The Cadets of Gascony.
Post occupied by company of Carbon de Castel-Jaloux at the siege of Arras.
In the background an embankment across the whole stage. Beyond, view of plain extending to the horizon. The country covered with intrenchments. The walls of Arras and the outlines of its roofs against the sky in the distance. Tents. Arms strewn about, drums, etc. Day is breaking with a faint glimmer of yellow sunrise in the east. Sentinels at different points. Watch-fires. The cadets of Gascony, wrapped in their mantles, are sleeping. Carbon de Castel-Jaloux and Le Bret are keeping watch. They are very pale and thin. Christian sleeps among the others in his cloak in the foreground, his face illuminated by the fire. Silence.
Scene IV.1.
Christian, Carbon de Castel-Jaloux, Le Bret, the cadets, then Cyrano.
LE BRET:
'Tis terrible.
CARBON:
Not a morsel left.
LE BRET:
Mordioux!
CARBON (making a sign that he should speak lower):
Curse under your breath. You will awake them.
(To the cadets):
Hush! Sleep on. (To Le Bret):
He who sleeps, dines!
LE BRET:
But that is sorry comfort for the sleepless!. . .
What starvation!
(Firing is heard in the distance.)
CARBON:
Oh, plague take their firing! 'Twill wake my sons.
(To the cadets, who lift up their heads):
Sleep on!
(Firing is again heard, nearer this time.)
A CADET (moving):
The devil!. . .Again.
CARBON:
'Tis nothing! 'Tis Cyrano coming back!
(Those who have lifted up their heads prepare to sleep again.)
A SENTINEL (from without):
Ventrebieu! Who goes there?
THE VOICE Of CYRANO:
Bergerac.
The SENTINEL (who is on the redoubt):
Ventrebieu! Who goes there?
CYRANO (appearing at the top):
Bergerac, idiot!
(He comes down; Le Bret advances anxiously to meet him.)
LE BRET:
Heavens!
CYRANO (making signs that he should not awake the others):
Hush!
LE BRET:
Wounded?
CYRANO:
Oh! you know it has become their custom to shoot at me every morning and to
miss me.
LE BRET:
This passes all! To take letters at each day's dawn. To risk. . .
CYRANO (stopping before Christian):
I promised he should write often.
(He looks at him):
He sleeps. How pale he is! But how handsome still, despite his sufferings. If his
poor little lady-love knew that he is dying of hunger. . .
LE BRET:
Get you quick to bed.
CYRANO:
Nay, never scold, Le Bret. I ran but little risk. I have found me a spot to pass the
Spanish lines, where each night they lie drunk.
LE BRET:
You should try to bring us back provision.
CYRANO:
A man must carry no weight who would get by there! But there will be surprise
for us this night. The French will eat or die. . .if I mistake not!
LE BRET:
Oh!. . .tell me!. . .
CYRANO:
Nay, not yet. I am not certain. . .You will see!
CARBON:
It is disgraceful that we should starve while we're besieging!
LE BRET:
Alas, how full of complication is this siege of Arras! To think that while we are
besieging, we should ourselves be caught in a trap and besieged by the Cardinal
Infante of Spain.
CYRANO:
It were well done if he should be besieged in his turn.
LE BRET:
I am in earnest.
CYRANO:
Oh! indeed!
LE BRET:
To think you risk a life so precious. . .for the sake of a letter. . .Thankless one.
(Seeing him turning to enter the tent):
Where are you going?
CYRANO:
I am going to write another.
(He enters the tent and disappears.)
Scene IV.2.
The same, all but Cyrano. The day is breaking in a rosy light. The town of Arras is golden in the horizon. The report of cannon is heard in the distance, followed immediately by the beating of drums far away to the left. Other drums are heard much nearer. Sounds of stirring in the camp. Voices of officers in the distance.
CARBON (sighing):
The reveille!
(The cadets move and stretch themselves):
Nourishing sleep! Thou art at an end!. . .I know well what will be their first cry!
A CADET (sitting up):
I am so hungry!
ANOTHER:
I am dying of hunger.
TOGETHER:
Oh!
CARBON:
Up with you!
THIRD CADET:
--Cannot move a limb.
FOURTH CADET:
Nor can I.
THE FIRST (looking at himself in a bit of armor):
My tongue is yellow. The air at this season of the year is hard to digest.
ANOTHER:
My coronet for a bit of Chester!
ANOTHER:
If none can furnish to my gaster wherewith to make a pint of chyle, I shall retire
to my tent--like Achilles!
ANOTHER:
Oh! something! were it but a crust!
CARBON (going to the tent and calling softly):
Cyrano!
ALL THE CADETS:
We are dying!
CARBON (continuing to speak under his breath at the opening of the tent):
Come to my aid, you, who have the art of quick retort and gay jest. Come,
hearten them up.
