University of Virginia Library

Scene III.

The SAME. Cyrano.
CYRANO
(appearing from the tent, very calm, with a pen stuck behind his ear and a book in his hand)

What is wrong?

(Silence. To the first cadet)

Why drag you your legs so sorrowfully?

THE CADET

I have something in my heels which weighs them down.

CYRANO

And what may that be?

THE CADET

My stomach!

CYRANO

So have I, 'faith!

THE CADET

It must be in your way?

CYRANO

Nay, I am all the taller.

A THIRD

My stomach's hollow.

CYRANO

'Faith, 'twill make a fine drum to sound the assault.

ANOTHER

I have a ringing in my ears.

CYRANO

No, no, 'tis false; a hungry stomach has no ears.

ANOTHER

Oh, to eat something--something oily!

CYRANO
(pulling off the cadet's helmet and holding it out to him)

Behold your salad!

ANOTHER

What, in God's name, can we devour?

CYRANO
(throwing him the book which he is carrying)

The 'Iliad'.

ANOTHER

The first minister in Paris has his four meals a day!

CYRANO

'Twere courteous an he sent you a few partridges!

THE SAME

And why not? with wine, too!

CYRANO

A little Burgundy. Richelieu, s'il vous plait!

THE SAME

He could send it by one of his friars.

CYRANO

Ay! by His Eminence Joseph himself.

ANOTHER

I am as ravenous as an ogre!

CYRANO

Eat your patience, then.

THE FIRST CADET
(shrugging his shoulders)

Always your pointed word!

CYRANO

Ay, pointed words! I would fain die thus, some soft summer eve, Making a pointed word for a good cause. --To make a soldier's end by soldier's sword,

Wielded by some brave adversary--die On blood-stained turf, not on a fever-bed, A point upon my lips, a point within my heart.

CRIES FROM ALL

I'm hungry!

CYRANO
(crossing his arms)

All your thoughts of meat and drink! Bertrand the fifer!--you were shepherd once,-- Draw from its double leathern case your fife, Play to these greedy, guzzling soldiers. Play Old country airs with plaintive rhythm recurring, Where lurk sweet echoes of the dear home-voices, Each note of which calls like a little sister, Those airs slow, slow ascending, as the smoke-wreaths Rise from the hearthstones of our native hamlets, Their music strikes the ear like Gascon patois!. . .

(The old man seats himself, and gets his flute ready)

Your flute was now a warrior in durance; But on its stem your fingers are a-dancing A bird-like minuet! O flute! Remember That flutes were made of reeds first, not laburnum; Make us a music pastoral days recalling-- The soul-time of your youth, in country pastures!. . .

(The old man begins to play the airs of Languedoc)

Hark to the music, Gascons!. . .'Tis no longer The piercing fife of camp--but 'neath his fingers The flute of the woods! No more the call to combat,

'Tis now the love-song of the wandering goat-herds!. . . Hark!. . .'tis the valley, the wet landes, the forest, The sunburnt shepherd-boy with scarlet beret, The dusk of evening on the Dordogne river,-- 'Tis Gascony! Hark, Gascons, to the music!

(The cadets sit with bowed heads; their eyes have a far-off look as if dreaming, and they surreptitiously wipe away their tears with their cuffs and the corner of their cloaks.)
CARBON
(to Cyrano in a whisper)

But you make them weep!

CYRANO

Ay, for homesickness. A nobler pain than hunger,--'tis of the soul, not of the body! I am well pleased to see their pain change its viscera. Heart-ache is better than stomach-ache.

CARBON

But you weaken their courage by playing thus on their heart-strings!

CYRANO
(making a sign to a drummer to approach)

Not I. The hero that sleeps in Gascon blood is ever ready to awake in them. 'Twould suffice. . .

(He makes a signal; the drum beats.)
ALL THE CADETS
(stand up and rush to take arms)

What? What is it?

CYRANO
(smiling)

You see! One roll of the drum is enough! Good-by dreams, regrets, native land, love. . .All that the pipe called forth the drum has chased away!

A CADET
(looking toward the back of the stage)

Ho! here comes Monsieur de Guiche.

ALL THE CADETS
(muttering)

Ugh!. . .Ugh!. . .

CYRANO
(smiling)

A flattering welcome!

A CADET

We are sick to death of him!

ANOTHER CADET

--With his lace collar over his armor, playing the fine gentleman!

ANOTHER

As if one wore linen over steel!

THE FIRST

It were good for a bandage had he boils on his neck.

THE SECOND

Another plotting courtier!

ANOTHER CADET

His uncle's own nephew!

CARBON

For all that--a Gascon.

THE FIRST

Ay, false Gascon!. . .trust him not. . . Gascons should ever be crack-brained. . . Naught more dangerous than a rational Gascon.

LE BRET

How pale he is!

ANOTHER

Oh! he is hungry, just like us poor devils; but under his cuirass, with its fine gilt nails, his stomach-ache glitters brave in the sun.

CYRANO
(hurriedly)

Let us not seem to suffer either! Out with your cards, pipes, and dice. . .

(All begin spreading out the games on the drums, the stools, the ground, and on their cloaks, and light long pipes)

And I shall read Descartes.

(He walks up and down, reading a little book which he has drawn from his pocket. Tableau. Enter De Guiche. All appear absorbed and happy. He is very pale. He goes up to Carbon.)