The same, with CYRANO.

[The CADETS sit with bowed heads. Their eyes have a far-off look as if they are dreaming. Once in a while, they furtively wipe away their tears with their cuffs and the corner of their cloaks.]

[He makes a signal and the drum begins to beat.]

[All the CADETS mutter irritably.]

[He walks up and down, reading a little book which he has drawn from his pocket. DE GUICHE enters. Everyone appears absorbed and happy. DE GUICHE is very pale. He goes up to CARBON.]

CYRANO:

[appearing from the tent, very calm, with a pen stuck behind his ear and a book in his hand] What's wrong? [There is silence. He speaks to the FIRST CADET.] Why do you drag yourself around so sadly?

CADET:

I have something in my feet which weighs them down.

CYRANO:

And what might that be?

CADET:

My stomach!

CYRANO:

I have the same problem!

CADET:

But aren't you bothered by it?

CYRANO:

No, being so thin only makes us look taller!

A THIRD:

My stomach's hollow.

CYRANO:

Then it shall make a fine drum to bang during the assault!

ANOTHER:

I have a ringing in my ears.

CYRANO:

No, no! That can't be! A hungry stomach has no ears!

ANOTHER:

Oh, for a morsel of anything, with just a dab of oil!

CYRANO:

[pulling off the CADET's helmet and holding it out to him] Here's your salad!

ANOTHER:

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

CYRANO:

[throwing him the book which he is carrying] The Iliad! A little food for thought!

ANOTHER:

The prime minister in Paris gets his four meals a day!

CYRANO:

It would be courteous of him to send you a few partridges!

SAME CADET:

Yes, it would! And wine too!

CYRANO:

A little Burgundy, please, Cardinal!

ANOTHER:

I'm as ravenous as a giant!

CYRANO:

Then feast on some of your giant's fat!

FIRST CADET:

[shrugging] You're always so quick with your pointed words!

CYRANO:

Yes, pointed words! And I hope that when I die, I shall die making a pointed word for a good cause. I'll die a soldier's death by a soldier's sword, wielded by some brave adversary. I'll die on blood-stained ground, not in a sickbed, with a pointed word on my lips, and a real point within my heart.

ALL THE CADETS:

I'm hungry!

CYRANO:

All you think about is food! Bertrandou the fifer, you were a shepherd once. Draw your fife from its leather case and play for these greedy, gluttonous soldiers. Play some sweet country songs to remind us of our Gascon homes. Play those songs that softly echo the dear voices of family, in which each note calls to us like a little sister. Play those tunes that rise slowly, like the smoke-wreaths rise from the hearthstones of our native villages. Their music strikes the air like Gascon patois! [BERTRANDOU seats himself, and gets his flute ready.] Your flute is sadly at war now, but it was not always a warrior. As your fingers dance upon its stem in a bird-like minuet, remember that flutes were not always made of wood, but were made first out of simple reeds. Use your flute to recall those pastoral days, the soul-time of your youth, in country pastures! [The old man begins to play a Gascon tune.] Listen to the music, Gascons! It's no longer the piercing fife of battle, but beneath his fingers, the flute of the woods! No more the call to combat, it's now the love-song of the wandering goat-herds! Listen! It's the valley, the wetlands, the forest, the sunburnt shepherd boy with scarlet beret, the dusk of evening on the Dordogne River! ’Tis Gascony! Listen, Gascons, to the music!

CARBON:

[to CYRANO in a whisper] But you're making them weep!

CYRANO:

Yes, but for homesickness. It's a nobler pain than hunger. It's a pain of the soul, not the body. I'm pleased to see their pain changed. Heart- ache is better than stomach-ache.

CARBON:

But aren't you weakening their courage by playing with their hearts?

CYRANO:

[making a sign to a drummer to approach] Not at all! The hero that sleeps inside of every Gascon is easily awakened. All it takes is—

ALL THE CADETS:

[standing up and rushing to take up their weapons] What? What is it?

CYRANO:

[smiling] See! One roll of the drum is enough! Goodbye dreams, regrets, native land, love! All that the pipe brought forth, the drum has chased away!

A CADET:

[looking toward the back of the stage] Ugh! Here comes Monsieur de Guiche.

CYRANO:

[smiling] That's a flattering welcome!

A CADET:

We are sick to death of him!

ANOTHER:

With his lace collar over his armor, acting like he's a fine gentleman!

ANOTHER:

A soldier should not wear linen over steel!

THE FIRST:

Unless he's using it to bandage a boil on his neck!

THE SECOND:

He's not a true soldier! He's a scheming courtier!

ANOTHER:

He's his uncle's nephew!

CARBON:

But he's still a Gascon.

THE FIRST:

Oh, but a false Gascon! I don't trust him at all. True Gascons are madmen, but he is too sane. There's nothing more dangerous than a rational Gascon!

LE BRET:

He's so pale!

ANOTHER:

Oh, he's hungry, just as we are. But since he wears gilded studs on his armor, his stomach-ache glitters in the sunlight!

CYRANO:

[hurriedly] Let's not look like we're suffering! Take out your cards and pipes and dice! [They all begin lighting pipes and spreading out games on the drums, the stools, the ground, and on their cloaks.] And I shall read Descartes.