SECOND CADET (rushing toward another who is munching something):
What are you crunching there?
FIRST CADET:
Cannon-wads soaked in axle-grease! 'Tis poor hunting round about Arras!
A CADET (entering):
I have been after game.
ANOTHER (following him):
And I after fish.
ALL (rushing to the two newcomers):
Well! what have you brought?--a pheasant?--a carp?--Come, show us quick!
THE ANGLER:
A gudgeon!
THE SPORTSMAN:
A sparrow!
ALL TOGETHER (beside themselves):
'Tis more than can be borne! We will mutiny!
CARBON:
Cyrano! Come to my help.
(The daylight has now come.)
Scene IV.3.
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.)
Scene IV.4.
The same. De Guiche.
DE GUICHE (to Carbon):
Good-day! (They examine each other. Aside, with satisfaction):
He's green.
CARBON (aside):
He has nothing left but eyes.
DE GUICHE (looking at the cadets):
Here are the rebels! Ay, Sirs, on all sides
I hear that in your ranks you scoff at me;
That the Cadets, these loutish, mountain-bred,
Poor country squires, and barons of Perigord,
Scarce find for me--their Colonel--a disdain
Sufficient! call me plotter, wily courtier!
It does not please their mightiness to see
A point-lace collar on my steel cuirass,--
And they enrage, because a man, in sooth,
May be no ragged-robin, yet a Gascon! (Silence. All smoke and play):
Shall I command your Captain punish you?
No.
CARBON:
I am free, moreover,--will not punish--
DE GUICHE:
Ah!
CARBON:
I have paid my company--'tis mine.
I bow but to headquarters.
DE GUICHE:
So?--in faith!
That will suffice. (Addressing himself to the cadets):
I can despise your taunts
'Tis well known how I bear me in the war;
At Bapaume, yesterday, they saw the rage
With which I beat back the Count of Bucquoi;
Assembling my own men, I fell on his,
And charged three separate times!
CYRANO (without lifting his eyes from his book):
And your white scarf?
DE GUICHE (surprised and gratified):
You know that detail?. . .Troth! It happened thus:
While caracoling to recall the troops
For the third charge, a band of fugitives
Bore me with them, close by the hostile ranks:
I was in peril--capture, sudden death!--
When I thought of the good expedient
To loosen and let fall the scarf which told
My military rank; thus I contrived
--Without attention waked--to leave the foes,
And suddenly returning, reinforced
With my own men, to scatter them! And now,
--What say you, Sir?
(The cadets pretend not to be listening, but the cards and the dice-boxes remain suspended in their hands, the smoke of their pipes in their cheeks. They wait.)
CYRANO:
I say, that Henri Quatre
Had not, by any dangerous odds, been forced
To strip himself of his white helmet plume.
(Silent delight. The cards fall, the dice rattle. The smoke is puffed.)
DE GUICHE:
The ruse succeeded, though!
(Same suspension of play, etc.)
CYRANO:
Oh, may be! But
One does not lightly abdicate the honor
To serve as target to the enemy
(Cards, dice, fall again, and the cadets smoke with evident delight):
Had I been present when your scarf fell low,
--Our courage, Sir, is of a different sort--
I would have picked it up and put it on.
DE GUICHE:
Oh, ay! Another Gascon boast!
CYRANO:
A boast?
Lend it to me. I pledge myself, to-night,
--With it across my breast,--to lead th' assault.
DE GUICHE:
Another Gascon vaunt! You know the scarf
Lies with the enemy, upon the brink
Of the stream,. . .the place is riddled now with shot,--
No one can fetch it hither!
CYRANO (drawing the scarf from his pocket, and holding it out to him):
Here it is.
(Silence. The cadets stifle their laughter in their cards and dice-boxes. De Guiche turns and looks at them; they instantly become grave, and set to play. One of them whistles indifferently the air just played by the fifer.)
DE GUICHE (taking the scarf):
I thank you. It will now enable me
To make a signal,--that I had forborne
To make--till now.
(He goes to the rampart, climbs it, and waves the scarf thrice.)
ALL:
What's that?
THE SENTINEL (from the top of the rampart):
See you yon man
Down there, who runs?. . .
DE GUICHE (descending):
'Tis a false Spanish spy
Who is extremely useful to my ends.
The news he carries to the enemy
Are those I prompt him with--so, in a word,
We have an influence on their decisions!
CYRANO:
Scoundrel!
DE GUICHE (carelessly knotting on his scarf):
'Tis opportune. What were we saying?
Ah! I have news for you. Last evening
--To victual us--the Marshal did attempt
A final effort:<br>--secretly he went
To Dourlens, where the King's provisions be.
But--to return to camp more easily--
He took with him a goodly fo