serpents...

pride and doubt.

Why do you speak so haltingly?

This is impossible.

No, it's working, keep going.

Are you going
to answer my question?

My speech seems halting,

because in this darkness

my words must stumble
to your ear.

What are you doing?

My words
have no such difficulty.

Your words fall,
mine must climb.

Then perhaps I should
come down to you.

- No.
- No.

Why not?

I like this way of talking.

I like being invisible
to each other.

I cannot be stunned
into silence by your beauty.

Here in this awkwardness,

I am free at last
to speak from my heart.

Why is your voice
an octave lower?

I'm daring to be myself.

Why would you fear
to be yourself?

To be laughed at.

For what?

For having too much emotion.

I do not look...

Speak as I feel.

- Give me a kiss.
- No!

Yes, I asked for a kiss,
but I was too bold!

- You don't insist?
- Yes.

- No.
- Be quiet.

You were speaking of a kiss.

Yes, what is a kiss?

Surely, you know.

I meant metaphorically.

Is it a vow, a promise,

a confession,

a secret,

a moment of eternity,

a communion, a heartbeat?

No more metaphors.

Come claim your kiss.

Literally.

Go to her.

It seems wrong now.

Mmm. She wants you.

Uh, which house
belongs to Miss Roxanne?

Who wants to know?

- I have a letter for her.
- From whom?

It's confidential
and urgent.

Miss Roxanne,

the noble Duke de Guiche
asked me

in specific,
as it is a holy matter,

to bring that letter
directly to you.

My dearest,

I have sent a holy man
to you with a choice.

You have declared
your love for me

and I can no longer wait
to enjoy your treasures.

I'm on my way to you.

If you keep the priest there,
I will marry you.

If you send him away,

we shall consummate our love
without the bonds of vows.

Your choice.

Either way,

I will possess you tonight.

All well?

Miss Roxanne,
what does it say?

This letter is delivered
into your hands by a saintly,

and extremely discreet priest.

Inform him...

Roxanne?

...that it is
the Cardinal's will

that he give the blessing
of holy matrimony

in secret and without delay
in your home

to you...

and...

and Christian Neuvillette.

What?

I told you it was
a holy matter

from a worthy lord.

Is this okay with you,
my love?

Nothing could make me happier.

It says we must hurry.

Roxanne?

Yes?

De Guiche is on his way here.

Then you will delay him.

Thank you.

Thank you.
I could not be happier.

"Love is patient.

It does not boast.
It is not proud."

It keeps
no record of wrongs.

In sickness and in health,
until death do you part."

I do.

"Roxanne,

do you take Christian
for your lawful husband

to have and to hold
from this day forward?"

Do you know
what's happened in there?

The slut.

She's married a guard.

She's insane.

I'm through with love.

Does one nothing but harm.

I'm going back in there.

Attention.

You, get out of here.

You, I don't want
to see your face.

- Neuvillette.
- Sir.

Your regiment leaves
for the war tonight.

You are to depart
for the front at once

and deliver
these orders immediately.

You promised the guards would
not be sent to the front.

Promises?

Say goodbye to your husband.

Do you mean
to make me a widow?

Only God knows.

Christian.

Christian.

Christian.

Come, Christian.
We must go.

Roxanne, I love you,
and I will return to you.

Enough.

Cyrano.

Promise me he will not
be cold or hungry.

I can't promise that.

Promise me
he will be faithful.

Of course he will,
but I cannot promise you.

Promise me

he will write.

That I can promise you.

Friendly!
Friendly Coming through.

Cyrano.

Every morning, they shoot.

And every morning, they miss.

And one morning,
they'll get lucky.

You're risking your life
to send a letter.

I promised her he would write.

It's a suicide mission.

Those orders from the King
command me to decide

which of my units must perish.

Do I send the most expendable?

Where are you going?

To write a letter.

Or the bravest?

The guards.

Make out the orders

to Captain Le Bret
immediately.

We'll let God decide the rest.

