I fell from the moon!

My favorite play of the semester so far was "Cyrano de Bergerac" at the Théâtre de la Tempête.  I made the trek out to the Bois de Vincennes, où se trouve le théâtre, earlier this week.

I fell under its spell; I almost couldn't tell you what I liked about it or if the play really lasted three hours, as my watch seemed to tell me.  The production hit many good notes.  The lighting recreated a silvery night like a poem might, the creations of the pâtissier, Ragueneau, looked like they could have dressed the set of Marie Antoinette, for the final Act, the stage was covered in rose petals.  The troupe reminded me of a Greek chorus, speaking and percussing in unison, moving around each other like dancers.  The Cyrano was arrogant, noble, vulnerable, explosive, tender, romantic, heart-wrenching - a poet-magician who had the power to light up the moon.

"I fell from the moon!" says Cyrano to the Conte de Guiche...

CYRANO (beaming with joy):
I have shot back to Paris!
(Quite at ease, laughing, dusting himself, bowing):
Come--pardon me--by the last water-spout,
Covered with ether,--accident of travel!
My eyes still full of star-dust, and my spurs
Encumbered by the planets' filaments!
(Picking something off his sleeve):
Ha! on my doublet?--ah, a comet's hair!. . .
(He puffs as if to blow it away.)

My theatre teacher explained to us that the French view Cyrano as a national symbol : at once grotesque in his timidity and sublime in his sacrifice.

Maybe I fell from the moon too,
Maria