Makes a moralizing speech to the starving Gascons

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

(Scene III, Page 117)