I take no pleasure in this.

I serve my King.

Not my spite.

Form break.

- Present arms.
- Platoons! Get ready.

Platoon commanders,
steady your men!

Form line!

This child has delivered
our orders from the King.

These are from de Guiche.

Correct.
In service of the King.

We've been holding this
godforsaken rock for months.

On the King's orders.

And now we have
the noble distinction

of being chosen
to mount an attack.

De Guiche wants me dead.

The odds are against us.

I'd rather die
down there fighting

than starve up here waiting.

Then ready yourself.

Form line!

Captain,
steady your men!

Collect the letters.

Roxanne.

I wish I could write her
one last letter.

- You have.
- Heaven

Let me see.

No need.

Of course there's a need.

What's this?

What?

This.

It's a tear stain.

Is it? That's odd.

We poets sometimes
are so moved

by our own creations
that we...

It's poetic empathy.

You cried writing this letter?

Yes. I cannot bear
not to see her again.

We will never see her again.

You, her beloved husband,

might die
and never see her again.

That is the tear stain.

You're in love with her.

What?

Uh, you've gone mad.
You're starving.

Deny it then.

Do you love her?

It's too simple.

I knew it.

But I didn't...

I didn't dare
let myself believe it.

I feel sick.

- You've always loved her.
- I will deny it.

You can't deny it.
You can't even hide it.

Christian, listen to me.

If I should die
and you should live,

and she mentions the letters,

- do not be surprised...
- At what?

If she mentions their volume.

You've written to her
more often than you know.

- How often?
- Often enough.

- Twice a week?
- More.

- Three times a week?
- More than that.

- Four? Five?
- More.

- Every day?
- Yes, every day.

She doesn't love me.

Of course she does.

In her most recent letter,
she said she loves me

because of my soul.

What could be more loving?

You are my soul!

We have to tell her the truth,

and you must confess
your love.

The world will never
accept a midget

and a tall beautiful woman.

Never mind the world.
What about Roxanne?

She's got a huge heart.

In the same letter,

she reassured me
that she'd still love me

even if I return from
this hell a broken man,

disfigured and body destroyed.

She said that?

Mm.

Don't believe her.

Don't doubt her.

Take your positions!

We have betrayed her.

We can never tell her.
It'll break her heart.

We have to tell her.

It's our moral...

- Our moral...
- Ob...

Obligation.

See you
on the other side!

We must
let her decide our fate.

One of us, none of us...

She must have the choice.

Form the line!

And I'm certain
she'll choose you.

She's already chosen you.

Love at first sight.
She married you.

She doesn't love me.
She doesn't even know me.

She doesn't love me either.

I think she does.

And I would prefer to be loved

for my true self
or not at all.

Get ready!

Christian.

Attention!

See you on the other side!

Soldier, back in line!

Soldier!

You will live.

You will live for Roxanne
who loves you.

Tell her everything.

Please.

Everything.

Roxanne.

Forward!

Forward!
Forward! Forward!

Make ready!

Fire!

Sister Claire,
must I remind you,

you have accepted
a life without mirrors?

Stop admiring yourself

or I will be forced
to tell Cyrano.

Oh, no.
He'll make such fun of me.

And promise me you will
stop trying to convert him.

He's been coming here
every Saturday

for as long as I can remember.

Why does he not believe?

Miss Roxanne is his faith.

His weekly visits
are his service.

It saddens me
he won't see heaven.

I'm sure the Lord
has a plan for him.

You should worry about
his remaining time on Earth.

Get him to eat.

He always says
he's not hungry.

- Hmm.
- He says,

"I ate good meat yesterday."

It's not true.

He's too proud to admit
he can't afford it.

He's starving.

Insist he eats with us
this evening.

Yes, Mother.

He'll be here at 6:00
to bring her the news.

- Dear Roxanne...
- Dear Roxanne.

...how many times
have I sat by your side

and wanted to tell you?

- Dear Roxanne.
- Almost told you?

Dear Roxanne.

There is nothing
so dangerous and sweet

to keep as a secret like this.

I have sublimated.

Tell her. Tell her.

How many letters
have I written...

- Tell her.
- Trying to spell it out

- plainly.
- Plainly.

Simply.

Simply.

Without art.

Tell her the truth.

You. Always you.

You. You.

I love you.
I've always loved you.

Tell her. Tell her.

I will die loving you,
and you will never know.

Tell her.

He'll be here.

He's always on time.

Going somewhere?

You're late.

I was delayed.

By what?

An untimely visitor.

You sent him away?

I fear I only put him off
for a short while.

Well, he will have to wait

because I will not let you
leave before nightfall.

You've cut yourself.

A scratch, really.

Aren't you going
to tease Sister Claire?

She waits for it all week,
you know.

Sister Claire,
you have such lovely eyes.

Why do you keep
them cast down?

I ate good meat yesterday.

When you're ready,
come to the dining hall.

Then I'll give you
a big bowl of soup.

- Yes.
- Good.

I think Sister Claire
is trying to convert you.

I am not.

Mother warned me off.

Sister Claire.

Tonight,
I will let you pray for me.

I have not waited
for your permission.

Do you remember
the day we first met?

Yes.

It was early morning
in early June.

I'd come to borrow a book
from your father.

We found you curled up
on the floor

in the library
in the dawn light,

a tome for a pillow.

You were reading the very book
that I'd come for.

I refused to give it up.

Your youth made it forgivable.

I hadn't finished reading it.

I didn't mind.

You said you'd give it to me
when you had.

And I did.

It was as if we'd always
known each other.

And now we have.

They say light is the soul
of a holy space.

It's designed to be enough.

Enough beauty...

to just let go.

Are you melancholy?

No.

No.

Do you have my daily paper?

Yes, I do.

Good.

Last Saturday, the 19th,
I saw you.

And then a week passed

in which
nothing important happened,

and now here I am again.

- Cyrano.
- All right.

Uh, the news.

On Saturday, the head of state
ate too many prunes

and he took to his bed
with a fever.

He was executed
by his physician

and now he is feeling
much better.

There was a ball on Sunday,

and 762 wax candles
were burned

out...

On Monday,
our troops were reported

to have beaten everyone

everywhere.

On Tuesday, a tiny little dog

had to be given
a very large enema.

On Wednesday, nothing.

On Thursday,

someone somewhere,
who isn't us,

took a new lover.

On Friday,

I was the queen...

of...

almost.

Today...

Today, I...

I...

I...

Shall we get you that soup?

Not yet.

Not yet.

Oh, my dear.

What is to be done?

Just my old wound
from the war.

Damn that war.

You told me one day
you would let me read

Christian's last letter.

Now?

Please.

Thank you.

"Farewell, Roxanne,

I believe this will be
my last day, my beloved.

My soul is heavy
with unexpressed love.

Fullness of heart
cannot be recorded.

It will not live on
in my bones when I am gone.

It will not be buried
in my grave.

The exact measure of my love
cannot be given to you

in words to outlast
my last breath.

No matter how I wish it,
for I am dust.

And dust to dust, I'm...

I'm going to die today,
my love."

You are not reading.

You are remembering.

It was you.

No, Roxanne.

- Make your confession.
- No, Roxanne.

- The letters.
- No.

- The words.
- No.

The voice in the night
below my balcony.

All of it. You.

I married him that night
because of your words.

You married him, not my words.

Why are you denying it?

Because I do not love you,
my love.

- Yes, you do.
- Christian loved you.

- You wrote that letter.
- No.

- That tear is yours.
- The blood is his!

Why tell me now? Why?

I believe this will be
my last day.

No.

No.

No.

You love me.

Yes.

And I will not lose you twice.

It's you I love.

You loved the words.

No.

You.

I love Cyrano.

Cyrano is my love.

I have always loved Cyrano.

And I loved...

my pride.

No.

No.